Your birthday is tomorrow and your relationship with your husband Silco hasn’t been the best lately. He’s avoiding you at all costs and you can’t figure out why.
Is your marriage at an end or is there something else lurking in the shadows of the Last Drop…?
Eyes on you (NSFW) - oneshot
(https://archiveofourown.org/works/42829521)
Synopsis:
Living as a human in a vampire city is not quite easy. So you're glad that your employer is a powerful vampire, who takes care of your well-being. Silco does has a liking to you… it‘s just a liking… right??
The Burning of Flowers - oneshot
(https://archiveofourown.org/works/42620778)
Synopsis:
You are a goddess of fertility - living in the city of gods: Piltover. On this fateful day of good - your life changes forever…
Comments - oneshot
(https://archiveofourown.org/works/47532490)
Synopsis:
You have a special surprise for Silco… something for tonight… something he shouldn’t see… yet.
A walk in the clouds - one shot
When you’re near me… - One Shot
Synopsis:
Silco has a sessional depression and you just come home from a recent business trip and now it’s up to you to get Silcos mood back up
Autumn writing challenge 2023:
Part 1 - sfw
Part 2 - nsfw
Christmas one shot “Silent Visitor” (Silco & Sevika one shot)
Synopsis:
Sevika returns to the Last Drop, enters Silcos office to encounter a rare scenery…
Wildflowers, they keep living While they're just standing still I've been missing yesterday
But what if there's a better place?
Cover me in sunshine
Cover me in sunshine - P!nk, Willow Sage Hart
—————
—————————————-
A few weeks later, your arm already feels much better than before, thanks to the healing power of your arcane magic. Now you could remove the stitches Singed made. You worked your shift overseeing the bar and getting in a few times to fill the gaps between servings.
When your shift is almost over, Silco arrives, his cheeks dirty from his work at the mine. He’s wearing this new Bordeaux red shirt you saw on him more often as of late. He makes his way straight to you, sitting down at the bar with a tired expression.
“A whiskey… you know what? Make it a double, bar girl”, he mutters, his gaze falling onto the counter.
Back to ‘bar girl’? And a double whiskey in the early noon? Something’s off.
“I have a better idea… black coffee. And a lot of it,” you suggest and turn to grab a mug and the coffee pod. You fill his mug up and place it in front of him.
He gulps it down in one go and signals you a refill. You pour him three cups in a row before he finally says, “Almost ran into another convoy this evening… fucking enforcer.”
You quirk an eyebrow. “So soon? Were you able to follow them a bit?”
“Yeah… they brought their stuff to a location at the docks, where they loaded it on a ship to Topside. My best guess is that they import the ores from our mines, where we miners work like dogs to get them their little palaces in the sun…” Silco is somber and who can blame him, after all his work gets put on a ship to serve people who’ve never seen a pickaxe in their life, while he and his colleagues hunger in the lanes.
You pour him another coffee and pull the map out, on which you plan the ambush of the next convoy.
Silco takes a pencil and draws in a certain route, leading from the mines to the docks, to an enforcer camp and back to the mines.
“This is the route they’ve taken for the past two weeks - they never waver away from it.”
You take the pencil from him, studying the route and scouting the best possible spot for the ambush. You walk the route in your head - knowing all the alleys and dead ends by heart. You circle the places that you feel are worthy enough to be viewed on site. Silco taps another spot - a parallel street to the route.
“This one too - with enough distraction we can lead them here,” he adds - his voice is velvet while he’s thinking calmly. It sends a small shiver down your spine as you circle the spot he pointed out.
For the next few hours you discuss the possibility of setting a trap. Within the next two hours, the two of you visit the spots until you find the perfect one on the crossing of Fish Lane and Rat Hole Alley.
Who named these streets this shitty, for crying out loud!? You think to yourself while you inspect an empty house on the crossing.
After those two hours you return with Silco, who’s visibly tired and just wishes to relax.
The gates open at 6pm for the nightlife of the Lanes, and all kinds of people enter the Drop. Your clean-up and established bar routines did its job, and the place is packed within half an hour.
You and Vander pour drinks like maniacs, while Benzo works the kitchen in the back. Silco on the other hand sits in your corner of the counter, reading a book or snacking on small nuts. His gaze alternates between your hands, your face and his book.
After a while the bar quiets down and you decide to work on something you always wanted to finish: a signature drink.
You have something citrusy yet sweet in mind. You start experimenting with vodka, absinthe, bitter, limoncello, various juices, and after a while you get a taste for a base flavor that you really enjoy. It contains vodka, absinthe, orange and grapefruit juice, a splash of red vermouth, apricot liqueur and a touch of cinnamon (that actually accidentally made its way into a taste shot, because you were clumsy - but it was so good that you kept it in). You shook the mixture to bind the citrusy ingredients into the others.
Silco watched your liqueur mixing like a teacher, watching his student trying out a difficult and weird experiment.
You taste the finished mixture and get a taste. It’s good and tasty - no doubt, but… something… a certain something was missing. You put your mixture in front of Silco.
“Am I about to be your test subject, Professor?” He smirks and does nothing to hide his amused expression.
You roll your eyes and look at him as if to say “drink it or leave it…”
He takes a taste of it, staring in your eyes at the beginning. After a small taste he sets the glass down.
“It’s good! Not too bitter and not so sweet that it sends a diabetic into a state of shock. It’s very good… but something is missing...”
“Yeah, right?” you answer almost immediately. “But I can’t put my finger on it!”
The rest of the shift goes over smoothly and after the shift you meet Silco on the rooftop of the Last Drop.
“Still here? Thought you would be in bed now.” You walk towards him as Silco stares into the far horizon where the sun first hits the Undercity.
“Actually I wanted to… but the sun rises soon and the view of the sunrise from here is breathtaking. Besides I’m off duty tomorrow so - who cares.” He smokes a cigarette and as soon as you sit next to him, he passes the little glowing stick to you.
You take a drag. The smoke fills your lungs, warms your heart and calms your nerves. You hand it back to Silco.
“When I was little, I snuck out here to one of the taller buildings to see the sun rise in all its glory. The sun rays were like vines pulling the sun out of its blue bed,” he said.
Silco takes another drag of his cigarette, his eyes glued to the horizon where red light signals the coming of the sun.
“I never thought I would hear you speaking so poetically,” you laugh and your eyes wander to the horizon where the rim of Piltover is.
Silco chuckles too. “I’m full of surprises you don’t know yet, princess.”
“Seriously, stop with that ‘princess’ thing - it’s annoying.”
“But that’s what you are: a princess. And who knows…” he takes yet another drag of his cigarette before he flicks it over the edgeof the Drop. “… Perhaps this princess will become a queen one day. Besides, I’ve forgotten your real name since ‘Princess’ fits you better.”
You playfully punch him. “Jerk.”
Then the sun finally rises and it’s exactly like Silco said: the sun rays look like vines that pull the sun out of its bed.
Your eyes begin to shine as you watch the scene before you.
