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dramamelon · 2 years ago

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For @polyshipweek 2023! ✨

Day 1: Road Trip Day 2: Second Chances Day 3: Bed Sharing

Completing the Connection

Day 4: Soulmates Rating: E (overall, but not until day 5) Characters: Drift, Ratchet, Rodimus, Thunderclash Pairing: thunderdratchrod Fandom: Transformers (IDW1) Tags: Minimal Editing, Romantic Fluff, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Polyamory, Flirting Fic Summary: As a still newly-minted foursome, they've come closer to one another, but one connection hasn't quite fully cemented itself just yet. A surprise retirement announcement from Thunderclash has Rodimus suggesting one last tour on the Exitus for all of them. Really, it's a chance to for a bit of vacation time with his partners on Cybertron's shanix. And maybe it might spur on a little more action between Thunderclash and Drift.

AO3 link in reblog! Sequel to Closest of Friends. :)

If there was one thing they did as a group that was almost perfect, Drift pegged it as the way they complemented each other in the pure ability to move in near-complete synchronicity. He knew the thing that kept them from perfection was himself. It wasn't the first time such a thing lay on his shoulders. It was, however, something that became entirely evident every time he landed in a berth—or on the couch, or on the table, or in the washrack, or on the floor, et cetera—not so inconspicuously nudged into the arms of Thunderclash. Something both Rodimus and Ratchet were guilty of arranging.

So it went, with him now perched astride Thunderclash's middle and his fingers playing along the edges of the frame around Thunderclash's central venting. Beside them on the berth, their partners pretended at being deeply involved with one another, Rodimus settled between Ratchet's thighs already and the two swapping oral lubricant as if the fate of the universe depended on it. However, the groping hands and too loud sexy murmurs were belied by the constant flicker of watching optics in their direction. Drift met Thunderclash's gaze and rolled his optics, smiling as he shook his helm.

"Can you believe the two of them?" he asked, flicking one audial flare in the direction of their berthmates. "It's like neither one of them remembers how romance and attraction works."

The low reverberation of Thunderclash's answering chuckle vibrated through Drift's intimate plating where it sat against the bigger mech's belly. Thunderclash's thick fingers played along the seams of the dark plating on Drift's thighs. It all sent to quiver through Drift's frame as Thunderclash replied, "Oh, absolutely. And both of us are quite well aware they very much know better."

Amusement hummed through Thunderclash's field, the bright tendrils tickling against the edge of Drift's field and pulling a laugh from him, as well. A laugh that grew louder as Rodimus pulled away from Ratchet to give them a pointed look as he said, "If the two of you would just fuck already without us being involved, Ratch and I might stop pestering you about it. Have you considered that?"

He made no attempt at relenting when Thunderclash and Drift both gifted him with pointed looks of their own. The standoff was quickly ended, though, when Ratchet pinched a cluster of wires in Rodimus' hip joint that never failed to have him yelping and begging for mercy. "Apologize, brat."

"No—yowch!" Rodimus squirmed atop Ratchet as their medic twisted those wires just a little bit harder. Drift bit his gloss on the laughter that threatened to escape him as he watched Rodimus curl his golden fingers around the edges of Ratchet's chest plating. With a hiss, Rodimus curled into the deepening pinch, his spoiler wings dancing with complaint matched by a high-pitched whine of static from his vocalizer. "Ratch, come on, babe! Stop it, stop it, stop it! I'm fucking sorry, all right?"

Astoundingly, it wasn't Drift that reached out to settle the tussle between the two of them, but Thunderclash, instead. He laid one big hand on Ratchet's forearm, letting it slip to brush along Rodimus' nearby thigh. "Hey, you two, as amusing as it is, is now really the time?"

Ratchet turned a cranky face on him, though it was much less annoyed than it had been before the touch. "He—"

"He apologized," Thunderclash finished for him, one of his soft smiles gentle on his kind face. Of all the things Drift was familiar with regarding the big mech, that was the one thing that never failed to melt just a little bit more the increasingly smaller part of him that was still hesitant to jump into something meaningful. "Maybe it wasn't the best of apologies, but we are talking about Rodimus."

"Dude!" Rodimus protested, pushing up to sit on his knees and obviously entirely unaware that Ratchet had given up his torture. "I give amazing apologies."

"Oh, really?" Ratchet replied, arching one orbital ridge high.

As Drift watched the bickering continue, something that would continue as long as Ratchet and Rodimus were within any sort of near proximity to one another, he knew he would have it no other way. A soft tapping along his thigh pulled him from his thoughts. It took a moment, but he realized Thunderclash was sweet talking him through chirolinguistics again. Something he often used with Ratchet and Rodimus, neither understanding more than a few words, Drift had never been the recipient himself.

His attention fully earned again, Drift gave Thunderclash an inquisitive look. He tilted his helm a little, audial flares perked in curiosity. Extending one claw, he slipped it between two vent blades, teasing just enough to make those still tapping fingers stutter against his armor. Drift smirked at the sudden widening of Thunderclash's optics and sheathed the talon again before walking his fingers up the long length of Thunderclash's torso. He folded his arms across that broad chest as he leaned down and just took in the shape of the mech's face. It was a good face, warm gold in color and long since healed of the scratches Drift had carved into the paint. His features were heavy and bold, broad and comfortable in a way that none of the rest of them could lay claim to. They were very nice to look at.

