When keeping a secret, subtlety is key. Especially when that secret involves the Undercity's most prolific crime lord. Unfortunately for you, subtlety has never been your strong suit and thanks to a few careless actions, you begin to reek of your lies.
Conflict Resolution | Silco x f!reader | Tumblr / Ao3 (E 18+ mdni)
Silco drives you absolutely mad, in more ways than one.
Wrong Impression | Silco x f!reader | Tumblr / Ao3 (E 18+ mdni)
You accompany Silco to a meeting where… unconventional business tactics are employed.
When You Wake | Silco x f!reader | Tumblr / Ao3 (M 18+ mdni)
You’re no strangers to Silco’s nightmares, despite how much he wishes you were.
Can You See It? | Silco & Vander ficlet (no reader) | Tumblr (T)
Silco and Vander don't know much about their future — nobody in the Undercity does. But what they do have is a dream, and all the faith in the world that it will come true.
It was supposed to be a relaxing morning shower, until Silco decided you needed company.
However You Like | Silco x f!reader | Tumblr / Ao3 (E 18+ mdni)
You really should learn to stop interrupting Silco’s meetings (or, alternatively: play stupid games, win stupid prizes).
Multi-Chapter
Baby Steps | Silco x gn!reader | Tumblr / Ao3 (G)
When you first started working for Silco, you had some idea of what the job would entail. Corruption, fighting and murder were a given, but nowhere in the job description did it mention looking after the baby he had inexplicably taken in.
Requests, Headcanons & Drabbles
✦ denotes mature content
Silco giving f!Reader oral in an alleyway ✦
Thigh riding demon!Silco ✦
Rainy Day (domestic fluff)
Silco's eating and sleeping habits
Silco NSFW HCs ✦
Prompts
✦ denotes mature content
NSFW 5 sentence prompts ✦
Halloween prompts
Timebomb (Ekko x Jinx)
The More We Meet, the Less I Recognise You | Tumblr / Ao3 (M)
The six times Ekko saw Powder somewhere in those bright blue eyes, and the one time he didn’t.
Going back in time to when they crucified Jesus. Not to save him (I’m pro choice) but to climb up there and feed him Ibuprofen and mini m&ms from my slightly cupped palm. like one might feed sugar cubes to a horse.
A part of being an adult is living with regret and not allowing it to consume you. The older you get, the more mistakes you’ve made, opportunities you’ve missed, people you’ve disappointed. And every day you have to remind yourself to be kind and forgiving of yourself. You accept and love the you from the past and understand that it’s all a part of the process. Then you move on and live your best life, knowing now as old as you feel today, you’ll never be this young again.
Did you ever just feel so lucky for knowing someone you met online? Like.. I was one click away from not following you. I was one second away from never even knowing of your existence.I would never have been this happy!!!...
Silco x f!reader
Summary: You accompany Silco to a meeting where... unconventional business tactics are employed.
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Words: 7.6k
Warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, sex, choking, dom/sub, MDNI
ok so. the meeting scene in episode 7 of Arcane?? plays every time i close my eyes. those animators knew exactly what they were doing, and here we are, 7k+ words of utter filth later. it's called coping. (i also did silco dirty in my last post so this is how i make up for it)
You can still smell it.
Barely noticeable at this point, but if you concentrate hard enough it’s there. And despite your best efforts, you can’t seem to free yourself of it.
It had stuck around in the elevator, wafting around and clinging to the three bodies within its metal confines. It had lingered on the way back to the Last Drop, emanating from the pair walking in front of you. And it stuck around even now, hours later – its potent ghost stubbornly attaching itself to your hair, your clothing, and every single thought that filtered through your head.
Your gaze drifts towards the lone ice cube spinning in your empty glass as you swirl it offhandedly — a testament to the amount of time you’ve spent seated in the booth, praying both the scent and your derailing thoughts would be lost to whatever else is floating around in the club’s air and leave you free of their combined torment.
What is it, exactly?
Nothing other than the toxic gas Silco had released during the last-minute Chem Baron assembly earlier in the day. Sure, your lungs had remained free of the poisonous stuff, but your mind did not come out of the ordeal so unaffected.
“This isn’t the type of meeting I would normally have you attend,” he had informed you in his office before his departure.
“I’ve come to plenty of Chem Baron assemblies before, though,” you reasoned.
“Yes, but…” his eyes flicked over to Sevika as she walked in with a sealed box, half-concealed by her red poncho, “The nature of it is… different than what you’re accustomed to.”
“All the more reason for me to come along then, right?” You had quipped back innocently, unsure why he seemed so reluctant to bring you along.
The pair exchanged a look you weren’t familiar with, ever the silent communicators. Sevika offered a noncommittal shrug, indifferent to whichever outcome Silco decided on. She knew of your relationship with the Industrialist and as far as she was concerned, if it’s not business, it’s not her business. She was also aware you worked on the logistical side of things and often came along to meetings, but she knew that Silco liked to keep you away from the more unpleasant side of his dealings.
“He wants to keep you safe. He’s worried if you see that shit, you’ll get scared off,” she told you once, after you had expressed your irritation at being ordered to go back to the club when it seemed like a deal was about to go south.
“If you insist,” Silco relented before a small smile tugged the corner of his lips when you reached for your notebook, “But leave that. You won’t be taking minutes today.”
He ignored your quizzical look, and Sevika offered no explanation either – only an amused smirk that matched his own as she lifted the box’s lid, allowing Silco to confirm the contents within. All you got was another cynical smile at your futile attempt to peer into it, blocked by his tall frame.
“You’ll see, darling,” was all he had said, and the three of you were off.
The ice cube is little more than a translucent speck when the shaking of your head attempts to dispel the recent memory, and you groan in frustration at having succumbed to it once again.
Most people’s irritation in circumstances such as this would stem from discomfort; wrinkled noses, watery eyes and ragged throats as a consequence of the noxious fumes.
Your affliction, however, is a different kind altogether.
Sure, the smell isn’t exceedingly pleasant, but neither is most of Zaun’s air. And yes, it elicits a stray cough here and there, but with the amount of smoke constantly floating around the club it’s barely noticeable.
As it happens, your current problem is that you are undeniably, ridiculously, infuriatingly turned on. And the culprit for your current state is upstairs, none the wiser.
The more you think about it, the more your frustrations grow.
On one hand, yes, it was your own fault. You had insisted on coming along to the meeting despite the little voice in your head telling you there was a reason Silco hadn’t explicitly asked you to attend.
On the other hand, though, what gave him the right? A show of power is one thing. You had expected as much when you learnt some Chem Barons had all but demanded his presence at a meeting organised without him present. But the idea was that they should have been the ones left out of breath and full of regret, not you.
It seems you were doomed from the very start.
The elevator’s ascent had been distinguished by a steely silence, to the point that you could almost hear Silco’s thoughts churning in his head. His anger was clearly piqued, evident by the tense set of his jaw and hard look in his eyes, which you were struggling to avert your gaze from.
So preoccupied by your personal task, you hadn’t even registered the elevator doors opening until a firm tug on your arm, courtesy of Sevika, brought you back to reality.
“Stay next to me and don’t say a word,” she whispered in your ear.
You were barely able to respond with a confused okay before the doors to the meeting room were pushed open, and you didn’t have to see Silco’s face to know the expression painted on it was one of dangerous scorn. Immediately, the tension between Silco and Finn unfurled across the space between them like a table runner, and the tattooed man (either too careless or too stupid to heed the warning), ignored him while going on about cut profits and border shutdowns — a sentiment shared by the other bodies present in the room.
You did have to hand it to him; he was extraordinarily skilled at finding the quickest way to detonate Silco’s fuse.
Consequently, you had been so preoccupied in bracing yourself for the imminent explosion that you missed Sevika disappearing from your side until she was nudging a gas mask into your hands, and you were distantly aware of the large fan overhead creaking to a slow stop.
A look of confusion shot her way was promptly ignored while she secured her own device and you followed suit, albeit with some hesitation.
You sigh into your now empty glass, slamming it down onto the coaster in a last ditch attempt to evict the unconstructive thoughts from your head, but it’s no good.
So, you humour temptation and allow yourself to give up.
It’s exceedingly easy, and as soon as you open the floodgates it seems your thoughts are at war with each other to see which one can drown you first.
First is the taunting grain of his voice, followed by the tantalisingly smug smirk that crept across his face just as smoothly as his deft fingers had dragged over the intricate box. It was like the anger had melted right off the rigid set of his shoulders, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away.
That leads you to the second recollection. His eyes may be of contrasting hues, but the flicker of sadistic glee that had ignited in them was a flame born of the same ember, burning brighter with each strained cough and plea for mercy that echoed around the assembly chamber.
Then, the monologue. There was something utterly enrapturing about watching him speak so casually while everyone else in the room struggled for air. The smooth tenor of his voice, the borderline predatory way in which he walked, the nonchalance with which he handed out lifelines to the other Barons…
It made you very grateful your face was partially obscured. The gas was one thing, but the uncontrollable slackening of your jaw was a completely different story.
By the time he had finally strolled towards Finn, you were a goner. It also proved too much for the younger man, and when he fell to the ground Silco’s eyes had flicked towards you for a brief second and you wondered if he could tell Finn wasn’t the only one in the room whose knees had gone weak.
You may as well have never had a mask in the first place, because when Silco finally took pity on the begging mess at his feet, the sight of him taking an indulgent, taunting breath (punctuated by the cruellest of smirks that sharpened every eye-catching feature of his face) just about cut off all the oxygen to your brain anyway.
The fan’s blades were in full motion when you finally regained your wits, following Sevika and a very self-satisfied Silco through the doors, down the elevator and back to the Last Drop. It hadn’t been a very comfortable walk, to say the least. And it certainly didn’t help that he had kept glancing back at you, as if he just knew every damning thought that was coursing through your head (and other parts of your body that weren’t so geared towards thinking).
