#ajax x reader

[hunnieknight]

Dark Sea Fins (Art only)

Abyss duo (Skirk + Childe) and Octo!Reader

A/N: Heavy focus on Childe x Reader because this was my selfship art and i just redraw reader

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Reader wear beanie to resemble octopus head.

[madaqueue]

L’ESSENTIEL EST INVISIBLE POUR LES YEUX

a gruesome battle breeds its own kind of beauty

pairing: childe x f!reader

themes/content: smut, depictions of violence. p in v, there's like literally no prep, you are both a little insane, also relatively explicit descriptions of a battle/war and its aftermath but i think it's still kinda hot (wk: 2.4k)

a/n: happy early birthday to my boy <3

There’s ash in his lungs and blood on his hands and Childe wants so, so badly. He wants in a way he’s never wanted for something before, in a way that feels like those cold hands laying on the ground are trying to claw their way from inside him. He needs to get it out he needs to run he needs to do something-

-until across the plains he finds you, and watches the way you pull your blade from another, lesser man’s chest as he falls to the ground. The body collapses with an unceremonious thud, and you turn, searching for something.

It’s only when your eyes meet does Childe realize you were searching for him.

He’s running to you, then.

Perhaps as a blessing, his mind ignores the crumpled bodies he navigates between on the shortest path towards you. They meant nothing to him, not really, not when they rose against the great Tsaritsa, not when they met you on the battlefield, and certainly not when they were slain by his hands. And yours.

The moment he reaches you, time stops. The uneven rise and fall of your chest, strained with exertion, slows; the wildness in his gaze, fueled by battle and by victory, calms.

Hands grab your face, and bring it to his own.

When he kisses you, it’s not gentle or tender. It’s urgent, ravenous, teeth clashing and lips pressed so hard they bruise. He kisses you as though he could breathe the air from your lungs and return it to you, still smelling like the smoke that’s settled deep within his chest.

He nips at your lower lip, and you respond with a strained hum. It’s one of satisfaction, he knows from when you’ve managed to land a well-placed strike to his abdomen during a spar, or when the moon had risen above the clouds and in the haven of your bed he had angled himself inside you just right and brought you to the pinnacle of bliss.

You aren’t sure how or when you hit the ground, but it knocks a groan from your throat as sore muscles scrape against soiled dirt. Resting on top of you, his body is heavy but not crushing. It doesn’t drain the oxygen from between your ribs nor dampen the dizzy beating of your heart, certainly nothing like a hard strike between your shoulder blades or the hurl of a sword. It’s a weight you know well, one that makes you wish for cooler days spent in dew-damp grass under a kinder sun. But before you can wish for too long, his tongue finds yours and searches for some salvation in the softness of your mouth.

He must have found it when he groans into you, when his hips press into yours and the familiar hardness between them grazes your core.

Then, those rough and hungry hands tear beneath your clothes. Through layers of tanned leather irrevocably stained red, through cloth soaked in well-earned sweat, until they land upon your waist.

Childe releases another sigh at the contact, at the proof that there is something warm and safe and alive still here on this wretched field. That it is something he would give his body and his soul for in order to protect. That it is not something that needs protecting. For you, you brave, righteous being, have no need to be saved. And yet, you let him pretend in these moments (the thought has crossed his mind that it is not you, though, but him who must be saved; he pretends that he deserves it, too).

(The bodies around you would disagree, of course. They would say he is vile and cruel and deserving of the worst fate that could befall a man. But he does not hear them, for they have no means with which to voice their opinions when the vitality has been stolen from their hearts and given to him. He uses it, every last drop of energy to tell you with wind-hardened skin how much he wants you, how much he constantly, eternally needs you.)

Drowned by the eagerness, by your own haste, you reach into the near-nonexistent space between your bodies, down to the waistband of his trousers, and rip apart the cage that bars you from your prize. The buttons that held his clothes together forfeit with little protest.

The action is quickly returned, your pants tugged down past your thighs to reveal the waiting heat beneath them.

Childe never breaks the kiss, not for a second, not even as he strokes his length and brings himself to his full size, not even as he pulls your underwear away and nearly shreds it to pieces in the process, not even as he finally allows the head of his cock to breach the yearning warmth inside you.

The wetness that had begun to pool within your folds the instant your eyes sought his after that final, fatal blow thankfully lessens the resistance, but as always, the stretch still burns for a moment. But it’s nothing worse than that of your aching muscles, nothing that won’t be soothed by use. He told you, once, that you have to train until you feel like your bones could fall apart; at the time, you thought it was silly, and laughed at him, until you sparred for six hours and the sun had set and you worried that the pressure within your chest could spread into your head and kill you - and not once had Childe tired.

He certainly has not tired yet, despite the battle that raged here mere moments ago, the one that left fallen heroes and cowards littered around you, until the two sole victors emerged.

And now, these lucky champions shall claim their winnings.

