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hotchnerobsessed · 2 years

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A Helping Hand

Fem!Reader x Hotch | When period cramps are causing you some troubles, Hotch offers up a pleasant solution.

Warnings: 🥵+☺️ Smut but make it fluffy [(Soft!Hotch just wants to make you feel better!) fingering, unprotected shower sex (please be safe everyone!), handjob], mention of a tampon and blood (nothing super gory), a few swears.

Word Count: 7358

Masterlist

It’s shark week for me and literally all I can think about is this man.

**********

You’d come to realize over the years that, unfortunately, pain meds didn’t do much to alleviate your cramps when they were this bad, so you’d had to find ways of coping naturally. You were lying on your back on the couch, wearing your sports bra, accompanied by the pair of Aaron’s boxers you had both deemed were yours now.

With the heating pad plugged into the outlet behind the side table, you had it strategically placed over top of your lower abdomen, relieving some of the pain radiating from your body. One arm was wrapped around your body, holding the blanket you’d cocooned yourself in in place, while the other was draped across your closed eyes, blocking out the small amount of sunlight coming in through the front window.

Having called in sick to work that day, you had no plans except making it through the day until Aaron could get home and hold you; you always felt better when you could nuzzle your aching body into his chest and feel his strong arms wrapped around you.

Tea also played a big role in helping you feel better. You’d made a cup of your favourite, chamomile with a scoop of honey. Having just finished it before laying down, you could finally feel your body beginning to relax, and you hoped you might be able to get some sleep.

Unsure of how much time has passed, you must have fallen asleep at some point, because you were awoken by the sound of keys in the door; Aaron was finally home. Sighing heavily, you removed your arm that was still draped across your face and shifted your body slightly so you were propped up on one elbow. Glancing over at the door, you smiled softly as he shut the door and turned to face you.

“Hi sweetheart..” his voice dropped off as he assessed the sight in front of him. His eyes trailed from the empty mug on the coffee table, to the heating pad, and finally up to the exhausted look on your face. “Ohhh my girl,” he cooed. Making his way across the living room, he reached his hands out to you and helped you sit up. As he maneuvered himself so he was sitting behind you, he leaned his back against the armrest of the couch and bent one leg under the other. “Come here,” he spoke softly, encouraging you to lean back against his chest.

Re-adjusting the heating pad so it was where it need to be, you let your body relax. As you leaned back, resting your entire body weight on his, you felt his warmth against your back and let out a comforting sigh. Resting your head against his shoulder, he placed a gentle kiss to your temple before nuzzling his cheek against yours. With his hands still holding yours, he wrapped both of your arms around your body again, pulling you close.

“How was your day?” you asked softly.

Laughing lightly, truly in love with the fact that even when you were clearly in pain, you still wanted to hear how his day was. “Actually rather uneventful. But I’ll take that as a win.”

You giggled softly, but it quickly faded into a groan as the muscles in your lower abdomen contracted.

“Ohhh I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you laugh,” he teased, concern in his voice as he placed another loving kiss to the side of your face.

Letting an airy laugh escape your lips, you squeezed his hands, “it’s okay. I like it when you make me laugh.”

He kissed the top of your head this time, bringing one of his hands up so he could slowly run his fingers through your hair. “I take it your day didn’t go so well?”

Shaking your head, you admitted, “I’m surprised I made it to the couch this morning. But I’m feeling a bit better..” grabbing hold of his free hand in yours, you brought it up to your lips and kissed the back of it tenderly, “especially now that you’re home.” You could practically hear the smile that graced his lips, and you sighed deeply at the calming feeling of his hand still running through your hair.

“What can I do?” he asked. You were generally a very independent person, it was one of his favourite things about you, but he knew this was one of the rare times that you didn't want to go it alone. He always had a genuine willingness to help in any way he could, especially when you were clearly uncomfortable. And truth be told, he loved knowing you wanted, even needed, his help during times like this.

Thinking about it for a second, you admitted, “this is nice. I just like you holding me.”

“Okay.” He spoke softly, placing another gentle kiss to the top of your head.

Resting his cheek against the side of your head, you both laid there for a short while in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. You could feel his heart beating, and it almost lulled you into a state of bliss. The warmth from his body, combined with the heat from the heating pad, finally had the cramps lessening as the minutes passed. You could finally breathe through the worst of them, and you were thankful to have the extra support.

Finally feeling like you might be able to move from the spot you’d been in almost the entire day, you shuffled your body slightly so you were sitting. Sliding your legs over the side of the couch, you turned to face him, reaching a hand out to caress the side of his face. The soft look in your eyes said all that needed to be said; the love between you was palpable.

“Hungry?” He asked, taking your hand in his and kissing your palm tenderly.

Pondering his question, you knew you probably should eat something, but you really didn’t feel like eating anything at all. Squinting your eyes slightly, you answered honestly, “no, not really.”

Any other day, you knew he would be encouraging you to eat, knowing sometimes you needed the gentle reminder; if only he would take his own advice most days. But today, he knew not to push it. He’d seen first hand the effects of you making yourself eat on days like this. Your body truly had a mind of its own, and food, though you’d think it would help, only made things a whole lot worse.

Nodding understandingly at you, he spoke softly, “okay,” before placing another kiss against the soft skin of your hand, this time on the back.

Looking up at him, you smiled. When he returned a smile, you couldn’t help but notice a flash of something else, something mischievous, underneath. Tilting your head to the side curiously, you raised an eyebrow at him, and he laughed lightly at how well you could read him. “What?” you asked through a soft laugh of your own.

“You know..” grasping your hand in his lovingly, he spoke slow, gauging your reaction. Bringing his other hand up to the side of your face, he tucked your hair behind your ear and caressed your cheek before continuing, “I’ve heard orgasms can help with cramps,” the gruffness in his voice sending shivers down your spine.

Your pupils dilated as you felt heat rising in your face. You knew it was true, as you’d discovered yourself in the past, but you never thought you’d be having this discussion with your significant other. Internally shaking your head at yourself, you knew Aaron was different. He never had any trouble discussing topics that the average person might find uncomfortable, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he’d just said what he had.

You hadn’t even noticed that your lips had parted slightly, until you felt the pad of his thumb trailing gently along your bottom lip. Making eye contact with him, you sounded nearly breathless as you spoke, “oh? I mean.. I know that.. but how do you know that?”

He raised his eyebrows at your words, “oh, you already know that do you? And how would you know that?” His question was asked through a cheeky grin; it was pretty obvious how you knew, but he wanted to hear you say it.

Feeling the heat rise in your face once more, you breathed in deep. Trying, and failing, to remain level headed, you answered quietly, “because I.. I’ve.. I just do, okay?” You punctuated your statement with a light giggle.

Closing his eyes and shaking his head lovingly at your shyness, he looked back up at you, nothing but adoration on his face.

“Okay but how do you know that, mister?” you asked teasingly, poking his shoulder playfully.

His answer was very nonchalant, “I overheard the girls talking about it on the plane one time. Spencer even chimed in with some statistics to confirm that they were, in fact, correct.”

That made you laugh again; Spencer was one of your favourite people to talk to, always full of fun and interesting facts. He seemed to really like you as well; you never got annoyed, or asked him to stop talking about whatever it was he was on a roll about.

You brought your eyes up to meet his once more, before his eyes flickered down to your still parted lips. Looking back up at you momentarily, he leaned forward painfully slow before placing a tender kiss to your lips. Leaning into it, you placed your hand on his knee to steady yourself, and you felt his muscles tense under your touch. Lingering for a few seconds, he slowly pulled his lips from yours before looking you in the eyes again; he didn’t want things to progress too far if you weren’t comfortable with this, so he wanted to give you a chance to say no.

“Aaron I.. I don’t know.. I don't want to make a mess.” The times you’d handled things on your own, you’d stuck to simply teasing your sensitive bud, tampon still in place. If he was suggesting you two ‘do the deed’ together, you were afraid you’d stain the sheets.

Nodding understandingly at you, you could tell he agreed, and that momentary flutter of excitement at his proposal began to disappear. Looking down at your lap, you had to admit you were slightly disappointed.

That was, until he spoke again, “sweetheart, we have a shower.”

Lifting your head up once more, your eyes meeting his, you scanned his face as you attempted to process his words. He was absolutely right, and the fact that you’d never considered it before made you internally scold yourself.

“I mean.. Are you sure?” You didn’t want the excitement in your stomach to grow too much if this wasn’t going to happen. You wanted to give him the opportunity to rethink and change his mind, but deep down you knew he wouldn’t have suggested it in the first if he wasn’t okay with it.

“I’m sure,” he answered sincerely, brushing his thumb across your cheek, “but only if it’s what you want.”

Smiling softly at him, you leaned forward and kissed his lips tenderly before resting your forehead against his. You laughed lightly before adding, somewhat nervously, “I’m not going to gross you out too much, am I?”

Laughing right along with you, he pulled back to look you in the eyes. Shaking his head softly, he said exactly what both of you knew to be absolute truth, “blood doesn’t bother me.” You nodded understandingly; if it did, he was definitely in the wrong line of work. “And your period? That’s natural. Nothing about it is gross. If you ask me, it’s actually quite beautiful. It’s a reminder of just how incredible, and powerful your body is.”

Letting out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding in, your eyes scanned his face one last time before you leaned forward and kissed his lips once more, only with much more passion this time. You were completely in love with him, and he only kept reminding you of exactly why, time and time again.

Moving your body closer to his, you deepened the kiss, his hands now on your hips, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. After sitting there for a short while, lips connected to each other’s in a passionate dance, he finally pulled back to look you in the eyes once more. “Come on,” he spoke softly before standing up and reaching his hands out to you.

Placing your hands in his, he slowly helped you up off the couch. Stepping towards him, he knew your sore body would need some time to adjust to standing up, so he wrapped his strong arms around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest. Sliding your hands around his waist, you rested your cheek against the fabric of his shirt and breathed in deep. You felt him rest his chin against the top of your head and you couldn't help but smile.

Looking up at him, you stood on your tiptoes and pecked his lips gently. Taking a few steps back, you began reaching over the side of the couch to unplug the heating pad, but his gentle hand on your arm stopped you. Nodding lightly at you, he spoke softly, "I've got it." Thanking him, you watched as his tall frame leaned over the side of the couch effortlessly, and pulled the cord from the outlet.

Once he stood up again, he grabbed hold of your hand and lead you down the hallway to your shared bedroom, across the soft carpet, and into the bathroom. He flipped on the light, and the cold tile floor sent a chill through your body as you crossed the small space to stand in front of the toilet. Turning to face him, he was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, patiently waiting for you to do what you needed to. With your thumbs hooked in the waistband of your boxers, you spoke through a bashful grin, “could you.. look away?”

Laughing through a soft smile, he looked over at you and teased, “sweetheart, you do know we're about to..”

“I know! I know..” you cut him off, “But it’s just.. it’s different. Please?”

Nodding understandingly, he spoke softly, “I’ll get the water going.”

Smiling softly back at him, you thanked him. Once his back was to you, and he was pulling the shower curtain back, you finally slid the boxers and your underwear down and seated yourself. Pulling on the string between your legs, you wrapped the tampon in toilet paper before disposing of it in the garbage can. Standing up once more, you gave your hands a quick wash before pulling the sports bra off your body and adding it to the pile of material on the floor.

