#need to watch scar next and then a few others as well

[willow505breaker]

The sun was shining over the city park. Grian and Scar sat on a blanket under the shade of a large oak tree. Pearl and Gem had been tossing a frisbee back and forth, Jimmy trying to catch it from between the two girls. The air was cool with a sweet summer breeze that made Grian shiver, causing Scar to lean closer to his boyfriend and wrap an arm around Grian’s shoulders.

Grian and Scar became engrossed in a conversation about this and that, switching from topic to topic as Scar would get distracted. While the two chatted away in the shade, Pearl had accidentally thrown the frisbee a little too far to the left. That plus the strong wind had caused the disc to fall into the small lake nearby where the group had settled. Pearl let out a heavy sigh, noting the distressed look on Jimmy’s face as the disc hit the water, floating gracefully.

"Well, there goes that game,” she begins, looking from the water to Gem and Jimmy ahead of her. “What should we do now?” She asks the other two, quickly changing topics.

Gem let out a groan and walked over to Pearl by the edge of the lake, Jimmy following after, if a bit nervous in his movements.

"Oh, come on, Pearl. It’s not that far out.” Replied Gem, insisting they can get the frisbee back.

Pearl shook her head, not keen on the idea.

“Maybe not, but I don’t think any of us want to get wet trying to get it back.”

Gem and Pearl continued back and forth, Jimmy choosing to ignore the lovers quarrel in favor of staring out at the water. He looked at the disc, only a few feet out. Jimmy could feel the pit form in his stomach at the thought of going into the water. It was just then that he decided to tune into Pearl and Gem’s conversation. He swore he could feel his heart drop at what he heard.

"Jimmy, get it!” Shouted Gem with an amused laugh. It wasn’t until the air around him turned freezing that Jimmy realized he had been pushed into the lake.

Jimmy struggled, his arms waving and flapping about, trying to get above the water. Everything around him had become a blur as he struggled and gasped for air, panic filling his body as he fought to escape the lake. His wings spread, trying to fly away, but no matter what he did, the water weighed heavy on him.

Grian had heard it before he saw it. A splash and then screams. He had felt a shiver run down his spine, his eyes widening and forcing his attention away from Scar. Before Grian could even think he was up and running for the lakeside, Scar was close behind. By the time Grian made it over, Pearl had already dragged Jimmy out of the water and onto the bank, both soaking wet. Gem looked scared and guilty.

“What the hell happened!?” Grian had shouted, dropping to his knees next to Pearl, who held Jimmy close. He was still gasping for air as tears tracked down his face. Jimmy held onto Pearl desperately, needing something to help ground him.

“Gem.” Came Pearl’s voice, her anger barely hidden beneath a dead calm. “We need to talk.”

Gem couldn’t muster the strength to speak and instead gave a shaky nod of agreement to her lover. Gem watched as Pearl carefully moved Jimmy to lay in Grian’s arms before standing and grabbing Gem, guiding her away from the trio. Scar moved slowly to sit next to Grian, careful not to scare Jimmy.

Grian carefully carded a hand through Jimmy’s hair, making sure it wasn’t in his face as Scar removed his jacket, laying it over the younger. Jimmy shivered, his eyes wide with fear, as he held onto Grian now. Scar and Grian shared a knowing look as Pearl led Gem away to talk.

A short one shot of my hero sheriff au.

This is just to introduce that Jimmy has a real bad fear of drowning. This is because of the villain the Ocean Queen who can manipulate water. I am working on getting the doc for this au more finished so I can post it here.

Other little things I’d like to add is Gem did not know this which is why she had pushed Jimmy. She thought it’d be funny. Pearl is mad but knows Gem didn’t mean any harm so don’t worry the lovers will remain lovers.

Also let me know if I should put this on ao3. If I do I’ll start a oneshots for this au and my others

[glacierruler]

G HAVE YOU STARTED WATCHING WILD LIFE YET

I'VE WATCHED GRIAN AND GEM

OMG OMG OMG

Hope the sub 1 group stays together fr fr.

Also, kinda want Gem to win the one haha!

[nightingale-prompts]

Lay Me to Rest- DCxDP Prompt

Warning: Blood and gore

There has been a series of murders across the country. Each death was varied and self-inflicted. At first, they all seemed like suicide but each had a strange range of symptoms before death.

Sudden paranoia, incoherent mumbling, screaming or yelling, going in and out of their homes sporadically, random fixations, and finally self-harm.

The victims were teachers, parents, businessmen, truckers, and even a crime novelist. All unrelated and in different states.

Each victim didn't seem to have a connection until an investigation discovered that each one had been an active serial killer. The body counts ranged from as little as 5 to as much as 23. The killer was named the Serial Serial Killer which wasn't creative but it was catchy. Some called them the Angel of Vengeance but most thought it was cringy and overdramatic. Many people didn't want them to be caught but others hotly debated letting a killer dispense justice when their crusade could easily turn into them killing people for innocuous things.

The police were still questioning whether this killer even existed. One thing was clear, there was a trail and it led straight to Gotham. A goldmine for them. Naturally, Batman had gotten a hold on the case and began an investigation.

The biggest question was how the killer found their victims and how they knew that they were killers.

The answer was obvious. They didn't need to figure it out. They just needed to wait. Why just in the effort to investigate when a serial killer tries to convince you to leave with them? So bars are the obvious place. But that's shaky at best since there is a period of torment that takes place that allows the victims to return home. The killer doesn't care if the victims could call the police, perhaps because they know their victim won't.

Bruce started to build a profile. He saw a pattern here. Each of the victims had a preference for their victims as well. They targeted young people, mainly boys. Odds are the Serial Serial Killer matched that description or age range. So bars weren't the hunting ground. So parks were more likely to go unnoticed and boys tended to hang out there longer after dark.

The killer was more than likely a victim himself so he may have a few scars but probably not noticeable enough that his would-be assailants would be turned off. There is no ignoring the predatory nature of the victims. Each killed children for gratification in some form. It's not that the boy is attractive but he probably has traits that the victims found attractive in children. So babyfaced, short, native, and polite.

There was much else Bruce could get. There was nothing concrete and he still didn't understand the method that was used. So far this was guesswork.

It wasn't until a few weeks later while he tracking another killer that he found his answer.

Dr.Kinder a Biologist by day and a killer who experiments on his victims at night had picked up a promising new lab rat a week ago. He had intended to slowly dissect the boy. He had gotten so used to the screams he stopped using anesthetics besides he wanted to see how the fear response caused the organs to shift.

To his surprise the boy didn't fight, in fact he seemed to jump to the table and say he didn't need restraints. Disturbing. But he was restrained anyways.

As the doctor cut him open the boy didn't react, only humming to himself as he watched the doctor.

"What are you hoping to find?" He asked. "I'm getting bored and this bearly hurts."

The boy annoyingly never stopped talking and never missed a chance to ruin the moment. There were never any screams or cries but incessant talking.

Dr.Kinder found the boy disturbing so he simply took an axe and chopped the boy into pieces. Not once did he make a sound. The doctor thought it was over but the next day the boy was back. He sat on the autopsy table kicking his feet in nothing but his bare skin.

"What the hell are you?" The doctor gasped in horror.

"I'm bored. Play with me again." The boy purred.

Bile crawled up his throat as the doctor restained this...thing again.

This time the boy spoke differently.

"You cut me up last time. Did you do that to the last boy. After you...you know." A sick grin spread across his cheeks.

The doctor cut open his neck this time and let him bleed out.

Everyday he came back and every day the doctor killed him until the time between his death got shorter and shorter. The days began to blur and he had no idea how long he had been doing this. But that thing kept talkimg to him.

Dr.Kinder stared down at his desk at the papers trying to think of anything but-

"I wonder what people would think about what you've done. You're a disgusting and depraved man doctor. Look at what you've done to me." The sing-song voice of that demon called out.

He could feel those blood-soaked arms wrapped around his neck.

He flinch as he pushed the thing away.

"Oh, are you going to beat me or stab me this time? Ooo, or are you going to put me through the woodchipper again?" The demon asked as the doctor wrapped his hands around his throat.

He just kept squeezing until the boy went limp. It never ends. The blood never goes away. It covered every surface of the room. Dripping, conjugating, and spreading into every corner. Whenever he turned his head he could see body parts spread across the room in the pools of blood he could they the faces of the others that he had killed. Each face wretched in agony.

"You hold on better than the others. I've been eaten, torched, and disemboweled before but after coming back a few times they usually end it after a few words. But every time they don't feel guilt. They just don't want to face consequences." The boy said. "Do you even remember my name? The one I told you when you picked me up on the side of the road or was I just another body to use and discard? I used the name of your first victim. I hoped you'd notice."

The doctor knew he couldn't kill the boy but he could end himself. He had tried it once but just like the kid he came back without a scratch.

"Not yet. This is your life now. Come on, let's taste death together. Again and again and again and again and-" he repeated over and over.

This was hell. This was his hell.

But it came to an end eventually. Dr.Kinder put an end to himself in a gruesome display.

Batman had only caught the tail end as he faced a young boy standing an a pool of blood.

****

"Yeah, that thing is like a worse version of a revenant. Doesn't really have a name yet to describe it. It's undead for sure. You kill it and it just comes back." Constantine said "Why did you bring it here?"

After a long bath and some new clothes, the kid looked normal as played on a phone given to him.

"Look, I didn't know what else to do." Bruce explained.

"You leave it alone!" Constantine said exasperated "Look they are harmless to anything they don't bear a grudge towards. Think of it as a force of nature." Constantine said.

"I just want to know how to stop him." Bruce said.

"Well you can't kill it but you can't bring him back entirely. You can just soothe it 'till it stops targeting its victims. It must have died pretty gruesomely to go to these lengths. You need to find where it died and lay it to rest. Properly." Constantine sighed knowing that appeasing this soul would be more than just difficult.

"Danny, come on. Let's go." Bruced said putting a hand on the boy's head as Danny stood up to leave.

"Okay. Bye!" Danny waved to Constantine.

[nikkisheep]

Pretty Like That

Daryl Dixon x female!reader

Warnings: age gap (Daryl is in his 40s and reader is in her 20s), sexual tension, SMUT, oral (f), fingering, overstimulaton, thigh riding, unprotected sex, degradation (use of slut, whore), hair pulling, kissing, Daryl whimpers, insecure Daryl about his scars, slightly perv Daryl (he watches reader change)

Summary: After spending a supply run together, the sexual tension between you and a certain archer becomes almost too much and threatens to overcome the both of you.

Song Rec while reading:

wRoNg: ZAYN

Worship: Ari Abdul

Shameless: Camila Cabello

Daryl Dixon was known to have a short temper, and an even shorter patience tolerance. When Michonne and Gabriel sent him on a supply run with none other than you, he knew that he would have to keep his cool or he will lose his mind and he can't risk that. He thought that if he just ignored the way his breath hitched in his throat when your breasts bounce in your black tank top with every step you take to his motorcycle.

"Hiya, Daryl!" You call as you sling your bow and arrow over your shoulder before making yourself comfortable on his bike.

He just grunts in return before kicking the kickstand up and taking off. Your hands wrap around his torso and he takes a deep breath as he reminds himself that he needs to breathe through his nose or he is gonna pass out.

---

You hummed to yourself as you walked through the store in a small run down town. It was a clothing store, or well was once before the world ended. Clothes were hanging on the racks and then you saw the underwear section. It was perfect. You needed new panties and you knew that some of the other ladies at Alexandria would enjoy new pairs. You went to the shelves and started packing as many as you could before turning to Daryl when you found some see through lace panties.

"Hey, Daryl?" You ask quietly.

"What? Ya good?" He asked, small panic rushing into his brain. Hopefully you didn't hurt yourself. He had only left you in that section of the store for maybe five minutes.

"Do you think these would make my butt look good?" You ask with a serious face while holding up the undergarments.

"For fuck's sake!" He groaned as he turns away. "Don't ask stupid shit like that." He takes a moment before turning back around and replied, "Yes they would make your butt look good."

You turned away from him with a smile. You grabbed a couple more like that pair in your size and threw them into your pack. After searching a couple more store, you and Daryl started back into the woods and went tracking for something to eat. Night fell upon the two of you before you knew it and you looked for a place to set up camp in a small house just a few miles from the town.

Checking to see if there were any walkers, you and Daryl made your way into the semi-decent house. It was no where near perfect but it would be good for the night before you leave for the next town in the morning.

Daryl came into the house with some firewood and threw it into the fireplace. You looked around the house for lanterns to have light and lit some matches inside of them. Once the house had some light, it dawned on you that it was just you and Daryl in this house. The fireplace sent a yellowish orange lighting onto Daryl and his blue eyes shone in contrast to the lighting. You stood at the stove and was heating up some beans and bread that you had found in a store. You smiled at idea of living with Daryl and cooking for him. You smiled at the idea of a possible normal life as normal as it could be in the end of the world.

Sitting down across from Daryl, the two of you ate your food. Daryl kept his eyes on his bowl and didn't look up at you until you cleared your throat.

"You don't like me, do you?"

Daryl put his spoon in his bowl, shoveling a bunch of the beans into his mouth before setting the bowl on the floor beside him. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then he turned his head to look at you. He fought to keep his eyes connected to yours instead of looking at your rising and falling chest. God he felt like he was a creep, like he was a teenager again. It wasn't him trying to sexualize you, he really didn't mean to but when you were looking at him like that, breathing like that, he was really struggling to maintain eye contact.

"I don't hate ya," He says, his blue eyes darting in between yours and the wall behind you.

You shuffle closer to him before placing your hand on his chin, turning his face to you. His eyes stayed on your face, suddenly he was at a loss of words, not that he had many in the first place but still.

"If you didn't hate me, you would be able to look at me for more than two seconds before scoffing and turning away," You giggle with a smile and then move closer. "What is it about me that you don't like looking at?"

You had the biggest crush on Daryl Dixon and you barely tried to hide it from anyone but him. He was tall, strong, handsome, and very, very good at protecting people. He had a hard exterior, but he was really a big softy for the people he cared for. How could you not like him?

"There isn't anythin' 'hat I don't like lookin' at," He says, blush creeping up his face. "I jus' don't know why ya make me crazy."

"I make you go crazy, Daryl?" You ask. "You have no idea how crazy you make me."

Your faces creep closer, you were basically straddling the archer as you pressed yourself closer to his body, desperate for his warmth. Your eyes flicker to his lips quickly before snapping back to his cool eyes. You wondered what his lips would feel like on yours. What they would feel like running over your body.

Daryl's hands came up to your face to move some hair out of your eyes and he cupped your jaw. He tilted his head up, barely, almost brushing your plump lips. Your lips part slightly, ready to grant Daryl's full permission to do whatever he wanted to do to yours. Just as the distance was about to close, your eyes closing, breathing heavily, a walker's growl could be heard from outside the window and Daryl all but throws you off him (not really much of a throw, just nudging you off him quickly), and he takes care of the walker. He stabs the monster in the head, blood splattering onto his face and clothes before he turns to you and then walks out of the house.

----

Making your way through the woods, Daryl refused to say anything to you. You had tried to make small talk but he ignored you. He kept walking as he scanned for prey, hopefully a deer or a pig. He didn't really care, as long as he had something to kill and take his mind off the way that you made him feel last night. You were so much younger than himself and he didn't want to seem like a creepy old man who would nut in his pants from just seeing your tits bounce a few times.

Daryl would have intense dreams where your tits were bouncing because you were bouncing on his dick and he was pulling your hair back so your neck was arched backwards and he would mark you up as his while you rode him.

He shook the thoughts from his mind as he remembers that you were right behind him. He turned to you to see you kneeling down by the ground, looking at tracks on the ground.

"What are ya lookin' at?" He asked, his voice startling you before you relaxed.

You looked up at him before pointing left.

"These are fresh tracks, looks like a deer."

"Good, let's go."

"I need to apologize about what happened last night," You said as you walked quietly.

"Shhh," He said.

"I really am sorry about that, Daryl, I don't know what overcame me."

"I said, shhh, girl."

Just as you crept down behind a fallen tree, the deer walked out from behind the tall grass and started to eat at the fallen nuts on the ground. As much as you were hoping to be able to pay attention, Daryl's scent filled your nose as you realized how close you were and you could feel your panties dampen at the sight in front of you. You looked at Daryl and saw his thick muscles of his arms flex as he lifted his crossbow and aimed at the deer. You watched as he licked his lips gently as he closed one of his eyes. You watched his chest move with his breathing. You noticed everything. You needed to get this deer and then get back home before you tried to fuck him right out in the open woods.

"Let's go home," you said as you loaded the deer onto his bike.

"We are supposed to hit another town just a few miles over," He said.

"Yes but we have a deer which will draw more walkers to us," You said. "Let's drop it off with our people and then come out again."

---

Daryl listened to you because he knew you would throw a fit and then he would want to fuck your attitude away. He didn't just want to fuck you, he wanted to love you. He wanted to come home to you every night, fuck you to sleep, and then cuddle with you as he tells you about his day. Before you, he never thought that he would want the "normal" life like everyone else. He never had anyone to come home to and he had become used to it. Now he wanted to share a home with you. He wanted to take care of you. He wanted to protect you.

While the two of you were camping out in the woods, your shirt and pants had been torn after a run in with a herd of walkers. You told Daryl that you were going to change and then you went behind his poncho hanging up on a branch. You thought that you were covered completely, but the poncho had other plans as it had fallen from the branch while you were turned away. Your entire body was on display for Daryl as you bent over in just your black panties to pick up a shirt you had gotten from the run down shop the other day.

Daryl knew that he should have turned away, to respect you, but something in his sick, twisted mind, he kept looking. He saw your skin shine in the bright moon light. He saw every curve you have and he wanted nothing more than to just mark every inch of your skin as his. You were his, even if you didn't know yet. He eventually couldn't handle it anymore and moved to pick up the poncho. His footsteps made you turn away but he had already covered you with the poncho.

"It slipped from the branch and I didn't want ya to be uncomfortable," He said as he stepped closer to cover your body completely.

"Thank you," You smile as you tilt your head up to look at him in his eyes. His hands were on your hips as he wrapped you up. You bit your lip softly and his thumb came up to release your bottom lip from your teeth, slowly stroking over it with such care. His eyes watched for your reaction and you had none but heavy breathing. He licked his own lips quickly and leaned in slightly, still checking your eyes for any sign of you not wanting his actions, finding none. Just as his lips were brushing yours, a hiss came from the fire as it died out and the world went dark.

He quickly pulled away and turned away from you. He cleared his throat and then muttered a quick "sorry" and then went to rebuild the fire.

---

Arriving back at your house after a few days being gone, you took a shower as soon as you got home. You walked into your room in just a towel before pulling out clothing from your closet. The shirt you picked out was one of Daryl's button downs that you stole when you were staying in his house before moving into your own.

Daryl walked up to your room as he needed to talk to you about the other night. He didn't know what had came over him but he needed to clear it up with you. He knocked on your door, thinking of all the things he would say but as soon as the door opened and you revealed that you were in just a shirt and panties. Just not any shirt, his shirt. His shirt was on your body. Your naked body. He didn't know what made him grab your face and pull you into a searing kiss, but he pulled your body closer to his as he walked you backwards into the room.

He kicked the door closed and turned you against it. He started to leave kisses down from your lips to your neck. He sucked at your pulse point and then your hands pulled his face back up to yours. His lips enclosed yours as you messily made out against your door. His hand went to the back of your knee and wrapped it around his hip, opening you up to him as his clothed core ground into yours as your hand found his hair. He let out a groan as your fingers twisted into his long strands.

Daryl's mouth pressed against yours as he swallowed your every sound as you whimpered for more. Daryl's fingers slid down to your panties and teased your clit behind the fabric. His fingers glided against your clothed clit in tight circles as you moaned for him, begging him to fuck you. A smirk came over his face as your head lulled back, opening your neck to him. He started to suck on your sweet spot as his fingers slid your underwear to the side and sunk in to the knuckle.

"Fuuuuuck," You groan as Daryl's fingers started to pump in and out of your body. Daryl smiled at you as he slowly kissed lower and lower as he removed his hand from your panties to rip open his shirt. He kissed down your body, slowly sucking on your nipples and lulling his tongue over the nipple before biting it softly, causing you to gasp in slight pain.

"You like it when I touch ya like this?" He asks, running his middle finger up your slit before popping it into his mouth to suck the juices off of it. "Fuck, ya sweeter than I thought."

"Daryl," You moan as he slowly kisses your thighs, your back arching off the wall.

"Move to the bed and spread your legs for me like a good littl' slut," He demands. The derogatory name made you feel more slick drip from your pussy.

Daryl slowly pulled his shirt over his head, wincing as your eyes roam over his scars. He goes to put his shirt back on but you move to stop him.

"Don't hide from me," You say softly. "You're beautiful."

You move to the edge of the bed and press a kiss to the scar on his chest, then the one on his torso. You lick up the one on his collarbone. You turn him around and you kiss each one on his back. You trace them as if you were tracing roads on a map.

"You are so beautiful, Daryl," You whisper against his skin before turning him around to face you. "Every inch of you is beautiful, even the damaged parts."

Something snaps inside of him and he pushes you back gently and he crawls over you like a predator to his prey. He kissed your lips and then he started to kiss down your body, tracing every curve into his muscle memory. He wanted to savor this into his mind forever.

"Did I ever tell ya 'hat ya make me crazy?" He asks.

"Maybe once before," You giggle but it quickly turn into a moan when he licks up your pussy. You grip onto the sheets, holding you grounded to earth before you floated away. Daryl notices you holding onto the sheets and he grabs your hands, making you think that he just wanted to hold them but he then moves them to his hair. He nods at you and then curls his tongue inside you which makes you cry out and tug at his hair. He moans against you and slips a finger inside your weeping hole which he then pays more attention to your clit with his tongue.

"Cum for me," he moans against you. His eyes watch as the band inside your stomach snaps as he continues to add another finger and play with your cunt. Your hips start to wiggle away from him but he pulls your body flush against his face as there is no room for any air for him to possibly breathe. All he could breathe in was you. He could only see you, taste you, and breathe you. He was alive for you and this sole moment.

Eventually Daryl had pulled two more climaxes out of you and he then starts to kiss back up your twitching body. He rolls over and goes to cuddle you but you lay there confused.

"We are not done," You smile before climbing onto his thigh. Slotting your legs on each side, you slowly start to grind down onto him. He sits up and places his hands onto your hips, helping your movements.

"Fuck ya such as whore for me, ya gotta fuck my thigh?" He says with a smirk.

"Please," You moan out, head falling back.

Daryl pushes you off of him long enough to take his pants and underwear off and then he pats his lap, beckoning you to come closer. You move into his lap and he places your hands on his shoulders as he moves his cock to be lined up with your entrance.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks, making sure that you were one hundred percent certain that you wanted him to do this.

"Please, Daryl, just fuck me!" You groan out and then Daryl eases his tip into your weeping pussy.

"Fuck," You moan as you slowly stretch on his dick. "Please, just get inside me!"

Daryl looks at you for one second, taking in your face before cupping your cheek. He then snaps his hips forward and his entire dick goes inside you, kissing your cervix lightly. You scream at the intrusion and he gently soothes your hair as he speaks praise into your ear. He then pulls almost all the way out and then snaps back inside harshly. Your hands cling to his shoulders as one arm wraps around his neck and grip onto his shoulder. Daryl's arm wraps around your torso and the other hooks under your arm and his hand grips your shoulder, squeezing tightly as he pounds into your pussy with slow, harsh thrusts.

You head falls backward as Daryl's fingers wrap into your hair and pulls your face closer to his so he roughly kiss you. It was messy, all teeth and spit dripping everywhere. Your lips moved in fierce movements as they tried to keep up with each others. Your hips bounced against Daryl's as the two of you tried to get to the finish line. Daryl grips you tightly before using his body weight to flip the two of you over and he catches himself with one arm on the bed as your legs wrapped around his torso, your arms holding onto him for dear life as he fucked into you with punishing thrusts.

Daryl's dick moved inside of you in fast, rough movements, hitting your cervix at times but was always hitting your g-spot. Your head was thrown back as you cling to him and he moves one hand to the headboard as he stares down at you, your hair laying out around your head like a crown and he whimpered when your pussy clenched around his thick cock. He gently moved your legs down from his torso and spread you out further as he moved back onto his knees, leaning over through his arms to kiss your forehead before he reared his hips back, and snapped them forward, driving home in a hard thrust.

You scream in pleasure and borderline pain but it was so good. You dig your nails into Daryl's back as he drops his head into your neck as his hands are clinging to the headboard that was beating a possible hole into the wall as you plant one hand against the base of the headboard to keep your head from slamming into it. Your mouth is agape as Daryl nibbles on your collarbone as his hips slam into yours, surely leaving bruises that you will feel for days after this.

"Fuck ya look so pretty, looking at me like that," He moans as you throw your head back into the pillows, begging him for more, to make you come.

"You wanna cum?" He asks, one of his hands slipping from the headboard and coming down to rub fast circles on your clit, adding fuel to the fire that is boiling inside your core. Your body screamed for release.

"You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?" He smirks. "Fuck ya feel so good, baby. This pussy was built for me. God, I don't 'ver wanna leave it. Jesus, look at that. Your pussy is just sucking me in, she don't want me to leave either."

