#it chapter 2 reader insert

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

ACE CRIES IN HIS DREAM OHHHH THE DEVELOPMENT FOR ACE MY HEART HURTSSSSSS b4 ace would have deflected yuu going oh it was a joke when i said you can message me if you feel lonely and now b7 ace is actually being more honest going dont say that i'll feel bad MS RAVEN IM ALL OVER THE PLACE

AND NOT MOST OF THE BOYS' DREAMS REVOLVING AROUND THEM AND THEIR FAMILY/DORM MATES BUT ACE'S DREAM HERE IS LITERALLY ABOUT YUU??? U TRYNNA TELL ME SOMETHING??? OUGHHH MY HEART IS IN PAINNNNNN AND THE TANGLED EVENT COMING SOON THEYRE OVERFEEDING MEEEEEEE

[Referencing the JP Feb 2025 schedule; you can read my thoughts on book 7 chapter 12 part 2 here!]

I wasn’t expecting Ace to get a unique crying expression but here we are 😂 Pretty proud of myself for calling that Ace’s dream would address these oddly dismissive comments from back in 7-17:

It’s so Ace of him to be blunt when calling others out but also having trouble being honest about his own feelings. Those lines in 7-17 definitely read as deflecting and being in denial to me. That’s just how Ace chooses to cope with his problems.

You can even see this same mentality carrying through into his new crying expression… See? He’s still trying to smile and laugh, even through his tears.

fbskwbuwnsma I find it really funny how people were theorizing that Malleus would OB over the threat of Yuu going home when he ended up OBing over the thought of losing Lilia… Then it turns out that Ace is the one centering Yuu in his foremost desires 😭 I mean, I know Ace made that long trek back to Sage’s Island back in book 4, but so did Deuce and Deuce didn’t dream of Yuu staying—only Ace did. This is most likely the result of Ace not properly processing his feelings in the waking world (because of his deflection and denial), despite deep down valuing his friendships with Yuu, Deuce, etc.

Come to think of it, it makes sense that Ace’s dream ended up taking place during summer vacation on the Stitch island… because Stitch talked about ohana—family, which means no one gets forgotten or left behind. Ace’s dream is to be able to move forward (ie the summer after the end of their first year)… with all of his friends and NRC family. That includes his Heartslabyul classmates (yes, even his tyrannical dorm leader that he always complains about) and his friends at Ramshackle.

I can see why this would feed the brain rot of Ace yumes www It really slots in with the “I-It’s not like I care about you or anything, idiot! (jk I care so much)” kind of trope. And his dream taking place on a remote island screams “stereotypical beach fanservice episode”. Bro just keeps slotting in sk well with all the classics… Wishing all Ace yumes fun with this update ^^

[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.

[djotime-allthetime]

Freaky Flashbacks

synopsis: you recall the gradual shift in your relationship with fred when prompted by questions at a panel promoting the movie.

wc: 13k+ (...)

warnings: rpf! reader is specified to be inexperienced! major plot point actually!

a/n: loads of backstory! and banter! and pedro and paul! and kissing!

i hope the format is as intuitive as i think it is, but just in case it isn't, italics means the start of a flashback and bold is the return to present day. feedback is writer's fuel!

cross posted on AO3

<<previous part

The energy in the green room was calm, easy. You sat perched on the arm of the couch next to Fred, laughing as Pedro recounted a story from a previous panel he’d spoken at. Fred’s forearm draped over your thigh, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on your knee, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

The casual physical affection felt normal now, expected even. No one batted an eye. Not Pedro, not Paul, not anyone in the room.

Ever since filming began, your relationship with Fred had only grown in comfort and familiarity. The closeness of your characters on screen slowly but surely translated to your friendship in real life. And then something more…

Late nights of practicing scenes together turned into deep talks and sharing secrets in the warm light of his trailer. Only a few months into filming, the two of you were attached at the hip. Inseparable. It became a running joke. If anyone asked where either of you was, the answer was always with the other. 

-

“Where’s Fred?” An assistant called out onto the crowded set one day. “He’s needed in hair and makeup!” 

“Where’s y/n meant to be right now?” Paul asked, barely looking up from the script in his lap. The young girl looked down at the clipboard in her hands, combing through the schedules and call sheets. Costume department, she concluded after a few moments of frantic shuffling. “Well, there’s your answer then.”

Pedro had laughed for days recounting the story, shaking his head at how predictable you and Fred had become.

-

“Are you excited?” Fred’s voice softened, meant only for you now despite the buzzing room. You lit up with a smile and a nod. You were incredibly excited. You had never been a guest at a panel before. “Nervous?”

“Not really,” you shook your head and shrugged. “Just more surprised, I think?” You mused aloud with a tilt of your head. In all honesty, you weren’t sure why you were invited to the panel at this convention today. 

You knew that your role wasn’t as impactful as people told you it was, they were just trying to be nice. You had less than ten lines in the whole film. Being invited to a panel discussing the complexities of the plot and the acting behind it was an honor! But a confusing one.

You had a sneaking suspicion that, somehow, Fred was behind it.

“Surprised?” Fred asked, his eyebrows rising and dipping in quick succession in that way that they do. “Why?”

“Just that—” You glanced around, as if gathering evidence. “Everyone here was pretty high up on that call list.” Fred’s brows furrowed even further this time and you knew what was coming.

“Don’t do that to yourself, y/n,” he almost whined. “You were a driving force—”

“I’m not tryna minimize my work, Fred.” You chuckled lightheartedly, cutting him off before he went on a tangent. He was always quick to pop any bubbles of self-doubt that formed in your brain, but this really wasn’t the case. “I know I worked hard on this movie. We both did.” You held his hand in yours. “But… Alexander wasn’t invited.” You pointed out with raised brows. Alexander had played Ravi in the movie, the healer in the Colosseum. “I’m pretty sure he had more lines than I did.”

“But you definitely had more screen time,” came Fred’s quick rebuttal. “Actually, that’s why I told them you should come—”

“I knew it!” You exclaimed in a whisper, making sure your conversation didn’t attract any attention. You were enjoying the private moment in the crowded room and there was no need for it to end so quickly. “I knew you did this!”

Fred’s grin tilted, eyes glinting with quiet defiance. “What? Am I supposed to feel bad for wanting people to notice how good you are?” He laughed. “You had almost as much screen time as anyone here, but nowhere near enough lines. So I told them that your insight into your character and the plot was just as interesting, if not more.”

“Does this count as nepotism?”

“Shut up!” Fred giggled, lightly punching your shoulder. “I just feel like— If I can help you get the recognition you deserve, why wouldn’t I?”

“Alright, thank you all for arriving on time.” A producer spoke up, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and putting an end to your conversation. You turned away from Fred to face her as she spoke, a smile still lingering on your face. 

“We’re gonna start calling you guys out now, one by one. It’s gonna be in the order your names are set up on the table, so you just come out and sit in the chair farthest from your entry. Does that make sense?” She asked, receiving a few nods. “Is everyone ready?” Another round of nods and yeses left the group, yours along with them.

“Don’t overthink it,” Fred whispered to you with a squeeze of your knee. “Just enjoy the moment.”

At that, you could hear the producer hype up the crowd for the cast’s arrival.

“That’s our cue.” Pedro got up from the couch with a clap of his hands. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Fred replied, standing up along with Pedro. “How about you, old man?”

“Creaky at the knees, but it’s alright.” Pedro teased, giving Fred a playful punch on the shoulder. That’s when you heard Pedro’s name called out into the microphone followed by the crowd’s roar in applause and cheers. “Later, losers!”

One by one the cast was called out, Fred’s name being the last one before yours. You breathed out a sigh of relief, grateful to be sitting next to him.

“y/n l/n!” Your name blasted through the speaker, signaling your cue to head out onto the stage. You walked out with a smile and a wave, the crowd cheering at your arrival. You sat down at the long table facing the audience, right there next to Fred. 

Your name was printed on a place card in front of you, spelled right and everything. With every passing day of working on this project, you felt more and more that you had finally found your place in the world.

The producer’s voice blurred into the background, distant and dull. Your focus drifted to the sea of faces ahead—posters with your name in big bright letters, shirts with your face printed on them. Some people were even dressed as your character from the movie. It was surreal.