He had just finished testing the temperate of the water and was turning to face you, when he stopped in his tracks. Taking in the sight in front of him, his eyes trailed from your shoulders, down to your bare breasts, across the soft skin of your stomach, and down the curve of your hips to your legs. "God, you are so beautiful." He almost sounded out of breath, and you couldn't help but smile as you took a few steps towards him, allowing him to pull you into his arms.

As you nuzzled into his chest, you hummed contentedly before looking up at him. “I love you, Aaron.”

Bringing one of his hands up to the side of your face, he tucked your hair behind your ear lovingly, “I love you too, my sweet girl," before kissing your lips. With your minimal clothing already out of the way, he suddenly felt very overdressed, "I think I need to lose some clothes before I join you in there."

Giggling, you offered, "I think I can help with that.." Bringing your hands up the front of his body, you slid your palms along the material of his buttoned up shirt. He'd already taken his suit jacket off when he came in the front door, so you started with his tie, undoing the knot and pulling it from around his neck. Next you unbuttoned each button on his shirt, one and a time, all the while he placed gentle kisses against your forehead, with his hands resting on your hips encouragingly. Once you slid the shirt down his arms, you tugged at the undershirt he was wearing, and he helped by pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.

With his bare chest now mere inches from you, you couldn't help yourself. With your hands on his belt, you pulled him closer, your fingers fumbling with the buckle as you trailed sloppy kisses across his chest, from one shoulder to the other. His hand found it's was into your hair once more, bringing your lips up to his. In no time at all, you had the belt undone with his pants and boxers dropping to the floor in one swift motion. Stepping out of the crumpled fabric, his lips still attached to yours, he lead you closer to the shower.

Reluctantly pulling his lips from yours, he grabbed hold of the shower curtain and opened it slightly. Stepping over the edge of the bath first, he turned back to you and reached a hand out. You hesitated, wanting to do exactly what he had done moments earlier and take in the sight before you. Your eyes trailed from his jaw, across the scars that scattered his chest and abdomen, to his already hard length standing at attention. You bit your lip as your eyes lingered momentarily, before looking back up at him and seeing the smirk on his face; he was so ready for this to happen, and the thought made you blush.

Using the hair tie that was on your wrist, you quickly slipped your hair into a messy bun before finally stepping over the side of the bath, thankful for his steady hand to help you. As he pulled the shower curtain closed, he admitted, "I'd be lying if I said I'd never though about showering with you."

Unable to hide the smile that spread across your face, you added, "it is kind of cozy in here together isn't it?"

He returned the smile, before closing the gap between your bodies. Wrapping one arm around your waist, his other hand on the back of your neck, he pulled you close and captured your lips with his. The feeling of skin on skin immediately relaxed your tense muscles, and the pressure of his length against your hip caused you to moan. As you deepened the kiss, he encouraged you to take a couple steps backwards. Your back now pressed against the shower wall, you let out a soft gasp at the feeling of the cold ceramic tiles contacting your skin.

You giggled as he whispered a quiet, "I'm sorry," against your lips.

"It's okay," you cooed, running your thumb across his cheek lovingly.

The water was warm and it reached just past your knees, gently cascading down your skin. You breathed in deep, taking a second to just be in the moment, the pain in your lower abdomen a small detail at this point. Simply knowing Aaron was yours, and that he was willing to try anything to help you feel better, seemingly made all your worries disappear.

Resting his forehead against yours, his voice was gentle as he spoke, "I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume you're going to be a little more sensitive than usual.." You could hear the smile in his voice and you let out an airy laugh in response. He kissed your nose gently before adding, "if it's too much and you want to stop, you just say so, alright?"

Leaning your head back to look into his eyes, you nodded, "okay."

Smiling at your answer, he kissed your forehead as his hand slowly trailed down the side of your body, over your hip and to your behind. Slipping his hand farther down the side of your leg, he squeezed lightly and you knew what he wanted. Lifting your leg, you allowed him to tuck his arm under your knee, letting you rest the weight of your leg in his arm. Your gaze drifted down to his arm, and you trailed your touch along with it. Gliding your hand over his shoulder, you traced a finger along the toned muscles in his bicep that were on full display as he held your leg in place. He'd carried you to and from bed before, so you knew he was strong, but something about the position you were currently in, the vulnerability and trust you felt, only made your attraction to him grow.

His eyes had trailed along with yours, following your finger along his skin, and his body relaxed under your touch. Both of you looked back up at each other in sync, and the mischievous look in his eyes told you he knew exactly what you were thinking in that moment. "We'll start slow, okay?"

Nodding in response, you gripped his arm, grounding yourself and preparing for his next move. Using his free hand, he tucked his finger under your chin and pulled your face to his, kissing you passionately. As you deepened the kiss, he slowly slid his hand down your body, cupping one of your breasts in his hand. Squeezing gently, you moaned against his lips as he twirled your nipple between his fingers. Smiling at how quick you reacted to his touch, he didn't waste any time, trailing his hand farther down your body until his fingers were caressing your core.

He started by applying gentle pressure to the outside of your lips, simply rubbing back and forth, testing the waters. When you didn't react negatively to the initial feeling, he kissed you once more, and used his fingers to pull you farther open, granting him direct access to your soaking folds. "Fuck sweetheart, you're already so wet."

You blushed at his words, mostly from that same familiar excitement you felt any time you two were intimate, but there was an added layer to it this time. You couldn't help but let your mind wander to the fact that part of that wetness was due to your period, not just your arousal. Anxiety about whether he would change his mind now that it was actually happening began creeping into the back of your mind. You hadn't voiced any of these thoughts out loud yet, but he could read you so well. The slight change in your body language had him jumping into action to calm your racing mind, "it's okay. I've got you."

Bringing your free hand up to the side of his face, you tipped your head back to look him in the eyes once more. He was calm, nothing but love radiating from him, not even the slightest hint of disgust or hesitation on his face. In fact, you saw something in him that you hadn't seen before; lust, but it was different. Was he enjoying this? Was there more to this than just trying to make you feel better? Had he thought about this before? Whatever it was, you finally felt completely at peace with the situation at hand, as any reservations you had disappeared.

All while maintaining that eye contact, he slowly slid one finger into your heat. As you exhaled deep, your body immediately relaxed at the familiar feeling, your shoulders dropping, and your head tipping back to rest against the wall. Still looking him in the eyes, you gave a slight nod, and he responded almost simultaneously, slipping one more finger in to join the first. The groan that left your lips caused him to smile as your eyes flickered shut.

Showing no signs of wanting him to stop, he began by slowly sliding his fingers out of you, only to slip them back inside moments later. The pace he set was torturously slow, but you were thankful for it, because as you'd both assumed, you were definitely more sensitive than usual. But it was a different kind of sensitive, and you were both about to learn just how different your body reacted at times like this. After giving you some time to adjust, he switched to what he knew always got you going faster than anything else, and began curling his fingers, brushing the pads of his fingers along that spongey spot inside you.

At first, that same familiar feeling had your body reacting immediately, as you sighed contentedly, "oh fuck, yes Aaron, right there." Opening your eyes, you caught a glimpse of that beautiful smile of his, before his face was leaning towards yours, lips connecting once more. As he kissed you passionately, he continued with the movements of his fingers deep inside you. Bringing your hands up, you draped one arm around his shoulders, pulling him even closer, while you carded the fingers on your other hand through his soft hair.

Everything in that moment felt amazing; the way his hair felt between your fingers, the way his lips felt against yours, and the way his fingers felt brushing against your tight walls.

But it was taking your body longer than normal to react the way both of you were so used to. It was almost as if, even though you felt every detail of every movement even more so than usual, your body was refusing to give you that pleasure you were so desperately chasing. Frustration started to build in your own mind, knowing that you were normally a whimpering mess for him by now. He knew it too, but he was unbothered and patient, knowing that this time was different than the moments you'd spent together in the past.

Pulling away from the kiss and squinting your eyes shut, you tried to focus everything you had on the pleasure he was giving you. It didn't take long for him to pick up on the fact that something was off. Stilling his movements, he spoke softly, "hey, look at me." As your eyes flickered open, you saw that he was looking down at you, caution in his eyes, "are you okay? Is it too much?”

Blinking slowly, you looked up into his kind brown eyes once more, and admitted, "No, no I just.. I can't seem to.. get there.”

Leaning down, he kissed your forehead gently before speaking in that calming voice of his, “okay, it’s okay.” You could hear the smile tugging at his lips as he asked, “you said you’ve done this before.. how do you make yourself feel good, sweetheart?"

Your eyes smiled up at him, though a slightly bashful smile graced your face. “Honestly, I’ve always just stuck to the outside. I’ve never tried anything more.”

Nodding understandingly, a smirk on his face, he leaned down to place a kiss to your cheek before whispering, “show me.” Any other time, he would have handled it all on his own, using his thumb in unison with his fingers buried inside you. But you were both still learning how your body reacted to this, and he didn't want push you farther than you could handle right now; he wanted to give you control over how fast, and how hard you came.

You felt the breath leave your chest at his words, but you didn’t hesitate, slipping your hand down to meet his. As you caressed your core, you felt where his fingers disappeared inside your body, and it sent a chill down your spine. Your eyes meeting his, you slowly began rubbing circles against your clit. The way your eyes flickered shut, and your lips parted in pleasure, brought a smile to his face. Once you'd began picking up the pace, he could tell you were warming up to the feeling, so he slowly started moving his fingers once more. As he did, you couldn't help the deep moan that rumbled in your chest.

"Is that better?" he asked through a smirk, knowing the answer already. Unable to speak, you simply groaned once more. He laughed lightly, placing a kiss to your forehead and mumbling a soft, "good girl."

Finally, you felt your body nearing the peak of the mountain you'd been so desperately climbing. Your hand was still on his arm, keeping yourself steady, and as the firm grasp you had on his muscles tightened, he knew you were getting close.

“Yeah.. there you go,” he cooed, leaning forward and resting his forehead against yours, “cum for me, sweetheart.”

Nodding your head enthusiastically, you kept up with those same tight and fast circles on your clit. With his fingers still curling inside you, the feeling of his bicep under your touch, and his lips now on your neck, you finally felt that knot in your stomach break.

Your walls clenched down around his fingers, and the feeling was right on the verge of being too much, so you immediately pulled your own fingers away. With one final curl of his fingers inside you, you felt your knee buckle as the pleasure completely consumed your body. If it hadn’t been for his arm holding your leg up, and your back against the wall, you would have been on the shower floor in no time.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips; one that was caused in equal parts by the near mishap thanks to your knee, and the relief you felt as your orgasm rid your body completely of the pain you’d been fighting all day.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you nuzzled your face into his neck. As he slowly pulled his fingers out from between your walls, you groaned at the sudden loss, and you could hear a soft laugh roll off his lips.

He gently lowered his arm that was still holding your leg up, and used that arm to wrap around your waist, placing his palm flat against your back. Shuffling your feet towards him and pulling him impossibly close, you couldn’t help the heavy sigh that escaped your lips.

You could hear him running his other hand under the water, washing away your arousal that no doubt would have been mixed with streaks of red. Your mind might have began to focus on that fact too much, if it hadn’t been for him trailing kisses along the top of your shoulder, up your neck, and to your lips. You both knew he’d timed his kisses strategically, and you were thankful for it, because it allowed you to move past your worries before they had a chance to settle.