The sudden thudding sound of dense glass on wood has you dispelling the cloud of your daydream and the waning fog reveals Sevika as she takes a seat opposite you, popping the cork off her bottle with the push of a bionic thumb.
“Silco asked for you.”
You try to keep your expression concealed as you slide out of the booth. Yes, you could have followed him upstairs when you had arrived, but the last thing you wanted was to have to sit in a room with him, trying to push away all the thoughts that had been clouding your mind, with company.
Your trip up the stairs is characterised by wondering how you’ll actually go about telling him what’s been on your mind.
Hey, remember when you nearly suffocated a room full of people today without laying a finger on them? That was, like, really hot.
Yeah, maybe not.
A moment of hesitation before you climb the stairs has you glancing back at Sevika, and you swear you catch the tail-end of a smirk on her lips, but it’s quickly obscured by the bottle as it’s brought up — perhaps a touch too quickly — to her mouth.
It seems you aren’t the only one who has been entertaining an empty glass.
When you enter Silco’s office, you open the door to reveal him swirling what remains of an ice cube in a tumbler far more intricate than what’s on offer behind the bar.
He is seated on the couch, so you are only privy to half his face — the unscarred side — and you can’t help but stare, wide-eyed, at how the glow of the window casts his silhouette in darkness and highlights the green of his iris. His head tilts ever so slightly at your arrival, offering you just a glimpse of fiery red that stays steadily on you as you take a seat next to him.
“How are you feeling?”
His cool voice snaps you out of your stupor, but it does little to shake the thoughts that had been plaguing you downstairs. If anything, his voice — and presence — exacerbates them.
“Um, fine, I guess?” you respond, praying he doesn’t pick up on anything.
It seems no god is bothered with your wishes, evident by the way he appraises you for several seconds before a firm line of tension sets his jaw.
“Don’t lie to me.”
Your eyes widen for a brief moment, worried that he caught you out so quickly. Surely it’s not that obvious.
“I- I’m not lying,” you say too quickly. “There’s nothing… wrong.”
The methodical lift of one eyebrow matches the pace at which you trail off, and you can’t tell which of you is more unconvinced by your words.
He keeps you held firmly under his gaze and you hate your brain for how quickly it conjures the image of him doing the same thing during the meeting. You then hate yourself even more for wishing you had done something wrong, if only to prolong it.
What you don’t expect, though (and what doesn’t help your current situation in the slightest), is how the tension vanishes as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the slightest downward tilt of his eyebrows and a marginally softer voice that could almost be classified as concern.
“Was it the gas? You should have left the room if you were feeling unwell.”
“No, no, the mask worked fine,” you assure him, “I caught a whiff of it when we were leaving but it was barely there at that point.”
His eyes scan over you in an attempt to find any abnormalities, clearly unconvinced.
“There’s something bothering you.”
It’s not a question or a guess. Rather, it’s an accusation and a silent order to elaborate.
Your eyes shift to the shelf lodged against the wall, suddenly developing a keen interest in the various books that line the wooden slats. You start to wonder if Silco — or anyone, for that matter — ever reads them. Probably not, judging by the sheet of dust that coats them, but perhaps it would be worth opening one up someday. From what you can see, they seem to be on various worldly topics: politics, history, wars, and so forth. It would surely be a waste to just leave—
A stern call of your name derails your train of thought, redirecting it back to a very unamused Silco, who offers little more than a glower at your drifting conscience and fleeting attention span.
Your brain takes a second to catch up with the rest of you, culminating in a rather unintelligent, “Huh?” much to his chagrin. His patience is clearly hanging by a thread, and you fear you won’t have the time to string together a half-believable excuse.
“Well?” Silco asks lowly, and though you’ve grown accustomed to jokingly testing him when it’s just the two of you, it’s not such a fun game to play when you’re trying to herd him around the subject.
“You,” you blurt out without even thinking.
Oops.
“Me?”
Your haste to give him any kind of answer instead digs the hole you’re stuck in even deeper.
“Wait. Fuck. No, I didn’t mean you, just—”
“I should have told you to stay here.”
You wince at his scorn before realising he’s no longer directing his words at you. Instead, his eyes are fixated on the ground, obscured by his fingers when they go to pinch the skin between his eyebrows.
A lengthy silence fills the office, blowing up like a balloon and threatening to burst with each passing second.
“Silco,” you murmur tentatively, grazing his hand with your own.
“Did I scare you?”
The question grounds you, sucking all the air out of the room and leaving you staring at him with unblinking eyes as his question promptly stops the cogs in your brain.
Once again, all you can muster is a soft, “Huh?” but the lines that appear on his face are more akin to worry than vexation.
“During the meeting. Were you scared?”
You finally find your voice, “What are you— why would I have been scared?”
“You weren’t doing a good job of hiding it,” he says with a hint of venom, casting his gaze to the side when you don’t offer a response.
Unsatisfied, he stands abruptly and reaches the drinks cart by the wall in a few quick strides, tumbler in hand.
“You didn’t so much as blink and you barely spoke a word during the walk back to the club,” he says to the wall, punctuated by the cracking of fresh ice cubes and the steady pour of whiskey.
Finally, he turns, “And when we did arrive you immediately diverted towards the bar when you normally accompany me upstairs of your own volition.”
The end of his rant is punctuated by a tense sip, followed by the immediate raking of fingers through his hair. His stance — stiff shoulders, rigid jaw and the occasional twitch of lips — is a mirror to what you saw in the elevator before the meeting.
It takes your brain a second to catch up with the reality of things, and when it finally does, you just can’t help the ensuing reaction.
You laugh. Loud enough to surprise yourself with the sudden sound, and certainly loud enough to shift Silco’s glare away from the floor and upwards to you.
“I wasn’t scared, Silco,” you affirm, stifling the giggle threatening to erupt from your throat.
Evidently, he does not appreciate your reaction.
“I told you,” he says lowly. “Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not lying,” you say through a poorly-hid grin.
His sour look slowly wipes away your amusement, and after schooling your expression and piecing everything together, you coax him back down to the couch with the offer of an extended hand.
Albeit cautiously, he takes it, clearly not as up to speed with things as you are.
“I wasn’t scared,” you repeat, tenderly rubbing one of his shoulders as you try to land on the right word. “I was… impressed.”
His right eye is unblinking as it stares you down, unwilling to let you see what thoughts are swirling around behind it.
“Impressed?”
“Mhmm. Impressed.”
Ironically, he sounds decidedly un impressed with your response, quickly deciding he needs another mouthful of his drink if he’s to go one with this conversation.
“Do I really have to ask you to elaborate?”
“You can’t just take my word for it?” you ask, and the following silence is perhaps the loudest you’ve ever experienced.
“Okay, it’s just… you had the entire room under your thumb, literally gasping for air while you were breathing in poison like it was nothing. Reminding them they work for you; making them beg you to let them live. Anyone would call that impressive, Silco.”
You don’t know when to stop, and he doesn’t interject so you let yourself continue rambling, “The way you were acting, the way you were talking — I couldn’t stop staring. So yeah, maybe my eyes were wider than usual, and maybe I wasn’t as talkative, and maybe I needed to sit down, but can you blame me? You looked so powerful, so good — so damn good — that I… well, I was very impressed. Among other things.”
Silco says nothing, letting your confession sink in and you don’t know exactly what to expect when you look up to meet his gaze. Disbelief, confusion, maybe even humour. But when your eyes level with his, the rings of flame and sea are ravenous.
You could get used to being wrong, if this is the payoff.
His voice is a double-edged sword of rich, smooth velvet and rough gravel when he finally speaks, carefully but with endless intent, “So you truly weren’t frightened?”
Clearly, words aren’t enough for him. You reach for the glass and purposefully graze his fingers with your own as they tug in a silent request. He relents, allowing you to take it and you can’t say you don’t relish the twitch of his good eye when you purposefully turn it before drinking, so that your lips touch the exact part of the rim that his did.
“Do you really care that much if I was scared or not?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
His chest rises with a deep breath despite his face remaining decidedly impassive, “Because it will very much determine how soon I let you leave this room.”
The intent behind his words leaves no room for misinterpretation.
You tilt your head up slightly so that you can hold his gaze, letting a grin creep across your face as you do, “Then I suppose I should get comfortable.”
It seems he took your words to heart, if the way mouth melds with yours is anything to go by. Your hands drag up his chest, over his shoulders and around the back of his neck where your thumbs graze the short hairs at the base of his head. His own hands move to your waist, pressing through the thin material of your shirt and pulling you closer against him while his mouth drags across your jawline and down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. One of his hands goes to your head and balls in your hair, tugging downwards to fully expose your neck and nip at the skin, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes you.
“Careful now,” he murmurs and you can feel the smug grin pressing into you, “I might get the impression that you’re enjoying this.”
A response is on the tip of your tongue, but then his is soothing the redness of the bite he left and any desire to speak melts away.
There’s no denying the heat pooling between your legs as his mouth sucks a bruise over your pulse point before dragging to the other side of your neck and giving it the same treatment.
“Do I really need to spell it out for you again?” you finally manage.
“I won’t stop you.”
You let out a sigh of pleasure as his mouth finds your jawline, making it very difficult to string together a coherent sentence.
“Well, some may even say I was… enraptured.”
“Go on,” he all but growls out, teeth finding your skin.
“Captivated.”
Your hair is yanked to grant him access to your jugular.
“Obsessed.”
The heat of his breath ghosts your skin; a precursor to his tongue licking a stripe upwards until it meets your open mouth, swallowing the moan building up in your throat in a kiss with more fervour than its predecessor. You melt into his touch, unlocking your fingers and trailing your hands across his shoulders before dragging them down his arms and across his chest, indulging yourself in the contact that you had been waiting for all day.
Your hands cup either side of his jaw, allowing you to hold his head in place as you all but moan into his mouth, “Tell me next time someone undermines you. I’d love to see the show again.”