You moan at his filthy words before begging him to let you cum. Your hands reach for his neck and pulls him down to kiss him. Just as his lips brush against yours, the band inside you snaps and you let out a muffled scream against his lips. He was close already before you came but after feeling you cum around his cock, he knew that it was just a matter of time before he cumming all over you.

"Daryl, cum inside me."

Those four words made his hips snap faster against yours and then you felt him still against you, then a warm liquid spilled inside you as Daryl's body shuddered above you. You heard him whimper and groan as more and more ropes of thick cum spilled from his dick. Your hands rub up and down his back as you kissed his collarbone.

Daryl rolled over and pulled you with him, lifting you off his softening dick and then covered you both with your blanket. He kissed your forehead and moved the few strands of hair from your face and then kissed your lips.

"Can I ask a question?" You ask as you draw circles on his chest.

Daryl just grunts in response.

"Do you still not like me?"

"I swear to God woman. You still think I don't like ya?"

"Well, I can't be too careful," You smile up at him. "So do you like me?"

He leaned his head down and kissed you on the lips, soft and slow, before fulling back.

"Does that answer your question?" He asks with a huff.

"I'm not fully convinced," You smile before climbing back on top of him and starts pressing kisses to his neck.

"Ya're gonna kill me, woman!" He groans with a smile before grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you into a crushing kiss, rolling on top of you to further prove that he likes you.

Maybe he does like you. But who can really tell?

[catdia]

Sevika with a Chubby S/o pt.2

Sevika is a very jealous and prideful individual. she doesn’t take kindly to others that try to take you away from her

when Finn tried to get you close to him, she killed half his goons as a warning

teaches you basic self defense, how to use your body as an advantage in combat

ended with both of you making out on the practice mats

gave you a knife and handgun as a birthday present

all your clothing is automatically hers as well. loves wearing your shirts and hoodies when running errands

Sevika has MASSIVE hips, she doesn’t like them that much because pants never fit her waist right. but you love them!

and you also don’t like when pants highlight your underbelly. if she sees your belly in any capacity she’s grabbing that thing like a vice

uses your stuff before you ever get to. that new Piltovan skin care you got? Sevika gives it 10/10

eats all your snacks, even the healthy ones that taste “like cardboard”

the scar on her temple gets sensitive with the cold, uses your tummy as a heating pad when cuddling

one of Sevika’s love languages is bringing you fresh vegetables and fruit she smuggled from overseas

seeing your eyes sparkle in delight as you eat the sweet fruits makes her love her shitty job a little more

she got your nickname “peach” because of your love of fruit (and your fat ass)

if there is a place on earth that can be considered hell is when your periods sync up. Both in pain and grumpy.

when it’s just you, she gives you princess treatment (more than usual). even going as far as making homemade soup

i believe Sevika doesn’t get her period as frequently as she used to. mainly thanks to the amount of Shimmer she uses

Shimmer is the reason you almost had a terrible fall out. it was doing your woman more harm than good. making her extremely aggressive to the point where she threw and broke the matching clay mugs you gave her as an anniversary present. you spent almost two months making them

all of this because you threw away her last Shimmer supply. you just couldn’t she her like that anymore

you sobbed as you collected the pieces of the floor. so preciously putting them on your lap as she just watched in horror. Sevika had never seen you so broken. What had she done?

Sevika kneeled in front of you trying to make everything right. picking up little colorful shards of the floor. but you pushed her onto her feet. you pointed at the door.

“Get out…”

“Peach, please I—“

“Get the fuck out Sevika!”

she spend the next few weeks crashing in Silco’s office. drinking her sorrows away. while going cold turkey of Shimmer

remembering your soft cheeks stained with tears and trembling shoulders. she never had seen you so angry

once she had the courage (and by that I mean Silco and Jinx kicking her out for beign love sick) to come back home, she didn’t grasp how much she actually needed your love

it was a positive sign that you let her in. like a silent “prove me wrong”

you made her sleep on the couch for weeks. ignoring all Sevika’s attempts of affection. walking away when she got too close, not drinking the coffee she made for you in the mornings, covering your body quickly whenever she walked into the bathroom after your showers

Janna, did she miss having your body on hers. having you cuddle her to sleep. now she is stuck in this ratty couch. she missed how you moaned, what you tasted like. Sevika was unbelievably horny

but she needed to wait for you to make the first move out of respect for the pain she caused

when she was sleeping on the sofa you woke her up by grinding your cunt on her thigh. only wearing your night robe. open in the middle, nipples hard and belly creasing on your pelvis. you placed her mechanical arm on your temple. cradling her metal palm with your lips

“Fuck me like you mean it, ‘vika! Make me your woman again.”

Sevika saw the fire in your eyes, and the burn was a prize she was willing to take

you kissed each other hard, clawing at clothing and skin. teeth clashing. every touch was personal. sensual. like a withered plant in water

even if the sun never warmed the underground it didn’t matter to her. because the sun couldn’t ever bring her life like you did

Sevika had never made love before. only saw sex as carnal lust. but having you vulnerable in front of her and having given her forgiveness was the best gift she could have asked for. the gift of hope and chance. she touched you like a lover, a soulmate.

you laid naked on her chest, blissed out in pleasure. in the afterglow of sex. Sevika groping the flesh of your ass. as she blew cigarette smoke into the air. you were going to complain about the smell in the morning.

“I quit Shimmer.”

you smiled into her exposed skin. Sevika was a blunt woman, and you appreciated that part of her.

“Good.”

“Love you, doll.”

“Mmmm — me too Sevika.”

and you definitely made her go to one of those pottery couples classes to replace the mugs she broke

Sevika wasn’t getting off thaaattt easy

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader + piss kink

you love following toji around the house while talking his ears off. he's making his coffee and you're drinking, telling him about the book you've been reading. he's watching the tv and you're curled on his lap, whispering fun facts about the movie that's playing on the screen. he's doing pushups and you're laying down beside him, counting his reps for him (you mess up the numbers just to have him roll his eyes at you with a smirk.)

whatever room he's in – you're there. he can't get rid of you but it's not like he even wants that. he likes the attention, he loves how much you want his. and he loves listening you, so he really doesn't mind. he thinks of you like a little kitten, jogging after him the second he pushes himself off the couch. it's sweet.

until—

he marches into the bathroom and you're right on his heel, rambling about your day. toji looks at you through the mirror, curious as to when you're going to realize that you're now in the bathroom with him. but he doesn't say anything other than a little raspy "yeah?" at whatever you just said.

he stands in front of the toilet and raises the lid while watching you plop down onto the counter right next to him without a care in the world. he raises a brow, his scarred lip quirking up into a sly smirk.

your eyes are on him. you're smiling, too.

you know exactly what you're doing.

toji's hands unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants, all while keeping eye-contact. he wants to see how far you're willing to go.

you don't stop talking; cocking your head to the side and leaning forward, you tempt him. he doesn't miss the way your thighs press together and the way you bite down on your lip. you're not smooth at all. that only makes him love you even more – you're just as nasty as he is.

it's getting harder and harder to keep your eyes on his now though... he has pulled down his pants and underwear and you wanna look at it. your sentences are drawn out, your words are starting to mix up.

"c'mon, keep going."

you wanna hate how smug he is. how cocky, how arrogant. but you can't, because the only thing you can think about right now is taking his fat cock balls deep down your throat. your lips part at the thought and toji groans under his breath.

sweetly fluttering your eyelashes at him, you continue mumbling about your day. you can't surpress the hum that crawls up from the depths of your stomach when you finally hear the steady stream of piss hitting the toilet bowl.

you break eye-contact and his chest swells with pride. he can hear your breath hitch, he can almost see your mouth salivate.

"well, aren't you a little pervert, hm?"

your gazes meet again and he expects you to pout at him like you usually do, but no – not this time. lips curling up in a syrupy, sugary way, you purr at him. "ya love it."

toji growls. you're trying to kill him, surely. your eyes are low but still as playful as ever, your thighs pressing together even harder to relieve the growing need between them.

his eyebrows raise when you suddenly jump off the counter and take your place right beside him. eyes glued to his, you blindly reach for his hardening cock. tugging at the nape of his neck with your free hand, you pull him down and press your lips against his. you feel him grin, you feel him twitch in your hand.

he's so warm and he's so big; you give him a few slow, lazy strokes before tucking him back inside his underwear. he tries to pull away from the kiss, clearly a little confused by your actions, but you don't let him.

you nip at his bottom lip and he groans into your mouth. you give his now clothed bulge two very light taps and then you're the one that's pulling away, leaving him chasing after you.

giving him a giggle, you back up and jump back onto the counter. he can't believe you – you really are a little minx, sitting pretty before him while he's now hard and needy with new, hot ideas flooding his mind.

he wants to know what other dirty things you're thinking about, what other fucked up things you'll do for him. what he'll do for you.

— you're in for a long, long night.

[bluejutdae]

best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Chan x you

this will become a series, I’ll make a scenario like this for all the members. Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

genre: romance, friends to lovers

warnings: asshole guy who thinks sex is required in exchange of a dinner

“I’m sorry but I really have to go, it’s a family emergency. But I’ll call you.” This guy is really pissing you off, but he’s tall and pretty muscular and the vibes you got from him during the (luckily short) date make you uncomfortable.

“Are you really using this lazy excuse? I invited you to dinner, I’m gonna pay, so the least you could do is to put it out there!” You blink in disbelief, he really is a creepy guy. Chan is on his way though, so the thought comforts you a little. You reach into your bag and grab a few bills and, as you place them on the table, you give the guy a sarcastic smile. “I can pay for my own dinner.”

Grabbing your jacket you turn your back to him, ready to leave, but the asshole grabs you by your arm and yanks you towards him. You don’t have the time to do anything because a hand is suddenly around the guy’s wrist like a vice.

“Let her go immediately or I’m going to break your arm.” You’ve never heard Chan talking with such ice in his voice and a shiver runs along your spine.

“Fuck you both. I should have known you were a frigid bitch!” the guy lets you go and raises his free hand in surrender. Before letting him go, Chan looks at you for the first time since his arrival. “Are you okay?” You nod, confused. You thought your crush for Chan was long gone, but if the butterflies in your stomach are any indication, your crush is alive and burning.

Not even 5 minutes later, in a cab with Chan sitting next to you, you catch the end of your best friend’s sentence: “…can’t believe that asshole!”

“You know what’s funny? He called me a ‘frigid bitch’. Isn’t that a bizarre insult? What does it even mean?” Now that you’re with Chan, you’re calm and not scared anymore.

You hear him laughing, shaking his head. “Like anything that came out of his mouth made any sense… but really, are you okay?” You nod again. You’re not scared, you’re not uncomfortable, but something in your chest trembles at the idea of parting with Chan. “Can you stay over tonight?”, you ask quietly.

When you close the door, the atmosphere is uncommonly quiet and tense. Did you make Chan uncomfortable? Did he have other plans? Is he annoyed with you for always needing him? As all those thoughts run across your head, he slips out of his shoes and goes straight to the kitchen, feeling at home in your small apartment. “Can I steal some ramen? I didn’t have the time to eat a proper dinner.” In lieu of an affirmative answer, you wash your hands and start preparing a quick dinner for Chan. “I’m sorry I hijacked your night, Channie.”

“What are you talking about? My plans involved ramen at the dorms and hearing Hyunjin and Jisung screaming against the tv. They started a new drama”, he explains watching you moving around the kitchen. He loves to look at you while you’re busy, while you’re too occupied with something else to notice him studying you, watching you with love in his eyes. Tonight was once again proof you only saw him as a friend and nothing more: otherwise you wouldn’t have gone on a date, right?

Wrong.

You spent ages crushing over him, but once you were sure he felt nothing for you, you tried (in vain, apparently) to get over him.

You place a steaming bowl of food in front of him and sit at the table, looking at him.

“No more lame dates. No, you know what? No more dates.”

“You let a couple of bad guys ruin your search for true love?”

Well, he’s not gonna complain, but he also doesn’t want a bad experience to scar your hopes for romance. “Nah, they’re not worth it. My perfect match is not interested in me anyway.”

Fuck, you shouldn’t have said something like that, now he’s gonna ask questions.

“Perfect march, uh?”

You wave your hand, almost slapping away the topic. “Eat your food, Chan.”

“I thought you told me everything,” he pouts and you’re a weak weak person, how can you be tough in front of his pout?

“There is someone I like, I liked him for a while but it’s unreciprocated, so there’s no point in talking about him.”

“Then he’s dumb. Tell me his name?”

“You kinda know him, so I’d rather not… you know, don’t wanna make it weird.” Chan looks at you with a weird something in his eyes you can’t really understand, but for the sake of your secret you let it slide.

“Movie?”

The movie has been on for at least an hour but neither of you is really watching it. You’re cuddled on the couch, Chan’s head on your lap and your fingers slowly playing with his hair. It’s one of his favorite cuddling positions, and you love it cause you have the chance to watch him without being noticed.

“I wish you’d tell me who he is.”

You freeze in surprise, fingers stilling on his head.

“Chan…”

“No wait, listen for a second.” He sits now, and bites his lip. “We’ve always told pretty much everything, but there are things I haven’t told you either. So I will tell you something secret about me if you tell me who he is.”

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Because!”

He’s quick to get on his feet, walking on the small carpet in front of the tv. “Because I wanna know who’s this dumb guy who is not in love with you. What’s not to love? He’s lucky enough you are interested in him, something I’d give an arm for, and he’s not on his knees worshiping you?” He then freezes, like something hit him and trains his eyes on the floor. “Forget what I said”.

What did he say? Are you drunk and incapable of understanding or Chan just said he’d give an arm to have you interested in him? Something swells into your chest and you decide to be bold for once.

“Do you like me, Chan?”

He stills his pacing, gaze still trained to the floor, and nods carefully.

“It’s you.”

“Mh?”

“The guy I like, it’s you.”

He’s gonna have a sore neck tomorrow, considering the speed in which he raises his head.

“Me?” You nod, with a hopeful smile on your lips.

“I was convinced you felt nothing for me…”

You don’t know which one of you moved first, and it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that you’re kissing, now. You have his wet, soft and pillowy lips on yours, his tongue asking to be let in your mouth, your hands holding the other tight, almost to make sure this is real and you’re not going to vanish any seconds now.

“We’re such a clichè” he says on your lips, laughing cutely.

“Maybe. But I like it anyway.”

If being a clichè is what brought you two finally together, then so be it.

[stareaterau]

Chapter 1 episode 5

← Previous episode

Next episode →

Index

(special thanks to @bucket-of-cheese for this episode cover art!, as well as @karkatwaddles @chip-the-dip @scrambledlikeeggs @kairamuwu with editing)

---

Our favourites cross paths

CW: threats made with a weapon, mentions of injuries

Read below↓

Or AO3

Time passes, though horribly slower in the desert heat.

Grian and Scar both spend their morning groggy and aching from the phantom fight the previous evening. Not to mention the little rest they were able to get during the relatively short night that this planet provides.

Now that they feel rested enough, Grian shoots up high above the canyon with a few strong beats of his wings. Scar watches him from the ground as he makes a few circles in the sky before he dives down back to join him. With a greater bearing on his surroundings, thanks to the high vantage point, Grian picks a direction that seems most prominent to head towards. He returns grumbling about how he could see something in the distance, but it looked like nothing more than a bunch of junk to him. Not much of the optimist it seems, but Scar prides himself on being able to make the most of any situation. He pats Grian's back, giving a small speech about how 'that a bunch of junk was better than nothing after all'. Grian blinks slowly, reluctantly agreeing. They have a destination now!

Grian consistently finds himself needing to catch up with Scar, occasionally mumbling about how the ground is too flat and something about bird feet. It’s obvious by how he’s fidgeting that he’d rather be flying, even though that option means either leaving Scar behind or carrying him there. And as much as Scar wants to ask, he’s also scared he might lose an eye as a result.

He leaves the slightly personal question unasked, the conversation instead being filled with Grian complaining about walking. He hesitates when their passage opens up to the blaring, exposed sun. Holding his hand up to shield himself from the harsh light, he scrunches his face, occasionally wincing when his hot metal limbs hit his skin with his heavy, tired steps.

Scar himself isn’t having much of a fun time either. The leg braces he uses aren’t meant to be put under a lot of strain for such a long time. It’s only a matter of time before they might snap. The grains of sand grating against them are probably hastening the unit's deterioration. He'll have to use Grian as support if they do break.. and go through the laborious task of requesting a new pair from the Vindicators.

Occasionally they have to take a break, with Scar trying to brush as much dust and sand from the joints of the braces, doing the most he can to slow down any decay it might have caused them. On the other hand, Grian uses the opportunity to rest, immediately slumping against the nearest wall and fanning himself with his tail.

Scar has long since taken off his jacket and tied it around his waist, relieved by the fact he'd been wearing a tank top underneath. The lack of sleeves feels like a world of difference in the heat, not that he wouldn't take it off completely if need be, despite his company. Every so often, he catches Grian's lingering looks when he thinks Scar isn't watching, his expression weirdly guarded and lost in thought. One time, when he notices he’s being examined, Scar flexes jokingly in response, receiving a roll of the eyes and quiet mutterings about indecency.

Despite how hot it is and how much his company seems to fidget and scratch at the uncomfortable feathers underneath, Grian seems insistent on keeping his layers on.

Finally, they reenter the shade, and the winged man groans, flinging around his stiff arms.

”What's wrong?” Scar turns around, watching as the strange man shakes out his feathers. Sand rains down as he does as if the sunlight has been caking him in the sand.

"I lost my helmet and, therefore, my visor. It sucks."

“Sucks how?"

"The light hurts my eyes." Grian rubs at his temples, scrunching his eyes closed.

Scar tilts his head in response, confused. It’s bright, not enough to be painful yet, but it’s clearly bothering Grian more somehow.

When he’s met with a lack of a retort, Grian glances up at Scar, quickly taking note of his confused expression. He rolls his eyes like he knows what Scar is thinking.

"I'm a glare," he says so simply, answering the unspoken question.

"Not… glare-leaning? Or an avian?" Scar, not so subtly, looks Grian up and down, the other tensing uncomfortably with a weird look to match.

"No."

"But…" Scar trails off, not quite being sure how to ask respectfully.

"I have wings?" Grian finishes for him, like he’s heard it all before. Tucking his wings behind his back on reflex, he takes in a deep breath, as if psyching himself up for a speech.

A series of looks flash across his face. Scar waits patiently, only for Grian to breathe out a quiet "Yeah," with no further elaboration.

"Glares can have wings?"

"This one can. It's complicated." Grian walks past Scar, losing eye contact deliberately as he strolls ahead. He doesn’t appear upset at least, bored is the closest to how Scar could describe it.

"But… How?" Scar asks cautiously, against his better judgment.

"Family curse from hitting a magical bird with a ship centuries ago." Grian holds his hands out, imitating piloting, before hitting his hands together with a metal clank. "BAM! Wings for all your firstborns."

"Wait, really?" Scar exclaims. Genuinely believing Grian’s story. He catches up to him with a quick jog, looking to the glare in an attempt to get a read of his face only to be met with a smirk. Oh.

"Nah-" Grian chuckles to himself, patting Scar on the shoulder.

Scar watches as he continues up ahead, looking at the feathered tail with a new perspective. A glare. That explains why his feathers look so real — they’re a feature all Glares possess to varying degrees – and his deep inky eyes that never seem to shrink, even in the harsh light. Maybe the wings are just artificial add-ons, but that doesn’t feel right — they’re far too realistic and fluid. He shakes the thought out of his head. It probably isn’t polite to dwell on it, the subject is obviously something Grian doesn’t want to talk about.

But no, Scar isn’t about to be done with this conversation completely.

"Prove you’re a glare, then."

Grian, who had walked slightly ahead, stops and turns around to give Scar an almost offended look before he shrugs, replacing it with an amused, yet tired one.

“Sure,” he says with a resigned sigh.

Without warning, everything in Scar’s sight goes dark, like an all-encompassing shadow out of nowhere, the murky nothingness only just reaching his toes. He sticks his hands out in front of him, looking at them as they become outlined by a dark void.

He knows what this is. Most glares possess this skill, it’s the baseline ability tied to their magic. ‘Darkness’ he thinks he remembers it being called. Scar has never experienced it first hand though, and he can’t help but ogle the slightly frightening power.

“Whoah-”

As quickly as it appeared, the gloom flees, leaving him with the less-than-friendly, hot reflective sands.

Grian looks at him curiously, his arms crossed.

“Okay, so believe me now?”

Scar smiles, nodding vigorously.

“That was sooo cool!!”

Grian very hesitantly smiles back, turning away before Scar can process it completely.

Despite his wary demeanour, he secretly revels in the reaction, not quite being able to help but grin to himself.

“Can you do illusion magic too?” Scar asks, making Grian's steps hesitate for just a second, the mood in the air changing quickly. His back is still facing Scar, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing the slight shudder in Grian’s shoulders, and the subtle flicks of his feathers.

“…No,” is all he says in slow response… too slowly.

Ah, so another sour subject, it feels like Scar is collecting them all. As much as he wants to pry, he feels like he has asked enough.

There’s a lapse in their conversation as Scar's eyes wander. They both continue walking, albeit slowly, probably due to Grian's obvious intent to savour the shade when passing through it.

"If the sun's bothering you that much, why don't you just do the darkness thing to yourself?" Scar inquires, filling the silence.

"That's not how it works. It's only a perception, I don't actually switch off the sun," Grian replies, his voice back with some light, the previous question forgotten.

"Oh."

"And trust me, oh how I want to switch off this sun." He holds his long claws up to the sky, imitating crushing the light that peeks from the shade touching the tips of his claws.

“I'll still get the painful headache even if I make everything dark for me.”

Scar glances down to his waist, where his own helmet has been clipped. He once again catches up to Grian, leg braces creaking slightly.

"… I could give you my helmet." He hands it to him.

Grian looks down at the poor thing with a gentle look on his face.

"It's got a huge crack in it, so it's pretty much useless. Sorry about that, by the way." He flicks a guilty look at Scar before settling back into stride ahead of him.

"I wouldn't call it useless-'' Scar looks down at it with a frown. He hopes he can repair it, it’s dear to him.

"Even if it wasn't, I would never put that thing on."

"What’s wrong with the cat ears?" Scar questions, a smile evident in his voice. He knows well that it isn’t his cute accessories that’s deterring Grian from putting the helmet on, he just thinks it’s amusing to indicate so.

He holds up the helmet up in front of Grian, closing one eye and envisioning him wearing it with a smirk.

Grian squawks out a laugh and pushes the helmet aside, "Hah. Ironically, I don’t have a problem with that, though I wouldn’t break the dress code just to put cat ears on a helmet."

"You know about the codes?"

"Sorta. I mean, I've unfortunately become very familiar with them – know your enemy or whatever."

"You really don't like vindicators, then," Scar says, with no malice in his voice. He’s more curious than anything.

"I feel like that much should be obvious."

Scar hops ahead of Grian, stepping slightly in front of him so that Grian has no choice but to look at him. "Well, I'm okay, right?" Scar smiles tilting his head.

He watches the bird’s gaze shift from the dust on Scar’s boots up to meet his eye, a brow raised.

And with a genuine smile and quiet laugh, Grian answers "Yeah, you're alright".

—

"Be careful they might be dangerous."

While navigating through a particularly maze-like part of the ravine. Grian had stopped abruptly, and grabbed Scar by the shirt mid-conversation, pulling him around a corner.

Scar attempted to ask what was wrong only for Grian to shush him, hissing about how he’d seen two figures deeper in.

Wiggling slightly out of Grian's hold, Scar popped his head around briefly, catching a glance at their new company.

There were, in fact, two figures who sat up against a stony wall as the passage opened up, connecting to another, larger passage. Scar and Grian had an advantage, as the corner shielded them from view. One figure had their back to them, their large silhouette obscuring the other figure from view. The only indication there was even two, being the distinct overlap of a conversation that could barely be heard from where Grian and Scar were hidden.

And that brings them to the present, with Scar tapping his chin, debating different ideas of how to approach them. Grian listens as he impatiently claws at the ground, grumbling at each suggestion that leaves the other's mouth.

There’s a quiet shift in the sand to Scar's side and he turns to watch as Grian shifts closer to him, his shoulders hunched slightly and wings puffed up.

Scar finds himself suppressing the urge to compare him to a pinecone.

"Why would they be dangerous?" Scar asks, tilting his head slightly. Confused about the other's comment.

Grian splutters, mouth working but not making noises aside from baffled squeaks before he eventually coughs.

"… I mean, I was a stranger a mere hours ago and I had a blade to your heart, dude." His voice pitches up at the end, causing him to flinch when it echoes slightly against the walls. He ducks as if that would stop the sound, scooting closer to Scar, further from the stranger's direction.

"….Well, you're not doing that right now." Scar smiles a wide grin, hushing his voice pointedly before shrugging.

Grian just stares at him, almost as if testing Scar’s smile, before he rolls his eyes and scoffs,

"… Can't argue with that logic."

Scar's smile grows slowly, bright and excited at Grian's agreement. He watches all of Grian's feathers stand up even more somehow, catching on to Scar's enthusiasm.

“Don't-”

"Glad you trust me!" Scar beams.