Drift shifted a hand and traced his fingertip around the curves of Thunderclash's mouth. His lips were soft and malleable under the touch. "You know, I talk a lot of slag," he murmured just loud enough for Thunderclash to hear. He modulated the hue of his optics to match the amused touch of lavender in Thunderclash's at the comment. "It's true. Just ask Ratty. He'll tell you all about it. That's not what I wanted to talk about right now, though."

Curiosity washed across Thunderclash's easy to look at face and his fingers stilled before those big hands slid up to settle around Drift's waist. They were warm and tingled with just the slightest hint of a confidence not quite entirely true. That was an unexpected surprise, but Drift found himself intensely pleased with the revelation. Not that he believed Thunderclash had ever bought into the Greatest Autobot hype, of course. Something of his pleasure must have gotten across Thunderclash, though, as his voice bore no sign of any self-doubt. "And just what subject did you have in mind?"

Casting another glance toward Rodimus and Ratchet, smirking at seeing they'd put aside their quibbles and watched the happenings between himself and Thunderclash. The intensity of their gazes, the brightness of the hope lighting their optics…. He looked back to Thunderclash and felt his spark squeeze in a tight twist and a dizzying dance of flutterwings in his fuel tank. Staring back at him from those vividly scarlet optics was the very same hope blended with a desire that went beyond the physical.

Stretching out his arms, Drift levered himself up to attain a small amount of distance. He rested his weight on his palms, pressed against Thunderclash's chest. Not once did his gaze stray from that of the mech beneath him, his attention quite fully captured. The flutterwings in his belly sent a quiver all through him. "Thunderclash?"

Maybe he couldn't actually read auras, like he so often brought up simply to push Ratchet's buttons in the easiest way possible, but there was something tangible in the swirl of tendrils of electromagnetic fields tangling all around him. Something deep. Thunderclash moved his right hand from Drift's hip upward to rest in the center of his chest, right over the space where his spark lay underneath. Slower than before, Thunderclash's fingers tapped words against his armor. With a soft sigh and an indulgent smile stretching across his face, Drift relaxed as the renewed tension fled his frame. He laid a hand over the top of Thunderclash's, stilling the movement of his fingers.

"You can say it out loud, you know," Drift told him, weaving his fingers between Thunderclash's. Giving a quick tilt of his helm toward Rodimus and Ratchet, he continued, "I'm pretty sure those two wouldn't mind."

Thunderclash's optics flicked to the other two mechs with them, returning a nano-klik later. The look of hope remained, shining perhaps a touch brighter in the realization he hadn't immediately been turned away. "Is it time, then?" Thunderclash asked in a quiet voice. "Have I earned your trust finally that you might consider giving yourself to me, might accept my offers of myself, with and without Rodimus and Ratchet?"

"Well, you've certainly done a better job of selling yourself than some mechs I've met over the vorns," Drift replied with a deeply amused edge to his tone. He guided Thunderclash's hand back down to the hip it had abandoned, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on Thunderclash's chest. Reminiscent of the swirls he'd once drawn in a drunken state across the big mech's face, Drift traced circles through the stylized wings of the technohawk enamel inlay that decorated that impressive stretch of torso. If Thunderclash thought he wouldn't feel the tiny shiver that passed through the plating beneath him, the mech was sorely mistaken. Drift's smile made a slow stretch across his face into a knowing grin, his orbital ridges quirking high with challenge. "Tell me, Thunderclash, do you think we've reached that point?"

"I'd like to think so," Thunderclash said, his hands giving Drift's hips a soft squeeze before slipping around behind to curve over the shape of Drift's backside.

Drift laughed and not so subtly lifted into the touch. Thunderclash had very good hands, big enough to hold him and make him feel small. The sort of feeling that sent waves of heat rising through his own frame and started his fans whirring. "Well, I guess it's good that I have gotten kind of soft on you, then." He dropped his helm low and pressed a kiss to the center of that technohawk. A soft hiss of air preceded a hot wash of interest from the big mech. Drift's smile curled high to one side, giving what he knew was a good flash of fang. It got him the rev of engine he knew it would—his Autobots definitely got off on danger. Those big hands on his aft squeezed a little harder and the thick pelvic span pushed up against him. Undeniably smug, Drift extended his claws on one hand and tapped them over that broad chest.

"Did you hear that? I heard that. I figured you were naughty judging by the company you keep. So glad to know I'm right," Drift said with a purr reminiscent of the other name he wore for so long. "Do you believe in fate, Thunderclash?" He scratched the first line of a complicated glyph into the center of the Autobrand set within the technohawk inlay. "In destiny?" A few more lines were added. "In soulmates?" The final line was added with a particularly deep scratch, lifting a curl of paint.

He watched Thunderclash's optics dash a look down to his chest, the tip of Thunderclash's glossa passing over his lips, before his gaze bounced back up to lock with Drift's. It was invigorating, the reaction one he didn't get from either his conjunx or his best friend. It was the sort of thing he could really get used to. If the depth of Thunderclash's belief didn't delve too deep, anyway. He couldn't take another Wing. Then Thunderclash answered. "No, I don't," the big mech said. "None of those are real. It's all just stories about people in bad situations looking for an easy out that people bored with what they have tell themselves."

Drift relaxed into Thunderclash's hold, letting himself drape over the larger frame, relieved. "Good answer," he said, his own engine throwing a steady hum that matched the pleased echoes in his field. "I might just have to keep you."