This grand prize comes in the form of Childe’s rasped whine as he slowly enters you.

Every bulging vein slides through you until you’re sculpted into a shape that could never hold anybody else. When he’s finally fully inside you, his pelvis brushing your own, you realize that neither of you have spoken. Too consumed by the all-encompassing chaos and thrill of conquest, there was no need to speak, not until he looks down at you with those beautiful, frenzied eyes and you wish there were words for the pride that blooms between your ribs.

“You were incredible,” you say with a voice roughened by barking orders at now-dead subordinates and comrades for the last eight hours.

It seems to have done its job when a smile cracks apart his face and a blush stains beneath those freckles you have come to love (on calmer, quieter nights, away from slaughter and loss, you had counted them and graced each one with a kiss, until the two of you were left giddy, giggling messes, and were no richer in body counts or honor, but in one-hundred and thirty-four presses of your lips to his cheeks).

“You were too,” he sighs through a laugh. “You never fail to amaze me, you know that?”

Before you can respond, he pulls his cock from within you, and pushes himself entirely back in. That gnawing ecstasy returns, and you arch into him.

“See? Incredible,” he says with a smile brighter than the sun.

After another few thrusts, he settles on a deep and uneven pace (perhaps even the great Tartaglia has exhausted himself today, you dare to think before remembering how he earned that title and decide against it). And yet, it is enough to have you chasing your own pleasure, ignoring the scorching light overhead and the uneven gravel that digs into your back. You clench and moan around him and he glows.

Somewhere off in the distance, a fire burns, one left over from a last-ditch attempt at defense. It smells horrid, and the smoke makes your eyes sting and you have no choice but to close them. Without facing the glaring carnage, your senses are free to roam - to Childe’s firm palms along your hips, to the tip of his cock pulsing at your cervix, to the metal and mint that hangs in his breath.

Every movement is erratic and when his lips crash into yours it’s desperate and violent and you think he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever had the privilege of touching.

He knows it, too. He’s seen the light that bursts from inside him because he sees the same in you, shining his reflection back to him.

(You’d let him kill you, you think. With it comes the idea that maybe one day you’ll be forced to kill him. But those thoughts don’t serve you well; instead, you focus on a particularly hard thrust that rips a mewl from your throat and has him grinning.)

“Cocky bastard. You’re just trying to earn a few compliments now, aren’t you,” you manage to get out once your breathing has regulated and your body has adjusted to his size (you’d think by now you would be used to it, but something about him precludes prediction - perhaps that’s why you’ve never managed to beat him in a fight, or why you still have to take more than a few deep inhales to steady yourself when he offers you the privilege of his body).

But Childe provides you little respite - nothing new, of course, not when he drinks the sounds you make with a dry throat, when he claims them with his tongue and his teeth. With another punctuated jolt of his pelvis, he chokes the air straight from your lungs, and laughs.

“Aw, c’mon. I don’t need to beg for your praise. I know what I am.”

“Oh? And what is that?” you ask, barely registering his words through the haze of your lust and devotion.

With a wicked grin, he pushes himself so deep within you that you can do nothing but claw at his shoulders and whine.

His head settles within the space beneath your chin, hot breath puffing against your neck.

“I’m the one who’s going to kill gods.”

At that, his hips become faster, his cock stretching you until you’re near delirious, his own head swimming in the depths of his indulgence (after the months you’ve spent training with him, you know it’s not just from the earlier bloodshed - dedication and enjoyment are distinct entities).

It’s you, this time, who brings his face to yours, foreheads touching and breathing each other’s air with open, aching mouths. Your knuckles tangle in his hair, damp and matted, and he groans under your touch.

It’s a mystery how, even in this state, Childe manages to be heavenly stunning. How the roll of his back is graceful, how the hand that snakes its way down your torso until it finds that tempting bundle of nerves between your thighs moves with such precision.

But then, moments of the battle that played out under a hot and heavy sun return to your mind, and the poise with which he conducts himself even in the throes of combat shows itself once more. The crack of a blade as he effortlessly cuts through armor and metal and down to flesh and bone. The flex of shoulders that know the feel of your nails, the crouch of thighs that know the planes of your hands, the tilt of a neck that knows the points of your teeth. A perfectly welded being whose strength could - will - rival that of the gods.

He once called himself a weapon, but a weapon can only be wielded for one reason; here, with one hand resting upon your cheek and the other brushing against your clit, with his eyebrows pulled together and ocean-blue eyes trained upon your own, he has carved himself another purpose.

You realize a moment too late that he’s speaking to you.

“-if you’d like.”

“What?” you say, mind and body pulled in too many directions between the sole deliverer of perfection above you and the feverish tension coiling within your stomach.

His laugh quells any soreness in your overused muscles and joints, and only further spurs the fluttering euphoria inside you. “I said, you should come with me. To the top. To conquer this world and make it ours.” A brief pause, one you’d be tempted to call hesitation. “If you’d like, that is.”

