#it chapter 2 reader insert

[writeyouin]

D-16 (Megatron) x Reader – The Creature From Another World - Part 2 of 2

Chapter 2 – Megatron or D-16?

A/N – Finally, it’s ready. Here’s hoping this holds up to part one.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Megatron held you at your request. He didn’t know why you wanted to be up, only that you did and he was only too happy to comply, and that he had to hold onto that feeling. You were the only thing he had left that brought him any shred of happiness. Everything else was a toxic poison coursing through his body, leaving only hate and anger in its wake.

You stood in Megatron’s palm, trying to see the D-16 you knew before in his optics. They were a violent red, leaving no trace of the warm amber glow his eyes used to have. Moreover, Megatron used to laugh and relay stories back and forth to you or Orion. Now, he mostly frowned.

You reached out to touch him, your hand falling to his chassis where a brand new Megatronus insignia had been branded onto him, covering over the one Sentinel had burned him with. Megatron had claimed the symbol, owning it for the new Decepticon army.

At your touch, Megatron vented a soft gust of warm air, wondering what you were thinking as you pawed at his insignia. He wished that you could see it as the symbol of a new age as it was supposed to be, but he guessed that you would always remember the one that Sentinel had marred him with. He would remember too. He had to.

After disappearing on his life-changing quest with Orion, D-16 had worried about you, but he figured that the other miners would take care of you. In that, he was only half-right.

When the miners were told that he and Orion had died from their injuries in the race, they panicked, scared that they wouldn’t be able to help you leave the planet since they were the lower class. So, one of them had taken you to Sentinel, explaining what you were and coming up with a cover story for how you had gotten on Cybertron.

Sentinel, having guessed that you were once a Quintesson prisoner, pretended to believe the story, and reassured the mech that he would see to it that his top-bots found you a way home.

After that, he kept you prisoner in a gilded cage, his pet now since you wouldn’t give him any information on the missing miners' whereabouts.

When D-16 and the High Guard were captured, you met D-16’s eyes and he became even more furious, wondering how you had gotten there and what Sentinel had done to you.

Before that day, you already admired D-16, but your admiration turned to complete adoration and contrarily, fear as he kept standing up in the face of adversity. He wouldn’t be kept down, no matter what they did to him. You cried to see your friend hurt, but you didn’t scream or do anything further to draw attention to yourself, afraid that if you did, Sentinel would torture D-16 further.

Now, you were here, on one of Cybertron’s moons in a base that the Decepticons had constructed very quickly, being efficient builders, and the war with Cybertron was about to begin.

Megatron lifted your hand with his free servo, gently rolling his thumb pad over it. He wanted you to see him, not the person he used to be behind the insignia. You stared up at him.

“Talk to me,” He told you, gently.

You took a minute to think about what you needed to say.

You understood why the Decepticons had to go to war. It was like Megatron said; when he tried to talk to them, they had clung to the old ways and a new leader had arisen to take Sentinel’s place. Another false Prime – Optimus Prime. He had attacked Megatron and the high guard and then banished them from their home under the threat that they would not be left for long.

Still, knowing why the war was happening wasn’t enough. You needed more than that. You glanced outside the windows of the command centre, seeing the High Guard working ceaselessly.

One more look to Megatron and you knew what you had to say.

“Is this the only way? To fight? To kill?”

Megatron was saddened to see you so upset, but he clung to his resolve, no mercy left within him.

“Yes. There is no room for a peaceful resolve unless those on the surface join our ranks.”

“Are you scared?” You asked in a very small voice, indicating that you were terrified for him.

Megatron stroked your cheek, “No, and nor should you be. I will keep you safe.” And he would. He would do everything in his power to protect you from harm, including lying to you to save you from anything that might hurt your feelings. You were his precious pet and Megatron always took care of what belonged to him.

Some of the High Guard wondered about you, a human among their ranks. They would have tried to research you, had there been any information about something so alien. But without their records from Iacon, they had little ability to look into your kind and simply decided to leave Megatron with his pet. Later in the war, they might have rebelled against you, but after Megatron’s victory against Sentinel, they trusted their new leader. It wasn’t yet time for schisms, underhanded plots for mutiny, or general scheming; those would come much, much later.

As it was, Shockwave was responsible for providing you with a home, and the process didn’t take him long. It was less of a room built for you, and more like furniture your size based on your descriptions that had been put into Megatron’s hab-suite.

When Megatron took you to see it, he enjoyed the way your expression lit up. He had almost reacted the same when he saw that he had his own room for the very first time in his life. Yet, he hadn’t been able to find enough joy in his situation. So, he had a room that he didn’t have to share with a few dozen miners. What did that matter when a war was brewing?

But holding you… Seeing you happy? That was worth something.

“Is this-” Megatron almost said to your liking, but decided instead to focus on functionality, “Is this adequate?”

You hopped off his palm and onto the desk that held just about everything you needed, which was a relief since you had lost most of the items in your pack at the Battle of Iacon. Trailing your hand gently over a bed, very robotic in design, but comfortable and made from repurposed cleaning cloths, you smiled.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Megatron ran a finger down your cheek, “No need to thank me.” He watched you as you moved things about, perfecting everything that you needed, and then later he watched you recharge. How perfect it was, giving you exactly what you needed. He would make you dependent on him; you would never need anyone else ever again. He would make you love him. After losing everything, he needed that much.

“Excuse me, Shockwave?” You said, feeling small. By now, you usually felt confident around Cybertronians, but you found Shockwave and some of the High Guard unnerving.

The Cyclops-Bot stared at you, saying nothing, and generally making you feel more uncomfortable.

“Um, Megatron told me to come to you if I need anything…?”

Shockwave didn’t know why you were saying it like it was a question. You were either told to come to him or you weren’t. Life had no place for statistical fallacy.

Seeing as he didn’t reply, you pulled your pack off your back, opening it for him to see the contents as you withdrew them.

“Each of these dehydrated cubes is a meal. I need to consume two or three a day,” You explained. “As you can see, I’m running low, and even if I wasn’t, this isn’t the best state for my food to be in. I need food. Real, fresh food, or- Or I’m going to die.”

Shockwave didn’t seem alarmed by the statement. He didn’t seem to feel anything. Instead, he glanced at your dwindling supplies, noting exactly how long you could survive. He didn’t understand much about your fuel, though he thought it inefficient as he scanned the contents, finding many perishable components, had they not been dehydrated. 

Finally, after a long and stressful silence in which he examined both your pack and you, he relented. “I shall take care of it.”

You were so happy that you didn’t think to ask about the details of Shockwave’s plan. Instead, you smiled and bounced on the balls of your feet, “Thank you, Shockwave.”

Shockwave watched you walk away. He generally didn’t understand the concept of pets, but you were cute enough, he supposed.

Turning back to his newly set up data console, Shockwave began researching the nearest planets that were home to organic species. Seeing how small you were, he believed that organics would be easy enough to subjugate. With that in mind, he began drafting the first invasion plans. Not only would the Decepticons take the fuel you needed but they would also strip the planet of all its valuable resources, giving the Decepticons a technological edge over the Autobots. Later, Megatron would tell you that the Decepticons had made trade deals with several organic planets, never revealing that you were the starting cause behind his slave empire, and you would be spoiled with lavish gifts, ignorant of their origin.

Starscream stared at your sleeping form and then back to Megatron.

“I can’t look after this thing,” He argued.

Though Megatron had bested Starscream once, he hadn’t yet grown to fear his master and as such, was testing his limits.

“You can and you will,” Megatron ordered.

There were arguably better candidates to care for you, especially Soundwave who was used to smaller beings from playing host to some Cassettes. But this wasn’t a question of who you got along with or who would be best suited to watch over you. It was a test of allegiance. Besides, the more bots that Megatron kept on rotation to ‘pet-sit’ you, the more would know how to care for you when he was away.

Megatron needed to see you taken care of, even if he didn’t like leaving you with others, especially if he thought of them touching you. He shouldn’t care this much, but the last person he had entrusted with you had been the very one to betray him. He didn’t want to think of you trusting anyone like that traitor Orion… Optimus. He didn’t want any kind of bond like that in his life again, not for himself or you.

Standing his ground while Starscream prattled on about being the Commander of the High Guard, Megatron snarled. He pointed his cannon at Starscream which was enough to make the weaker mech backtrack, begging for his life.

“You will do as I say.”

Starscream nodded, holding his hands out in surrender, “Yes, of course. Your pet will be well cared for, Megatron.”

“That’s Lord Megatron to you.”

“Of- Of course. Lord Megatron,” Starscream bowed, humiliation coursing through him; it was a feeling that would one day transform into loathing. Megatron left his subordinate, satisfied with how easy it was to subjugate another to his will. He wondered how you would look bowing to him, then turned his mind against such thoughts. He didn’t want to frighten you into worshipping him; he would become someone worthy of your adoration.

You mumbled D-16’s name, waking from a deep sleep. Had you been more alert, you might have thought about how worrying it was that you had come to rely on Megatron so quickly or that you had called him by his old name and that he was no longer that bot you met just a short while ago.

Instead, your thoughts were disturbed by Starscream throwing you some new clothes that Shockwave had acquired from another planet. They were the vestments of the Royal Family until Megatron had ordered their deaths; now the clothes were yours, and far superior in quality than your previous garments. 

“Put those on,” He ordered, not caring whether you did or not.

You blinked owlishly at Starscream, having never been left alone with him before.

“Where’s Megatron?” You asked, despite being somewhat used to his leaving regularly to attend meetings, start trade deals with other planets, or draft new battle strategies.

Starscream rolled his optics, “What a clingy pet. Can’t you be away from Megatron for a few kliks before whining?”

You scowled at the mech, “I’m not a pet.”

“And I’m not a pet-sitter, but here we are,” Starscream griped.

You shook your head and got to work tinkering with some little projects you had started. During the Battle of Iacon, most of the items had been damaged when you fell on your pack. Fortunately, having worked on the Translator for so long, you weren’t bad at mechanics now, though a lot of your tinkering was mostly experimentation. So, rather than waste any time conversing with the bot who treated you like an unwanted mutt, you continued your work on your new shower unit, since your collapsable service station needed some repairs in that department and regrettably, you were starting to smell.

When Megatron returned he was injured, having lost to Optimus Prime for the second time. The loss enraged him, but it didn’t worry him. Optimus may have had the power of the Primes, but Megatron learned a lot from that battle, and in the end, he was certain that his strategy and cunning would win over Prime’s strength.

Besides, it hadn’t been a total loss. The other Decepticons had managed to spread their message through Iacon, and there were already a handful of bots who had returned to the Luna base with Megatron. With the new recruits all ready for an uprising, Megatron was preparing to send some of them back undercover, so they could further spread the message of the Decepticon cause.

Before entering his hab-suite, Megatron straightened up, hiding most of the damage behind bravado, despite the energon that leaked from his side. There could be no signs of weakness.

He expected to see you in his hab-suite, but you weren’t there. So, Starscream had taken you elsewhere. Megatron was about to begin repairing himself when he heard you cry out. It was faint, and more of a shout than a scream, but it sent him spiralling all the same.

He ran to find you, following the sound of your voice.

“GET OFF,” You shouted.

Megatron ran faster.

“STOP SQUIRMING!” Starscream yelled back.

Megatron burst into the wash racks, finding you soaked in Starscream’s grip, the water washing over both of you. Starscream was tugging at your old clothes, partially victorious as the seams ripped, uncovering your arm and part of your chest. You gritted your teeth and slapped at his hand.

Seeing all of this, Megatron gritted his dentae and smashed into Starscream, being careful to grab his arm and pull you from his grasp.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Starscream demanded.

Megatron held you against his chassis possessively, “When (Y/N) says stop, you stop. Their commands are my commands. Now, I demand to know what you were doing to my pet!”

You stared up at Megatron, shocked that he would call you such a thing. He knew what you were now, so why would he treat you like an animal? You didn’t like it.

“I’m not a pet,” You murmured, but neither mech seemed to hear you, glaring at one another in a silent power struggle.

Losing his nerve, Starscream bowed his head.

“I was merely washing your precious pet,” He sneered. “It stank.”

“Not a pet,” You repeated, but your words fell on deaf ears.

Starscream got up from the floor and sauntered out of the wash racks. Megatron’s optics tracked him, all the while a seed of hatred forming for his Second in Command. When Starscream was out of sight, Megatron held you up for inspection. You had your arms crossed to protect your chest, and you were staring angrily down at the floor. The water made the remains of your outfit cling to you, making you feel even smaller and more vulnerable.

Honestly, Megatron had little right to be so furious at Starscream. He too didn’t understand the significance of your clothing, only that the coverings were important to you.

“Are you okay, pet?” He said, gently stroking your cheek.

You pushed his hand away, “I’M NOT YOUR PET!”

Megatron stared at you, open-mouthed. You’d never yelled at him before.

“Do you get that?” You asked, brow furrowing. “You used to, but it’s like you’ve forgotten. I’m a person, just like you. Do you understand?”

Megatron thought back to the person he had been, comparing it to who he was now, and who he wanted to be in the future. You wanted D-16 back, but he wasn’t that anymore. Yet… Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be D-16 around you, just a little bit.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I never meant to imply-” He sighed, “I’m sorry.”

For the moment, it seemed that D-16 was back, and things were just like they had always been. You were about to say something equally sentimental, until you saw the trickle of energon, washing down the drain.

“You’re hurt!”

Megatron shook his helm, “It’s nothing.”

“No,” You cried out. “It’s not nothing!”

“I’ll patch it up in our room. You can take care of yourself there too.”

You were staring at him. Megatron couldn’t help smiling a little at your concern. As promised, he had patched himself up with a welding iron. It had been painful, but he hadn’t shown any signs of it.

You meanwhile, were in your new clothes, having sorted yourself out and dried off.

Megatron stood from his chair, leaving the tools he had used for self-repair on the desk.

He scooped you up, holding you to his face, “I’m alright. I promise.”

You shook your head, unwilling to believe him. Megatron chuckled, supposing that you couldn’t believe it since such an injury would have been fatal to your kind. Yet, he was wrong in trying to guess your thoughts. Physically, you knew Megatron would recover easily, but to recover psychologically? You wondered if he ever would.

Maybe it was because of everything he had gone through before you met, being a slave to a corrupt system, or maybe it was because of Orion’s death, but despite his apology earlier, you couldn’t help seeing the difference between D-16 and Megatron.