They exchanged a wry look and rolled their optics at the cheering from the pair on the other side of the berth.

#polyshipweek23 #maccadam #dratchet #thunderrod #thunderdratchrod #ratchet #thunderclash #this took forever to get ready because i needed to finish up my tfbb outline & summary #but here we go!#the smuttening starts with the next prompt #drift | deadlock #hot rod | rodimus

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deny-the-issue · 1 year ago

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As Above So Below

Chapter Eight: Back Breaker

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As Above So Below Masterlist

Summary: You help with the barrier's construction, explore the shady Topside shop, and receive a just reward.

The Smuttening is here!!! I hope you all enjoy! Make sure you re-read chapter 7!!! I rewrote it completely!

AO3 Link

Ko-fi Link

Taglist: @arcaneincorrectquotess, @lazycondensedmilk, @zauns-eye, @crunchlite, @alva-dore, @roxannadanna831, @astudyincontrasts, @mmartos, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @juniper-sunny, @roxnpens, @a-gal-with-taste, @artwithvivien, @leave-me-alone-doctor @fantadym

[Explicit Language] [Demon!Silco] [Silco x reader] [silco x fem!reader] [vaginal sex] [oral sex] [edging]

It was tedious work at first, installing the new barriers. Well, you guessed it was. Ekko forced you to rest after hearing about your ordeal, earning you the loathed title, ‘Supervisor’.

So there you sat, shouting out orders with as little animosity as possible. But no matter how snippy your words became, the workers all regarded you with the utmost respect.

It seriously pissed you off.

What did you do to earn a place among them, as well as their respect? It makes as much sense to you as why Grim would choose to sit beside you for his lunch every day, despite your confused silence. He never greeted you either.

On a particularly strenuous day of back-breaking lounging, you sigh and sit up from your crumpled position, cracking your back loudly as it snaps into the correct posture. Grim glances your way and quickly returns to eating his sandwich, earning your interest.

“Alright, I’ll bite - heh, get it?” you laugh as he cringes, and you continue with one hand gesturing to the food, “Why here?”

He looks down at the food, showing his youth in his plump face as he grasps the meaning of your question. Nervous hands start to pick at the sandwich’s contents as he speaks.

“Well–you know–how you uh–I mean,” he trails off, sinking into himself.

��It’s alright,” you attempt to soothe, feeling way out of your depth.

But you also feel a longing to help the boy; it’s a faint pull of the heart when he loses confidence that has your hand reaching out to gently touch his shoulder. Snapping out of the strange, maternal-like state, you quickly pull back your rogue hand to sit in patient silence.

“I just,” he starts cautiously, voice wavering. After a deep breath, he flies out of his chair, whipping around to face you properly, sandwich in hand.

“You risked your life to help others - that’s awesome. Like, totally badass ninja-type shit!”

A piece of meat slides off his sandwich, no doubt jostled from his exuberant display, and falls to the rocky ground with a wet slap, completely ruining his sudden bravado.

Your lips thin as you suppress a smile, but when he slumps forward in defeat, your snort breaks the loaded silence. He cracks a smile, outright grins, then joins laughing, fierce and full of joyous mirth.

You both laugh so hard that tears fill your eyes, and every time you make eye contact another spurt resurfaces, bubbling up uncontrollably and rendering you both useless. Sitting back to back is the only way you can catch your breath, and even then, you do it with a grin so wide your face starts to ache.

Along with oxygen, pesky thoughts return to your brain, causing the smile to fade away. Maybe sitting too long has made you cranky, but you feel the need to say it anyway.

“Don’t look up to me kid; I’m about the furthest thing from a role model you could get. Smart people take the safest path. What I did was reckless, and one wrong step could have been the difference between life and just another corpse in the gutter. Do you understand?”

Brow furrowed, he sticks his bottom lip out while he thinks, then shrugs when he looks at you, agreeing half-heartedly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

You nod, satisfied with his answer. You're not responsible for him, after all. You have no right to teach this kid with your fucked-up version of morality, no matter how much he grows on you.

“One last piece of wisdom -”

“Janna, you’re worse than Ekko,” he interrupts, rolling his eyes into next year.

“No, listen! It’s the most important thing you’ll ever hear, I promise.”

Grim sighs deeply but gives you his attention anyway.

“Next time,” you place your hands on his shoulders to give weight to your statement, looking deep into his eyes, “hang on to your salami!”

You almost fall with how fast he pulls from your grasp, whipping away with an exasperated huff.

“It was for dramatic effect!” he shouts back at you as he stomps away, his angry voice laced with the amusement plain on his face.

A smile comes to yours easily, and your next breath starts with a chuckle.

Shit, I think I care for the kid.

A month passes quickly, and before you know it, the barriers are finished and you’re fully healed.

You didn’t spend the whole month in the chair, you’re proud to say. Thanks to Silco’s magic, you were back to the picture of health within two weeks.

The little village was your home for that time, and you hadn’t slept so wrong in your life as under the verdant canopy of the tree. Thoughts of Silco pervaded your mind, and the feeling of missing out - missing him, prevented any kind of restful sleep.

Each night after, you retired to your home and hoped he would visit you, in dreams or otherwise. But he remained aloof, and you can’t help but worry you pushed him away, even from your sleeping mind.

Just like you have with every relationship in the past.

Perhaps he doesn’t know what to say, just like you. What would you talk about, really? You have yet to go to the shop, and you’re definitely not ready to talk about whatever you’ve been feeling lately.