Your lips mirror his as they spread into an unruly grin.

“I’d love to.”

Hysterical in your own hedonism, the two of you, away from the battlefield and the hierarchies and the servitude, craft your own world for just a moment. One of endless joy and clear skies and pleasure so intense it threatens to open your chests only to find that there is already space made for one another inside them.

It’s at that moment that Childe begins to shudder above you.

Your legs wrap firmly around his waist, holding tight as to not let him pull away (as if he’d ever leave you, as if there’s any place in the world he’d rather be than right here with glory thrumming in his veins and a mind clouded with hubris and havoc).

With his cock twitching along the smooth heat inside you, his thumb still circling your clit in frantic motions, it’s enough to unleash the light that had been burning within you.

As he releases with a silken moan, one too breathtaking and holy for a place like this, you finish around him, writhing into the rocks and dirt below that don’t seem half as bothersome now.

Somehow, his arms manage to catch him before he fully collapses onto you (in all your time training together, you really have never seen him tire - perhaps it truly is impossible).

You love him, you think, or at least this version of him that fights and conquers and wins. But then, there’s the other version, too, the one who brews you coffee in the mornings and who kisses your forehead at night, who tells you stories about heroes and the stars. Perhaps they are the same person in some way: a boy who falls from the sky always yearns to return to it. And how lucky you are to be invited on this grand journey.

Both of you rejoin your lips in unison, and despite the filth and ash that clings to your bodies, it is nothing short of pure.

“You are incredible,” he whispers into your skin, and you brush the dirt from his hair, and pull him into the bright space within your chest.

ps: what a wonderful way to end my many months long writers block :’) here’s to the most darling, daring boy :3 i love him so much i’d go to war with him any day he makes me want to bite him and never let go <3

[gladiatorcunt]

- MOLTEN LAVA CAKE / IV.

when i get to heaven, please let me bring my man

cw: kinktober prompt (creampie), unprotected sex & playing fast and loose with it’s possible consequences, yandere behavior, age gap (reader 20’s, capitano & zhongli 50s, baizhu 40s), power imabalance, non con somno (childe), dub con, innocence kink & lowkey medical malpractice (baizhu), reader has a pussy, implied kidnapping (capitano), if you squint childe & capitano’s sections are connected, frequent breeding kink type talk, manipulation & coercion, implied baby trapping, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

CEO!Zhongli

“Do be quiet, darling.” Zhongli grits, cupping your head with both of his palms and tugging you upwards. “I have no intentions of being an exhibitionist today.”

You arch off his grand wooden desk and gasp at the spark of pain in your neck, but you’d take that over drowning yourself in paperwork any day. Your boss’s cock is ramming into your ass at a porn star’s speed, the wet smacks of flesh slapping against flesh bounce off the one way glass walls.

This situation is the most cliché porn plot in the book though, the distant slightly emotionally unavailable boss bending his secretary over his desk and zipping down their pants. You had been running late that day, you forgot to set your alarm for Mr. Zhongli’s breakfast tea run and you had less cat food than you thought so you had to make a break for the grocery store.

By the time you scrambled in with a steaming cup of your boss’s favorite tea and his stack of reports to review and meeting requests to schedule, the older man was tapping his foot and crossing his arms. He didn’t look disappointed, not quite, but the gentle warmth in his eyes was gone and his small smile was flat.

In your desperation not to lose your job, this was your first and you’re only in your junior year of college, you follow him into his office and set down your things. Your cherry Marc Jacobs tote bag (bought by him, his papers and tea (bought by you with his money), your SINOCULTURAL orchid leather handbag (also bought by him, for variety).

Zhongli wasn’t the kind of pervy boss who’s hit on you before, you guess now that he was just lying in wait. You were the one that draped yourself over his desk with tears in your eyes, desperate and naive and relying on the principle of ‘sex sells’.

He’ll draft up a different beginning to your love story at your wedding.

“You take cock so well, perhaps we’ll have to have a discussion about adding this to your list of duties, hm?”

The condom sliding in and out of your walls makes you want to pout, but you know he has to have one. How he was able to pull a pack from his desk drawer on the spot is beyond you, you’re not quite willing to admit that you’d be so willing to keep your job you’d risk a baby and/or STDs.

“A-ah! Y-yes, sir, whenever you’re available, i-i’ll do anything.” You whisper over your shoulder and push your ass up, wanting the sight of his long cock disappearing under the thick cheeks to be as enticing as possible.

You clutch onto the golden plague bearing his esteemed name for dear life, muffling your sounds into the furniture’s lacquer, and let your boss pour all his stress into your holes. You tried to goad him into taking your ass but he gave you an amused chuckle and a firm pat to each cheek, chiding at you that he’d do it properly another time. He’s a gentleman under his silvered tongue and all his golden scales.