“I’m jealous that you were able to see this as a kid… it’s just… beautiful.” you say.
“Have you ever heard of ‘the boy in the river’?” Silco suddenly asks.
Your eyes look at him questioningly. “Yeah… that story that was told to us by our parents to make us fear the Enforcers.”
“Well… I was that boy. The enforcer pushed me down the bridge and I learned the hard way how to swim… to survive....” His voice is somber again as he seems to recall that event.
You’re shocked upon that reveal. Silco was the boy in the river??
“But you know what? I began to swim, turning my disadvantage into a new strength…” he looks at you now. “And that’s what I wish for the people of the Undercity… to turn their chains of slavery, this mark of mistreatment… into a new strength to deliver themselves from their current situation. Just like I did with the water…”
You keep looking at him. Those eyes, his eyes - you began to swim in this cerulean sea and begin to feel the encouragement of his words deep within you.
“That’s what I want too… for all of us,” you answer.
Your heads turn back to the sunrise and both of you begin to feel the warmth of it on your bodies.
It feels like a warm caress… a little moment of safety in this cruel world.
Just the two of you… like brothers-in-arms, partners-in-crime… like friends.
I love all your fics sm, could you possibly write reader comforting silco after his lil breakdown in s1ep6?
ngl i feel like I'm Silco in this one and I need a reader to fix me
Because this is a request, I am posting the full text. In one month, it will be converted to an AO3 link, so read it here now while you still can!
Broken
Masterlist | AO3 link
Rating: Mature
Tags: Silco x gn!reader; angst; hurt/comfort; emotional hurt/comfort; established relationship
Word count: 1.1k
Betas: @medic-simp @juniper-sunny
He told you not to come with him. To stay behind in case Jinx returned.
You didn't like what you were seeing—the way he was starting to unravel at the ends, his perfectly manicured facade crumbling with each hour his daughter was missing. You had this feeling in your gut that it was all about to go sideways, that something awful was going to happen.
But you couldn't stop him.
So you stayed in his office, sitting in his chair and staring out the large circular window. Watching his figure striding with purpose on the streets below to disappear from your view.
Maybe you were wrong.
Maybe he would find her and bring her back home.
Maybe everything was going to be okay.
But you couldn't shake the feeling.
That this was the beginning of the end.
There's a steady thumping sound as your heel taps along the hardwood, knee bouncing erratically as you wait.
Sure, you have things you could be tending to, but your mind is elsewhere—it’s with Silco.
Will he find her?
What will happen if he does?
You could tell by how he had spoken of her recently that his grasp on her was slipping away, her attention instead on the sister she thought dead for years. Despite raising Jinx as his own, Silco could not fight the bond shared by blood—and it was driving him mad.
You don't move from your perch for a full hour. And even then, you only rise to your feet to pace the empty office, one arm barred across your stomach as the other crosses your chest, your front teeth making short, quick clicking sounds against the tip of your thumbnail.
A nervous habit.
One Silco hated.
But he's not here to tell you to stop.
So you keep doing it.
Waiting.
Mealtime comes and goes without any change. Your stomach protests, but you ignore it. You've taken to searching Silco's desk, hands frantically rummaging through his things to see if there could be any clue as to where his daughter had disappeared to.
None of her old drawings give you any answers, a tidy pile of them in his bottommost desk drawer. And no amount of rifling through the contents of the safe (the one hidden behind the painting whose sole keepers are Silco and you) lead to any revelations.
You’re moments away from leaving to check Jinx’s workshop when the door to the office opens. Not with a bang, but with a slow, drawn-out creak.
You have one sleeve of your coat on when you look up to see Silco's figure standing in the doorway. His hair is a matted mess against his forehead, his makeup smeared with sweat, revealing the decaying, grey skin around his corrupted eye. There's dust and grime all along his coat, vest, and pants, and blood on his gold-toed boots.
“What happened?” you gasp, ditching your coat to the couchback in favor of running toward him. “Are you okay?”
He ignores you, shuffling past you. When he flops himself onto the red velvet cushions, puffs of dirt dance in the air to settle around him. Staring ahead of him, he seems devoid of light; you could almost swear that the glow of his volcanic orange eye seems dimmer.
“Silco…” you whisper, crouching to get eye-level with him.
He looks through you, the iris of his ruined eye drifting almost lazily, with none of the vigor you've come to know.
You take both of his hands in yours, resting them on his lap as you study him. There's a tapestry of textures along his skin, dirt and grime and shimmer and blood. You squeeze his hands as your lips press together, waiting.
You never know what Silco you're going to get: the loud, snarling, erratic beast, all roars and teeth; or the silent, fuming, cold statue, impossible to read and even more impossible to crack. You've seen every side of this man, every emotion, every reaction.
But still, sometimes, you struggle to know how to handle him. How to help him.
It took you many years and many fights to realize that, most times, he simply wants you to listen.
So you wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Your knees are sore from where they dig into the rug, both your feet fallen asleep long ago. But you stay rooted to the spot, resolutely, dutifully holding his hands as he stares straight ahead. You wonder what thoughts are swirling in that head of his, what calculations he's running, what strategies he's testing and retesting.
After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.
“She's gone.”
You bite your tongue, allowing him to talk.
“I've lost her.” His voice feels so far away despite being right in front of you. A ghost of a whisper. A light, almost imperceptible breeze. “And I don't know if I can get her back.”
At last, his eyes move. They almost seem to stutter as they cast slowly—so slowly—down to meet your gaze. And when they lock with your eyes, you have to hold back a small whimper from escaping your lips.
Broken.
He looks so broken.
You've never seen him this bad before. In all your years—first under his employ, then as his partner—he’s never been this far gone. You could always count on a small, stubborn spark behind his eyes.
But that little flame is gone.
Replaced with deep obsidian, heavy and impenetrable.
“Oh, Silco…” you whisper, bringing one hand up to cradle his scarred cheek.
Your touch breaks him further, cracking the dam of his resolve.
His good eye squeezes shut and his hands come up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as he doubles over.
He doesn't cry—you’ve never seen him cry. Instead, he tugs at his hair, his hands shaking and his breath quickening. His whole torso seems to almost vibrate with how he shakes under the massive weight of his grief.
You rise to your feet, a soft reassuring hum at your throat as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him toward yourself. The crown of his head presses to your stomach and he feels stiff in your arms, awkward and unresponsive. Rubbing circles into his back, you make soft cooing sounds as you try to calm him down, feeling so helpless.
“It's okay,” you whisper. “I've got you.”
Finally, he releases his hold on the graying tendrils of hair, his head pressing against you earnestly as he wraps both arms around your middle tightly. You return the embrace, your eyes squeezing shut as a tear escapes them.
How you wish you could take this grief from him, endure it for him. You would suffer this pain tenfold if it meant he didn't have to.
But as you hold him in your arms, you know this is something he must overcome himself.
And when you feel warmth against your stomach—a faint dampness to the fabric of your shirt—you wonder if you'll ever be able to bring back that spark.