Still, he hadn’t abandoned you, and you wouldn’t abandon him. Megatron was going through something traumatic, and as he said, the war was inevitable. It would be hard on anybody, and you wanted to help him through it.

You glanced down to his welded side which he would undoubtedly buff out later to make it look as if nothing ever happened.

“Does it still hurt?”

Megatron couldn’t help adoring the soft melancholy lilt of your voice; the concern that was all for him.  

He tilted your chin up so you were looking into his eyes instead of at his failure, “It hurts less when you’re here.”

Your eyes flicked towards Megatron’s lips and you felt your cheeks start to burn. Lately, you had begun imagining things. You wanted to be closer to Megatron, to share some intimate moments with him, but that was impossible; you two weren’t the same.

Seeing your flushed skin and your darting eyes, Megatron smiled, looking the closest to being D-16 that he had in a while. You were so easy to read.

Perhaps it was time to show you the little trick he had been practising; it would leech him of his energy but he was certain that it would be worth it.

Megatron lowered you to his desk.

“Close your eyes,” He requested.

Although you had a lot on your mind, you did as he asked; at that moment, you knew you would have likely done anything for him.

Megatron mass displaced so he was closer to your size. It was difficult to become so small, but he managed to shrink down to around nine feet. Originally, mass displacement was taught to working-class Cybertronians so they could shrink down and enter the Underground to make repairs. Everyone was told that it was more energy-effective than using mini-bots, but the truth was that mini-bots were kept as slaves, being seen as even lesser than the worker-bots; they were hardly worth keeping online, and nobody in the Senate wanted to risk giving them repair tools for larger jobs in case they started a rebellion.

Now, Megatron had also learned mass displacement, for you.

He placed a servo to the small of your back, giddy when you opened your eyes in shock. He traced down your jawline with his other hand, lightly thumbing over your chin. How perfectly you fit against him now.

Dipping down, he pressed his lips to yours. Metal against flesh; two different worlds colliding.

You gave yourself over to him.

Little was right in your life since you were taken by the Quintessons, but this moment was perfect… Or it would be if you could fight the niggling in your mind that warned you all was not right with the Decepticons. Megatron’s servo bunched in your hair. You moaned against him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You could ignore those thoughts. You had to. Needed to. What else could you do when you had foolishly let yourself fall in love?

As Megatron’s paramour, you were given more freedom as Decepticon successes rose. Or rather, you were given the fragile illusion of more freedom. You were taken to the few organic planets that Megatron had made ‘trade deals’ with thus far. The threat of their destruction kept the people in line, and you were treated with all the respect of a visiting dignitary. If you tried, you would have seen the terror in the faces of those conquered, but with Megatron distracting you as if you were on a date, you chose the easy path. It was easy to run from suffering when you didn’t want to believe in it.

You were given a communicator which Megatron told you had been built for you, but it had actually been ripped from a now deceased Autobot’s helm. You were provided anything you needed, and more beyond that. However, all of it ceased to matter on the day you saw Orion Pax, alive and well.

Orion Pax, now Optimus Prime had received word that Megatron had conquered a nearby planet and enslaved its people. Fully believing that you had perished in the Battle of Iacon, the Autobot leader vowed to free the planet your name, knowing that it’s what you would have wanted for your organic kin.

That was when you both saw each other, Optimus lowering his blaster and you standing atop Megatron’s shoulder.

“Orion,” You breathed his name, barely loud enough for anyone to hear, yet Megatron heard; how could he not when you were standing right next to his audials?

Megatron glowered at Optimus, feeling extra possessive of you since the Prime had stolen everything from him and banished him from his home. He wouldn’t be allowed to take you too.

Megatron grabbed you roughly, partially transforming his chest cavity and shoving you inside. His pet, his lover, his possession, his captive; you were his! Optimus glared at Megatron. Keeping you captive was not an option, he would not allow it. Pointing at his ex-friend, Optimus gave the command, “AUTOBOTS, ROLL OUT!”

Megatron shook with rage, fear, sadness, hatred.

He held your lifeless body in his cupped servos. Granted, Optimus Prime had held back in the fight, but his damned Autobots hadn’t, and now you were gone.

You were the last thing Megatron had and you too had been ripped away from him.

That was it then. No more mercy, no more holding back. No more attachments.

All Autobots would be scrapped, and all the worthless organics of the universe would be destroyed or enslaved. Megatron refused to ever get close to an organic ever again. None would ever make up for you and he would not risk opening his spark to another being.

Ha, that was a joke. He couldn’t offer his spark to anyone anyway. It had been snuffed out. He was hollow. Just a shell for the seething rage to fill.

He was Megatron, and he didn’t need anybody.

He left your body to burn in the ashes of the organic planet, but Optimus picked you up, determined to give you a proper burial. To the Prime’s surprise, he saw you take in a tiny breath of air. You weren’t dead, but you would be if he didn’t get you away from the dying world. You needed air, you needed a doctor, you needed freedom.

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Six

Also available on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag to find other chapters | warnings: profanity, timeskip from the previous chapter, brief mentions of brothels, smoking

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Six:

“Vander’s dead.”

Draped across the plush velvet cushions of the sofa in your office, you took a deep drag of your cigarette. Your silk dress rustled as you moved, jewellery twinkling in the reddish pink light. You blew the smoke into the air thoughtfully.

“Dead?” You hummed thoughtfully, then beckoned to the girl standing before you. She crossed the rich carpet, and you pulled her onto the seat next to you before putting the cigarette out on her exposed skin. “Tell me more.”

She hissed at the pain. “There was an explosion… Silco was involved. Last night.” Her voice shook with fear as you drew lazy circles on her shoulder with your fingertip.

At this, you sat up straighter. “Was he?” Your leg began to bounce, and you steepled your hands before placing them on your face. After a long moment of silence, accompanied by your furrowed brow, you leaned back into the sofa.

Flicking a coin at the girl, you jerked your head at the curtain. She stood up, clutching it in her closed fist as she swept aside the beaded veil. You looked at the single rose lying on the low table before you.

“This can’t be good for the Lanes,” you sighed, lying back to rest your head on the tasseled cushion. Another cigarette lit. You inhaled deeply, hand falling as the smoke poured from your lips in a steady stream towards the ceiling. “Now that their leader is gone.” You chuckled lightly. “Fuck them. They never showed me a piece of that community bullshit he pushed so hard for anyways.” You turned your head and looked at the rose. “Right?”

“Years,” you hissed. “It’s been years, and the bastard never thought to come find me.” You almost bit the cigarette, smoke curling from your lips. Your leg was shaking with fury again. “Of course he had to break his stupid promise.” You took a moment to relax, melting back into the cushions.

“People will be clawing for a foothold as the next leader,” you continued thoughtfully, and took another drag. “If Silco brought this about…” Your eyes flicked to the curtains. “What do you think, girls? Should I stay out of it? Or take the chance?”

The silhouettes behind the beads moved as the eavesdropping girls shuffled awkwardly. One of them swept into the room, the other poking her head through the dangling strings.

“W-we’re sorry, Madam,” the one girl stuttered. You languidly swept your gaze across her nervous face. “We couldn’t help but hear you while we were passing.”

You stayed silent for a moment, then took another drag on the cigarette. “Put your mask on, and go find a client.”

She nodded frantically, turning to flee the room, and you gave a low chuckle, standing up. Stabbing the cigarette into a gilded ashtray, you moved the beads aside, and stepped into the carpeted hallway.

The air was sweet and thick, the smell of perfume mixing with the smell of desire. Gold accents flashed wherever you looked. Pushing past a pair awkwardly conversing in the hallway, you put a ringed hand on the doorknob to the back door.

Someone cleared their throat. You turned to look at the masked worker. “Madam.” Extending their hands, they held out your coat. You smiled thinly, plucking it from their hands and wrapping it around yourself, giving a dismissive thanks as you stepped outside into the night. 

You made your way through the Lanes, and, more specifically, to the Last Drop. The one place you hadn’t visited in years. 

The place was lit, men leaving and entering with crates and the like. You spotted Sevika standing outside, arms crossed, glaring at curious passer-by. Jamming your hands into your pockets you glided up to her.

“Sevika.” Your voice was smooth. She looked at you, and suddenly scowled.

“You,” she hissed. “I thought you were banned from here.”

Your lip curled, face filled with amusement. “Not anymore I’m not. Not with Vander out of the picture. Cigarette?”

She stared at you suspiciously as you drew out a pack, offering her one temptingly. She scowled, and took it. You held out your lighter.

“What business do you have here?” Her voice was low, dangerous, even. You withdrew your hand, feigning hurt.

“Can’t I just check up every now and then? Take a visit down memory lane?”

She scoffed. “Don’t seem like the type.”

You smirked. “I’m not. Just wanted to see what was happening so far.” You pouted. “The Lanes don’t talk to me.”

“You run a brothel.” She took a drag of the cigarette. “I’m sure you know enough.”

You giggled at that. “Certainly.” Pausing, you narrowed your eyes, tilting your head. “You’re a funny one. You really left Vander at the drop of a hat, didn’t you?”

“He was a coward.” Smoke curled into the air. “We fare better chances of independence with Silco leading us. There’s nothing more to it.”

You quirked a brow. “Is that so. So it’ll be safe to assume that Silco’s taking over the Lanes.”

She sighed heavily, and turned to look at you properly. “You know it’s obvious? How desperately you’re clinging to the past?”

The light, easy look on your face immediately fell into a scowl. She put a heavy hand on your shoulder, leaning in.

“Do yourself a favour and forget it,” she said steadily, gaze refusing to tear away from yours. “We’re all sorry about Alice. But pestering everyone won’t do you any good.”

You grabbed her arm, the metal tips of your nails digging into her skin and drawing blood. She looked at you, shocked, and tried to pull away. You didn’t budge as you flatly looked at her, unmoving.

“Don’t patronise me.” Your voice sounded bored. You plucked your fingers from Sevika’s arm. You produced a sleek black card, with an address on it, and pushed it to her chest. Gave her a vixen’s smile.

“We’re better than Babette’s,” you said sweetly, then your expression darkened. “She won’t be around for long, anyways.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’d like to expand my business is all.” You grinned at her. She swallowed.

“You’ve changed.”

“So they say.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Good to see you again, [name].”

“Likewise.” You didn’t even bother gracing her with a smile or a goodbye as you turned on your heel, leaving her outside the Last Drop, and disappearing into the night.

A visit to the river always calmed your nerves.

Balled fists shaking, you waded into the freezing water.

How fucking dare she? Clinging to the past? That bitch. You sighed, leaning back into the waves. Your hair spread like smoke through the water. Your best friend left you after your daughter’s death. 

Why wouldn’t you fucking cling to the past?

You’ve changed.

You twitched. No. Hands clawed at the back of your head, curling around your neck, pulling you down.

Gasping, you shot upright. 

It took a few minutes of listening to the silent air broken by the sloshing of waves, drops of water rolling down your skin for your heart to return to it’s normal rate. You turned and dragged yourself to the riverbank.

You needed to find a way to twist the mess of Vander’s death to your advantage.

After the years that had passed, it was about time something happened to the bastard. You let in a shaky breath, brushing your soaked hair from your eyes. 

You just hated that you weren’t involved.

[autisticadult]

The deal

Chapter two: the meeting

Warnings: once again yall, pretty tame :) mafiaboss!elijah AU :) slow burn has me in a chokehold so buckle up. As always, minors DNI !!!! Dom/sub dynamics are coming !!!!

A/N: I’m so glad chapter one got so much love yall :) I am really feeling slow burn for this for some reason so I hope that’s ok, I did give yall a nice lil moment at the end though, enjoy <3

Taglist(message me if you’d like to join!): @tinysunshine

Life under Elijah Mikaelson’s roof was nothing like you’d expected, though you weren’t sure what you had expected. Perhaps more violence, more overt displays of the power that made him the most feared man in New Orleans. Instead, you found yourself tangled in a web of subtleties, power plays, and rules so unspoken they might as well have been etched into the mansion’s walls.

For the most part, Elijah left you alone during the first few weeks, appearing only when he had some use for you. These interactions ranged from casual conversation to tasks he assigned without explanation. At first, you had hoped that he might lose interest in you, that his fascination was fleeting. But as the days passed, you realized Elijah wasn’t the kind of man who let go of things he claimed as his.

One evening, after finishing a task in the kitchen—sorting a shipment of imported bottles for Elijah’s collection—you wandered into the dining room, hoping to steal a moment of solitude. Instead, you found Rebekah seated at the massive oak table, swirling a glass of red wine in her hand.

“Y/N,” she drawled, her tone sharp as a dagger. “Adjusting to life in the gilded cage?”

You hesitated in the doorway. Rebekah was beautiful and dangerous, her presence a constant reminder of the family’s reputation. But she was also unpredictable, and you couldn’t tell if she was genuinely curious or looking for a reason to toy with you.

“Trying,” you replied carefully.

Her lips twisted into a smirk. “Smart girl. But I wonder, do you truly understand what you’ve done?”

You blinked, unsure of her meaning. “I’m protecting my brother.”

“Oh, I’m sure you believe that,” she said, taking a sip of wine. “But you’ve chained yourself to Elijah, and he doesn’t do anything without reason. Whatever he sees in you, it won’t be simple. Or easy.”

Rebekah’s words unsettled you, but you pushed the feeling aside. “I can handle it.”

She laughed, the sound musical but laced with disbelief. “Can you? Or are you just too stubborn to admit you’re in over your head?”

Before you could respond, the door to the dining room swung open, and Elijah entered, his presence immediately filling the space. He didn’t look at Rebekah; his dark gaze went straight to you.

“Y/N,” he said smoothly, “a moment, if you please.”

You followed him without question, feeling Rebekah’s knowing gaze on your back.

Elijah led you to his study, a room you’d been in only once before. He gestured for you to sit, but as always, his politeness felt like a command rather than a suggestion.

“I’ve been observing you,” he began, leaning back in his chair. His words were measured, deliberate, as though each one carried weight.

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “And?”

“You’re resilient,” he said, his tone almost… approving. “You’ve adapted more quickly than I anticipated. Most would have crumbled under the pressure by now.”

“Maybe I’m not like most people,” you replied, trying to mask your unease with confidence.

His lips curved into a faint smile. “No, you’re not.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your pulse quicken—a mix of admiration and something darker.

“I have a task for you,” he continued. “A test of sorts.”