Zhongli seems to get fed up with the condom the closer he gets to his roaring orgasm, and all you’re able to let out in a punched squeal as he sharply pulls out and rips the condom off.

“This damn thing,” He huffs, snarling as he tosses the shredded scraps of plastic to the side, sinking back into your pussy in one go. “There, much better.”

You’re discovering that Mr. Zhongli is not the kind of man who groans unabashedly in the heat of the moment, he's prone to contented sighs and easy laughs. The closest you get to anything animalistic is the guttural grunt he lets slip as you clench around him near the end of his deep thrusts, milking him for all the cum this HR nightmare of a quickie can get you.

“One more thing before you go, be a dear and clean that up for me.” He points a black nail down at the puddle of cum expectantly, somehow having pulled his cock free with a wet flopping noise when you were too dizzy to notice, sinking back into his swiveling chair.

Sugar Daddy!Capitano

Your back hits the hotel wall, softened by Capitano’s hands coming to slide in between you and the surface.

“Mmfh- I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.” You shyly admit as your sighs fade into whimpers, the man’s stubble rubbing on your neck during his rain of kisses.

He laughs and his hot breath hits your pulse point, your heart skips a beat. “So you’ve told me. Don’t worry, you’re nothing but safe with me. I’ve already wired the initial 50,000 for our first meeting to your account, we don’t have to do anything that you are not comfortable with.”

You nod and run your fingers through his black hair, offering up more of your unmarked neck. Of course you’re comfortable, you were so nervous you could die hours earlier, but your first sugar daddy experience has turned out to be the ideal. Capitano made sure you were happy and pliant, offering ten times the amount of what most other men would just for this one dinner. What wouldn’t you be down with doing now?

He nips at your bottom lip, wrapping his burly arms around your chubby thighs and hoisting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and giggle as you fall onto the bed of the hotel’s presidential suite. You trade sloppy and clumsy kisses for less and less articles of clothing, he places your jewelry and your accessories neatly on the nightstand.

“So you don’t prick yourself or worry about losing them, bambi.” He explains and pulls you into another syrupy kiss.

You lose yourself to fit of giggles as he reverently kisses down your body. The next hour is spent with your new sugar daddy licking your pussy, eating you out like a man would gulp down an oasis after a lifetime of being stranded in the desert. You couldn’t say how many times you flood his awaiting mouth with your juices and seed, but you’ll always remember how his Adam's Apple bobs on every swallow. As if it nourishes him, replenishes his soul from inside and out, warms like a good hearty soup.

Capitano slithers up your body to stroke a finger down your face, “Are you ready for me, honey? You’re spewing like a fountain but we can always just cuddle.”

“No, I'm ready, I want this, want you. Please, Daddy, need your cock.” And your money, but mostly your cock right now.

You settle into your position on your back and spread your legs, you grab the back of your ankles and keep them that way. Bearing yourself for the hungry gaze of a man twice your age.

“Alright, needy love, aren’t you? Here you go.” He coos, lining up his fat dick with your slick entrance and sinking in.

You almost wish you had turned the lights off. The way his massive looks hovering above yours, muscles tense and waiting to be exercised. You don’t have to look down at where his cock feeds your pussy, it’s like you can feel what every nerve and vein is doing and touching in your guts. You’re so glad the conversation about being tested was had on the sugaring app, you’re both clean and on the pill so you thought why not indulge in another first.

“Gorgeous cunt. Worth so much fucking more than 50,000. You like France, bambi? I’ll get you a castle in the countryside, this pussy would look divine getting pounded in one of their foyer’s and over their balconies.” He groans, husky and scratchy, kissing you and grinding his cock deep in your quivering pussy like you just got married.

You have to show him how to take a video of his goopy cum dripping out of your puffy folds, spreading them with your fingers and pushing it back inside.

The next morning, you wake up to a bundle of fresh roses and a calligraphy note on the pillow next to your head. You smile and take it all in, but eventually you tug on last night’s clothes and grab your bag. You grin down at your phone, feeling the butterflies play war drums in your stomach, this going somewhere good. There are times when you can just tell.

The suite door is locked, a man’s voice outside asks if you’re ready to be taken back to the boss’s home. On the way there you look through your bag, a message from your intuition, and your birth control is gone. But there are listings for several foreign properties, with a sticky note attached to the first.

‘Tell me which ones you like when you get home. I have my broker on the phone.”

Stalker!Childe

It’s a routine for him, slip in under your window, sink onto your bed and straddle your sleeping body, and fill you up with his cum until your belly bloats. You’ve never noticed, he’s good at cleaning up. And if you have, you’re docile enough to let him keep at it. Let the rabid wolf keep pawing at your door with bloody paws, leaving a carcass at your feet and doing it all over again the next day.

You know it’s just your boyfriend loving on you in private until you’re ready to go public. He understands you’re shy, a lot of the partners he’s had in the past haven’t exactly been social butterflies, but baby it’s just little ol’ Ajax! He wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone his precious significant other, don’t be silly. He has these kinds of conversations with you through hushed whispers against your ear and trembling fingers slipping under the straps of your tank top.