“You’re making me regret not having done it sooner.”
“So you were trying to protect me?”
Your only response is a deep rumble from his throat, paired with the fingers at your waist pressing in deeper and you know that the next few days will consist of you looking at the bruises dotting your body with an indulgent smile.
Now it’s your turn to pull back, and you don’t miss the twitch of his hips as you kiss up his jawline and bring his earlobe between your teeth, “It’s very endearing, Silco, but you should know by now I don’t break that easily.”
If you thought there was a fire in his eyes before, it’s an inferno now; a swirl of red flames erupting from the corrupted iris that had entranced you from the moment you first saw it, and you can only imagine that the sight is reflected in your own eyes.
“Don’t tempt me, darling,” he says in a velvety voice that shoots every last ember down to your core.
“Really? After you’ve spent all day tempting me?”
“Tempting you?” he goads. “How so?”
The last thing the smug bastard needs is more elaboration, but you don’t want anything else to be left up to interpretation. It’s with that in mind you slide your hands from his jaw back down to his shoulders, sliding into his lap so that you’re straddling him on the couch.
You press a kiss to the hinge of his jaw, “If we were alone in that elevator, I would’ve been on my knees the second the door shut.”
You had thought the self-satisfied smirk that stretched across Silco’s face when Finn begged for air at his feet was the final nail in your coffin, but it has absolutely nothing on the predatory curl of his lips at your whispered confession.
“We’re alone now.”
It’s all you need to drag your hands down to his hips, pressing one more lingering kiss to his lips before trailing them down his neck and sinking down to your knees. You had felt as much, but you can’t stop the way your eyes widen at the sight of his pants straining. Unable to resist, one hand comes down to squeeze his clothed length, and the groan that he tries to stifle immediately shoots straight through you.
“Don’t tease me, sweetheart,” he warns.
An innocent little smile twists your lips before you go to undo the four gold buttons of his pants, perhaps a little slower than necessary.
One.
“I said—”
Two.
“I know,” you interject.
Three.
“I wouldn’t dream of disobeying you, sir,” you say with a cheeky grin.
Four.
Your thumbs curl under the waistband of his pants, lingering just enough to earn you another glare that is washed away as soon as you tug downwards, and you don’t need to look up to know the smug little smirk that’s been making your day a living nightmare has made a reappearance.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
Deciding he’s spoken enough for now, you flick your eyes up towards his and hold his gaze, gripping his cock and licking a line from base to tip. The action transfers the smirk from his mouth to your own, though it’s warped by your tongue poking out to lavish his head with kitten licks that earn you another groan, quickly followed by a hand pressing into your hair.
“Last chance,” he threatens and you can’t help the moan that escapes you as you swirl your tongue around him.
Feeling merciful, you set a pace of bobbing your head, taking him further with each movement. He feels heavenly, and each moan that erupts from your throat transfers to him, despite his best efforts to stifle them.
You know he’s caught the cocky glint in your eyes by the way his hand tightens in your hair, pulling so that his length hits the back of your throat. You can’t help the mewl that escapes you as the dominant side of him you’ve been all but drooling over all day is finally aimed at you.
Concern drips from his voice, but the crook of his lips tells an entirely different story.
“Was the gas not enough for you, sweetheart? Did you wish you were choking on something else during that meeting?”
You nod as best you can, squeezing your eyes shut when tears begin to well.
“Poor thing,” he murmurs in the same tone, free hand going to cup your cheek.
You almost fall for the tender touch. Then, he’s using that same hand to grip your chin while the fingers in your hair tug harder, and it takes everything in you not to gag on him.
Your hands dig into his thighs, scratching the material of his pants with every thrust of his cock in your mouth. You want to beg, to scream his name and tell him how utterly desperate you are for him, but all you can do is moan around him as a mixture of tears and saliva falls down your chin.
His thrusts start to turn more erratic and his words grow filthier; a clear sign he’s about to reach his high.
“Next time we’re alone in that elevator, I’m going to take you just like this—”
A sudden but welcome lungful of air gives you a moment of clearheadedness when he yanks you back so that just the head of his cock remains in your mouth.
“Have you on your knees, where you belong—”
It seems to be your sole mercy for the time being, though, because he’s yanking you forward again before you can take a second breath.
“And use that mouth for the only thing it’s good for—”
You trap his head against the roof of your mouth with your tongue and suck. Never one to be outdone, the hand cupping your jaw squeezes tighter, pulling until your nose is brushing against him.
“But you would like that wouldn’t you? You filthy, desperate girl—”
Your throat flexes around him and it’s all he needs to bury himself there and throw his head back over the couch’s backrest with a groan he can’t hope to contain as he comes in your mouth, keeping you in place as you swallow around him and only pulling you off when you’ve taken every last drop.
Your breathing has barely returned to normal when he beckons you with the graze of a thumb at your chin. The remnants of tears paint everything in a light haze, but you can make out that he has discarded his vest.
“Get up and strip,” he orders while tucking himself back in and re-buttoning his pants.
Still a bit out of it, you stare up at him with unblinking eyes — something he does not appreciate, and just like in the meeting he almost looks bored as he chastises you.
“If I have to repeat myself one more time tonight I’m going to edge you every night from now until the next Chem Baron assembly, and you’re not going to finish once.”
In all the time you’ve known Silco — every meeting you’ve attended, every deal you’ve listened in on, every exchange you’ve been present for — he has not bluffed once. It’s with that in mind you shoot up to your feet, much too abruptly for your legs’ liking. His hand on your waist is quick to stabilise you, and the tantalisingly smug smile he gives you is almost enough to send you back to your knees again.
Your shirt is then quickly tugged over your head, followed by your boots as they’re kicked off, and your pants pooling on the floor. Your hands then go to your bra, but you can’t help the small quirk of your lips when a better idea pops into your head.
Resuming your original position on his lap, you look to him for permission before continuing. When he says nothing – only answering with the slightest of nods and a single raised eyebrow – you bring his hands to the clasps of your bra and remove his tie, undoing the top buttons of his shirt after the silken fabric is tossed on the cushions next to you.
“Can I tell you exactly when my problems started today?” you hum against him, leaving kisses around his collarbone.
You feel the rumbling of his chest beneath you before it leaves him in a breathy, “Hmm?”
“When you ran your fingers over that damn box… I couldn’t look away.”
The tension of the straps lessen and you shrug yourself out of the garment, letting out a sigh when his hands trace your ribs, barely grazing your breasts in a silent order to continue.
“And all I could think about was how I couldn’t wait for those idiots to stop talking so you could take me home and do the same to me.”
You spare a glance upwards.
Ravenous.
That's the only word your mind has time to conjure before his hands grip your hips in a bruising hold, lifting you up and turning you so that your back is to his front before you can even react.
“What— ah!”
Your question (and any subsequent thought that might follow) is promptly cut off by the fingers pinching your nipple and the teeth dragging along the juncture of your neck and shoulder.
“So while I was reminding a room of ingrates who runs this empire,” he hisses into your ear and you just know you can never wear these panties again, “ You were thinking of my fingers?”
You know you should just say yes and tell him what he wants to hear. But where’s the fun in that?
“Don’t be r-ridiculous. I was thinking of coming on your fingers—”
Two of those same digits promptly find a home in your mouth, gagging you while his hand seeks your other breast, pinching again until your whimpers die on his knuckles.
“I’m going to remove my hand,” he says with an utterly lethal glower, “and you’re going to tell me exactly what depraved thoughts were going through that filthy mind of yours. Without attitude.”
You nod desperately, gagging when his fingers go deeper.
He slides them out slowly and you’re not even given the chance to fill your lungs before that same hand curls around your neck.
“Understood?”
“Y-yes.”
He squeezes tighter.
“Yes, sir,” you whimper, taking a long — but shaky — breath when he releases you.
“And don’t forget what I said about repeating myself.”
“I won’t.”
His lips are a scythe where they press into your shoulder blade.
“Good girl.”
Not one sound comes out of you as Silco’s hands rest under the curve of your breasts. It takes several more seconds for you to realise he’s waiting, and now is decidedly not the time to be testing his patience.
“I imagined your hands everywhere…” you begin, shuddering as the very tips of his nails evoke goosebumps where they graze your skin.
“Be specific.”
“I imagined them in my hair… my mouth… around my throat.”
“It seems I read your mind, then. Where else?”
“Squeezing my chest…”
You gasp as his hands do just that, tilting your head to the side when he starts to press kisses along the side of your neck.
“And?”
“And then… going lower…”
More goosebumps blossom on your stomach.
“Bruising.”
Despite the knowledge of exactly what’s to come, your breath catches at the sudden pressure from his fingers on your hips, replacing the shivering skin with a redness that will surely darken over the coming days.
“More bruising,” he corrects.
You murmur your agreement, lost in the contrast of his malefic fingers and heavenly mouth. Then, you remember the promise he made, blurred between the lines of a threat.
“Not just above the waist.”
“Oh?”
“Thighs, too,” you say, blushing.
He traces the curve of your hips, stopping just below.
“N-no,” you interject when he starts to apply pressure there.
“No?”
“Inner thighs,” you clarify, feeling the redness spread down your neck.
The sickle-like smirk slashes you again, just below your ear.
“Filthy,” he repeats, hands snaking between your legs to part them slowly.
Agonisingly slow, actually. But you made the mistake of telling Silco to hurry up once, and there is no force in this world that could even make you consider saying it again.
Finally, he presses into the skin there, knuckles barely grazing your still-clothed core and the instant twitch of your hips is beyond your control.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Want me to touch somewhere else?”
“Y-yes, please, Silco,” you whine.
“And how do you expect me to know that if you don’t say it?” he retorts, tone going from sweet to venomous in a heartbeat, matched by the borderline painful sensation of his fingers digging into your thighs.
You wince before forcing yourself to keep going, lest this be your reality for the next month.