Deepening the kiss, you ran your fingers through his hair, before he snaked his other hand, still damp from the water, around your waist to meet the other one. Sliding his arms even farther around your body, he wrapped you in a loving hug, before he pulled away from the kiss and asked softly, “how are you feeling?”

Exhaling contentedly, you looked him in the eyes and answered through an airy laugh, “much better. I love you.”

Smiling, he kissed your lips tenderly, “I love you too.” Trailing kisses back down your neck, he whispered softly, “do you want to keep going?"

Your chest heaving again, you couldn’t hide the need you felt for him. That first orgasm had taken care of the cramps, but you were left wanting more, and you were more than willing to see if your body would allow you another. Kissing him passionately, you answered, "please."

Happy with how eager you were, he wasted no time, his firms hands on your shoulders turning you around. With your palms now flat agains the shower wall, you felt his sturdy frame cage yours in from behind, as he wrapped his arms around you. He pulled you close, and the feeling of his erection against your soft skin made you shiver. You instinctively began grinding your backside into him, and the moan that escaped his lips went straight to your core.

He stepped forward, wanting to be as close as humanly possible, pinning you up against the wall. The stark contrast of the cool tiles against your front, and his warm body consuming yours from behind, had you begging in no time, "fuck, Aaron.. I need you inside me.. please..”

Dropping his head, he placed sloppy kisses along your neck, as he hooked one of his feet on the inside of your ankle, pulling your legs farther apart. "Whatever you want, my sweet girl." Bending his knees slightly, he planted his feet firmly on either side of yours, as he wrapped his hand around his length in search of your core. "Tell me if it’s too much or not enough, or if you need me to stop all together, okay?"

Turning your head to the side, you spoke softly, "promise."

Connecting his lips with yours in acknowledgement, he ran his tip through your folds a few times before lining himself up with your entrance. The couple seconds before he finally slid into you felt like an eternity, but the payoff was so sweet. The familiar stretch of his length entering you completely made your entire body sigh, and you could't help but exhale at the feeling.

Stilling himself, completely sheathed in your heat, he stayed like that for a short while, wanting to make sure you were okay before he moved forward. As he placed gentle kisses to your cheek, one hand found it's way to your hip, as the other snaked around the front of your body to lay flat against your lower abdomen; it was almost as if he was reminding you that everything he was doing was to keep those pesky cramps at bay.

You couldn't remember a time when you'd felt this calm, this loved, this safe. You'd spent many nights together, both innocently cuddling on the couch, or not-so-innocently tangled in the sheets, but something about this moment was different. The level of care and acceptance he was showing you made every worry evaporate with the steam.

Before you knew it, he was slowly pulling his length out from between your sensitive walls, only to enter you again moments later. The feeling was indescribable. His fingers were one thing, but this was a whole other sensation.

It was new for him, too, and it didn't take long before he was caught up in how good you felt around him. Mumbling against your neck, "fuck sweetheart, you’re so warm," he began picking up the pace, “you feel so good like this.” You were right earlier when you had noticed that glint of something else in his eyes; he was excited to see how different you would feel, and the fact that he was clearly enjoying it caused heat to rush to your face.

At first, your body welcomed the faster pace, your shoulders slumping, and the breath escaping your chest. With each long stroke of his length, in and out, over and over, you felt your walls starting to clench, on the brink of orgasm.

As incredible as it felt, it didn't take long for that same feeling to creep back in; the feeling of being so close, but being unable to make that final push over the edge. But you knew how to handle it this time, thanks to Aaron and his patience mere minutes earlier. Reaching one arm behind you, you gently grabbed hold of his hip and admitted, "slow.. I'm close.. but I need it slow."

Answering wordlessly at first, he immediately responded, stilling his hips, before continuing at a slower pace. Sliding in and out of you, inch by inch, he could feel your walls begin to flutter, the telltale sign of your approaching orgasm. "Better?"

Moaning, you simply repeated, "better," and you could feel his smile as he pressed his lips to your neck once more.

Bringing your hand back around to the front of your body, you lowered it to your clit once again. This time, rather than his fingers, you could feel his hard length moving in and out, and you felt him shiver as your fingers brushed against him.

As you began to rub gentle circles on your clit yet again, there was no hiding just how close you now were. Your breathing was much heavier, and your walls were beginning to clench tighter, over and over. "Fuck, oh.. right there. Don't stop.." you begged, and before you knew it, you felt pure euphoria wash over you. Pulling your fingers away from your over-sensitive clit, he gave you a couple final thrusts before stilling himself inside you, and letting you ride out your orgasm around his length.

Trailing sloppy kisses across your shoulder and up your neck, he spoke gently, "that's my good girl." His words sent chills throughout your entire system, causing you to shiver and clench around his length yet again.

Although your body had allowed you a second orgasm, it was now telling you that you’d had enough. That became painfully clear when he shifted slightly behind you, causing you to whimper softly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he cooed, placing tender kisses against your shoulder, “I take it we’ve found your limit?”

Almost unable to speak, the remnants of your climax still working their way through you, you simply nodded and hummed a quiet, “mhmm..” Breathing deep, you could feel every tiny movement of him still between your walls. With his tender kisses against your skin, you suddenly came to the realization that he hadn't reached his own climax yet.

Before you could say anything, he was pulling himself out of you gently, and turning you around to face him. You parted your lips to speak, but he captured your mouth with his own before any sound could escape. Giving into his kiss momentarily, you hummed against his lips, before pulling back to look him in the eyes. “Aaron..”

“Shhh, shhh,” he interrupted, knowing exactly where your mind was at, “it’s okay.”

Shaking your head lightly, you couldn’t let this end without him being fully satisfied as well. “No.. no, you didn’t..”

“Hey, look at me,” he placed a finger under your chin, lifting your head to look at him, “it’s okay.”

Looking down at you, he could see the confusion and admiration fighting against each other on your face. You almost couldn’t understand how someone could be so close to reaching that tipping point, and be able to shut it off so fast. But the other side of you understood completely. You knew he’d been through countless things in his lifetime that tested his endurance, and his ability to push his own feelings aside and focus on the needs of others.

But just because he was ‘okay’ with things ending like this, that didn’t mean you were. You couldn’t leave him hard and needy, when you had the means to give him what you both knew he was craving.

As all of this was running through your mind, he had taken your silence as acceptance. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he cupped your face in his hand and ran his thumb against your cheek lovingly, before turning to face the water.

With his back to you, he wrapped his hand around his length under the water, washing away the evidence of your climax mixed with those same streaks of red.

Taking a step towards him, you placed your hands on his shoulders, and slowly trailed them down the side of his arms. Leaning forward, you placed a tender kiss between his shoulder blades. Once your hands reached his, you tucked your arms under his, continuing with the soft trail of your palms against his skin.

“Sweetheart..” he mumbled, “..you don’t..” his breath caught in his throat as one of your hands replaced his own, “..have to..”

You began by slowly moving your hand along his length, “I want to.”

He groaned at your admission. Aaron was much more of a giver than receiver. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the times you spent focused on him and his pleasure, but he didn’t expect it from you. He was perfectly happy making sure you were taken care of. He would never outright ask you to do anything, but if he knew you truly wanted to do it, nothing got him going faster.

As you continued stroking him, up and down, over and over, you slid your other hand around his waist to rest on his lower abdomen. Feeling the muscles in his stomach tensing with every movement of your hand made pride well in your chest; you loved knowing you were the only person he trusted to make him come undone like this.

You trailed more kisses along his back, from one shoulder to the other, and you felt his body sigh. As his arms relaxed at his sides, and his head tipped back slightly, you took advantage of it and trailed those same soft kisses up his neck and right under his ear. You admitted in a quiet whisper, “I love you Aaron. Thank you for being so gentle with me.”

Now it was his turn to be left speechless, the feeling of your soft skin running along his throbbing erection getting the best of him. All he could manage was a deep moan, one that reached the deepest parts of you, and you could tell he was close. Kissing his neck once more, you asked sensually, “are you going to cum for me?”

A deep moan rumbled in his chest again, as he brought one of his hands up to the front of his body. Placing it gently overtop of your hand that was laying flat against his stomach, he curled his fingers between yours and squeezed; his way of saying ‘yes’.

Smiling to yourself, you kept up with those same motions, up and down, over and over, every once in a while stopping at his tip and twisting your fist around the sensitive skin. You could hear his breathing getting heavier, as his grip on your hand tightened even more.

With a few final strokes of your hand, he let out a strangled, “fuck..” as you felt him begin to twitch in your hand.

One thing you’d learned about him over the time you’d been together, is that he was a sucker for overstimulation. It always left him a whimpering mess in your hand, or mouth, and he’d never asked you to stop, so you always made a point of pushing him that little bit farther past his tipping point.

As you felt the long ropes of cum dripping from his tip, you gathered some in your palm and used it to slide your hand back down his length, and back up again. Stopping at the top, you used your thumb to swirl the last of his release around the tip, and you felt his entire body shudder. The groan that left his lips told you that he’d finally reached the point of enough, so you pulled your hand off of him.

Giving him some time to compose himself, you slipped your hand under the running water, allowing the warmth wash away his release. You repeated your trail of kisses along his back from one shoulder to the other; his hand still holding yours tight. Once you finally heard his breathing slow, he turned around in your arms, and pulled you close.

Kissing your forehead tenderly, he rested his chin on the top of your head as you nuzzled into his chest. With your hands running up and down his back, and his hands around your shoulders, he finally responded to your remarks from earlier, “I love you too, my sweet girl. Thank you for trusting me.”

Pulling back slightly, you looked up at him, a loving smile spread across your face. “Always.”

He couldn’t help the smile that graced his lips as well, as he leaned in to capture your lips with his once more.

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x-amount-verbs · 1 year

Text

A Helping Hand - Part 30

[start here] || Part 29 || Part 30 || Part 31

[silco x f!reader] [3.4k words] [no y/n] [during timeskip] [touch-starved reader] [henchwoman!reader] [rated M] [discussion of ptsd] [🙃]

(posting early enough that y’all should have time to read before New Years ^^)

AO3 Link

“Where’s Jinx?” You’re babbling, just to fill the air, as Sevika escorts you to The Last Drop. By now your clothes have been dried, though you’d grimaced at the mess made of your kit. You’ll just have to buy some new gear, that’s all. An expense you’d rather not deal with, but that’s what you get for unintentionally making pastry soup in your waist pack.

“I assume somewhere at the Drop,” Sevika says wryly. “That’s the benefit of early morning asset retrieval: no babysitting duty.” Asset retrieval. Right.

A valid sentiment from her, you suppose, but there’s a hint of anxiety gnawing away in your stomach. You both want to see the kid and dread her finding out what you’ve done. You dread Silco’s response to your behavior. It’s frustrating, and embarrassing, when your mind just hijacked your body and acted completely out of line. Scary, too, if you look at it too closely. The idea that it could happen again, that you’ll lose time, lose control, lose yourself like that… not the most promising prospect.

It could be a blessing or a curse that you won’t have to dread Silco’s reaction much longer, entering the bar.

“Wait here. Gotta report.”

You settle into the same booth you had that drunken night, glancing up at the floor above, to the shadows that hide the door to Silco’s office, as Sevika trudges to go give him the rundown.