Ajax always preps you, save for a couple of times in the beginning because he was too excited. He prefers doing it with his tongue, but he does love a good fingerbanging session. He’d never cause any pain that wasn’t fun for the both of you, cross his heart and hope to die. He even brings a back up inhaler that he stole from your pharmacist in case you lose your current one.

He grins as he shimmies you out of your sleepwear, you never much, another sign that you’re meant to be “Shh, lovebug, I hope you’re having the sweetest dreams right now. I’m just stopping by to say hi. I have to be quicker this time, I'm real sorry, bub.”

Some as-gentle-as-possible rough fingerbanging it is.

Ajax keeps his eyes peeled so wide they burn a little as he crooks and curls his fingers in your tight pussy, marveling at your groggy whimpers that sooner than later snowball into light moans.

“You looked stunning in your outfit today, I like looser tops on you. I can see your titties bounce, swear to god. The leggings were a nice touch too, wanted to jog over during your walk and smack the shit out of it. But that’s not the meet cute you deserve, is it cutie?” He grips your face in one hand, the free one that’s not knuckles deep in pussy juice, shaking your head for ‘no’ for you.

“I promise we’re gonna meet soon, it breaks my heart to see you look so lonely, bub.” He’s not fazed when you seem like you’re waking up, he just ‘aw’s and strokes his thumb on your clit until you’ve fallen back asleep. “I can’t wait. I’ve gone over everything a million times, what I’m gonna wear, what I’m gonna say, our first date, our “first” time, I'm so ready for it all with you.”

You’re adorable, your brow is pinching and you’re tossing and turning. Your soft moans become louder and since you’re a heavy sleeper that doesn’t live in an apartment (not that he’d stop anyway, he’s seen how your next door neighbors check you out when you’re not looking), he scissors his fingers and speeds up the thrusts of his hand.

After months of this and vigorous hours at the gym, his wrist has stopped cramping entirely. He slips his free hand under his jeans and clasps it around his leaking dick, jerking himself off as he finger fucks your perfect pussy.

“Oh, there it is, honey.” Ajax gasps, tightening his grip around his painfully hard cock just as your walls tighten around his fingers. “It’s okay, keep going for me, you can do it.”

He times his strokes to the thrusts of his fingers, his breathing in sync with every rise and fall of your chest. You’re so wet, you’re leaking around his digits, your pussy making a sick squelching sound

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum baby, just from fingering your pretty pussy.” He pants, circling his thumb over the head of his weep dick and smearing his precum all over his length.

He’s moving so fast his hand is a blur, and he really doesn’t even register the sensation of fucking himself with his fist. Instead what he feels is the way your thighs seize up and your breath hitches, you arch your back off the bed in your sleep and that’s when he knows it’s time.

“Fuck, okay. Lemme get a little closer, lovebug, don’t want any of it to go to waste, right?” He keeps stroking his throbbing cock and blasting his fingers into your pussy, awkwardly trying to find his footing so he can get a good position.

He takes his fingers out of you and his heart squeezes in his chest when your hips buck after them and you whine.

“Here it comes, baby.” Ajax laughs at his own joke, positioning the tip of his dick right against your hole. With a shaky breath and an even shakier smile, he breaches your hole with only that part of himself, loving the way your cunt welcomes it in.

He laughs again when he floods your insides, crossing his fingers behind his back for this one to take. Don’t worry, it’s only a fantasy for now, you should at least have your first date before he knocks you up.

OBGYN!Baizhu

“Just lie back on the exam chair for me and we can begin.” Dr. Baizhu smiles warmly at you as you nervously play with your hands in the clinical room.

You nod, wanting to speak at little as possible. The chair’s paper covering crinkles and creases as you climb onto it, shuffling around before settling into a somewhat comfortable positon lying on your back. You look to Dr. Baizhu on your right, he’s available on your insurance and he has stellar reviews on any site worth trusting you could find. You’re just anxious anyway, and this is something you have to do, it won’t do you any good to get paranoid about all the things that could go wrong in a doctor’s office.

Baizhu’s eyes crinkle in the corners and he takes a seat on one of those rolling black stools. “So I take it that this is your first pelvic exam? Well, then be assured that you’re in good hands. It’s nothing scary, but I need to make sure your vulva and reproductive organs are in perfect working order.”

You laugh awkwardly and mutter back a “I know, I'm fine. Just a little tired, traffic was a nightmare.”

Your nerves already feel like they’re fading away, Dr. Baizhu’s voice is so pleasant and he has such a kind demeanor, you understand why this clinic was so eager to have him. The woman who signed you in was raving that it was his first day after leaving a major hospital, that they were so lucky and you were too.