“I i-imagined you fucking me with your fingers.”
“And did I remove these beforehand?” he inquires, pulling back the elastic of your panties and smirking at the yelp you let out when it snaps back.
Your head is telling you to lie. Your body is screaming at you to lie, but you know that he will know if you do.
“… No.”
He huffs a laugh — a cynical little puff of air, more than anything — and you’re almost convinced he could hear your internal deliberation. But then his hands are snaking down your panties and you toss all thoughts of potential telepathy out the window.
“Y-you touched my clit first,” you manage, digging your hands into the couch cushions when his finger immediately starts rubbing there.
“Then slipped a finger in— oh, fuck,” you sob, legs twitching the second you finally get the attention you need.
“And… then…”
“And then?” he prompts, but you’re at a loss.
You turn your head so that it’s half-facing him, eyeing the quirk of his mouth when he takes in the hopeless expression on your face, “I- I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
You shake your head, biting your tongue when his hand ceases all movement, “If I’m being honest, you were done with the box. I got distracted… started thinking of something else…”
“And are you going to tell me about that fantasy, too?”
Despite the vast majority of neurons in your brain focusing on the fire between your legs, you manage one little smirk, “Tell you? I just showed you.”
The smile vanishes just as quickly as it had appeared, contorted into something more befitting the sudden sob of Silco’s name when two fingers breach your entrance and one resumes its previous actions on your clit.
“It’s alright, darling. I think I get the picture now.”
You throw your head back and he doesn’t miss the opportunity to lavish your neck with open-mouthed kisses, smirking against you at each plea and cry that falls from your mouth.
A third finger, and the knot in your stomach is pulled tighter and tighter, until his name is an incomprehensible string of whines and moans on your lips. He shifts the angle, curling them just right and the band snaps. You twist your torso to turn and clutch onto him, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and burying your head in the crook of his neck as his hand continues its work, carrying you through your climax while its twin tenderly rubs the nape of your neck.
He keeps you like that, until your hips have ceased their bucking and your breathing has slowed to a normal pace. You whine when he pulls his fingers out, staring wide-eyed as he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean without dropping your gaze.
His hands then go back to your hips and you all but melt into his soothing touch when he begins to rub tender circles into the skin.
“Can you stand, lovely?” he murmurs gently into your ear.
Your head turns slightly to the side, so that your lips brush when you answer, “I think so.”
The pressure of his hands and the feline curl of his mouth are immediate.
“Good,” he says, void of the warmth he had spoken with only a heartbeat earlier. “Desk. Now.”
His hands stay on you as you stand yourself on shaky legs, only leaving when you begin to walk towards the ornate desk (but not before he places a single kiss on your middle back). There’s a good chance it has something to do with the current state of your lower body, but that damn piece of furniture has never felt so far away.
So lost in your frustrations, you don't even hear the clicking of his boots behind you, and you've barely turned around before his long arms are slotted against the surface, caging you against the wooden structure.
“On the desk.”
You comply without pause, gasping when he cups the swell of your ass and pulls you flush against him so that you can feel the hardness beneath his pants once again. The ensuing grinding on your part is quickly halted by his hands hooking under the waistband of your panties as he steps back and pulls them off.
There truly are not enough words to properly capture the depth of the shit-eating grin that unfurls under Silco’s nose, only growing when the redness of your cheeks darkens in response to one hooded eye flicking between the garment, your face, and the mess between your legs.
Letting them fall to the floor when he’s had his fill of your chagrin, he leans over you once again, until his hands are covering yours and his mouth has reunited with your jawline.
He hums in response to your call of his name, which came out as more of a broken string of syllables than anything else.
“Please.”
“Please, what?” he inquires innocently, grinding against you just enough to evoke another cry.
“Please touch me.”
His fingers trace a path down your sternum, “I’m touching you now, aren’t I?”
Green and red flick up to garner your reaction. You meet them just in time to catch the briefest shade of surprise saturating their hues when your hands shoot out from under his, finding his shirt collar and gripping with every ounce of frustration that has been piling on you since the moment you exited that damn elevator.
“Please, Silco, I need you so bad,” you beg, not caring how desperate you sound. “I haven’t been able to go more than thirty seconds without thinking about your cock inside me and I can’t take it anymore, so please, please just fuck me already.”
Your back hits the table first, quickly followed by your wrists when they meet the same fate above your head, held firmly in his one-handed grip while the other goes directly to the buttons of his pants.
Unsurprisingly, he undoes them much quicker than you had, tugging them down and freeing his cock.
You’re still whispering pleas and calls of his name when he slides into you, filling you entirely in one quick movement. The action rips an utterly animalistic sound out of you, and he wastes no time in pressing his newly freed hand to your lower stomach while the other flexes against your constrained wrists. Clearly, your words had affected him.
“O-oh gods, you feel so good, so fucking good,” you moan under his ministrations.
“And here I was thinking I couldn’t take you to these things because it’s dangerous,” he finishes with a harsh thrust, “but the reality is that you can’t even behave.”
He pulls out almost all the way before slamming back into you and setting a brutal pace that has your thighs shaking and your back arching. Not wasting a second, his mouth follows the path his finger had etched moments before, wrapping around a nipple and sucking softly in a delicious contrast to the ruthless motion of his hips.
“I couldn’t — fuck — help it.”
“Oh, I can see that, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your breast, digging his teeth into the soft skin and hissing when you clench around his length.
You know you won’t be able to sit without wincing tomorrow, but that doesn’t stop you from hooking your ankles against his waist and pulling him deeper into you.
“Desperate little whore,” he grunts, bringing both his hands to your hips while straightening up to stand over you, and the change in angle has you screaming his name without a single care for whoever might be close enough to hear.
“Forget the elevator,” he hisses. “Next time we’re in that room, I’m bending you over the table.”
The utter filth spewing from his mouth, coupled with the loose strands of hair framing the feral look in his eyes lights a crackling wildfire under the expanse of your skin.
“Silco,” you all but sob as the flames creep towards the knot in your stomach as it starts to tighten once again, “I’m s-so close.”
“Beg,” he orders, fingers immediately finding your clit and rubbing slow circles around it.
“Please, Silco. Please, let me come, I can’t f-fucking take it anymore and you — ah! — you fuck me so, so good and I need to come, ple—”
The pace of his hips and rhythm of his fingers immediately increases, cutting you off and turning the rest of your words into incomprehensible moans.
“So obedient today,” he says through a crooked grin. “Let go for me, sweetheart.”
Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, evoking more broken sounds of pleasure. Your arms immediately wrap around him, desperate for an anchor as one splays across his back and the other clutches at the back of his neck.
Silco fucks you through it relentlessly, until his pace starts to falter and he’s burying himself deep inside you, elbows planted next to your head as his own climax takes over. His groans and sighs of your name are lost on your tongue as he drags his mouth to yours, kissing you until you’re leaking his release and his shirt is indented with crescents in the shape of your nails.
Echoes of good girl and that’s it seep into the silence that is otherwise filled by your hammering heartbeat, slowly drowning the thrumming out until it has resumed its placid rhythm in your chest.
His breath comes back to him first, felt in a lengthy exhale that caresses your neck while he pulls out of you with a low hiss, hushing you when the grip on his back tightens.
“It’s okay, darling,” he murmurs against your collarbone. “Are you alright?”
You give a barely-audible hum of confirmation.
“Words, my love,” he says softly while grazing a hand through your hair.
“...I’m alright,” you murmur, losing yourself to the gentle touch while more praises and sweet words are whispered into your skin in unison with the soft kisses being placed on the various marks and bruises dotting your body.
Your own hands eventually leave his shirt and entwine in his hair, smoothing back the mussed strands and relishing the hushed sounds of contentment the motion evokes. You have no idea how long the two of you stay like that for, just basking in each other’s quiet presence until a soft call of your name breaks the silence.
“Hmm?”
Though you can’t see it, there’s no mistaking his sharp little smirk as it once again makes a reappearance against your skin.
“We have another meeting in—” a glance to the clock behind him, “—one hour. Shall I postpone it?”
You can’t fight the little smile that curls the corners of your lips. “I would appreciate it.”
Silco x f!reader
Summary: You accompany Silco to a meeting where... unconventional business tactics are employed.
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Words: 7.6k
Warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, sex, choking, dom/sub, MDNI
ok so. the meeting scene in episode 7 of Arcane?? plays every time i close my eyes. those animators knew exactly what they were doing, and here we are, 7k+ words of utter filth later. it's called coping. (i also did silco dirty in my last post so this is how i make up for it)
You can still smell it.
Barely noticeable at this point, but if you concentrate hard enough it’s there. And despite your best efforts, you can’t seem to free yourself of it.
It had stuck around in the elevator, wafting around and clinging to the three bodies within its metal confines. It had lingered on the way back to the Last Drop, emanating from the pair walking in front of you. And it stuck around even now, hours later – its potent ghost stubbornly attaching itself to your hair, your clothing, and every single thought that filtered through your head.
Your gaze drifts towards the lone ice cube spinning in your empty glass as you swirl it offhandedly — a testament to the amount of time you’ve spent seated in the booth, praying both the scent and your derailing thoughts would be lost to whatever else is floating around in the club’s air and leave you free of their combined torment.
What is it, exactly?
Nothing other than the toxic gas Silco had released during the last-minute Chem Baron assembly earlier in the day. Sure, your lungs had remained free of the poisonous stuff, but your mind did not come out of the ordeal so unaffected.
“This isn’t the type of meeting I would normally have you attend,” he had informed you in his office before his departure.
“I’ve come to plenty of Chem Baron assemblies before, though,” you reasoned.
“Yes, but…” his eyes flicked over to Sevika as she walked in with a sealed box, half-concealed by her red poncho, “The nature of it is… different than what you’re accustomed to.”
“All the more reason for me to come along then, right?” You had quipped back innocently, unsure why he seemed so reluctant to bring you along.