What will she say? The girl is crazy. No; she made a mistake. You cringe. She doesn’t owe you that courtesy, and it would be a lie. She lost control and shot a kid. That’s the accurate one. Accidentally. No; without realizing what she was doing. And that’s the worst part, isn’t it?

Teeth pinch at your lip, fingers fidgeting with the rumpled sleeve of your freshly-dried shirt. Before you know it, you’re back to the calming pattern of wedging your thumb nail between the plates of your prosthetic sleeve, tracing up and down your forearm, plucking at hard thin edges. Just enough to tug at your nail bed, just enough to hurt.

Waiting is its own special torture. You can’t stop remembering the last time you were here. The sting, the burn, the ecstasy…

Cheeks flame, throat feeling constricted as you fend off memories of his hands.

You had bruises after that. Nothing horrible, but a subtle ache that brought the memory to mind if you sat on the edge of a seat, or leaned against anything that pressed into a mark. Not a bad pain by any means, but a bittersweet one. More bitter than sweet, all things considered. The regular shimmer taken for your arm made the pain and marks fade quick, but you may have spent a night admiring them. Wanting more.

You’re such a goddamned sucker. Wanting him so much, when you know better.

The brief flutter of hope in your chest as Sevika reappears gets squashed by your own hand as soon as you notice it. If he doesn’t care, you can’t either.

…Fuck, you should know better.

Her walk down the stairs is silent, and you can’t tell if the slight furrow of her brow and thin press of her lips is irritation, confusion, or - knowing Sevika - irritation that she’s confused. There’s not quite enough on her face to read, or maybe she’s not feeling anything strongly enough to show.

Or maybe you’re paranoid and trying to see something that isn’t there.

“…Head on up. He’s waiting.”

He’s waiting. Your mouth goes dry, anxiety gnawing like a mouse on a wire at the base of your skull. Every worst-case-scenario flips through your mind before you shove that list out of your mind and opt to just stop thinking entirely as you walk upstairs to his office door.

A knock.

“Enter.”

How does one word now carry so much promise?

You try to hide your tells, but can’t help the hard swallow after struggling to breathe past the nervous lump in your throat. Hopefully you don’t start choking. That wouldn’t exactly prove your stability. Is proving your stability even possible?

The chair is back. Cheeks flame as everything that had happened in its absence plays on quintuple speed in your head. Palms— then elbows— then your whole burning face pressed to the desk, the desperate need that had snapped inside you. And how he’d satiated that need. The hand on your back as he thrust gloved fingers into you, the presence of him, rocking against you in tiny sinful movements.

You almost feel lightheaded, remembering. Blinks come more rapidly than usual, trying to push the image out of your mind.

Silco isn’t looking at you. Instead, a long finger taps delicately at a paper set before him. It almost feels like mercy, for him to be focused elsewhere. As soon as his eyes start to rise, you panic and drop your gaze to his collar. That tie, a perfect symbol of professionalism and discipline.

Discipline. Oh gods, wrong word.

“…You stayed at the gym overnight.”

It’s an observation, not a question, but you still offer your affirmation. “Yes.” He makes no comment about dropping the honorific. This is more serious than that.

“Why.”

For a fraction of a second you meet his gaze, before looking down again. “I don’t know.” It’s almost a whisper, voice feeling so small. The silence isn’t oppressive, but you can’t help the shame welling up around you. It wasn’t what you meant to happen, you didn’t even realize what was going on before you felt the cold shower shock you to your senses.

“Why didn’t you come here?”

…What?

You don’t even think to hide the surprise on your face as you meet that uneven gaze, flicking between the pale sea and the hellfire glow.

It doesn’t feel quite like hellfire. Whatever it is you’re feeling from him, it’s not rage or heat. There’s something reserved about his demeanor. Subdued. Not gentle, but barely a hint of that authoritative grip; a statue unto himself.

“I…” Why hadn't you? Weakly, you shrug a shoulder. “I can’t answer that.” It’s a frank answer. No lie there; if the choice was conscious, it wasn’t one you remember now. In lieu of certainty, you can’t offer an adequate response.

He’s silent for a long moment. Hands in your lap fidget, but it isn’t the heavy expectant silence of some other meetings. You can almost see him carefully tasting his words, deciding how to approach the conversation.

“What happened?”

“Sevika said she was going to tell yo—”

“I’m asking you.”

Something twinges in your gut. You didn’t think his calm could hurt you so much, and you can’t tell why it does. Maybe you expected to be berated and ripped apart for your mistake; this even-footed respect is disorienting. Maybe it hurts because he can’t seem to meet you so evenly in… other matters.

Maybe you don’t think you deserve his patience.

Most likely, it’s some conflicted mess of all three.

“…I didn’t realize what I was doing.” Only barely loud enough to reach him across the desk. When he has no reaction, you swallow and continue. “The kid pointed a gun at me.” Eyes go blank as you try very hard not to remember it, but you can feel your chest tightening. “And I— shot him.” Breath coming faster.

You cross your arms, digging nails into your bicep, pinching hard, drawing awareness away from the rush of shame and fear and memory. Eyes drop to the desk, and you gnaw at the inside of your lip with one quick bite that’s too hard, immediately breaking skin and making you wince. Doesn’t matter, it’s serving its purpose. You blink away the empty, forcing yourself to continue.

“It wasn’t even a real gun,” the hint of disgust that turns your stomach is audible, brow furrowed. “He was a kid, with a paintball gun, and I shot him.”

He says your name quietly, but firm. Pulling your attention, even if the look you raise to him is pained. “The boy is fine. You didn’t kill him.”

Shaking your head, you focus on your lap once more, posture hunched, like you can somehow protect yourself from your own mess of frustration, revulsion, trepidation. “It’s not about killing him— or shooting him, even, it’s—” You choke on it, but soldier on. “I wasn’t there. I was…”

“You were here. Losing your hand.”

Drawing in a breath, you hold it, nodding stiffly. Again, he’s read your mind. You don’t think to wonder how he knows exactly what you were thinking in that moment.

There’s a silence again, and you just want him to take control. Give you something to do, someone to be, something to feel that isn’t this mess roiling inside you.

When it stretches on too long, you finally give in and look.

The mismatched gaze fixed on you is guarded: calculating, measuring you up. You’re wary of what it might mean, after… everything. But he doesn’t seem angry, or pitying, or stern, or any shade of malevolent, really. Not like he’s about to say you’re too unstable to be armed. He’s just… thoughtful.

Finally, he scoots his chair back and stands. Walking to you with measured steps, he offers his hand. Not for the prosthesis, either; skin for skin.

The burn of your ears seems to radiate heat as you look at his open palm. It feels— too close. After the disastrous way things ended the other day— and no glove. No barrier. No added protection of games and roles to fall into.

Just his hand, open for yours.

“What is this about?” You’re trying to ask more questions now, to keep things clear. This can’t be another moment he’ll just walk back later, leaving you once more alone.

Again, your name.

You want to take his hand. Badly.

“Indulge me. Please.”

It’s the please that does it. A wary glance up at him before you take his hand, heat zinging through you at the way he squeezes your palm as he helps you to your feet. Like a silly little girl with a crush, blush seeping across your chest and up your neck. Fixated on the ghost of calluses on his hand against yours, even if your eyes watch his face.

The hint of self-satisfaction in that hidden smirk makes your eyes narrow. Exactly what kind of plan is this?

For a second, you’re about to ask, before you realize he isn’t leading you away, but rather escorting you around to his side of the desk. Dropping your hand to lift the paper he’d been reading and set it in the corner of this desk. Clearing the center.

Your eyes linger on the empty space, recalling the last time his desk had been cleared.

Silco pulls the chair back, creating a gap plenty big enough for you. He gestures to the surface. “Sit.”

Warily, you hesitate. You said no more games, and this feels like it might be one— but part of you still wants to play. Or at least see what it is.

…You can call it off, if you need to. That’s your decision: see what he wants, and call it off if necessary. With that decided, you take the offered seat.

It’s a strange place, perched on his desk. Too many bad ideas flicker through your head as you settle, even as you beat them back into their hidden places again. (The things you’ve thought about doing on this desk— particularly after last week…)

“Comfortable?” Silco asks, standing with one hand on the back of his chair as he waits for an answer.

You shrug a shoulder, noncommittally.

A raised brow prompts a more satisfactory answer.

“Seems so.” …Okay, maybe you haven’t completely given up making things difficult.

There’s a twitch to his lips, that hidden smirk that flicks a thrum in your chest. In one smooth move, he’s seated, and you shift back as he grasps the edge of the desk to roll himself closer, pressing your knees open as he tucks his legs into the space beneath.

Involuntarily, your back arches for him, hips shifting nervously at how open and vulnerable your position feels. Thank fuck you wear pants nearly every day. At least there’s that consolation.

An appreciative glance rakes over your body regardless, sending heat straight to your core, though the position you’re in prevents you from properly relieving any of that newfound tension. Instead, the instinct to close your legs just presses them against his hands, earning you a knowing look that makes your face flush and eyelids feel heavy.

His eyes drop to your knees, and one hand flattens, his pinky brushing your inner thigh before he seems to think better of it and pulls away.

Once again you struggle to fend off thoughts of his hands roaming your body.

The clear eye closes, a slow intake of breath one of the most transparent tells you’ve ever seen from Silco. Trying to refocus, but on what?

He wheels back just enough to reach for his desk drawer. Suspicion pricks behind your ear, trying to recall anything you've ever seen him pull from the desk, and what drawer they were located in. You’re ticking through options that all feel too much too quickly when he pulls out the odd syringe you’d seen him use with Jinx. There’s a click as he locks one piece into place, then a soft tk tk of his finger flicking the barrel.

As neutral as you try to keep your face, there’s a certain confused notch between your brows. You can’t help but stare at the device, trying to determine how it works, before glancing to Silco’s face again.

There’s a very slight smile on his lips, but it’s more like a grimace. This isn’t something he looks forward to using, obviously. Fair: it looks painful.

The chair rolls between your legs again, and Silco leans back, gesturing with the device. “Like this.” He holds it well above the intended target, making sure to emphasize where the hand holds and where the fulcrum is on the lever, how low you can choke your grip while still being able to activate it. Squeezing the grip makes a click that reminds you of the injector you use for painkillers, and similarly a needle (even if this is much longer) stings out from the canister, a dose of cool-toned shimmer delivered into the air above his cheek rather than his eye.

Silco wipes the liquid from his skin with his other hand, not bothering to find a handkerchief. “Is that clear?”

“You… you want me to-”

He nods, already offering the syringe. When you don’t immediately take it, he pulls your wrist to him to place it there.

You jump at the contact. Anxiety makes your prosthesis tingle, hyper aware of what you should be feeling where his fingers touch you.

“…You’re sure you want-”

The firm way he says your name brokers no argument. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t believe you were capable.”

It shouldn’t steal your breath the way it does. He’d said it to Jinx, when she held his medicine in her hands. I trust you. That’s what this means. More than any I’m sorry, or I was wrong: this is an apology, and so much more.

He pulls the chair even closer, fully invading your space well before he leans back at an angle, watching you with an even stare, hands on the armrests. Ready. Prepared. Trusting.

Your ribs feel crushed, but you try to keep your hands as steady as possible.