“Now I'll have you slide down to the end of the table and put your knees in these stirrups, it’s perfectly safe and if you need to take a breather, please let me know.” He croons, allowing you the freedom and comfort to act on your own. He’d never want to make you feel panicked, as if he were forcibly restraining you.

The exams aren’t really a big deal when you’ve gotten over that hump, but Baizhu knows that first times of any variety can be scary. Especially for skittish patients such as yourself, with as much prey drive as a barn bunny being chased by a sheepdog.

You lie there and endure every probe and thoughtful hum. Your vulva is fine and Dr. Baizhu ends that part of the inspection with a quick pat to your mound, his lips twitching as if trying to resist the urge to kiss.

“Okay, now I'm just going to check out your cervix, keep still.” The man hums, smoothing a hand down your right calf from the stirrup to your knee. “You’ll feel some pressure, but nothing painful.”

“Really?” You bite your lip and eye the instruments on the little table by the sink.

Dr. Baizhu chuckles, “Of course. Some patients do experience pain, but it’s not a definite thing, everybody’s different. At most, you’ll feel a tad uncomfortable and exposed.”

So you brace yourself and expect to feel the cold metal of what looks like some kind of forceps. Instead you look down to see your doctor unbuttoning his pants.

He catches your eye and waves off your concern, “Cold metal just seems so abrasive for your first time. You might do better with a more… human approach, something to test how well you can stretch. Don’t worry, I'll put protection on, I'd be a horrible doctor if I didn't.”

Sure enough he slides a latex condom on, covered in tiny holes but you brush it off as being a part of the design. Baizhu’s cock twitches, feeling a sick thrill at how easy you are, at how he can whip his dick out and you’ll believe it’s in your best interest.

He doesn’t release you from the stirrups, and they rattle as he plunges inside inch by inch. Slowly and mind numbingly, to properly gauge your cunt’s ability to expand around the intrusion. You gape up at him, feeling far more than just a tad uncomfortable and exposed. His lips twitch again, torn between maintaining the facade and stuffing your cervix with his cock or breaking character and dipping down to kiss your adorably parted lips.

“I’d give you a piece of candy if that wouldn’t embarrass you. You’re doing great, just relax and the pressure will ease up.”

“Ngh- hah- O-okay, doctor. Thank you for helping me.” You don’t know why you say it, who thanks their doctors for doing a basic exam? But he groans and his hips rush forward all the same.

Your cunt is impossibly tight, which is to be expected but it’s not any less delightful to experience.

The paper underneath you makes you want to claw your eyes out as his thrusts force your back to slide back and forth on it. That, the stirrup straps clacking, and your shared soft pants are the only sounds in the locked room. It’s not as anxiety inducing as you’d expect, the planets in the office orbit around the doctor and as long as they think he’s in an appointment (and isn’t he?) they won’t interrupt. His eyes crease, he promises to give you a home visit when you’re done here, just to be thorough and make good on that promise of candy.

Something sweet for the embodiment of the cavities is in his soul, cunny strangles him tighter than a noose.

Dr. Baizhu shudders as you reflexively clench around his pulsing cock and attempt to kick out your legs only to be held back by the stirrups, “Don’t mind the mess, ‘s all par for the c-course, my dear.”

You squirt on his next thrust, and your tangy juices drip down onto the cold gray floor. The gooey cum that escapes the holes in the condom follow suit and form a little pool. Dr. Baizhu takes several pictures of your seed heavy pussy with his flip phone for medical reference.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Husband Ajax HCs

Husband!Ajax who proposed during a sparring match. Yes, you read that right — Ajax asked you to marry him while his nose bled all over the ground and your weapons clashed; causing literal sparks to fly between yourselves.

Husband!Ajax who's ecstatic when you agree to visit his family after your engagement. You've been over there plenty of times when you two were friends, and after you started dating, but this is a pretty big milestone.

Husband!Ajax who never really leaves the "honeymoon phase" of your relationship. Every second spent by your side feels just as special as the last.

Husband!Ajax whose love language is spending time with you, buying take-out and spending the night at your place, and being affectionate with you.

Husband!Ajax who smiles so brightly when you surprise him with your cooking. Especially if you learn some recipes from his homeland, or ones that his mother makes.

Husband!Ajax who will gladly hold you and listen whenever you're feeling upset. And when you do the same for him, Ajax may just cry harder when you treat him this gently.

Husband!Ajax (in modern times) who definitely has a picture of you as his phone wallpaper. And several candid shots of you laughing or smiling that he treasures and looks at whenever he needs a pick-me-up.

Husband!Ajax who's such a family oriented man — he cries and pleads for you to knock him up. His torso is pressed against the mattress, hips held up by your tight grip as Ajax takes the pounding of a lifetime, begging to have your babies.

Husband!Ajax who has mad stamina… sometimes it's hard to keep up with, but he's so sweet and will happily accommodate you when you need a break.