Distance is for the best, you suppose.

Ekko’s hand rests on your shoulder, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Are you alright, kid?”

You stand up straight and nod, “Yeah! Sorry.”

“You’re standing in front of your finished grand plan and your head’s topside!” Ekko gestures wildly to the steel plate in front of you.

You smile at his enthusiasm but shake your head at the credit given.

You point at the stout man inspecting the barrier with a broad, proud grin on his face as if he’s looking at his crowning achievement. “Talking about it and constructing it are completely different. The credit should go to him.”

“I’m just the handyman,” the man grunts, smile disappearing into his rugged goatee as he turns away from the barrier, satisfied with his work.

“A handyman that owns a construction company, who funded all of this out of his own pocket,” you point out and he shrugs, continuing to walk away.

“You could just say ‘thank you’,” Ekko teases, patting the man’s back as he passes, wishing him well before returning to you.

“You did a good thing - you see that, right?”

The weight of where you’re standing begins to sink in as your mind grasps for a reply.

The air was toxic in this tunnel until a few days ago, all thanks to the information you brought from the depths of the undercity. Information you brought. You.

Your eyes turn to the barrier and you touch the cool steel, a stark contrast to the warmth that’s filling your heart. A tear runs down your cheek and you quickly rub it away, only for more to follow. You sniffle quietly and hide your face from Ekko, thoroughly embarrassed and confused.

He pulls you into a hug, chuckling softly as he cradles your head to him, warm hands rubbing your back.

“It’s alright, let it out,” he soothes, and you hiccup into his shoulder as you choke back a sob.

You hug him loosely at first, unsure, and then the wave of emotion lurches and you’re clinging to him like a beacon in a storm, sobbing like a helpless child.

He holds you until your turbulent waters have calmed, leaving his shirt stained with the evidence of your heart.

“S-sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you mumble, hugging yourself when you pull out of his embrace.

“There’s nothin’ to apologize for! Now, don’t be a stranger; you’re always welcome here,” he pats your back reassuringly with a kind smile and shuffles off toward the village for his daily afternoon nap.

You smile softly and nod, staying by the barrier even as Ekko retreats. You’re not sure why you broke down like that, but you’re glad of it, in a strange way. The calm after the storm relaxes your body, washing away the tension you didn’t know you were keeping, and releasing the feelings you didn’t notice festering.

I like this version of me.

It’s an agonizingly sunny day topside, the type of day that makes your eyes scream, hiss, and water even through your sunglasses. The cool breeze from the river cools the little beads of sweat forming along your hairline, and you close your eyes as you lean into it, letting it soothe your discomfort, if only for a moment. The breeze cuts off, and you sigh heavily, fanning yourself with a flier you snatched along the way.

It’s definitely the place you’re looking for; you can tell by the sort of people that come and go. They’re the same sort employed at Mort’s, people on the edge of society due to desperation in one form or another. But watching them earns you no new information; It only confronts you with the reality that waits for you after all this is over.

There has to be a better way to find what Silco wants.

Leaning back into the shade of the alley, you start to hate the very brick the shop is made of. It’s hot, sunny, and crowded. All things you try to avoid in one place. Why in Janna’s name did you agree to this?

You growl and kick the wall with your heel, releasing just a tiny bit of tension built over hours of watching the shop called, “Plover’s Temp Services”. You’re no sleuth. Otherwise, you would have tried your luck at night. A brick is your lockpick, and you doubt you want to end up on these people’s radar.

The thought sparks a bad idea; If the shop were very obviously broken into, they would send someone they trust to investigate, someone you can tail. And you wouldn’t actually be robbing the place, so it should be easy to remain out of sight. Your eyes drop to the ground for the first time in hours, and as you blink away fatigue, you spy a damaged brick on the other side of the alley.

Are you going to be my friend tonight? I think so.

You smile a bit too wide, thrilled by the idea of breaking something but relieved to get out of this unusual seasonal heat. Back home, it is. If only to get a few hours of sleep before Project: Fuck Around and Find Out commences.

Sleep comes easily. You suppose you have the excursion to thank for that. Despite the darkness you wake in, you feel positively wired, rushing out of bed the moment your eyes open. The digital clock you’ve bought since your phone’s demise shines green in the dark room, telling you it’s the perfect time for sabotage.

The air cooled to a tolerable, almost chilly, temperature, making your night walk to the elevator pleasant. As you climb topside on the slow lift, the moon shines brightly down at you with a million stars twinkling in the night sky. Your eyes widen in wonder, and you remain in awe as you leave the lift, taking a moment to lose yourself in the unfathomable depths of space.

Maybe there are some merits of being topside.

You connect lines of stars and try to recall their names from your school days but come up woefully blank. There’s always time to learn them; you resolve to learn the constellation names after you help Silco.

Would he learn them with you?

The thought brings a hopeful smile to your lips and leaves a lingering warmth in your heart as you come upon the shop. You duck into the alley, retrieve the brick with a gloved hand, and stop just before entering the street, destination in view. The adrenaline amplifies every ambient noise, but you focus your mind and listen through it.

It makes sense that a district as commercial as this would be so quiet in the dead of night, but you hope there aren’t any guards or police patrolling. You look left and right, peeking out of the alley before pulling up your hood, and rush to the shop’s side as if its walls would protect you. A cold sweat slicks your brow as you peer into the side window to see the main room of the shop.