"I wouldn't go that far, trust is a strong word," Grian pulls a dubious look before grumbling and looking away. He shakes his shoulders as if trying to suppress the stress that’s putting him and his feathers on edge.

“I honestly don't think it's a good idea to even approach them– People are almost always bad news in these situations. We could just work our way around them…” he trails off mumbling to himself.

“But that's no fun!” Scar hums lightly, nudging the bird out of his strategizing. “Besides, they could help us!”

Grian doesn’t reply, just huffs with a scowl that squishes his face comically.

Scar absently scratches at his chin before he leans up against the wall pressing his forearm high above Grian, leaning over, the other doing a double take, clearly taken back by how much Scar is leaning over into his space. He'll have to put on his charm to try and convince the bird, his most effective tactic.

"You're nervous but I can assure you this, I can gain any advantage in a situation, just by talking" He gives him a cheesy lopsided grin.

"What- do you possess the ability to talk someone to death? Boredom? Into sleep, perhaps?" Grian replies in the most mocking and deadpan tone, meeting his energy.

"All of the above!!! Depending on the weather of course," He says, leaning in slightly with a whisper before bouncing back to that quietish tone of his, "and then I steal their stuff!!" Scar grins with more eagerness than Grian has seen in quite some time, causing the glare to let out a slight wheeze of laughter, raising an incredulous brow.

"Wow, you're really starting to sound more like a criminal." He veers his head to the side, grinning widely up at Scar, and bearing his sharp teeth.

Scar retracts his arm from the wall, an unsure look spoiling his smile. He can’t help darting his eyes to the side, almost taken aback by the former statement. "I mean … not if they're the bad guy, right?"

“That's a very rudimentary way of thinking.” Grian's grin falters slightly, that cold look flickering over him briefly, as his eyes narrow. He shakes away whatever thought he had, bringing the prior conversation back.

“Fine, you do you're talking thing then,” the bird swats at the air absently.

“And you'll be my hype man?” Scar bounces on his toes excitedly.

Grian gives too blank of an expression before pushing up his shoulders. “I'll do something,”

“AHA! Be amazed, small friend! At my infectious likeableness,” Scar stands up straighter and puffs out his chest, before moving to turn around the corner between them and the strangers only for sharp claws to gently grab his arm.

“Wait-”

“Oh oh! W-what?” Scar looks around shocked, but nothing is amiss, just the surprisingly warm touch of metal talons.

“You're intending to make a good impression, right?”

Scar splutters awkwardly as Grian doesn’t give him time to answer the obvious question.

“My advice? I'd hide that you're a Vindicator."

“…why?”

“Ah–” Grian awkwardly chuckles, retracting his grip and scratching at his head. “I thought I’d already established that the general public isn't too fond–” he loosely gestures Scar up and down.

Scar raises a brow, leaning on his hip and looking down at the bird. “Really? Are you the general public?” He smirks at his own witty remark.

“Just take my word for it, this definitely isn't Spawn, and I bet you haven't even travelled off planet before. You have that sparkly dumb innocent look in your eyes–”

Scar gasps and clutches his hand to his chest in false offence.

“I’m just saying, if you wanna do the whole friendly talking thing, I'd recommend not immediately making it known that you're a Vindicator.” Grian huffs.

Scar looks down dumbly at the bright blue jacket tied around his waist. Grian follows his line of sight and muffles a laugh, noticing Scar's mild panic at the glaring obvious beacon of his faction, taunting him along with a bright stitched ‘V’ clearly visible even with it tied at his waist.

“Just– turn it inside out or something–”

“Oh! Smart!” Scar claps his hands, wincing as the noise echoed against the walls. Grian glares at him.

He fumbles with the jacket, taking it off and turning it inside out before tying it back around his waist, and nodding with satisfaction. He looks back towards Grian, the glare watching him slightly amused. “Now, Bird friend, watch as I charm these members of the ‘general public’ with my insatiable charisma!”

“… You already said that. There's only so much ‘impressed’ I can hand out, I'm afraid.”

Scar ignores him as he brushes off as much dust as he can to look somewhat presentable. He leans forward with a step but stops as quickly as he started when his company doesn't make a move with him.

“You're not… coming with??”

“I am, I just want to linger back, for safety reasons– you know?” Grian still stands with his arms crossed but his face has morphed into something far more neutral, clawed feet firmly digging into their place in the sand.

“Oh! Smart!” Scar replies. He continues, but not before catching the faint flicker of a smile from his companion.

Scar confidently marches towards the strangers, too distracted by his plan to notice the quiet whoosh of feathers behind him.

“Why, hello there!”

“EEEEK!”

“OH MY GOSH–” both of the strangers scream at Scar, frantically scrambling back in the sand up to a stand.

The shorter one gawks at Scar, their left arm held stiffly as their right tugs on the other's sleeve pulling them both back further. They push themselves in front in an act that almost could have been intimidating if the other wasn't practically two times their size.

Now, up close, Scar takes the two in. The shorter one appears to be a blazeborn, fuzzy and yellow with clothes that looked like they weren't originally suited for the heat, evident by the thick winter coat tied around their waist, mirroring Scar’s, and the torn-off sleeves of their shirt. The other stands several heads taller, also strangely cradling their right arm. They’re far less identifiable, but the several neat feathers that frame their face and shoulders definitely imply that they’re probably at least glare adjacent, even with their height. They’re wearing what can be described as cowboy attire, sans a hat, and look far more in place in this setting.

“Oh, you're just a guy…” the taller one eventually speaks out after their initial panic.

“Yup, just a guy!” Scar stands up straighter, suppressing a wince as his leg braces squeak obnoxiously. “Sorry to cause a fright,” he smiles apologetically.

The two of them glance at each other, then back to Scar with bewildered expressions.

“I think I might be lost! And maybe you are too? We were wondering if you could help”.

“We?” One of them asks.

“OH! Well! I'm Scar and this here is my lackey.” He turns to look for Grian only to be met with the empty, dusty ground and no bird in sight.

“They're …not here?”

“Who-” Scar hears one of them ask. He doesn’t even have time to turn to identify who before a flurry of feathers swoops down and blocks his view.

The two figures scream for a second time as the taller one is pushed roughly aside by brown wings, falling clumsy in the sand and landing in a way that causes them to choke out a yelp.

“OW OW OW, I CAN'T SEE!” They sit up quickly with one arm hanging loosely over their chest, the other grasping and rubbing at their face and eyes in confusion. They continue to yell in panic, “WHAT HAPPENED I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING-”

“Drop whatever weapons you have,” Grian turns, holding the blaze in his grasp. He holds his wings wrapped around them, keeping their arms pinned. He uses one of his clawed hands to cover their mouth, the other holding a blue, glowing blade to their neck.

“What- what happened to the talking plan?” Scar sways on his feet. Too much is happening in such a brief moment, and all his plans for conversations are useless, blown to the wind.

“Too slow,” Grian replies bluntly.

The figure in Grian’s grasp desperately tries to muster out a muffled scream against Grian's hand, only causing the bird to tighten his hold and sword to their neck.

Scar feels lost. He looks to the other who is still on the ground, using one hand to touch the sand.

“I can't see!- It's all dark- Tango?!-”

The pure distress in their voices, mixed with the muffled yelping of the other, makes Scar falter, his mind short-circuiting in the chaos. He weirdly feels scared, that same fear of Grian and his cold look is all too familiar to barely a day ago. A fear that he apparently didn't realise still has a frightful hold on him, his shoulder pulsing passively with pain on cue with the memory.

Despite the fear, he can’t help but step forward, reaching out to diffuse the situation.

Strangely enough, Grian flinches back. He stares up at Scar like he had completely forgotten he was there, his confused look immediately being chased away as the trapped stranger shifts in his hold. His expression quickly returning to an unreadable one.

“Let them talk… maybe? Please?” Scar asks slowly. Grian looks up at him with those deep dark eyes, cold and empty before a nearly embarrassed look crosses his face. He lowers the hand that had held the stranger's mouth, but the blade, however, is still pinned to their throat.

Immediately the blaze gasps and begins yelling “Please we're injured, we mean no harm- please-”

“…. Huh,” Grian squeezes tighter subconsciously, as they kick in his grasp.

“Our arms- OW! QUIT IT- LET GO!”

They shove against Grian, his grip loosening just enough for them to push out as he moves his blade. All of a sudden the bird looks incredibly guilty.

“What the hell man!” The shorter man scrambles to their partner's side, leaning down and giving them their arm to grab onto. They keep their eyes on Grian, scowling as the other weakly uses their hold to stand up.

In an almost too cheery voice for the situation, the taller one speaks, “I can see again! What was that?”

Their gaze immediately lands on Grian, who tenses under it.

“You’re a bird?” They mutter dumbly after rubbing their eyes and squinting at him.

Grian steps back, still holding his weapon by his side. He gives the tall man a look up and down his expression twisting into something uncomfortable.

“Not one of yours,” he mumbles back.

“Sorry, sorry?” the taller coughs, completely confused, but Grian ignores them.

“You're hurt, both of you?” Grian hums, pointing the end of his sword in their direction as he makes a move to stand by Scar's side, who stands, silently wringing his hands, considering his next steps.

They both nod, fear and anger plain on their faces, each holding an arm tightly to their chests.

A quiet sort of relief washes over Grian as he puts away his sword. His expression morphing into amusement, with a tinge of sheepishness.

“Wow, that's inconvenient! You don't pose much of a threat then, huh?” He tries to joke and smile, the expression faulting only when their company makes no indication of finding that comment funny, at all.

Scar shifts awkwardly to his side, considering many different options on what to do next moves through his head before he steps in front of Grian, a goofy grin being plastered across his lips.

“So… maybe we should start over?”

“You think?” The blaze spits, their shimmering flame-like hair sparking in reaction.

“We were only taking precautions, there are dangerous people in this big universe, you know!” Scar tries to lessen the anger with that same cheesy grin.

“I'd argue, you're one of them! Or at least they are,” They point towards the bird, who does nothing but look away, crossing his arms.

“Just a common misunderstanding, we apologise. Let me reintroduce myself-” Scar tries to step forward with a handshake, but both of them move away from him pointedly. Instead, he retreats to Grian’s side, putting his hands up defensively, giving them more space to feel safe.

“Well, I'm Scar! Like I- already mentioned-” he nervously chuckles the last bit, then gestures to the glare. “-and this is Grian”

“Ah, so we're giving them our names- cool,” the other grumbles, his back practically turned to them, appearing like he’s given up on the exchange.

A tense atmosphere falls heavily on the four as awkward silence fills the air. Scar's eyes glance to the taller of the duo, who meets his gaze with a similar, nervous expression, unlike the blazeborn who stands next to them, festering with an anger that seems to almost crackle off of them in flames.

The tall one eventually finds the courage to speak, unsure and hesitant, without the anger and murderous look that their companion seems to have.

"Well, I'm Jimmy! And this is Tango!" Jimmy speaks with a similar cheer and charisma to Scar.

"Yup," the blaze, Tango, snaps with a slight snarl on his lips. His injured arm tightly held against his body, crossing over his chest as he stares daggers in the direction of Scar and Grian. There’s another pause of quiet that only causes the air to grow more uneasy, so thick with awkwardness that it can be cut with a knife. Tango and Grian stand their ground while Jimmy begins to kick at the sand absent-mindedly and an awkward cough escapes from Scar.

The former can't help but wring his hands once again, standing unsure in the moment before he decides to speak once again, "You seem tense,"

"YOU THINK?" Tango barks out, that snarl only growing angrier as he drops his hand to his side and balls it into raging fists.

Jimmy quickly tries to hop to some sort of defence, "We haven't seen anybody yet- we didn't really expect anyone to-" he’s cut off by Tango's eyes whipping over to look at him, the blazeborn pointing a finger to his neck,

"A KNIFE. TO MY THROAT." He speaks loud and clear making it obvious, if anyone can't tell, why he’s angry.

At that, Grian turns to the conversation, his tail flicking behind him. “Ah- Well, I didn't break your skin and, you know, I apologised.”

“Actually, you haven’t-” Jimmy points out, frowning.

“Oh… sorry?” Grian shrugs.

“I already dislike you-”

He ignores Jimmy turning to Scar with a neutral expression, ��Right, Scar, ready to go?“

“What?”

“YOU'RE GOING TO JUST LEAVE US?” Jimmy shouts whilst Tango just looks unsurprised.

“Well, you're both injured so-” Grian says nonchalantly, not bothering to finish his sentence like it’s obvious.

“THAT'S CRIMINAL-” Jimmy squawkes.

Grian doesn’t reply, instead, lightly reaching for Scar, a weird sort of hesitance to his grasp, looking as if he’s going to grab Scar's arm, only to move to pull at his shirt. Scar doesn't move.

“We could- help them?”

Grian looks at him with a troubled look but doesn't say anything in response.

“You know?” He, in fact, makes no indication of knowing. “We have medical supplies, remember?”

Tango's eyebrow shoots up, his angry scowl morphing into intrigue. “Healing?”

“SCAR- Cool now they know our names and our resources-” the bird grumbles, Eying the two with a cold glare. He crunches up his nose, then looks back to Scar. “We're not giving them anything for free.”

“…Well I mean, we could always offer a trade.” Scar tries to smile, trying his best to appeal to Grian with a warm grin.

Grian takes in a deep breath, contemplating for a couple of seconds before he points at the strangers and clicks his tongue. “What do you two have to offer?”

“Do you have an ender chest?” Scar pipes in quickly.

“…No.”

“We don't really have anything-”

Grian hums in acknowledgement then smirks at Scar. “There you go, shall we leave then-”

Tango interrupts quickly as the winged man once again tries to pull Scar away. “We have some knowledge! You said you’re lost! I know some things to help! About this game-”

“Game?” Scar repeats.

“No thank you-” Grian now switches from pulling at Scar to pushing him.

“But aren't you curious? We have theories!”

“All good, we have our own plans, thank you.” He huffs in an effort to try and move Scar, but for once Scar has an advantage over him in height and strength. He barely moves.

“Okay! Deal!” Scar finally replies.

“SCAR!” Grian stops pushing Scar, instead staring at him like an angry feathered hedgehog. It takes all of Scar’s willpower not to laugh at him.

“We'll only tell you anything once you heal us,” Tango adds.

“Hah! As if that wasn't already a bad deal-” Grian mumbles mostly to himself.

“-What about during?”

“Okay, during.” Tango agrees to Scar.

Grian finally acknowledges the blaze, as he holds a hand to his chest and baps at Scar with the other. He scowles between them all. “Hey, hey. I'm the one with the supplies, you should be negotiating with me-”

He cuts himself off at the look Scar gives him. His lips press into a tight frown as he crosses his arms and taps his claws, the processing of his thoughts buried deep in his brow.

Scar tilts his head at him slightly.

“Ugh fine,” Grian finally relents, before huffing off to the side and making an upset display of sitting down and disrupting the dusty sand with a flap of his wings, the others coughing slightly.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Take a seat. Let me heal your stupid bones,” he finally spits when the others don’t make any motion, prompting the pair to finally move.

“Oh, it's really rich of you to think I'd let you get anywhere near to my arm again-” Tango replies, unamused.

“Well you're going to just have to deal with it,” Grian replies to Tango with a sardonic grin, “These are my supplies and I'd like to keep some autonomy in this situation.”

“If it makes you feel any better he healed me pretty well,” Scar chimes in, pulling his tank top aside, to show off the slightly bloody gauze. Tango scrutinises the wound, hissing sympathetically, looking towards Grian who’s trying and failing to look not guilty.

“… I suppose.” Jimmy hums, next to Tango.

Both he and Tango awkwardly shuffle towards the winged man, within arms reach of each other, they sit down in unison, Tango’s tail hooking onto Jimmy's ankle.

“You! Beanpole! Give me your arm” Grian moves closer, sitting up on his knees.

“Me?” Jimmy replies confused.

“Yes you, I don't see any actual bean poles around here do you? I'm talking to your daft mug.”

“You don't have to insult me so much, man-” Jimmy grumbles as he complies, as Grian makes a start on assessing his injuries.

There’s a couple of minutes of uncomfortable quiet, occasionally interrupted by grumbles and yelps. Scar stands, watching his company. He looks towards Tango, who it keeping a calculated watch on what Grian is doing.

“You didn't expect to be here…” Scar slowly sits in front of Tango. His eyes bright with intrigue.

Tango just turns to look at him confused. “What?”

“Those clothes-” Scar points at the thick coat, cushioning the blaze as he sits crossed-legged.

“Oh! OH, that's actually pretty intuitive.” He smiles at Scar and scoots closer indicating for him to listen.

“Yeah I'm not from here, I was working on a pretty cold planet, before …uh.”

“Waking up with no memories of how you got here?” Scar finishes, beaming.

Tango leans back, his grin faltering slightly. “…Yeah.”

“How'd you know that!?” Jimmy asks from behind them, apparently having been listening in.

“We're the same! Actually! We don't remember at all how we got here.”

“Even him?” Tango gestures coldly over his shoulders, not even looking in Grian's direction.

“Even him!”

“Interesting,” Tango appears to drift into his thoughts before Grian coughs loudly.

“Alright then, if you want me to do this, well, you better start to tell your story.”

Tango shoots him an angry look, then dusts off his trousers before sitting up straight, getting comfortable. He looks at Scar, coughs, and smiles.

“Well, first you gotta know some of my history.”

Scar watches Grian roll his eyes from over Tango's shoulder.

“I worked as… hmmm sorta freelance. I'm an architect, redstoner- weird lil’ guy with a nac for bizarre contraptions. I take all and any kind of jobs I can find across the universe, a travelling mechanic if you will,” Tango grins, pleased. “I'm actually- saving up so I can own a hermit settlement, start a small self-sustaining industry, build all kinds of wacky farms! Just work for me, you know?”

He pauses, waiting for a response only to be met with puzzled looks.

“Uhhh that's beside the point. What I’m getting at is that owning the land to make a hermit settlement is a lot of money and prep. And as it goes, the jobs that pay the most tend to be the most…. questionable. I like to believe I'm a good judge of character when it comes to my clients, I know when the people who are giving me a tempting offer are bad news, and I usually decline. I'm not about putting myself in trouble for a pretty price.”

Tango inhales, his thumb worrying over his knuckle, and continues.

“But there was this one job- These very mysterious individuals offered me a job to create a game! It honestly was a very tempting offer, because they were giving me so much free range with what I built. The only requirement was that any number of people could enter the game and there could only be one winner. And they offered me a lot of money for it.”

Scar clocks Grian making a small sneer.

“So I took it, I took the deal and started designing my game. I uhhh- I sort of made, think like… dungeon crawler type deal.”

“Wait but you said you didn't make dungeons,” Jimmy interrupts.

“Going to be honest, I didn't expect you to hit that nail on the head.” Tango turns to Jimmy, giving him a small smile, before patting him gently on his shoulder. “Pretty impressive.”

Jimmy splutters, his expressions flip flopping between being offended and proud.

“Anyway… as I was saying, the more I worked for them, the more I started to suspect a few things. They kept insisting on things in my design to be more…”

He swirled his hand around “Let's say lethal. And that was before I started noticing how much resources and wealth my employer owned. They kept giving me things with ease, I started even asking for stuff I knew was hard to find like enchantments and whatnot. And they didn't even sweat.”

He cuts himself off, a conflicted look shadowing his face.

“When I put my energy into a project, I put my whole heart in. This dungeon was my… my child! I’d been working on it for months! Almost years! I didn't like how they were twisting it. They kept taking away the things I included to make the game fair. And that was my last straw.”

“I ran, and I tried to take all the important endgame design prints with me. I couldn't let them use my work to hurt people in the gruesome ways that they so clearly wanted to do. And now I'm here.”

“…Oh, that's rough,” Scar replies.

Nodding Tango stares down at his lap, rubbing at the worn pads of his hands. He looks genuinely sad for a minute before he shakes that look away and carries on.

“Yeah, so what I'm saying is- I got to see enough of the kind of work these people were doing to notice a pattern.”

“The people I worked for were definitely Enders, and I believe they're probably pretty high up considering rather than taking planets and trading pearls, they were employing people to take their enemies and put them into ‘games' for their entertainment.”

“And I think we're in one of those games right now,”

Tango grins wildly, holding a finger up to emphasise his conclusion.

“WHOA, what really?”

“Ugh,” Grian grumbles.

“And if my assumption is correct, I think we've all wronged an Ender before, right?”

He shuffles so that all four of them were sat in a circle.

“I mean- me! Clearly, with leaving the job.” He points to himself and then to Jimmy. “You said something about Enders secretly operating in the town you were sheriffing.”

Grian’s gloomy expression immediately gets replaced with intrigue as he looks up from his lap for the first time during the conversation with Jimmy.

“You're a sheriff?” Scar asks.

“YES, I am for a matter of fact, from a small town on the Nether.” Jimmy smiles widely, adjusting his hair confidently.

“Now that's surprising…” Grian remarks to himself.

Jimmy either doesn't hear or ignores him as he continues. “Well it's more a self-proclaimed title, not much goes on in my town and I mostly just… give directions to the elderly and get bullied by local kids,”

“Nevermind.”

Jimmy shoots Grian a dirty look, the latter smirking back before he goes back to working on the supplies in his lap.

“But yes! Recently I tried to uncover a mystery and encountered Enders,”

“And that's the last thing you remember doing right?” Tango inquires.

“… Yeah, actually.”

He looks towards Scar “And you… what about you?”

“Oh.”

Everyone looks at Scar with intrigue. Grian has his head dipped down still, his gaze, though, points, staring straight at him.

Ah, right, not-a-Vindicator time.

“Well, I'm a mayor, as a matter of fact.”

Everyone looks at him like it was the last thing they expected him to say, including Grian.

Scar coughs, chasing off the nervous wobble in his voice and he sits up straight ready to prove his charm.

“For a pretty unknown-” Scar awkwardly trails off, not really familiar enough with space life for his own lie. “…hermit settlement! A beloved staple of the community, birds and children sing when I roam the streets.”

The others look at him speechless, he can feel them doubting him. Alright then, maybe he should learn to be more believable.

“The last thing I remember doing, actually, was chasing a criminal down an alley!” He settles on. He sees Grian go still. “It was epic and had glorious explosions and everything, a truly action-filled adventure-”

He stops when he feels Grian subtly thump him with his tail. Hiding the movement by sitting up, done with dressing Jimmy's wounds and moving on to Tango.

Tango ignores him, too interested in Scar’s story. “Was this criminal an Ender by chance?”

“Oh! Yes!” He very almost forgot that was what Tango was asking to begin with.

Tango sits up straighter with a look of triumph and excitement on his face.“That makes three out of four.”

“…Not a chance,” Grian says coldly.

Tango finally turns to him, Grian looking up whilst sorting out the supplies he has left.

“What?”

“I'm not telling you my story like we're all sat around a campfire-”

“We're trying to help, isn't that what you asked for?” Tango argues.

“This isn't helpful information, it's just a lot of assumptions and guesses.”

“Calculated guesses! And besides, what else could you possibly know about what's going on? Enlighten me,” Tango challenges him.

“I don't… but I also don't see how knowing all this even helps us in our current situation.”

Grian leans back from where he had been hunched over, closes his eyes, and flings his hand around in an almost smug way. “Yada yada, scary rich people put a bunch of losers into a death game. That doesn't help me whilst we're supposedly in one.”

“You find yourself in a lot of death games then?” Tango grins bitterly.

“I- '' Somehow that waveres Grian’s response briefly, he clears his throat before resuming. “I like information that helps. This doesn't- this doesn't fix a broken arm or get us any closer to escaping.”

“Well maybe it can- we can go ahead knowing that there's probably traps or trials set for us.” Scar says. The two look at Jimmy and Scar who had been quietly observing their conversation.

“Like the beeping!” Jimmy responds.

“Yeah-”

“OH, THE PHANTOMS!” Scar exclaims.

“Phantoms?”

Scar wiggles in the dust with delight. “Yeah! We encountered phantoms on our journey, which is a pretty odd place to find them,”

“Stole my helmet,” Grian grumbles, less happy.

“Yeah… they were definitely placed here intentionally, we almost got killed by them!” Scar exclaims. He sits up straighter and puffs out his chest. “But I fought them off valiantly.”

Tango and Jimmy share a doubtful look.

“And what about you two- did you guys encounter anything strange?” Scar claps his hands together, intrigued.

Grian rests on his arm and gestures loosely to them. “Strange enough to break both your arms?”

At that both Jimmy and Tango look at each other, coming to a realisation that makes them both grin wildly at each other.

“OH and THAT'S another thing,” Jimmy says far too gleefully.

“The game makers must have included this other mechanic to make it difficult for us!” Tango injects, matching his energy. He and Jimmy talk in slightly hushed yet excited voices to one another, Tango playfully pushing at Jimmy and whispering something about how it all made sense now.

Scar and Grian just blink blankly, clearly missing something. When neither of the two gives them context, instead excitedly making noises at each other over a discovery, Scar coughs.

“What mechanic?” He leans closer, curiously.

“We are linked! Somehow!” Jimmy exclaims loudly.

“It's probably a curse and enchantment related. But we feel and suffer the same wounds, hence… broken arms'' Tango adds.

“So you both broke your arm?” Scar hums still confused.

“No no just Jimmy, he fell.”