You straightened in your chair, wary but curious. “What kind of test?”

“A meeting,” he said simply. “Tonight, you’ll accompany me to a gathering of… associates. Your role is to observe and, if necessary, speak on my behalf.”

Your stomach tightened. “Speak on your behalf? Why me?”

“Because I wish it,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Consider it an opportunity to prove your worth.”

It wasn’t a request, and you knew better than to refuse. “I’ll do it,” you said, forcing confidence into your voice.

“Good,” he said, standing. “Wear something appropriate. We leave in an hour.”

The meeting took place in a dimly lit private club, far more refined than The Red Raven. The air was thick with tension, the kind that came when powerful people converged in a single room. Elijah moved through the crowd like a shadow, his every step purposeful. You stayed close, trying to blend into the background while keeping your senses alert.

At the center of the room was a long table surrounded by men and women who looked as dangerous as they were wealthy. Elijah took his seat at the head, his calm demeanor commanding instant respect.

You stood behind him, your hands clasped in front of you, trying not to let your nerves show. The conversation that followed was a delicate dance of words, veiled threats, and subtle power plays. Elijah spoke sparingly, but when he did, his voice cut through the room like a blade.

At one point, the attention shifted to you.

“And who’s this?” asked a man with a heavy French accent, his gaze raking over you. “Your new pet, Elijah?”

The insult made your blood boil, but before you could react, Elijah raised a hand, silencing the room.

“Y/N is my… advisor,” he said smoothly, his tone leaving no room for dispute. “She’s here to observe and ensure my interests are protected.”

The man smirked, clearly unimpressed. “I hope she’s worth the trouble.”

Elijah’s dark gaze fixed on the man, and the room grew unnervingly quiet. “Everything I do is worth the trouble, Monsieur Leclerc. You would do well to remember that.”

Leclerc paled, muttering a hasty apology. The meeting continued, but you couldn’t shake the weight of Elijah’s words—or the way he’d so effortlessly silenced a man who had clearly underestimated him.

When it was finally over, Elijah escorted you outside, the cool night air a welcome relief from the oppressive atmosphere of the club.

“You were a good girl tonight, darling.” he said, a little too casually for your liking, as you walked toward his car.

“I was?” you asked, shooting him a shy glance while still feeling the lingering tension from the meeting.

He stopped, turning to face you. Elijah reached out, taking her chin into her hand as he spoke, his calm tone demanding to be respected. “Yes. But remember this, Y/N—appearances are everything in my world, to me. Tonight, you were seen as an extension of me. Don’t ever give anyone a reason to doubt your loyalty. Or mine.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but you nodded, understanding the weight of what he was saying. As y:n obediently whispered out a small “yes sir, I understand.” Elijah dropped her chin and turned to the car.

As you climbed into the car, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d truly passed his test—or if this was just the beginning of something far more dangerous.

The ride back to the Mikaelson estate was silent, the hum of the engine the only sound between you and Elijah. You stared out the window, watching the streets of New Orleans blur into shadows and flickering lights. The gravity of the night weighed heavily on your shoulders, each moment replaying in your mind like a warning.

Elijah, as always, was unreadable, his gaze fixed forward. You wanted to ask him why he’d chosen you for tonight’s gathering, why he thought you were capable of navigating a room full of predators. But you knew better than to question him so openly.

When the car finally pulled up to the grand estate, he exited without a word, leaving you to follow. The mansion’s looming facade seemed more oppressive than ever, its beauty a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within you.

As you stepped inside, you heard a voice call out from the parlor.

“Back so soon?” Rebekah appeared in the doorway, a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. She leaned against the frame, her sharp eyes scanning you. “How did our little dove fare in the lion’s den?”

Elijah didn’t break stride. “She did as I expected,” he said, his voice calm but laced with finality. “Goodnight, Rebekah.”

With that, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone with his sister. Rebekah’s gaze lingered on you, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.

“Well?” she prompted, arching a brow. “What did he make you do?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you said, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them.

She let out a soft laugh, swirling her wine. “Oh, Y/N, you have no idea what you’ve signed up for, do you?”

You frowned. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because Elijah’s games are never as simple as they seem,” she said, stepping closer. “He’s a master of manipulation, and everything he does—everything—is part of a larger plan. You may think you’re just surviving, but you’re already a piece on his board.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to let it show. “I’m not a pawn.”

Rebekah smirked, tilting her head as if appraising you. “Then prove it. Survive his tests, outmaneuver his enemies, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll live long enough to understand what you’ve truly gotten yourself into.”

She brushed past you, her laughter echoing softly as she disappeared into the depths of the house.

You stood there for a moment, her words swirling in your mind. A piece on his board. The thought unsettled you, but a spark of defiance burned in your chest. If Elijah thought he could control you, if he thought you’d play his game without question, he was wrong.

Whatever his plans were, you were determined to be more than a pawn.

Later that night, you found yourself in the small room Elijah had assigned to you. It was modest compared to the rest of the mansion, but it was yours, a rare pocket of solitude in a house full of chaos. You sat on the edge of the bed, replaying the events of the evening in your mind.

Elijah’s words echoed louder than Rebekah’s. “You were seen as an extension of me.” That single statement carried a weight you hadn’t fully grasped until now. Being tied to Elijah meant more than survival—it meant navigating a world of power, deception, and danger.

As you stared at the faint moonlight streaming through the window, you couldn’t help but rethink over everything from the meeting. The gravity of your situation setting in.

The knock on your door came late, and you hesitated before answering. The mansion was quiet, the sort of stillness that left every sound amplified. You half-expected Kol’s familiar antics or Rebekah with another barbed comment. But when you opened your mouth to call out, your voice caught, something stopping you.

“Come in,” you said finally, barely above a whisper.

The door opened, and it wasn’t Kol. Elijah stepped inside, his figure cutting an imposing silhouette against the dim hallway light. He closed the door softly behind him, his eyes locking onto yours. He looked calm, composed, as always—but there was a weight to his gaze tonight that made the air around you feel charged.

“Elijah,” you said, standing automatically. “Is something the matter?”

His head tilted slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved. “No,” he said, voice low, smooth as honey. “I simply wished to… clarify something.”

“Clarify?” you asked, your pulse quickening. His presence was unnerving, but not in the way it should have been. Not in the way someone so powerful and dangerous should unnerve you.

“You’ve done well these past weeks,” he began, taking a step closer. “Adapted quickly. But I sense you’re still questioning your place here.”

Your brows furrowed. “I told you I’m here for my brother—”

“And I believe that you were,” he interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. “But I also believe you’ve underestimated what it means to be in my world. What it means to be tied to me.”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to look away, to find some corner of the room to focus on instead of the intensity in his dark eyes. But you couldn’t.

“Everything here has rules, Y/N,” he continued, stepping closer. “Unspoken, perhaps, but binding nonetheless. Every move you make reflects on me. Every choice you make… reflects us.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m trying, Elijah. But this—this isn’t something I’ve ever—”

“I know,” he said, his voice softening. “And yet, you’ve endured. Adapted.”

His words sent a strange warmth through you, though you couldn’t quite place why. And then he took another step closer, his presence utterly consuming now.

“But you still don’t trust me,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Not fully.”

You blinked at him, startled. “I—”

His hand lifted, fingers brushing against your jaw so lightly it was almost like a question. The room seemed to narrow, leaving only him and the way your pulse quickened under his touch.

“You hold me at arm’s length,” he said softly. “Afraid of what it might mean to let me in. And yet, you’re still here.”

“Because I don’t have a choice,” you replied, though the words felt thin even as you said them.

His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “You do,” he said. “You’ve always had a choice. You chose to step into my world, to take this path. And now…”

His hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling lightly in your hair. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and your breath caught. “Sure, it started with your dearest brother but..” Elijah said with a small smirk, looking at you with hungry eyes.

“You must decide if you’ll let me show you what it truly means to be here,” he finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Elijah…” You said his name, but you weren’t sure if it was a protest or a plea.

“If you wish for me to stop,” he said, his gaze locked on yours, “say the word, and I will.”

Your heart raced, the air thick between you. But you didn’t say anything.

And then, slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance between you. His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, like he was waiting for you to pull away. When you didn’t, the kiss deepened, his hand tightening in your hair, anchoring you to him.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was deliberate, every movement carrying an unspoken promise. He kissed you as though he was trying to unravel every fear, every wall you’d built between you.

When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his voice was barely audible. “This world is dangerous, Y/N. I am dangerous. But if you choose to stay by my side, I will not let you falter. Do you understand?”

You swallowed hard, your hands still gripping the fabric of his jacket. “I… think I do.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression unreadable but intense. “You’ll come to understand fully,” he said, his tone both a promise and a warning. “In time.”

As he stepped back, the space between you felt colder, but the fire he’d ignited in your chest remained. And though he didn’t say anything else before leaving, the lingering warmth of his kiss spoke louder than words.

Whatever game Elijah was playing, whatever role he saw for you, you’d find a way to survive. And maybe, just maybe, you’d find a way to turn the tables. For now, all you could do was think

‘what the hell just happened.’

[juliating]

ough I love him sm,, need to draw regular Spam more also shoutout to a coworker whos been mumbling that song to himself half asleep on nightshift for like 20 min

[sev-on-kamino]

Absence//Fonder Pt. 2

Summary: The boys surprise you with a trip to your home world and a vocabulary lesson.

Pairing: The Bad Batch x medic fem!reader (pronouns she/her, no physical descriptions, no y/n, pet names)

Warnings: Crosshair, angst (not much I swear!), fluff so sweet you’ll need your dentist, sweet kisses ( the smut happens in chapter 3 😏) but MINORS DNI

Written while listening to “Tell Her You Love Her” by Echosmith

Series playlist can be found here!

Part 1 Part 3

Word count: 3132

Crosshair had been called many things in his life. Talented, cocky, aloof to name a few. No one had ever called him a coward though. It was in his very nature to look at the impossible and find a way.

The odds didn’t matter.

He and his brothers had faced forces that would have given much larger squads pause, and they’d never hesitated. Never felt like they couldn’t get the job done.

Yet there he was, stomach twisted into knots, muscles in his legs twitching with the desire to bolt, afraid. Not afraid of a battalion of clankers, rollies, and spiders.

No. He was afraid of a nat born medic, who clutched Wrecker’s arm like a lifeline during turbulence. A medic who could sew up her own wounded leg without batting an eye, but would discharge her blaster at the sight of an insect. A medic who was the epitome of soft, yet had the power to crush him in the palm of her hand.

He’d never told anyone he cared for them, nor had he asked anyone what they felt for him. Quite frankly he didn’t give a fuck. The fleeting attentions of strangers, whose names he would forget immediately, had been more than enough to scratch the well-concealed itch for a semblance of connection.

Now, you were ruining him without even trying. Punching a hole straight through his carefully crafted armor. Making him weak.

And in a few moments, depending on your reaction, you could break all five of them. Clone Force 99 could be brought to its knees by you in a single instant.

He watched his brothers as they led you towards the location Tech had chosen. Excitement radiated off of you like a sun’s rays. He would never admit it, but he was dying to be wrong this time. He wanted to believe that you could love them. That you could love him.

Blindfolded, you were unable to see the looks of hope and affection etched onto their shared features. You were simply excited for another adventure with them. Hunter’s hands rested securely on your shoulders with your hands over them.

The sergeant had woken you up upon landing with a bandana in hand.

“We’ve got a surprise for you,” he said, as you got dressed.

“Really?” you asked, mind racing as you tried to imagine what it was. It wasn’t your birthday, their decant day, or any other holiday. Not that it mattered. The fact that the five of them had formed a plan to surprise you damn near made your brain short circuit. That showed a level of care and consideration you had rarely even received from people you were seriously dating.

“Yep, gotta make sure you don’t peek though,” he said waving the bandana.

You resisted the urge to make a filthy joke about being tied up for them and instead turned so Hunter could tie the bandana on. The world went dark, and you took a nervous breath until you felt Hunter’s hands on your shoulders, and you relaxed. He would never let anything happen to you.

“Where’s my bucket?” You asked, suddenly feeling naked without it.

“You won’t need it here,” Hunter said, steering you towards the door.

“Is this some kind of initiation thing?” you asked, breaking the silence. “Testing my bravery to prove I’m one of you?”

Wrecker snorted, “That’s a pretty good idea! We could dangle you over a cliff by your ankle?”

“If I don’t scream, I’m in?” You asked with a giggle.

“Grow up, you two,” Crosshair said, and you swore you could hear him rolling his eyes.

“…yes.” Wrecker whispered in answer to your question, setting off more giggles.

“We’ve got a little hike coming up, so one of us will carry you,” Hunter said, as you all came to a stop.

Even blindfolded you knew where all of them were by their steps. You reached for Wrecker, but Hunter caught your hand.

“Wrecker’s got his hands full,” Hunter said, and you could hear a smile in his voice. It made your stomach flip with excitement.

“Ooooh, the plot thickens.” You stepped forward and instead found Tech’s shoulders, wrapping your arms around him. You made a soft noise of surprise, as he grabbed your thighs, and hoisted you off the ground easily.

“Are you comfortable?” Tech asked.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, face pressed against the side of Tech’s helmet.

You hum softly, listening to the sound of your squads’ steps, mind conjuring all sorts of fantastic scenarios for what they could have planned.

It was quiet and warm, and you could hear their boots crunching over dry ground, so you knew you weren’t on Kamino. You had been sleeping for the majority of the trip, and blindfolded before stepping off of the ship, so you couldn’t use the stars for clues.

You hummed softly as the trek continued, occasionally grinning when Wrecker would chuckle at some joke from Echo you couldn’t quite make out. You were close to beginning a round of “Are we there yet?” when Tech stopped, and slowly released his grip on your thighs.

“We have arrived at our intended destination,” he said, as you got your feet under yourself after several minutes of being carried.

Hunter removed the bandana, and you looked around. A small city twinkled in the valley below your position atop a massive hill. You looked to the rich blue night sky above, and connected the stars. Your brow furrowed a moment before the realization hit you. You were home…well, your home world. Home was the Marauder now. A lump formed in your throat, and tears pooled in your eyes.

“You brought me home?” You asked, turning to face them, smiling even as the tears poured down your face.

“We missed you, and we thought this would be a good welcome home surprise,” Echo said.

“It was Hunter’s idea,” Tech supplied.