You barely have time to wind your arms around his neck before he suddenly lets go of you to swim straight towards the dock. The abrupt movement has you clinging to him, your legs locked in a vice grip around his torso as he approaches the pier. He’s a fast and elegant swimmer, the shore rapidly coming to greet you as his arms glide under the river’s surface.
When he reaches his destination, his hands move to your hips, helping you turn around in the water. Without warning, his grip on you tightens and he lifts you up effortlessly. You yelp as you wobble in the air, almost falling face-first onto the pier. Grumbling at what must be the undignified, ungainly display of you pulling your legs onto the dock, you hastily scramble to your feet. You almost knock over your stack of clothes into the water in your haste to grab your dress.
Silco pulls himself up onto the pier as you yank your dress on, not bothering with any of the fastenings; the fabric clings like a second skin, moist and sticky as you shake water out of your hair. He strides over to his own clothes, only pulling on his pants and jacket before tossing the rest in his picnic basket. He’s much more careful with your belongings, tucking in your clothes and corsage gingerly inside the basket. He grabs the handle, and you both jam your respective boots on before finally taking off.
The city is a blur as you both run through the streets, exhilaration and anticipation mounting higher and higher in your heart.
Along with a climbing terror of revealing one last secret to Silco.
Soon enough, you and Silco are crashing through your front door. You clumsily lock it behind you, dropping your keys to the ground and kicking off your boots as he does the same. He drops to his knees, staring at you with gleaming eyes as he reverently takes the hem of your dress, looking at you for permission.
“Wait!” you squeak out, taking an instinctive step back from him. He looks at you inquiringly, and you quickly lean down to take his wrist. Stalling, you swallow hard as you pull him to his feet.
“Is something the matter?” he asks. He has no judgment, impatience, or frustration in his voice, just curiosity.
You try to take some deep breaths to calm down, anxiety tightening spiked chains around your throat. When Silco senses your distress, he steps closer to you, his hands rising to hold your face. This time, you fight the reflex to pull away from him.
“Look at me.” He says your name so gently, as if it were a baby bird he was holding in cupped hands. His thumb slowly sweeps along your cheekbone as he directs your gaze at him. “It’s okay.”
“I—” you finally choke out, trying to stop yourself from blinking.
When you look into his eyes, his pupils are blown out, adoration and worship glowing in them. He shines too brightly for you to stare at for long.
You push him away and stammer, “I’ve—I’ve never…”
You get a glimpse of Silco’s jaw dropping in surprise before you turn from him, clamping your eyes shut. Shame, embarrassment, frustration, hurt, self-loathing… all accumulating over a lifetime where so few people found you desirable, and none of whom made you feel comfortable enough to take that next step with.
So arrogant of you to assume that Silco wanted you enough to overlook that. That he would still be willing to take on the burden you’re leaving at his feet.
“You’ve never been intimate with anyone before?” he asks, amazed. The incredulity in his voice stings, salt in the wound of your pained pride.
You shake your head, eyes still closed. Fighting back tears and preparing yourself for Silco’s departure. If not from your life, then from your home. You hug yourself tight, fingernails digging into your own skin painfully.
“If I’m understanding you correctly…” he says thoughtfully. The sound of his footsteps approaches you instead of retreating towards your front door. He places a light hand on your shoulder, not forcing you to turn around and look at him, but just a grounding, comforting presence. “…I would be your first?”
You nod, still avoiding his gaze. Fighting the temptation to lean into his touch, to let yourself fall into his arms.
“Candidly, I find that hard to believe,” he says softly. “You’re perfect.”
“Maybe you should get your eyes checked,” you laugh humorlessly, trying to cover up your unhappiness.
“If the world could see what I see, you would never know another moment of peace,” he says. He steps closer and hugs you from behind, the warmth of his body enveloping you as his arms come over your shoulders. “They would beg for the privilege of knowing you as I have.”
For a brief moment, you stiffen at his words and his touch. But he kisses the back of your head, a gentle, reassuring pressure. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you say remorsefully.
“That’s not something you need to be forgiven for,” he says firmly.
You let yourself relax against him, melting into his chest as he murmurs in your ear, “We don’t have to do this tonight. I’ll wait as long as it takes until you’re ready—”
“I want to,” you blurt out. Relieved to finally tell him, it’s a weight off your shoulders that lightens your mood. Further emboldened by Silco’s positive reaction, you take his wrists and pull at them to loosen his embrace. You turn around and hug him back before looking up at him. Locking eyes with him when you say, “I want you.”
He presses his forehead against yours, staring at you in awe. Eyes bright with desire, he smiles sweetly before kissing you again. He’s much softer this time, tasting the shape of your top lip, then the bottom. Memorizing the movements of your mouth against his. Sweet and slow, unconcerned with picking up the lost momentum from your time in the river. Instead, leisurely stirring your arousal all over again, so indulgent as if he was in no hurry.
You could stand there all night, but your thirst for him is only partially quenched by his kisses. Breathless, you pull away from him, a string of saliva stretching from your mouth to his. When you grab the hem of your dress, he helps you pull it off, a rising curtain once again revealing more of your body than you’ve ever shown anyone else.
You shiver at the exposure to the cool air. But it’s Silco touch that has goosebumps cascading on your skin, his hands lightly holding your hips as he pulls you close. Pressed up against his chest, the collar of his jacket imprinting against you as you hug him tightly. You fumble with the fastening on your bra before his hands close over yours. He unhooks it easily, his eyes blowing out even more when it falls to the floor with a soft flop.
Silco can’t help but grind against you when you kiss him again, rubbing his already hardened cock against your cunt. He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband of your panties, dragging them off. He eagerly squeezes the plush of your naked ass with both hands, moaning low and lustful, in sync with your own longing whimpers. His fingertips dig deep into your flesh as he marvels at the softness of your skin.
A stirring, roiling arousal makes your thighs clench involuntarily, seeking some kind of friction. When he grinds against you again, you move in tandem with him, your cunt sliding against his core.
“I could fuck you standing up,” he says roughly, panting breaths hot against your cheek.
“Do—do you want to?” you gasp out as he kisses your neck.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” A kiss on your shoulder, planting another seed of desire that sinks through you, taking root between your legs.
“You could never hurt me, Silco.” Your fingers weave through his long, soft, still slightly damp hair as he traces the shape of your collarbone with his nose.
“I need to make sure you’re ready.”
“I’ve been ready for a long time.”
“Gods, please don’t tempt me…,” he pleads a prayer against your skin. “Get on the bed.”
As reluctant as you are to part from him, you quickly obey, jumping eagerly onto your bed. He follows soon after, sitting with his back against the wall. As you automatically settle between his outstretched legs, he guides you to sit with your back against his chest. His heart pounds between your shoulder blades as you turn to kiss him again.