The pair exchanged a look you weren’t familiar with, ever the silent communicators. Sevika offered a noncommittal shrug, indifferent to whichever outcome Silco decided on. She knew of your relationship with the Industrialist and as far as she was concerned, if it’s not business, it’s not her business. She was also aware you worked on the logistical side of things and often came along to meetings, but she knew that Silco liked to keep you away from the more unpleasant side of his dealings.
“He wants to keep you safe. He’s worried if you see that shit, you’ll get scared off,” she told you once, after you had expressed your irritation at being ordered to go back to the club when it seemed like a deal was about to go south.
“If you insist,” Silco relented before a small smile tugged the corner of his lips when you reached for your notebook, “But leave that. You won’t be taking minutes today.”
He ignored your quizzical look, and Sevika offered no explanation either – only an amused smirk that matched his own as she lifted the box’s lid, allowing Silco to confirm the contents within. All you got was another cynical smile at your futile attempt to peer into it, blocked by his tall frame.
“You’ll see, darling,” was all he had said, and the three of you were off.
The ice cube is little more than a translucent speck when the shaking of your head attempts to dispel the recent memory, and you groan in frustration at having succumbed to it once again.
Most people’s irritation in circumstances such as this would stem from discomfort; wrinkled noses, watery eyes and ragged throats as a consequence of the noxious fumes.
Your affliction, however, is a different kind altogether.
Sure, the smell isn’t exceedingly pleasant, but neither is most of Zaun’s air. And yes, it elicits a stray cough here and there, but with the amount of smoke constantly floating around the club it’s barely noticeable.
As it happens, your current problem is that you are undeniably, ridiculously, infuriatingly turned on. And the culprit for your current state is upstairs, none the wiser.
The more you think about it, the more your frustrations grow.
On one hand, yes, it was your own fault. You had insisted on coming along to the meeting despite the little voice in your head telling you there was a reason Silco hadn’t explicitly asked you to attend.
On the other hand, though, what gave him the right? A show of power is one thing. You had expected as much when you learnt some Chem Barons had all but demanded his presence at a meeting organised without him present. But the idea was that they should have been the ones left out of breath and full of regret, not you.
It seems you were doomed from the very start.
The elevator’s ascent had been distinguished by a steely silence, to the point that you could almost hear Silco’s thoughts churning in his head. His anger was clearly piqued, evident by the tense set of his jaw and hard look in his eyes, which you were struggling to avert your gaze from.
So preoccupied by your personal task, you hadn’t even registered the elevator doors opening until a firm tug on your arm, courtesy of Sevika, brought you back to reality.
“Stay next to me and don’t say a word,” she whispered in your ear.
You were barely able to respond with a confused okay before the doors to the meeting room were pushed open, and you didn’t have to see Silco’s face to know the expression painted on it was one of dangerous scorn. Immediately, the tension between Silco and Finn unfurled across the space between them like a table runner, and the tattooed man (either too careless or too stupid to heed the warning), ignored him while going on about cut profits and border shutdowns — a sentiment shared by the other bodies present in the room.
You did have to hand it to him; he was extraordinarily skilled at finding the quickest way to detonate Silco’s fuse.
Consequently, you had been so preoccupied in bracing yourself for the imminent explosion that you missed Sevika disappearing from your side until she was nudging a gas mask into your hands, and you were distantly aware of the large fan overhead creaking to a slow stop.
A look of confusion shot her way was promptly ignored while she secured her own device and you followed suit, albeit with some hesitation.
You sigh into your now empty glass, slamming it down onto the coaster in a last ditch attempt to evict the unconstructive thoughts from your head, but it’s no good.
So, you humour temptation and allow yourself to give up.
It’s exceedingly easy, and as soon as you open the floodgates it seems your thoughts are at war with each other to see which one can drown you first.
First is the taunting grain of his voice, followed by the tantalisingly smug smirk that crept across his face just as smoothly as his deft fingers had dragged over the intricate box. It was like the anger had melted right off the rigid set of his shoulders, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away.
That leads you to the second recollection. His eyes may be of contrasting hues, but the flicker of sadistic glee that had ignited in them was a flame born of the same ember, burning brighter with each strained cough and plea for mercy that echoed around the assembly chamber.
Then, the monologue. There was something utterly enrapturing about watching him speak so casually while everyone else in the room struggled for air. The smooth tenor of his voice, the borderline predatory way in which he walked, the nonchalance with which he handed out lifelines to the other Barons…
It made you very grateful your face was partially obscured. The gas was one thing, but the uncontrollable slackening of your jaw was a completely different story.
By the time he had finally strolled towards Finn, you were a goner. It also proved too much for the younger man, and when he fell to the ground Silco’s eyes had flicked towards you for a brief second and you wondered if he could tell Finn wasn’t the only one in the room whose knees had gone weak.
You may as well have never had a mask in the first place, because when Silco finally took pity on the begging mess at his feet, the sight of him taking an indulgent, taunting breath (punctuated by the cruellest of smirks that sharpened every eye-catching feature of his face) just about cut off all the oxygen to your brain anyway.
The fan’s blades were in full motion when you finally regained your wits, following Sevika and a very self-satisfied Silco through the doors, down the elevator and back to the Last Drop. It hadn’t been a very comfortable walk, to say the least. And it certainly didn’t help that he had kept glancing back at you, as if he just knew every damning thought that was coursing through your head (and other parts of your body that weren’t so geared towards thinking).
The sudden thudding sound of dense glass on wood has you dispelling the cloud of your daydream and the waning fog reveals Sevika as she takes a seat opposite you, popping the cork off her bottle with the push of a bionic thumb.
“Silco asked for you.”
You try to keep your expression concealed as you slide out of the booth. Yes, you could have followed him upstairs when you had arrived, but the last thing you wanted was to have to sit in a room with him, trying to push away all the thoughts that had been clouding your mind, with company.
Your trip up the stairs is characterised by wondering how you’ll actually go about telling him what’s been on your mind.
Hey, remember when you nearly suffocated a room full of people today without laying a finger on them? That was, like, really hot.
Yeah, maybe not.
A moment of hesitation before you climb the stairs has you glancing back at Sevika, and you swear you catch the tail-end of a smirk on her lips, but it’s quickly obscured by the bottle as it’s brought up — perhaps a touch too quickly — to her mouth.
It seems you aren’t the only one who has been entertaining an empty glass.
When you enter Silco’s office, you open the door to reveal him swirling what remains of an ice cube in a tumbler far more intricate than what’s on offer behind the bar.
He is seated on the couch, so you are only privy to half his face — the unscarred side — and you can’t help but stare, wide-eyed, at how the glow of the window casts his silhouette in darkness and highlights the green of his iris. His head tilts ever so slightly at your arrival, offering you just a glimpse of fiery red that stays steadily on you as you take a seat next to him.
“How are you feeling?”
His cool voice snaps you out of your stupor, but it does little to shake the thoughts that had been plaguing you downstairs. If anything, his voice — and presence — exacerbates them.
“Um, fine, I guess?” you respond, praying he doesn’t pick up on anything.
It seems no god is bothered with your wishes, evident by the way he appraises you for several seconds before a firm line of tension sets his jaw.
“Don’t lie to me.”
Your eyes widen for a brief moment, worried that he caught you out so quickly. Surely it’s not that obvious.
“I- I’m not lying,” you say too quickly. “There’s nothing… wrong.”
The methodical lift of one eyebrow matches the pace at which you trail off, and you can’t tell which of you is more unconvinced by your words.
He keeps you held firmly under his gaze and you hate your brain for how quickly it conjures the image of him doing the same thing during the meeting. You then hate yourself even more for wishing you had done something wrong, if only to prolong it.
What you don’t expect, though (and what doesn’t help your current situation in the slightest), is how the tension vanishes as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the slightest downward tilt of his eyebrows and a marginally softer voice that could almost be classified as concern.
“Was it the gas? You should have left the room if you were feeling unwell.”
“No, no, the mask worked fine,” you assure him, “I caught a whiff of it when we were leaving but it was barely there at that point.”
His eyes scan over you in an attempt to find any abnormalities, clearly unconvinced.
“There’s something bothering you.”
It’s not a question or a guess. Rather, it’s an accusation and a silent order to elaborate.
Your eyes shift to the shelf lodged against the wall, suddenly developing a keen interest in the various books that line the wooden slats. You start to wonder if Silco — or anyone, for that matter — ever reads them. Probably not, judging by the sheet of dust that coats them, but perhaps it would be worth opening one up someday. From what you can see, they seem to be on various worldly topics: politics, history, wars, and so forth. It would surely be a waste to just leave—
A stern call of your name derails your train of thought, redirecting it back to a very unamused Silco, who offers little more than a glower at your drifting conscience and fleeting attention span.
Your brain takes a second to catch up with the rest of you, culminating in a rather unintelligent, “Huh?” much to his chagrin. His patience is clearly hanging by a thread, and you fear you won’t have the time to string together a half-believable excuse.
“Well?” Silco asks lowly, and though you’ve grown accustomed to jokingly testing him when it’s just the two of you, it’s not such a fun game to play when you’re trying to herd him around the subject.
“You,” you blurt out without even thinking.
Oops.
“Me?”
Your haste to give him any kind of answer instead digs the hole you’re stuck in even deeper.
“Wait. Fuck. No, I didn’t mean you, just—”
“I should have told you to stay here.”
You wince at his scorn before realising he’s no longer directing his words at you. Instead, his eyes are fixated on the ground, obscured by his fingers when they go to pinch the skin between his eyebrows.
A lengthy silence fills the office, blowing up like a balloon and threatening to burst with each passing second.
“Silco,” you murmur tentatively, grazing his hand with your own.
“Did I scare you?”
The question grounds you, sucking all the air out of the room and leaving you staring at him with unblinking eyes as his question promptly stops the cogs in your brain.