“Oh, Hunter, this is perfect!” You wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your head against his chest. “Thank you.”

Hunter held you close a moment, before releasing you slowly to smile down at you.

“This is a pretty special spot, you know?” You asked tucking your arms behind your back and rising up on the balls of your feet.

“Yes, I selected it for that very reason. The local population has designated this as a place to share important news with loved ones,” Tech said, clearly proud of himself.

“Right as always, Tech,” you beamed at him. “Planning to share some news?”

“Actually we thought today might be a nice day to teach you some Mando’a, so you know what we’re saying to you,” Hunter said nodding towards Wrecker, who took a deep breath and stepped up to take your hands.

“Finally!” You cheered, buzzing with excitement.

A bright smile lit up your features as you looked up at him. He smiled warmly, eyes roaming your face. You’d only been gone a couple of weeks, but Wrecker had missed you fiercely every moment.

“Well, we call you ‘mesh’la’ cause it means beautiful. Easy to see why. You are beautiful inside and out,” Wrecker said before taking you gently by your arms and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Your heart jumped and your breath hitched. You cleared your throat and said, “I knew I liked that one.”

He smiled warmly, and stepped to the side, gently guiding you to Echo, who took one of your hands next. He rested his scomplink against your waist, and you held his bicep, as you beamed expectantly at him.

“We call you ‘saraad’ because it means flower. You make every place you’re in brighter, more alive.” Echo kissed your forehead, and you felt anticipation buzzing in your chest. Your heart beat faster than before, as Tech took his place before you could even react.

“Senaar’ika means little bird. You are always eager to take flight whether you are ready or not. Brave, reckless to be certain, but brave nonetheless,” straight to the point as ever, Tech pressed a kiss to your cheek.

You released a shuddering breath, your face warming up under their gentle affections. Am I dreaming? You thought, now scared to move or speak for fear of breaking the spell they were weaving around you.

Hunter hesitated only a moment before resting a hand on your waist, as the other cupped your cheek, his thumb rubbing soothingly over your cheekbone. Your eyes met his, as you placed your hands on his chest and held your breath.

“‘Cyare’ is one you’ve heard more and more lately. The closest word in basic is beloved,” Hunter said, and you knew he’d heard your heart skip a beat before racing away.

“You’re special to us, and we want to keep you close…closer,” Hunter took a deep breath, his warm brown eyes held yours. “We’ve fallen for you, and we hope that’s ok. Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to.”

“You’ve fallen for me? I-, I…I can’t even…” you stammered, simultaneously thrilled and confused. You took a deep breath, lifting one hand to rest over his against your face, the other sliding up to caress his face.

“Is it ok, if I kiss you now?” He asked. You nodded immediately.

He smiled and leaned down to press his lips to yours. You didn’t wake up. His arm wrapped around your waist, and you knew it was real. He pulled back and pressed his forehead to yours.

“Been wanting to do that for awhile now,” he confessed.

“That makes two of us…or maybe 6 of us,” you said with a nervous laugh.

You’d thought of no less than a dozen different scenarios when Hunter had blindfolded you, but you never imagined this could be a possibility. Not even in your wildest dreams did you allow yourself to believe that the 5 amazing men standing before you could care for you the way you cared for them.

There’s a relieved sigh from behind Hunter, and you leaned around him to see Crosshair properly. His eyes were taking you in much like he had upon your return. Drinking you in while he figured out what to say. You looked up at Hunter, and he nodded, stepping back to give you a path to Crosshair. Taking a deep breath, you make your way towards the sniper.

For the first time since you met him, you reached for Crosshair, taking hold of him with confidence. Your eyes met his, a light smile playing on your lips.

“Any special words you wanna teach me, Crosshair?” You asked, hoping your voice was steady.

“You already know my favorite word for you. The one that’s been going through my mind since you left,” Crosshair said quietly, bringing his lips within an inch of yours.

“And what word would that be?” you asked, moving closer to let your lips brush his.

“Mine,” he said before closing the distance between you, kissing you with relief. The first kiss had been almost hesistant, as a part of him was sure he was stealing affection that wasn’t meant for him. But it was meant for him. You wanted him…all of them. You weren’t running away or pulling back. You were in his arms, holding him close like he belonged to you.

Wrecker cleared his throat noisily, and Crosshair broke the kiss to give him a look.

“Just for that, you can go last,” Crosshair sneered, guiding you towards Tech, who pulled you close and let his arms settle comfortably around your waist. Just like before your arms rested over his shoulders, this time your fingers carded gently through his hair.

“I hope that you will be willing to answer a few questions for me, senaar’ika. I have been compiling data for quite some time, and despite today’s success, I still have some theories to test in order to draw definitive conclusions.”

“I’ll indulge your experiments, if you’ll indulge mine,” you said with a mysterious little smile.

“Well, of course, I am more than happy to assist in the pursuit of knowledge,” Tech replied. Happy with your response he leaned in to brush his lips softly over yours. You whined, wanting more, and he pressed closer, letting you feel his need for you. Tech’s kiss was just like him, a curious exploration that left you giddy.

He pulled back, and opened his mouth to say more, but Wrecker cut him off, “Maker, Tech, you can talk her ear off later. We’ve still got another thing to give her!”

“Despite the rudeness of his delivery, Wrecker is correct. We do have another surprise for you,” Tech said, releasing you slowly, as Echo moved close to pull you into his arms.

“I almost slipped up and kissed you last night, so I may need to make up for that,” Echo said, before kissing you slow and deep. You were so sure your heart was actually going to break its way out of your ribcage if they kept going at this rate.

“Stars, Echo, I can think of a few more things for you to make up,” you said breathlessly, as he pulled back with a grin.

“Finally!” Wrecker said, spinning you around and scooping you up into his arms to press the softest kiss of all to your lips. He handled you with such care and affection, you couldn’t help but sigh happily against his lips.

“Kriff me, if I’d known this would happen, I’d have left sooner,” you said with a laugh, as Wrecker set you back down on your feet.

“Well, no more running off to help Cody because we missed you too much,” Wrecker said, caressing your face gently.

“I promise I won’t be doing that again for quite some time,” you confessed.

“Good, because Cross here, was worse than usual,” Hunter teased.

Crosshair scowled and folded his arms. “Just tell her the next surprise.”

“You belong with us no matter what, so Crosshair gave your helmet a little update,” Echo said from just beyond Wrecker, where Hunter and Tech had set up a fire, and a tent. You suspected that’s what had kept Wrecker’s hands full.

Echo straightened up and passed you your bucket. You looked down at it, and a smile slowly spread across your face. A tiny skull and a 99 now adorned your helmet like a kiss on the cheek.

“Cross, you did this for me?” You asked, turning to the sniper. It was difficult to tell in the low light, you could have sworn he was blushing.

“We thought you might like it,” Hunter said.

“I love it.”

***

The six of you gathered around a happily crackling fire, as you finally answered all of their questions about your time away. Crosshair watched you with rapt attention, appreciating all of your little quirks, as you discussed the missions you’d participated in, including the one that had resulted in your injury.

“Still pissed you got shot. Not surprised though. That always happens with regs,” Wrecker said, tightening his hold on your waist, as he held you to his side.

“Hey!” Echo said, leaning around you and gesturing to himself. “I’d never let her get shot.”

“You know I don’t mean you, Echo,” Wrecker said dismissively.

“It’s just a scratch, boys,” you laughed. “There’s barely even a scar.”

“We sent you to Commander Cody with no scratches, and we expected you to come back in the same condition,” Crosshair said gesturing at you with a toothpick.

“Though I would have chosen a less objectifying way to phrase it, I agree with Crosshair,” Tech said, looking up from his datapad. “I would have thought you would be in excellent hands with our Marshal Commander, and not in a position to take damage from a sniper.”

“Awwww, did Cody let your favorite toy get all scuffed? You want a new one?” You asked with a teasing lilt to your voice.

Crosshair shook his head slowly. Tech looked offended at the suggestion.

“And have to break in another one?” Hunter interjected. “No way. You’re stuck with us now.”

“Oh no,” you gasped in mock anguish. “Whatever shall I do? Stuck with my favorite people in the galaxy. Torture.”

You draped yourself dramatically over Wrecker’s legs, much to his amusement. His hearty laughter rumbled out of his chest, as he pulled you close to his chest, so you were sitting in his lap.

“Your favorite people? In the whole galaxy?” He asked, his mismatched eyes full of hope as they focused on yours.

“Absolutely. You have been for awhile,” you confessed. “I hated being away from all of you.” You looked around the fire at each of them before bringing your focus back to Wrecker. “I mean it. I don’t wanna do that again for a good long while.”

Satisfied, Wrecker cupped your face and brought his lips to yours again. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you felt yourself relax against him. His lips moved over yours with a gentle confidence that made you hum low in your throat, and press closer to him.

You broke the kiss, as a yawn forced its way out of you. You were still absolutely exhausted. The thrill of their confession had given you the sweetest sugar high, and you were crashing.

“You require rest,” Tech said, “I will take first watch.”

“I’ll take it,” Crosshair said, shooting a glance at Hunter, who had covered him the night before. He’d gotten you all to himself for several hours, and he knew the others were itching to snuggle with you. He was too relieved to be selfish. For now.

You stood up and stretched, reaching for the sky you’d grown up under before wandering over to Crosshair and kneeling down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Come snuggle with me soon,” you whispered.

He nodded, as he watched you rise and make your way into the tent.

“We’ll keep you company, Cross,” Wrecker said with a grin, as Tech and Echo followed you into the tent, and Hunter relaxed on his back to look up at the stars.

“Oh goody,” the sniper replied with a halfhearted roll of his eyes.

***

You’d worried it would be awkward, but going to sleep between Tech and Echo felt as natural as breathing. Echo spooned up behind you, your face against Tech’s chest. The three of you chatted quietly for a little while, while their hands moved over your body absently.

You began to drift in and out of consciousness, despite your desire to stay awake and enjoy their presence.

“Sleep, saraad,” Echo commanded gently. “We’ll all be here in the morning.”

“Promise?” You asked sleepily, as you nuzzled against Tech.

“Promise,” He said, wrapping his arm around your waist.

Warm and safe, you left yourself drift away.

tagging: @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @iamburdened @sunshinesdaydream @mythical-illustrator @the1sunshine1girl @stardusthuntress @thebahdbitch @wings-and-beskar @arctrooper69 @golden-nyx-ghost @iloveallmenandwomen @rexxdjarin @sleepingsun501 @starrylothcat @ladyzirkonia @pb-jellybeans @clio3kantarella @staycalmandhugaclone @ceraryn09 @skellymom @808tsuika

[distantdarlings]

WHAT FEELS LIKE FOREVER // t. nott (Multi-Part) PT. 2

RATING: R / 1.8K WORDS (Pt. 2)

Theodore Nott x Reader-Insert (No gender-specific details)

+ SUMMARY - Your first performance in America starts off roughly. Theo makes the decision to perform a song you wrote. The only problem is that you wrote that song for him, attempting to express your feelings towards him. He was never meant to find it.

+ WARNINGS - Language, tension, angst, eventual smut

+ MUSIC (Listened to while writing) -

Big Black Car - Gregory Alan Isakov

(Small note before I begin: I have been very inspired by Gregory Alan Isakov while writing these chapters and sort of imagined the band sounding like his music and Theo's singing voice sounding like his. Just wanted to mention that so y'all could be on the same page of imagination as I was if you wanted! :) Enjoy!)

---

Theo’s lips spoke the words you had written down in a small journal. Written—unbeknownst to him—for him.

The day Theo had caught you whispering the lyrics as you nursed an alcohol-stained cigarette beneath the stars, was the day the song had been discovered. Theo loved it instantly and demanded the two of you wrote the rest of it together and record it. You had kept your mouth closed for fear of a dry throat and a clenched heart saying things you truly meant.

Now the whole world knew how you felt when even you didn't know how you felt. It wasn't an ideal situation in the slightest and the knowing glances Mattheo and Enzo shot you made you feel even worse. 

"Everything you do…," you harmonized with Theo, hearing the way your breaths mingled through the amplifiers. Your chest ached with the dull knife of holding tears in. This song always fucked you up. How you’d begged Theo not to record it…

"...changes how I see us, how I saw us then…," your voice cracked under the pressure of the tears you were suppressing. Theo gave you an odd but worried glance. You swallowed thickly, looking down at the instrument in your hands, focusing on that rather than your screw-up and the sobs that pushed rapidly up your throat.

You finished off the chorus successfully, having stared at the lights trained on the stage until the tears receded. This was your last song…or it wasn't…you couldn't remember and you didn't care. You swiftly slipped the strap of your bass off your shoulders and set the instrument down on its stand.

If you didn't get out now, you would explode. The heat and the lights and the crowd and Theo and Enzo and Mattheo—it was too much. You pushed through the backstage door and felt the autumn air abuse the sweat on your neck. Your hands spread over the balcony, holding your weak back up. The tears that threatened to spill rose in your throat once more. You hurriedly loosened your tie and unbuttoned the top button of your shirt, ripping the suit jacket off along with it. It was so stuffy in there and the cool air felt like the touch of an angel. 

Your head hung between your shoulders, feeling them shake with each sob that racked your body. The roots that had planted in your heart burned like a hot poker in your sternum, scorching through your ribs and skin from the inside-out.

You cried out at the pain caused by a single man and the way it felt to be without him. You needed to tell Theo how you felt but the fear of animosity coming from him scared the hell out of you. The thought of hatred any deeper than their normal arguments made you feel like you were dying.

The desire to feel Theo’s hands on your body was more than anything you’d ever felt in your life. It wasn't just a sexual thing. It was something much deeper than that and had been for a very long time. You feared his reaction more than death at this point. But you wanted—needed—to tell him. 

The backstage door opened much gentler than it had when you had come out. You could hear shoes scraping against the concrete and light exhales. You recognized the pattern of them, knowing the way Enzo breathed.

"Hey," the man said quietly, placing his hand on your back. His presence seemed to invoke a sense of tranquility almost instantly. Your cheeks dried and the pain alleviated a bit.

"Enzo, I—"

"I know." 

You shut up at this. You knew that he had known for a while now, it just felt odd speaking openly about it. It felt wrong but he seemed to make it alright.

"I don't know what to do…," you whispered.

"You will."

There were no more words after this. Only Enzo’s hand on your back and his gentle breathing that soothed you like a lullaby.