The warmth of Fred’s hand on your knee tethered you back to the present. His steady gaze met yours, silently reminding you to breathe. He knew how overwhelming it could all be. And he knew what you were thinking, he could see it too. He was so proud of you. 

Fred squeezed your knee twice, a small act to show you that he saw you. To show you that he was there for you. And maybe, cockily, he was saying ‘I told you so’. That your presence was wanted here, not just by him. 

“We’ll get started with questions from the audience then.” The producer announced, motioning for a member of the crew to turn on the spotlight facing the crowd. When the light turned on, it illuminated a microphone on its stand in the middle aisle between all the chairs, and, with it, an incredibly long line of fans. Each with a vetted question, the producer assured.

Most questions were for Paul, though that wasn’t surprising. Many for Pedro and Denzel, as well. 

You listened and laughed along, enjoying the easy going nature of the conversation. A lot of the questions were based on the acting, which was a topic well loved by actors of course. But some, as expected, were about the on-set dynamics.

“What was your first impression of your castmates?” A teenage girl asked Paul.

This launched a chaotic answer, with multiple people joining in at once, talking over the other and laughing loudly. 

“We all know that I was absolutely terrified of Denzel at the beginning.” Paul laughed, patting Denzel, who was sitting next to him, on the back.

“So was I!” Joseph cracked up. “But I thought Fred was such a sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded with him. “Fred was incredibly kind to me on my first day on set.”

“Kind?” Pedro questioned, eyebrows upturned in surprise. “Little asshole is what he was.”

“He saves the sweet stuff for her,” Paul chuckled.

“Yeah, well Pedro was an old man calling me short and she was a pretty girl who was lost.” Fred defended himself with his arms crossed, tone clearly kidding. The crowd’s laughter rose at the banter, even if it was obviously turned up for the panel. “Who would you help, huh?” 

-

It was your first day on set and your very skin was buzzing with how excited you were. Your schedule said that you should start your day in the hair and make up department, and you heard someone say that it was next to the crafts center. But you couldn’t find either of them for the life of you. And you should’ve been worried about being late for your very first appointment on the set, but you were just too enthralled with it all.

The set was beautiful! Malta, as a whole, was absolutely gorgeous, but the set was something else. It truly felt like you were transported back in time— if you ignored the cameras, speakers, and lights, of course. You had heard of Arthur Max’s work on other productions, and of course knew of his work on the first movie. But experiencing it first hand was almost an out of body experience. 

You knew that, when the time came, immersing yourself on the set would be a piece of cake. An actor’s dream really, that was what this type of set was.

“Uh, y/n?” Your name being called out from behind you caused you to spin around. “Oh, it is you.” The man’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Hi, I’m Fred.”

Fred Hechinger. You knew exactly who he was.

“I’m y/n.” You replied, stretching out a hand for him to shake. “But you already knew that.”

“Yeah, well from what I hear, we’re going to be exclusively working together.” Fred laughed as he shook your hand. “Had to do some research on my scene partner.”

“Glad I’m not the only one, then.” You chuckled.

When your manager told you of his secured position as Emperor Caracalla, you knew you wanted to look him up. Many other actors accepted the role before flaking for ‘scheduling issues’, so you were never sure who you were actually going to work with. But once Fred’s acceptance was confirmed, you went on a deep dive. You watched as many of his shows and movies as you could, his IMDb tab constantly open on your laptop.

“They were calling for you in hair and make up,” he said. “I offered to look for you and help you find the way.”

“How did you know I was lost?” You raised an eyebrow as you asked. You weren’t really lost, more so taking advantage of the lack of directions.

“Oh, I know you’re not lost.” Fred shook his head with furrowed brows as he folded his arms, faux seriousness painted his expression. Fred’s effortless confidence had an unexpected charm. It was magnetic. “But if I tell them it took me a while to find you, then we can admire the set for a bit longer.”

Your surprise melted into quiet laughter.

And just like that, you had made a friend.

-

Back on the panel stage, you leaned into the mic, smiling softly. “He gave me a tour.” You recalled. “And he vouched for me at hair and make up, because I was almost half an hour late.”

“On your first day?!” Paul questioned in astonishment, eyebrows raised to his hairline. “Ballsy move, y/n. I could never.” Paul tsked and shook his head at you in disappointment.

“Hey!” You called out in offence, throwing an arm up in Fred’s direction. “Blame Fred, he’s the bad influence here!”

“Entirely my fault.” Fred nodded with his hand raised. “I take full responsibility for corrupting the child.”

“Oh, shut up.” You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You’re like two minutes older than me.”

“Two minutes?! For your information,” Fred pointed at the crowd as he spoke now, “I am years older than her. Years!”

Another fan stepped up to the microphone, pulling you back to the task at hand. “Were there any funny on-set moments or inside jokes that made it into the movie? Or at least stayed with you afterwards?”

“Bless you.” Pedro whispered into the mic, causing a wave of giggles to pass through the rest of the line up.

“‘Bless you’ was a good one, I liked it.” Joseph smiled before bursting into laughter at a memory, sending Fred a look from across the table. "Tell them about the sword!"

Fred groans, but the memory sparks in your mind—the clang of metal and his ridiculous deadpan expression.

Connie lets out a loud laugh as she recalls the incident. “Fear me!” She clapped her hands together as she giggled. “Oh, it was hilarious!”

“Fear me,” echoes in your head, and suddenly you’re there again, barely holding back laughter on the set.

-

It was a late night, you were filming the scene where the emperors confront Acacius and Lucilla regarding their treachery. Ridley had instructed Joseph and Fred to make their reactions as dramatic as they saw fit, considering how fervid the scenario would make the twins.

You had been filming for hours at that point, the energy amongst you growing more chaotic with each take. Everything was funny to you now as the sleep deprivation finally hit.

During one of the takes, Fred jumped out of his seat on the throne and grabbed a prop sword from a nearby guard, as was written in the script. He was supposed to point it at Pedro and Connie, yelling about their punishments, as Joseph held him back. But, with each shake, you noticed how unstable the prop looked.

A loud clang echoed in the marble halls of the set. The sword had fallen right off of its handle.

No one said a word. Fred’s face scrunched up in confusion and anger. He stared at the broken hilt in his hand, then at Pedro. Without missing a beat, he raised it like a dagger. “Fear me.” He whispered menacingly, nose to nose with the older actor.

That’s it. Pedro snorted so loudly that the entire set erupted into laughter. You and Joseph were crying from laughing so hard. Denzel was chuckling into his hand, and Connie was leaning on Pedro to stay upright. 

“How dare you mock me?!” Fred shrieked, staying in character, even when it was clear the take was a lost cause, if only to keep making the rest of you laugh. “I am your emperor!”

“Alright, alright.” You hear Ridley’s voice call out, winding down from his own laughter. “One more time, then we’ll call it a night. Someone fix that sword, please!”

None of you ever let Fred live it down afterwards. 

Pedro would grab a toothpick from the crafts table and follow Fred around with it, a soft and dark ‘Fear me’ heard under his breath.

-

"Honestly, I thought Ridley would leave it in the movie." Fred shrugs, laughing it off. “If only someone didn’t break and ruin it all.” He sent a teasing look to Pedro out of the corner of his eyes.

You wipe a few tears from the corner of your eye as you catch your breath. “It wasn’t even that funny. We were just so tired.”

“It was like four in the morning, we were done.” Joseph explained to the crowd, still coming down from his giggles. 

“Anything would’ve been funny to us at the time.”

After the crowd’s volume slowly dwindled, another fan came up and asked about Denzel’s performance. Denzel spoke about how much he enjoyed the freedom Ridley allowed the actors in this movie. How exciting it all was. 

Afterwards, someone asked about how Joseph balanced working on multiple sets at a time. Pedro joked about Joseph being sought after and hard to find, always in a different part of the world. Joseph shot back at Pedro that they were always together anyways, considering how they both were working on ‘Fantastic Four’ together.

Another audience member asked Connie how it felt to come back to this movie after more than two decades. She talked at length about the differences and similarities the two sets had. How it was both nostalgic and new. 

Someone else stepped up to the mic and nervously waved to the cast after the laughter had died down. “My question is for Fred.” Fred perked up and smiled, nodding at her to continue. “How did you prepare for the emotionally vulnerable scenes you had as Caracalla while staying true to both his character and his sickness?”