Once again, all you can muster is a soft, “Huh?” but the lines that appear on his face are more akin to worry than vexation.
“During the meeting. Were you scared?”
You finally find your voice, “What are you— why would I have been scared?”
“You weren’t doing a good job of hiding it,” he says with a hint of venom, casting his gaze to the side when you don’t offer a response.
Unsatisfied, he stands abruptly and reaches the drinks cart by the wall in a few quick strides, tumbler in hand.
“You didn’t so much as blink and you barely spoke a word during the walk back to the club,” he says to the wall, punctuated by the cracking of fresh ice cubes and the steady pour of whiskey.
Finally, he turns, “And when we did arrive you immediately diverted towards the bar when you normally accompany me upstairs of your own volition.”
The end of his rant is punctuated by a tense sip, followed by the immediate raking of fingers through his hair. His stance — stiff shoulders, rigid jaw and the occasional twitch of lips — is a mirror to what you saw in the elevator before the meeting.
It takes your brain a second to catch up with the reality of things, and when it finally does, you just can’t help the ensuing reaction.
You laugh. Loud enough to surprise yourself with the sudden sound, and certainly loud enough to shift Silco’s glare away from the floor and upwards to you.
“I wasn’t scared, Silco,” you affirm, stifling the giggle threatening to erupt from your throat.
Evidently, he does not appreciate your reaction.
“I told you,” he says lowly. “Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not lying,” you say through a poorly-hid grin.
His sour look slowly wipes away your amusement, and after schooling your expression and piecing everything together, you coax him back down to the couch with the offer of an extended hand.
Albeit cautiously, he takes it, clearly not as up to speed with things as you are.
“I wasn’t scared,” you repeat, tenderly rubbing one of his shoulders as you try to land on the right word. “I was… impressed.”
His right eye is unblinking as it stares you down, unwilling to let you see what thoughts are swirling around behind it.
“Impressed?”
“Mhmm. Impressed.”
Ironically, he sounds decidedly un impressed with your response, quickly deciding he needs another mouthful of his drink if he’s to go one with this conversation.
“Do I really have to ask you to elaborate?”
“You can’t just take my word for it?” you ask, and the following silence is perhaps the loudest you’ve ever experienced.
“Okay, it’s just… you had the entire room under your thumb, literally gasping for air while you were breathing in poison like it was nothing. Reminding them they work for you; making them beg you to let them live. Anyone would call that impressive, Silco.”
You don’t know when to stop, and he doesn’t interject so you let yourself continue rambling, “The way you were acting, the way you were talking — I couldn’t stop staring. So yeah, maybe my eyes were wider than usual, and maybe I wasn’t as talkative, and maybe I needed to sit down, but can you blame me? You looked so powerful, so good — so damn good — that I… well, I was very impressed. Among other things.”
Silco says nothing, letting your confession sink in and you don’t know exactly what to expect when you look up to meet his gaze. Disbelief, confusion, maybe even humour. But when your eyes level with his, the rings of flame and sea are ravenous.
You could get used to being wrong, if this is the payoff.
His voice is a double-edged sword of rich, smooth velvet and rough gravel when he finally speaks, carefully but with endless intent, “So you truly weren’t frightened?”
Clearly, words aren’t enough for him. You reach for the glass and purposefully graze his fingers with your own as they tug in a silent request. He relents, allowing you to take it and you can’t say you don’t relish the twitch of his good eye when you purposefully turn it before drinking, so that your lips touch the exact part of the rim that his did.
“Do you really care that much if I was scared or not?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
His chest rises with a deep breath despite his face remaining decidedly impassive, “Because it will very much determine how soon I let you leave this room.”
The intent behind his words leaves no room for misinterpretation.
You tilt your head up slightly so that you can hold his gaze, letting a grin creep across your face as you do, “Then I suppose I should get comfortable.”
It seems he took your words to heart, if the way mouth melds with yours is anything to go by. Your hands drag up his chest, over his shoulders and around the back of his neck where your thumbs graze the short hairs at the base of his head. His own hands move to your waist, pressing through the thin material of your shirt and pulling you closer against him while his mouth drags across your jawline and down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. One of his hands goes to your head and balls in your hair, tugging downwards to fully expose your neck and nip at the skin, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes you.
“Careful now,” he murmurs and you can feel the smug grin pressing into you, “I might get the impression that you’re enjoying this.”
A response is on the tip of your tongue, but then his is soothing the redness of the bite he left and any desire to speak melts away.
There’s no denying the heat pooling between your legs as his mouth sucks a bruise over your pulse point before dragging to the other side of your neck and giving it the same treatment.
“Do I really need to spell it out for you again?” you finally manage.
“I won’t stop you.”
You let out a sigh of pleasure as his mouth finds your jawline, making it very difficult to string together a coherent sentence.
“Well, some may even say I was… enraptured.”
“Go on,” he all but growls out, teeth finding your skin.
“Captivated.”
Your hair is yanked to grant him access to your jugular.
“Obsessed.”
The heat of his breath ghosts your skin; a precursor to his tongue licking a stripe upwards until it meets your open mouth, swallowing the moan building up in your throat in a kiss with more fervour than its predecessor. You melt into his touch, unlocking your fingers and trailing your hands across his shoulders before dragging them down his arms and across his chest, indulging yourself in the contact that you had been waiting for all day.
Your hands cup either side of his jaw, allowing you to hold his head in place as you all but moan into his mouth, “Tell me next time someone undermines you. I’d love to see the show again.”
“You’re making me regret not having done it sooner.”
“So you were trying to protect me?”
Your only response is a deep rumble from his throat, paired with the fingers at your waist pressing in deeper and you know that the next few days will consist of you looking at the bruises dotting your body with an indulgent smile.
Now it’s your turn to pull back, and you don’t miss the twitch of his hips as you kiss up his jawline and bring his earlobe between your teeth, “It’s very endearing, Silco, but you should know by now I don’t break that easily.”
If you thought there was a fire in his eyes before, it’s an inferno now; a swirl of red flames erupting from the corrupted iris that had entranced you from the moment you first saw it, and you can only imagine that the sight is reflected in your own eyes.
“Don’t tempt me, darling,” he says in a velvety voice that shoots every last ember down to your core.
“Really? After you’ve spent all day tempting me?”
“Tempting you?” he goads. “How so?”
The last thing the smug bastard needs is more elaboration, but you don’t want anything else to be left up to interpretation. It’s with that in mind you slide your hands from his jaw back down to his shoulders, sliding into his lap so that you’re straddling him on the couch.
You press a kiss to the hinge of his jaw, “If we were alone in that elevator, I would’ve been on my knees the second the door shut.”
You had thought the self-satisfied smirk that stretched across Silco’s face when Finn begged for air at his feet was the final nail in your coffin, but it has absolutely nothing on the predatory curl of his lips at your whispered confession.
“We’re alone now.”
It’s all you need to drag your hands down to his hips, pressing one more lingering kiss to his lips before trailing them down his neck and sinking down to your knees. You had felt as much, but you can’t stop the way your eyes widen at the sight of his pants straining. Unable to resist, one hand comes down to squeeze his clothed length, and the groan that he tries to stifle immediately shoots straight through you.
“Don’t tease me, sweetheart,” he warns.
An innocent little smile twists your lips before you go to undo the four gold buttons of his pants, perhaps a little slower than necessary.
One.
“I said—”
Two.
“I know,” you interject.
Three.
“I wouldn’t dream of disobeying you, sir,” you say with a cheeky grin.
Four.
Your thumbs curl under the waistband of his pants, lingering just enough to earn you another glare that is washed away as soon as you tug downwards, and you don’t need to look up to know the smug little smirk that’s been making your day a living nightmare has made a reappearance.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
Deciding he’s spoken enough for now, you flick your eyes up towards his and hold his gaze, gripping his cock and licking a line from base to tip. The action transfers the smirk from his mouth to your own, though it’s warped by your tongue poking out to lavish his head with kitten licks that earn you another groan, quickly followed by a hand pressing into your hair.
“Last chance,” he threatens and you can’t help the moan that escapes you as you swirl your tongue around him.
Feeling merciful, you set a pace of bobbing your head, taking him further with each movement. He feels heavenly, and each moan that erupts from your throat transfers to him, despite his best efforts to stifle them.
You know he’s caught the cocky glint in your eyes by the way his hand tightens in your hair, pulling so that his length hits the back of your throat. You can’t help the mewl that escapes you as the dominant side of him you’ve been all but drooling over all day is finally aimed at you.
Concern drips from his voice, but the crook of his lips tells an entirely different story.
“Was the gas not enough for you, sweetheart? Did you wish you were choking on something else during that meeting?”
You nod as best you can, squeezing your eyes shut when tears begin to well.
“Poor thing,” he murmurs in the same tone, free hand going to cup your cheek.
You almost fall for the tender touch. Then, he’s using that same hand to grip your chin while the fingers in your hair tug harder, and it takes everything in you not to gag on him.
Your hands dig into his thighs, scratching the material of his pants with every thrust of his cock in your mouth. You want to beg, to scream his name and tell him how utterly desperate you are for him, but all you can do is moan around him as a mixture of tears and saliva falls down your chin.
His thrusts start to turn more erratic and his words grow filthier; a clear sign he’s about to reach his high.
“Next time we’re alone in that elevator, I’m going to take you just like this—”
A sudden but welcome lungful of air gives you a moment of clearheadedness when he yanks you back so that just the head of his cock remains in your mouth.
“Have you on your knees, where you belong—”
It seems to be your sole mercy for the time being, though, because he’s yanking you forward again before you can take a second breath.
“And use that mouth for the only thing it’s good for—”
You trap his head against the roof of your mouth with your tongue and suck. Never one to be outdone, the hand cupping your jaw squeezes tighter, pulling until your nose is brushing against him.