× × ×

When the group arrived back at the hotel—still, no words were spoken. Enzo’s hand no longer touched your back and his breathing was too far away to hear. 

Theo did not look at you once and your neck ached with the weight of the older's coldness. You could taste the bitter mood on your tongue and you tried to swallow it, but it remained. The aftertaste seemed to be stronger.

The silence became almost suffocating once you had stepped through the door to your hotel room. You shut it and collapsed against the broadside of it, sliding the length of your spine down its surface. 

You brought your knees to your chest and buried your face between the two of them, covering your ears with your arms. Radio static and honeyed oatmeal voices rang in your head at a deafening volume. You sighed at the aggressive cacophony within your brain, wishing desperately for it to stop.

You had to tell Theo—that much was obvious. But how? If you were going to get practical, you’d technically already told him. You’d confessed when he had found the song. But the older man hadn't known this.

You pulled himself from the floor and approached the cream telephone that sat menacingly on the bedside table. Your breathing picked up uncomfortably, making a bit of panic set in. Your fingers closed around the receiver and you brought to your ear. You called the front desk and asked for Theo’s room number. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears at the anticipation. 

"Who's this?"

"Um…Theo, it's me."

"Oh," the voice on the other end chuckled. "I thought you were some crazy fan or something. What's up, love?"

"C—" you choked on your words, your throat swelling as if a pillow had been shoved down it. "Can you come to my room, please?"

There was a silence on the other end that lasted only a few milliseconds. It was most likely Theo hearing the question and making a decision, but it felt like years to you. The fingernails on your free hand creased into the flesh of your palm so deeply you could've sworn you were drawing blood.

"Yeah, sure thing," he spoke. "I’ll be right over. Do you want me to bring my pillow?"

"If you want," you said, a breath of air slipping past your lips in delighted relief.

"Alright," he whispered into the phone, the crackly connection making it seem as if Theo was there next to you already.

The line went dead and, still, you stood there, with the phone pressed to your ear. It was as if you were waiting for him to come back and tell you he was just kidding. That he would never help you out or stay with you.

Your throat felt tight again. but the feeling did not remain when there was a knock at your door. The phone slipped from your fingers and clattered against the dresser, dangling against each individual drawer.

You made your way to the door and pulled it open—perhaps a bit too harshly. Theo waited on the other side with his pillow tucked beneath his arm. He was already in his night clothes—the same trousers and shirt as this morning on the beach. 

"Hey," you spoke breathlessly.

"Hey," he replied, equally breathless as if he had run the whole way here. Your stomach tingled at the thought of him hurrying as fast as he could to see you. It made you feel as warm as if he had just wrapped you in a blanket.

Theo stepped in and threw his pillow on your bed, collapsing against the old mattress right after it. He made himself comfortable, slipping his feet beneath the duvet.

"I have to take a shower, okay?" you said.

"Of course—I'm not your mum," he chuckled which made the younger suppress a smile.

"Okay." 

You made quick with your work of grabbing your night clothes—the jumper and trousers you wore this morning—out of the dressers and exiting the room. You walked down the hallway to the communal showers at the end of it. You didn't like having to share showers with strangers but you reckoned it was better than nothing.

The shower was quick and hot and steamed up the bathroom fast. The moisture in the air filled your lungs and made it somewhat difficult to breathe. In an effort to get out of the suffocating room, you dressed quickly and hung your towel around your neck.

When you arrived back into the room, Theo had drifted off. His eyes were peacefully shut and his body was curled around his pillow like a child to its mother. Your chest ached at the small tells he seemed to have that always compared him to a young boy.

The duvet had been pulled up to his waist and tucked messily. He looked comfortable. 

You smiled softly and ran the towel over your hair once again, attempting to dry it a bit more. You threw the used material in the corner of the small closet and made your way over to the bed.

As gently as you could, you slipped beneath the heavy duvet and laid on your side, watching over Theo. You watched as his body rose and fell with stable breaths.

The older's eyes fluttered and he found yours. He was suddenly awake and glancing around.

"Oh, I'm sorry…I didn't mean to nod off like that," he sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. "What did you want to talk about, love?"

"Nothing, it's alright. Go back to sleep," you smiled, reaching over to pat the top of his hand.

"No, you wanted to talk, let's—"

"Really, Theo, go to sleep."

The older looked unsure but also incredibly tired. He sighed and leant his head back against his pillow. He seemed to be physically fighting sleep, trying his hardest to stay awake for his friend.

"Go to sleep," you whispered once again. You continued to watch as the young man drifted off again, his fingers curling around your hand, seeking subconscious comfort.

You stared at the two of your hands before slowly turning it over. You entwined your fingers with his, marvelling in how they looked together. 

"I love you, Teddy," you whispered to your sleeping love. You wondered if he was awake in the slightest and whether or not he'd heard. If he had, he said nothing.

You watched as the man's lips trembled under the weight of his dreams. You decided that you should probably go to sleep as well. You all had a big day tomorrow and you knew well enough that the man lying next to you was going to paint your dreams with gorgeous devastation.

Part 3!

[sneakypunmaster]

First Impressions

Here’s a little pov doodle of what was going on in both Sun & Moon’s heads upon meeting the new grave digger, Y/N in the first few chapters. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about. No ominous implications or unsettling thoughts in the minds of the local funeral director and mortician in the slightest.

Sun pov:

Moon pov:

[hotpinkboots]

~~~~~

~"System Overheat"~

(Pt. 1/2)

(Queen x Fem!Reader Oneshot)

THERE'S HARDLY ANY QUEEN FANFIC??? NOT on MY WATCH darlings this is not okay

Summary: Queen is delighted to see you at her party.

Note(s): Reader is said to be wearing a dress (specifically the dress that Orange Addison sells aka Mettaton's dress), reminder that Queen is like 7-8 freaking feet tall, Queen and (Y/N) are stupid as hell and in love, I only use a tiny bit of grammar for Queen so good luck, part 2 coming soon 🤭

How Long It Took To Write: 3 hours

~~~~~

"OHOOOOHOHOHOHO!"

Queen's boisterous laugh echoed down the hall. Swatchlings were bustling about, preparing food (which mostly consisted of battery acid pies, microchip salads, and spaghetti made of wires), and serving guests. Two Swatchlings had gasped at your beauty and insisted on walking you into the party, your arms linked snugly with theirs.

Other guests at the party wore nothing fancy. They all came as they were.

But not you.

You wore a beautiful periwinkle and sky blue gown. It felt cheap, slightly itchy, but it looked like it was worth millions. You felt glorious, you looked glorious. You were glorious. Heads turned as soon as the Swatchlings used their free hands to push open the large doors that lead into the Great Hall.

Queen, who had been in the middle of sipping from her fifth glass of battery acid, stopped everything she was doing to stare across the room at you. Her jaw dropped, her screen flashed a shocked "OMG", and she stood up abruptly. In doing so, she almost stepped on Nubert.

The Swatchlings unlinked their arms from yours to bow at the approaching Queen. Each then politely told you to enjoy the party, before they departed to help the others serve and clean. You waved goodbye to your escorts, then looked up as Queen's comically tipsy sounding voice spoke to you.

"(Y/N) Sweetie Honey Darling Gravy You Look Stunning"

"Lovely"

"Perfect, Even"

"..."

"In Fact You Are Stealing My Spotlight How Rude Of You" she prodded you in the arm playfully with her knuckle, so hard that she accidentally sent you stumbling backwards a step.

You gave a scoff of pure amusement, and quickly restabilized your balance. You opened your mouth to give a playful retort and a compliment to her in return, but you were unable to get a single word in before she started blabbering again. Even more delighted by her ridiculous ramblings, you humored her, and listened while she began going on and on about the most absurd things.

"Do You Happen To Be Lacking In Potassium Because I Ordered Bananas The Other Day And Meant To Type "5" But One Of The Tasques Jumped Onto The Keyboard And Accidentally Sent An Order For 5,936 Bananas. We Now Have 5,936 Bananas And I Do Not Know What To Do With Them. They Are Currently In Their Own Room Undergoing Professional Peeling"

"Did You See That New Swan Boat In The Free Pool That's Why I Asked About Your Favorite Bird The Other Day (But I Forgot So I Just Got The Swan Because Swans Are Pretty And You're Pretty Too)"

"Did You Notice That I Bought Myself New High Heels They Are The Exact Same As Every Other Pair I Own But Shinier. I Also Bought You A Pair So We Can Match- Oh Wait That Was Supposed To Be A Surprise LOL Dang (Damn)"

"Okay Enough About Me Let's Talk About You Have A Seat"

You blinked. All of her words had begun to mesh into one very long sentence that you hadn't been keeping up with, and before you knew it, you had absentmindedly walked across the long room with her, and now you were standing at the foot of her luxurious throne. Queen often invited you to sit with her on the throne. You usually perched on the armrest while the two of you went about spectating and playfully harassing people. This occurred so often that there was a slight dip in the armrest from your constant sitting on it.

Queen sat down and elegantly crossed her left leg over her right. She slung her arm around your waist to guide you to sit with her. With a bit of difficulty (due to how large the throne was), you made it to your usual spot, your legs neatly tucked under yourself. Queen reached her free hand over to smooth out your dress for you.

"Have I Told You That You Look Cool"

You grinned and nodded, leaning against her, a giddy feeling in your heart. Now that you could finally get a word in, you accepted the compliment. "Thank you!" You replied sweetly, "You look perfect, as usual, your Majesty," you replied in a frolicsome tone. Queen gave a pleased smile, lifting her glass to sip her battery acid. After a long sip, she looked at you again.

"Thank You Sweetie ILY-" she hiccupped, hand briefly pressing against her chest as she did. It was unclear if it was genuine or if she had done it to distract from the fact she said 'ILY' without thinking. She was never the type to shy away from showing over the top affection, but dropping "I love you" was different for her.

You just took it in a friendly way. "Love you, too!"