“Gracefully!” Jimmy interrupts with too much enthusiasm.

“Gracefully… from the top of the ravine. I was just walking nearby and received the injury too,” Tango sits back a little and loosely holds up his injured arm.

Scar hums to himself, gaze jumping between his company and their injuries. “So it's a proximity thing?”

Tango sits up fast with a gasp of excitement. “That's a good point! I don't know.”

He leans forward cautiously, still holding his bad arm to his chest as he beckons Scar to come closer.

Both Jimmy and Grian look at each other confused before Tango flicks Scar hard on the nose. Causing him to make a startled yelp noise.

With how they lean over, neither manages to notice as Grian also flinches, hand briefly touching his own nose, before he notices Jimmy watching him and stops.

“Nope didn't feel that,” Tango says, veering back to his previously comfortable position.

Scar reclines back too, leg braces creaking slightly as he rubs his nose and makes a small sad noise.

“Did you?” Tango turns to Jimmy who’s looking weirdly at Grian.

Tango nudges him, the taller shaking out of whatever thought he was having.

“Oh- no I didn't.”

He looks back to Grian who’s in the process of not so subtly shifting further from the others.

“Maybe… Are you two together?” Jimmy prompts, pinning Grian specifically with a look.

Obliviously, Scar says, “We just met,” still holding his nose.

“No, he meant the weird pain link thing,” Tango responds with a slight laugh.

“Oh!! Hold on-” Scar excitedly lifts his head up, his sore nose quickly forgotten. He turns to Grian who had been trying his best to not be noticed the whole exchange.

Moving too fast and suddenly, Scar goes to pinch his arm, only to hit his hand against metal. The realisation hits him dumbly, but not before he watches Grian cry out and pull back fearfully with an expression Scar doesn’t think he's ever seen on the man's face before.

Grian regains his composure quicker than Scar. He shakes off the scared look on his face but keeps his arms held close to his chest protectively.

Scar goes to apologise but Grian's voice interprets him. His attention directed away from Scar.

“No, we're not linked.”

Tango shrugs, titling his head at Jimmy and smiling.

“Well, maybe it's a thing specific to us,”

Jimmy pulls a slightly unconvinced face before agreeing. “Yeah probably.”

Grian finishes patching up Tango, ignoring the three as they descend into rambles and theories about it all.

He packs away his remaining supplies, looking pleased with his two patients' bandaged and slung arms, even as they pay him no mind.

He stands up, Scar is the first to look at him with a questioning expression.

“Welp! Considering I'm done… and you've given your less-than-useful information, I think it's our time to leave,” Grian brushes the dust off his trousers and holds out a hand for Scar.

“Scar?”

Scar doesn't move, he looks at the others and back to Grian, a guilty look on his face. “I actually think we should all stick together–”

Grian doesn't respond, instead pulling his hand away slowly. Scar continues.

“There’s clearly something much bigger going on here and I think teaming up is a safer option,”

The bird remains silent, his feathers betraying his blank face as they all pin. He blinks at Scar.

“I agree,” Jimmy speaks up awkwardly after a prolonged quiet.

Tango grins. “You're more than free to go off on your own,” he says snidely.

“Ah, well…” Scar splutters, standing up and holding his hands out, that's not what he meant at all, but Grian beats him to a response.

“No.”

“Wow… what a change of heart, you're scared of being alone?” Tango teases.

Grian pays no mind to the comments, his hurt look settling on Scar instead.

“Scar please, I can protect us both we don't need…” he loses his confidence, the end of his sentence teetering off.

Scar lets his arms hang at his side, as he looks at Tango and Jimmy, still sitting by each other's side. Now with both their arms in slings and, despite Tango's intimating expression, looking slightly pathetic in the hot sun.

“… they're hurting, Grian, I need to help,” he gives Grian a pleading look.

The glare stares at Scar, he seems to take in all of him, annoyed and confused. When suddenly, a brief flicker of understanding fills his features.

“… Grian?” Grian doesn’t look at him, instead, he stares at the dust to his side. Tail flicking at his side in frustration.

“I'm not leaving you,” he says simply. Refusing to elaborate.

A small part of Scar is surprised by Grian's response, his weird protectiveness over Scar, especially in context to how he’d acted towards the others. Scar can’t help but smile softly, even if Grian isn’t looking at him.

“So you'll agree to be a group?”

The bird turns to him with a hard look on his face, a disruption on his tongue before he cuts himself off, face flushing red when he realises Scar is smiling at him with a completely different energy. He bows his head slightly. “I'm staying with you, but I do not trust them.”

—

Scar sits down, explaining their travel plan, which honestly wasn't much since all they had done was travel in the direction of supposed man-made structures that had been spotted, hoping to not die in the process.

Grian positions himself slightly behind Scar as they all start laying out all their possessions. Comparing their resources with each other.

Out of everyone, Jimmy still has the most on him, carrying one container of water, which he apparently had forgotten about, he lets Grian and Scar take a swig, Tango insisting he doesn’t need it as much with being a blaze. They also have Grian's healing supplies, which at this point aren't very much, just a few alcohol wipes and gauze. Then also some dried meat Jimmy had and one package of dried cat treats that Scar had been carrying, and no one seems stoked about potentially eating.

Besides that, all they have is some random useless items in people’s pockets, all laid out in front of them. Anxious, taking in the unfortunate sight of what they have to survive on. Scar sits on his knees, ignoring how the braces creak as he leans on them.

Tango is watching Grian closely, mumbling under his voice like he’s trying to get Grian's attention, but the latter knows and deliberately ignores him.

Tango finally clears his throat and speaks up, tapping the sand in front of Grian to ensure he has his attention. “You have your weapon with you,” he says like it isn’t a question.

“Yes.” Grian doesn’t look at him, instead rewrapping a rope they had found in one of Jimmy's pockets. The rope rings slightly against his metal digits as he pulls the thread between them.

“So we all have our comms, storage, and defensive tools missing except for you,” Tango states snarkily.

“Well, I also have my comms and other stuff missing. Guess they accidentally skipped out on the knife.”

“How convenient for you,”

Grian deliberately disregards Tango's biting word, looking up at the other two. “We might have enough for a day or two more of travel? Could even hunt along the way… if there are even any animals.”

“The knife will be handy then.” Scar tries, looking at Tango with a cheery smile.

“Could also… maybe… find plants?” Jimmy says, They all look around at the dry, sandy landscape, only occupied by the occasional dead shrub, with dismay.

“How much collective knowledge do we have with foraging?”

“I used to be a baker!” Scar interjects excitedly.

“Cool!- But I don't see any flour or water, don't know how that's going to help us in this situation, bud,” Grian pats Scar on the back.

“Unless you are secretly an enderian and can just … teleport bread to us or something,” Tango adds jokingly.

“I'm not-”

“Are you?” Grian cuts in, the others realising quickly that he’s addressing Jimmy with a weird look.

Jimmy looks up confused, apparently not paying attention to where the conversation had drifted. “What?”

“You’re very tall… thought maybe-”

“Oh no, I'm a glare!” he replies.

Grian goes strangely still, that cold look filling his face. He looks like he wants to say something, but chooses against it, going back to meaninglessly fiddling with a rope.

“Well, it would have been super convenient to be an enderian with y’know …the lack of water,” Tango hums next to Jimmy.

“It might rain!” Jimmy notes gleefully.

“Rain? Here?”

“I mean maybe? These kinds of canyons get formed by water, so there's a real chance a flash flood might happen!” At the last statement, he looks nervous. ”Which depending on where we are, could help us or … be bad.”

“How do you know that?” Tango looks up at Jimmy with a gleam of curiosity.

“Well I get bored, and there's this neat little library in the Nether with a lot of unique landscapes and… “

Jimmy and Tango titter off into their own conversation about various formations of rocks and caverns in desert-like terrain. Scar's mind drifts aside as he watches billows of sand blow above them on the top of the ravine. He catches movement out the sides of his eye as Grian shifts.

The sun has moved more in the sky, the shade they had hidden in changing direction. The hot sun finally reaching them, first hitting the feathers on the Grian tail. He must have just noticed as he pushes himself away from it, a scowl on his face while he creeps away and bumps into Scar in the process.

They look up at each other, Grian jumping slightly when he notices he’s being watched, his ears pulling back as he looks away.

“We should get going. You guys rested enough?” He cuts the other two off, Tango drawing in the sand with his claws with Jimmy instructing him.

“Oh sure-” Jimmy replies. He stands, using his large tail to help push him up, before lending a hand to Tango.

Grian stumbles up into a stand on the sandy ground, hissing to himself and mumbling something along the lines of “dumb bird feet”. He looks at Scar who changed to sit with his legs in front of him, inspecting his leg braces and sighing.

“Those aren't meant for the desert, are they?” He holds out a hand which Scar takes, pulling himself to stand.

“Nope! Not really, more like indoor use.”

Grian frowns, opening his mouth to say something, but Tango cuts him off.

“Actually…” The blaze moves towards them, holding a hand behind his back, a snarky look crossing his face.

His gaze is glued directly on Grian as he pulls his uninjured hand out, holding it towards them. Grian's hands are still in Scar’s, he feels Grian's grip tighten subconsciously before he pulls his hand away in favour of crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Tango.

“You want this temporary alliance to go well right?”

“I mean… it would be convenient,” Grian frowns, confused about where Tango is going with this.

“Give me your knife,” Tango flicks his claws beckoning.

“… What?”

“I feel like it's very justified.”

“I'm not giving you my weapon,” Grian snaps, his hand moving to his side subconsciously.

Tango pulls his arm back, crossing it over with the other. “I still don't trust you, our minds would be more at ease if you didn't have that.” He looks up to Jimmy who’s looking over his shoulder, nodding slightly.

Scar looks at Grian whose back is turned to him, but regardless he can see the anger physically welling up, as his feathers stand up and his tail starts to flick back and forth. His claws hovering right above where the blade sits, ready.

“HAH, what do you think I care, there is no way I'd give it to you.” Grian spits.

Scar hears him take in a deep breath, sensing the start of something terrible happening. He takes a slightly stumbling step between them.

“I could take it,” Scar says simply. Both of them look up at him.

“I mean- you both seem to trust me more, so maybe I could carry it for now?” Scar tries, putting on his most easygoing smile. Tango's frown softens slightly, but that isn't who Scar is worried about most. The bird is now looking at him, a lot less spiked up with his mouth slightly open, his eyes searching Scar for something. He looks back to Tango, who just nods to Scar.

“Fine.”

Almost everyone lets out a breath of relief.

Grian pulls out his weapon, quickly, and grins to himself as he watches Jimmy and Tango flinch.

He hands it to Scar and gives him a weird look only he can see before his face morphs into a generally upset pout. Striding past them all, he barks “Follow,” and doesn't wait for them to catch up.

Scar looks at the weapon in his hands, remembering its hold before wedging it into his belt.

—

They continue with their walking, Grian at the front out of frustration over the loss of his weapons. Tango's prying eyes watch him from behind, insisting on being on the lookout for any funny behaviour.

The mood is off. Tango and Grian holding their weird rivalry and Jimmy and Scar lagging behind, looking at each other confused but not quite wanting to start small talk out of fear of getting on the other two nerves. They both opt instead to stare at the ground and savour as much of the shade as they can.

Tango is the first to break the silence.

“I don't think I trust you.”

He has his head facing forward, the anger in his voice enough to indicate he’s talking to Grian.

“I bet you’re one of them.”

“Them?” Grian almost laughs.

“Explains why you have your weapon and not us, why you're so reluctant to share why you might be here. And don't even think I forgot about your oh-so-welcoming greeting,” Tango responds with no amusement in his voice.

“What is your problem with me?”

“I think you're an Ender, a man from the inside sent down to watch us.” He says simply, pushing up his shoulders.

Grian snorts, drawing out his words. “Literally all you have against me is that I have a weapon and I’m a bit of an introvert, that's barely anything,”

“That's not all I have. What about your wings?”

The mood changes instantly, from bickering to an icy, quiet cold.

With that Scar finally looks up at the conversation, they have since all slowed down from walking to a standstill. Grian being the one to stop first as he scowls in Tango's direction.

He doesn't say a word. Tango continues with a malicious look on his face.

“And the arms, they're enchanted, right? I can basically smell it from here. You don't come across enchantments like that in the wild. And that's not even mentioning the level of skill that must have gone into those base robotics, for some random stranger– You'd have to be a part of a pretty powerful faction to get robotics like those and I definitely doubt you're a Vindicator.”

Scar watches Grian flash him a very brief glance at that name. Tango continues unaware.

“I've been around Ender technology enough to recognize its signatures, I used to work with it-”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Grian cuts in coldly with a flat tone.

“I think I do.” Tango challenges, bearing his sharp teeth.

“Hey, hey, what about we uhh, calm down a bit?” Scar interrupts, shrugging his shoulders slightly with an open demeanour.

Tango's wild gaze jumps to him and sticks.

“I think you guys might have all come off on the wrong foot! Ahah,” Scar laughs painedly.

He stalls slightly, almost feeling the heat from Tango start to concentrate on him instead.

“I promise you, Grian is not as stabby as he seems.”

“Oh yeah?” Tango responds incredulously. “Is that why you have a stab wound on your shoulder?” He jabs his finger in the direction of Scar's shoulder, the gauze and tank top stained lightly red.

Scar shoots Grian a look, the other's eyes blown slightly more wide knowingly.

“…Unrelated circumstances,” Scar says simply.

Tango steps closer to Scar, causing him to stumble back slightly, Jimmy awkwardly drifting over his shoulder placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder briefly. “Why are you even sticking up for this guy? Didn't you say you only just met?” Tango all but growls at Scar.

“Well… We're friends.”

“No, there's something else. Something you're not telling us,”

Scar's mouth finds itself ajar, as he tries to think of what to say. Grian is painfully quiet over his shoulder.

Tango takes another step towards Scar, his mind spinning trying to figure out a believable story.

“…We made a deal!” He settles on.

“A deal?” That seems to genuinely take Tango by surprise, his imposing façade faltering.

“Yeah.”

Tango pulls a weird expression before it changes quickly as if struck by an idea. “If you made a deal maybe we could fulfil it instead, then we won't need this guy. I have the contacts, I know my loopholes. If this deal is so much more important, that you'd associate with this guy then choose what I can offer you instead. What even would it be? to you to find yourself associated with someone like him? What was it?”

“I-…” Scar hesitates and turns his gaze to where Grian is standing. The three of them have moved a considerable distance away from him during their argument, but he still stands within audible range, watching quietly.

The bird looks uncomfortable and small, he thinks. His feathers pinning and fingers flicking at his side, right where his blade would have been.

His expression looks complicated, Scar observes, like he’s expecting this situation but still feels a sense of hurt or pain. Weirdly, his gaze is fixed on the blaze rather than Scar, but he can see him fidget and glare as if he knows he’s being looked at, trying his best to avoid eye contact.

Tango coughs shuffling forward in the sand to bring Scar's attention back to him.

Scar had almost forgotten what they had asked. The deal. He wants to know what their deal was. Technically the deal wasn't even that specific, it’s just protection. That's all Grian had promised and even with a weapon, which he no longer had, in comparison to both Tango and Jimmy his usefulness might be matched.

Grian's expression makes sense now, he’s fully expecting Scar to take this deal.

Scar looks back at Grian, catching him looking at Scar before he darts his eyes away.

He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t understand why Tango is so hostile, it feels unjustified. Like he’s missing something, which is impossible. He's known Grian longer than Tango. Grian is barely a threat, yeah awkward, maybe a little impulsive and snide. But Scar doesn’t believe that justifies leaving him behind. Why is there so much bitterness between his newly acquainted companions? Why is Tango so insistent on Grian being a bad person? These questions circle around in Scar's head as he tries to think of some way he can defend Grian.

“We were going to start up a very specific business.” Scar grins.

“… What?”

“Trading goods. See, I need him because he’s got those fancy wings,” he gestures towards Grian, who’s badly concealing his bewilderment, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly, no sound escaping.

“What are you trading?”

Scar mulls it over before looking at the ground and shrugging. “….sand.”

Despite everything, Grian laughs at that. Coughing and suppressing giggles when the blazeborn shoots him a look.

“Sand?” Jimmy almost yells.

Tango taps at his chin in thought. “I- I mean I could maybe…”

Scar interrupts him. “No no no, I'm a dignified salesman. I made a deal and stayed true to my word. I'm sorry but I'll have to decline the offer,” he replies with an easy-going demeanour.

“We're now a package deal now,” he walks up to stand by Grian's side, patting his shoulder roughly.

Grian's only response is to make an awkward noise and to lean away from Scar, but not enough to actually break the space they share.

Tango looks at them both, an angry look directed at the two. Suddenly, Jimmy places a hand on his shoulder.

“I think we should just play along, even if we're suspicious of someone. I think we need all the help we can get.” The taller man says down to him, smiling slightly.

Tango takes in Jimmy's look, his frown smoothing out for a brief second before he looks back at Scar.

“Maybe I don't trust you now Scar, you've clearly also got secrets you're not telling us,”

“You're getting too caught up on secrets and mysteries, and supposed ‘them’s,” Scar puts on a wide smile, waving at the air with a nonchalant attitude.

“How about… G!” He slings his arm around Grian and pushes him in closer to the other two, while the bird sputters slightly at the new nickname.

“Promise you won't stab any of us in the back until we're free from this …game?” Scar holds him by his shoulders. Grian flinches slightly as he tries to look up at Scar only to get a face full of sun. The glare looks back at the other two, not saying a word, his ears flicking absently.

“Grian!” Scar nudges him.

“Yes, sure,” he says flatly. He crosses his arms. “I promise.”

Scar beams, looking at Tango and Jimmy. “Annddddd do you guys promise not to belittle my friend here for being a bit creepy?”

The both of them hesitate, looking up at each other, exchanging looks.

“I feel creepy is an understatement…” Tango scoffs.

“We promise,” Jimmy says at the same time.

Scar claps his hands together, Grian flinching and holding his ears at the noise. “See! Solved! We're now a team!”

No one celebrates, they all look at each other with uncomfortable hesitation, not at all meeting Scar's enthusiasm. He hops on his toes, ushering the others forward, getting them to start walking again.

“Team… yellow.” Scar looks around at his company, all pulling different forms of confused faces. “Why are you all blond?”

—

After several hours of walking, the sun had begun to dip over the horizon. They were all able to confirm the revelation that this planet has a pretty short day cycle.

The journey had been painfully awkward. Tango and Jimmy spent most of it talking between themselves, sometimes hushed, which Grian pretended not to notice. He’d closed off slightly despite Scar trying to start a conversation with him several times. It was a stark contrast to how they were in the morning. Scar missed their smallest interactions deeply.

At one point Tango had instructed Scar not to walk so close to Grian, mumbling that he could take his weapon back so easily with how close they were walking. Scar tried to argue, but Grian complied, closing himself off even more as he walked ahead of them.

They’re now settling in for sleep, taking turns in pairs, Tango not trusting Grian to be lookout alone.

Tango and Jimmy lay backed up into the shelter of an overhang, while Scar and Grian sit at the entrance, a considerable distance away.

“Wow- it got dark quicker. Darker than yesterday even,” Scar hums. The sky’s a deep, dark blue rather than the red of last night. Scar shivers, it’s also considerably colder.

“Yeah,” Grian murmurs.

“I bet this is really comforting for you, gloomy dim light,” Scar leans back looking towards where he assumes Grian is sitting, it’s pretty hard to tell.

“Yeah.”

Scar turns back and frowns to himself. It seems Grian is still acting distant, even with Tango and Jimmy snoring peacefully behind them.

“Hmm … wish I could see in the dark though, can't find-”

With far too much force Scar reaches forward, ramming his wrist into a rock wall. He winces. “Ow…”

“Are you okay?” Grian asks from his side, genuine concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah… just, there's a wall there.”

Scar continues to blindly stumble in the dark, searching for his jacket. Suddenly there’s a warm glow, illuminating his surroundings. Scar's mind is slow to process as small flickers of light drift into his peripheral vision, like some combination of fire embers and little lightning bugs.

He jumps backwards, his knee slipping out from under him. “Oh oh oh– what is that!?”

He looks around in shock at the small fiery creatures, before his eyes make contact with Grian who looks completely unconcerned about them. Scar then realises the glare is actually slightly amused at Scars' fright.

“Oh, are you doing that?”

“Yeah… lights to see what you're doing,” Grian mutters somewhat shyly, looking at the space between them. Scar sits back down, reaching for his jacket now that the dim glow has lit up the area.

“Oh! Thanks!” He puts the jacket on, grumbling about the discovery that it isn’t as comfortable inside out. But at least it still keeps the cold at bay so he isn’t about to complain too much.

He watches the tiny lights float in the air. They spin and twirl into themselves, dancing around one another. Scar slowly recognizes the shapes of tiny phantoms, just like the ones from yesterday but smaller and made out of sunlight.

“… Aren't these technically illusion magic?” Scar thinks, not even realising he’s saying it out loud.

He looks to Grian when he hears a shuddered breath, “…oh I guess so,” Grian wraps his arms around his knees, pressing his face into them with a soulful expression.

Unlike the tired apathy he has been carrying, this look is pained and hurt, the little illusions dimming as if in response.

Scar holds his hand out catching one between his fingers. It flutters and whirls in his palm, never quite touching his skin. Scar can swear he can feel its warmth, even though he knows he’s most likely imagining it.

“Well …I like them. They're very cute,” Scar smiles, looking at Grian as he holds one of the tiny beasts in between his hands.

Grian looks up at him, half his face obscured, and that sad look still in his eyes.

“You’re very talented,” Scar pokes at the illusion in his hand, feeling nothing as his finger phases through it. The illusion still dancing and spinning as if it was affected by the force.

“…Thanks,” Grian responds, muffled. A small smile creeps into his features at Scar's compliment.

They fall back into a still quiet state. Scar pushes the illusion back into the air with the others, leaning against the wall as he watches them dance.

“A game huh? I wonder why I'm here…” He muses. Not really expecting an answer from the glare, more filling the air.

“Tango said that we all must have wronged an Ender in our past… But I don't think I have- aside from being a Vindicator… I wonder…” He mulls over ideas in his mind, but there honestly isn't much he can think of. He's never been that involved in the field, and he barely even knows if he'd recognize an Ender if he saw one.

Naturally, Scar's gaze drifts to his company. Grian seems to be as deep in thought as him, his brows deep and ears pinned back, upset.

“Are you… okay?” Scar asks.

Grian looks up at him, his eyes following each line on Scar's face before responding. “Have you decided if I'm a good guy or bad guy yet?”

Scar tilts his head, that’s a very particular kind of question. He leans his head back, taking in the sandy walls striped with different warm shades of colour.

“I don't…” he sighs. “I think I'm starting to realise it's a lot more complex than I thought it all was.”

“Yeah,” Grian mumbles.

“What do you think you are?”

That oh-so-familiar quiet rears its head again. Scar starts to think he isn't going to answer him until, finally, he’s proven wrong.

“… I don't think I'm either, I don't think there really are good guys and bad guys, at least that it's not so black and white most of the time.”

Scar tilts his head down to look at Grian. The bird has now wrapped his tail around his feet, he's almost perfectly wound, aside from his wings that lay out behind him, tired. He's not looking at Scar, but instead at his own illusions that continue to float in the space between them.

Scar looks at them as well. “… I think you're good.”

Grian shifts uncomfortably, raising his head high enough that Scar can see the pained grin he wears.

“Haha god–” he pulls one arm out from being wrapped around his leg and pushes it hard into one side of his face. “You really need to pick better alliances, you really don't know me…”

Scar tilts his head from side to side.

“Well then tell me… do you think you're bad?” He asks simply.

Grian doesn't answer straight away. Instead, he digs his nails slightly into his scalp and looks to his side, very quietly hissing in a breath.

“… I’m trying to be a better person than I was,” he says, almost below a whisper.

“Well, that's something! Bad people don't tend to want to change,” Scar smiles reassuringly. Catching Grian’s eyes and putting on the most friendly expression he can muster.

Grian doesn't seem to buy it though, he pushes his head back into his knees. This time leaning his face away from Scar.

They both sit there, not uttering another word for a few minutes. Scar looks again at the illusions. He wonders what it was like to summon them, and then to keep concentrating on them. Grian doesn't even seem to be paying them much mind, his head buried in his metal limbs. Yet they still dance softly in the air. Maybe it was a soothing thing to conjure and maintain. Grian's feathers certainly imply he's a lot less stressed compared to how they’ve been most of the day.

Scar watches as Grian taps his long taloned fingers against his arm in boredom, the sound resonating in their small space. Metal against metal. Scar stares absently at them, Grian’s head is turned away, so he doesn't feel so bad about picking up on the smaller details he can see now he's this close.

They look slightly scratched, the deep black of the metal is scuffed in places, turning a dark grey. Up this close Scar notices how the robotics look, unfinished. Like they’re just a frame, the mechanisms, and wires open to the world, no protective shell. He can see some of the wires have tape around them, stuck haphazardly to the inside as if they had been snagged and pushed in deeper to avoid being torn again. It strikes Scar as odd. They look incomplete, yet when Grian taps his fingers they move with the fluidity of an organic limb, the small mechanisms barely even make a sound.