Your legs begin to shake the longer you hang around in the open, and you breathe a shaky sigh of relief as you spy metal filing cabinets through the back window. An uneasy knot forms in your stomach, full of anxious little wasps.

Should you really be doing this? Should you be committing a crime for a man you barely know, even for a good reason?

You’re standing, breathing, alive, because of him. Knowing him isn’t necessary, you decide, as the brick smashes through the window with a brilliant CRASH. You quickly swipe along the upper ledge with the brick, clearing the glass before gently placing it on the ground. The latch flips with ease and the window opens with a triumphant squeak.

With a job well done, you start to run away before slowing your pace to listen to your surroundings. It seems this section isn’t well protected at night; no one was immediately alerted. It didn’t stop your heart from nearly pounding out of your chest, or your hands from shaking.

You hide nearby in an alleyway with multiple exit routes and attempt to bring your panting under control. Closing your eyes, you slowly but shakily breathe through your nose and out your mouth, hugging yourself to keep your hands still.

What did I just do?

Maybe it’s the kindness Silco showed, or your recent accomplishment with the barriers, but the toxic thoughts fade away as soon as your breathing slows. An eerie calm washes over your mind, steadying your hands and heart.

You know why, dammit. They can’t be allowed to send this city slipping into the past by polluting its very foundation. And once you find out who they are, your demon will do the rest.

Wait, is that right? He’ll kill them just like he massacred the factory workers. Wouldn’t it be more beneficial to take this to the elected council?

You dwell on the thought for a moment before dismissing it entirely.

With what proof? And besides, they may want to punish Silco for what he did and find me complicit.

With a defeated sigh, you settle in with your back against the wall, alert and waiting for the city to awaken and find your dirty deed.

“What in Janna’s name?!” a man shouts, startling you from your sleepy trance.

You wipe the drool from the corner of your mouth as you hear the man curse, keys jingling as he presumably opens the front door. That’s your cue!

The sky is paling with the first light of the day, and the city is just beginning to stir, you notice through sleep-filled, squinted eyes as you rise from your crumpled position. There must be a bakery nearby, and the scent of fresh bread makes your stomach grumble while you sneak closer to Plover’s. You stay in the dark alley, out of sight but within earshot. Lucky for you, The shop’s door has a distinct chime, easily told apart from the others—no need to stick your neck out any further.

Some time passes, and you can blend in on the busy street within line of sight, but far enough to not be conspicuous. You even pick up a newspaper and fake reading it just to be sure.

As expected, the first visitor to the shop is not an enforcer, but a man in plainclothes. He darkens Plover’s doorstep, and a thin nervous man runs to the door, greeting him with anxious hospitality. The visitor says something that sours the shopkeeper’s face before sidestepping the mouse of a man to enter the small building.

You lose sight of him inside and can’t help but feel disappointed. His brimmed hat obscured his important features–you would have to wait to see his face. The plan is to tail him, anyway–why are you so restless?

The visitor’s presence sets off your inner alarm, telling you to run. It’s probably because he’s looking for you, the one who smashed the window.

You read the paper in bite-sized increments, eyes glancing up at the shop with every paragraph. After a time, Shadows approach the door faster than you’re expecting, and the visitor swings the front door wide open and peers out as if looking for something, or someone.

Quickly turning, you blend into a nearby group walking away from Plover’s, and with fisted hands, you keep your wits about you.

You saw his face, clear as day, and it’s not the first time. He’s a regular at Mort’s. You remember making his foul deeds disappear. More than that, you’ve seen the badge he keeps in his inner pocket when he flashed it to your boss on one of his many visits.

Long, perfect hair tied back, so black it reflects blue light, and a face that could curdle milk with two beady, lifeless eyes. House Ferros sent their infamous fixer, Sine, to investigate a simple broken window. Panic electrifies your movements, barely stopping yourself from bolting to the elevator to get away from the man unseen.

How could you be so stupid? Your nails dig into the palms of your hands punishingly.

I’m connected to this. I’ve always been connected to it.

Just as the lift is in sight, you hear someone shout your name. You freeze, terrified. Do you run? Wouldn’t that be more suspicious? A breath later, you turn to the source.

Grim comes hurdling out of the crowd and playfully punches your shoulder.

“One second slower, and I would’ve gotten you good!” he exclaims with a smile as radiant as the sun.

You stop yourself from looking behind you and instead lead Grim off to the side, out of Sine’s view.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, looking in the direction you dare not before turning to you with a sly grin. “Did you do something fun?”

You laugh and shake your head, “Yeah, sure, kid-”

“ELIJAH CROCKET, YOU GET AWAY FROM HER THIS INSTANT!” A woman shouts as she sprints to you.

You forget the danger behind you with the woman charging toward you like an angry bull, with eyes just as frightening. Grim shrinks beside you, face flush with embarrassment as the woman puts herself squarely in front of you.

Her blond hair frames one side of her face perfectly while the other obscures, hiding a familiar, but faded scar across her forehead. You back away from the woman quickly, putting more distance between mother and cub. The sticky thorns of guilt wrap around your heart, and you look to the ground, unable to meet her gaze.

You gave her that scar.

Your feet stumble as you blindly back away toward the lift, hands clutching the hem of your shirt nervously.

“S-sorry, I didn’t know!”

“I don’t want your fucking apology! Go back to where you belong!” she yells, throwing a protective arm around Grim.