“But you would like that wouldn’t you? You filthy, desperate girl—”
Your throat flexes around him and it’s all he needs to bury himself there and throw his head back over the couch’s backrest with a groan he can’t hope to contain as he comes in your mouth, keeping you in place as you swallow around him and only pulling you off when you’ve taken every last drop.
Your breathing has barely returned to normal when he beckons you with the graze of a thumb at your chin. The remnants of tears paint everything in a light haze, but you can make out that he has discarded his vest.
“Get up and strip,” he orders while tucking himself back in and re-buttoning his pants.
Still a bit out of it, you stare up at him with unblinking eyes — something he does not appreciate, and just like in the meeting he almost looks bored as he chastises you.
“If I have to repeat myself one more time tonight I’m going to edge you every night from now until the next Chem Baron assembly, and you’re not going to finish once.”
In all the time you’ve known Silco — every meeting you’ve attended, every deal you’ve listened in on, every exchange you’ve been present for — he has not bluffed once. It’s with that in mind you shoot up to your feet, much too abruptly for your legs’ liking. His hand on your waist is quick to stabilise you, and the tantalisingly smug smile he gives you is almost enough to send you back to your knees again.
Your shirt is then quickly tugged over your head, followed by your boots as they’re kicked off, and your pants pooling on the floor. Your hands then go to your bra, but you can’t help the small quirk of your lips when a better idea pops into your head.
Resuming your original position on his lap, you look to him for permission before continuing. When he says nothing – only answering with the slightest of nods and a single raised eyebrow – you bring his hands to the clasps of your bra and remove his tie, undoing the top buttons of his shirt after the silken fabric is tossed on the cushions next to you.
“Can I tell you exactly when my problems started today?” you hum against him, leaving kisses around his collarbone.
You feel the rumbling of his chest beneath you before it leaves him in a breathy, “Hmm?”
“When you ran your fingers over that damn box… I couldn’t look away.”
The tension of the straps lessen and you shrug yourself out of the garment, letting out a sigh when his hands trace your ribs, barely grazing your breasts in a silent order to continue.
“And all I could think about was how I couldn’t wait for those idiots to stop talking so you could take me home and do the same to me.”
You spare a glance upwards.
Ravenous.
That's the only word your mind has time to conjure before his hands grip your hips in a bruising hold, lifting you up and turning you so that your back is to his front before you can even react.
“What— ah!”
Your question (and any subsequent thought that might follow) is promptly cut off by the fingers pinching your nipple and the teeth dragging along the juncture of your neck and shoulder.
“So while I was reminding a room of ingrates who runs this empire,” he hisses into your ear and you just know you can never wear these panties again, “ You were thinking of my fingers?”
You know you should just say yes and tell him what he wants to hear. But where’s the fun in that?
“Don’t be r-ridiculous. I was thinking of coming on your fingers—”
Two of those same digits promptly find a home in your mouth, gagging you while his hand seeks your other breast, pinching again until your whimpers die on his knuckles.
“I’m going to remove my hand,” he says with an utterly lethal glower, “and you’re going to tell me exactly what depraved thoughts were going through that filthy mind of yours. Without attitude.”
You nod desperately, gagging when his fingers go deeper.
He slides them out slowly and you’re not even given the chance to fill your lungs before that same hand curls around your neck.
“Understood?”
“Y-yes.”
He squeezes tighter.
“Yes, sir,” you whimper, taking a long — but shaky — breath when he releases you.
“And don’t forget what I said about repeating myself.”
“I won’t.”
His lips are a scythe where they press into your shoulder blade.
“Good girl.”
Not one sound comes out of you as Silco’s hands rest under the curve of your breasts. It takes several more seconds for you to realise he’s waiting, and now is decidedly not the time to be testing his patience.
“I imagined your hands everywhere…” you begin, shuddering as the very tips of his nails evoke goosebumps where they graze your skin.
“Be specific.”
“I imagined them in my hair… my mouth… around my throat.”
“It seems I read your mind, then. Where else?”
“Squeezing my chest…”
You gasp as his hands do just that, tilting your head to the side when he starts to press kisses along the side of your neck.
“And?”
“And then… going lower…”
More goosebumps blossom on your stomach.
“Bruising.”
Despite the knowledge of exactly what’s to come, your breath catches at the sudden pressure from his fingers on your hips, replacing the shivering skin with a redness that will surely darken over the coming days.
“More bruising,” he corrects.
You murmur your agreement, lost in the contrast of his malefic fingers and heavenly mouth. Then, you remember the promise he made, blurred between the lines of a threat.
“Not just above the waist.”
“Oh?”
“Thighs, too,” you say, blushing.
He traces the curve of your hips, stopping just below.
“N-no,” you interject when he starts to apply pressure there.
“No?”
“Inner thighs,” you clarify, feeling the redness spread down your neck.
The sickle-like smirk slashes you again, just below your ear.
“Filthy,” he repeats, hands snaking between your legs to part them slowly.
Agonisingly slow, actually. But you made the mistake of telling Silco to hurry up once, and there is no force in this world that could even make you consider saying it again.
Finally, he presses into the skin there, knuckles barely grazing your still-clothed core and the instant twitch of your hips is beyond your control.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Want me to touch somewhere else?”
“Y-yes, please, Silco,” you whine.
“And how do you expect me to know that if you don’t say it?” he retorts, tone going from sweet to venomous in a heartbeat, matched by the borderline painful sensation of his fingers digging into your thighs.
You wince before forcing yourself to keep going, lest this be your reality for the next month.
“I i-imagined you fucking me with your fingers.”
“And did I remove these beforehand?” he inquires, pulling back the elastic of your panties and smirking at the yelp you let out when it snaps back.
Your head is telling you to lie. Your body is screaming at you to lie, but you know that he will know if you do.
“… No.”
He huffs a laugh — a cynical little puff of air, more than anything — and you’re almost convinced he could hear your internal deliberation. But then his hands are snaking down your panties and you toss all thoughts of potential telepathy out the window.
“Y-you touched my clit first,” you manage, digging your hands into the couch cushions when his finger immediately starts rubbing there.
“Then slipped a finger in— oh, fuck,” you sob, legs twitching the second you finally get the attention you need.
“And… then…”
“And then?” he prompts, but you’re at a loss.
You turn your head so that it’s half-facing him, eyeing the quirk of his mouth when he takes in the hopeless expression on your face, “I- I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
You shake your head, biting your tongue when his hand ceases all movement, “If I’m being honest, you were done with the box. I got distracted… started thinking of something else…”
“And are you going to tell me about that fantasy, too?”
Despite the vast majority of neurons in your brain focusing on the fire between your legs, you manage one little smirk, “Tell you? I just showed you.”
The smile vanishes just as quickly as it had appeared, contorted into something more befitting the sudden sob of Silco’s name when two fingers breach your entrance and one resumes its previous actions on your clit.
“It’s alright, darling. I think I get the picture now.”
You throw your head back and he doesn’t miss the opportunity to lavish your neck with open-mouthed kisses, smirking against you at each plea and cry that falls from your mouth.
A third finger, and the knot in your stomach is pulled tighter and tighter, until his name is an incomprehensible string of whines and moans on your lips. He shifts the angle, curling them just right and the band snaps. You twist your torso to turn and clutch onto him, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and burying your head in the crook of his neck as his hand continues its work, carrying you through your climax while its twin tenderly rubs the nape of your neck.
He keeps you like that, until your hips have ceased their bucking and your breathing has slowed to a normal pace. You whine when he pulls his fingers out, staring wide-eyed as he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean without dropping your gaze.
His hands then go back to your hips and you all but melt into his soothing touch when he begins to rub tender circles into the skin.
“Can you stand, lovely?” he murmurs gently into your ear.
Your head turns slightly to the side, so that your lips brush when you answer, “I think so.”
The pressure of his hands and the feline curl of his mouth are immediate.
“Good,” he says, void of the warmth he had spoken with only a heartbeat earlier. “Desk. Now.”
His hands stay on you as you stand yourself on shaky legs, only leaving when you begin to walk towards the ornate desk (but not before he places a single kiss on your middle back). There’s a good chance it has something to do with the current state of your lower body, but that damn piece of furniture has never felt so far away.
So lost in your frustrations, you don't even hear the clicking of his boots behind you, and you've barely turned around before his long arms are slotted against the surface, caging you against the wooden structure.
“On the desk.”
You comply without pause, gasping when he cups the swell of your ass and pulls you flush against him so that you can feel the hardness beneath his pants once again. The ensuing grinding on your part is quickly halted by his hands hooking under the waistband of your panties as he steps back and pulls them off.
There truly are not enough words to properly capture the depth of the shit-eating grin that unfurls under Silco’s nose, only growing when the redness of your cheeks darkens in response to one hooded eye flicking between the garment, your face, and the mess between your legs.
Letting them fall to the floor when he’s had his fill of your chagrin, he leans over you once again, until his hands are covering yours and his mouth has reunited with your jawline.
He hums in response to your call of his name, which came out as more of a broken string of syllables than anything else.
“Please.”
“Please, what?” he inquires innocently, grinding against you just enough to evoke another cry.
“Please touch me.”
His fingers trace a path down your sternum, “I’m touching you now, aren’t I?”
Green and red flick up to garner your reaction. You meet them just in time to catch the briefest shade of surprise saturating their hues when your hands shoot out from under his, finding his shirt collar and gripping with every ounce of frustration that has been piling on you since the moment you exited that damn elevator.
“Please, Silco, I need you so bad,” you beg, not caring how desperate you sound. “I haven’t been able to go more than thirty seconds without thinking about your cock inside me and I can’t take it anymore, so please, please just fuck me already.”
Your back hits the table first, quickly followed by your wrists when they meet the same fate above your head, held firmly in his one-handed grip while the other goes directly to the buttons of his pants.
Unsurprisingly, he undoes them much quicker than you had, tugging them down and freeing his cock.