“That’s a really good question.” Fred nodded, his arm coming up from your knee to rub at his shoulder. It was so incredibly endearing to you how he reacted to attention. “It was important, definitely. To make sure that you weren’t just seeing his sickness, but the true him under it all. And I think Caracalla, the man and not the sick emperor, really shined in those vulnerable moments.” His hands gesticulated wildly as he spoke and you were enamored the whole way through, not expecting them to motion to you next.  “But, at the end of the day, I think you just really have to trust your scene partner.” 

Fred looked at you with a shy but knowing smile, “It takes a lot of practice to be vulnerable in front of someone, even if it is just pretending. And y/n was always incredibly kind and supportive whenever I lacked that—that vulnerability—that powerlessness. It wasn’t that I lacked it, per se. It’s just a difficult thing to tap into. And she was always there to help me through it.”

Your eyes dropped downwards as you felt your chin dip towards your chest, your head tilting slightly to the side as a smile grew on your face. The crowd awed in response to both Fred’s words and your reaction.

Fred’s compliment sent your stomach twisting in knots. You glanced at him, his hand went back to its previous position, resting on your knee, steady and grounding. It reminded you of that quiet morning on set when everything between you shifted.

-

The set was calmer that morning than what you were used to. The haze of sleep still clung to the few crew members needed on set this early. They shuffled about quietly, setting up for the day's shoot. Fred sat on the edge of the prop bed, script in hand, shoulders slumped forward as he stared at the lines that refused to feel right. 

You were sitting on a couch a few feet away, observing him, script laying forgotten in your lap. His fingers absently tugged at his earlobe, a nervous habit you had come to recognize at this point in your friendship. He had been having difficulties with connecting with Caracalla’s childlike vulnerability. And it wasn’t because he didn’t know the lines—Fred knew them backwards and forwards. 

It was the emotion, the raw vulnerability of Caracalla crying like a child to Lovie about Geta, that he couldn’t quite reach.

You had been running lines all night, but he wasn’t performing it to his own incredibly high standards. So you had told him to get a good night’s rest and that you could practice some more in the morning before call time. You spent some time researching trust building exercises, because you were sure that Fred had it in him. He just had to trust you enough to let it rise to the surface.

After you watched him run through the scene a few more times with no progress, you got a look of determination in your eyes. “Alright!” You inhaled deeply and dropped your script onto the seat next to you. “How about we try something else?”

Fred’s head snapped up at your voice, the both of you having been silently in each other's company prior to your exclamation. “Like what?”

“Trust exercises!”

He blinked, unimpressed. "y/n, I really don't think—"

“Come on, it won’t hurt to try!” You insisted, knowing that he was worn down and everything felt useless. But you had faith in him. “For me?”

He rolled his eyes but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Alright, fine.” You cheered quietly at his agreement. “What did you have in mind?”

You stood and moved to sit across from him, knees nearly brushing. "Eye contact. No talking, just hold my gaze. Nothing else."

“For how long?”

“As long as possible.”

He hesitated for a second but leaned in slightly, blue eyes locking onto yours. The silence stretched. At first, it was easy. The hours you'd spent together on set had built a quiet comfort between you. You were comfortable with each other now, as any pair of friends would be.

But slowly, the air around you shifted.

Had his eyes always been this blue? And so full of emotion? You wondered how you had never noticed these things about him before. The longer you looked, the more your chest tightened, like you were standing too close to the edge of a cliff. You swallowed hard.

Fred’s head tilted, his eyes scanning yours as if he were searching for something hidden beneath the surface. Then, without thinking, he lifted his hand and gently brushed his thumb along your cheek, swiping away an eyelash that had landed there. The touch was featherlight, but it sparked something within you. Something new.

You sucked in a breath, breaking the rhythm of your breathing and pulling Fred’s attention to your lips. 

He quickly pulled his hand away, clearing his throat. "Sorry. You had—uh—you had an eyelash."

You barely managed a nod, heat blooming beneath your skin. The air had changed so suddenly. It was sharp, tense, and neither of you knew how to break the spell.

More crew members were starting to file in, calling out names and times. The usual hustle and bustle on set was rising. Your name was called out from one side and Fred’s from another, instructions to go to wardrobe for you and hair and makeup for Fred.

“I—I should go.” Came Fred’s stuttered response as he slowly got up and backed away, his eyes now finding it difficult to stay on yours.

“Uh yeah, me too.” You nodded with pursed lips, just as awkward as he was.

That was different, you pondered as you walked away. You had never seen Fred in that light before. You had never reacted like that to his touch. This was entirely new territory for you. You liked Fred.

Oh no.

How predictable. Catching feelings for your on screen lover. You had to suppress the eye roll. This was something you had promised yourself you wouldn’t do once you got into the film industry.

But how could you resist? Fred was so kind and caring, so helpful and affectionate. His smile never failed to bring a similar one to your face. Now that you thought of it, you were a bit surprised it had taken you this long to notice. 

You had a crush on Fred.

And you were almost positive he didn’t see you in that way. 

This was horrible, you thought as you reached the wardrobe department. You were regretting everything. Not only was Fred no longer just a friend in your eyes, you were sure that you had ruined any chances of him getting this scene right after this. You groaned quietly to yourself as you changed into your costume in the dressing room. What a way to start the day.

But later, as the cameras rolled, Fred laid in your lap, perfectly in character. Something was different about him. He seemed more… open. More calm. When you softly carded your fingers through his hair to comfort Caracalla, Fred’s hand drifted to your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin without thinking. Almost in the same way he had that morning.

It wasn’t scripted. But you stayed in the scene, unflinching. You wiped away his tears as he moaned about his wretched brother and the empire he was forced to bear the weight of. He was delivering the scene perfectly. Almost like nothing unsavory had transpired between the two of you less than an hour ago.

Ridley, watching from behind the monitors, leaned forward. Eyes glued to the screen. Once the scene had played its course, he called it. "Cut!” His voice boomed through the speakers.

Fred carefully got up from your lap, though not straying far.

An assistant quickly came over with a walkie-talkie. Ridley’s voice broke through the static, fragmented but understandable. “Fred, that wasn't in the script."

Fred sat up quickly, already apologizing. "Sorry, it just—"

"I liked it. Let's run it again. Same way."

Your eyes flicked to Fred, wide in surprise. He liked it. Ridley liked it. Fred shared his own surprised smile with you.

He finally got it. That obstacle was overcome. And Ridley noticed. It was exciting to have your work appreciated in that way. And he had you to thank, even if you thought otherwise.

And, in the process, something had shifted between you.

-

Then someone asked Paul who his closest friends were on set, pulling you back to the present moment. 

“You want me to make enemies of my colleagues now, do you?” Paul chuckled nervously, garnering a laugh from the crowd. “No, in all seriousness, I made many great friendships on this set. Pedro, of course Denzel, Connie, all great mentors that I can call friends now, I think. But who I spent the most time with on set? That would probably be Fred. Fred and y/n, yeah. They’re a package deal, as well. So yeah, it was always us three.”

His answer takes you back to a pivotal moment you had with Paul on set. You knew from then that he had your back, in every situation. Even in matters where he had no stake, you knew you could trust him. 

-

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky over the ancient stone set, casting long shadows across the Colosseum replica. The usual hum of activity filled the air. You were sitting on Caracalla’s throne overlooking the arena, legs dangling off the edge as you scrolled absentmindedly through your phone.

Paul plopped down beside you with all the grace of a sack of potatoes.

“Easy!” You laughed. “What did the chair ever do to you?”

Paul leaned over slightly to peek at your screen, completely disregarding what you had said to him. “Who are you texting?”

“No one.” You locked your phone quickly.

Paul’s smirk deepened. “So it is someone.”

“No, Paul.” You shot him a look.

He tilted his head and grinned. “Oh, so it’s Fred.”

Your stomach flipped. “Paul!” you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one heard.

“Oh, come on!” Paul leaned back, arms stretched behind him. “When are you not texting Fred?”

You groaned as your palms covered your eyes in embarrassment. “It’s not—” you mumbled before smothering your face in your hands.

“Not what?” Paul teased, nudging your knee with his.

“It’s not a big deal.” You exhaled, peeking at him between your fingers. “We’re just friends. Don’t make it weird.”

Paul gave you a flat look.

“Friends?”

“Yes!”

He let out a disbelieving laugh. “Okay.” He shrugged, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, whatever you say.”