“Take a breath,” he advises, voice low. You love that voice, when he speaks for an audience of one. “When you’re ready.”

A breath. Another.

You lean into his space, fully willing to complete the task, but unsure where to place your good hand to brace yourself.

Slim fingers take a gentle hold of your wrist, directing your fingers into his hairline, palm gently pressed against his forehead. The grip on your wrist is enough, but that brief combing hair between your fingers… Heat rushes through you at the contact, and right behind it a thin sparking wire of hurt, remembering the last time you got so close, and how he’d so quickly rejected you, striking right at your weakest points.

And now here he is. Baring his weakness to you, offering you a tool that can strike just as hard.

You look away from your task, examining his face, your own troubled.

“It’s okay.” His reassurance warms the air.

That thing fluttering in your chest won’t shut up. To silence it, you resolutely focus on the assignment, determined to do it right and not hurt him.

Lined up, eye socket in the cradle of the device. Hold your breath.

Click.

Instinctively the hand on his forehead drops to his shoulder, steadying him as he lurches forward, a grimace warping his features. You drop the device back on the desk and quickly steady his head again with the prosthesis. No sorry comes from your lips, because you already knew this would happen— you knew this is supposed to happen, even if seeing him in pain wrenches at your gut.

A trickle of shimmer leaks from the bad eye, and you swipe it away with a ceramic thumb—

A tiny noise of surprise catches in your throat.

Again, you swipe your thumb over the scarred skin. Then your other fingers. The tingling is brief, and settles, but you still feel warmth. You still—

Breath hitches, throat constricting, and you do it again.

You cup his cheek and run the thumb up the valleys of scars, barely brushing against skin. Softer than you’ve been able to achieve until now. Because now…

Tears spring to your eyes, fingers fanning across the scarred half of his face, breath uneven.

“I—” You can’t even find words.

For the first time in over a month, you have a hand again.

Every little divot, every puckered edge of old wounds, the heat of his cheek, the minuscule hairs on those areas left untouched— you feel it all.

There’s no attempt to hide the overwhelming flood that seizes you in its grip. Wonder and relief and bittersweet pain that you’d missed it for so long, all playing out across your face, inches from his. You still stare at his scars, at the ceramic fingers tracing along them— your fingers, finally feeling a part of you.

Flesh hand digs into his shoulder, excitement making you shift on your perch, push closer, reveling in the sensation.

It’s clear this is connected to the shimmer, because not every inch has gained feeling, just the textured finger pads that brushed the medication from his cheek. Realization clicks that that’s why your wrist tingled as well, once he took it with shimmer-touched fingers. Whatever mix he has, whatever specialized formula is in that syringe, that’s the key. Part of you wants to drench the hand in that mix, but you don’t want to let go.

A delicate touch follows the ashen curve beneath his eye, the half-missing eyebrow, then up along one deep scar to finger the start of the distinct light streak in his hair. A short breath breaks from lips parted with amazement at the fine texture freshly available to those fingers. Drawing down the scars again. Back up, in a slow lazy pattern.

Down, up, mapping his fault lines. Worshipping his injuries with your own.

It’s only his sigh of breath that makes you zoom out, to see more than just your fingers caressing skin. His good eye is closed, though there’s a small touch of concern pulling his brows together, just slightly. Lips are tight but not distressed exactly...

Again, it’s an expression you know.

Want.

Need for more, and a refusal to act on that need.

—At least, assuming you’re reading him correctly.

The thing in your chest beats against your rib cage frantically, heart speeding as you consider the choice you’re halfway done making.

Fingers cup his cheek. Ceramic thumb follows those lines again, down to the point where they meet his lip. It brushes across the skin there, running back and forth over lips far softer than you expected, marveling at every little ridge you can feel, how you can suddenly feel his breath hitting skin that no longer exists.

Maybe you didn’t consider this decision at all, because not a single consequence has cemented itself in your mind. Your body acts on its own, bending to close the distance between you. Hardly a fraction of a second of hesitation.

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth, to the spot where the scars end, still cupping his face with your ceramic hand. A kiss without kissing.

—

[Happy new year! Feels about time we get some real intimacy y’know? 😏

Anyway, I originally intended to post this Christmas Eve, but then I got in a car crash on the 16th (I’m fine, my car isn’t) and had to deal with all that while my parents were out of town, an underwhelming holiday, followed by a 12-to-24 hour stomach bug the day after getting back to my apartment. Overall, a bit of a mess for the holidays 🥲 Thanks go out to anyone who helped me shoulder the cost of all of that, it really did add up when it comes to the ridiculous price of a cross-state-lines car rental. And also, though they’ll never read this, thanks to my fellow Jewish families that I can rely on to feed me when I’m left alone on Christmas Eve/day 😅 Honestly, I was super lucky to have the friends and family I have, it made all of this mess bearable.

ANYWAY.

I only have like 85-90% of the next chapter written, and I want to find some way to bring it to at least somewhat of a conclusion, since I haven’t been able to write for shit lately, but want to give some degree of closure for loyal readers. We’ll see what I can manage, I guess! But the original intention of posting 29-31 before the end of the year… welp. That apparently isn’t going to happen >< Holiday complications were unexpected. Regardless, I have to do the regular plugs and requests, so; if you liked this chapter, let me know! Comments, reblogs, responses on the ao3 post, etc— and if you want to find more content (reverse POVs you may have missed, art you may not have seen (new art coming soon!), fics from friends, etc) you can find all of that on the story’s masterpost here on tumblr. If you want to be tagged in the next (and potentially last?) chapter of this fic, just comment on this linked post to join the tag list.

I love you all so much, it always thrills me to see people’s reactions, and this has been a bright spot in the mess of the last couple weeks. ❤️ -verbs]

Tag list: @hawk4president @mello-jello29 @jennrosefx @dad-dumpster @ellhd-imagination @zuckerwattencupcake @meep-moop-mystic @sherwood-forests @ariaud @witxhy-lexx @mazikomo @leave-me-alone-doctor @antoine-tte @wisteria-songs @imalovernotahater @eriseffigy @leorioaki @artificialwords @hehicular-hanslaughter-lecter @ironandglass @ughhhh177 @faraige @ilikemymendarkandfictional @jennithejester @insult-2-injury @iz-zy5 @rinadragomir @queenofspades6 @cuddlejeongin @differentladynerd @leo-the-undead @silcoitus @stepsonsilco @commotionpotion @averagecrastinator @eurydicethesage @mialobo @wierdestmoppet @bumble-bee-17 @sonicbananawithbowtie @venommie @sheisacryptid @cuckconnosieur @yew-over-there @zaunite-leo @im-forgetful @rando-compilation @valkyrie05x

#silco x f!reader #silco x reader #silcoxreader #silco #silco arcane #silco/reader #wip:a helping hand #a helping hand #x-amount-writes #arcane fanfic

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rmd-writes · 11 months

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wip wednesday

thanks for the tags @three-drink-amy @jesuisici33 @carlos-in-glasses @alrightbuckaroo @heartstringsduet @obsessedwithdavrick

here’s something from a fic I’ll be posting this weekend:

“Shit.”

It’s then that TK recalls dropping his earring into the sink a few days ago and his frantic efforts to access the U-bend to retrieve it. When he mentioned the incident to his dad, he’d quipped that TK had better be sure that he’d reattached the pipes correctly or he’d have issues later. If he’s forced to tell his father about this, he’s going to be unbearable, declaring himself to be Nostradamus. He can’t let that happen.

TK wracks his brain trying to think about who might be close by and able to help him right now but draws a blank as he stares at his phone. His gaze focuses on a yellow and black logo. Bingo. It’s worth a shot.

wanna share what you’re working on @welcometololaland @liminalmemories21 @rosedavid @cha-melodius @orchidscript @hippolotamus @maxbegone @sunshinestrand @wordthieve @never-blooms @freneticfloetry? And here’s an open tag for anyone else who wants to share, no matter what day it is 💖

#wip wednesday #rmd writes: ls wip #a helping hand #tarlos #911 lone star

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thesaltybuns · 2 years

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Was commissioned by the lovely @x-amount-verbs to illustrate her reader OC Ivy from her salacious Silco x OC fic A Helping Hand. If you relish anticipation, characters with lots of substance, and crime dads with domineering dispositions then look no further bc this is the fic for you!

(you should also check out this extra fluffy piece she wrote about the plant dad Silco I drew while back it's so cute!)

#commission #oc commission #silco x oc #a helping hand #silco fanfic

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kiwiplaetzchen · 5 months

Note

who's Bobby?

Ooh, my my, how long have I waited for someone to ask that glorious question again!

Bobby is everything. Everything you want Bobby to be.

In a way, you could say Bobby is inside you. Bobby is inside all of us. At the same time. Bobby is flexy.

Bobby will show you the way.

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dad-dumpster · 2 years

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A Helping Hand!reader apologizing, inspired by this chapter https://x-amount-verbs.tumblr.com/post/683808658533105664/a-helping-hand-part-11

by @x-amount-verbs go check it out its litraly my obsession atm!! i had to lie down after reading the latest ch★彡

#i did a few diff hair styles so yall can ★彡self insert★彡 #give me sime other hair styles and ill add them too #this chapter altered brain chemistry #i want to know whats goin on in that rat bastards brain #silco #Whats For Dinner?#arcane #arcane silco #silco x reader #a helping hand #my art

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perksofbeingpoet · 2 months

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pov you accidentally flirt with your partner in crime (you're not referring to sex, you're referring to last night where you had to order him through stitching his stab wound)

#spies are forever #curtwen #saf fanfic #a helping hand

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darkimaginativeplace · 19 hours

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Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Itadori Yuuji/Everyone, Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji, Itadori Yuuji/Kugisaki Nobara, (implied) Kugisaki Nobara/Zenin Maki, Itadori Yuuji/Toudou Aoi, Itadori Yuuji/Miwa Kasumi, Itadori Yuuji/Zenin Mai, Itadori Yuuji/Kamo Noritoshi, Itadori Yuuji/Nishimiya Momo, (many of these are a 'not really' kind of deal) Characters: Itadori Yuuji, Sukuna | Ryoumen Sukuna, Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Megumi, Kugisaki Nobara, Toudou Aoi (Jujutsu Kaisen), Kamo Noritoshi, Zenin Maki, Zenin Mai, Miwa Kasumi, Ijichi Kiyotaka, Nishimiya Momo, Panda (Jujutsu Kaisen), Muta Kokichi | Mechamaru, Inumaki Toge Additional Tags: Aged-Up Character(s), everyone is of legal age, (almost) everyone has a little crush on Yuuji, yuuji is stupid, this whole thing is stupid, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Sukuna | Ryoumen Sukuna is a Little Shit, Sukuna | Ryoumen Sukuna is So Done, not ace not sex-repulsed but a secret third thing (an a-hole), sex comedy, Comedy, Hand Jobs, Praise Kink, Fushiguro Megumi Loves Itadori Yuuji, (if you squint), Itadori Yuuji is a dumbass, Cockblocking, Masturbation Interruptus, Blue Balls, many blue balls, threats of genital mutilation, itadori yuuji is bi, Itadori Yuuji can't catch a break, Sexual Frustration, unbetaed we die like... someone, Massage, Prostate Massage, Frottage, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Butt Plugs, (minor) rimming, Size Kink, (minor) belly kink, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play

Summary: Sukuna decides to torture Yuuji in the pettiest way he can think of: by not letting him jerk off in peace.