You bow your head, turn around, and sprint to the elevator. Shaking hands mash the button repeatedly, only stopping when the doors begin to close. Pacing the length of your enclosure like a caged animal, the situation plays in your head again and again.

“I didn’t know!”

A quiet sob shakes your body as the panic, guilt, and anger course through you as new as the day you decided to bludgeon her with that trophy. The feelings build to the point of no return, and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to breathe. Unsteady hands run through your hair as you pace, muttering empty affirmations.

There is no stopping the eruption this time, and with a cry, your fists collide with the metal door. You clutch your hands to your chest and fall back against the wall, your heavy breathing drowning out the rumbles and creaks of the lift descending.

Numb, then stinging, your knuckles burn to the tune of your heartbeat, undoubtedly shredded. But your mind is quiet, rendered silent from your violent display, thoughts swirling endlessly.

What she said is true.

The lift lurches to a stop, brakes squealing, and doors roll open with a ding. You lift your head slowly and stare at the Undercity, its buildings empty and neglected.

I do belong here.

You sigh heavily and put one foot in front of the other until you’re in the fresh air of the lanes. Standing still, you close your eyes to feel the soft breeze on your skin so much cooler down here than on the surface.

I came between her and her child; with a past like ours, her reaction was warranted.

Ekko will have something to say about this. You don’t know what, but you’re sure you don’t want to deal with it right now.

The promise of a shower carries you home instead of to Silco, and the warm waters wash away the last of the emotional grime clouding your mind. It allows you to focus on the only event that matters.

You suppose the outburst from Grim’s mother could have called Sine’s attention to you, but you no longer care about the consequences. How would he know your face, anyway? The masks protect you from more than just blood.

Grabbing the disinfectant, you grimace as you pour it over your knuckles, then cautiously dry them with a clean washcloth before wrapping them in gauze. The dull ache feeds your irritation.

Are people not allowed to change? Are you not allowed to change?

A couple of decades isn’t enough time, apparently. You’re rotten to the core.

Perfect bait for a demon.

The thought should make you feel, well, damned, but you let out a breathy laugh, cracking a wicked smile.

There are people in this world who know your worth, and that’s enough for you to move on with only a pang of guilt remaining in your chest.

A strategic choice in undergarments later, and you’re strutting to Silco’s with singular intent.

You’re going to get your due.

Technically, you declined that part of the bargain, but you hope with every fiber of your being that it’s still on the table. But hope doesn’t stop you from chewing your lip anxiously as you arrive on his doorstep.

You lift your hand to knock when the hair on the back of your neck stands on end.

“Hello, stranger,” you greet, turning toward him with a warm smile.

Silco eyes you for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“It’s been a while.”

His chest almost brushes yours as he reaches past you to open the door, eyes never leaving you. The attention makes your skin bristle, and you almost lose yourself in his intoxicating scent, leaning back against the door. The open door.

“Shit!” you cry out as you lose your footing.

Silco is quick to catch you with one strong arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you to him.

“Careful,” he taunts as he walks you backward and swings the door shut with his foot.

He removes a strand of hair from your face and gingerly traces your jawline with his claw before taking your chin between forefinger and thumb.

“Do you have something for me?” he purrs, thumb ghosting over your lower lip.

“I found what you’re after.�� You’re quick to answer, and after you muster the courage, you continue. “The real question is–do you have something for me?”

Your mouth parts, and you kiss his thumbpad, long and slow, tempting him with a flutter of your eyelashes. His eyes darken as you drag the tip of your tongue along his digit, and a visible shiver runs through him when you gently suck it into your mouth.

How long has it been for him? When was the last time he was touched so intimately?

A vein bulges in his forehead when you pull his thumb out with a pop and move on to kiss his palm, trailing up his wrist. It breaks your heart how touch-starved he is, and you look at him, pleading.

Something in him snaps, and he pushes you against the wall with a sneer, claws digging into your waist. You can feel the way his grip trembles like a rockfall just before it caves.

“I may hurt you,” he bares his teeth as he rests his forehead against yours, chest heaving.

“That’s half the fun.” You barely have a chance to smile before he lifts you, hands gripping just under your ass.

A flutter of heat erupts at the clothed contact, but he gives you no time to enjoy it. Arms and legs wrapped around him tight, he carries you upstairs faster than any human could. The bedroom door bursts open, the wooden frame splintering, but Silco couldn’t care less. With eyes only for him, you’re surprised when he kneels on a bed before releasing you to fall the rest of the way. Your ass hits the bed, and where there should have been a spring, there’s a deafening crack.

Silco’s arms cage you in on the mattress as the bottom two legs give out, dropping the mattress into a permanent tilt. You stare into each other's eyes with bewilderment before you break into infectious laughter amidst the cloud of dust. Silco cracks a smile, and the crows’ feet around his teal eye crinkle beautifully with amusement.

“All according to plan,” he defuses, rising from the bed to gather some bedding.

“Riiight,” you sass, laughter turning into a cough from the dust.

Silco’s eye narrows, but his face remains as stoic as ever while he begins to pile the blankets in between the bed and the floor. Frowning, he seems to think about something before it clicks with a slight upturn of his mouth.

“Wha - HEY!” You grip the sheets as he lifts the mattress just over the lip over the frame and releases again, leaving you to slide the rest of the way to the floor with the mattress.

Okay, maybe he does have a plan.