“Thank you.” You breathed out in relief, glad he was letting it go.

After a short moment of silence, he spoke back up. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” He motioned to the air between the two of you with his pointer finger. 

“Paul—” You groaned, knowing exactly where he was going with this. 

“And I’d like to think that Fred and I are friends as well.” He leaned towards your side in his seat now, coming face to face with you. “I don’t take long walks with him on the lot, hand in hand. He’s not giving me his jacket when I’m cold. He didn’t let me braid his hair in the hair and makeup trailer.”

You glared at him. “That last one was one time.”

“Not the point.” Paul leaned closer. “He’s different with you.”

You bit your lip, looking away. “I don’t know… Fred’s—he’s sweet. He’s friendly. That’s just who he is!”

Paul raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, but he’s not that sweet or friendly with anyone else.”

You stayed quiet, fingers picking at a loose thread on the hem of your costume.

Paul’s tone softened. “Don’t sell yourself short, y/n.”

Your eyes flicked to his, hesitant but curious.

“You’re smart, talented, and funny. And let’s not pretend the Roman attire doesn’t suit you perfectly.” He gave you a playful nudge.

You laughed despite yourself. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” Paul’s grin changed into something more sincere. “Fred should consider himself lucky that you like him.”

Your cheeks burned.

“I just don’t want to—” You mumbled and trailed off. “Ugh, I don’t know. I don't want to make things weird between us.”

“You two are too stubborn for your own good. Someone’s gotta give.” Paul mumbled before raising his eyebrows at you. “You can’t yearn forever.” 

“Can’t I?”

His gaze softened as he took in your expression. “You really don’t see how he looks at you, do you?”

“What?” Your brows furrowed and you shot up in your seat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Paul laughed in shock, pulling back and looking out onto the expanse of the set. “Wow.” He muttered to himself. “I can’t tell which of you is dumber.”

“Hey! I can still hear you!”

“Maybe put some of your other senses to use then, idiot!” Paul retorted as he got out of his seat, the speakers on set calling for him to go someplace or other. He walked away mumbling to himself, leaving you sitting there, staring after him, unsure of what to think anymore. 

-

“And I, of course, was chopped liver.” Joseph spoke solemnly to the crowd, dragging you out of your reminiscence. “Paul loved Pedro, Denzel, Connie, Fred, and y/n. But not poor old Joseph.” 

Paul stumbled over his words as he backtracked. “And Joseph! Of course, I was always with Joseph!” Paul cried, pleading with an unyielding Joseph. All a bit to keep everyone entertained, you knew.

“No, no, you can’t undo what’s been done.” Joseph shook his head dramatically at Paul as he motioned for the next person to step up to the microphone. “You have made an enemy tonight, Paul. I hope you’re happy.”

“My question is actually for Joseph.” The fan sheepishly spoke, sending Paul an illusionary apologetic smile.

“I have what you can never have, Paul. The love and affection of the general public.” Joseph deadpanned as he looked over at Paul before turning back to the girl at the microphone. “Go on, darling. What’s your question?” Joseph smirked as he looked away, leaving Paul rolling his eyes.

“Well, um, Paul and Pedro had extensive physical transformations they had to undergo to prepare for the role.” Joseph rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion at the mention of Paul, the joke still running. “What did you have to do to prepare for Geta?”

“Not much, actually.” Joseph snorted. “I got really interested in the history of it, but in comparison to Paul and Pedro? Yeah, we got off easy. Didn’t we, Fred? Just loads of eyeliner.”

“Yeah.” Fred laughed as he nodded. “Shaving and eyeliner was our morning routine for a few months.” The crowd, as well as the cast, laughed at Fred’s note. “Emperor Caracalla is clean shaven, but I’m not.” He chuckled, hand instinctively rubbing at his chin at the thought of his light beard. “So I had to shave almost everyday, but that was about it for me.” With a glance towards you, you knew exactly what he was thinking about.

-

It had been another late night in Fred’s trailer. You were curled up on his couch, legs tucked under you, as you watched Fred pace back and forth. He had been reviewing lines, occasionally muttering to himself, but you hadn’t been paying close attention, not until the soft scruff along his jaw caught the light.

Your eyes narrowed.

“Fred,” you called softly.

He paused, blinking at you. “Yeah?”

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “You’re getting a little...scruffy.”

Fred instinctively brought a hand to his chin, rubbing over the light stubble that had started to grow in. “Ah, shit.”

“What?” You asked, sitting up now.

“Sam’s out sick,” He explained. “Usually, they shave me every morning. I don’t know how I forgot about it today. Emily needs me to be clean shaven tomorrow.” He mumbled lightly, as if he was only thinking to himself out loud.

You pushed up from the couch, standing up and stretching your arms over your head. “Let me do it.”

Fred blinked. “What?” It was like he forgot you were here for a moment. Or, more accurately, he forgot that you were actively listening to his stream of consciousness. He didn’t expect you to offer to solve this non-issue for him. 

“Let me shave you,” you repeated, stepping closer. You gently grabbed his chin, feeling his rough hair between your fingers. You turned his face this way and that, appraising the work you’d have to do if he agreed. “I mean, you can say no if you don’t feel comfortable with your fate in my hands.”

He giggled, eyes softening as he watched you study his facial hair. “Is this another trust exercise?”

You smirked, eyes lighting up and looking back into his. “Maybe.”

Fred considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright, Lovie. Have at it.”

The nickname sent a small spark through you, but you shook it off, hiding your grin as you gestured for him to follow you to the little bathroom in the corner of his trailer.

Fred settled on the closed toilet seat after you patted it, a silent command to sit down. He looked up at you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. You rummaged through the small drawer under the sink, pulling out shaving cream and a razor.

“Fear me.” You whispered as you held aloft the blade, watching Fred roll his eyes at the reference.

“You better not botch this,” he teased, leaning back. He couldn’t help but admire you from this angle. The bathroom lighting highlighted your features so beautifully, though he was sure he’d think that of any lighting.

“It seems easy enough.” You shrugged as you squeezed a bit of shaving cream onto your fingers, rubbing your hands together before gently spreading it over his jaw. The cool foam made him shiver slightly.

Fred’s eyes got wide, his head frozen in your grasp. “You’re telling me you’ve never done this before?”

Your eyes sparkled as you raised your brows excitedly, grin wide. “I’m testing your limits. Is this one of them?”

You saw Fred’s eyes dance back and forth as he thought this through. It seemed the risks outweighed the cons, though not by much, because he nodded apprehensively. “Do your worst.” His eyes widened once more and then he winced. “That’s just a saying, please actually do your very best. Don’t hurt the money maker, alright?”

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes with a snort. “I’ll be careful, don’t worry. Now hold still.”

Slowly, carefully, you dragged the blade along his jawline, your hand steady. Fred’s eyes flickered to yours, but he didn’t move. His breathing slowed, eyes dark and half-lidded as he watched you in silence.

The room felt smaller.

Your thumb gently tilted his chin, guiding him where you needed. His skin was warm beneath your touch.

“You’re doing well,” you murmured, focusing on the careful strokes of the razor.

“So are you,” Fred hummed. “You’re sure you’ve never done this before?”

“I’m that good, huh?” You chuckled, feeling him nod in response with the slightest dip of his chin in your palm. “Maybe I should go pro.”

“You’d leave all the glitz and glamour of being an actress and come shave my scruff every morning?” He asked, laughter lacing his words.

“You’re giving away Sam’s job that easy?” You raised your brows.

“To you? Of course.” He chuckled lightly. “Everything’s easy when it’s you.” The words slipped out, softer than he meant. The air thickened, and Fred’s eyes widened a fraction too late. The words weighed heavily in the space around you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Fred’s eyes flickered to yours at your silence. Whatever he said must’ve been the wrong thing to say, he thought, because your facial expression was unreadable to him. “I’m sor—”

“Everything’s easy when it’s you too, Fred.” You whispered back before he could complete his sentence. With one final swipe of the blade along his jaw, you stepped back from him and the moment. “There. All done.” 

-

You smiled to yourself at the memory, glancing back at Fred next to you. You preferred him with the facial hair, you concluded. 

“Who was the best mentor on set?” Someone else asked once they had their turn at the microphone, the question not directed towards anyone in particular. But Joseph took it upon himself to answer for someone else.