“Is it true what he said about enchanted robotics?” Scar asks spontaneously.

Grian lifts his head, that cold look returning once again. He pulls his arms from being wrapped around his legs into his lap, still curled up in his position.

“So, you do think I'm an Ender,” he says plainly.

“Well– I mean– You're not doing much to refute being one,” Scar tries, chuckling under his breath.

“I'm not an Ender,” Grian responds coldly, the least bit amused.

Moving uncomfortably, Scar breaths in, dropping his smile for a genuine look. “And I choose to believe you.”

Grian looks unconvinced. “But you still think I am,” he says slowly.

“… I don't think anything.” Scar argues, interrupted by a surprising chuckle.

“Well, I knew that much already.”

“I– hey!”

Grian giggles to himself, it lays bittersweet on his face when he falls off into silence.

Scar finishes what he’d been saying. “I don't like to assume things.”

With that Grian looks at Scar, really looks at him. The deep dark pools of his eyes squint and scrutinise him. Scar thinks the reflections of the illusions in his eyes look like stars.

“You liked to assume I'm a good person.”

“That's different, I have evidence,” Scar responds cheerfully.

“And what Tango stated wasn't?” He squeaks, baffled, unwinding from his ball more to throw his arms out.

“It didn't feel fair.”

“Fair–” Grian parrots back in disbelief, almost sneering to himself.

“Besides, I feel like it might be hypocritical of me to be upset that you're hiding who you are.”

Grian folds his arms back over himself looking away. “But that's different, I know what you're hiding– I was the one to even suggest it–” He says bitterly.

“Well– maybe I also have my own secrets,” Scar winks.

With a slightly more light in his voice, Grian leans his chin on his knees. “I doubt that– you like talking too much.”

Scar laughs at that, then sits forward holding a finger up as the little illusions swim around him. “You truly underestimate the power of talking, my friend. You can know anything and be given anything by talking, whereas violence enlists the opposite. It cuts you off from ever knowing more. People love talking, and I love secrets. It's an art, really.”

“Why did you become a Vindicator then? If anything they're very for violence and anti-information,” Grian mumbles, looking up at him with a raised brow.

Scar winks again, but this time taps his nose, “For secrets,” he says simply.

Grian rolls his eyes and laughs. “Ah,” He smiles, slipping slightly at the edges. He taps at his arm again. “You sort of concern me,” he huffs. “I don't get you.”

“Well I mean secrets—” Scar starts.

Grian cuts him off, waving a hand. “No no, that's not what I'm talking about…” He rests his hand back down onto his knee looking straight at Scar. “You have this inexplicable blind faith in me and I don't understand why,” his nose scrunches up. “Now, either you're really dumb or …”

Scar splutters trying to defend himself, but Grian continues, closing his eyes.

“I don't know…” He titters.

“I'm just very curious.”

“… about me?”

“Yeah! If you're not going to tell me who you are, then I guess I'll have to get to know you,” Scar grins.

“Usually when people are investigating someone, they don't straight up tell them to their face,” Grian bobs his head smirking.

“And I'm not investigating you,” Scar argues, “it's called companionship— becoming friends. You do have those don't you?” Scar tilts his head.

Grian grins up at him. “Well, you see—” Leaning forward, beckons Scar to follow his movement, before pulling back suddenly.

“That! Was obviously an investigation,” he laughs unfooled.

“Worth a try,” Scar shrugs, also leaning back.

They both become quiet. A cool breeze blows at the feathers on Grian's tail. The little light illusions move through the air slowly, unbothered by the physical realm. Grian holds his hands out, as they all drift over to him, curling up neatly in his hands.

He looks at Scar who’s watching, intrigued, and flashes his teeth in a smile, before closing his hands together, extinguishing the light. Only slight shimmers make it out past his fingers, as Scar watches him push his palms hard against each other still looking at him.

He opens his hands to reveal one creature, slightly bigger than the ones from earlier curled up in his hands. Its form is slightly more detailed, its warm light shimmering with blues and pink at the tips. It bares its tiny teeth as if yawning, and stretches out from its sleepy curl. Grian pushes it up into the air, the small creature imitating catching air in its wings and drifting off into the space in front of them.

“I uh—” Grian interrupts nervously, pulling Scars' gaze away from the illusion. “Thank you! For sticking up for me back there.” He holds a small smile, pained at the edges.

“I honestly wouldn't have held it against you if you took their offer and ran… but—” He coughs and shakes his head. “I guess what I'm saying is it was nice, very foolish… we literally have so many lies to navigate now, it’s a walking nightmare… but it was very kind of you.”

Scar beams, almost wiggling in excitement. “Hey! We're a package deal now!”

The bird rolls his eyes but keeps his smile. “Ugh.”

He pulls his legs out in front of him, his wings lifting off the dusty floor. He shakes them off from the dust before folding them behind his back neatly. He gives Scar a tired look.

Scar shuffles forward waving his hands out, not done with the conversation just yet.

“Seriously! I like you!” Grian flicks him a nervous look, making a confused noise that almost sounds like a chirp. Scar itches his head and elaborates. “I'm glad we've gotten to meet each other again. Under different circumstances.”

Grian's wide grin falters. His eyes drift to the left side of Scar's face, darting away and looking at the ground instead.

“And let’s hope we leave this one better then, aye?” His hesitant grimaces switch to a small but genuine smile.

“I owe at least that to you,” he adds.

Scar nods.

It never occurred to him that they’ll have to part ways at some point, for some reason that thought never crossed his mind, and it makes him sad. He’s a Vindicator and Grian was, probably still is, a criminal. It would be hard to meet up with someone actively imprisoned, and that’s even if Grian cares enough to risk that. Considering he said the words leave, he must have assumed they'll likely never meet again.

It makes Scar feel a little sour, he was having the most fun time here, even with the lingering death and tense energy directed at his new friend. He'd had more fun being kidnapped and disregarded on some random planet than he ever had on a shift.

Scar watches the illusion spin, he doesn't need to dwell on it too much, this adventure is starting to appear long and treacherous, he should just enjoy what he has left of it and Grian’s company.

Scar puts light into his voice, eyes still set on the glowing creature.

“Now shall we discuss at length about our sand trader backstory?”

Grian snorts.

He looks at him to watch Grian fake an obvious yawn. “Wow! I'm suddenly very tired.”

Scar smiles more genuinely this time.

“I’ll be called ‘Scorn’ and you'll be my faithful lackey ‘Giran’”

“They already know our names why-” Grian wheezes, before holding his palms up. ”You know what- nah, actually I'm asleep right now- and actively not engaging” He lays down closing his eyes.

“Best friends,” Scar continues. “Found abandoned as children together in a sandbox, oh that could be where the trading started!”

Grian rolls over away from Scar, pulling his wings pointedly over his head.

“I'M SLEEPING! Can't hear you over how loudly I'm sleeping right now-” he says slightly muffled, starting to laugh. Before he chuckles loudly to himself.

He suddenly sits up quickly and holds his hands tight over his mouth, Scar noticing the noise of someone grumbling tiredly.

He sees a shadow of Tango toss in his sleep before settling again.

Scar and Grian both exchange a look, Grian trying his hardest to hold onto a laugh before he coughs one into his hands, hushing him. Scar joins in wheezing.

They both sit, in a warm glow, laughing quietly between themselves as the night continues.

[midnightorchids]

“That’s literally the third cup I’ve seen you drink in the last three hours, you need a break,” you say to Jason, eyeing the mug on his desk. Concern laces your voice.

He looks into your eyes for a brief moment and then shifts his focus back to the laptop. You sigh and slowly shake your head at his antics. He’s been like this for a few days now.

If he wasn’t out on patrol, then he was at home, downing cups of coffee to stay awake and do research for his next mission.

He didn’t even like coffee, but the caffeine was worth the bitter taste in his opinion.

It was hard watching him slowly deteriorate. Jason wasn’t sleeping well and the amount of coffee he was consuming was absolutely absurd.

You study his face for a moment, before walking to his desk and snatching the mug from the table.

“What the f-“ and you cut him off by putting your other hand on his mouth. Despite his words, he’s not angry. He doesn’t even flinch when your hands touch his skin.

Instead, he melts in your touch. You’re the only one with this affect on him.

“No, no more. You need a break from this,” you tilt your head in the direction of the cup and then his laptop, “and this.”

His eyes soften and you move your hand. “Come, I’m gonna you give you some warm milk and then you’re gonna get some sleep.”

He mumbles something under his breath, you don’t pay much attention and make your way to kitchen. He follows along shortly, he knows he needs a break too.

You hold up a jar of honey and look into his direction and he nods.

He takes a seat on the counter near the stove, his head leaning against the wall. You smile and ruffle his hair.

“You care too much” he says suddenly as he takes your hand and places a gentle kiss along your finger tips.

Another grin adorns your face and you pull away to put the milk on the stove.

“You’re so sleeping after this.”

He nods his head and mumbles a soft “okay baby,” he then yawns and closes his eyes.

He looks so soft and so pretty sitting there. Seeing him in this way makes your heart warm. He’s a big guy, painted with scars, but his oversized sweater makes him look small and gentle.

After drinking his milk, you walk to your shared bedroom.

He slowly strips out of his clothes and makes his way into the bed. You kiss his forehead and are about to leave, when he grabs your hand and pulls you back.

“Stay,” he says softly. He looks comfortable, his hair messy and lips pouting, you can’t bear to say no to him in this state.

“Okay,” you reply getting into bed with him. He smiles and pulls you in close. He moves stray hairs out your face and places a delicate kiss on your lips.

“I’m so lucky to have you sweetheart,” he whispers.

“No jay, I’m so lucky to have you.

[imsandra]

A breath

Pairing: Azriel x female reader

Summary: In the silent embrace of the night, Azriel found in Y/N the comfort he never knew he needed.

Warning: Fluffy comfort, I think that's it.

Word count: 1120

Notes: I believe many creators have written similar pieces, so this may not be a new concept. Feel free to leave your comments, suggestions; everything is welcome as long as it's with the intention of teaching and with respect.

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any spelling or grammar issues.

Original story, written by me. Please do not copy or plagiarize my work.

I appreciate any comments, reblogs, and likes I receive.

Happy reading!

Master list

The night in Velaris always had something special, but this one, in particular, felt magical. The gentle murmur of the Sidra River, the mild air filled with the scent of night-blooming flowers, and the clear sky full of stars that seemed to shine only for those willing to observe them closely.

Azriel was flying back to the House of Wind. He had had one of those long days, the kind where the exhaustion wasn’t just physical but emotional too. Azriel had spent hours training the Illyrians, dealing with disputes, and making sure everything ran smoothly in the Night Court.

Y/N had seen him enter, his posture stiff, and the shadows around him more restless than usual. Since they had begun spending more time together, she had learned to read him, to notice when he was tired or when something bothered him, even if he never said it. That night, however, something inside her told her that Azriel needed more than just company; he needed someone to care for him for once.

Without a word, Y/N followed him to the sitting room where Azriel usually sat after his missions or training, right next to the large window that offered a panoramic view of the city. He was there, staring out at the horizon, the stars reflecting in his golden eyes, but without his usual spark.

With a soft smile, Y/N entered and walked up to him. She sat beside him in silence, respecting his need for quiet. She didn’t need to ask what was wrong; she knew him well enough to know he would speak if he wanted to.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she suddenly got up and said, "I’ll be back in a moment."

Azriel watched her leave the room without asking where she was going. In his mind, the shadows kept whispering, but there was something about Y/N’s presence that calmed them slightly. She always made him feel less alone, less lost.

A little while later, Y/N returned with a cup of hot tea in her hands and a couple of blankets. Without asking, she offered him the tea and then draped one of the blankets over his legs.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Azriel asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Y/N shrugged, smiling. "Taking care of you. You look exhausted."

Azriel took the cup of tea, surprised by how comforting such a simple gesture could be. No one usually took care of him like that. He was always the one looking out for others, the one protecting, the one watching over his loved ones from the shadows. But with Y/N... she made him feel like someone worthy of being cared for.

Y/N sat back down beside him, wrapping herself in a blanket, and gently snuggled up against him. At first, Azriel tensed reflexively, but then he relaxed when she intertwined her fingers with his, softly caressing his scarred hand. Though he hated the scars for the horrible memories they brought him, Y/N didn’t feel the same. To her, they were part of his story.

The touch was so light, so intimate, that it surprised him how much it soothed him.

"Do you feel better?" she whispered, without looking directly at him, her focus on the nighttime view of Velaris.

Azriel gently squeezed her hand in response. "Yes... much better," he answered softly.

The peace he had been searching for all day, the calm he so longed for, he found there, in that moment, sitting next to Y/N, with her hand in his and her warmth comforting him.

"You know," Y/N continued in a low voice, "you don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your own. You can rest, lean on someone every now and then."

Azriel remained silent for a moment, his thoughts deep. Y/N’s words resonated with him in a way that few things ever did. He was so used to being the shield for everyone else, to protect and care, that he rarely allowed himself to be vulnerable, even for a moment.

"Thank you," he finally whispered, his voice full of sincerity. "For this. For... taking care of me."

Y/N lifted her head to look at him, her smile soft and understanding. "I’ll always do it, Az. Anytime you need it," she told him, a promise between them.

Azriel turned to her, his eyes meeting hers, and in that moment, something inside him broke, in the most beautiful way possible. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against Y/N’s, closing his eyes as he breathed deeply, letting her closeness envelop him completely.

They remained like that, together in the stillness, simply enjoying the peace they had found in each other. For Azriel, it was a reminder that it was okay to be vulnerable, that he didn’t always have to be strong—at least not with Y/N. And for her, it was a moment of tenderness, knowing that, although Azriel was a warrior in the shadows, in her arms he would always have a place to rest.

"Come," Y/N said softly, shifting a bit and pulling him down. "Let’s relax a little more."

Azriel let her guide him, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa as she nestled at his side, resting her head on his chest. His wings instinctively moved to wrap around them, creating a warm, protective barrier.

"I promise tomorrow will be better," Y/N whispered, her fingers gently playing with the dark strands of Azriel’s hair.

Azriel smiled for the first time all day, his hand softly caressing Y/N’s back. "With someone like you by my side, it will be."

Y/N kissed his cheek, and the spymaster blushed.

Under the blankets, under the night’s veil and the shelter of Azriel’s wings, they both found comfort in each other. A shared peace that didn’t need grand words or elaborate gestures—just a simple promise to always be there for one another.

*divider by @cafekitsune , thank you <33.

A/N: After an angst-filled Azriel x reader it's only fair to have a fluffy one. I hope you liked it and I'm sorry it was short, let me know what you think. Kisses, love you guys.

[evilgwrl]

Arranged marriage! With ghost where she’s from a small island and ghost comes to collect taxes well the island is just a few hundred short they can make it up next year? Right?! Nah ghosts is like mmmmm I’ll take what yall call a princess mean while she’s struggling as much as the other fokes on the island so when Simon takes her way and finds out she’s never lived the simple life he makes it his mission to show her the good that can out of this arrangement smutty if you would 😭 I’m obsessed with the arranged marriage trope with ghost he’s a cutie patootie

Arranged Marriage w/ Simon Riley

Holy moly I love this…

Thank you for this idea @creepytoes88 I hope you don’t mind that I made him a king, I just wanted it to flow with giving her a better life and the tax collection <3

King!Simon Riley x Reader

Archipelago

CW: Being sold by your family to pay off debt, sharing a bath, oral sex (f receiving), orgasm bc simon knows what to do ;)

Word Count: 2,623

Twisted fingers hooked under the bark, knees scraped with stagnant flora, coiling limbs of bushy thorns blistering around the tropical plains. There was a subtle burn that sunk through your thighs, muscles gnawing at your bones before you finally settled on a thick branch, wind hissing in your ear, almost warning you. You paid no attention.

Pupil-blown eyes stared off to the view in front of you, lapping in the vicious strain of turquoise, untouched coral glistening an array of colours under the harsh sun. There was a trickle of sweat that ran down the back of your neck, your hair thrown into a rough bun as you shielded yourself with raggedy, overworked fingers.

You watched the skerries surrounding your island, a flurry of birds swooping low before nestling down on the warmth of the rocky floor. It was a peaceful sight. Nothing but the low crash of waves to be sound, the occasional calling of a fellow Islander working its way through the palms and out of the sand, before landing in your ear.

You felt the prickle of pain shoot through your feet as you landed on the ground, the grass covered in speckles of yellow dust sticking in between your toes as you hurried down to the village. Any bit of tranquillity soon disappeared as your eyes locked into the sight of the townspeople, the Island far too small to accommodate such needing families.

“Y/N! Where have you been? The King shall be here soon and you’re off running with the fairies.”

Your Mother’s tone was harsh and reprimanding, her eyes tight with wrinkles as she scowled, chucking a makeshift broom at you. You weren’t exactly sure what the difference of you sweeping would make, the life you live here, swept or not, is strikingly different to the one of a King. No matter how beautiful your Island is, your feet are permanently stained with grains of sand, skin is littered with dull scars and fresh scratches.

You understood her worry, offering her a gentle, apologetic smile as you followed her bustle of orders. Your Father was the village Chief, a wise man who led the people to survive without the worry of advanced civilisation.

You were seen as a headcase to the others. A woman whose head wasn’t fixed well enough to her shoulders. A dreamer. Your mind was amplified by the need to do more, to see more. Untouched beauty too turns mundane when you’re not allowed to experience it.

As night fell, the waves seemed to settle, burying themselves in the crops of sand that spanned around you, 10-legged creatures hiding away in the cocoon of a cracked shell. Palms slept with the safety of coconuts that would blossom into the town’s delicacy, the meat tender on the tongues of children, the water fuel for the fishermen. There was a large bonfire lit, the earthly crackle occasionally popping as a spark flew out, hissing against the cool air before dispersing into a drag of smoke.  

Girls chattered around you, smoothing down their appearances as they used crushed berries on their lips and the apples of their cheeks. You were never fussed about the King, hardly paying attention to him on his previous arrivals if he even bothered to show up. You took note of his lack of empathy, normally sending one of his men in his place, unbothered by the Island that’s supposed to fall under his command.

You heard the ship pull up, wood striking against the ground as it split between the beach, a carved woman tangled to the figurehead, flowing hair etched between wood and a man’s knife as she breached the island. They were a loud bunch, deep voices echoing across the Isle as your father walked down to greet them formally.

The air grew silent, thick smog suffocating the air as your father appeared, his figure shaking as he hobbled towards you. Toughened hands gripped your cheeks, stroking the sun-kissed skin to comfort you.

“Father, what’s wrong?”

“We- We’re short on our taxes,” he gulped, a hand planted in your matted hair as you scrunched your brows together.

“But how? We’re sensible, we work harder- How?”

“Things happen beyond our understanding sometimes, sweetheart, just know me and your mother love you very much.”

“I know? Why are you-” you stalled “- Why are you telling me this? What’s going on?”

“The King needs a wife,” he hiccupped as realisation set in, spine snapping into a cold flush as you attempted to wriggle free from your father’s grip.

“No-“

“I have to, Y/N, I don’t have a choice!”

“A choice? There’s always a choice! How could you do this to me?” The strain of a sob wracked through your chest, your heart beating eerily slow against your rib cage as you wailed out for your mother who only walked away, her face concealed by strands of hair. Hands coiled around your biceps, dragging you towards the ship as you carried on, cementing your heels into the dirtied sand to anchor yourself.

“Stop resisting,” A harsh voice spoke into your ear, nails breaking the surface of your tender skin as you nipped at the air, wriggling. Your limbs felt mangled as you were thrown over someone’s shoulder, your stomach caving in with a penetrative force as you choked on the air, saline tears streaming down your face.

Aching skin collided with the sand as you were thrown onto the floor, leather boots staring back at you as your head cocked up. His figure was tall, dressed in all black with a row of medals displayed on his breast pocket. His stare was dark, irises the colour of burnt whiskey, pale lashes flickering down at you before looking back up. The rest of his face was covered by a woven garment, handcrafted to perfection, painted with a white skull.

“Did you find it necessary to throw her at my feet like she’s some dog?”

“Your Majesty she was res-“

“It is a yes or no question.”

His voice was thick with malt, a hidden arrogance underlying his words as his eyes spoke for him. A veiny hand was offered to you, light scars tracing his knuckles before he lifted you, admiring you for a brief second.

“She’ll do. I’ll be back in 6 months,” The King spoke roughly.

The sea breeze was tranquil given the circumstances, the ocean rocking your tears to a halt as you huddled yourself away in the captain’s quarters. Your body was trailed with layers of silk, dirtied clothes moulded to your skin as you sniffled. There was a vast smell of salt, almost suffocating you as it burnt through your nose and hair. You scrunched your skin, rubbing at your nostrils before nestling yourself into a pillow.

You awoke to the sound of commotion. You took in the handful of women surrounding you, their hair tied back in a tight bun, protected by a frilly cap. They wore black and white dresses, aprons attached to their fronts and smiles on their faces.

“Good evening, your majesty. Shall we run you a bath?”

You sat up, hands creasing against the sheets below you as your eyes adjusted to the new scenery. You weren’t on the ship anymore.

“Where am I?” You choked out, huffing your chest out to look more intimidating. In reality, you look cowered, skin droopy with betrayal, burst blood vessels evident under your eyes.

“In your private quarters, the King requested we come to you, settle you in.”

You scowled, “I just want to be alone.” They left in a hurry, feet skidding against the floor in a squeak as they shut the large oak doors behind them.

The room was one for Royalty. The large bed was dressed in golden sheets, red swirls detailing the plush headpieces, solid gold baubles along the edges as tall stakes met the ceiling, lace hanging from them for privacy. Your feet hit the polished marble floors; calloused skin not used to such luxury that you almost yelped in unfamiliarity. Glass trickled from the overhead chandelier, an arrangement of crystals advocating flickers of light across the room, an occasional rainbow seeping through like a diamond in the rough.

Oil paintings hung from the walls, detailed gold wrapping around them as the figurines stared at you dauntingly. A plethora of books rested on shelves, a comforting sofa tucked away in the corner, highlights of red bursting through the stuffed pillows, plucked by the finest of feathers.

The room felt suffocating, the air a terminal sickness that wove into your lungs as you realised the severity of the situation. Your father – your parents, had sold you away to the King to pay for lost taxes. You were a miserable sight as you huddled over onto the floor, chest collapsing with cries as you attempted to grip the material beneath your knees, desperate for the sensation of sand.

Simon watched you intently from the door as he cracked it open, a deafening cough sounding from him as you looked up at him, bewildered.

“I understand the circumstances aren’t the best, but your people owed me, and they chose you as collateral.”

“I want to go home,” you hiccupped, facing away from him in humiliation. His leather shoes hit the floor, striding up to you in only a few steps.

“This is your home now, and in a few weeks, we shall be wedded. Whether or not you choose to invite your family is up to you, but I shall not tolerate disrespect. If you didn’t want the maids to tend to you, that’s fine, but I will.”

You watched his stalking figure disappear into another room attached to your quarters, the heavy pour of water indicating that he was running you a bath. You rose to your feet anxiously, popping your head around the corner as you took in the room. A large tub was carved with porcelain, wide in size with golden feet, bubbles guzzling under the powerful stream as the scent of lavender filled the air.

“Undress,” He spoke as you cocked a brow.

“In front of you?” You scoffed.

“You didn’t want the maids, now you have me. Undress.”

Your clothes itched as they were ridden from your skin, bare body flushed under the light as you attempted to conceal yourself from his bruising vision. The water scolded you as you sunk in, muscles relaxing instantly under the soothing oil. It was an irregular feeling.

You heard him shuffle behind you as you turned, eyes gawking wide as you took in his naked figure, cock resting low against his thigh. A squeak slipped through your lips as you turned around in a fluster.

His mask was off, his face a welcoming surprise. His brows were thick, bulging above slit frames, his nose slightly crooked with a masculine appeal to him.

“What are you doing?” you gasped, chest tight, eyes bulging.

“Bathing,” he practically snarled, “move over.”

Your belly felt hot, the unknowing feeling of arousal seeping through your pores as you adjusted in the water, the liquid rising as he stepped in before you were pulled back against him, bottom flushed against his thighs. You were tense.

“Relax, it’s just a bath. We will not do anything until you’re ready but after marriage, I will need heirs.”

“Heirs? I don’t even know your name!”

A hand coiled around your waist, tugging at the tender skin for a moment before it rested, settling at your upper thigh.

“It’s Simon, Y/N.”

“How do you- “

“What kind of King would I be if I didn’t even know the name of the woman I’m marrying?”

The air was hazy with steam, almost suffocating you as you felt yourself relax against his hard chest, delicate twirls of hair tickling against your spine. As your body settled, Simon washed you, entwined rag lubed with delicate soap as he massaged it into the crevices of your skin, any dirt seeping into the water. His fingers were long as they massaged against your scalp, digging any knots out with a gentle force before rinsing it.

You found yourself refreshed as you settled into the sheets once more, body fresh with a floral scent, skin drenched in almond oil, the glistening reflecting against the flame of the fireplace. The bed sunk in as Simon crawled in next to you, menacing frame wracking against yours. It was silent, the usual sound of waves and birds no longer hushing you to sleep.

Your fingers twitched as you played with the hem of your nightgown, letting out a low, exhausted breath.

