Helping Hand .𖥔 ݁ ˖
rue bennett x fem!reader
summary: you and rue are chilling together in her bedroom, talking and cuddling… and then a kiss turns heated, and her hands begin to wander.
warnings: fluff. bestfriends-turned-lovers. soft smut. fingering (fem!receiving). rue kind of talking you through it. rue is so enamoured by you. no use of y/n. [2k]
The room was almost completely dark except for the dull amber glow from the streetlamp outside Rue’s window, the light slipping weakly through the blinds and stretching across the walls in thin uneven lines. Everything in her bedroom felt soft around the edges at night — the scattered clothes on the floor, the tangled charger cords, the faint outline of posters taped crookedly against the wall, the quiet hum of the ceiling fan overhead. The air smelled faintly like laundry detergent and weed, and you could hear the distant sound of cars outside every now and then. The room mostly felt sealed off from the rest of the world, suspended in its own quiet atmosphere where time moved slower.
Rue lay on her side facing you, curled halfway beneath her blanket, one arm tucked beneath the pillow. Her curls were flattened messily against the fabric, slightly frizzy around her forehead, and her hooded eyes looked heavy with exhaustion in the way they always did at night. Even relaxed, Rue carried tiredness like it had soaked permanently into her bones. Her expression shifted lazily as she looked at you – somewhere between amusement and vulnerability – and every so often the corner of her mouth twitched upward into those brief crooked smiles she never seemed fully aware she was making. Her gaze drifted over your face quietly, lingering with the kind of attention that always made your chest ache a little. Rue looked at people carefully when she loved them, like she was trying to memorise proof they existed. Even now, half-asleep and emotionally worn out, she studied tiny things: the movement of your mouth when you smiled, the way your eyelashes caught the dim light, the shape your hand made against the blanket between you.
“What?” you whispered.
Rue blinked slowly. “Nothing.”
“You’re staring at me.”
“I know.”
“But why?”
Another tiny shrug. “Because I like looking at you.”
The honesty in her voice came so naturally it almost hurt. Rue rarely sounded embarrassed when she admitted things late at night. The exhaustion stripped some of her defenses away, softening the sharpness she carried during the day. Her sarcasm became quieter, her detachment loosened, and what remained underneath was startlingly gentle. It happened slowly, a small smile pulling at her mouth whilst her eyes stayed half-lidded. Rue always looked strangely younger when she smiled for real; The heaviness in her face loosened for a few seconds, revealing flashes of the softness she usually buried under irony and exhaustion.
There was a long comfortable silence afterward — not empty silence, but the kind that felt intimate because neither of you felt pressured to fill it. Rue’s hand shifted slightly beneath the blanket until her fingers brushed yours. The movement was hesitant, absentminded almost, but when your fingers curled instinctively against hers, you felt the tiny exhale leave her chest. Relief. Rue reacted to affection like someone constantly bracing for it to disappear.
The amber light from the streetlamp cast long, flickering shadows across her face, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes and the slight tremor in her breath. For a moment, the world outside – the chaos of East Highland, the crushing weight of her addiction, the volatility of her family – felt like a distant memory. In this small, dim sanctuary of a bedroom, there was only the sound of your synchronised breathing and the electric tension humming between your bodies.
You shifted closer, the fabric of your clothes rustling against the sheets, until your foreheads rested against one another. The proximity allowed you to see the golden flecks in her pupils and the way her eyelashes fluttered. Rue’s gaze dropped to your lips, her expression turning tentative, almost questioning. She was always calculating, always analysing the risks, but the longing in her eyes outweighed the hesitation.
When she finally spoke, her voice was a low, raspy murmur that vibrated in your chest. "I don't want to mess this up," she whispered, her breath warm against your skin. "I just... I really want to kiss you."
You didn't answer with words, instead tilting your head just enough to bridge the final gap. When your lips finally met, it was a soft exploration. It tasted like the gum she’d been chewing and felt like a homecoming. Rue let out a shaky sigh into the kiss, her hand sliding from your fingers to cup the side of your face, her palm slightly rough but her touch incredibly gentle. She kissed you as if you were something fragile, something precious that she was terrified of breaking. It was a slow burn, a gradual deepening of pressure as the initial nervousness melted into a desperate, aching need.