Silco tops the blanket padding off with pillows, and then wraps his hands around your ankles, thumbs massaging soothing circles into your skin. “Do you trust me?”

You bite your lip, you nod, interest thoroughly piqued. He reaches, grabbing your chin firmly.

“Say it.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and your mouth begins to salivate.

“I trust you,” you say softly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

He leans on the bed and caresses your cheek, face inches from yours. “Good girl.”

It could have been a trick of the light, but an almost imperceptible stream of shadow leaves his mouth as he speaks. Within a blink, it’s gone, probably imagined. Real or not, your thighs quiver with his affirmation, and you kiss him passionately, hands gripping his vest. Tongues and teeth collide clumsily as his claws rip your shirt off, your nipples hardening into sensitive buds as hot skin hits ambient air. He barely stops to admire the view before descending on you, covering each breast with sloppy kisses of worship that leave you wet and wanting.

“If I had known you were this sweet, I would have indulged sooner.”

A sharp pain digs into your breast, and you cry out, yanking his head back by his hair instinctually. He looks at you with such unabated horniness that you stay your crude remarks and inspect the damage. Only his fangs punctured your skin, leaving a perfect impression of his teeth surrounding your nipple like a fucked up faery circle.

His bark has bite, you find yourself thinking with a grimace that fades into a blissful smile. His face falls as he watches a tiny amount of blood bead to the surface, then bows his head apologetically, soothing the mark with a kiss.

“Do you still wish to fuck a demon?” he asks sternly, looking into your eyes with dark sincerity.

“Silco, if you don’t fuck me tonight, I’ll do a lot worse than bite you.”

Your words melt the tension taking root in his face, replacing it with amusement as he takes hold of your ankles and lifts. You claw at the sheets unsuccessfully as he rotates you so your head and the tops of your shoulders lay on the floor pillows, your body following the upward tilt of the bed.

The perks of the position are revealed when he kneels, one knee on either side of your head, and slowly unbuttons his trousers. You can feel the warmth of him even through the rich fabric.

His eyes never leave your face as he pulls himself free sinfully slow. The anticipation could never have prepared you for this. For him. thicker than any you’ve ever seen with small ridges running down the length, bulging slightly in the middle, and dangling beautifully just above your awe-gaping mouth.

“Hm… no witty remark? What’s the matter, darling? Demon caught your tongue?” he shifts closer, cock swinging like the most impressive pendulum you’ve ever seen. You lift your head and catch him in your mouth, a cushion of warm, wet paradise that is your lips and tongue. He hisses between clenched teeth, his good eye closing as his other rolls up to the ceiling, forgetting himself for a blissful moment as you tease him with your tongue. When his eyes find yours again, he distractedly caresses your cheek as his other finds a hold under the waistband of your sweatpants. He barely has to pull to tear them off you, slightly dry-rotted fabric adding static to the rip.

And when he gets a good look at your equally holy underwear, he frowns, pulling back so his cock slips from your mouth, dripping with your saliva.

“Do you normally wear such ragged clothes?”

“Perforated for convenience and chosen very carefully,” you say with a naughty smile, hands gripping the backs of his thighs to pull his hips closer.

“In that case…” he tears your panties off with ease and parts your legs greedily, head bowing to mark your inner thighs with tongue and teeth.

Both hands grip your legs tight, claws leaving pinpoint imprints in the most delightful of patterns to rival that of his mouth. Slowly at first, and you take him until you’re on the edge of choking–until a little grunt escapes his lips, setting you afire with such lust you pull him closer with all your might, swallowing his girth with an ambition you never knew you had.

Your fervor is met in kind with the devil's tongue delving stimulating you in ways you never knew possible. Twin moans, one distorted and the other muffled, all filled with the divine taste of each other. Forked tongue slips between your folds, dragging your dripping delight into a slick swirl around your peeking bud, causing thighs to quiver and rhythms to stutter.

You whine as he pulls back, resting his head against your thigh to gaze at your pretty, stretched mouth, his chin dripping with your desires. “Should I fuck your pretty mouth, pet? Would you like that?”

You sing around his cock, bobbing your head in an emphatic, albeit improvised nod.

Eyes closed against the onslaught of movement, your hands grab lower on his legs for more stability. You tilt your head back, wanting him deeper inside you, deeper than you can manage; all that pervades your thoughts is more, more, more. Even as your lungs burn and head swims. You’d rather have him than air. The need is greater, pooling between your legs and dripping into your frothed brain.

“Eager, aren’t we? You’re throbbing for me,” he growls, each panting breath washing over your aching sex, hot as hellfire.

You catch his smile framed by the strings of saliva still connecting his cock to your mouth as you take in well-deserved air, just for it to be forced back out again when he expertly latches onto your touch-deprived clit.

Your toes curl, and your eyes roll back. Suction and heavenly flicking strum a euphoric chord, sending you fluttering, quivering, and bucking with only his hands holding you in this world. And where you would have flown over the edge, you find your wings clipped. Among the worldly pleasures, something else is there guarding your entrance into the blissful beyond.

Your mouth opens to speak, to ask, but as soon as you find the words, his cock is the only thing on your lips. The never-ending build of pleasure fuels your every movement, content to memorize every last ridge with the gentle trace of your tongue.

How long you teased him, only your sore mouth can tell as he pulls from you with a pop. A whimper leaves your pouting, chapped lips, eyes too locked on the bulging veins on his cock to notice the one on his forehead.