“I know who Fred’s gonna say.” Joseph whispered into the microphone, causing Fred to roll his eyes.

“It was me.” Pedro smirked, flexing his biceps and wiggling his eyebrows at Fred. “He can deny it all he wants, but I pushed that kid when he needed it. Didn’t I, Freddie?”

“You did.” Fred mumbled, a hint of a smile on the edge of his lips.

“Hell yeah, I did!” Pedro pumped his fist in the air. “Those stories are private, for Fred’s sake. But I’m a good mentor!”

“The best there is.” Fred confirmed, a slight blush colored his cheeks as he snuck a glance at you.

-

It had been a while since the moment Pedro cemented himself as Fred’s mentor in the younger actor’s eyes. He had learned a lot from him. Both as an actor and as a human being.

But something changed between Pedro and Fred one day. 

A day where you had been utterly exhausted. You were filming in a grand room, the scene depicting a party or gathering of some type, you couldn’t recall the details. Everything was as opulent as you would expect with the twin emperors, of course. 

You and Fred had been up all night, bingeing movie after movie, showing each other your favorites and analyzing every scene. When you saw him the next day on set, you were shocked at how awake he was. Everything felt like it was in slow motion for you. You had never been more appreciative of your lack of lines in this movie.

After a few takes of you blinking slowly in the background, Ridley had called for a break. Something wasn’t right with the focus on a few cameras and a monitor or two needed recalibrating. Technical issues that shouldn’t take too long to fix. An assistant director said the issue could take about half an hour to resolve, so you turned to Fred, a silent question in your eyes and a slight pout on your lips.

You and Fred cuddled often, but never outside of his trailer. Movie night was just an excuse for you to curl up in his arms at this point, though neither of you ever acknowledged that. 

But you were so tired, and the pillows on the couch were decorative and stiff. And Fred was right there. It would only be thirty minutes. Just a quick lie down.

Fred saw your face and knew exactly what you wanted from him. He leaned back into the couch and patted at his lap, giving you space to lie down. It didn’t even register to him that anyone would notice nor care. 

His hands instinctively went to brush his fingers through your hair, your nightly routine as of recently. With his cologne and his warmth enveloping you, as well as the soothing motion of his fingers against your scalp, it was less than five minutes later that you were snoozing away.

Pedro looked over and saw the two of you cozied up together and couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the scene. He had been trying to throw hints at Fred for weeks about the two of you. It was clear as day. But neither of you was brave enough to bring it up, fearing the other’s lack of reciprocation. If only you two could see what everyone else saw.

He shared a look with Paul, who was watching along with him. “Go talk some sense into him, Pascal.” Paul snickered lightly, giving Pedro a slight shove in your direction. 

“I’ll try my best, Mescal.” Pedro sighed. 

“Is she out?” He asked quietly once he had settled down beside Fred on the couch, not wanting to wake you up.

“Like a light.” Fred muttered, eyes never leaving your sleeping profile. “It’s my fault, really. Kept her up all night.”

“What did you watch this time?” Pedro smiled, knowing of the private movie nights held every evening in the trailer next to his.

“The Godfather.” Fred answered. “Actually, both of them.”

“The sequel is amazing.” Pedro nodded, but he wasn’t really engrossed in the conversation as much as he was in Fred. It was hard not to admire Fred as he admired you.

“Definitely.��� Fred nodded, not even sparing Pedro a glance. The boy was in love and he didn’t even know it. But so were you, to be fair.

“She’s just as bad as you are, you know? Thinking too much, scared to say something first.” Pedro mused, eyeing you curled up in Fred’s lap. You never looked as comfortable as you did in Fred’s presence. Pedro leaned in and his voice dropped an octave. “You should tell her.”

“Huh?” Fred is finally pulled out of the trance you had unknowingly put him in, snapping up to look at Pedro for the first time since he sat down. “Tell her what?”

“I’m saying,” Pedro emphasized each word, “She’s just as oblivious as you are.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you should tell her how you feel!” Fred instinctively cupped his hand around your ear, guarding you from Pedro’s sudden laughter like it was second nature. You hadn’t even flinched, too deep in your slumber to notice. But Pedro did, he noticed Fred’s subtle protectiveness. It was sweet. And increasingly frustrating.

Fred scoffed, his cheeks glaringly crimson. “I think I’d prefer not risking those odds.”

“Buddy, trust me. Every single odd is in your favor.”

“Don’t quote the hunger games at me right now.” Fred rolled his eyes. 

Pedro frowned in frustration, leaning closer to Fred. “You really don’t see how gone she is for you?”

A few moments of silence pass between them. Fred’s eyes on you, and Pedro’s eyes on Fred’s lovesick expression. “...You really think she likes me back?”

“She’s not sleeping in my lap, is she?” Pedro smirked, standing back up. “Just think about it, would you?”

-

Fred buried his face in his hands to cover up his flushed cheeks. You shot him a concerned look, but he shook his head to ease your worries. You didn’t know about what had transpired between Fred and Pedro in the same way Fred didn’t know about what happened between you and Paul. And you both wanted to keep it that way. Too embarrassed that everyone else seemed to know of your affection for the other before you did.

“Did any unscripted scenes make it into the movie?” someone asked, pulling you back to the crowd once more.

You and Fred immediately glance back at each other with shy smiles.

Paul talked about the scene where he kissed Pedro’s forehead in the arena, even though it was technically cut. 

But then he turned to the rest of the table. “What about you, Fred?” He asked pointedly, noticing how you had looked at each other when the question was asked. “You had a scene they left in, didn’t you?”

Fred chuckled nervously, scratching behind his ear. “Yeah, a few made it in. But… you probably mean when I called her ‘Lovie,’ right?” The crowd roars in response and Fred’s ears turn pink as he tugs at them. “Yeah, about that…”

-

Fred had started calling you Lovie after that day he was having difficulties with that one scene. He hadn’t even realized when it started, but now, it was just second nature.

Today was the day you would be filming a scene you were dreading. The day Caracalla, the sick emperor you had spent months embodying a devotion to, would die. And you were taking it hard. You had somehow made a place for him in your heart. 

Fred thought it was sweet how your affections grew for his character. He assured you that he understood, working on a long term project like this always leaves an imprint on actors. 

The filming schedule on set didn’t rely on the order of the scenes, but more on the availability of certain sets and certain crew members. So even though this was nowhere near the last scene you had to film with Fred as Caracalla, nor was filming coming to an end anytime soon, you were filming Fred’s last scene in the movie.

The wardrobe department was a maze of fabric and armor, with soft R&B muffling through a nearby speaker, someone no doubt wanting to lighten the atmosphere in the stuffy warehouse. 

You sat hunched in a chair, eyes locked on the hem of your sweater, fingers twisting the fabric. You and Fred were waiting together to be given your costumes for the day.

It all felt so much heavier than you expected.

“You okay?”

Fred’s voice was gentle, but you didn’t lift your head. You just let out a quiet, shaky laugh.

“I’m being ridiculous.”

He came to crouch in front of you, elbows on his knees, watching you carefully. “No, you’re not.”

You sighed, pressing your palms to your face. “I’m getting emotional over the death of a villain in a movie.”

Fred’s head tilted. “Hey, we both know he wasn’t really a villain.” His voice carried a soft laugh with it.

Your lips twitched upward. “He was just misunderstood.”

“And syphilitic.”

You let out a wet laugh, wiping your face. “Yeah, and that.”

Fred grinned, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. Slowly, he stood and offered his hand. “Dance with me, Lovie.”

You blinked at him.

“What?”

“Come on,” he urged softly, fingers still outstretched.

The nickname barely registered in your mind. It wasn’t the first time he’d used it, but it felt different now, like a natural extension of you.

You slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet.

Fred’s palms settled at your waist, hesitant at first. But when you leaned in, looping your arms around his neck, his grip tightened, like letting go wasn’t an option. You swayed together, slow and easy, surrounded by walls of costumes and muffled music.

“How dumb is this?” you whispered, though the corners of your mouth lifted.

“It’s not dumb, Lovie.” Fred shook his head slightly, his hand gently smoothing over your hair. “Nothing you do is dumb.”

The nickname lingered in the air.

You exhaled, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

“I’d take care of him so well,” you murmured, only slightly serious.

Fred let out a soft chuckle, his breath warming the top of your head.