As the kiss grew more heated, Rue’s movements became more urgent. She groaned softly, a sound of pure surrender, as she pulled you closer, her body molding against yours. The friction of your hips pressing together ignited a fire that had been simmering since the moment you both realised your friendship had shifted into something deeper. Rue’s hand slid down from your cheek to grip your waist, pulling you flush against her as if she were trying to merge your two souls into one.
The heat intensified, and Rue’s hand began to wander, drifting down from your waist to the waistband of your sleep shorts. She paused for a heartbeat, searching for permission, her touch a mixture of desire and a deep-seated need to ensure you were comfortable. When you let out a small, encouraging sound and arched your back toward her, she let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for a lifetime. Slowly, tentatively, her fingers slid into the fabric of your shorts, the cool air hitting your skin for only a second before the warmth of her palm replaced it.
Rue’s fingers found your centre, and the first time she brushed against your clit, you gasped. She froze, her forehead still resting against yours, her voice a strained, loving whisper. "Is this okay?" she murmured, her eyes wide and searching.
You could feel her heart hammering against your ribs, her vulnerability on full display. You nodded lightly, giving her the confidence she needed. She began to rub you in slow, deliberate circles, her touch light but precise, building the tension inside you. The friction was intoxicating, and Rue watched your face with an intensity that felt like she was reading your every nerve ending. She loved the way your eyes fluttered shut and the way your breath hitched.
“You’re so wet," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She shifted her position, sliding two fingers down and pushing them slowly, lovingly, into your heat. You let out a soft moan, your thighs instinctively parting a little wider around her hand. Rue didn't rush; she moved with a patient, rhythmic grace, fingering you with a tenderness that almost brought tears to your eyes. She continued to talk to you, her voice a soothing anchor in the storm of pleasure. "You feel so good," she whispered, her thumb continuing to stimulate your clit whilst her fingers worked inside you.
Every thrust was calculated to maximise your pleasure, her fingers curling upward to hit the exact spot that made your toes curl and your vision blur. Rue’s own breathing was heavy, her face flushed, her eyes half-closed in a state of blissful concentration. She wasn't seeking her own release; she was devoted to yours, treating your body like a map she was discovering for the first time.
As the climax began to build, Rue increased the pace, her fingers sliding in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound that echoed in the quiet room. She leaned in to press a kiss against your neck, her voice becoming a series of low, encouraging whispers. “Right there? Do you like that?" she gasped, feeling the walls of your pussy tighten around her fingers.
“Yes,” you breathed back with a nod, your brows pinched in pleasure and your hand gripping her upper arm as the coil in your lower stomach tightened.
When you finally broke, moaning her name into the silence of the room, Rue didn't pull away. She held you through the tremors, her fingers staying inside you for a few more moments, grounding you as the waves of pleasure slowly receded, leaving you both breathless and tangled together in the amber glow of the night.
Rue stayed close even after your breathing began to steady, her forehead pressed lazily against your shoulder while the room settled back into silence around you. The air felt warm and heavy beneath the blankets, carrying the lingering smell of sweat, laundry detergent, and the faint sweetness of the candle burning low on her dresser. Rue’s fingers finally slipped from between your thighs with lingering care, slow enough that it made you shiver again, and you immediately curled against her afterward like the distance bothered you instinctively. She buried her face half against your neck, breathing unevenly, her curls tickling your skin.
Her hand drifted lazily across your waist beneath the blanket as she asked, “You okay?” The question came out more serious than everything else she’d said. You could hear the uncertainty beneath it — the fear of having done something wrong without realising it.
You brushed your fingers gently through the curls sticking damply against her forehead. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Rue visibly relaxed. It happened in tiny ways: her shoulders loosening, her breathing evening out, the anxious tension leaving her eyes. She nodded once against the pillow, almost to herself. “Okay,” she whispered.
The room fell quiet again afterward, but it wasn’t awkward silence; it felt intimate in a way that almost hurt. Your legs remained tangled together beneath the blankets whilst Rue traced absentminded shapes against your skin with slow sleepy fingers, like she needed physical contact to reassure herself you were still there.
And you would be.
Always.