Queen's screen briefly flashed what looked like a keyboard smash.

~~~~~

Part 2 coming soon 👀 she's so silly fr darling I adore her terribly

Request Guidelines!

~Love, HotPinkBoots

Likes < Reblogs!

[shirohige-pirates]

Hey Doll

CisFem Reader x Thatch

CW: toxic parents, manipulation, The Plan™, smut, mdni, I'll add as we go I'm kind of fly by the seat of my pants on this one.

Summary: For as long as you can remember, there has always been The Plan™. Every part of your life is controlled by it, and you do your best to fill the role set upon your shoulders. When you finally receive your Matchbook, and your parents' joy, you feel relief.

But as The Plan™ continues, you struggle with staying the perfect little doll.

Note: This story takes place in the same AU as Some Direction, where the new world government has implemented a match program in response to declining marriage and birth rates.

Chapter 1: Dolled Up

There was nothing.

No, that was wrong, there was everything. The world moved around you, and you moved within it, but there wasn’t a connection. You stood a part from the world around you, comprehending it as a separate space, and reacting to it only when moved to do so.

Maybe it was more correct to say the world moved you. A prompt from your mother, a word from your father, a smile from a stranger. The world carried variables along the lines of time and place and when those items collided with you, you’d react.

You were. Weren’t. No, even less than that.

You were nothing.

No, that was wrong too. You were everything, at least as far as The Plan was concerned. You were the primary piece of it. The keystone in a manner of speaking. No matter how well everything else was done, if you didn’t play your part flawlessly it would all crumble to dust.

Your only struggle, brief and weak and worthless as it was, was whether or not you wanted The Plan to fail. Sometimes you felt you did. If The Plan failed you would be free from it. Free from it, but would you be free?

An unanswerable question. By fate or will, you lacked the knowledge to figure that part out. Would you be free in jail? You’d be free of your parents, free of your part to play in The Plan, certainly, but you wouldn’t be free to live as you pleased.

How did you please to live?

If you couldn’t sort that much out, then there was no reason to fight against the external wills that compelled you. Moved you. Motioned for you. The will of your mother and father who sought to thread you effortlessly through the steps of their decades long plan.

The Plan.

The two words trickled more emotion through your face than anything else, and the slight twitch in your features was unnoticed by those around you. Your mother spoke to you and you smiled, catching up on the conversation and responding with all the words she approved of. Your father called you over and you spoke well-practiced verses and emotions to the people around him about your hopes and dreams.

Your face moved into the smiles you knew they liked, the ones that left everyone at ease, even if there was no easiness in your own heart.

Everything was for The Plan. Your hobbies, your grades, your manners, your clothes. The way your hair was cut and styled, the kind of makeup you applied in the morning, it was all decided by someone else. Ever under the pretense of wanting to make sure you were paired with the best possible match when the time came.

Years ago the world changed. The details didn’t matter to you, it was irrelevant to The Plan. The important part was that the world needed more people in it, and to that end the World Government had enacted the Match Program.

The Match Program was a comprehensive review of the populace and citizens, on an island by island, and sea by sea basis. Not only was it meant to help recover the population, but it was intended to do so as kindly as possible for everyone involved. Matches were based on a staggering number of criteria, and then Match Books were hand delivered to people who had been matched by the program and its overseers.

There were other aspects to the program, like the Early Match Program, and Rematching in certain cases. The overall success rate was surprisingly high, and Rematches were rare, both in how often they were requested, and how often they were approved.

It hadn’t taken long for the population to adjust to the entire concept, with some people finding relief in the process. What fear or worry was there to be had in being provided the love of your life? How much easier was the very concept of marriage and family when there was a comprehensive and objectively successful process already in place?

At one point in your life you had wondered if you would’ve been raised differently if not for the Match Program.

You don’t doubt that you would’ve been pulled into some role or another based on your parents whims, but maybe more of who you were would’ve survived. Or at least dared to exist in the first place. Would you have enjoyed dancing if you had learned it differently? Would you find solace in art if your strokes and paints hadn’t been decided for you?

Maybe you would know more than just what you enjoyed. Maybe you would know how to start a conversation, instead of simply being invited into one. Maybe you would know how to speak about yourself because you’d know the parts of you that were important to you.

Maybe you would know how to smile your own smile.

How to choose your own clothes.

The pastel colors matched perfectly, the hues shifting and accenting based on the most popular trends. There was lace, but not so much as to seem over stated, there was silk, or the shift of it. No expense was spared in curating the smallest detail of your outfits, even how the folds would settle against your legs when you sat down.

You never wondered what to do with your hands, because their location was as predetermined and controlled as anything else about you. Folded neatly, holding your clutch when needed, by your sides with your elbows bent just so, or shyly behind your hips, just a little. Not enough to push your chest into the forefront, at least not too much.

You must be a sight to see, and not unsightly.

Everything on the proper side of civility and femininity. Not a grain of coarseness in your voice, a laugh made of notes and bells, but nothing loud or out of control. Your voice must be much the same, clear and firm but not commanding or demanding. You are to be pleasant and deferential. Debate is not for a good and proper young lady.

You are a trophy to be awarded. A great gift to be won. A flawless saint upon which any good - read, wealthy - man would be completely delighted by.

Knowledge and skills enough to be engaging and useful, but opinions muted enough to not ruffle the feathers of your suitors, and suitors you had.

The World Government Match program was not fully and completely objective. There were certain tiers of quality within the program itself. Whether they existed in truth, or were simply avenues of manipulation available to your parents, you couldn’t honestly say, but unlike most ladies your age, you did indeed have suitors.

Not that your mother or father intended to see you hand in hand with any of them. Well enough to do to be worth the time and kindness of your family, but not in a position to satisfy their desires and hopes for you.

That was where your father’s friend came into play. You knew nothing about him, save his importance in The Plan. So long as you played your part well, he could play his part to greater effect. If you were good enough, flawless enough, gentle and kind and wise and demure and malleable enough - if there was nothing left of whoever you were meant to be, then it would be a success.

You played your part so well that when your Match Book showed up, the man delivering it handed it to your father.

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - I Don't Need You

A/N – Since the first chapter got comments and actual reblogs, surprise, surprise, I was motivated to continue. See, Tumblr? This is how it works. I respond to instant validation.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

MALE VERSION HERE

NON-BINARY / GN VERSION HERE

You looked around the dusty hallway that comprised the main entrance to Lucifer’s manor. Yikes, Charlie was right; he really did need a cleaner. You doubted that was her main motivation for placing you in her father’s care but looking at the layers of thick dust and brimstone coating downstairs, you could see it hadn’t been used in a long time.

Lucifer watched you sceptically. Ideally, he would have liked to leave you to find your own way around, but he didn’t want to be accused of not trying by Charlie, should you call her and state that Lucifer was straight up ignoring you.

With that in mind, he bade you to follow him with a wave of his arm and gave you a half-arsed tour of each room, during which he would energetically state its name, and occasionally pepper in a fact if he felt like it and then hurry along.

“Parlor one, dining room, parlour two, library, parlour the… you know what, we have a lot of those, if you see a room with chairs and a fireplace, assume it’s a parlour. Moving on, bathroom, closet, like the parlour situation, there are lots of bathrooms and closets. Kitchen, which is always stocked by the way, so I don’t have to shop,” He muttered a sentence about the Hell of going out there, and then he was back to his bubbly self, rushing you through the rest of the tour, “Games room, spa, my room – don’t go in there – and here, among the unnecessary number of bedrooms, is your room.”

Although every room in the manor was lavish by Hell’s standards, Lucifer had sneakily pre-worked a bit of his magic to make yours somewhat undesirable. It was still large and had all the fixings, but now, it was dirty, damp, and there would always be an underlying scent of slightly rotten milk, that was just noticeable to annoy anyone, yet not something so offensive that he could be blamed for causing it.

The now slightly squalid room wasn’t Lucifer’s way of being petty and cruel; it was just that he wanted you to leave, and that would only happen if you had a reason to. You should go back to the Hotel where you belonged; better yet, you should just head to a different part of Hell where neither he nor his daughter would have to look at your disgustingly human face… A face that, though nothing like Lilith’s, reminded Lucifer of his wife since there was nobody else even remotely like her except for their daughter and now, unfortunately, you.

The simple fact of the matter was that Lucifer was just waiting for you to start demanding things of him, or Charlie. It would likely start with something small, like changing rooms, then if he gave you an inch, you would take a mile, and soon you would demand he use his Angelic Powers to serve you in seemingly impossible ways.

One way or another, the room was a test. You would either see it and leave in search of greener pastures or a better deal elsewhere, leeching off whoever would give you the time of day, or you would stay and start giving orders; either way, Lucifer would be able to return to his daughter with proof that sinners were the problem, not him.

You stepped into the room, accidentally kicking up a cloud of dust that made you sneeze.

After a minute, you turned to Lucifer, “Thank you for the room. It’s lovely.”

Lucifer held back a grimace as you had the audacity to smile at him.

“Great,” He replied in a strained tone, “Just perfect. So, I’ll uh, leave you to get settled in and-”

Just then a portal opened over the canopy bed and two packed suitcases landed there, courtesy of Charlie. Lucifer tasted his daughter’s magic in the air and sighed resignedly; whatever Charlie had planned she wasn’t backing down from what she likely thought was a good idea.

“Right on time,” Lucifer commended the fine timing of his daughter, and even though he was clearly uncomfortable with her plan to give him company, he did seem genuinely proud of her expert timing; then again, he was proud of anything she chose to do even if he didn’t always understand what it was she was doing.

“Great,” He repeated somewhat tiredly. Then he forced himself to smile. It was important that you would see him happy so that Charlie would hear about it later. “You go ahead and unpack. I’m going to do some very important work.”

The sentiment of ‘Don’t disturb me!’ hung in the air, unspoken, but obviously there.

Once Lucifer left, you flopped down on your bed, thinking about all you had seen. You checked your phone, finding several texts from Charlie, progressively getting more impatient as she awaited your reply with a somewhat hyper-anxious anticipation; it seemed the apple truly didn’t fall far from the tree.

‘How was your arrival?’

‘Did you get the grand tour?’

‘Which room did he put you in?’

‘I bet it was the Rococo room.’

‘Oh no, he didn’t put you up in my old room, did he? That would be so EMBARRASSING!!!’

‘Wait, why aren’t you replying?! PLEASE TELL ME HE’S BEING NICE TO YOU!’

‘I can come over if you need me to.’

‘Did your bags get there okay?’

You smiled and decided to put Charlie out of her misery. Your phone alerted you that she was already writing another message, but as soon as you started to compose one of your own, the notification that she was typing disappeared.

‘The tour was fine. Lucifer has been nothing but polite,’ and frazzled, you thought, though you omitted that part from the text; it was best that Charlie didn’t have anything extra to worry about while preparing for her meeting with Heaven.

‘My room is also amazing btw. I don’t know about Rococo or whatever, but it’s certainly stunning, and judging by the lack of stuffed animals and probably cheesy posters, I’m guessing it isn’t your old room.’

You really meant that. While your room was in need of a good cleaning, and there was a slightly off odour, it was indeed beautiful with its lacquered wooden floors, rich velvet drapes (Hell-Red of course) and lustrous emerald wallpaper. It was one of the most beautiful places you had ever seen, especially since arriving in Hell, not long dead after… the incident.

You removed your thoughts far from the grim memory of your death, not wanting to relive your demise. It never did any good to think of such things, and you had to wonder whether all Demons fixated on the manner in which they perished. Perhaps some were lucky enough to die in their sleep or get hit by a bus; at least the latter would be quick, and the former peaceful.

Moreover, you also believed the other part of your text; Lucifer probably kept Charlie’s room as a shrine to her youth. He seemed like the sort of person who was stuck in the past.

Your phone buzzed again, and you expected another message from Charlie, but it was from Angel Dust.

‘When you get the chance, snoop in the Short King’s bedroom and find out what kinky shit he’s into. I’m betting food play. He seems like a whipped cream and apples kind of guy if you catch my drift.’

Betting? He had undoubtedly roped Husk and Nifty into said bet. Husk had likely opted for a safe option like bondage… You didn’t want to know what kind of kinky shit Nifty thought Lucifer was into; that girl was a dark horse.

“Never going to happen,” You murmured to yourself with a chuckle; you would never invade Lucifer’s privacy like that, but Angel’s text had made you laugh and distracted you from your earlier thoughts.

Getting up, you pushed yourself into action and began unpacking both your thoughts and your few clothes and possessions. You lit a scented candle that Angel had gifted you. It was one of his unwanted gifts from Valentino, Blueberry Blowjob. You were glad when the scent filled the air, taking away from what you incorrectly assumed was the faint smell of mildew. The smell didn’t concern you, you had plenty more candles and tea lights with such names as Orange Orgasm, Popcorn Pussy, and Cherry Cum-Shot.

The manner was well furnished, but all of the rooms were neglected. There were seven parlours in total, each matching the theme of one Sin, probably because it would be polite should they ever need to meet with the Royal Family one-on-one. Despite that, they seemingly hadn’t been used in some time, nor had the library or any of the living rooms. You hadn’t seen much of Lucifer’s room as he rushed you past the door, which had only been slightly ajar, but what little you had caught a glimpse of seemed cleaner than the rest of the manor. Did he spend all of his time in there? Alone? That was… It was sad. Lucifer could live well among anyone in Hell, except maybe Alastor, yet he couldn’t see the good in anyone.

Without Charlie and Lilith that must be lonely. How depressing that he had created a kind of personal Hell inside of Hell. You were starting to think that Charlie was right to send you home with him.

Still, it seemed like he needed some time to get used to the idea of company and you had a job to work as his maid. Once you were unpacked, you would seek out the cleaning supplies and get started.

Lucifer draped himself over his workbench, listlessly toying with a rubber duck. It was one of his worst creations… Couldn’t even breathe fire.

He didn’t even know why he continued to make them. Honestly, he couldn’t think of anything else to make, and it was better to make something than nothing, even if he ended up creating the same thing over and over again, clinging to the memory of how one celestial duck had made Charlie smile.

Her smile was everything. Even Heaven couldn’t take that away, or… Maybe they could, if this meeting went awry. No. Please God, No. Not that. Anything but that. Kill the sinners. Show him the agonising mistake of Free Will for eternity, but he hoped to never see the day that Heaven treated his daughter with the same derision they typically reserved for him.

Lucifer froze, a glower darkening his expression as you knocked on the door.

He had clearly implied that he didn’t want to be bothered. IMPLIED IT! It hadn’t even been one day and you were bothering him.

Lucifer didn’t open the door. He didn’t want you to see inside his room. That was his space and his alone. Yet, he didn’t want any risk of you barging in, so he poofed himself to where you stood outside, using a glamorous entrance to grab your attention.

“Yes?” He said expectantly, leaning forward on his cane, as if leaning closer to you didn’t disturb him half as much as it did.

“Oh,” You blinked back surprise, though you weren’t too shocked seeing how Alastar always snuck up on you at the Hotel in a similarly flamboyant manor. “Sorry to disturb you, Sir, but I just wondered if you could tell me where the cleaning products are kept? I would like to get started as soon as I can.”

Cleaning products? Lucifer was stuck on the sentiment as if he’d never heard of such foreign words. Then he seemed to remember, you had been volunteered as his maid. Right… That was Charlie’s way of making him take you.

You waited patiently for a response, having quickly learned that your host tended to drift between a fast-talking façade or thoughtful distractedness. You wished you didn’t have to ask him for help, but after searching three floors and the attic, you had gotten somewhat turned around, and you had no idea where you had already looked; the manor was massive.