Silco splays his hands on the plane of your stomach, just below your ribs. Your breath hitches as his thumbs graze your breasts. Whimpering when his large, warm hands slide higher to cup them tenderly. He’s thoughtful and methodical, experimenting with different movements to find which stimulate you the most. From mild squeezes where he molds his palms around your tits, or firm groping as he rolls his fingers into your flesh. He pinches your nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger before pulling on them playfully. A jagged bolt zips down your spine, lighting your nerves as you jerk away from him with a yelp. All of it stoking a hungry flame inside you, burning you from the inside out. And he kisses you endlessly through it all.
“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs. You almost don’t hear him over your own shaky breaths, but you part your legs obediently, spreading them in a wide V. He hooks his ankles over yours to trap your legs in place.
You don’t even realize that your cunt has been dripping until Silco’s hand cups your mound. He dips his forefinger into your slick, teasing your entrance before sliding up your folds to touch your clit. The light press has you unconsciously lifting your ass off the bed to chase the point of contact, the steady simmering of your arousal ready to boil over. Feeling hot enough to melt under his hands as he rubs slow circles on your bud, heat peaking when he pinches and rolls it gently.
“I’m going to put my fingers inside you,” he whispers, his nose pressing against your ear. “Are you ready?”
You nod, whimpering, breathless, helpless in his arms.
His fingertip traces your entrance again, exploring the shape of it. Then, carefully, smoothly, he pushes his middle finger inside you, firm and solid as it slides against your walls. He settles there comfortably, knuckle-deep in your pussy.
You bury your face in his neck, panting, already exhilarated not just from the tantalizing curl of his finger against the edges of your sweet spot, but how it feels better than you could have ever imagined.
To have him touching you, wanting you.
“Gods, you’re tight,” he whispers. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” you huff out. “I-I need more…”
He presses the carved shape of his grin against your cheek before he kisses you again, pressing his finger deeper into you and curling against your walls. He gradually pumps his finger faster and faster before adding another. A band in your belly winds tight, an unbearable vice-like grip on your core. You clutch at Silco’s wrist as he seamlessly adds a third finger. Relentlessly rubbing until your orgasm finally crashes over you, the band snapping to unleash an all-consuming flare of a summer sun that burns every fiber of your being. Barely able to clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle your screams of pleasure.
Your head slumps into the crook of his neck as you simmer down. Hissing in protest when he twitches his finger teasingly against your walls. He chuckles as he kisses your forehead.
“Good girl,” he says approvingly. He pulls out of you and raises his hand to the light, admiring the long, glistening, wet strands of your release hanging between his outstretched fingers. “You did so well.”
As much as your heart purrs at the praise, you can’t help but nudge him insistently. “Silco… I want you to feel good too.”
“I always feel good when I’m with you,” he murmurs.
“You—” you start impatiently, but your voice is muffled when he captures your lips with his own. You use what little strength you have left to slide your hand over his mouth to stop him. “You know what I mean.”
Silco rests his forehead against yours. Your hand slides down his chin, landing on his neck. The apple of his throat bobs under your touch as he swallows hard, his mouth watering as he looks deep into your eyes. “Are you sure?”
You stare back at him and nod, determined not to look away even as you blush.
You lean away from his chest as he squeezes your shoulders appreciatively. He carefully lowers you onto your back, moving slowly even as his eyes shine with excitement. As soon as your body touches the mattress, he hastily jumps off the bed. He tears off his pants and underwear, kicking them away impatiently. Your legs spread automatically for him as he climbs back up to sit kneeling above you.
Silco is beautiful. There’s no other word for it. You prop yourself up on your elbows to better take in his lean, lithe figure, marveling at the wiry muscle carved with hidden strength. Scars of all shapes and sizes embellish his body. You reach out to touch a wide, jagged slash on his torso, pure white with a blurry, pink outline on his already pale skin. The shallow outline of his abs flows seamlessly into the crest of his hips, an engraved shelf you want to trace with your tongue. A happy trail of thin, neatly trimmed black hair emerges below his belly button, winding downwards to crown his balls. They hang heavy, a dark, tantalizing pink.
He scoots closer to you, patiently letting you take in the sight of his cock. It’s long and uniformly thick, a mouthwatering girth that has you licking your lips unconsciously. The shaft is the same dark pink as his balls, with a long, purple vein winding on the left until it tucks around the base of the wide, rounded head. He’s already hard—has been hard for who knows how long—a pearl of precum already beading in the opening, shining deliciously in the bright light.
“I’m ready,” you blurt out, cutting Silco off as he opens his mouth. To prove your point, you lay back down and reach for your cunt, spreading your folds open for him as wide as you can with both hands.
“Gods…” he swears under his breath. “You are more than I ever imagined.”
He leans in slow and deliberately, holding himself with one hand to catch your slick on his cock. Your breath hitches as he nudges your entrance. You spread your legs wider, inviting him to sink in.
It’s a light press at first, like his hand on your shoulder in a friendly touch during a night out at The Last Drop. Then he catches on your entrance, bumping against your folds. He finally, finally pushes in, the spreading of your cunt catching you off-guard even as you watch him enter you. Feeling your walls stretched and pulled apart so wide, combined with the new and absolute fullness of your core, an anchor weight dropping suddenly into the depths of your cunt.
Your hands fly to clutch onto Silco’s arms, your fingernails digging into him. Panting heavily as a strange, tingling numbness trickles through your whole body, from the tips of your toes to your scalp. The pain is mild with an undercurrent of pleasure, electricity thrumming in a live wire. All novel sensations that have you clinging to Silco for dear life as he settles his pelvis against yours.
“You’re okay,” he whispers reassuringly. He lowers himself, his chest pressed lightly up against your breasts. Even with plenty of room to breathe, his proximity combined with the unfamiliar weight in your pussy triggers a primal claustrophobia, a spike of panic that has your heart hammering away. “Breathe with me.”
His chest expands against yours as he takes a deep inhale through his nose, gazing reverently at you. The dark pools of his blown-out pupils so deep you could get lost in them.
Overwhelmed by too many physical sensations, you clamp your eyes shut, doing your best to follow his instructions through the swelling movement of his ribcage against yours. Your own lungs struggling to fill to full capacity as you try to relax and slow down your breathing… in… out…
In…
Out…
In…
Out…
You blink sluggishly at Silco, whose bright grin dazzles you. He’s happier than you’ve ever seen him, joy and excitement radiating from him like a sunrise.
“Good girl,” he praises you, pressing a fervent kiss to your cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” you answer with a trembling breath. You swallow as your toes twitch involuntarily, a semblance of feeling returning to them inch by inch. Along with the thrill of finally having him inside you, the anticipation sparkling in your spine like the long fuse of dynamite. You smile at him, raising a shaky hand to cup his cheek. He leans into it, kissing the heel of your palm, shooting you a lingering, lustful look, full of promises for more.
“Are you ready?” he asks eagerly.
“Hold on,” you say, biting your lip in concentration. You close your eyes again as you focus on your core, the numbness draining away with your deep breathing. Just enough for you to try flexing your abs, then your ass, then—
Silco’s eyes widen and he sharply inhales as your pussy clenches around him. It was a weak little flex, but enough to make him stiffen, then collapse onto you, his face crashing into the mattress. You can’t help but chuckle triumphantly into his ear.