“You did, Lovie,” he whispered back. “You did take care of him.”

And later, when you filmed the scene, the two of you covered in fake blood and silks, you couldn’t differentiate your character’s tears from your own. It all felt like the end of something. It felt like mourning.

When Fred said ‘Lovie’ instead of ‘My love’ as he wilted in your arms, you didn’t even register the deviation in the script. Only when it was over, when Ridley’s voice crackled through one of the hand held radios, did it hit you.

“Beautiful. Keep calling her that, Fred.” Ridley commended. “Lovie. Should’ve thought of that myself.”

-

“So what he means to say,” you spoke to the crowd, “is that my dramatics fundamentally affected the movie.”

“She was actually so sad,” Fred frowned, “It was heartbreaking. It was an honest mistake, though. Calling her ‘Lovie’.”

“But did you tell them where it came from?” Connie asked, teasingly looking at Fred.

“We uh—” He chuckled bashfully. “y/n and I called her character ‘Lovie’, because it was hard to workshop a character with no name.”

“And then ‘Lovie’ stopped being the character’s nickname,” Pedro chimed in with further explanation, “And it started being y/n’s.”

“I thought it was so sweet.” Connie sighed. “And it suits her so well.” 

“Ridley loved it, too.” Denzel joined. “I heard him grumbling over the radio. Something about how he didn’t think of it before.”

“No one cried when Fred cut off my head, though.” Joseph shrugged with a shake of his head. “Take from that what you will.”

“Actually, I did.” You corrected him with a smirk. “Don’t underestimate my propensity to get emotional when it comes to film.”

“Did you?” Joseph perked up, leaning forwards to look at you across the table. “Did she really?” He asked Fred, like he was the authority on all things true about you.

“Oh yeah.” Fred nodded. “And the scene where Caracalla asks where his brother is. Inconsolable. Sad movies are her weakness. You should’ve seen her when we watched ‘My Girl’.”

“Don’t bring that up right now.” You closed your eyes and shook your head solemnly, raising a palm in Fred’s direction. “He wasn’t wearing his goddamn glasses, Freddie.”

“It’s alright, Lovie,” Fred chuckled, speaking away from the microphone as he leaned closer to you. His voice dropped lower, only for you to hear. “We’ll watch a happy one tonight. Non-negotiable.”

You nodded at him, a smile growing on your face. Fred never failed to make you feel special, like you were a priority to him. Your choices always came above his, no matter how hard you insisted. It was so easy to love him.

“And our final question to wrap up the panel—”

“Make it a good one!” Pedro called into the microphone, a laugh rippling among the crowd in response.

“Come on up, don’t be shy.” The producer smiled at the young girl last in line to ask a question. “What did you want to ask the cast, honey?”

“What was your first kiss like?”

An ‘aw’ passed through the crowd as well as the cast on a stage. But a slight sweat began to coat your palms. You had been admiring Fred and his kindness only a moment ago. So tranquil, almost like you weren’t sitting in front of a crowd of hundreds of people. But this one question sent a shock of electricity up your spine. You were an actress, you reminded yourself. They wouldn’t know if you told the truth or not, would they? 

You heard Paul mention a school dance, and Pedro talked about a pool party during summer break. Denzel mentioned his wife, Connie spoke briefly of a night in Paris when she was a teenager. Joseph and Fred had similar stories, a stage kiss for a school play and a local production. 

When your turn came, you stuttered over your words. It didn’t feel like you had enough time to make something up, at least not something believable. “I guess—uh—technically, it was on screen.”

“Technically?” Joseph asked, confused. 

“Yeah,” You swallowed as heat bloomed across your cheeks. Your lips were upturned ever so slightly as you recalled that day. “My scene partner offered to practice with me before filming. It was much sweeter than it sounds.” You laughed before letting out a sigh. “It’s a memory I’ll cherish forever.”

-

It was the night before you would film your first intimate scene with Fred. The two of you were sitting on his couch, scripts open but long forgotten. The quiet of the trailer is filled with the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of pages as one of you shifts. You could feel Fred’s presence next to you, close enough that your knees brush when either of you adjusts your position.

“I don’t think Caracalla’s ever had anyone look at him the way Lovie does,” Fred mused, breaking the silence. His voice is soft, contemplative, like he’s voicing a thought meant only for himself.

You glanced at him, your heart skipping at the sincerity in his tone. “What do you mean?”

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, his blue eyes drifting toward the ceiling as if searching for the right words. “It’s like… even through the haze of his sickness and his trauma, he’s desperate to be seen. And she’s the only one who really does that for him. He doesn’t know how to love, not really, but he tries in his own way.” His gaze shifted to yours, a small, delicate frown tugging at his lips. “It’s tragic really.”

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his expression, the way he’s peeling back a layer of himself in his explanation. “I think Lovie sees that too,” you said softly, barely above a whisper. “And maybe that’s why she stays.”

Fred’s smile faltered, his brows furrowing as he studies you. “You think she chooses to stay?”

“I think…” You paused as you pondered. “I think she’s grown to love him somehow, through this strange, abusive, co-dependent… thing they’ve got going on. And she’s choosing to stay. What you do with love is a choice,” you replied, your voice tinged with something wistful and raw. “Not everyone handles it as carefully as they should.”

The air between you shifted, growing heavier, thicker, as the weight of your words lingered. 

It didn’t feel like you were talking about your character’s anymore. Fred’s eyes didn’t leave yours after you spoke, and you suddenly realized how close he was sitting. His knee brushed yours again, and this time, neither of you moved away.

“Does it scare you?” he asked, his voice impossibly quiet.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding against your ribs. “What?”

“Getting it wrong,” he said, his gaze searching for something telling in your eyes. “Love, I mean.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but you held his gaze, unable to look away. “Yeah,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “It does scare me, I suppose.”

Fred nodded, a flicker of understanding passed over his face. “Me too.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, without thinking, Fred reached out, his hand brushed against yours where it rested on the cushion between you. His touch was light, almost tentative, but it sent a jolt through you.

“I guess that’s why it’s easier on set,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles. “You get to pretend, just for a little while, that you know what you’re doing.”

You laughed softly, but it caught in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“Fred…” you started, your voice trailing off as his fingers curled gently around yours. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

“I’m nervous about tomorrow.” You confessed, eyes falling down to your lap.

“I know.” He replied. 

You furrowed your brows and lifted your head to look at him questioningly. “You know?”

“Yeah y/n, of course I know.” Fred smiled softly, reassuringly, “I think I would be a bad friend if I couldn’t tell that you were nervous. And I’ve seen your filmography, I know you haven’t done this sort of thing before.”

You didn’t know if it was a relief or not that he thought you were only nervous about the shoot. 

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, eyes flickering downwards. “Never for a project, no.” You hoped he wouldn’t catch the half truth. Or maybe you hoped that he would. You weren’t sure how you felt about all of this.

You liked Fred. You knew this about yourself now. And sometimes, you think that maybe, just maybe, he might like you back. Paul never failed to seize an opportunity to tell you that, of course. But you were too scared to make a fool of yourself. And, selfishly, you didn’t want to lose what you had with Fred. But now, things were progressing. 

Fred was going to be your first kiss.

And that would be hard to overcome. Especially when you already liked him so much. You were afraid that you would imprint on him like a duckling, never seeing anyone else in the same light. And then what would you do?

“y/n?” Fred asked, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Are you alright?” You hummed in response, eyes still unfocused. “Do you wanna do a trust exercise or something?”

“What?” You questioned, finally pulling yourself back to the moment.

“For tomorrow?” Fred explained, raising his eyebrows as he spoke. “To help you feel better about it?”

You thought about it for a moment before nodding. This might be just what you need. It was so helpful with Fred that last time, and hopefully it could be for you as well. “You wanna do the eye contact one?”

“How about another one?” Fred asked, leaning back against the back of the couch.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Tell me a secret.”

“What?” You balked. “What kind of exercise is that?”

“A secret for a secret.” Fred shrugged. “How about I start?” You nodded, though apprehensively. “I’m nervous for tomorrow, too.”

“Are you really?” You raised a brow at him. “‘Cause if your secret’s just a lie to make me feel better, then you’re cheating.”

Fred giggled and shook his head. “No, I really am.”

“Why?” You tilted your head inquisitively at him.