Finally, Lucifer seemed to come to and he began boredly examining his hand.

“That won’t be necessary,” He stated demurely.

“It won’t?”

“No. It won’t.”

Behind you, Lucifer caught sight of a portrait of his family. The frame was carved blood-wood harvested from a Tree-Demon who once dared to insult Lilith in Lucifer’s presence. Two winged snakes adorned opposing corners of the portrait. With a lazy wave of his hand, they creaked and snapped, coming to life, and escaping their previous wooden home, leaving only indentations where they used to be. With another magical flourish, they grew slightly and became more life-like, shedding splinters as their new uniforms appeared.

“There, see, two half-sized cleaners. They’ll take care of everything.”

You stared hard at the new servants of the house, somewhat amazed by the show of power; nobody else in Hell could do anything close to creating life, and it seemed that Lucifer didn’t even care that he had such power.

Frankly, Lucifer was upset with his new creations. He had finally strayed from ducks, creating something new for the first time in over a century, and they were still bland. When he had created Razzle and Dazzle for Charlie, he had done everything he could to make them beautiful and unique. These abominations in front of him were cheap copies of that Sir Pentious fellow he had seen at the hotel. He just didn’t have anything left worth creating. There was no point.

Whatever. The snake servants would do their job quietly and obediently. And they’d be more useful and less annoying than Charlie’s reptilian friend.

“Oh, okay. Well, is there anything else you’d like me to do?” You asked, wishing to be useful. “I can cook pretty well, or I could run errands, or-”

“NO!” Lucifer snapped.

“But-”

“Don’t you get it?! I DON’T NEED YOU.”

Lucifer forced himself to take a calming breath, his gaze downcast so he didn’t have to look at you.

“This is all my daughter’s plan. All you have to do is stay out of my way here and Charlie will be happy. Do you think you can manage that?”

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Five

also available on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag for other chapters | warnings: light suicidal contemplation, profanity, mild violence.

Summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Five:

Your eyes felt glued shut as you peeled them open, blearily blinking around at your surroundings. You were on a sofa, red and pink lights piercing through your eyelids. Hushed clamour rose from behind the beaded curtains.

“Babette?” Your voice was raspy, your throat was sore.

Babette peered over you with tired eyes. “You’re awake,” she sighed, and you struggled to sit up. Your limbs were aching.

“I’m in the brothel?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “Why…”

“He found you passed out in the street, [name],” Babette said gently. You looked at her, confused.

And then it all clicked together.

You shot upright. “Alice.” Your voice choked, and she grabbed your shoulders, trying to wrestle you down. “Where is she?”

“[name],” sit down. Her voice was fierce, yet her face was pleading. You shakily relented, watching her take a deep breath, unsure of how to break the news to you. 

“He found her with you… she was…” she trailed off, and looked away.

“Who’s he?”

“Vander.” This question was easier for her to answer. You looked at her.

“Alice is dead.” You stared at your lap. “Isn’t she.” It wasn’t a question. Babette nodded, still not looking at you.

Which is why she flinched so hard when you screamed.

-

The entire brothel fell silent at your blood-curdling cry of despair. Babette had you led out. “I’m sorry, [name],” she said softly. It was clear the guilt was eating her away, but it was also clear she had no idea what to do with you. “You’re… you’re affecting business.”

You couldn’t have been more furious as the door slammed shut, and pulled your bloodied jacket around you, looking around the street. Tears streaked down your face, salt burning on your cuts and bruises as you raced towards your spot with Silco. Clambering onto the roof, you curled up and waited.

He never came.

The uprising was a fail. Word had already gotten around the Lanes about the massacre. You didn’t see Silco, you didn’t see Felicia, and neither did you see Vander for a week. You lived as an empty shell. Back to square one.

Lonely.

No one to keep you company.

You considered going back to the Last Drop, seeking out Felicia or Vander, yelling at them until your throat was sore. You trusted Vander to keep Alice safe. Was an argument necessary?

Did they even know?

Your anger turned bitter, morphing into hatred. 

And where was Silco?

He’d promised you. 

You’d had enough. So one day you pulled on your jacket and went to the Last Drop.

The usual bustle was unusually subdued, no doubt following the lost battle on the bridge. Your bloodshot eyes scanned the area piercingly. No Silco. No Connol. No Felicia. They flew to the bar counter.

Vander.

You stormed over.

“Vander,” you rasped. The man looked up at you, and almost dropped the glass he was holding in shock. 

“[name],” he stuttered, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen him so apologetic in your life. You stared at him, eyes following his movements. He looked pale and tired, as if he hadn’t been getting enough sleep, and his eyes too, were bloodshot.

“Gin,” you said, staring at him through your hair.

“And tonic? Without the gin?” He asked nervously.

“Gin,” you repeated, and flicked the little blade you kept in your wrist cuff to slowly drag the tip across the wood of the bar top, an elbow on the counter to steady your hunched-over self. The alcohol sloshed in the cup as he set it in front of you.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said, gaze downcast. You didn’t even bother to hum a simple reply, instead taking a sip of the burning liquid.

After a moment if listening to your silence, he spoke again. His voice was heavy with sorrow. “Felicia and Connol are dead, [name],” he said. You looked at the large palm he had placed against the counter to brace himself. It was shaking.

“And Silco?” You looked up at him, lip trembling.

He tensed. Your glassy eyes widened.

“He’s dead?” Your voice was a whisper.

“No,” he said quickly. “I don’t- I don’t know for sure.” His voice was laden with guilt. You stared at him for a moment, studying his gaze.

He refused to look at you.

You pushed back from the bar, taking a trembling step back.

“You did something,” you hissed, nails digging into the splintered wood. He stared at the ground. “Tell me. Tell me now.”

He didn’t say anything. The Last Drop had gone silent.

You lunged at the man, grabbing his collar. “Alice is dead,” you growled. “She’s dead, do you hear me?” Your voice rose to a shout as you shook him. “You told me I could fucking trust you, you son of a bitch.” Releasing his clothes, you shoved him back, throat grating. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO SILCO?!”

“There was a fight,” he started gently.

“Of course there was a fight.” You were tearing up.

“No, a physical fight.”

“Over what?”

He ignored you. “The river…” he took a deep breath.

You stared at him, gut churning. “The river? What about the river?” Your hands flew to your face. “What did you do, Vander?”

He clenched his jaw. “I think it’s best if you leave, [name].”

“What did you do to hi-“

But two patrons were already approaching you, grabbing an arm each. “No no no no no,” you spat, jerking from their unrelenting grip. “I’m going to kill you, you bastard,” you seethed, face murderous as you were pulled away from the bar.

“I’m sorry, [name].”

“I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!” You roared. “Do you fucking hear me? KILL. YOU.”

And so you were dragged, kicking and screaming, from the bar, and dumped onto the street in a sobbing, furious mess. 

You could feel the patron’s eyes on you as the door slammed shut.

Gathering yourself, you trudged to the river. The sky was dark, and you looked out across the lapping waters as if you’d find Silco down there somewhere. You stepped into the freezing water, shaking.

Your daughter and your only friend were gone. You tipped your head back and took a deep breath, filling your lungs with the air of the fissures. Exhaled. Looked down, and glided deeper into the depths.

Was Silco drifting, drowned, beneath the surface, along the riverbed? You trailed your fingertips across the surface of the water, watching it split and ripple. 

What were you to do now?

Your tears fell into the water, watching ripples emanate from where they landed.  

You could kill yourself now. Submerge your head beneath the waters and never rise again. Lungs collapsing with the lack of oxygen. 

The idea seemed so, temptingly delicious, until you imagined the feeling of drowning, and immediately recoiled. Wading out of the water, you collapsed in a shivering heap on the river bank, dragging your wet, cold knees to your chest.

You missed him.

You missed them both.

Pulling your lighter from your soaked pocket, you ran a thumb across the edge. Shaking with the cold, you flicked it open. You didn’t have a cigarette.

Fuck.

[enchantedruin]

The Devil's Game | Michael Langdon x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary; You’ve reached your breaking point with Michael's unwavering temptations, leading you to emotionally unravel in front of him. Michael x Reader, written in Michael’s POV SFW-ish, with light NSFW content towards the end (just some making out tho)

word count; 1220

-~-~-

"You know what’s funny, Michael? No matter how hard I try to pull myself together, one word from you and it all unravels. You thrive on that, don’t you?"

I usually do thrive on that. The despair in your voice, the way you look at me with such loathing—it should have been invigorating. But this time, something about the disgust laced in your words made me recoil.

It was pathetic. Flashbacks of Gallant flickered through my mind—how utterly powerless he was in the end. Perhaps I should be bored by now, but I let you keep…venting, your voice rising with each word, barely giving me the space to draw a breath.

"Why can't you leave me alone? No. It’s worse... why can’t I just run away when I see you?" you continued, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.

You think you have a choice in this.

"You’re wrong," I cooed, my tone deceptively soft. "You ask why I can’t leave you alone, but you forget something crucial." I let the words hang in the air for a moment, watching the confusion in your eyes. "You’re the one that keeps coming back."

It’s the truth. You could have left, run away the moment you saw me. But here you are, standing before me, defiant yet unable to tear yourself away.

Your defiance is admirable, but it’s a game I’ve played before. I know how it ends.

I tilted my head, considering the possibility. "Perhaps you don’t run because, despite everything, you want this. You want to face me, fight me, even if it tears you apart. Because in the end, what would you be without this struggle... without me?"

"Don’t act like I’ll ever let you take full control of me," you shot back, your voice strong despite the fear and panic in your eyes. "I’ve realized you’re nothing but a test from Him."

Watching you lose it is fun. I remained silent, content to observe as you unraveled, peeling back layers of your psyche one by one, offering them to me without even having to ask.

"Fine! If I have to stay close to you, if that makes me a pawn in this sick game, then so be it! But don’t think for a second it’s for you. I’m here to watch you, to use you, just like he did. I’ll be no better than your father—keeping you in check, using you as my pawn to serve the light. I’ll make sure you never slip beyond it."

Ah, so you want to play that game. Comparing yourself to my Father. You think you can use me, that you’re somehow secretly in control.

How naive.

I narrowed my eyes, the mention of my Father sparking a familiar, simmering anger deep within me. You were trying to provoke me, trying to get under my skin, but I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of seeing me lose my composure.

"You think you can use me?" I asked, letting a small, almost amused smile curve my lips. "You really believe you can turn the tables? My father dealt in pawns. I deal in kings and queens—media moguls, elites. Stop playing with fire, you don’t even realize how close you are to getting burned."

I took a step closer, watching you carefully, noting the way your breath hitched ever so slightly.

"You believe you’re in control, that this is some grand strategy of yours. But you’re forgetting one thing, my dear," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper as I leaned in close, my breath warm against your skin. "You’re already playing my game."

The space between us had all but disappeared. I could feel the heat radiating from your body, the way your breath hitched as I spoke. You were erratic, every muscle tensed as if you were ready to either fight or flee. But I could see it in your eyes—fleeing wasn’t an option. Not now.

Your gaze flickered, searching my face for something, anything you could use to regain the upper hand. But I gave you nothing. My expression remained calm, collected, unlike the confliction brewing behind your eyes. You were coming undone before me, and I could see the frustration in the way your jaw clenched, your hands curling into fists at your sides.

I let a moment of silence hang between us, the tension thick, almost tangible. You were so close now that I could count every rapid rise and fall of your chest, every tremor in your lips as you fought to maintain composure.

"You know," I began, my voice smooth, almost conversational, "It’s amusing how hard you try to resist me, when deep down, we both know you’re just waiting for permission to give in."

Your eyes widened, anger flashing in them, but I continued before you could protest.

"You say you want control, but here you are, standing in front of me, unable to even decide whether you want to punch me or...." I tilted my head slightly, my gaze dropping to your lips before slowly returning to your eyes, daring you to challenge me.

You stared at me, a mix of fury and confusion twisting your features. For a moment, you were utterly silent, no sharp retort on your tongue, no defiant comeback. The realization of what I’d just said seemed to hit you like a tidal wave, and I could see the conflict in your eyes—anger, disbelief, and something else, something far more dangerous.

It was in that moment, when you realized you had nothing left to say, that you acted.

Without warning, you grabbed me by the collar, your movements abrupt, driven by something beyond logic. And then your lips crashed into mine, fierce and demanding. It was a kiss born of frustration, defiance, and something raw that neither of us had the strength to deny any longer.

For a brief second, I allowed myself to be surprised. This wasn’t the reaction I’d anticipated—at least, not so soon. But as your lips moved against mine, the force of your passion pulling me deeper into the kiss, I found myself almost... impressed.

I didn’t pull away. Instead, I let you take what you needed, feeling the intensity as your tongue played with mine. The kiss was rough, almost frantic, as if you were trying to assert some kind of control, your hands gripping my collar with a desperate need.

Now your hands were gripping the back my head, your delicate fingers curling tightly into my hair, demanding a response, and after a moment, I placed my hands on your waist, steadying you, though I still let you lead. My touch was firm but unhurried, a unlike the fervor of your kiss. I could feel the heat of your breath, the tension in your body as you pressed closer, your heart pounding against my chest.

An unexpected, breathless moan escaped me as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss. I could feel the undercurrent of your uncertainty, your need for something you couldn’t quite name, it was undeniably arousing. I remained composed, allowing you to pour everything into this one moment.

But even as this passion consumed you, I knew one thing for certain: you might think you had taken the lead, but you were still playing my game. ♥

[skylerfurmaniac-deactivated]

i just hdfjdasfhjs i zoned out :3

[teejaywyatt1]

✨Chapter 39 of Skyline will drop on Thursday, July 6th at 2:30PM EST.✨

[helpinghanikan]

Best kind of revenge

Sum: The best kind of revenge is to treat your enemy's ex-wife right.

Ch.2: Scar the neighbors

Ch1. Handsome man at the bar

Ch.3 Abrupt ending

Your car is still warming up when Rudy turned down your street. The chill of the late fall air was threatening to become winter. There would be frost on your windows tomorrow morning, if the boys stay the night then there’s will be covered too.

“Which is yours?” Alejandro asks from the backseat.

“It’s the only one on the left.” You directed, pointing to one of two houses on this road.

You and Graves bought the house after he proposed. If it were up to him it would be further away from anyone. So far out that cellphone service wouldn’t reach. Instead he was willing to compromise to be several miles outside of city limits. This way you could keep a job a personal life while Graves is away. That was so nice of him.

Your neighbor’s living room light flicked on when the two cars pulled into your driveway. She recognized your car, but it was the second that got her all suspicious.

“Your neighbor, Is she friendly?” Soap asks when you all get out of the car.

“Francine is nosy and busybody. If you wanna yell at her I won’t stop you.” You explain, waving at the figure in the window.

As if surprised that her spying didn’t work Francine quickly turned off the light. She was likely still looking out the window. Waiting for something interesting to happened.

Francine was Graves’s friend, not yours. Other than a wave every now and then you never really talked. The longest conversation you had was when she walked over and asked how you were doing with Graves away. That she just wanted to ‘check in’ since she saw a man or two come inside while Graves was away.

She didn’t believe that the boiler had died, needing Graves to explain he was the one who called before she waved at you again. Ever since you were sure she was acting as his little spy; how else would Graves come up with the idea you were cheating?

“Everywhere has an old bird like that.” Ghost comments, following at the back of the group towards your house.

After you unlock the front door Soap stops you with a kind hand on your shoulder. “Let us go in first. Just in case.”

You didn’t argue, simply stepping back for three of the four men to enter.

Rudy stayed on the front porch with you. His hands in his pants pockets all casual like.

The house wasn’t a sprawling mansion, but it would take a minute for Ghost, Soap, and Alejandro to get through everything.

“I’m sorry Graves took your base.” You said, “and your Alejandro.”

Rudy laughs at that. “Alejandro isn’t easily put down, not when his friends are there. It’s not your fault. I doubt Graves would tell you what he was going to do.”