You’re still whispering pleas and calls of his name when he slides into you, filling you entirely in one quick movement. The action rips an utterly animalistic sound out of you, and he wastes no time in pressing his newly freed hand to your lower stomach while the other flexes against your constrained wrists. Clearly, your words had affected him.
“O-oh gods, you feel so good, so fucking good,” you moan under his ministrations.
“And here I was thinking I couldn’t take you to these things because it’s dangerous,” he finishes with a harsh thrust, “but the reality is that you can’t even behave.”
He pulls out almost all the way before slamming back into you and setting a brutal pace that has your thighs shaking and your back arching. Not wasting a second, his mouth follows the path his finger had etched moments before, wrapping around a nipple and sucking softly in a delicious contrast to the ruthless motion of his hips.
“I couldn’t — fuck — help it.”
“Oh, I can see that, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your breast, digging his teeth into the soft skin and hissing when you clench around his length.
You know you won’t be able to sit without wincing tomorrow, but that doesn’t stop you from hooking your ankles against his waist and pulling him deeper into you.
“Desperate little whore,” he grunts, bringing both his hands to your hips while straightening up to stand over you, and the change in angle has you screaming his name without a single care for whoever might be close enough to hear.
“Forget the elevator,” he hisses. “Next time we’re in that room, I’m bending you over the table.”
The utter filth spewing from his mouth, coupled with the loose strands of hair framing the feral look in his eyes lights a crackling wildfire under the expanse of your skin.
“Silco,” you all but sob as the flames creep towards the knot in your stomach as it starts to tighten once again, “I’m s-so close.”
“Beg,” he orders, fingers immediately finding your clit and rubbing slow circles around it.
“Please, Silco. Please, let me come, I can’t f-fucking take it anymore and you — ah! — you fuck me so, so good and I need to come, ple—”
The pace of his hips and rhythm of his fingers immediately increases, cutting you off and turning the rest of your words into incomprehensible moans.
“So obedient today,” he says through a crooked grin. “Let go for me, sweetheart.”
Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, evoking more broken sounds of pleasure. Your arms immediately wrap around him, desperate for an anchor as one splays across his back and the other clutches at the back of his neck.
Silco fucks you through it relentlessly, until his pace starts to falter and he’s burying himself deep inside you, elbows planted next to your head as his own climax takes over. His groans and sighs of your name are lost on your tongue as he drags his mouth to yours, kissing you until you’re leaking his release and his shirt is indented with crescents in the shape of your nails.
Echoes of good girl and that’s it seep into the silence that is otherwise filled by your hammering heartbeat, slowly drowning the thrumming out until it has resumed its placid rhythm in your chest.
His breath comes back to him first, felt in a lengthy exhale that caresses your neck while he pulls out of you with a low hiss, hushing you when the grip on his back tightens.
“It’s okay, darling,” he murmurs against your collarbone. “Are you alright?”
You give a barely-audible hum of confirmation.
“Words, my love,” he says softly while grazing a hand through your hair.
“...I’m alright,” you murmur, losing yourself to the gentle touch while more praises and sweet words are whispered into your skin in unison with the soft kisses being placed on the various marks and bruises dotting your body.
Your own hands eventually leave his shirt and entwine in his hair, smoothing back the mussed strands and relishing the hushed sounds of contentment the motion evokes. You have no idea how long the two of you stay like that for, just basking in each other’s quiet presence until a soft call of your name breaks the silence.
“Hmm?”
Though you can’t see it, there’s no mistaking his sharp little smirk as it once again makes a reappearance against your skin.
“We have another meeting in—” a glance to the clock behind him, “—one hour. Shall I postpone it?”
You can’t fight the little smile that curls the corners of your lips. “I would appreciate it.”
For @catgoblinchelly - because she's a cutie and her asks always make me smile 💜
Silco x drunk!reader || Silco x Astrid || DWM universe || Established relationship || Drunk shenanigans || 1.1K words || SFW || She's absolutely hammered my dudes
The Eye of Zaun cocks his head a fraction of a fraction; an almost feline response to the sound of footsteps approaching his office.
A single set, heavy, unmistakably Jasper's. Yet the cheerful, slurred babbling that accompanies those footsteps couldn’t belong to anyone other than you.
The reason for the disconnect between voice and gait becomes apparent only moments later.
The door opens. And Jasper enters with you slung over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Silco takes a moment to admire your raised buttocks, before arching a single eyebrow at the disgruntled, green-haired bar manager.
“This one,” grumbles Jasper, tightening his arm across the backs of your thighs to pointedly jostle you, “goaded Sevika into a drinking contest.”
“And?”
Jasper’s annoyance gives way to begrudging admiration, “Yer right-hand is downstairs with her head in the toilet bowl.”
Silco smirks – a sharp, serpentine thing – and directs his praise towards your ass, “That’s my girl.”
“Izat Silco?!” You chirrup from behind Jasper’s back.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Weeeeeee!”
The uninhibited jubilation in your squeal warms the Eye of Zaun as equally as it tickles him, and he works hard to suppress the quirk of his lips in Jasper’s presence.
The ox-like man carries you to the office sofa, sliding you from his shoulder and laying you on the red velvet cushions with a gentleness that belies his gruff exterior.
“Wanted to take her home, but she insisted on comin’ up here instead.”
“Quite right too,” comes Silco's clipped response, rising from his chair and rounding the oaken desk.
“Hmf.”
“Would you truly rather drag her across the city in this state, leave her alone in her apartment, and risk her choking on her own vomit than entrust her into my care?”
"Yer think I would've just left her alone?—“
“Mnggaaaahwwksksp.”
Incoherent as your squawk may be, Silco recognises it for what it is: a plea for the bickering to stop, and a demand for attention. He cuts Jasper a brief, scathing glance, before perching beside you on the cushions.
“I hear you’ve secured yourself quite the victory this evening.”
Your head, propped up on the sofa arm, rolls in his direction and you beam; all tooth and pride.
“I see. And just how large of a bar tab has your ‘willpower’ accumulated tonight?”
You purse your lips, sucking on the truth like it’s a wedge of lemon. Either you decide to avoid the question outright, or else you simply forget what’s been asked, because your head lolls in a half-circle once again, this time coming to a stop to display coyly weighted lashes and a flirtatious little smirk.
“Hheytherecmmutiepie.”
Silco chuckles low in his chest, leaning a touch closer to purr, “Hello, sweetheart.”
An intense satisfaction swells in his chest at the way your alcohol flushed cheeks deepen three shades and you break into a fit of girlish giggles. Nice to know he still has that effect on you.
“Youssocute.”
Quick as a whip, your fingers shoot up, bury themselves in Silco’s hair, and latch onto the roots with surprising force. There’s little he can do but wince against the pain and pray to Janna that his skull remains connected to his spine as you begin to enthusiastically restyle his locks.
Before Silco can stop you, you’re yanking his head down, and the force with which you crash your mouth into his would undoubtedly chip his front teeth if that ship hadn’t already sailed.
“Mmph!—Alright, that’s quite enough of that,” he insists, carefully but firmly extracting himself from the clumsy kiss, and digging his fingers into your forearms until you loosen your hold on his hair, “We aren’t alone, don’t forget.“
“But Jasp knowswe’s loverrrrs.”
“Still, darling, I think a bit of decorum is in order.”
“Decrorum? Pfft. All’ese fancy words. Wheres you puttin‘em?”
To Silco’s dismay, you retighten your grip, twisting his head roughly side to side as though examining the shape of it.
“Dercorum. Decorcum oop!—” you release him and slap your hands over your mouth with a lewd snort, parting your fingers just enough to hiss between them, “I said cum.”
“I can manage from here, Jasper,” Silco sighs wearily, smoothing back his rumpled hair with a practiced palm, “You have my gratitude for bringing her.”
Evidently, the last thirty seconds have made the bar manager uncomfortable enough that he only hesitates briefly before leaving the office with a clipped grunt, closing the door quickly behind him.
“We should get you into bed.”
“Awyeahbabyy.”
“Let me reiterate that you will be getting into bed. I still have work to complete. Particularly now that it appears my right-hand will be out of commission tomorrow.”
“Butsithou’youslefthanded?”
Silco manoeuvres you up off the sofa and towards his quarters. A tricky feat, considering you possess as much control over your limbs as an electrocuted rag-doll. It isn’t long before the Eye of Zaun, (to your high-pitched delight), simply scoops you into his arms and carries you through to his ensuite bathroom.
Your wriggling energy persists for a little while as he tends to you – coaxing you to brush your teeth, to use the toilet, to finish a large glass of water – but shortly begins to fade. Your eyelids drooping as he gently washes away your makeup with a damp cloth. Head nodding as he redresses you for the comfort of bed. Breaths deepening as he settles you beneath the blankets with water and a small waste bin at your side.
Silco adjusts the duvet until it lays upon you to his liking; a feeble excuse to linger at your side a moment longer. The serenity of your face at rest squeezes at his heart, making it hard to turn away. It’s moments like these in which he feels the tiniest pang of resentment towards the work that keeps him so endlessly busy.
Before he can take even half a step towards the door, he’s halted by a hand closing around his wrist.
Your eyes are barely open, but still, beneath the soft eaves of your lashes, that beautiful light within your gaze still shines, and a small, hushed smile rests upon your lips.
“Do I get a goodnight kiss?” You ask quietly.
The corner of Silco’s mouth rises alongside the memory of a night so very long ago now. Of tucking you beneath his coat upon the sofa, and denying your simple request in favour of a whispered tease in your ear.
But times have changed. These days, Silco no longer finds himself able to deny you a damn thing.
He leans down, a hand upon the mattress and the other capturing your chin in a gentle pinch, and presses his lips to yours in a kiss that’s soft, sweet, and lingering.
“Mmmmmyummy,” you hum sleepily when you finally part.
Silco chuckles to himself, brushing a light, tender knuckle down your cheek as he straightens, and adjusting the blankets, one last time.