“I shall not hurt you for as long as you are mine, Y/N. I hope you grow to trust me and understand that I am a man of my word. If you allow me, I would like to show you who I am and the life you can have here.”

You swallowed. There was an itch inside you that couldn’t be scratched, his words only adding fuel to an uncontrollable flame as you turned to face him, cocked up on one arm. Your gown hung low, strap dangerously low on your shoulder as he adjusted his vision back to your face, lips parted with a flushed manner.

“I’ve never experienced anything before.” Your voice was low, an evident streak of self-consciousness staining it as you averted your gaze.

“Let me help you.”

Rugged fingers lifted your gown up, silk resting against your stomach in a hunched manner as Simon gripped at your thighs, spreading them lewdly. He huffed out a hum of appreciation as you jolted in embarrassment. You were so open, so exposed to fresh eyes.

“No one’s ever touched you here?” He asked. You shook your head, gazing down at him with an unspoken innocence. You felt his lips curl against your thigh as he placed a gentle kiss to it, letting it rest against the warm skin before two fingers pulled apart your lips, glistening folds presented before him.

You felt pleasure tickle up your spine as the King placed a small kiss against your clit, a mewl escaping you as you instinctively attempted to press your thighs together. He let out a tsk as he looked up at you, amused by your reaction.

“Relax for me,” he said, arms flushed around your thighs before his tongue soaked up the middle, your juices drenching his lips as you squealed, your fingers wrapping into his dusty hair as he ravaged the taste of you.

The noises you made were wanton, slopping breaths soaking the air as he worked against you, slurping you into his mouth with an aggravated need for you. His teeth grazed against your sensitive clit, wrapping his lips around it before sucking, an obscene scream sounding from you as he continued the assault.

“Taste so fucking good,” he quipped, holding your belly down in place as your hips lifted, clit overstimulated by the amount of pleasure it only just began receiving.

“Sim-Simon, I feel strange- somethings happening,” you croaked, pulling at his hair in an attempt to stop him.

“Let it happen,” he growled, his tongue thrusting against your entrance as a finger pressed against your nub, rubbing it in circular motions as you began to hold your breath.

The pressure in your belly was turmoil like an unknown danger was approaching. Simon didn’t stop, the sound of your breath hicking stirring something primal inside of him as he held you down before the pressure inside you popped, a broken whine piercing the air as you came, hips rocking desperately against the King’s face as he growled against your heat.

He pulled away, spit slick against his chin, cocky smile on his face as you panted, chest rising and falling in a synchronised fashion. Your legs closed instinctively, wetness seeping between your bottom as you shivered, satisfied clit throbbing.

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart.”

[thegnomelord]

Simon Ghost Riley

CW: SFW, GN reader

You're a tactile thing.

You're not satisfied with the occasional thickly veiled words of endearment Simon throws your way like scraps off his plate. You shouldn't be expected to be satisfied by the rare phantom brush of his gloved fingers against yours or his hand on your nape when you two are hidden in the far back corner of the changing room. You shouldn't be expected to have a partner who can never commit to the smallest crumb of tenderness (bloody fool), ready to shrug off your hand and brush past you at the barest creak outside the door, dozens of well rehearsed denials worming through his tongue; there's nothing between you two at all.

You're a tactile thing. Or perhaps you just lack that 'in' before the 'human' part of you.

He knows you want more — deserve more. Simon sees how your eyes wander to the passing couples while you two only pretend to be one for a mission, your fingers twitching with the restrained urge to replicate them. And when you do touch him to keep up the act, you don't have to force yourself to do it. Whether it is holding his hand like the couple passing you, or kissing him as tenderly as the two girls kiss on the corner, everything comes so naturally to you that it leaves him torn. One part wants to reach out, grasp you like the lifeline that you are. The other wants to pull away even more so you wizen up and leave him for someone better.

But you never do.

He can see it every time he looks into your eyes, every time you see him off to another mission and every time you greet him with a steady shoulder to hold his exhausted body up — the care. The affection. The need to hold. To kiss. To spell out with your fingers across his skin what otherwise falls on deaf ears.

You could do it so easily too; he has so many scars, he's sure your clever mind could find meaningful shapes in the static of pain etched into his skin. Shit, the half dead nerves in his skin tingle just from the fantasy of your tough, wondering if your fingertips would trace the upside down 'L' curving under his peck, the 'O' left by the meat hook, the shallow 'V' at the corner of his lip where the Glasgow smile starts, the scratchy 'E's all across his back made up of flogging scars.

You're a tactile thing. And you make Simon crave to be one too.

You make him earn for more than a quick fuck — that's the closest you two ever get to a real connection, bloody fervent and raw just like him. Simon wishes he could call it something else, but crowning that desperate clawing for release as 'making love' leaves him feeling sick to his stomach. There's no love in the act — not from him — just a frantic rutting of hips and a bruising hold, eyes shut and biting into the meat of your shoulder to chase away any softness you might try to bring in.

Ironic when it's his tongue that burns with three painfully simple words: I love you.

The inevitable release feels like like a punishment, like he's back in that dingy cell, orgasm torn out of him like Prometheus's liver. It makes his teeth dig deeper until warm blood fills his mouth and fizzles out the words he wants to say. He disentangles from you the moment he can feel his limbs again, putting only a few inches of space between you two but the empty area created feels as deep and wide as a canyon.

He lays there next to you, mind a low buzz of static. His own flesh doesn't know what it wants. One part wishes to pull you close and hold you tight until he grows moss, to remember what it's like to be held without it coming with dozens of strings attached. The other desperately claws to get away before yours becomes the next jaw he has to use to bash his way out of yet another coffin.

He can't bring himself to do either.

He lays like a statue next to you. A minute passes. Then two.

He can feel your eyes on his chest, your gaze burns his skin as you watch the slow rise and fall. The clock on the wall ticks along the many moments he takes to decide what to do, what action will pull him out of stagnation while your heat is right there next to him. He wonders, briefly, if this was Adam's true temptation, the fruit just a formality at best.

It's by the five minute mark that he thinks he's tricked you into thinking he's asleep, his theory confirmed when your fingers experimentally brush his bicep. You always become a little more touchy when you think he's asleep, when he doesn't have to prove to bygone ghosts that he's emotionless.

He's practiced this many times before with spare pillows and your clothes arranged in his best facsimile of you, your lingering smell on the fabric keeping the thoughts of 'this is stupid' and 'you're pathetic' from becoming too loud. But suddenly trying to put it into action has his pulse skyrocketing.

He breathes in deep like he's tired to try and calm his nerves. You retract your fingers like his skin is iron hot, afraid of 'waking' him, and he mourns the loss. He mumbles some slurred words he hopes you'll take as sleep talking, muscles tensing before he rolls over like a sleeping bear. He tries to make it as believable as he can, but his main priority is draping as much of himself over you as possible .

His first attempt is better than expected. Honestly it's perfect. His front almost perfectly aligned with yours, skin to skin so there's nothing to hide yet his masked head still ends up the crook of your shoulder. You two are chest to chest. He remembers why he doesn't do this when you both can feel his heart beating far too clearly.

He prays you can't tell how his heart beats for you and you alone.

You stay stock still under him, waiting, waiting, waiting, and when he shows no sign's of 'waking up' you relax under him. Your chest shakes with a shaky breath, you never believed you'd get this far, and ever so slowly your fingers curl around his hand that had so perfectly ended up over yours. He struggles not to smile when you squeeze his hand, just a little pressure in an attempt to see how far you can push without cutting this dream short.

The sweat on your body feels cool against his skin and it leaves him shivering. It gets you to carefully pull the sheets up over you two before slowly wrapping your arm around his firm waist, fingers experimentally trailing up and down the length of his spine. It's so hard to keep his breathing normal when you press your thumb into a tangled knot of muscle near his pelvis, the one that had been bothering him for a while now. He can't help the way his back arches under the tender care of your fingers, breath stuttering as he tangles his fingers between your own so neither one can pull away and squeezes your hand, biting his balaclava in an attempt to keep himself silent.

He thinks you're aware of his deceit, you hate to be with how you lazily seek out each little painful knot along his spine, caressing each vertebra when you pass it, fingers reverently tracing his scars without an ounce of pity or disgust. But you don't draw attention to it either, face angled to look straight at the peeling paint on the ceiling so you don't somehow meet his gaze and ruin this for the both of you.

His body feels like kinetic sand and his mind is filled with low tv static, so he doesn't think when he nuzzles his nose into your neck. It's a small and timid move, easy to miss or misconstrue as just movement in his 'sleep', but to him it feels like a massive leap in. . . some kind of direction. He doesn't want to think about it now, can't think about it when the smell of you curls so nicely in his nose; like a drug he wouldn't mind getting addicted to.

He feels you move your head enough to press your lips to his temple, the heat of your skin palpable through the fabric. He shudders, eyes shut tight like he's a little kid again, sharp tears burning his eyes when you whisper in his ear how you love him, as you touch and caress his battered body to show you love him, as you kiss his temple so tenderly it hurts.

God, Simon has never wanted to do something as much as he wants to return your affection now. Even the worms and maggots crawling beneath his fingertips urge him to do it. . . but he just can't.

He's not ready for that yet, it feels too fast, too soon, his chest feels so jam-packed with feathers that his ribs will shatter if he even tries to open his mouth. So for the moment he lets himself enjoy the comfort of your hold, the press of your lips against his head, the slow glide of your fingers and the easy happy beating of your heart.

You can call him unhappy (miserable, utterly broken) but for this single moment in time he feels alive.

[mind-intheclouds342]

Do it for them - Co-captain reader x Curly

Previous - FINAL PART - Bonus

"Let me see"

You mentioned while laughing, sitting in front of the man who looked at you affectionately as you touched his face and observed him attentively.

"Your eye looks a bit red... Have you been using the drops the doctor recommended?"

Curly: "Maybe... I forgot them... today"

His voice was still somewhat strange to hear, it had the essence of what his voice once was, but much rougher and it was difficult for him to say long sentences, he had to pause between words to be able to say them.

You caressed his cheeks with your thumbs, seeing the scars on his face.

At first, it wasn't the same skin you knew; you were surprised at how his body returned to that familiar skin, changing its texture, gradually becoming the skin you love to touch.

You noticed the ring hanging from his neck, with the lack of hands, he wore his ring that way to keep it close.

He had to convince you to give him back his ring, but at that moment you were in crisis because you had told him that the day you took it off, you would leave him. Although you reached an agreement to annul that promise.

Five years had already passed since you returned to Earth, and too many things had happened.

On your side, you started following your dream when you were little, and today you have your own bakery.

But it was hard work getting here, because the first thing you worried about was your husband's well-being, who spent half a year resting in the hospital, and then you had to take care of him with attention at home.

Pony Express decided to give you a percentage of your salary and a bonus for the damages they suffered, so with that money, they performed the man's first surgeries.

A skin graft, hair, and facial reconstruction, among others, over the next two years.

He used prosthetics that helped him walk and pick things up on his own, although just in case, you still had his wheelchair as a backup, which he refuses to use again, and when you're not watching, he tries to get rid of it, but you've locked the room where it is.

You even adopted two dogs, the first was Jupiter, a Labrador, a service dog who helps Curly when you're not around, and he's also a very good companion.

And after insisting for so long that Jupiter needed a little sibbling, you adopted Sunset, a dog you had found outside your bakery begging for food, a golden retriever who had escaped from her home, where it seemed they only used her to have puppies and sell them because she was purebred.

Both animals got along well right away, both quite calm, they don't cause any problems.

On the other hand, you stayed in touch with the rest of the crew.

Anya was able to get into medical school a few months after returning, and she is currently in her final year to receive her diploma.

Swansea retired and stayed at home with his family and children, being welcomed by his wife and the little girl she had had a few months ago.

Daisuke tried again with the art school, giving his all and with the support of his parents, he was able to get in. He even has a blog where he talks about the experiences he had in his life to motivate other young people to follow what they love.

Jimmy on the other hand... The last thing you heard about him was that his sentence was extended further for causing conflicts during his time in prison.

As for the little baby... you found out she was adopted by a good family, and that was all you needed to know about her.

Curly: "They're already... about to arrive"

He alerted when he heard Sunset start barking upon hearing a car park nearby.

He got out of bed and went outside to open the door and let his friends into the yard.

There was something that became a tradition among you, every year you celebrated the anniversary of the day you returned alive to Earth after such an experience, having a meal at your home.

Daisuke: "Who is the cutest girl! Let me pet you, fluffball!"

The boy, every time he went, was determined to make Sunset his friend, but she always ended up hiding where he couldn't reach her.

Anya: "Today is a wonderful day... And the food smells really good, every year they surpass the previous year's food, it's incredible."

Swansea: "Not bad, huh! Did you make this grill by yourself, Curly? The meat looks incredible."

Daisuke: "Where is (Yn)?? I want to greet her!"

He had managed to catch the dog, who was resigned in his arms while Jupiter was barking at Daisuke, knowing how upset Sunset was.

Curly: "She has... a surprise for... all of you."

He said, smiling, waiting for you to come out in the summer dress he had bought for you, quite loose and comfortable, perfect for your growing belly. 

Everyone was surprised to see you, Daisuke was left speechless, dropping Sunset.

Daisuke: "But! You said-!"

"Well, not naturally—but... I was given the opportunity to do it in vitro and it was a success! I was afraid it wouldn't work because of my eggs, but... after several failed attempts... we finally got very lucky."

You caressed your belly, smiling.

Swansea: "Look at that... Congratulations, kid!"

Anya: "That's wonderful! Oh my God, how many weeks are you now? Do you already know their gender? Why didn't you tell us anything?"

She approached to touch your belly, happy that you have achieved what you wanted so much.

"I'm already in my 29th week... And we already know it's a boy! We were deciding on a name!"

Daisuke: "I have a really cool one!"

"I'm not going to call him Daisuke."

The boy let out a disappointed "aaaw" that you weren't going to consider his name for your son.

Curly: "We thought... of Charles"

"That I'm still not at all in agreement with that name."

You pointed at him, making him laugh and roll his eye.

Anya: "You still have time! When is your due date? I would like to be with you when it happens."

Daisuke: "Can I be there too? Maybe the second time I won't faint, hehe."

Swansea: "I wish you the best, boys are not difficult to entertain, they are difficult to keep alive, they love danger even after reaching adulthood."

You felt very excited about all the support you were receiving, happy to have met such wonderful people.

You didn't regret at all for having done everything possible to get them out of that situation.

The gathering continued with everyone eating and talking about the things they had been doing lately, catching up on their activities, until dessert time arrived, everyone's favorite moment.

Curly: "The best sweets... are from my wife..."

Swansea: "You don't even like sweets!"

Curly couldn't help but smile anyway when he saw everyone enthusiastically eating the ice cream cake you had made for that hot day, while he had his own special portion that you prepared for him so he could eat without too much sweetness.

You couldn't resist feeding him, and even though he wanted to seem annoyed, he adored the attention you gave him.

"Oops~ I'm sorry~ I stained your cheek"

You said with a smile to kiss his cheek, you started smearing hkd face with the dessert and left kisses on all those spots.

Swansea: "Get a room!"

Daisuke: "...Did you ever do it on the ship while working?"

"DAISUKE!"

You shouted with your cheeks red at such a true thing that had been said.

Curly: "...Two or three times..."

Swansea: "That's nothing, you managed to control themselves quite well."

Curly: "....During the week"

"Can I send it back into space?"

You didn't know how to hide your face in response to his declaration, you were extremely embarrassed.

But you had no escape, from the day you said yes, that man was going to stay with you until the end of his days.

And you knew well that he is going to be an incredible father soon as well.

In the end, everyone was able to have their well-deserved fate.

[surielstea]

A Sudden Elopement

Based on this request.

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Reader and Azriel suddenly get married without telling any of the others, the silently watch while every one figures it out for themselves.

Warnings: just fluff.

A. Note: just a short fic because I feel bad for being inactive as of late :c but the good news is, is that I’ll be very active for Eris week!! So keep an eye out for more Vanserra content 😻🙏

1.7k words

My eyes drooped with exhaustion as I attempted to keep my focus on the book I was reading. I was seated between my mate's legs in his lap, leaning back against his chest while he combed his scarred fingers through my hair. I sighed and closed my book, deciding I didn't have enough energy to read another chapter. I tossed it to the side of the bed and shifted lazily, flipping around to meet his hazel eyes gazing down at me.

"How was your book?" He hummed and I mumbled something he couldn't decipher while pulling myself up and stuffing my nose into the crook of his neck.

"That good, huh?" He teased, his arms moving to wrap around my waist.

I nod, tightening my grasp on him, needing him closer, lazily clinging to him like moss to a damp wall, infectious and dependent. But he didn't seem to care, only returned my embrace with the same tenderness "We should get married," He said softly and my eyes widened, now fully awake.

"What?"

"We should get married," He repeated with a casual tone.

"As in, right now?" I tilt my head, raising a brow at him.

"Well," He gave me an incredulous look. "Not right now, eventually, I want to marry you," He reiterated. A soft smile pulls at my lips.

"We've only been dating for a few months," I argue and even in the dim lighting I can see him blush.

"Yes, and we've been best friends for a decade," He argues and my smile widens, I straddle over his hips, sitting up and debating it.

"Don't get me wrong, I'd marry you now if I could, but do you really want to go through the hassle of planning one?" I speak logically but it's as if he only heard the first half of my sentence.

"Let's get married, right now," He grinned wildly and I flushed pink. "We don't have to do the hassle, you hate parties anyway. It can be just us, somewhere far or close I don't care. I just want to marry you," He expressed, intertwining our hands as I debated the irrational and sudden decision.

"Though I love how eager you are, I don't have a dress— much less, we don't have rings," I explain. "And as rich as you are, your funds are not bottomless," I say but he remains looking at me with the same loving look.

"Tell me exactly how you want to do it, and that's how it'll be done," He prompts and lets go of my hands, favoring placing them on my waist as I leaned down on my elbow, propped up against his chest.

"Well, it being just us doesn't sound too bad," I say, tracing shapes on his bicep with my free hand. "And I'd want to have a pretty gown, and I'd want to have our ceremony somewhere beautiful." I flick my eyes up to meet his unfaltering gaze. "And rings, I want everyone to know we belong to each other," I add quickly and his smile grows.

"Anything else?" He tilts his head but I shake mine, cupping his face and leaning down, kissing his lips softly. "I think, I just want to be your wife," I finalized and that seemed to have pleased him because the next thing I know he's flipping me over and kissing down my neck. And despite my exhaustion, I knew sleep wouldn't come until dawn.

—————

"So, how was your trip?" Feyre said excitedly, settling into the barstool beside me.

Azriel and I had gotten back after a month's vacation only a day ago, but everyone was eager to catch up. So we landed ourselves at Rita's, a local bar beloved by the citizens of Velaris. "As romantic as it sounds," I say with a soft blush, propping my head into my hands.

"Gods, I wish Rhys would take me on a surprise trip like that," She sighed dramatically and my smile grew. We hadn't told anyone why we actually went, that our trip was more of a honeymoon, less of a vacation.

"I know," I turned back in my stool to look at my husband who was surrounded by his two brothers. "It's all still such a daze," I smile dreamily, looking back to my friend who was frozen in her seat, staring directly at the cut sapphire on my fourth finger.

"Are you engaged?!" She practically shouted and I giggled, shaking my head.

"Az and I decided to get married while we were gone," I shrug as if it was a casual thing. I didn't want it to be a big deal, because it wasn't really, we were the last of the group to tie the knot.

She just stares at me, slowly, she shifts her head back to the three males at the other end of the room, right at that chain around Azriel's neck, a silver ring hanging from it. He couldn’t wear rings because of his scars, but he still wanted to have that physical element of our marriage, as if to display how taken he was.

She nearly fell out of her chair at the realization, then tackled me into a hug, holding me tight as I giggled at her antics. "My gods, congratulations, I would have been sending gifts all week!" Feyre claimed and I shook my head at her nonsense while she pulled away.

"It's not a big deal Fey, if they haven't figured it out yet— you're the only one who knows," I smile broadly, looking back at Azriel, who happened to already be staring at me.

I brought my hand up, gesturing to the ring on my finger, then to his brothers. Silently asking if they notched yet. Azriel shook his head with a mischievous smile and I turned back to Feyre with a smirk. "I can't believe you guys didn't tell us," She huffed as if she'd failed me as a friend.

"As much as I would've loved for you to be there, it was hilarious watching how clueless you all were," I claim and she gives me a sidelong glare.

"Oh cmon," I lean over in my stool and bump her shoulder with mine. "Now you can be in on it. Who do you think is going to be last to figure it out?" I ask, gesturing to the group behind us who were all mingling with Azriel.

Feyre turned to look, the three-winged Illyrians all chatting with Morrigan, Nesta, Lucien, and Elain all accompanying them. "Cassian," She bets and I smirk, narrowing my eyes on the group.

"I think Rhys," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. Feyre cracks a smile. "Whoever's right pays the tab," She says, slipping out of her barstool and I nod, agreeing to the challenge even though I knew damn well Rhys would be covering the tab regardless.

We saunter over to the group, wicked smiles on our faces. Feyre goes to Rhys, intertwining their hands while I come to stand between Cassian and Azriel, my husband putting his arm around my shoulders. "What's that look for?" Azriel asked me, noticing the mischievous glint in my eyes.

"Feyre and I have a bet going, and that's all you need to know," I shrug and he arches a dark brow but doesn't say anything more while silky shadows swirl up my calves as if they were trying to beckon more information out of me but I didn't budge, just leaned into his side and watched Feyre as she tried her hardest to get her mate to realize the wings on me and Azriel's fingers, eager to win our bet.

It took much longer than I thought it would for them to realize. Lucien and Elain had spotted it that night, pulling me to the side to ask about it. Morrigan and Nesta had done the same one night later, interrogating me and Azriel as if we'd committed a crime, they seemed to think not telling them was against some friendship code.

But Rhys and Cassian hadn't noticed that night, or the next, or the next. It wasn't until I was training with Cassian and punched him square in the jaw that he caught sight of the ring on my finger. He brought his fingers to his cheek, wincing as he saw blood when pulling his hand away.

I cringed. "Sorry, I forgot to take my ring off," I murmured shamefully, taking the sapphire off my fourth finger. He paused, staring at me curiously, with no malice in his eyes despite the fact that I just drew blood.

"Where did you get that?" He tilted his head. I froze. Would it be considered cheating me and Feyre’s bet if I told him Az gave it to me?

"I'll give you one guess," I sent him a wink and his brows shot up.

"No way," He whispered. "He proposed?" His arms went out wide and shock. I fought back a laugh. "Well, yes, but we got married already, when we took that month off to go to the Summer Court? That was our honeymoon," I shrug and his eyes nearly bulge from their sockets.

"He didn't tell me!?" Cassian exclaimed as if he was the one to be married.

"We didn't tell anyone, everyone else already figured it out." I chuckled and his eye twitched. "Rhys doesn't know, me and Fey had a bet going to see how long it'd take," I shrug. "Turns out longer than expected." I hummed and he scowled.

"Well, you think you know someone," He huffs pathetically and I laugh.

"It's not like that Cass," I roll my eyes while walking over to my water and placing my wedding ring down beside it. If he was actually upset I don't know what I'd do, and I found myself thanking the gods when he cracked a smile, unable to keep the facade up for too long.

"Me and Az are going to have a long talk about this," He warned and I chuckled, getting back into my fighting stance on the mats.

"All I ask is that you return my husband in one piece," I say, smiling at the sound of calling Azriel my husband.

"Fine, but only if I get to be the one to tell Rhys he lost the bet." He hummed, getting into his own stance.

I grinned wildly, Feyre was going to rage. "Deal."

@coolepowersthings@hailqueenconquer @quiettuba @ilovewarner45 @judig92 @tothestarsandwhateverend @je-suis-prest-rachel @call-me-a-fool @brieflyclassymortal @cherryjain17 @stqrgirlies-blog @chelsiemp @nyxbranwenn @dnfhascorruptedme @summerandsalt @annamariereads16 @thisiskaylin @itsbonniebabe @mp-littlebit @nickishadow139 @thestartitaness @azswife @mommyofkittens @sourholland @unlikely-lovers-together @knowiathemythologynerd @hdigditditdjgd @pruvii @thesillyyogourt @its-me-meg @cherry-cin @katherinearcheron @thesunloveschips @durgenyx @wandaspropertyonly @azriel-shadowsingerr @oketra21 @styleshoneyco @woblyshrimp @sayitlikethecheese @georgiadixon @whistle1whistle @riorgail @smutslut05 @doodlebugg16-blog @maddyb-rapps @lurking--shadows @hollyismentallyillhelp @feerique @blackgirlmagicforever

Comment a “💙” to be added to the general taglist!

Comment a “🖤” to be added to the Azriel taglist!

[morning-star-joy]

honey don't feed it, it will come back (Joel x F!Reader)

Pairing: Bodyguard!Joel x Sex Worker F!Reader

Summary: You run a brothel in the Boston QZ, devoting yourself to taking care of your girls. When the safety of one is threatened, you hire a bodyguard in the form of the surly Joel Miller to protect them. Little did you know that you were going to become his new favorite vice, and him your favorite addiction.