(art credits to @bornfreakdraws aka me)

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insult-2-injury · 2 years

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Taking the Shot

A gift for the lovely @x-amount-verbs- a massive, 6.5K smutty one-shot inspired by her brilliant story, A Helping Hand. (If you're not reading it, I don't know what you're doing). Big thanks to her for allowing me to put her OC, Ivy, into some very compromising positions.

[Silco x f!oc (using helping hand reader/OC)] [6.5K WC] [NSFW MDNI] [gun range setting] [Mirror Sex] [Fingering] [Facefucking] [Praise Kink] [Manhandling] [dom silco] [Lots of teasing] [Dirty talk] [Fluff at the end]

Note: gun target practice, no gun violence, no gunplay

Bang.

The gun recoiled in her hand.

An almost deranged smile stretched from where she’d bitten down on the center of her plump lips, joy rampaging through her chest like a wildfire as she hit her target dead center. An almost painful relief. Such a delicious welcome from the depression, the feelings of uselessness that had tightened their iron grip around her heart like a vise since the accident.

She could still do this.

Could still close her eyes and feel those subtle vibrations in the air, shifting like the plucks of tiny harp strings, carrying her bullet forward and straight into the heart of her victim. Which, in this case, was the top of a soup can, painted crudely in a neon green.

She was in a run down, abandoned textile warehouse on the outskirts of Zaun. The roof had caved in a long time ago. Decrepit place. Standing mirrors, dusty furniture, piles of unused fabrics were scattered haphazardly.

But Jinx had helped fix this movable target practice up, the funny little mastermind. She smiled to herself, thinking about the way the girl had sat there comically with a blowtorch and giant goggles, grinning ear to ear.

She’d hesitated when Jinx had proposed the idea. Had thought maybe this was too big of a step and too quickly. Mostly worried about her own self-doubts. Whether she would cripple when she found out she wasn’t that same talented sharpshooter as before.

But no. No. She was still good. Hadn’t lost a lick of that talent.

She revved up the machine again, transferred the gun to her prosthesis, closed one eye and watched the little targets rise, whir past. Adjusted her grip until she got that feeling.

And making quick work of it, she hit three more consecutively, something devilish about the way her stomach flipped and her lips curled.

“Impressive.”

She choked on a gasp, body stiffening. She would be able to recognize that crooning voice out of a line-up of hundreds. Thousands. How could she not when the sound had utterly consumed her thoughts as of late.

Like a rocket ship seconds before liftoff, her heart rate picked up to a swift patter before she even turned.

How long had he been standing there?

Silco was supposed to be out for the day on shimmer business. No therapy, no planned contact. She’d already mourned over the minor loss, for Janna’s sake. Something oddly indignant had her lips forming a thin line and, clutching the gun with a suddenly damp hand, she spun around finally.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she stuttered, feeling immediately stupid.

Silco’s lithe form leaned against the splintered door frame, hands in his pockets, something she’d come to recognize as dark amusement glittering in his eyes. He must have just returned from a business engagement because he was wearing that damned coat.

His gaze dropped sharply to her prosthesis.

“On the contrary, my dear.” Silco’s eyes flicked back up to hers. “I go wherever I please.”

He shouldn’t be out alone, without protection. No, she disciplined herself, not for the first time. He could take care of himself. She knew that.

“Jinx helped me set this up,” she offered, at a loss for words.

“She is who directed me here,” he said, brow quirking as he peeled from the door frame, beginning a slow saunter toward her. “And curiosity, I suppose.”

Oh, he was wearing gloves, she noticed right away, a blush beginning a heated track across her cheeks. She tried not to let her shameful gaze wander as she fought off every instinct to take a step back for each one of his forwards.

Because this wasn’t his office. This was entirely new territory.

“About?” she asked lightly, turning from his approaching form, lest he spot something in her expression that he shouldn’t.

It was supposed to be a surprise, she thought, that she’d taken to practicing. Well, with her gun, of course. She wanted to pout. She wasn’t a child, she didn’t need to perform tricks for the man.

But she wanted to, didn’t she? Wanted to impress him. Hated that she ached for that praise.

“Your progress, of course.”

She nodded, swallowing down the sudden dryness in her throat as he inspected the area, eyeing the crudely made moving targets, dragging two sinful fingers across the surface of a nearby table until he came to a halt in front of a gold-plated, full-length mirror, contemplating.

There was something… excitable about him tonight, a feverish energy prickling the air around him like a live wire.

Hm.

“Your meeting go well?”

Silco’s head canted just enough for her to see the slow, evil curl of his lips from the shadows.

“More than well.”

His crimson eye sharply tracked the movement of her violent shudder from over his shoulder before he turned on his heels, making his way back.

She couldn’t feign indifference anymore when his boots stopped inches away, looming over her.

Silco’s voice was soft, but the glint in his eye was a knowing one.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been practicing?”

She peered up from under her lashes and shrugged. Elected, instead, to stare intently at the silk tie that cinched his thin neck.

“I was planning on it.”

“Were you?” he asked, studying her a moment before stepping back, arms gesturing wide, flippant. “Demonstrate.”

Demonstrate… again?

She stared, unnerved. It was a pretty simple request, really, and it wasn’t as if it were the first time she’d been asked to perform for him. It was just different somehow,when these strange new boundaries seemed to be evolving, mutating by the second.

“Show me,” he repeated, eyes steady on hers, brooking no room for argument.

She turned to the whirring machine, a single target remaining. Her body felt alight with jitters, tremendously aware of the way his gaze stripped her down to her center, capturing and devouring her uneasiness like a cat with a mouse tucked beneath its paw.

She had 12 rounds. Nose twitching, she released a cleansing breath and took aim.

“Ivy,” he chided, and she grit her teeth.

They weren’t in his office. This wasn’t therapy.

She felt his searing satisfaction as she begrudgingly switched her gun to her prosthesis.

Closing one eye, she lined up her shot, peripheral vision blurring until the only thing down her sight was the moving target.

Her finger tightened on the trigger and-

She practically leapt out of her skin as something brushed across her back lightly, sending her shot firing upward. Whirling, she found Silco on her other side now, feet away, looking entirely unapologetic, fixing his glove.

“So sorry, do try again.”

She stared, unblinking, something irreparably destabilizing in the light touch of his hand, a cold shudder clanking down her spine.

11 rounds.

She could do this. Silco knew it, too, had been watching her for Janna knows how long before announcing his presence.

She squeezed her eyes shut, breathed, adjusted her stance.

And shuddered. It never worked. Never. Whenever she had to try. No, she had to feel it. But all she could feel right now was that paralyzing gaze, much too close as it darted across the angles of her profile.

Squinting in concentration, her shot fired out, skimming just outside the little target.

10 rounds.

“Try again,” he commanded harshly from her side.

She bit her lip, took a deep, quaky breath, trying to dispel the odd tremble in her limbs, the slow, crawling heat that was blooming softly in her belly. She raised the gun once more.

And missed.

She’d just done it. He’d seen.

9 rounds.

“You’re rushing. Again.”

Her throat constricted.

Was that excitement in his tone?

Another miss.

8 rounds.

“Again.”

She lowered the gun limply to her side, glaring pointedly ahead.

“I can’t,” she muttered, thoroughly humiliated.

“Oh, come now. Don’t be like that.”

And again, there was something… volatile in the chime of his voice. Like he was playing with her.

He stepped forward, tapping her bicep.

“Up.”

She jolted at the contact and with an almost embarrassing speed, did just as he asked, heating blooming across her cheeks at her unconscious submission.

With a low, approving hum at her side, he altered her grip on the gun, scarcely touching her, the hem of his coat brushing ghostlike across the backs of her knees.

Heart clattering like a tin can, eyes squeezed shut to try and lessen the quivering in her limbs from his proximity alone, she waited for him to release her wrist. But he didn’t, instead dragging his firm grip upward to rest on her elbow.

“There you are,” he said breezily, “Now, try again.”

The shot rang out.

Went completely stray, wood shattering somewhere in the recesses of the room.

7 rounds.

“It wasn’t but five minutes ago you were hitting every one.”

She let out a stuttering gasp when his arm progressed upward to wrap almost painfully tight around her upper arm.

“I wonder what it is that has Ivy so unsettled.”

Silco was hardly touching her. And she was melting, desperately trying to center herself from the crashing wave of almost nauseating desire that swelled from the single point of contact.

“For one, I can see a few improvements to be had,” he tsked, “One being your stance. Too stiff.” A booted foot wedged between her legs, kicked out her back foot, bringing his heat that much closer to her wobbling form.

Breath lightly caressed the shell of her ear, tone holding a cunning note of underhanded bemusement.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been practicing?”

Because she wanted to impress him.

“Hm?” he prompted after a prolonged silence.

“I wanted to get back into shooting,” she exhaled, “That’s all.”

A rumble of disapproval hummed through his chest.

“Try again,” he commanded.

And she carried out his orders, how could she not? Squeezed the trigger, hardly aiming anymore, the shot once again going wide.

6 rounds.

A hand lightly grazed up her side, paused, almost in permission, and she found herself leaning back on her heels just slightly, searching for the heated planes of his stomach. Finding empty air, his body circumventing hers, always withholding.

His movement resumed as her breathing hitched, his knuckles just barely brushing the outside curve of her breast before traveling back down, fingers bracing almost tenderly around the soft skin just above her hip bone.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been practicing?” he asked again, voice lethally quiet.

“I wanted-“

She stopped. It was too much, too humiliating. Because he was just going to mock her, step away and she’d have to go home, suffer the lonely consequences.

But then his nose brushed the curve of her ear, tracing the shell. And one of her knees buckled as she choked out a telling gasp. His palm slid around to her abdomen, splayed there, not so much bracing her up as just resting lightly, taunting.

“What is it? What did you want?”

She grimaced, couldn’t help the way her head drooped in embarrassment. Her voice was small, weak. Just like her subsequent words.

“I wanted you to be proud.”

Silco’s dark chuckle in her ear was practically a purr, sent a flurry of tremors racing down her stiffening spine.

“Did you?” His pinky moved a fraction, brushing just slightly across the top of her waistband. Her knees locked, nails latching onto the wrist of his offending hand. “And do you think I’m proud of you?”

Her lips thinned and she turned her glare away from his line of sight,

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, humiliation scorching like a wildfire across her cheekbones.

“Allow me to rephrase. Do you need more attention?”

All she could manage was a quick, indecipherable jerk of her head.

“Your words,” he commanded.

Another rough swipe of his pinky across her navel and she squeaked, pressing desperately backward, trying to escape the hot shock of desire that accompanied the miniscule motion and only managing to entangle herself further into him.

She let out a string of garbled nothings.

“What was that?” he taunted, nose grazing her temple. “Is it my attention you want?”

The gloved hand gripping her bicep traveled upward slowly, across the gentle curve of her shoulder, up the slope of her neck and into her raven hair, where it expertly massaged her scalp. She vibrated against him like an overheating engine, breathing shallow and head clouding with a heady lust.

“Yes,”she panted, eyes closing at the sensation. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he crooned, exhaling a quiet laugh as she clenched her thighs together, the words traveling lightning quick to the pooling wetness between them. Just as he knew they would.