“Nope, I already told you my secret.” He pursed his lips and shook his head again. “Now it’s your turn.”

You shifted uncomfortably, tucking your legs beneath you on the couch, the script forgotten in your lap. Fred’s gentle, observant gaze had a way of making you feel bare in a way that wasn’t unsettling, but intimate—like he could read every thought you tried to hide.

“I guess it’s not just in front of the camera,” you admitted softly, fiddling with the corner of a page. The confession felt inevitable, like it had been lingering between the two of you for weeks, just waiting for a moment like this to surface. “I mean… I haven’t done this before. Any of it. Not just on screen.”

Fred's eyes softened as he sat up slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his focus entirely on you. “You mean you—you’ve never been kissed before?” His voice was quiet, not prying but careful, like he didn’t want to scare you away.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

For a moment, Fred didn’t respond. He simply watched you, and you could feel the weight of his attention, not heavy or oppressive. His brows furrowed slightly as if he were choosing his next words carefully.

“That’s… okay, you know,” he said finally. There was no pity in his tone, only a steady reassurance. “I know how intimidating this can be, even for people who’ve done it before.”

“It’s just—” you sighed, leaning back into the couch, exasperated with yourself. “It’s not that I think I can’t do it. I know I can, or at least I hope I can. I just don’t want to look ridiculous. I want it to look real.”

Fred smiled faintly, his head tilting as he considered your words. “It’s admirable, you know?” You hummed in question at him. “The fact that you’re sacrificing your first kiss for the production.”

“It’s embarrassing is what it is.” You rolled your eyes with a snort. 

“What?” He gasped quietly, the air still feeling ever so delicate between the two of you. “You're giving it away for Sir Ridley Scott! He’d be honored if he knew, I think.”

“He’d be confused if he knew.” You corrected him. “An actress in her early twenties who hasn’t been kissed before. I think I could apply to the Guinness book of world records.”

“Hey, come on.” He shook his head at you sympathetically. “You’re not breaking any records, trust me. There’s no deadline for this kind of thing.” He shifted closer as he spoke, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck in that familiar gesture you’d come to recognize as a sign of his sincerity, “But…I could help—only if you want.”

Your heart skipped. “Help?”

He nodded. “I mean… if it makes you feel more comfortable, we could—” he paused, exhaling as if second-guessing himself. “I could be your first kiss. Just to take some of the pressure off tomorrow. It’s not a big deal. Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

The room felt impossibly quiet, save for the distant hum of the trailer’s air conditioning. You swallowed, your pulse thrumming in your ears. It wasn’t just the offer that stunned you—it was the ease in Fred’s voice, the way he treated it like something simple. Just Fred, offering to help you in whatever way he could. It was so sweet. He was always so sweet to you. But you couldn’t. Not like this

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but you inevitably shook your head. “That’s really sweet of you, Fred. But I think I want my first real kiss to be with someone who actually really likes me, not a pity kiss from my scene partner. Tomorrow doesn’t count if I don’t count it. It’s fine, really. I was just in my head about it—”

Fred laughed before he could stop himself, interrupting your rambling. “You really are oblivious, aren’t you?”

“What?” You asked dumbly, not expecting him to say something like that after your vulnerable confession.

“Why do you think I’m nervous about tomorrow?” He asked incredulously, another laugh escaping him. “It’s because I actually really like you, y/n!”

Oh.

It was like someone knocked the wind out of you. 

You had hoped that he liked you back, maybe even thought it might be a possibility in the back of your mind, but to hear him say those words out loud? You were speechless. It was like a dream come true. All those months of pining for him, all that yearning, was reciprocated this whole time. 

“y/n,” Fred murmured, his voice low, soothing. “Can I be your first real kiss? Please?” He parroted your words back to you once more, breathlessly. You felt the blood rush into your head.

You managed a weak nod, barely able to meet his gaze. He waited a beat, letting the moment settle before he leaned in, his hand lifting to cup the side of your face. His touch was featherlight, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheekbone. The intimacy of the gesture almost unraveled you.

Fred's lips brushed yours tentatively, the kiss soft and unhurried. His movements were gentle yet assured, he understood that this was new for you and he didn’t mind guiding you through it. His other hand found your waist, steadying you, and you felt yourself melting into him.

As the kiss deepened, Fred’s grip on your waist tightened subtly, anchoring you as he shifted. Without breaking contact, he eased you forward, guiding you into his lap until you straddled him, your knees on either side of his hips and your hands resting tentatively against his shoulders. His fingers flexed against your hips, drawing you closer until there was barely any space left between you.

Your lungs felt tight as Fred pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breath fanned over your lips and his hands lingered against your waist, sending butterflies crashing into each other in your stomach. You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that—long enough for the rapid beat of your heart to settle into something softer, steadier.

“Was that okay?” Fred asked softly, his voice just above a whisper.

You nodded before opening your eyes to meet his gaze. There was something tender in the way he looked at you, and it made the words on the tip of your tongue feel less terrifying.

“Can we… do it again?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, and your stomach flipped as you realized how vulnerable you sounded.

Fred's lips quirked into a soft smile as his hand slid up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah,” he murmured, a soft laugh coloring his words as he brushed his nose against yours. “Yeah, we can do it again. As many times as you want.”

His lips found yours once more, and this time, there was no hesitation. Fred kissed you with more certainty, his hands firm as they traced the curve of your back, pulling you closer still. You could feel his quiet desire in the way he held you, the way his fingers flexed when you deepened the kiss.

You were glad that confession made its way out before you could stop it.

The next morning, you woke up with a strange mix of nerves and excitement bubbling beneath your skin. 

The day was finally here. 

The scene you’d been dreading—and quietly anticipating—was actually happening. But unlike the restless nights leading up to it, you felt more prepared. More steady.

You had filmed a few suggestive scenes with Fred before. As a syphilitic emperor, Caracalla had the propensity to be very comfortable and open in his desires. But you weren’t asked to be nude for any of those scenes, unlike this one. The complexity of not even speaking, yet being so exposed on screen was a little difficult to wrap your head around. 

This scene was supposed to depict you and Caracalla in the privacy of his lavish quarters when Joseph as Geta barges in and angrily informs his brother of Acacius and Lucilla's betrayal. You and Fred were to be undressed and only covered by sheets from the waist down. 

Clara, the intimacy coordinator, had explained that Fred would be leaned back in bed, propped up by a few pillows, while you sat in his lap. The scene would open with a close up shot of the two of you kissing gently, the camera slowly pulling back with you as you leaned back. Your lower bodies would be covered with various messy sheets, depicting the long night the characters had already had before the intrusion.

The scene was much more than physical, it was also meant to show the characters’ co-dependent nature. Even when his concubine was on him, he needed his hands to be on her, both showing his dominance and control over her as well as his reluctance to pull away.

Fred’s kiss lingered in the back of your mind like a warm ember, small but constant. While you still felt the nerves creep in when you thought about today’s shoot, there was a quiet confidence blooming alongside them.

When you arrived on set, you noticed immediately how different the atmosphere felt. The crew was smaller, the lighting dimmer—intentional choices to provide you with a layer of privacy. 

Clara was already on set, organizing the sheets and setting up the space. She glanced your way, smiling comfortingly, but she didn’t say anything. She knew of your apprehension and had been worried about you. But she noticed something new in you today. Maybe there was a shift in your energy or a slight lift in your posture, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she kept her observations to herself.

Fred was already there, standing near the bed where the scene would take place with Joseph. He smiled the second he saw you, that familiar softness in his expression grounding you more than anything else could.

“Morning,” he greeted, voice low and calm.

“Morning,” you replied, a shy tight lipped smile on your face as you stepped closer to him. Joseph greeted you but was quickly ushered away to his mark behind the door, not giving him enough time to notice the change between you and Fred. 

Clara approached you and spoke with her usual calm authority, a roll of skin-safe tape in hand. “Alright, let’s get these sheets secured,” she said, gesturing for you to adjust your robe.

But you stopped her with a small, assured smile. “I don’t think we’ll need the tape today.” Last night’s events forged a confidence deep within you. You knew your team had your back. You knew Fred had your back. 

Clara paused, blinking at you as if processing your words. Her sharp gaze flickered briefly to Fred, who stood a few feet away, his hands stuffed into his robe pockets. 

He tilted his head at your words, his brows furrowing slightly as he stepped closer. “You sure?” His voice was low, warm with concern.