Husband!Ajax who adores when you get feisty and manhandle him. Treat him like a ragdoll during sex, and he may cum so hard that his entire being just…short circuits.

Husband!Ajax who's so loud during anything related to sex. So loud… Ajax is loud when you're making out, when you're giving him a blowjob/handjob, when he's giving you a blowjob/handjob, when you're softly fucking him, when you're bruising his prostate, when you're making romantic love to him. He's just excited and can't hold in the noises that you wring out of him~

Husband!Ajax who welcomes toys into your sex life — because you're too good at finding the things that squeeze out all of his best reactions. Vibrators are his favourite, even though you always make him cum in his pants while he's working/in the middle of combat (not that the latter is a difficult task…)

[eternallyniah]

Me feeling like Bella every night chossing which man I want to read hard smut about.

[foolisheval]

DRABBLE | MDNI !

Ajax wants to gag you whenever he fucks you in doggy because you're just too loud and he doesn't know when his siblings will be back from ice fishing. He would've made you suck on his fingers, but he's too busy grabbing handfuls of your ass. He'd rather not deal with someone's lectures after falling witness to your shaky legs and nasty mouth, but he can’t get enough of you.

You're so close to drooling all over your chin, moaning Ajax's name over and over just to rile him up a little.

"Do I need to gag you to shut you up, fuck!" He groans. "Should've used that throat instead, would've stayed quiet that way, hm? But—" His hips snap into your ass again, this time he's so deep that it almost hurts. "-Don't run away now. You feel so good."

You push your ass against him and that's all it takes for your Ajax to fold. He nearly doubles over your back and his thrusts turn into ruthless, forceful slams, as if his entire being has been altered by the mere push of your hips.

Ajax is completely lost in his own little world, ears deaf to your desperate cries and pleas of "A-Ajax, slow down!" or "No more! 's too much!"

He swears you’ll be the mother of his children one day.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ You surprise them with terms of endearment in their language

(Or, pretending that Teyvat uses certain languages based on the regions.) 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe 

✧ You don’t remember what prompted you to emit this word specifically, however, its occurrence was as natural as the auroras in the Snezhayan sky. During a typical day, when you were casually conversing with Pierro, you just replied with:

“Of course, just be careful, mel.” (honey)

It was out before you could register it, and you hoped he didn’t catch on. But it's known that nothing passes by the Jester unnoticed. Pierro’s gaze was uncharacteristically stunned, yet it softened the moment he turned to you. 

“It’s been… centuries since you called me that.” 

You averted your gaze away in shame, muttering a small apology. But the Director stepped closer to you, his gloved fingers brushing underneath your chin to look you tenderly in the eyes. 

“No, no. I do not seek an apology. You often called me melimelum (honey apple) during our days of guilelessness. Go on. Utter these words for me once more. I must know whether you remember them as much as I do.” 

Meeting his gaze, you stammered upon your words but managed to convey “mi mel” (my honey) for him again despite your coy disposition. The Jester smiled as if an eon-long frost had been melted off his heart. Thus, he leaned closer to relish your lips in his, whispering.  

“That’s more like it, corculum (sweetheart). These words are always sweeter when uttered by your lips.” 

✧ It is no one's surprise that you and Capitano participate in convivial challenges. Who else would match the harbinger’s fierce ambition for competition if it weren't for you, his partner? From duels, training, and games, to even… endearing nicknames. Yes, just loudly calling each other cute nicknames until the other gives up, in the privacy of your own home. 

“You may be the strongest man in Tevyat, Capitano, but!” - you loudly proclaimed “I can still defeat you in a battle of wits.” 

“Your words bring forth a challenge that I seek, my beloved. If you dare to challenge me, know that I will not back down.” 

“Hmph!” - you crossed your arms, a triumphant smile already gracing your features. “My dear, sweet Captain. Don’t be so sure of yourself. It’s clear that I love you more.” 

“Absurd,” - Capitano clenched his fists, his resolve is unshaken. “My love for you brings mountains to dust and the seas to dry. It is clear that I love you more.” 

“Tsk, tsk. I can still express my love in a far wider range, geliebter (loved one).” - There it was. Your special attack as you spoke confidently back. “ You better not underestimate me.” 

The Captain froze, his stance now rigid. Even through his pitch-black helmet, you could see you seized him off-guard. A word he has not heard in centuries, even more so, you put in the effort to pronounce it correctly. The Harbinger stepped closer, his sharp fingers gently cupping your cheeks.

“My dear, cherished, loved engelchen (little angel). Where did you learn that from? Such sweet words will not be tolerated. I shall memorize the entire dictionary to out-win you in this battle of precious monikers.” 

“Oh yeah? We’ll see, herzblatt (sweetheart), because I did my research! So I win!” - you mumbled proudly, even when Capitano kept squishing your face by squeezing your cheeks lovingly. 