“Did you feel that?” you ask.
His muffled groan answers your question. He looks at you, mischief glinting in his eyes.
He jerks forward suddenly, grinding his cock deeper into you. It’s your turn to gasp when a new, stronger flash of pleasure sparks inside you. When he does it again, you whimper.
Silco is immediately apologetic, hurriedly propping himself up to give you space. Stammering, he says, “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—”
You do your best to glare at him. With how weak you’re already feeling, it’s probably not much of a warning. But you muster up all the determination you can when you mutter, “Don’t stop. If you do, I’ll bite you.”
The worry in his eyes fades away, replaced by a gleaming anticipation. Grinning as he takes both your hands, entwining your fingers with his as he leans in to whisper, “I might be into that.”
Silco pulls out of you and slides back in with the same graceful, deliberate, and calculated manner with which he carries himself. A steady rhythm intended more for you to become acquainted with the shape and feel of him than to overstimulate you. Fitting you, filling you perfectly, rocking smoothly against your sensitive walls. You can’t help but pant as the kindling in your core ignites, smoke rising higher and higher, heat creeping up your spine. A low flame that still burns hot enough for you to suffocate with desire and affection.
Silco stares at you through it all, drinking in the sight of you helpless underneath him. A teasing purr in his voice as he asks, “Do you feel good?”
Too hazy to speak, nerves sparking while tension winds corkscrew tight once again in your belly, you nod. Scrounging up what little willpower you have left to ask him in between heaving breaths, “W-what—what about—you?”
His answer is to slam his chest into yours, kissing you hard, again and again and again, almost smothering you, his tongue fully filling your mouth. His sweat mingling with yours as he plunges even deeper into you. Hitting the same spot that his fingers did earlier, the surging blaze inside you raging ever higher as he fucks you with intent. Rhythm stuttering as he begins to chase his own release in tandem with yours.
You moan into his mouth. When he finally breaks off your lips, he huffs with mirth.
“I feel incredible,” he says breathlessly. The rough gravel in his voice rumbles through his chest into you. He presses his forehead against yours, a wild, ecstatic luster in his eyes. “Cum again for me—my lovely, my heart. Please, let me feel you.”
Your calves strain as your toes curl and cramp, the roiling, howling inferno in your body rising to unbearable heights, a geyser threatening to burst. A revelation finally dawning on you that this is really happening, not a fantasy you replay on lonesome nights or in wistful daydreams. That he revels in the sensation of your bodies becoming one just as much as you do.
Your second orgasm devastates you, a supernova explosion consuming every cell in your body as you freefall into oblivion. Floating weightlessly as waves and waves of rapture roll over you endlessly, high tide crashing onto a beach to leave you helpless on the shore. Through it all, Silco continues pounding into you, elongating the ecstasy as your body lies limp except for the scream of pleasure that tears itself from your throat.
Just as you try to tell Silco you can’t take it anymore, he pulls fully out of you, pumping himself with his hand as he lands on his knees. His cum spills on your stomach, and you’re vaguely aware of something wet and sticky landing on your skin as the numbness from your orgasm fades away, your walls now fluttering around nothing. He pants heavily, low shuddering breaths dragged from the depths of his lungs, almost falling backwards onto your bed before he catches himself with one arm.
Silco watches you under half-lidded eyes, desire still smoldering in them as you blush. Feeling terribly vulnerable as he drinks in the sight of you, naked and trembling. A soft, warm smile alights on his lips as you blush and raise a shaky arm to cover your breasts.
“How are you feeling?” he asks in a low rasp, his chest still heaving.
“I’m okay,” you huff out, exhausted.
“Only ‘okay’...?” he chuckles shortly as he tries to catch his breath. “...Should I try again to make you feel even better?”
“No, no, it was… amazing,” you say appreciatively. You smear your hand on your cheek to wipe your sweat away. Struggling to prop yourself on weak, unsteady elbows, you ask, “Do you want some water?”
“I’m alright… thank you,” he says between huffing exhales. He sits down heavily with his legs up, sinking into the mattress. He rests his elbow on his knee as he runs a hand through his hair, pulling it out of the bun. His long, sweat-damp locks cascade over his shoulder. “Although I am in need of a towel; may I borrow one?”
“Sure, let me get one for you,” you say, grunting with effort as you try to move. But your legs won’t obey when you try to shift them, lying there uselessly as they twitch in protest.
“Allow me,” Silco says. He climbs off your bed to walk towards your bathroom. You want to take the opportunity to admire the erotic sight of him confidently walking around your apartment in the nude, but you’re overcome by a yawn, your consciousness spiraling around the drain to slip into drowsiness.
He returns with a slightly damp towel, standing over you to wipe your stomach. You flinch when the towel grazes your still-sensitive folds, the cool water refreshing on your heated skin.
“My lovely… You have no idea how exquisite you are,” he says in a low, awed voice. “Truly a work of art in your own right.”
“I could say the same to you,” you mutter, embarrassed.
Silco chuckles as he finishes wiping you off, throwing the towel across the room onto your washing machine. Carefully, he pulls the blanket out from underneath you as you try your best to raise your body up to help him. Then he climbs into the bed, pulling you close as he drapes the blanket over the two of you.
You want to ask him how he’s feeling, but you yawn again. He slips his arm around your waist as your eyes water.
“Are you tired, my lovely?” he asks.
“Yeah…” you admit. You hum in happiness at the term of endearment. “But… I don’t want to go to sleep yet.”
“Why not?”
You chew your lip, wondering if what you want to say next is too corny. “I… I want this night to last forever.”
“Don’t stay awake on my account,” he says warmly. “We have all the time in the world.”
He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead as your eyes droop shut. The sweat on his collarbone tickles your nose as you nuzzle into him. His arms tighten around you, a warmth more cozy than the blanket covering your bodies. The lullaby he hums weaves itself into your dreams, soft and soothing as the man himself.
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If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! My inbox is also open to requests for both sketches and drabbles, or just to chat. Feel free to say hi :3c
Hello again (because I'm doing the requests the correct way this time :P)! I may have made them more detailed as well.
My first request would be young Silco & f!reader (fluff/comfort). Maybe reader is on her period, experiencing bad cramps and back pain. She feels bad because she accidentally ruined some clothes he bought her with blood. Silco comforts her with cuddles, rubbing/kissing her lower belly, maybe a bath together? Silco washing reader's bloodied clothes so she doesn't have to worry? :) This is a very self indulgent request, haha ;;
My second request would also be Silco & f!reader but smut. Maybe sleepy reader riding his thigh while he handles important paperwork late at night, and reader just enjoying his voice and scent while he's very focused. "Don't distract me, darling" and such but reader ignores that because she's touch-starved. Praise, perhaps? :)
A huge thank you in advance if you do get around to writing either! <3
Two wonderful requests! In classic me fashion, I gravitated first toward the smutty prompt lol but if I write the period one, I'll be sure to tag you!