And she’d just begun to relax into the gentleness, into something almost resembling a lover’s embrace, when his hand fisted roughly in her hair, yanking back until she had to arch her back to accommodate. Her hoarse cry echoed obscenely across the empty warehouse.

Silco’s words were ragged, hissed into her cheekbones, his knife-bladed nose pressed tightly against her hairline from where her head now lay across his shoulder.

“Have you considered, Ivy, the implications of holding my attention?”

Of course she had.

“Y-yes.”

And he tightened his fist further. The unoccupied gloved fingers dipped just beneath the hem of her pants, sitting there unmoving, and she bucked in his grip, eyes blurring with a heady mix of pain and pleasure.

“Make the shot.”

Her jaw slackened when he responded to her hesitation with an agonizing tug, the nails of her flesh hand digging red crescents into his forearm.

No, came a stubborn little voice inside her head.

But Janna, she wanted to hit that moving target for him. And she hated that she did.

“Hit the target, Ivy.”

Perhaps, she thought, a compromise.

With a frustrated cry, she locked her arm, fixed her sights elsewhere, finger pulsing like mad against the gun trigger until she’d unleashed all 6 rounds, the empty chamber clicking furiously several times before she finally relented on it.

Her arm dropped limply to her side.

And what followed was the purest form of silence, with only the weighted sounds of their oxygen intertwining as they both stared at a now busted dress mannequin with six perfect bullet holes in its chest.

See? She was fully capable.

She listened, with a subtle, growing anxiety, to Silco’s increasingly ragged breath fanning across her cheek, his fingers having loosened in her hair.

Had she messed this up?

She turned, painfully slow, afraid of what she might find, of the devastating, smirking outcome. But as the tip of her nose brushed his, she found it was the lack of humor that terrified her the most: a crazed intensity there that nearly consumed the beautiful teal of his right eye.

“Sir?”

He attacked. Hauled her wriggling form backward like she weighed nothing at all.

“Oh, you,” he snarled into her ear, “That wasn’t what I asked for at all, was it?”

She clung onto him for dear life.

“Complying just enough to strike innocent.”

She was propped up dazedly in front of the stand-up mirror, feeling very much like the ruined, lead-filled mannequin lying prone behind them.

“But do you want to know what I think?”

A gloved hand wrapped the front of her throat, pressing just enough to make her dizzy, the other traveling up the muscled planes of her abdomen.

“I think you tremble when I’m near,” he spat, emphasizing with a brush of his thumb across the fluttering pulse of her neck, pulling a pathetic whine from her.

It was near impossible to comprehend the mirror’s reflection, Silco’s chin resting on her shoulder, his calculating, frenzied eyes holding hers in a perilous deadlock.

“I want you to see yourself, Ivy, just how desperate you really are.”

As if on a mission to prove his point, she pressed backward dazedly, seeking out his heat through the small gap between their bodies.

She couldn’t be the only one.

She reached behind, trailing up Silco’s thigh.

And cried out in fresh pain as the roaming fingers on her stomach shot upward, locating and twisting her nipple hard through her t-shirt, serrated nose driving into her temple as he harshly reprimanded.

“When did I say you could touch?”

She entrenched her claws hopelessly into the smooth skin of Silco’s forearm, as if he had her dangled over an active volcano. Fingers dipped beneath her waistband, thumb brushing teasing strokes across the sensitive inner junction where thigh met groin. Each narrow pass of his digit left her trembling, just as he’d said, the pulsing between her legs fringing on painful.

She protested. “Why don’t I get to tou-“

Silco squeezed her windpipe, lips quirking villainously in the mirror as he choked the span of two breaths, her back bowing mechanically, backside grinding backward into an impressive erection.

“You’ll get your chance,” he said, “So long as you beg for it.”

Ivy was never one to sulk. She took life’s abuse with a hard glint in her eye, with her jaw clenched firmly against the storm. Therefore, the fact that the man was able to elicit such a quivering pout out of her was alarming to say the least.

Spotting her growing petulance, his thumb swiped once, hard, across her clit. A throaty cry cracked through the air as her knees buckled, head thrown back against his shoulder, resting on the wide lapel of his coat.

Panting, she desperately tried to paddle back to shore through the crashing onslaught of blood rushing through her now ringing ears, hardly catching Silco’s theatrical sigh through the haze.

Silco’s breath tickled the exposed column of her throat as the fingers around her throat dipped into the V of her shirt.

“I’m undecided as to what to do with you, Ivy,” he crooned. “Such a good girl for practicing on your own.”

Something delightful and warm snaked through her chest at the praise.

“But to keep such progress from me?”

“I’m s-sorry,” she rasped, voice tight.

“Oh, I know you are.”

Silco pinched a nipple between two fingers, paired it with another hard swipe across her clit, wrenching another moan from her throat.

“Look at yourself.”

Hesitantly, she cracked her eyes open, peering dazedly at the salacious scene.

Silco hunched, one hand lazily massaging her breasts, the other one down her pants. Her cheeks ruddy, chest heaving with fruitless gasps as she clung to him like a cat on a high branch. And he lay in wait below, arms splayed, a gold and crimson-tinted thorn bush.

“All I need you to do, Ivy, is beg.”

She knew he’d spotted it, that emblematic precipice she stood on. It reflected plain as day in her lust-filled eyes, how he’d won her subservience.

Something victorious and equally vicious quirked his lips into a devilish smirk.

She would beg. She would do it. But she was dragging him down with her.

And he did falter just the slightest when her nose brushed his jagged cheekbone as she turned to ghost her words hotly across the lobe of his ear.

“Please,” her breathlessness entirely genuine, chest heaving against his palm. “I need- I need you to touch me.”

And at the tattered, uneven breath in response, she surrendered, loading the final bullet in the chamber, pressing her damp forehead into the lapel of his coat, sighing into his neck.

“Please, sir. Please, Silco.”

Like a hot stove, she was released suddenly, and there was a long moment where her stomach free fell in anxiety.

Clearing off a nearby table with a ferocious swipe of a single arm, he yanked it in front of her, its legs squealing raucously across the concrete flooring.

With a shocking, cobra-like speed, he had her torso driven into the surface, one hand on her midback, the other going to work on her pants. Dexterously, he unclasped the buttons with a single hand, tearing her pants and underwear down to her ankles in one fell swoop.

Two gloved hands smoothed across the globes of her buttocks, spreading her to the cold air, exposing the wetness she knew full well was glistening on her inner thighs.

She dropped her forehead in a sudden wave of embarrassment and was quickly reprimanded with a tight fist in her hair, his eyes scorching into hers from where they hovered over her head.

“Oh no, you don’t get to look away from this.”

One hand gave her backside a rough thwack and she instantly pushed backward, shamelessly seeking him out.

“Look at you,” he breathed almost reverently.

Silco hardly allowed her the time to feel self-conscious as he released her hair, his now free hand hovering for just a moment in front of her panting mouth before she found herself suddenly invaded, leather fingers pressing inward, exploring the cavern of her mouth, scissoring, shoving slowly across the pad of her tongue until she gagged, eyes watering.

He slipped them out again.

“Bite,” he commanded.

And it took her a few dazed seconds to understand, vision misting. She quickly closed her teeth around the tip of his middle finger, allowing him to tug backward, to free his hand from the glove.

The second it was unencumbered it dove between her legs. Once again, her head thudded onto the table with a vulgar moan, quickly morphing into a whine of despair when his hand disappeared, clapping again at the soft flesh of her backside.

“What did I say?” he reprimanded, and she raised her head obediently.

“Good.”

His fingers danced across the backs of her thigh, kneading softly up to the place he’d just spanked and she bit her lip, hardly caring about the smugness twisting his features, nothing else more important than getting his fingers between her legs again.

“You said you want me to touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Where, exactly?”

Her eyelids fluttered in frustration as Silco’s warm digits danced across her inner thighs, merely outlining her throbbing core.

“Touch m-“ she stuttered, nearly incoherent, “Just touch me.”

“You’ll have to be more specific, dear.”

“Put your fingers inside me,” she snapped, and was rewarded with a third, sharp spank. Another painful fist in her hair.

“So shameless, so ill-mannered.”

But she didn’t miss the way his erection dug into her side approvingly.

“Please, sir” she pleaded.

Silco chuckled darkly, hinging forward from the waist, booted feet on either side of one of her quivering legs, lips tracing the shell of her ear.

“Remember this, Ivy,” he said, voice dangerously soft, as he kicked her insole, successfully widening her stance. “I’m not without mercy.”

And two fingers bee-lined to her clit, performing a quick circle around the sensitive bud. A shattered gasp tore from her throat and she only just managed to catch her head from dropping in pure, sanity-shattering bliss.

Silco dipped his fingers carefully between her wet folds, eyes wild and calculated as he drank in her reactions like a fine wine, chin coming to a rest atop her head.

“You are a needy thing,” he murmured quietly, and she shuddered at the feeling of his jaw working, at how docile she remained, pinned beneath him. “Perhaps I should have paid you better attention.”

He spread the growing slick, wanting her to feel how wet she was for him.

“Alleviated you sooner.”

Silco relented to her whining pleas, pushing two fingers slowly inside her, hooking them in a way that had her jaw dropping in euphoria, a low, satisfied groan puncturing the air, her nails digging into the wood from where her arms framed her head.

“You are under my supervision after all.”

He soon pumped with a third finger, refraining from speech, forcing her to listen to the sounds of her arousal, of just how drenched he’d made her.

Silco’s gloved hand released her hair, forging a lazy trail down the center of her back. The gentleness sent shivers of pleasure through her already quaking form as he stroked across each vertebra until he reached her tailbone.

Bending, arm encircling her hips, leather-covered fingers located her aching bud, and she jerked forward, grinding against the unmoving digits.

He withheld any compassion, instead watching with a predatory head cock as she struggled against him in a desperate bid for friction.

“I suspect this isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself writhing against my glove, is it?”

And her stomach dropped, frenzied, lust-filled eyes connecting with his own in the mirror. It should’ve been shameful, the recognition, and it was certainly there, that twinge of embarrassment. But more than anything, it was a freeing acknowledgment of the tension that had been building over the course of a week and a half.

And she felt oddly fine with him knowing exactly what he did to her.

Her chin squeaked against the surface of the table as she jerked her head back and forth, finally tilting it to the side so she could speak.

“No. It’s not.”

Silco’s expression dripped in a villainous self-satisfaction and he finally moved, dragged another tight circle around her swollen bud, paired it with a particularly deadly hook of his fingers within her, sending her hands clawing forward.

“And would you ever have told me?”

He began a steady rhythm, working her, each pass of the ridged seam of his glove across her clit coinciding with a desperate moan.

Silco repeated the question, she shook her head fervently, unable to speak.

“It seems to me you’ve been awfully withholding,” he crooned, breath fanning across the small of her back, eyes fixed to hers in the reflection. “First your little set-up here, now admitting you’ve been fucking yourself with my glove.”

The sound of the spat curse from his lips had her clenching hard around his fingers, a familiar heat stoking in her lower belly, coiling insidiously slow.

“Perhaps I should stop.”

“No, no, no.”

Voice so tight it was practically a screech, her fingers scrabbled for purchase as the heat continued to build, as the tidal wave quickly approached.

“Hm?”