“Laswell told me all about it. If she didn’t add evidence I wouldn’t have believed her.” You said, thinking back to the several phone calls you made trying to find out what happened. It only took two hang ups before you realized the Shadows weren’t your friends anymore.

“Do you know why Graves turned? Was there blackmail?” Rudy asks.

“Not that I know of. We were married but our lives were pretty separate. I didn’t even know how much he was making a year until the divorce.” You explained. “I assume that’s pretty common for you military guys, though. Keep your family away from the fighting as much as possible.”

Rudy shakes his head. “Alejandro got his family outside Las Almas the second he could afford to. I tried to do the same for my Abuela, but she refused to leave. The gangs aren’t touching her, though. They know not to.”

Before you could continue Alejandro called from the second floor. His voice echoing through the house to announce that it was; “All clear!”

Soap is sitting on your couch when you enter. Taking a seat next to him with Rudy on the other side. Ghost and Alejandro are quick to join in the living room. They stand in front of you, blocking any chance you have of leaving.

“Are you going to kill me?” You ask.

“No, no one is going to hurt you.” Soap immediately says. “We’re just trying to make Graves mad, try to drag him out from the hold he’s hiding in.”

“I mean, going down on his ex-wife is one way to do that.” You comment. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Neither am I, but you are the one who led me there” Alejandro says, almost teasing with his masterful smile.

“The original idea was just to take some pictures to threaten with.” Soap explains, reaching his hand out to take a phone from Ghost. Opening it up before passing it over to you. “At most you were just supposed to dance with Alejandro, maybe get some kisses in there too.”

The phone had several photos that would work as a threat. You at work, the bar, taking out the trash. The best was one with Alejandro, leaning forward over the counter during your initial flirting. The next was so drastically different; with your head thrown back in ecstasy while Alejandro has his face buried between your thighs.

“Drop those off to the right people and Graves would have to either swallow his pride or show his face. Either way it’d be something to dig the knife in.” Ghost explains.

You’re still looking down at the picture of you and Alejandro. There wasn’t a chance you would have noticed Ghost slowly opening the bathroom door. Let alone taking a picture.

“We’ll get rid of the last one,” Soap says. “You don’t need to get wrapped up into this.”

But you’re already are wrapped up in all this. This wasn’t a sanctioned revenge mission. Laswell had promised you wouldn’t be contacted again after telling you everything and getting everything you could give back in return.

But this small team of Ghost, Soap, Alejandro, and Rudy weren’t acting on anyone’s behalf but their own. Price could tell them to let it go and wait for the target themselves. But Price wasn’t personally punched, shot, and betrayed by Graves like they have. Had they been more unscrupulous men you would have already been dead by now.

“No, keep it. In fact, you know what would really piss Graves off?” You say, a hand placed on Soap’s and Rudy knee.

Alejandro barks out a laugh. Not in a mocking way, but more in an incredulous way. “You are an insatiable woman.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. None of you do.” You say, but your hands are already sliding up the thighs of Soap and Rudy. “But fucking his ex-wife and drinking his beer has to be up there as the best way for revenge, no?”

“None of us are saying no to that.” Ghost adds.

“The beer is in the fridge, help yourselves. But first,” You say, scootching forward on the couch. Reaching out and taking hold of Alejandro’s belt. “I owe you.”

“Hold on,” Soap says, placing a hand on your shoulder to stop you from pulling Alejandro any closer. The look Alejandro gave him could peel the paint from the walls. “We aren’t going any further without a safe word. Do you have one?”

You didn’t. It was never more than some fun handcuffs with Graves, so a safe word never seemed to eb necessary. But this wasn’t Graves you were dealing with.

“Philip.” You say.

Soap snorts when you say that. Letting go of your shoulder and leaning back to watch the show.

Alejandro helps you in opening his belt. Opening the front of his pants as you hold his hips, looking up at him with a smile promising the world.

Alejandro didn’t disappoint when his cock is finally out. Longer than average but not necessarily thick. Uncut with the tip already looking to leak precum. Your hand is dry when you gently take hold of him, but it wasn’t like you were going to immediately start stroking. Instead you took a nice, long, lick over the top.

There’s no hesitation on your part. It feels like there isn’t any time for that anymore. At any point Graves could come home. He could return to your life and act like everything is fine. The same way he did when getting home from a mission where he refused to tell you anything. Had he been successful in destroying the 141 would you have even known the kind of man he is?

You don’t want to think about that now. Not when Alejandro is moaning overhead. Mumbling appreciates in Spanish that were being said too softly for you to even hope to understand.

It wasn’t enough. Alejandro wasn’t enough.

“Rudy, Soap, stand up.” You order, head whipping to both sides.

You would have demanded Ghost’s involvement too, but he had already snuck away. Like a cat you didn’t see him leave the room. It’s nice to think that he was just taking your offer of free beer. More likely than not your drawers were currently being riffled through. Had he waited one more minute you would have told him where to find Grave’s stuff.

You don’t have time to think about where Ghost was in your house at the moment. Rudy and Soap had their pants open, pushed down past their backsides.

“Don’t take more than you can- ugh…” Rudy says but is interrupted by your lips around his tip.

It’s not like Alejandro and Soap are being ignored. Your wet hands are slicked from spit and gently stoke the other two men. Back and forth you slid over their tips, trying to keep time with your mouth.

You only get suck at Rudy for a few seconds when Soap’s hand is on the back of your head. It’s a bit surprising when he pulls on the hair there, pulling you off of Rudy and towards his own. Your mouth open to say something along the lines of ‘hey’ or ‘wait your turn’ but you don’t speak fast enough. Instead your open mouth is taken advantage of by Soap’s cock sliding through your lips, gagging the back of your throat.

“Easy, hermano.” Alejandro scolds Soap.

“Sorry, babe,” Soap apologizes. The hand that gripped your hair now cupping your cheek. “Just couldn’t help myself.”

You glare up to Soap but don’t make a move to pull away. Instead you take this as a sign to go faster. Closing your eyes and simply moving back and forth as it feels right.

Head empty, only thoughts of pleasuring others on your mind. Alejandro moans when you slide down his cock, massaging his balls. Doing the same to Rudy and reeling in the moans they make from your hands.

“Graves never deserved you,” Soap says from far, far above.

“Neither do we.” Rudy agrees, now being the one to move your head towards him.

This was the kind of praise you needed, the kind you deserved. Graves didn’t value you like he should have. Now, even while blowing three men, you had never felt safer.

Say Graves does come back tonight. He enters the door and sees you three cocks deep with no intention of stopping. What would he do? You had three men under your fingers tips right now and a third waiting in the wings. He’d never reach you, even if he had never laid a hand on you before. He wouldn’t have the chance to even yell, they would get to him first.

This confidence allows you to give these men permission. Permission to guide your head where they wanted it to go. To place a hand over yours and making your stroking faster and harder. You barely had to do a thing. Merely opening your eyes to the men that look down at you like they have never seen such beauty.

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” Soap says, his head falling backwards as your head starts to bob faster.

Alejandro and Rudy are kind enough to let you focus on Soap for the time being. Soap guttural moan sounding out through the house. Turning higher pitched and louder as he gets closer.

Finally he practically chokes you with his cock. Making the selfish choice to pull your face close and cum into your mouth without a real warning. It’s only thanks to a clear nose that you don’t die by suffocation.

“Fucking beautiful,” Soap sighs, letting Alejandro turn your head towards the remaining members of this party.

“Tip your head for me, amor.” Rudy whispers, gently pushing your head back to look straight up at them. Your mouth opening without needing to be told.

“I’m cumming,” Alejandro says, having the manners to tell you before it happens.

They paint your face white with their semen. You don’t hear their moans and spoken words of praise while climaxing. Your too focused on the warm streaks of cum the cover your mouth and leave a trail over your face. If Alejandro hadn’t rubbed your bottom lip you might have completely forgot that you were an actual person.

“Sorry for the mess,” He says, admiring his work.

“I’m not.” Rudy comments, his pants pulled back up while walking towards the kitchen.

Soap places a hand on your cheek. Your head turning over to look at him. Getting a nice smile from him in return.

Rudy returns from the kitchen with paper towels, trailed shortly behind by Ghost.

“Thanks,” You say, taking the towels from Rudy before he got the chance to clean you up himself. You take this chance to look over at Ghost, two beers in his hand. “How does the rest of the house look? Not to brag but I decorated the bathroom myself.”

Ghost steps up to the back of the couch. Leaning over it and handing you one of the bottles.

“It’s clean. Graves hasn’t been here, not recently at least.” He says, the bottom of his mask lifted to take a drink of Graves’s cheap beer. “Beer could be worse, though.”

“Say no more.” Soap comments, heading into the kitchen with Alejandro and Rudy following behind.

“You must really hate Graves to insult his beer like that.” You comment, taking a drink of said beer. Ghost wasn’t wrong about it being cheap. Graves would just come home with a six-pack sometimes, he never offered you any.

“Still gonna drink it.” He says, standing up to walk around the couch to face you. “Like you said, Babe; drinking his beer and fucking his wife are the best kind of revenge.”

“You haven’t gotten to that first part yet, though.” You say, a quirked eyebrow. “Take off your shirt and we can get started on that.”

Ghost has a deep snort. One that hints at a handsome chuckle, to a great laugh, that you had yet to hear. His eyes are on you when he asks; “Who are you to be giving me orders, Sweetheart?”

“Don’t listen to me, then. Be the last one of your friends who get to look at Graves and say ‘I’ve made your wife cum.’” You say, knowing that the way to Ghost’s cold heart was through a promise of revenge.

“Mask stays on.” Is the only accommodation Ghost demands. When you nod in understanding Ghost starts to strip while you sit back and sip on the beer. Wishing that Alejandro would make you another one of those fruity drinks.

Ghost tosses his coat on the chair. His shirt comes next, being careful when lifting it up and off of his head to avoid the mask from coming off. His shoes are toed off and pants pushed down with the care you would give at the end of the day after getting back from work. Leaving him in black briefs that he tucks his thumb into, waiting for your okay to take off his final piece.

Although you don’t know much about Ghost, you knew that he was a big boy. Having the kind of body that would fit him in with most rugby players; large thighs, thick center, and arms that should be a crime to hide behind sleeves.

“Got an eyeful yet?” Ghost asks, bringing you back to reality.

“Absolutely,” You say, unable to look up high enough to reach his eyes.

“C’mere, before I drag you up.” He warns.

That you had to smile at, standing from the couch.

“I get that you’re big and all that. But I’m not exactly small you won’t be able to like lift me easy-.” You’re interrupted by Ghost’s arms hauling you towards him.

His leg wraps around the back of yours. Pulling it forward while pushing you down at the same time. He tries to be gentle as he can be when taking you to the floor. But it still takes the wind out of your chest when he drags your pelvis against his by the belt loops.

His chest is heavy against yours, but only for a moment. Long enough that it keeps air from finding it’s way back into your lungs. It leaves you in almost stock as Ghost continues to move down your body. Pulling your pants down as he goes, dragging them down to your ankles and then surging back up to do the same with your panties.

“Never seen the Ghost ignore insubordination,” Soap says, watching down from the other side of the couch. “This is probably a better kind of pounding than the type he gives privates in the sparring ring.”

Your brain is fuzzy from the excitement. Only vaguely hearing Soap’s comments.

“I’m not-,” the words are hard to make when thick fingers are slid between your lips. Ghost’s moan of appreciation at just how wet you are louder than a thunderstorm. “I’m not a private, Soap. I’m not one of your subordinates.”

“No,” Comes Ghost’s rumbling voice. “You’re just a toy for us, aren’t you? You’re a little barracks bunny who made their way outside the dorms. Aren’t you?”

Ghost looks up from where he was at your hips. Pictures of Ghost in Price’s files showed him as something akin to a monster. A skull mask that shadows light brown eyes constantly tired looking.

Now, without the combat mask, he’s a man that’s waiting for an answer. Born for authority with staring eyes demanding that you respect it.

“Yes, just a toy. The barracks bunny of your fucking dreams.” You repeat, laying your head back and letting the world mute around you. “Now fuck me or move along, soldier.”

That was all Ghost needed to hear. He doesn’t need you to lift the hips or arch your back. Although he’s already proven his strength this doesn’t stop him from lifting your lower half off the floor. Positioning to slide between your lips once, twice, as the only warning before penetrating.

There’s no mercy. All that left Ghost’s system the moment you started to tease. The best he can give is a constant pressure pushing right through your entire being. Warm, thick, and hard he pushes forward.

He sings and finally bottoms out inside of you. Both of you letting out a heavy breathe you seemed to have been sharing.

Soap is watching with a grin out of the corner of your eye. Alejandro and Rudy doing the same but making themselves comfortable on the couch.

You give them a quick look and a smile. Seeing the buffet of men you get to choose from next. Ghost, however, is entirely focused on you. Leaning forward, his chest heavy against yours, with an exploratory hand moving your shirt up and up. Only then did you get the hint and helped him get the last bits of your clothing off.

“How are you feeling, Babe?” He asks in a low whisper.

Not willing to be completely dominated tonight you replied; “I’ll be better when you start moving.”

And move he did. Pushing your hips ups, your legs over either of his forearms, and thrusts with power. Aiming downward with the specific goal to reach as deep as he possible can. Although physically impossible it felt like that thick cock was in your throat.

Head leaned back, hands sliding up your own chest as if you had never felt your own breasts before. Yeah, the feeling of being fucked into the floor was great, but it was the sounds that really made the scene.

Wet smacking of your hips together again and again. A thick drum beat that your heart matches without meaning to. It’s joined by the singing of Ghost’s moan each time he made himself home in your pussy. His moans are deep in his chest, making an almost growl when gets past his lips and to your ears. Angels and Sirens would never be able to recreate the song Ghost made with your bodies together.

“Yes…” You sigh, sliding your hand down your belly. Just above where Ghost penetrated you. Gently swirling your clit before starting to circle faster and faster.

“Oh, fuck, yes…” You repeat, feeling the warmth start to climb and climb-.

Knock Knock Knock

Maybe, when you were done with these men, they’ll be willing to help you bury Francine. As you were going to kill her for interrupting this moment.

You knew it was her. As the top of her stupid head was poking out your front window, trying to see what was going on inside.

“That bitch,” You mutter, putting a hand on your face out of frustration.

Ghost seemed to be just as annoyed. Only slowing down his thrusts, not completely stopping. Just enough that he can bark an order to his second.

“Mind taking care of that, Sergeant?” Ghost asks, quickly remembering the woman under him. “If you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead, I’m gonna move anyway.” You say, grabbing the back of Ghost’s neck and bringing him down. You taste the fabric of the balaclava, but he got the hint.

“On it,” Soap says, but Ghost was already back to his assignment.

Ghost has you practically bent in half when he pushes your legs up higher. His knees bumping the back of your thighs as he starts an almost brutal pace. Less focused on the sex now, and more on the show he was putting on for the nosy neighbor Soap opened the door for.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” Soap asks when he opens the door in all his shirtless glory.

Francine is speechless on your doorstep. First from the pectorals staring right at her. Then from the downright obscene sounds coming from just beyond. Of course she strained to look beyond the Scottish man to see more. Being rewarded with the jiggling British ass that smacks into you with passion.

“Ma’am?” Rudy adds in from behind Soap, ever one to leave a joke alone.

It’s impossible to say what Francine’s plan was when the door opened. Exclaim ‘aha!’ at your infidelity. Probably thinking that you’d start begging her to not say anything, and that the men would look at you with shame.

With none of that happening Francine didn’t know what to do next. Simply stammering out an “is everything okay?” as if regularly checked in on the neighbors.

At this point your orgasm was growing again. Sliding your fingers around in a rhythm that is less than paced out but moving in just the way you need. The warmth taking over, an exploding star that you weren’t ready for when Ghost whispers for you to; “Make that bitch hear.”

Soap speaks out your almost screaming.

“Don’t worry, we’re taking care of her.” He says, closing the door in Francine’s face.

[writingforfun0714]

Here’s a mini masterlist for Arcane: Sisters of Mine

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 (takes place during timeskip)

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

*I will update as chapters come out*