Home
Masterlist | AO3 link
Rating: Explicit—Minors DNI
Tags: Silco, f!reader; Sex Dream; Horny Reader; Touch-Starved; thigh riding; Cunnilingus; Vaginal Sex; Penis In Vagina Sex; Fluff; Fluff and Smut; Praise Kink; Established Relationship
Word count: 1.9k
Betas: @juniper-sunny @medic-simp @spoczkot
Your husband, Silco, has been so busy with work for the past few months that your unmet physical needs have started to bleed into your subconscious, resulting in sex dreams. But patience is a virtue you have painstakingly honed and it will pay off in spades.
You keep having sex dreams.
And each one includes your husband, Silco.
It shouldn't be much of a surprise, considering just how much he turns you on despite the years you've been together. He never fails to make your heart swoon and your core ache with the way he looks at you.
But these dreams aren't coming from some leftover libido from intimate times in your waking life. Quite the opposite in fact. Your husband—kingpin, Chembaron, Industrialist, Eye of Zaun—has been so busy with work that he hasn't had as much time with you as either of you would have liked.
You knew when you married him that this was the life you may be signing up for; that he could go weeks buried in obligations and not have a spare moment for you. And you stood dutifully by his side as that inevitably happened.
You're a fiercely independent woman—you’re not so codependent on him as to shrivel up into a husk when he doesn't look at you at every hour. And you have the means to meet your physical needs. His absence is something you can endure.
But… you do miss your husband.
You stir from your sleep, a familiar feeling growing within you. As more of your body awakens, you become more aware of the sensations around you. Your toes curl and your hips lift off the bed, chasing something you're only barely aware of.
“Silco…?”
You look down to see the sheets pulled off you—and your husband's face pressed between your legs.
“I've missed you,” he says against your core, sending a sweet thrill up your spine.
Your eyes flutter closed as you rest your head back on the pillow, hands quick to tangle in his hair as his tongue licks a hot stripe along your folds up toward your clit. You whine softly at the touch, voice still groggy from sleep. And as Silco continues his ministrations, your pleasure grows until—
You wake up.
Eyebrows furrowed, you take in your surroundings.
You're alone in bed, the sheets still covering you. Blindly, you reach an arm out to your partner's side of the bed to find it cold. Your lips thin to a line and you let out a soft groan.
You didn't mind the sex dreams, but it was really quite rude of your subconscious to start them with you still in bed; it convinced you that you were awake in real life and not, in fact, still asleep and dreaming. This and the denial of your dream orgasm makes for a terrible transition back into the waking world.
You shift in the bed and can feel how drenched your panties are from Dream Silco's affections.
Sitting up straight, you walk your still sleepy body to the door in the hopes of getting the real Silco's attention.
He's seated at his desk, mismatched eyes staring at his work, a slight frown to his scarred lips. He addresses you without looking up, voice soft.
“Trouble sleeping?”
You hum noncommittally, making your way to his chair. You bend down just as he subtly lifts his chin expectantly, marred cheek up in offering. After giving him a light peck to his scarred cheekbone, you move to nestle into his lap, both your legs draped over his as your arms wrap around his waist, face pressing into the crook of his neck.
He wordlessly lifts his clipboard out of the way as you do, like he has countless times before. After letting you settle into a cozy position on top of him, he brings his work back into view, his free hand idly drawing patterns on your back against the thin fabric of your shirt.
That featherlight touch is usually comforting, sometimes enough to make you fall asleep again. But after the dream you just had, it sends small bursts of lightning along your veins—all heading down to your core.
You hum, pleasure reawakening within you. After taking a deep breath in of his cologne, you press a tender kiss to his neck.
And another.
And another.
“Don't distract me, darling,” he says, but there's no bite to his words, not when his hand has dipped under the hem of your shirt, tracing a long line up your spine.
You squirm atop him when he lays his hand flat against your back, palm firm and warm, quite possibly the most skin-on-skin contact you’ve had with him in weeks. His hand meanders up to between your shoulder blades, pads of his fingers squeezing into your tender flesh. Your hands at his waist mimic the movement, grabbing onto him as your mouth hangs open, lips still under his chin, breath hot and shallow.
You feel a growing ache at your core and, without warning, stand back up. Before Silco has a chance to ask what you're doing, you move to straddle him, knees on either side of his left thigh as you sit down.
“Darling—”
“Just ignore me,” you say breathlessly as you resume your earlier position, arms around his waist and face pressed to his neck. “I'll only be a minute.”
You grind down on his thigh, chasing the friction from Dream Silco's ministrations. You press your face into the fabric of your husband's vest, muffling the sound of the needy whimper that leaves you.
As you continue to shamelessly grind Silco's thigh, he continues to work. He hums on occasion, seemingly lost in thought as your drenched core soaks through the fabric of your panties to stain his pants. (He'd punish you for that—if he had the time.)
Your pathetic little mewls come out in earnest now as you start to chase your high, fingers digging into his waist as your whole body seems to tighten. The chair squeaks underneath your combined weight, but Silco's feet firmly planted on the ground keep the chair from sliding away from the desk.
Unbeknownst to you, Silco's good eye has fluttered closed and his clipboard has been returned to the desktop. His cock strains within his pants as you desperately use him for your pleasure.
You're so close to your peak, right on the precipice of it, the coil within your navel pulled taut and practically vibrating. But then—
“Stop.”
On reflex, you halt all your movements. You let out a soft whimper as you feel your orgasm start to slip away.
But then Silco's hands are shifting beside you, unbuttoning the front panel of his pants. You peel yourself off him just enough to catch sight of him pulling his hardened cock out, long fingers wrapping around the base of him, reddened head leaking precum already.
“Silco?”
The hand not at his cock dips under your left thigh, beckoning you up. Wordlessly you obey, moving to straddle him fully, your clothed, weeping core hovering over him.
“Lucky for you…” he coos, pulling the fabric of your panties to the side, “I'm done with work.”
“Really?” You can't hide the excitement in your voice or the way your eyes widen to stare into his ocean green and volcanic orange ones. “You're done?”
“Just for tonight,” he says, tempering your enthusiasm.
But then his cock is pressing against your entrance and you forget all about the lonely nights, the isolation of being married to a workaholic.
“You've been so good to me,” he coos, pushing into you, but only just. You're content to let him take his time, easing you open. “So patient.”
You press your forehead against his, lips parted and eyes locked with his.
“Anyone else would have left by now,” he continues.
His hands at your waist, he pushes you down so you sink lower onto him, taking more of his length inside you.
“But not you.”
Your walls stretch to accommodate him and you feel a sweet pinch at his girth, feeling fuller than you have in months.
“I know, no matter what…”
He guides you down until your thighs are firmly planted on his, his cock fully sheathed within you, finally deep inside you—where he belongs. Your heart and core feel so full, and you feel as if you're on the verge of tears with how perfectly he fits your form.