Any semblance of control she’d had was far gone. All she knew for certain was that he couldn’t. Couldn’t stop. Not when she was this close. So, snatching the string of a single, coherent balloon floating by, she babbled the only word she could come up with, muttered it like a prayer.

“Please, please, please, please.”

“Are you going to cum, Ivy?” he purred into the dampening skin of her lower back.

“Please,” she nearly sobbed, stomach tightening like a pulled back rubber band.

“Then, cum.”

The climax smashed into her devastatingly hard, her back bowing violently as that band snapped.

Mouth opened in a silent cry, brows knitted in ecstasy, she determinedly held his evil, gloating gaze until she couldn’t any longer, that tidal wave of pleasure finally crashing through. The weight of it dragged her forehead to thud against the table as she released a strangled moan, stars bursting across her vision.

He drew it out forever. Fingers hooking in time with each violent, perfect convulsion, thumb still circling her clit slowly.

He eased her gently through, not stopping until she was a shuddering, boneless heap on the table, twitching from the overstimulation.

Hair stuck sweaty to her forehead as she pressed it to the cool wood, breath coming out in short puffs, the post bliss of release tingling across her skin. And she thought, if she could, she’d fall asleep right there.

But a light brush of soft lips to her tailbone brought her dazed thoughts back to the man behind. Who still very much had his long fingers pressed inside her.

She raised her bleary gaze to his.

With a slow deliberateness, he pulled his fingers out of her, and she twitched violently as she was hit with an aftershock, clenching around him, the resulting squelch obscene in the otherwise quiet room. At her low groan, the hard outline of his cock twitched against her outer thigh.

For a man so chatty just thirty seconds ago, he was unnervingly quiet now.

She propped herself up with shaking arms, eyed her prosthesis, tried to force away that surge of familiar, venomous self-doubt.

She crawled up onto the table, ignoring, as best she could, his sizzling gaze as it flicked across the side of her face. Swinging her legs up, she tugged her pants the rest of the way off and pulled her boots off one by one, socks to follow, discarding them on the floor with a dull thud. She took a deep, cleansing breath, despising that he could see her fumbling hesitation, the way her eyes kept darting to her hand.

The wetness weeping from her cunt reminded her of what he’d done, how he’d touched her. That he’d wanted to touch her.

She scooted to a kneeling position before him, butt resting on her heels, knees spread slightly, looking down uncertainly.

A gloved hand tipped her chin up, held it there while three curious fingers came to rest at her lips, waiting, and she darted her tongue out, catching the bitter taste of herself. Sucking his fingers greedily into her mouth, she gazed up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Good girl,” he whispered, thumb brushing with uncharacteristic tenderness across a small scar near the crease of her lips before he pulled away.

Fabric rustled as he bent, and two hands were skimming up her hips, stopping at the hem of her t-shirt. She jerkily raised her arms for him to draw it up and over her head.

Until she was entirely bare to him.

Silco swatted at her when she instinctively attempted to cover herself.

“We don’t hide, Ivy.”

She frowned, blinked curiously at his phrasing.

“Be still. Hands atop your thighs,” came the reprimand again as she curled inward. “Let me look at you.”

She could feel his eyes as they slid across her naked form, felt that golden ribbon of arousal curl between her legs once again as he cupped two hands beneath her breasts, thumbs rolling slow, tantalizing circles over her pebbled nipples as she squirmed and whined.

“It’s hard to be the only one without clothes,” she rasped finally.

“Oh,” he paused his ministrations to taunt, “That must be so difficult.”

Only fair to allow her a remedy.

The table creaked beneath as she redistributed her weight, reaching toward that intimidating erection in his pants. And he struck, quick as lightning, seizing both wrists, yanking her toward him, her knees sliding forward until they were flush against his upper thighs, chest thrusting upward in order to lean decidedly away from his face, suddenly so close.

“What did I say about touching, Ivy?”

It was a long moment before his words from minutes ago emerged through the thick fog of lust clouding her mind.

“That I’d get my chance,” she said, “So long as I begged.”

Silco rearranged her wrists into one long-fingered hand, snatching her jaw in the harsh, punishing grip of his other.

“Yet I haven’t heard so much as a please.”

An honest attempt was cut off with a hiss as her teeth scored into her cheeks.

“What’s that?” he murmured, half-lidded eyes dropping to her wet mouth. “If this is what you want, you’re scarcely trying.”

If he let go of her, she would fall. In more ways than one. She was lost. Lost in the familiar, smoky scent of him. Disappearing in the orange swirl of that obsidian eye. And she hardly thought she’d make it out.

“Can I touch you, please?”

His gaze drank her in from up close, eyes darting, and she beat him to it, knew exactly what he was opening his mouth to ask. Where?

“Your cock. I want to touch your cock, sir” she said, words strained from her awkward positioning.

Silco’s teal eye twitched.

“May-may I?” she stammered again in the silence.

A look of genuine, dare she say fond amusement crossed his features before he balanced her, pulled forward until her hands twisted into the stiff fabric of his coat, until their lips were inches away.

“Off the table. On your knees.”

He gave her hardly a body’s worth of space to do so, but the approval ignited a fire under her skin, and she eagerly wedged herself between him and the table, slid down his front until she knelt on the floor below him.

With a flourish, he shoved the table out of the way, giving him full view of her backside in the mirror.

Her flesh hand reached forward tentatively to meet one of the buttons of his pants, eyes falling to the strained fabric at the front.

“Both hands, Ivy,” he said, her name stretched into a soft, breathless exhale as she brushed across his clothed cock, moving to undo his buttons with remarkable speed, despite her quivering form.

She reached for the other side and found her wrist in his stern grip once more.

“I said, both hands.”

In a sudden bout of frustration and shame, her forehead pressed forward against his hip flexor, nose nuzzling inward, his skin twitching as she warmed the fabric there with her hot breath.

How shameful. Couldn’t she be allowed to forget about her disfigurement, her defect, just for a moment in time?

Fingers tangled gently in her hair and her eyes rolled to peer up at him, her core pulsing wildly at the feral edge he tried to contain within that impassive expression, crooked teeth visible through his slightly parted lips.

She’d use her prosthesis. She’d do anything if he continued to look at her like that.

I’m doing this for you.

Her pleading expression urged him to understand as she struggled with the final two buttons, her captured wrist released to her once finished with an uttered praise from Silco.

She ran her hand along the hard bulge, feeling it twitch against her palm.

Appeasing him finally, she tugged at his waistband, releasing him, eyes widening a fraction at the generous length.

She took him into palm, prosthesis planting against his hip, thumb swiping teasingly against the sensitive skin around his cock. A tattered breath was released above her and she looked up again, hungrily devouring his reactions.

Her lips were so close. She could taste him if she wanted, was sure he wouldn’t mind. Maybe flick out her tongue a bit.

She met his gaze questioningly, pumping her hand slowly up and down his shaft, swiping her thumb across the head, gathering the beads of precum there, adoring the way his tongue pressed against his teeth in response.

“Do you want to take me in your mouth? Is that it?” he asked, words holding a serrated edge.

She nodded, biting the plush of her bottom lip.

“What are you waiting for?”

Nothing anymore. She darted her tongue across the tip, groaning softly when his hand tightened painfully in her hair, and even more when she wrapped her lips fully around the weeping head, tongue swirling lightly.

Taking deep, calming breaths through her nose, she eased him slowly into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth, and he expelled a ragged, drawn-out groan in tandem with her own as the sound of his pleasure shot straight between her legs.

“You’ve wanted this since the very beginning, haven’t you?” he grit out, and her eyes shot to his. “Pleasured yourself to my fingers between your legs, to your lips wrapped around my cock like this.”

She moaned out an affirmative yes around him and he hissed.

“Dirty girl.”

As she found her rhythm, his straying hands found their way to her face, pushing the sweat dampened hair back, clearing his line of sight, calloused thumbs dragging frenzied patterns into her temples as he began to take control, fucking steadily into her.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, voice strained.

The praise warmed like fine liquor in her chest, his groaning satisfaction pushing her to take more of him with each thrust, to please him. Tears rolled down her cheeks as he hit the back of her throat, as she struggled to breathe, relaxing her jaw, eyes rolling upward as his pleasure intensified her own.

Her hand released her grip on the base of his cock, snaking its way between her legs instead.

“Look at you,” he panted, thumb swiping gently at her tears, “Working yourself so good for me.”

She keened around his cock as she worked her clit furiously, provoking a ragged growl out of Silco that was positively sinful.

“Let me see you.”

She lifted her wild gaze to his, cunt clenching around nothing at the equally untamed glint in his eye.

Let him see you.

She spread her knees wider, and her thighs burned as she pushed her body slightly upward, arching her back so he could see the outline of her fingers pumping, palm grinding as his gaze honed on the mirror’s reflection.

And all the while he uttered crooning, breathless praises to her, petting her hair as he increased pace, eyes darting between her and the mirror as if she would disappear any second.

Pleasure ripped through her and she cried out, throat widening just that last amount to push her fully forward, both hands flying out to grab his legs in support as her nose smashed into his abdomen, fully encasing him inside her humming throat.

With a shattered groan, he followed suit, his release spilling down her throat, fist tightening so excruciatingly in her hair she would have squealed if she could, eyes rolling back as pain and pleasure formed an exquisite concoction.

She rode out the cresting waves of her orgasm with her hands wrapped tightly around the backs of his thighs until she was a twitching mess beneath him.

The blackness that had begun to take hold at the edges of her vision had her smacking his fingers on her head with increasing desperation, and he finally released her, gasping for air.

She slumped forward against him.

She breathed him in, wanted it to freeze itself, this strange moment in time: her forehead pressed reverently against his thigh, his fingers rubbing gentle, absentminded circles into her temples. She didn’t know when she’d grabbed the wrist of his left hand with her prosthesis, but it gripped there all the same.

“Clothes on.”

The tone of his voice was cryptic. Quiet.

Her body sagged and she allowed herself one final moment to mourn what may well never transpire again.

Then, swallowing dryly, did as she was told, not looking at him as she dragged her clothes back on, wondering what the hell happened now.

Grabbing her abandoned boot from in front of the mirror, she paused, eyes on her prosthesis as another wave of venomous self-doubt washed over her, brought a swell of angry tears to her eyes. At how utterly broken she was.

Tearing her gaze away, she laced her boots, standing up straight only to find Silco beside her.

Turning slow, she faced him fully, uncertainty wrinkling her brow as she dared to look upon his face, fearing something smug. Finding only a searching softness.

Ironing out the space between her brows with one thumb, he took her prosthesis in the other, eyes darting across her features as he raised it, cupping it gently across the scarred side of his face.

“We don’t hide, Ivy.”

I think, with this being my first smut piece, I may have gotten a little carried away, but there you have it folks, 6.5K words of my filthy, rotten brain.

Again, I highly encourage everyone to check out @x-amount-verbs A Helping Hand, although I know most of us are obsessed with it already :) I have heart eyes for her OC and for the complex way she writes Silco. And on top of that, she's also just a lovely person.

AO3 Link if you want to toss me a kudos or a comment. It makes my entire day :)

I don't have much under my belt yet, but am starting a master list and am always looking for requests if anyone wants to send em' my way. Or just send me any and all of your unhinged thoughts, this fandom is hilarious.

Much love! <3

#A Helping Hand #silco #Silcoxreader #silco x oc #silco arcane #smut #silco x f!reader

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