“Just fuck me, Silco! Use me! I’m yours. P-please!” you beg, almost at the point of tears, your body screaming for his touch.

“Who am I to resist such succulent temptation?” He rises to his full height, towering over you with darkness obscuring the finer details of all but the inner flame of his corrupt eye.

Strong hands guide your knees to your chest until you struggle to hold the position and start to crumple, head over heels. This was part of the plan as well, it seems. He pins you like that, straddling your hips, knees pushing into the soft mattress for support as he crouches.

His cock lies hot and heavy across your ass, leaving a trail of sticky precum as he aligns it with your flower. Velvety head slips across slick folds, and you hardly recognize the wanton whimper that escapes your swollen lips as it brushes against your clit. With each thrust, the tip threatens to slip inside, driving you mad with each carefully measured failure.

“Are you sure you can take me?” he asks sweetly.

You know he can feel the tremor in your thighs. See the way you open for him, and clench upon deceit. Yet, through the slick noises of his cock sliding along your folds, he asks.

“Yes!” you gasp, “Yes, yes, ye–!”

He pushes in slowly, the tip stretching you more than anything you’ve taken before. Something inside you screams to break, cord so taut its tune is near inaudible. Ears ringing, body thrumming to every minute twitch, you plead and beg for more.

No combination of sounds or words sways his movements, always giving you more time than you deem necessary to adjust until he’s nestled deep inside, one large hand on either cheek, holding your pussy to him like the fuck toy you are.

The quiver in your legs spreads to your hands as yet another wave of a climax denied leaves you pulsating around his cock, begging for more.

“Good girl, take all of me,” he purrs.

Through the small window his body makes before he slides back into your greedy cunt, you see his face get a little more ruined with each thrust. Hair falling forward, sweat beading down his temples, a small quiver in his thighs, the glimpse of chipped teeth through his open, panting mouth, the far-away, feral look in his mismatched eyes as he grows ever harder. You love all of it. All of him. Inside of you and without.

“Your cock–hnn–belongs in me,” the words slip out of your mouth as you think them, brain so close to bliss you’re surprised you can speak at all.

Silco can only growl in response, pounding into you ever faster, chasing his pleasure.

There’s a constant tremble in your legs now, with a stream of whimpering moans pushed out of you as he reaches unclaimed depths within. Chipped teeth bared, his breathing ragged, hips snapping, losing all their grace as he starts to unravel.

Losing himself in the storm, his head leans on the mattress as a third support while his claws dig into you. With one last thrust, he pulls you flush against him, cock buried so deep inside you can feel the pulse of him throughout your entire body as he comes.

Almost whimpering as he rocks his cock deep inside of you, his hips twitch as he comes down from the high. When he begins to pull out, you protest, clenching around him with all of your might. His hand smacks your ass playfully, and the delicious sting distracts you long enough for him to pull free, past the point you had any hope of holding onto anything but his seed filling you with a tingly warmth.

Disappointment starts to nestle into your chest, but it only takes one look at his devilish face to know the night isn’t over.

“Open wide,” he commands, teal eye glinting mischievously in the moonlight.

Your body obeys before your mind can process, opening your mouth with the tip of your tongue resting just past your bottom lip. Silco doesn’t keep you guessing for long, tilting your hips forward. It’s not just your mouth he means, you realize. Releasing your muscles, his cum drips from your flower into your open mouth.

The salty sweetness of his release coats your tongue in an otherworldly warmth. Your eyelids bat close as you swallow, the heat enveloping your stomach, and before long, your whole body is burning with desire. His cock twitches at the sight, retaining every last bit of hardness, and with a proud, lopsided grin pulling his scarred cheek upward, he speaks.

“Since you have been such a good little slut, I think it’s time I let you come, don’t you?”

In a flash, he rotates you, head now right-side-up and resting on the mattress. He’s quick to cage you in, even faster to catch your lips in a passionate kiss as he settles in between your legs. One hand holds your legs high on his hip as he grinds the head of his cock against your stiff little clit, your hips canting with each pass.

“I want to see you fall, my angel,” he breathes into your ear, his damned voice still echoing in your mind as he parts you again, pushing into you with little resistance.

You sigh in relief, feeling him fill you again. Somehow he feels like home. Your hands trail down his torso and cup his small ass, pulling him impossibly deep.

Sweat-slick bodies stick to each other, your hips bucking, cock reaching just the right spot inside, clit grinding against his abdomen. The edges of your vision fade to black, leaving only lust and want to guide yourself over the edge. You almost expect it to keep climbing to unknown heights, unable to pass whatever barrier has held you together until now.

Fantastically wrong, the tides carry you away so strong you can only cling to Silco as you ride out your long-awaited pleasure. Tears sting your eyes, and the overstimulation sets your body ablaze, but you continue to chase it. Rocking hips give way to another climax, and you cry out his name, hands shaking.

Silco’s strong, slender arms wrap around you, holding your quivering body tightly to him, hands gently massaging your back while he whispers words of affirmation to softly catch you as you fall from the heights of ecstasy.

So warm is his embrace that you drift into sweet unconsciousness to the dulcet tones of his voice.

“My beautiful, fallen angel…”

Next Chapter

#silco x reader #silco x you #silco #arcane #smut #silco arcane #smut with plot #fanfic #fanfiction #silco fanfic #as above so below #AASB #no y/n

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