Silco's throat bobs and it's the only indication he allows to show how mutually wrecked he is before he continues. His hand comes up to tuck under your chin to get your undivided attention.
“You're mine.”
Your walls clench at his words and he holds back a low grunt, cock twitching within you.
You would think after months without sex that the two of you would go about it desperately—all nails and teeth. But instead, you take your time with him as he takes his time with you. Savoring each point of contact, every inch dragging along your walls with each lazy roll of his hips.
It's slow.
And sensual.
And perfect.
His undivided attention.
His methodical care.
Your pleasure comes not as a torrential storm but as a comforting drizzle, steady and soft. You feel him equally inside your core as you do your chest, a heavy, warm presence within the cage of your ribs, glowing like a crackling fire in a hearth.
Home.
Making love with Silco is coming home.
He says your name, softly and almost broken. Pupil of his good eye blown out and lips parted, he looks up at you with adoration as his hips continue to roll into you.
“I don't deserve you.”
You whimper at his words, bringing your hands to his cheeks, holding him tenderly.
“You do, Silco.” A warm tear escapes your eye to trickle down your cheek. “You do.”
You bring your lips to his, eyes squeezing shut as you kiss him with the need of a thousand kisses. All the ones you had denied yourself to give him his space. The ones you fantasized about, dreamed of, touched yourself to.
He returns the kiss in kind, one arm snaking around your waist as the other cradles the back of your head, his tongue quick to push past your lips into your mouth. You continue the steady push and pull of his cock at your core as your tongue molds to his, a content hum at your throat.
You can feel the coil in your stomach starting to tighten, a familiar warmth building inside you. Your toes curl and your hands grab at his shoulders as you grind yourself down on him, your swollen clit pressing against his pelvis.
Silco grows impossibly harder within you, his hips stuttering as he starts to summit his high alongside you, a low groan in his throat.
“That's it, darling,” he says, voice on the verge of breaking.
He lets out a grunt when you squeeze your walls around him, spurred on by his voice.
“Use me to your heart’s content.”
You whimper, another tear leaving your eyes as you feel so overwhelmed. Your hard work and patience culminating in the most beautiful union.
He says your name.
The line snaps.
Burying your face into the crook of his neck, you let out a series of sighs as your orgasm washes over you, walls fluttering around him. He lets out a groan just a moment later, stilling his movements as you feel him pulse inside you, his grip on your waist hard yet not tight enough to bruise. Tender and firm.
You cling to each other, rooted together in your bliss, a beautiful oasis in the overwhelming, bustling cacophony that is life in the Undercity. And as you both climb down from your highs, your weight slack atop him, you strengthen the foundation of your marriage, knowing full well that the pair of you can endure and overcome any obstacle thrown your way.
It may be tough.
It may be lonely at times.
But, always, for you and Silco—it’s worth the wait.
WordStream is stealing fanfics and using AI text-to-speech to make audiobooks, AI art covers
I'm still trying to dig into this as much as I can, short of making an account and poking around in it. But it appears WordStream monetizes via premium accounts, though I have no idea what these tiers offer. It also looks like you're able to upload works to be made into audiobooks, but I highly doubt there is any vetting process, so someone can just upload your works without permission and boom, now it's suddenly on their library and being fed through AI to generate an audiobook (and it looks like book covers as well???)
The developer is Ofek Weitzman and there is zero means for reporting stolen content because the entire site's business model is stealing content. There are published books, though so far I am only seeing works in the public domain, where the copyright on them has expired (Pride and Prejudice, Alice in Wonderland, etc.)
As of right now, I would suggest you search for your fic handles to see if your work has been uploaded. Right now, as far as I can tell, there's no way to report individual works on the website itself (because that would break its entire business model, wouldn't it) so your only recourse is to report the app on Apple (requiring you to actually download it and then go through Apple's entire circuitous reporting process) or report the site itself to Google.
Every single part of this is a scam.
From the AI audio to the AI covers. Ofek is stealing the hard work of countless authors in order to make money off people who either don't know any better or don't care.
Need a new silco fic from youuu your writing has crack in it i swear
Slow
Rating: Explicit || Word Count: 1.7k
Content Warnings: young!silco x reader, female anatomy on reader, service top silco, established relationship, oral sex (reader receiving)/cunnilingus, p in v sex, unprotected sex
Masterlist || AO3 Link
beta reader: @juniper-sunny 🫶
i had already been cooking this one up so this ask was perfectly timed lolol. enjoy Silco the Stress Reliever #munchsilco4life
The door slams shut behind you when you finally step into your home. From the bedroom of the small apartment, you hear Silco call your name, footsteps approaching you until he rounds the corner to welcome you home.
“Lovely,” he greets, a gentle smile on his face. You set your bags down and are more than pleased when he pulls you into his arms.
The deep sigh that leaves you is immediate, the tension of the day seeping out from the muscles of your shoulders and arms as you relax into your partner’s embrace.
“Rough day?” he asks, and you simply nod, burying your face into his chest, just under the sharp hook of his collarbone.
“Is there anything I can do to make it better?” It’s a gentle offer whispered into your ear, his long nose pressed against your temple and fanning warm breaths over your skin. Your arms tighten around SIlco’s form, fingers splayed over his back. Despite how comforting your partner is when he holds you, there’s still that nagging bit of tension, annoyance, frustration.
You nod again, a subtle heat beginning to coil low in your belly.
“Tell me what I can do for you, love,” he hums, and the longer that heat stews, the more salacious Silco’s voice starts to sound.
You crane your head up, planting a kiss on the bare skin of his collarbone where his shirt is open. Another kiss follows, and another, and SIlco hums in understanding, tucking a finger under your chin to tilt your face up.
His lips press sweetly against yours, a slow and gentle kiss that he lets you take full control of. You take that control greedily, fingers tangling into his raven locks and tugging them from the loose bun at the back of his head. His hair cascades over your hands, tickling your heated skin as it comes to hang around his shoulders, but it’s not enough to sate the pure molten heat that consumes you now. You need to feel more of him.
Fingers press into the firm line of his shoulders, tongue rolling against his as your wandering hands float lower along his chest until they reach the hem of his shirt. You push up, the heat of him intoxicating as you run your fingers over his sharply defined hips, up his ribs, over his shoulder blades. You pull yourself closer and SIlco grunts when the hardened outline of him presses into your hip.
You smirk and Silco doesn’t miss it, one hand coming down to your ass and squeezing, forcing a yelp from your throat.
Tugging at Silco’s waist, you urge him towards the bedroom, quickly thanking Janna that the door is already open as you tumble through the room until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. Silco eases you down, arms secure at your back until you’re laid comfortable, his lips moving to your throat.
“Mm, tell me what you need, lovely,” Silco groans, breath hot at the crook of your neck as he breathes you in, his body caging yours to the bed.