Warnings: MDNI Explicit Smut (oral f receiving, v fingering, Joel jacks off while going down on Reader, dirty talk, bit of a sir kink, bit of a brat tamer dynamic). Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart). Alcohol/drug use. Sex work (Joel listens to Reader). Age gap (20 years). Mentions of physical assault (towards minor characters, never from Joel. Not stated to be sexual assault but it can be inferred as such, so please take care of yourselves).

Wordcount: 9.6k (how the fuck)

joel miller masterlist

The world was fucked to all hell and back, and so what did men do in those circumstances?

“Oh fuck,” your customer was grunting as he fucked into you from behind, your hands on the headboard as it rocked against the wall to keep yourself up, breathy moans expertly leaving your lips to spur them on, even if you hadn’t felt an inkling of desire in years.

Yeah.

They fucked.

Fight or flight were often referred to in the first years following the Outbreak, a default of survival instinct that most everybody resorted to in order to survive.

But fucking was the much less talked about, incredibly prevalent third option.

It became clear in the Quarantine Zones that there was a need to be filled here, a way to satisfy that urge in a way that wouldn’t cause a barely held-together society inside high walls to erupt into chaos.

From this need, brothels made an appearance. While FEDRA had nothing to do with the establishments officially, they turned a very convenient blind eye to the street corners where women trying to make some kind of a living in the QZ took up their stations, tempting any lonely man who may wander by into a night of needed release.

It was a dangerous profession, in its own way. Contraceptives were long expired twenty years after the society collapsed, and even if a client pulled out at the best time and you were keeping track of your cycle, there was always the risk of being put out of work for around 9 months if you were unlucky.

And then came the obsession.

Clients could become far too eager far too quickly, addicted to the touch and feeling of a certain girl, mistaking lust for affection and lurking around those street corners before the night even came or, worse, outside the brothel doors.

You’d experienced it first-hand and through other girls, but it wasn’t until one of the younger ones came to you with a black eye and bruised jaw that you had had enough.

“Who did it?” you said in a low tone, breathing deeply in and out through your nose as you tried to control yourself, reigning yourself back in from the need to grab the gun you kept tucked in the top drawer of your rickety old nightstand and find who the fuck had laid their hands on one of your girls in such a way.

After years of being in the business, you had gone from only taking clients to keeping a watchful eye over the other women who made the same living you did. Your glory days were mostly behind you, but you still had your reputation, even after the incident that left you with a jagged scar that stretched vertically across the right side of your face, from above your eyebrow, down across your eye to just below your cheekbone.

Those clients you did still have preferred to fuck you with you facing away from them now, but you weren’t complaining. Not seeing their ugly faces as they used you to cum helped you dissociate, focus your thoughts on how well you were going to eat the next few days because of a few minutes of sacrifice.

The young woman whose lip was trembling as you held her hands gently in yours now was hardly past her early twenties, a sweet young thing who you had taken under your wing when she confessed needing a way to get some extra ration cards for her little brother who had gotten sick recently.

You had snuck Isabel some of your own ration cards with each of her payments, not caring that you had a bit less to eat each night, especially when she had come to you a couple weeks later with a bright smile and the news that her brother’s health had improved.

Now that smile that could light up the whole goddamn QZ was nowhere to be seen, an abject horror darkening her gaze, making her angelic face gaunt as you reached up to gently hold it, tilting it so you could assess the extent of the damage.

Her eyes, a deep honeyed brown that had drawn in the most clients your brothel had seen in years, were avoiding yours as you searched for her gaze, and you gently directed her face back towards you, voice softer as you implored her, “Isabel. Please, talk to me, babygirl.”

A choked sob was the first sound to leave her mouth then at the sound of your genuine affection. The world may be fucked, but protecting these girls was your purpose. And the thought of not being enough to protect them, for one of them to come to you like this…

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you whispered as her petite form collapsed against yours, holding her close as you smoothed a hand over the tangles in her hair, gently combing them out with your fingers as your other hand rubbed at her back. “It’ll be okay, love. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Even as you assured her, a fear was creating pressure in the back of your mind, causing the first of many sleepless nights as you tried to figure out how to make sure this could never happen again.

You sat at your little makeshift desk in your tiny room on the top floor of the brothel, a cheap cigarette you had just gotten from a couple smugglers perched between your fingers as you slowly exhaled the smoke, staring down at your incoherent scribbled notes.

With a groan, you pushed yourself away from the desk, standing to cross over to the small window on the wall, gazing out in paranoia to make sure there were no dark shadows lingering nearby, waiting to get a hold of one of your girls if they didn’t want it.

Glancing back down at the lit cigarette, you pondered your few options.

FEDRA was not a viable source for protection. Yes, they turned a blind eye on your activities, but they would never risk their image by offering guards for your girls. Besides, you didn’t trust anybody in one of those uniforms within an inch of your life.

Fireflies weren’t a fucking option either. Those jackasses were so far up the proverbial ass of justice that they couldn’t see the actual struggles of the real people around them, subjecting them to be collateral in whatever useless statement they were making lately.

The cigarette was raised halfway to your lip when you paused, staring down at it as you suddenly had a small epiphany.

Who did you know that had not an ounce of a moral code, but a strong work ethic and determination to get the job done for a good deal that promised a stack of ration cards?

A smirk curled onto your lips then as you brought the cigarette back to them, placing it in your mouth as you took a long drag, exhaling it towards the window and watching it fog up the glass as you realized exactly who you were heading to.

“We don’t do protection,” your smuggling contact was saying, her voice as gruff and no-nonsense as always, and you sighed, meeting her sharp green eyes straight on as you shifted to cross your legs.

“Don’t bullshit me, Tess,” you said flatly back, your voice not harsh, but definitely firm, calling her out on her bluff even as you saw her ever-present guard dog shift a ways behind her at your tone. “You’ll do anything for a good trade. And I have that.”

“I don’t wanna fuck your girls,” Tess dismissed, waving her hand as if to brush the thought away, and you rolled your eyes, even as you couldn’t help a smirk, glancing at your associate with a small hint of mirth that matched her own.

“I’m not offering that,” you replied honestly, slowly drumming your fingers at the small table you were both seated at in one of the back alleys where these deals tended to go down. Public enough to avoid a shootout, but private enough to avoid FEDRA breathing down your backs. “My girls get paid for their work. So would you.”

Tess raised an eyebrow then, leaning in just a fraction, and you knew that you had captured just a fraction of her attention.

Good. You could work with that.

“What are we talking?” she asked in a low tone, voice still disinterested, gaze still closed off, but you knew that would change when you laid out the conditions of the deal.

When you did—offering a heft of ration cards (that they didn’t need to know was almost your entire cut of the brothel’s proceeds) for an able body to keep watch at your brothel during active business hours—Tess leaned back again, eyes flickering over your face as she processed the information.

“You know I’m good for it, Tess,” you implored, allowing a bit of emotion to creep into your tone now as you meet her gaze, hoping she would hear what you were asking for, woman to woman. “And these girls…they need it.”

She frowned then, sympathy flashing over her face as she glanced over yours, hearing what went unsaid.

Tess began to turn her head slightly over her shoulder, though she didn’t bother sparing a glance back as she called, “Joel.”

That was the first time you think you’d heard the name of her silent, watchful companion.

You knew that they were a package deal, but whenever you met with Tess, he lingered in the background, making sure you didn’t lay a hand on her.

Good, you thought to yourself, glancing over at him as he pushed himself off the wall and strolled over just at the unspoken order she gave for him to approach. If he’s who she has in mind, hopefully he does the same for the girls.

It was also the first time you really got a look at the man who Tess finally introduced you, explaining to the both of you how this was going to work at the same moment.

With those thick arms that could be around your neck as fast as you could blink, hardened dark eyes that were already measuring you up and calculating at least six ways to take you out before you could even open your mouth to say hello, you knew that just the sight of him in your brothel would strike fear into the depraved hearts of meeker, cowardly men.

He was older, too. Maybe had twenty years on you, and if somebody had lived that long in the apocalypse, they had to know how to get their hands fucking dirty if they needed to.

“I’ll take him,” you said back to Tess after appraising the man who would be your brothel’s bodyguard, your attention only pulled back to the hunk of muscles when you heard him scoff at your words. “There a problem?”

“I’m not a piece of meat,” he grunted, expression flat as he stared at you, and you arched an eyebrow, unamused by his comment that came right after you and Tess had agreed to the terms of the deal.

“Hate to break it to you, but a bodyguard is nothing but that,” you replied as you gracefully uncrossed your legs, rising to your feet as Tess collected their first payment from you off the table, pushing it into her front pocket as she rose from her own seat as well. “Muscle that can drop a man at a moment’s notice.”

You watched as Joel’s strong jaw ticked, your other eyebrow rising with the first as you stepped around the table, getting closer to the man than you probably should, watching as his tense shoulders bunched up even more around his ears when you approached. 

“And now, you’re my muscle, Mr. Miller,” you said in a perfectly conversational tone, a practiced smile pulling onto your lips as Joel glanced down at them briefly before looking back into your eyes, his gaze narrowing as you added, “Pleasure to be doing business with you.”

Spinning on your heel, you strolled away from the smugglers towards the exit to the alley, but not without saying back over your shoulder before you got too far, “First shift’s an hour after curfew. Don’t be late.”

There was the sound of low grumbling behind you, followed by the smooth low tones of Tess’ voice, and you didn’t know why you felt the urge to laugh at that moment.

You didn’t know why, because you hadn’t laughed in years.

But you brushed that feeling aside, heading back towards your establishment to ready your girls for the change that would be coming in their worlds tonight, hoping that it would give them the peace of mind you all so desperately needed.

Whether you would be able to relax all depended on if Joel Miller could actually do his job.

He could.

One of the very first nights Joel had taken up station in the main hallway in the brothel that led off to private rooms, he had proven his worth, and then some.

You had been down the staircase in an instant when you heard the loud crash, heart racing in your chest, breath quickened from panic as you rounded down to see what had caused the loud sound.

Some thumps and bumps were common in an establishment like yours, but that sounded very much like a body not only hitting the ground, but being thrown down onto it.

What you saw then was an image that etched itself deep into your brain for the rest of your days.

Joel, your brand new, stoic bodyguard who hardly gave so much as a grunt to you or any of the girls he was hired to protect, had a half-naked man pressed to the old floorboards, knee digging right into his back to pin him down, a large hand keeping a tight grip on his neck to stop him from moving.

But what got your attention even more than the struggling client who Joel was snarling at as he roughly kept them down, was the girl who was standing behind him, arms wrapped around herself and subconsciously shifting to stay behind the bodyguard, eyes wide and relieved at the sight of him catching the out of hand customer.

You walked towards the scene that had drawn spectators in the form of clients and workers alike, peeking their heads out into the hallway to watch as you slowly knelt down in front of where the bastard was pinned so roughly to the ground that you weren’t sure he could even breathe.

Good.

You glanced up at Joel then, meeting his hard gaze with one of your own, and you gestured with a jerk of your chin towards the staircase leading down and out of your establishment that he could throw them out.

After rising to your feet, you paused next to Joel, watching from the corner of your eye as he grabbed the man roughly, yanking them to their feet and halting in his task only when you briefly laid your hand on his shoulder.

“Let him know not to come back,” you muttered under your breath, sending a sidelong glance full of unspoken things towards Joel, a tiny smirk curling onto your lips as the whimper of fear from the sick bastard and your bodyguard’s short nod let you know you’d been heard.

You walked straight towards your girl who had nearly been treated in a way you would not tolerate towards any of your women, wrapping your arm around her shoulder and pulling her against you, letting her sink into your warmth as you addressed the rest of the brothel that everything was fine, to resume their activities while Joel shoved the guy down the stairs as they started to beg for mercy.

Luckily, there weren’t many similar incidents after that one, letting you know the investment into a well-abled bodyguard for your girls had been more than worth it.

Because more than the concrete evidence of their safety, it was the palpable shift in energy at the brothel that reassured you that you had made the right choice not only in having a bodyguard, but in who you hired.

Joel never really warmed up to anybody, but all the girls had certainly grown fond of him. There were more than a few crushes on the emotionally unavailable older man who stood like a statue in the halls, ranging from innocent love to lustful fantasies.

There were a handful of times one of your girls had offered their services to him, some even trying to get him into a room free of charge, but Joel turned down every one—interestingly enough, it was never without kindness. Each time a proposition was offered, the detached bodyguard would give a slight shake of his head, mumbling a “no thank you, ma’am” in that deep Southern drawl that soon made almost every girl in that building buckle at the knees.

The fondness your girls had for Joel Miller became ingrained in the way the brothel functioned, and you knew that you couldn’t get rid of him even if you wanted to, even if that meant continuing to share a large portion of your personal livelihood with him.

And maybe you were crazy, but you thought that maybe Joel had a bit of warmth in that tiny, shriveled up heart for your girls, too. Sometimes he’d eye a client up and down before giving the girl with them a respectful nod and a polite murmur of their name as a greeting, and you didn’t know why the familiarity of the stoic man warmed your own barbed wire heart, but it did.

Maybe it was because after all the shit they’d gone through to survive long enough to reach this point, they deserved to experience an ounce of genuine kindness from a man, without having to think about what they had to offer him.

Still, Joel irritated you. Any hint of kindness he had for your girls was never shown towards you, but you didn’t let it get to you. You were his employer, and the only times you ever really interacted with each other were the few short seconds it took him to head up the stairs to your office, collect his payment with you and leave.

Besides, you weren’t exactly the most gentle with him either.

You’d taken up a habit of poking fun at your bodyguard, a little teasing here and there about things like his face getting stuck if he never unfurrowed his brow, a comment that only made him scowl further, the sight pulling forward again that urge from deep within your bones to laugh.

But you never laughed, even as you smirked up at him before turning on your heel and going on about your work keeping the place running smoothly.

That work mainly involved management and finances, but when you began to realize you soon wouldn’t be able to keep supporting yourself with keeping Joel on as a bodyguard, you knew you’d have to start doing something a little extra.

Time to go back to your roots.

For all his time working at the brothel, Joel had never seen you take a client.

In fact, he could probably count on one hand the amount of times he had seen you in the hallways, only to check on a few of the girls from time to time.

But most of the time you were holed up in that small office upstairs, the one he entered for a minute or two at a time, long enough for you to gather his payment and give it to him so he could be out of your hair—or, more accurately, to get you out of his.

Because fuck, you were irritating. You knew exactly how to get on his nerves, and Joel suspected you actually enjoyed doing so, for whatever goddamned reason.

Still, the job paid well. He was living with a bit more comfort in the QZ than he ever had before with those cushy extra ration cards.

And besides, he was actually, maybe a little bit attached to the girls who worked these streets. They were kind, just making a living in the best way they could, and needed somebody to protect them.

Maybe there was also a part of Joel that needed somebody to protect.

He had to admit though, for all his aggravation towards your mere existence, Joel did respect you. You were the person who kept this place up and running, the one who looked after every need of each woman, the lady who had cared for them enough to search for a protector to keep them safe.

Joel had honestly assumed that you didn’t do sex work at all, just judging from how you were never in one of those rooms.

But tonight, you were walking up the staircase from the base floor instead of down from your office, drawing Joel’s attention and subsequent confusion when he saw what you were wearing.

Gone were the baggy jeans you usually wore around the brothel, replaced by thigh-highs that enveloped soft skin he had never seen before. There were just hints of lace at the top of the hosiery from where the tight black dress hugging your curves rode up with each step you took.

It had to have been one of the least scantily clad outfits he’d seen down these halls, but something about the sight of you wearing it caused a lump to form in Joel’s throat, an itch curling inside his veins that needed to be scratched when you turned your head back, offering a sly smile different from any you had sent him towards somebody behind you.

When you ascended to the top of the stairs, Joel saw the man following you, his back stiffening for more than one reason.

The first reason was that he knew this man. Not personally, but he had seen them around—on wanted posters, specifically. They were a higher up in the Fireflies, one who had their eyes on every covert deal around the city, a puppet master pulling the strings.

But it was clear now that you were pulling his, a coy batting of your cunning eyes tugging him after you down the hallway, your body turned slightly towards him in a way that accentuated every curve of your body in its side profile, illuminated in the lowlights of the hall.

When you passed by Joel, eyes meeting his as they shifted into something darker—not lustful, but with clear intent—he knew the other reason he had suddenly snapped to attention.

This man was your customer.

That look you had given Joel, it was an unspoken order to keep you safe in case anything went south with this considerably more…“exclusive” customer, for lack of a better term.

You didn’t spare another glance back as you moved to a door at the end of the hall, one Joel didn’t think he had ever seen another girl enter, slipping into the room as the man followed behind you, and the door quietly clicked shut.

Joel stared at the spot where you had just been in the hallway, feet frozen to the ground until he slowly stepped forward, moving down to lean against the wall next to the room you had entered, following your silent order to stay close and keep an eye out for trouble.

All his time working in a building full of the sounds and smell of sex at every moment, Joel had been unbothered. The moans, the grunts, the cries of “oh fuck” and “I’m coming!” that would echo through the halls, the overpowering scents of sweat and cum when a door next to him would open and a satisfied client would walk out—he couldn’t give less of a fuck. It neither bothered him, nor turned him on to any degree.

But at the very first soft, breathy moan of yours that drifted through the thin wall his back was pressed to, Joel’s breath was catching in his throat, entire body stiffening at the alluring sound.

A few seconds later, there was another moan, longer than the first, and Joel’s head tilted back, resting against the wall as his jaw clenched to the point where it was almost painful.

He didn’t care, he told himself.

Joel had never cared before, he didn’t care now.

But it had never been you before.

You, the stalwart image of the establishment, all business and no pleasure, putting every other person’s needs before your own.

So at the thought of you giving into pleasure now, satisfying your own needs as the sounds of slow, rhythmic squeaking of a bedframe carried towards him through the door, your whimpering echoing the steady echo of skin slapping against skin—

“Fuck,” Joel whispered under his breath, eyes fluttering shut at a particularly loud moan of yours that reached his ears that had tuned in through the walls, and he snapped his eyes back open, straightening back up and realizing with a quiet groan from the movement how painfully hard he had grown in his jeans at the sounds of you being fucked.

He reminded himself then that this was your job. There was no guarantee you derived any real pleasure from it—to think that you did was a delusional male fantasy, and made him no better than the rest.

But his dick wasn’t listening to logic, only growing harder in his pants with the more lewd sounds that you made, and Joel sucked in a deep breath, rubbing a large palm over his face and shaking his head to himself.

You were no different from the others.

Just another girl to protect.

Joel didn’t want you.

“Oh, god, yes!” you were gasping in between keening moans now, and Joel bit down hard on his lower lip, feeling the chapped skin break and bleed a bit as his hand twitched at his side, the urge to do something about the erection straining against his pants so incredibly strong.

He could do it. None of the other girls were close to finishing with their clients. Joel could pull his cock from his pants right now and fuck into his own hand as he listened to you having sex, get himself off from the sounds you were making, imagining he was thrusting into you instead of his palm as you—

“Yes,” you whimpered, the sounds of skin slapping against skin rapid now, the bedframe inside your room slamming against the wall as you repeated yourself louder and louder, higher and higher, “Yes, yes, yes!”

Then you were crying out at the same time your client did, and Joel grunted, hips bucking up into his palm at the same moment he realized his hand had drifted there, subconsciously seeking relief from the ache of burning desire before he snapped his hand away.

“Fuck,” he huffed, shaking his head sharply and cursing himself at how he had nearly jacked himself off at the sound of you having sex without even realizing what he was doing. “Get it the fuck together.”

But his erection hardly eased up even as the minutes passed, and Joel had to fold his hands together, trying to casually hold them in front of the obvious bulge constrained by his jeans when your door opened.

The client walked out first, and Joel stared straight ahead at the wall opposite him, jaw clenching painfully once more as the man walked down the hallway, glancing back to send you a wave as you leaned against the doorframe, bending forward out of it to wiggle your fingers back towards him in goodbye.

Joel’s eyes snapped from how relaxed the gait of the man now was before looking over at you, sucking in a sharp breath at the tattered silk robe you were wearing, seeing the dip of your collarbone down to the soft curves of your cleavage, nearly catching a glimpse of the tempting pillows of your tits from the way you were leaning forward before he forced his gaze away.

You were watching him now—he could feel the familiar intensity of your gaze on him, and Joel resisted the urge to swallow thickly, struggling against the lump in his throat as you pushed yourself off the doorframe.

He expected you to head back up towards your office, preparing himself to keep his gaze off you when you walked past him in that temptation of thin fabric, when you surprised him by speaking.

“Want a smoke?”

Joel froze, his head tilting towards the sound of your voice subconsciously before your words even dawned on him.

When they did, he glanced towards you from the corner of his eye, seeing you were watching him with a thumb pointing back over your shoulder towards the room behind you.

The room you had just fucked a client in.

Oh fuck.

Joel cleared his throat, brows furrowed deeply as he looked back at you, and he half-expected you to make a comment about it like usual, but you were simply watching him with an impassive look, not a hint of emotion or motive he could try to decipher.

Before he knew what he was doing, Joel nodded, feet automatically moving after yours when you walked into the room.

“You can close it,” you said over your shoulder as you walked towards a nightstand next to the bed where—

Joel spun around, trying to control how rapidly he was breathing as he grabbed the door handle, pulling it shut behind him before slowly turning back to face the room again.

He had never actually been in one of them before, but he still should have expected the smell to be so much stronger in one—especially right after it had been occupied.

Still, the scent of sex pulled his attention right back to the bed you stood next to as you perched a cigarette between your lips—one he thinks Tess got you, he realized somewhere in the back of his mind—and Joel’s eyes lingered on dark spots on the mattress, forgetting how to breathe for a moment before your voice brought him back.

“Mr. Miller?”

His head snapped forward, eyes meeting yours to see you looking at him in a question he didn’t know that you were asking.

“Huh?” he mumbled so eloquently, wincing internally as your lips twitched into a small smirk around the cigarette in your mouth before you pulled it out, blowing it into the heady air of the room, nicotine joining the smells of sex and making the space tighter, hotter, before you paced towards a window on one wall.

“I asked if you wanted one,” you said slowly, and Joel just then noticed how scratchy your voice was—from the cigarette, the moans you were making not that long before, or maybe both.

“Uh—no,” Joel shook his head, watching with bated breath as your smirk towards him grew. “No thank you.”

His heart skipped a beat in his chest as you beckoned with the cigarette held delicately between your fingers for him to join you at the window. 

Joel did, almost automatically, cursing himself internally at his blunt eagerness to be beside you while you lifted the window to let some fresh air in, and he turned, resting his back against the open window pane, arms crossing over his chest as he watched you instead of observing the room any longer.

Not all that fresh, considering the perpetual staleness of the QZ air, but it did cut down on how overwhelming the aroma of sex currently was in that room.

If somebody was going to break the tense silence that had fallen between the two of you, Joel had expected it to be you, so he was surprised when the quiet words fell from his lips, “Didn’t know you took clients.”

You huffed out a laugh then, the stream of cigarette smoke leaving your plump lips in puffs with the action.

“The Mistress has to earn her keep somehow,” you muttered, pulling in another drag of nicotine to blow back out the open window, and Joel’s gaze snapped back towards you.

“The Mistress?” he repeated, eyes flickering over your face as he recognized that name in an instant.

Being a man in the Boston QZ, it was impossible not to hear about The Mistress. An elusive sex worker who was very selective about her clientele, but even still, the stories about her stretched far, the name representing the countless fantasies of every horny man who dreamed of a chance to get their cock wet with her.

His recognition must have been noticeable in the tone of his voice, because you lazily rolled your head back to look up at him, smirk growing fully across your lips, swollen from whatever you had been up to, and Joel nearly swore under his breath as he felt his cock stirring in his jeans again.

“You act like you’ve heard of me,” you murmured, tongue darting out to wet your lips before you placed the cigarette between them again, and Joel’s brain short-circuited for a moment before he could find the words to reply to you.

“I just—” Joel cut off, brows furrowed as he shook his head, as if trying to jumpstart his mind, get it to string coherent thoughts together again but Jesus fuck why were you looking at him like that, with dark hooded eyes he’d never seen from you before. “I mean, I’ve heard about her, but I didn’t think—”

“Why not?” you interrupted him before he could finish. The cigarette was back between your fingers, gesturing with it up towards the scar that stretched down one side of your face. “Because of this?”

Joel frowned then because, to his own surprise, he was offended that you would think he’d care about such a thing. That he’d judge your attractiveness off something as inconsequential as a scar, especially in such a time where such marks on your skin were proof of hard-earned survival.

Attractiveness. 

No, no, oh, fuck.

“Just didn’t know it was you,” Joel muttered gruffly, shrugging in a way that he knew must have looked incredibly stupid as he turned his face away from you, only to see the mess of shabby sheets on the bed, and those same dark stains on the fabric.

“Oh, so you have heard of me,” you were nearly goddamn purring the words now, in the same moment his mind was recalling those sweet, sweet moans you were making, the ones that had left your lips and resulted in the cum stains he was now staring at. “What have you heard?”

“They say you have the ti—” Joel cuts himself off again, feeling blood rushing towards his cheeks and somewhere lower, somewhere he should not be feeling any heat as he realized what he was about to say without thinking.