You nodded, holding his gaze. “Yeah, I feel more confident now.”

Clara smirked faintly, a flicker of understanding in her expression, but she didn’t press. Fred’s gesture was subtle but telling. “Alright, just let me know if anything changes.” She said with a sense of finality before stepping away to oversee the set. 

Fred watched her retreat, then turned back to you with a concerned glint in his eye. He brushed your arm lightly to grab your attention. “You really don’t want the tape?” Fred asked again, his tone tinged with genuine care.

“Yeah,” You nodded with determination. “I can do it.”

He studied you for a beat longer, as if making sure you weren’t pushing yourself too hard, then smiled softly. “I’m proud of you.” 

“You helped.” You confessed in a whisper, a smile curling your lips upward.

“Yeah?” He asked in surprise, his grin only grew wider when you nodded in confirmation. “Glad I could be of service. We could sneak off and practice some more, if you’d like-”

“Fred!” You cut him off before he could say anymore, scandalised yet amused all the same. “You’re horrible!”

“And you’re cute, Lovie.” He smirked as an assistant pulled him away, cutting your conversation short. 

Another assistant pulled you forward as well, telling you to get into place so they could adjust the lighting based on your position. Fred smiled encouragingly at you from the bed he was laying in as you approached. An assistant helped you get into position, straddling Fred’s lap with your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. The position wasn’t unlike how you had found yourself last night in Fred’s trailer. With a quick glance into Fred’s eyes, you knew he was thinking the same thing.

The makeup artists fluttered around you, dabbing at your skin with soft brushes, unknowingly keeping the moment from becoming too intimate. The lighting crew adjusted their angles, the soft glow from overhead casting shadows that added depth to the space.

Fred’s hands found your waist instinctively, his thumbs brushing circles against the fabric of your robe. His touch was grounding, steady, and it calmed the last bit of tension lingering in your chest.

“You okay?” he asked, low enough that only you could hear.

You met his gaze, but your eyes kept drifting lower, to his lips. The memory of yesterday was still present at the forefront of your mind, your pulse quickened at the thought of doing it again.

Fred noticed immediately, a small chuckle escaping him. “You’re adorable.” He repeated his sentiment from earlier.

“I’m just—” You flushed, embarrassed at being caught. You were unable to find the words to explain the giddy excitement stirring in you. “I guess I’m excited to start.”

Fred’s smirk deepened, but he didn’t push it, not wanting to tease you any further. “Good.” His grip on your waist tightened subtly, the weight of his hands calming you.

As the cameras rolled, Fred’s lips found yours, his kiss was steady and deliberate, his hands guiding you gently as your body pressed closer to his. You pulled away from him when you heard your cue, the camera nearest to you swooshing in the air as it moved backwards. Soon enough, you heard the loud bang of the bedroom doors bursting open. You startled in Fred’s lap, the reaction a mix of yours and Lovie’s. For a brief moment, you weren’t acting on a set. It was just the two of you before Joseph barged in. 

Fred cradled you against his chest, covering your exposed form from Geta, like the scene called for. You couldn’t hear what Joseph was saying over the loud heartbeat in your ears, but you knew what the script expected of you and when. Fred’s warm skin and chest hair brushed against your arms as you huddled close to him. It was intoxicating. 

After the first take, you gently pulled back and shifted Fred’s position. “Keep your hands here,” you instructed, placing his hands firmly on your hips in view of the camera. “To show that he’s in control.”

“Okay,” he nodded, always open to your ideas. “You should try leaning into me more,” he added, his hands guiding your hips to tilt forward. “It makes it look like he’s really keeping her there.”

You furrowed your brows as you digested his notes. “Alright. Should I put more weight into it?”

“Yeah, exactly.” He nodded in encouragement. “Don’t hold back, I’ve got you.”

The next take felt even more intense. Fred’s hands pressed into your waist with more dominance. And you fell into him, relinquishing control, matching the energy you’d both discussed.

Between takes, he was quick to adjust the sheets, shielding you with practiced ease. Each touch lingered longer than necessary, his fingers brushing against your bare skin beneath the fabric, and every time you glanced up at him, his eyes held the same quiet intensity and kindness.

Joseph and Clara shared looks after each run through, the two of them noticing the shift in dynamic between the two of you.

“They’re different today.” Joseph whispered to Clara. 

“They’re more in sync.” Clara tilted her head as she observed the two of you. “Almost like…”

“Almost like they’ve been practicing.” Joseph smirked.

“About damn time, if you ask me.” Clara huffed, though amused all the same.

-

All these months later, and the memory was still fresh in your mind. And apparently, in someone else’s as well. “y/n?” Joseph’s voice broke the quiet hum of the green room. You were standing at the tea station, carefully deliberating over how much sugar and milk to add to your cup when he approached, his tone unusually hesitant. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” You didn’t look up, focused on swirling the tea in your cup. “As long as it’s not about my sugar-to-milk ratio, because I’ll have you know, it’s perfect.”

Joseph chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck. “No, it’s not that. It’s… uh…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “You can totally tell me to fuck off and mind my own business if you don’t want to answer.”

“I gotta hear the question first, Joseph,” you replied with a playful smile, still not turning to face him. “But I promise I won’t be offended.”

He took a deep breath. “Was Fred your first kiss?”

Your hand froze mid-air over the sugar tin, the question catching you off guard. You finally glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s just…” Joseph shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence replaced with something softer. “What you said back there—on stage—about cherishing the memory forever. It sounded a lot like you were talking about Fred.” He looked down at the tea he was fixing, his words careful, almost shy. “And honestly, it reminded me of that day on set.”

“What day?”

“When we filmed the scene in Caracalla’s bedroom.” His eyes flicked back to yours, searching for confirmation. “You and Fred were… different that day. There was this energy between you two, like something had changed. I thought maybe you’d finally, you know, come to your senses about each other, but what you said on stage—it made me wonder.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hiding the small smile tugging at your lips. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong.” You added a splash of milk to your tea. “We did come to our senses that day.”

Joseph’s eyebrows shot up, his curiosity piqued. “And… was he—you know…?”

You glanced at him, tilting your head in mock thought. “While I appreciate your sudden foray into investigative journalism,” you teased, “I think the answer to that question is classified.”

Before Joseph could reply, Paul’s voice cut through the moment. “Or…” he started, strolling toward you with an infuriating smirk. “The answer is a three-letter word.”

“Fuck off, Paul!” you shot back, your laughter bubbling up as you grabbed your cup of tea.

Joseph groaned, shaking his head at Paul. “You’re relentless.”

“And mean,” you added with a grin as you turned to head toward Fred, who had just entered the room and only caught the tail end of the conversation. He gave you an inquisitive look as he draped his arm over your shoulders.

“What are we cussing Paul out for this time?” Fred asked, his voice light and teasing. He leaned down, pretending to whisper conspiratorially, “What’d he do?”

“He’s mean,” you said with a giggle, your words laced with amusement. “Are you ready to leave?”

Fred nodded. “Yeah, the car’s waiting out back.”

“You’re leaving already?” Paul’s mock-pout followed you as you grabbed your bag.

“We’re literally seeing you guys at dinner in, what, two hours?” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

“And tomorrow morning,” Fred added, steering you toward the door. “Hopefully you’ll survive without us until then.”

As you walked out, Joseph’s amused voice reached you. “For the record, I’m still rooting for that classified answer.”

Fred glanced down at you, his brow raised. “What’s he talking about?”

“It’s nothing,” you said, stifling a laugh. “They’re just being nosy.”

Fred didn’t push, his signature crooked grin tugging at his lips as he leaned closer, his voice warm against your ear. “Well, whatever it is, I’m on your side.”

As always, you thought, smiling softly to yourself.

As you stepped out into the cool evening air, Fred’s arm still draped over your shoulders, you couldn’t help but glance up at him. The way he fit so effortlessly into your life—his steady presence, his quiet reassurances—made you wonder how you ever doubted his feelings for you. Looking back now, it seemed almost ridiculous. Every glance, every touch, every word had been there all along, waiting for you to notice.

“Ready?” he asked softly, opening the car door for you and offering you a hand.

You nodded, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at his antics. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

How could you not be, when everything he did made it so easy to fall for him?

[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!

[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?”

[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.

[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.✨