“Need you to eat my pussy,” you whine, and Silco’s smile is a sharp, knowing thing against your skin, his voice rough and low.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Fingers nimbly open up the buttons of your shirt, lips leaving a wet trail down the length of your body as more and more of your skin is revealed to him. He palms the weight of a breast in one hand, a fleeting sensation as those curious digits travel lower, vision tunneled into your request. With slow, deliberate movements, Silco tugs off your boots and socks, unbuttons your trousers, and pulls them down your hips, quickly followed by your panties.
Laid out bare for him, you let your eyes flutter closed, immersing yourself in every gentle touch. Your partner’s fingers are like trickling streams as they travel up your legs and hook under your knees to lift your thighs onto his shoulders, his breath a hot wind on your exposed mound.
Your chest deflates in a long sigh as Silco’s tongue finally delves between your folds, his nose nestling against your clit as that warm muscle slips into your entrance and curls. His tongue recedes just as quickly as it had initially invaded, only to flatten at your clit in a lingering stroke.
“Gods, Sil,” you gasp, tangling fingers into his dark hair and tugging, earning an eager moan from your worshipper.
He spoils your clit with teasing licks, a gentler treatment than the previous fervor he had originally set upon you with. He’s patient and deliberate, every flick of his tongue on your bud measured and purposeful. Even as he closes his lips and sucks, he’s tuned into what your body craves, and how those cravings present themselves. He dissects every gasp, sigh, shiver, and moan as their own unique specimens, learning your patterns and tells.
Silco’s eaten you out many times, even since before you were ever officially an item, but never like this. It’s always been rushed, like he’s starving and you’re the only meal around. There’s something to be said for the orgasm-inducing power of wet frenzy, but he’s truly studying you now.
When your climax finally crests, it doesn’t crash like you’ve known it to. Instead, it washes over you slowly, steadily, like a tide rolling onto the shore. It’s gentle and flowing, but it feels almost endless, the lines between each little quake of your release blending together. You hold onto Silco through it all, your fingers gliding through the obsidian river of his hair, tugging and stroking in time with the currents of your pleasure.
As you climb down, you feel as though you’re breathing anew, body sunken into the mattress with full relaxation. What tension had remained from the hours before now is gone, with no trace of its existence, and you feel lighter with all of that weight gone.
You don’t know when Silco took his mouth off you, but you know he’s kissing around your mound now, wetting your thighs with the slickness he’d collected on his mouth and chin. He looks up at you with those beautiful eyes, half-lidded and silver in the way that sometimes the ocean’s surface might appear silver, or blue, or green, at any given glance.
“You’re a pussy wizard, y’know that?” you say, words slurred in the haze of your afterglow.
“What can I say?” your partner purrs. “I’m bewitched.”
“By what, exactly?”
“Mhmm, the taste of you, of course.” He furthers his point by licking your wetness off his fingers, humming his approval.
Despite the great relief you’ve just experienced at the capable hands and mouth of your partner, that nagging ache remains, and it only worsens when he looks up at you and lazily cleans his fingers. Unsatisfied, you shift your hips trying to get ahead of the growing need between your legs and ultimately failing, feeling your walls pulse around nothing.
“Still need me, love?” Silco coos, crawling up the length of you and wearing far too many layers for your liking.
“Please fuck me, Sil,” you whisper, snaking arms around his shoulders and trying desperately to tug his shirt off him. He chuckles at your attempt and rears back, throwing off his shirt in one smooth motion before starting on his pants. They’re shucked off sort of gracelessly and tossed over where your clothes lay in a pile on the floor, but the absolute beauty of Silco’s naked body makes up for his momentary lack of swagger.
His mouth descends upon yours, all teeth, tongue, and your taste. Hands run along the ridges of muscle and scars littering his lithe form, the heat of his body only serving to fan the flames of your desire. A sudden gasp escapes you when the tip of his cock nudges against your sensitive clit and Silco’s smug grin is sharp on your lips.
With one hand, he guides himself through your folds, collecting your wetness and spreading it along his length. His tongue works against you thoroughly until the head of him catches at your entrance.
He sinks into you without a word, a soft grunt at his lips when his hips press flush against yours. You on the other hand let out a loud, wanton moan, burying your face into Silco’s neck, basking in the relief of finally being filled.
“Tell me how you want me,” Silco whispers, his breath stirring your hair. HIs hips rock slowly against yours, a sweet pressure that has you rocking with him.
You shiver. “Slow.”
Silco ruts into you with long, lingering drags, every thrust sending a ripple through you. You can’t help the way you arch into him, or lock your legs around him, or cling to his shoulders. With every shift of his hips you lose yourself more and more, to his rhythm, to his depth, his precision, his presence. His breath is yours, your gasps are his; you’re inexplicably tied to him in a way you can’t even begin to explain.
Every whimper of his name is met in kind with a gasp of yours, every touch returned with adoration. A gentle bruising on your hips, a warm cradle on your cheek. The press of him steadily grows more and more desperate, but he doesn’t change pace. It remains deliciously slow, tender, longing.
And it breaks you.
You come undone around him with a shocked tremble, blind-sided by your orgasm. Just like your previous climax, it’s a gentle thing, like a breath of fresh air after an eternity of suffocation. Your walls pulse lazily around Silco’s cock and he’s sent over the edge with you. The steady throb of him within your walls seems to extend your peak, your bodies working in tandem as his release fills you with a hot rush.
Your senses slowly come back to you and you become aware of your and SIlco’s heaving chests. Your skin is slick with sweat, face still buried into his collarbone as you come down from your high.
“Thank you,” you mumble, voice weak with exhaustion. “I really needed that.”
Silco hums lazily. “My pleasure.”
There’s an edge to the low purr of his voice, but you’re much too tired to be inspired by it. You melt into the mattress below you, drifting off to the now calmed and patient cadence of Silco’s breathing, a soft murmur at your lips.
I hope you are doing well! Act 2?!?!? Gosh, I am close to exploding.
If you're requests are open, could I possibly request a young! Silco x female reader with pulling on his longer hair etc? Suggestive or explicit up to you!
No pressure either way, just wanted to slip the idea by you! Have a great day!
-Dino
Thank you, Dino, for this wonderful request! I will actually be combining it with the anon request below because they seemed to pair perfectly. Gods, it feels good for the Silco Simpdom to be alive and well again.
Silco doesn't literally beg for oral sex in this, but he's certainly enthusiastic about it.
Dinner for Two
Masterlist | AO3 link
Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI
Tags: Young Silco x f!reader, established relationship, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, pinv sex, hair-pulling
Word count: 2.1k
Silco comes home after a long day at the mines hungry for dinner.
And you're the appetizer.
You're washing dishes when Silco gets home, the loud creak of the front door signaling his arrival. As you continue to rinse the cutting board you had just used to make dinner, you hear the familiar sounds of his heavy boots hitting the hardwood.
“Dinner's ready!” you call out to him without turning around. “Hope you don't mind stew. It's the only thing we had ingredients for.”
You prop the cutting board in the drying rack, focusing now on cleaning the long knife you'd used to chop the vegetables.