That you have the tightest, hottest cunt you could get in the whole QZ.

“They say I…?” you trailed off as you quietly repeated his words, and Joel’s attention flashed back to you to see you drifting closer to him, one arm crossed over your chest to prop up your elbow as you smoked your cigarette.

The way your arm pressed to yourself pushed your cleavage together to make an alluring dip, lifting your tits so they were almost spilling out of the open collar of the silk robe. Although the fabric was faded and tattered from the years it had survived, it may as well have been the richest texture in the world with the way it caressed your soft skin, taunting Joel as he struggled to look away.

When you shifted just an inch closer, one of the sleeves of the robe tumbled down your shoulder, and Joel sucked in an audible breath as more of your body was revealed, tempting him with how bare you were under that flimsy fabric.

He tried to look back up towards your eyes then, he really did, but the sleeve slipping down to hook around your elbow nearly revealed half of your chest to him. The only thing keeping him from seeing one of your tits completely was the way your forearm was pressed against your nipple.

Was it a peak right now? Were you as aroused as he was? Did you need him like he needed you?

Joel finally pulled his eyes up to yours, and when he saw the smug, knowing look in the heat of them, his desire flared into a fever pitch.

“They say you make sex an art,” his voice rumbled out from deep within his chest, and Joel hardly recognized it with the way his every word was coated in a thick need. “That your body feels like heaven, and you taste even better.”

You laughed at that, head tilting back with the action, and Joel was as distracted at the gentle, husky cadence that left your soft lips—how soft exactly, he wondered—as he was focused on the curve of your exposed neck as it led his eyes down your collarbone to the valley of your breasts.

There was a thin layer of sweat there, he just realized, and he wanted to dip his tongue between the soft pillows of flesh, tasting and tracing you, when your words pulled him out of his fantasizing that was quickly spiraling out of control the longer he was in this sex-tainted room with you.

“Those men don’t know a single fucking thing about how I taste,” you muttered, not bitterly, but simply matter-of-fact as you gazed out the window towards the dark lit streets of the QZ, taking another long drag of the cigarette.

Joel’s brow lifted, glancing over your side profile, noticing the way the deep red lipstick you had been wearing was almost completely faded, smeared a little at the corner of your mouth and down your chin, and coupled with the confession you had just made, he struggled with a sudden surge of an emotion he couldn’t name—or didn't want to, as it would surely become dangerous if he dared to entertain it.

“Seriously?” Joel found himself saying, and you turned back to him, your own eyebrows arching at the odd tone of his voice—almost appalled, but not towards you. “None of them?”

Your lips pulled back then, showing teeth in a grin that was nearly predatory, and Joel’s pulse raced as you answered with your own question, “You really think any man still alive wants to pay to go down on a woman?”

“I would,” Joel said in a heartbeat, and you blinked, surprise flashing through your eyes, and Joel hated the way his stomach flipped at the knowledge of catching you off-guard, as you were usually the one doing so to him.

“You’d pay for sex,” you repeated slowly, and although it was a question, you said it in a flat tone, disbelieving as you glanced up and down his body. “You. Mr. ‘I hate everybody and wish they were all fucking dead’ Miller?”

What surprised him the most out of everything tonight was the way you just made him laugh.

The sound was pulled from him so easily, tugged from his lungs towards you, and he sucked in a breath, as if trying to pull the sound back in as a dark look twinkled in your eyes from where they had fixed on the front of his jeans.

“Maybe you would pay for it, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, and Joel stiffened, his mind filling with a variety of curses in every language he still knew as you surely noticed his erection that still hadn’t fucking gone away.

Your eyes flashed back up to his, long eyelashes fluttering as you leaned forward, and Joel struggled to breathe as the forearm still covering the nipple of your almost completely revealed breast grazed against his chest.

“How would you prefer to take me, sir?” you asked breathily, and Joel’s chest began to rise and fall rapidly, brushing with your own nearly exposed chest with every fast breath he took as he tried to reign himself in, even as you started fucking seducing him. “Are you a fan of foreplay? Would you take your time and go slow with me?”

Your head tilts oh so slightly, hair tumbling down in a way that begged Joel to wrap it around his fist, as you continued to mercilessly tease, “No, I don’t think you’re one for taking it slow. Are you, Mr. Miller?”

Fuck, if you kept calling him that, he was going to lose his goddamn mind and take you right against that window sill if you would let him. He’d pay you all the fucking food rations in the world for a taste, just a taste of how sweet you’d drip for him when you came.

Because if Joel was fucking you, you were going to come.

“You like it hard and fast,” you whispered, your arm finally dropping from your chest, and Joel swallowed down a strangled sound as he finally saw half of your chest completely, your nipple hardened in the air before you pressed it against him and fuck, oh Jesus fuck, “I bet you’re rough too. Big man like you, you like to be in control. Probably gets off on taming brats, hm?”

Goddammit if you didn’t shut up he was about to show you just how well he could tame you, shutting up that pretty mouth by making you come again, again, and again, until all you knew to do was cry out for him every time he wracked your body with pleasure.

“But you’re not a missionary man,” you shook your head as it tilted the other way, bringing your face to hover inches away from his neck, and Joel shivered, actually fucking shivered when he felt your breath caress his skin as you teased, “You like a cowgirl, don’t you, Joel?”

That was the first time his name fell from your lips.

And at the sound of it, Joel lost any ounce of self-control.

His hands were on you in an instant, enveloping your waist in his large palms as he pulled you flush against him at the same moment he turned to push you against the wall.

You gasped, the dwindling cigarette falling from your fingers, and Joel lifted a foot to stomp it out, using his knee to nudge your legs apart with the motion. When his hips nudged against yours, erection pressing against the spot between your open thighs, he moaned at the feeling of your heat against the impossibly tight fabric.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized the robe you wore was completely open now, and your exposed cunt was pressed right up against his clothed erection, but his entire mind was focused on the way you also moaned at the same time he did.

“You keep running your mouth like that, I’ll show you how fucking good I can tame a brat,” he growled into your ear, one of his hands easily lifting your hip, dragging your folds across the bulge in his jeans, and he sighed as he felt wetness seep against the fabric. “Fuck, you this wet for me already, baby? Just from talking about how I’d fuck you?”

“I-I–”

Suddenly, no words were falling from your lips other than incoherent stuttering, and Joel smirked as he ducked his face against your neck, licking a path along the curve of it, groaning in need and irritation at the salt of sweat from your previous sex that still clung to it.

“Did you come for him?” Joel growled the question against your jaw, now directing your hips to grind against him in a way that put pressure to your clit, his eyes fluttering shut at the soft moan that left your lips—it sounded different than the ones he heard you make before, quieter, a bit huskier as opposed to so high-pitched—before he nipped at the skin just below your chin. “Answer me.”

“No,” you gasped, and Joel loosened his grip on your waist just a bit, wanting to see if you still chased that friction he had been providing against your clit.

When you did, grinding yourself against his clothed erection, Joel smirked against your jaw before asking his next question, “When’s the last time a man made you come, sweetheart?”

A shuddering breath fell from your lips to fan across his face, and Joel pulled back, looking down at how blown-wide your pupils were, his thumb brushing a strand of hair from your face as you muttered, “I—long. Too long.”

Joel wanted to smile at how you were already struggling to form full sentences before he had even started with you, but the anger he felt at you going so long without feeling an ounce of pleasure from being with a man made his jaw tick as he frowned deeply instead.

“Do you wanna come tonight, darlin’?” Joel murmured, his calloused thumb finding your bottom lip to gently pull it out, caressing the wet inner part of your lip while he searched your gaze. “I need you to answer me, sweetheart. I’m not doing anything unless you want me to.”

“Yes, Joel,” your voice nearly broke with the husky whisper, head bobbing in an eager nod, but Joel still waited to hear you say it clearly before he began. “I want you. Want you to make me come, please.”

A shuddering breath left Joel then, and he returned your nod, brushing his thumb across your lip again before pulling it back and leaning down to replace the digit with his own lips.

You were both moaning from the first moment your lips touched, kissing in a way that was much like how you always acted around each other—a battle for dominance, adding gasoline to the fire, but with an underlying respect that neither of you could shake even if you wanted to try.

“Fuck,” Joel mumbled when you allowed him access to slip his tongue inside your mouth, exploring every inch of it with a quiet moan that you echoed with your own. “Taste so good already, sweetheart.”

Every time he tried to pull away, you brought him back in with your lips chasing his, trapping him in another hot kiss, passion he didn’t think he could ever feel again building between you until he needed to taste more.

Joel finally tore himself away from your mouth fully, hands finding the opening of your robe to make sure it was pushed open completely, giving him access to every inch of your soft skin as he pressed kisses down your neck towards the perfect, perky tits that had been taunting him since you leaned out into the hallway.

His large palms cupped them, fingers stroking the soft flesh as he pressed them around his face, groaning into your skin at the feeling of being surrounded by them before turning his face to lap a path up the curve of one with his tongue until he reached that goddamn nipple that had been pure torture to nearly catch a glimpse of during your entire conversation.

Joel flicked his tongue over it, hips nearly bucking up as you gasped at the sensation, back arching to press further against his tongue when he flattened it against the stiffened peak. When he sucked it into his hot mouth, your fingers found his hair, tangling in the strands as you pushed his face further against you, and he moaned through a mouth full of your breast, teeth grazing against the sensitive peak before he pulled back to quickly do the same to the other.

Despite your teasing, he would take his time with you eventually. But tonight he was desperate, a drowning man gasping for air—but no, even that wasn’t accurate.

You were not the air Joel needed, but rather the unfathomable depths that he was drowning in.

He dropped to his knees between your spread legs, grunting quietly at the pain that ricocheted through his old bones at the action, but he couldn’t care less as he found himself facing your hot, dripping cunt.

Joel leaned forward, letting his breath fan across your sensitive folds as he lifted two fingers to run across your wet entrance, dragging the digits up to where you clit was already swollen with the need to be touched, to be pleased by him, and he smiled to himself at the sigh you exhaled above him from the sensation of his touch.

His fingers slid back to your entrance, dipping the rough pads of his fingertips into you just enough to collect more of your desire, spreading it along the lengths of his thick fingers as he swiped them up to your clit and began to rub in slow, tight circles.

You gasped quietly, hips rolling into his gentle ministrations, and Joel smiled against your skin when he ducked his face forward to press soft kisses along your inner thigh and up.

“Gonna take care of you, darlin’, don’t you worry,” Joel murmured against the mound of trimmed hair above where his fingers were slowly working at you, his lips moving down to replace them as he added breathlessly, “Gonna make you feel so good.”

Your hips bucked against his face when his tongue found your clit, a louder, breathless moan tearing from your throat at the heady sensation of his hot, wet mouth sucking around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Joel,” you gasped, nails scraping against his scalp as you grabbed his hair tighter, and he groaned around your clit at the feeling, pulling a delicious whine that sounded so much more real, more feral, more needy than the perfect, practiced ones you had made through the wall. “I—oh, fuck, that’s so good…”

He hummed around your clit before flattening his tongue against it, alternating motions until he found the rhythm that made you grind yourself against his face, and his palms found your hips to pull you up against him further, encouraging you to ride his tongue until you found your high.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured in between the moments when he’d suckle your clit, teeth gently grazing it as he resisted the urge to palm himself at the steady stream of moans and muffled curses that were echoing above him. “You can do it, come on. Soak my face, wanna taste your sweet cum.”

When you did just as he told you, Joel thought he really did see the gates of heaven, a sight he was convinced would never grace him after the lifetime of hell he had lived and caused.

He lapped up every gush of wetness that dripped from your folds in your release, dipping his tongue inside your entrance to drink you up, his thumb replacing his tongue on your clit, rubbing gently to prolong the waves of your pleasure.

Once the gyrations of your hips against his lapping tongue slowed, Joel pulled back from your cunt, your release glistening on his mouth and down his chin as he gazed up at your slack-jawed expression.

Your head tilted down, gaze meeting his as a lazy smile curled onto your lips, and Joel tried to ignore the way his heart lurched in his chest at the sight combined with the feeling of your grip loosening on his hair, fingers combing gently through the strands.

“Good?” Joel mumbled, turning his face to press a soft kiss on your inner thigh, and your head dipped down in a nod, humming in satisfaction as Joel smirked against your skin. “Good.”

His mouth opened, teeth gently nipping at your soft flesh, pulling an endearing squeak of surprise from you as he rasped, “Not done with you yet, though, sweetheart.”

When his tongue found its way back to your clit, his fingers went back to your entrance. This time, when he dipped one fingertip in, he didn’t stop, sinking into your tight, wet heat until the first knuckle, smiling against your swollen bundle of nerves as you rolled your hips into him at the sensation of his digit slowly filling you.

He gave a few slow pumps of his finger when he had sunk it in completely before pulling it out, chuckling around where he had sucked your clit back into his mouth at your whine at the loss of his finger before he added it back in with another.

“Fuck, can you feel you squeezing my fingers, darlin’,” Joel grunted against your cunt, lapping desperate licks against your clit, eating you out with increased fervor as his fingers pumped you faster at every mewling moan that left your lips, encouraged by the rolling of your hips to curl his fingers until he found the spot that nearly made your knees buckle.

His other arm wrapped around your waist, giving you support to stand while keeping you pressed to his face, not allowing you a moment of peace as his tongue worked mercilessly at you until you were coming around his fingers this time.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel was whimpering against your cunt this time as he continued to fingerfuck you through your high, sucking at your clit and drawing out every aftershock, his arm around your waist the only thing keeping you up now as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Joel,” you whispered hoarsely, fingers tugging at his hair again, and he pulled back to look up at you, his fingers stilling inside your cunt, but not sliding out of you just yet.

“What is it, darlin’?” he rasped, breath trembling as you stroked his lips with your thumb, collecting your own release combined with his saliva on it before raising it to your mouth to suck on, pulling a moan from Joel’s throat at the sight.

“Want you to touch yourself, sir,” you murmured, and Joel’s eyes widened, his fingers finally slipping out of your heat, reaching down to fumble with the button of his jeans at your permission he didn’t even know he was desperate for. “Make yourself cum just from the taste of me.”

“Jesus—” Joel couldn’t even finish whatever he was going to groan out as his hand wrapped around his cock once he pulled it out of its fabric constraints, eyes rolling back into his head at the relief of finally, finally doing something about the erection that had plagued him since he guarded you outside the room while you worked.

“Mouth on my pussy, Joel,” you ordered, and he was diving back into your folds without a second thought, sloppily thrusting his tongue inside your wet heat as his hand pumped his cock, your release still coating his fingers spreading across his length as he felt himself already rapidly approaching climax. “That’s it. You like the taste? You wanna come because I taste so good?”

Joel was nodding against your pussy, groaning into your folds as he lost any rhythm towards making you feel good now, but you didn’t seem to care, your hand in his hair still keeping him pressed to your cunt as you encouraged him this time around, “Do it then, Joel. I want to watch you cum for me.”

If you said anything else at that point, Joel couldn’t hear it through the blood rushing through his head as he came harder than he had in years.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had felt an orgasm so intense, his vision darkening at the edges as he sucked mindlessly at your wet folds, hips bucking up into his fist as his cum shot out to paint the wall behind you before leaking out steadily over his hand.

You loosened your grip on his hair, allowing him to pull back with a gasp, sucking in air he needed to not black out as Joel’s blurry vision focused back in on your face above him.

There was a small smile on your face, satisfied in more ways than one, and Joel couldn’t help but match it with his own half-smirk as he focused on catching his breath before slowly pushing himself back up to his feet.

“Mm,” Joel moaned quietly as his lips met yours in a lazy kiss, one he wasn’t sure who initiated as he mumbled against your mouth, “Heavenly.”

You laughed then, and he felt himself brighten at the sound, though he tried to ignore it as you gently pushed him away from you.

“Come on,” you sighed, straying away from the wall towards the door on shaky legs while you tied your robe back up, making yourself decent enough as he tucked his dick away and zipped up his jeans. “I’ll get you your payment for today.”

There was a brief moment where you made sure nobody was lingering in the hallway before beckoning him out, and you both made your way towards the staircase towards your office while Joel tried to ignore the foreign thrill at the chance of being caught with you after what you had done together.

When you passed his payment to him, he counted out a generous portion before holding it right back out, earning a scoff from you at the offer.

“You’re not paying me for making me come, Mr. Miller,” you said with a sly smirk, and Joel tried to ignore how oddly disappointing it felt for you to resort to calling him that after tonight. “That wasn’t work.”

Joel slowly arched his brow, but nodded at your insistence, tucking his payment in his back pocket before rumbling out a quiet question of, “One-time thing?”

It wasn’t an offer, nor was he insisting that you did or didn’t do it again.

In fact, he was secretly hoping it would happen again, and Joel felt the treacherous anticipation for even more of you when your exhilarated gaze met his.

“Guess we’ll have to find out.”

taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi @sinsofsummers

[gojipink]

saying sorry 4 dummies

ஐ ft. childe, diluc, xiao

ஐ summary. how they say sorry in their own way after an argument!

ஐ warnings. none, SFW, fem!reader

childe 

he stands at the doorway swallowing a little thickly at the sight of you unmoving from your spot on the couch, eyes glued to your book. 

normally, you would bound over to him with a big smile and plant a kiss on his lips to welcome him home but the two of you are still in the recovering phase after an enormous fight, a fight that left a few scars and bleeding hearts. 

“h-hi baby…um i got us some dinner!” 

you look up at him with a little smile, “oh thanks, what’d you get?” 

“i got us a whole peking duck and some veggie side dishes,” he states rather proudly holding up the bags for you to see.

“a pek- ajax that's so expensive?!” you gasp out standing from your spot on the couch, walking over to him peeking inside the plastic bags.

“yeah well…i don’ know,” he starts a little sheepishly, “i just wanted to have a nice meal with you after well…y’know…i just wanted to treat my girl, is all…” 

you sigh before softly laughing, taking a to-go bag from him, “thank you,” leaning up to press a lingering kiss to his cheek, “it smells delicious. i'll set these up on some plates while you get ready?” 

his eyes close at the feeling of your lips on his skin, feeling the gap the argument created between the two of you slowly begin to close. he nods wordlessly at your suggestion, not yet fully trusting his voice to sound steady, before hurrying into the bedroom to change and wash up. 

you begin to set the table, putting plates and drinks at you and childe’s designated seating spots at the little round table across from each other. 

coming back out from the bedroom, childe watches you for a second with soft eyes as you stand in the kitchen transferring the food onto big plates. walking towards you, he wraps his arms around your middle, pressing his chest firmly against your back while he rests his cheek against the crown of your head.

“honey, it's a little difficult to move with you pressing on me like this,” you voice, though you dont try to wiggle out of his hold, actually leaning back further into him. 

he pouts to himself but doesn't move an inch until you're handing him a plate to take over to the table. 

after all the food has been placed neatly in the middle, you both sit down in your usual spots.

glancing up at him you offer him a little appreciative smile, “thank you for dinner, babe, it looks really good!” 

childe smiles at you and although you two have sat in this arrangement for ages now, he can't help but feel miles away from you. sliding his dinner plate and drink over to the chair next to you, you giggle at him knowing he’s feeling a little clingy.

“what are you doing, ajax?” you laugh at him

settling into the chair he places a hand on your thigh, his thumb lovingly caressing your skin, knees touching. 

“just wanna be close to you, princess,” he shoots you his classic boyish grin before spooning some food onto his plate. gathering some duck and veggies and folding it all in the wrap, he holds it out to you. 

“say ahhh”

diluc 

he stares at the splayed pile of paperwork on his desk, words blurring and blending together while he sits, zoned out. his own mind torturing him by replaying your disappointed and upset expression over and over again. the argument was small, nothing more than a small frustrated spat between lovers. though, it affects diluc all the same. 

diluc tried to fix it then, tried to apologize immediately at the sight of your downcasted eyes. But before he could get a word out, you mumbled that you needed some air and walked out the mansion, leaving him to stew in his own anxiety. 

heaving a heavy sigh, he tosses the reports onto his desk and slumps back into the backrest of his chair, bringing a hand up to rub at his tired eyes. he just wants you to be home. wants you to be by his side and smiling at him and talking about your day with him. wants to hold you close and tell you he’s sorry for unloading any frustration and any stress onto you when you didn't deserve it. 

a knock at his office doors breaks him out of his turbulent thoughts.

“come in…” he sighed, thinking it must be elzar coming in with something work related. however, when you quietly slip into his office, he immediately stands in surprise, the legs of the chair loudly scraping against the hardwood floors. 

“darling-” 

“i um…i just wanted to bring you something to eat.” you say softly, placing a little to-go box on his desk. “i know you probably haven't eaten yet today, so i thought i would bring you something after strolling around the city…” 

coming around the corner of his desk, his heart melts at your simple yet caring gesture, “that's very kind, my love, thank you.” 

“and um…” looking up at him a little shyly, “i just wanted to say im sorry for, well, earlier. i shouldn’t have gotten so upset and i shouldn’t have just left like that.” 

“nonono, love,” hastily he closes the distance between you two, his hands coming up to rub at your shoulders, “you don't need to apologize. i’m the one who needs to be saying sorry. i shouldn’t have taken any sort of frustration out on you, you didn’t deserve that.”  

giving him a small thankful smile, you reach up to press a sweet kiss to his lips which he happily reciprocates. 

“to be honest, i don't know what we were even arguing about,” you whispered after pulling an inch away. he smiles and rests his forehead on yours, eyes closing to bask in your presence, “i don't either.” 

heart two hundred times lighter than it was when you walked in, you pull away from him smiling, “well, i shall leave you to work then, ‘luc.”

catching your hand before you fully turn away from him, his face suddenly dusted a light pink.

“actually, darling, i was wondering if you wanted to stay? here in the office, i mean. with me. while i work.” 

you look at him with amusement in your eyes as diluc ineloquently stumbles out his request, an extremely rare sight. 

lacing your fingers with his, you step forward to plant a chaste kiss to his cheek, “i would love nothing more.” 

xiao 

his time with you is so short. he’s hyper aware of that fact. his time with you is too short to be wasted on arguments and silent treatments or have any kind of lingering tension. xiao doesn't have that much experience when it comes to dealing with humans or forming a relationship with one, much less a romantic relationship with one. 

he shifts his weight from one foot to the other watching your figure walk across a shorter neighboring mountain top. he sighs to himself thinking back to earlier this morning when the two of you were engaged in a flurry of heated exchanges. xiao didn’t mean to take it as far as he did, didn't mean it like that when he called you weak, didnt mean to make you worry when he suddenly disappeared for a week straight. didnt mean to make matters worse when he had to leave abruptly in the middle of the argument because someone called his name. 

“you could’ve at least given me some kind of sign! a note, a messenger, anything!” your voice becoming a little raised, your concern for him being overtaken by frustration.

“i didn't realize that that would be necessary,” he said lowly, patience quickly wearing thin. 

“you were suddenly gone for an entire week! what else was i supposed to think other than the worst?”

“im not as weak as you!” he shot back, anger lacing his words.

“that’s not my even my point-” you tried to start before he continued.

“i’ve been doing this long before you even existed, i never thought i would have to report my every action to anyone!” 

“xiao,” you sighed, hands coming up to roughly comb through your hair, “im your-”

he suddenly looks away, eyes alert like something else has grabbed his attention. he hesitantly glances at you and you realize someone must be calling his name. scoffing, your hands drop to your side as you turn away from him, “go.”

“y/n-” he sighed

“you need to go, right? go. ill be…” you loosely gesture to the space around you, “here. so, go.” 

upon finishing up the errand that took him away from you, he now observes as you collect qingxin flowers most likely for a small commission to keep yourself busy. looking at the ground of the mountain top he currently stands, he notices an abundance of qingxin flowers and begins to collect a handful. he wants to apologize, he knows he needs to. it wasn't fair that you were left in the dark and if the situation was reversed, he knows he would’ve gone to the edges of teyvat to find you. 

in the midst of picking a flower, a familiar haze of green smoke flashes before xiao appears in front of you. 

“hi,” you say coolly, continuing to pick flowers while barely giving him so much as a glance, “what are you doing here?”

“i…” he hesitates not knowing how to proceed, “i thought i heard you call my name.” the tips of his ears flush red at his obvious lie.

you hum in acknowledgement, “i didn’t.” 

“oh. well- here.” he thrusts the little bouquet of flowers towards you, “i thought i could help.” 

looking at him and the flowers in surprise, you carefully take the bundle before putting it in your basket, “oh. thank you, that actually helps a lot.” 

turning around to begin your descent down the mountain, xiao follows in silence. 

“y/n, i…” he falters when you look at him, waiting for him to finish his thought. 

his mouth opens and closes, his words failing him.

you sigh and look away for a brief moment before looking back at him with a soft expression, “its okay, xiao. i get it.” 

“i'll do better,” he declares, those three words symbolizing all his thoughts. im sorry. i didn’t mean to. i’ll try harder next time. 

you smile at him for the first time in what he feels like is ages, his shoulders finally relaxing. 

“thank you,” you whisper to him before taking his hand in yours, “y’know, maybe i did call for you.” 

his head snaps to yours, “you did?” 

you look back at him with a teasing glint in your eye, “must’ve been missing you so much that my heart called out for you to hear.” 

cheeks dusted pink, he nods his head in agreement.