Your little ‘warfare’ was left at that, and you didn’t think much of it afterward. A successful conquest; or so you credulously thought. Little did you expect, that in a couple of days, Capitano would burst into the room, a thick book in his hand labeled ‘Dictionary & Encyclopedia of Teyvat's Ancient Languages’.

“My dear, you won’t believe this! I have found a compelling addition to what I must call you, notlazohtlé." (my precious thing)

“U-um, Capitano. You didn't actually spend days trying to memorize a whole… dictionary, did you?”

“Nonsense. A warrior never backs down from a challenge. Especially one bestowed upon him by his yōltzin.” (lover)

✧ When Il Dottore heard you speak, he had to ensure the grip on his book was firm. He swore he almost dropped it but made sure to conceal it, as his back was facing you while he stood in front of bookshelves. 

“What did you just say?”

“Habibi” - you retorted simply. “Or, do you prefer azizam?” (my dear)

There was a prolonged silence coming from the Doctor. The sound of this native tongue brought a conflicting range of abrupt disgust and wistful familiarity. Yet Dottore clenched his jaw; there wasn’t an ounce of humor in his voice, and he would much rather go on pretending he hadn’t heard you say those words. 

"What are those harebrained names you are calling me? Has your time in Sumeru made you so asinine?"

You were not surprised he reacted this way. Nonetheless, It was futile to hide your solemn disappointment, so you sighed - "Never mind..." 

The book he had been flicking through was gradually set aside. Although you couldn’t read his expression, he remained eerily still. 

"Say it again." 

"Hm?" 

"I said,” - Il Dottore suddenly turned, stepping closer to firmly set his hands on the table, looming over you. “Say it again." 

Oh no, you thought. “I said habibi. Like people in the Sumeru desert region often say… But I thought you’d loathe it so maybe aziz-” 

Your words were cut off, as the Harbinger cupped your jawline and made sure to silence your doubts with his own lips. The sudden kiss was as sweet and warm as honey, and as ardent and fiery as the blazing deserts of Sumeru. 

“I was not being serious.” - He explained after leaning away, even if his scoff came out stilted. He didn’t mean to be rude, instead, he was impressed you went your way to learn these expressions. His hold on your jaw abates in an instance “Call me whatever you want.

You blink - “Well, you studied like… twenty languages since you were a student. So I wanted to gauge your reaction. What about ‘my heart’? was it kalbi, or…?” 

“...Ya balsam qalbi (O balm of my heart), you just called me a dog.”

The Doctor couldn’t help but laugh at your antic. Your sweet attempts at endearment were beyond him, especially when you fumbled on pronunciation. Thus, he settled with teasing you, locking his lips back with yours. You could feel his love wash over you like the gentle breeze blowing across the sand; carrying away any lingering worries and leaving you with the joy of being with him.

✧ Scaramouche abhors seeing couples being all mushy and sweet in public. Lovers giggling when embracing under the shade? Ugh. Calling each other cute nicknames as they walk? Disgusting. Stealing discreet kisses while no one is looking? Nauseating! 

His reaction is nothing new for you, as he frequently crossed his arms in annoyance. Particularly after a nearby married couple passed by the two of you, one of them saying “Anata, don't forget to buy some sugar and flour on our way home.” - Just people going on with their lives. What you didn't expect was how the Puppeteer would latch to your arm and accuse you:

“Why are you not calling me that!?” 

You blinked in bewilderment - “...what?” 

Scaramouche huffed, his expression sour - “You know what! Dropping the semi-formalities and using Anata (dear). Don't make me repeat myself.” 

“But that's how married couples refer to each other.”

“So?” 

Silence. The two of you awkwardly stood still, frozen. And then it clicked. “I can’t believe my ears… The 6th of The Fatui Harbinger,” 

“Wait, I take it back –” 

“Is asking me,” 

“Don’t. Don’t you da–” 

“To use anata, like a precious spouse would do to their loved one! Aaa!” - you gushed and beamed, your tone countering Scaramouche’s flustered groans, while he tugged at his hat to conceal his furrowed eyebrows. “Should I welcome you home with a cute pink apron, telling you that dinner and a bath are ready, too? Or maybe, offer you something else… ” 

“You’re insufferable. I regret even bringing this up now.” 

“Fine, Fine. I'll stop." - you sighed after a hearty chuckle. “Sometimes, rigid formalities can appear as an insult too, you know. After all, what sort of sweetheart would I be if I didn’t consider your troubles."

You mused innocently at the mental image of using terms of endearment like a married couple. However, your imagination was interrupted as the Harbinger took it upon himself to grab your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"Did I tell you to stop? If we're going to pretend to be a cute, married couple - then do so properly. Besides, what was that part about offering something else when greeting me back home?” 

✧ When you prepare little surprises for your beloved Pantalone, you often come up to him with contagious excitement, eager to show what nick-nacks and artifacts you brought along. This time, you recently returned from an expedition in Liyue, and as always your affluent partner greeted you with honeyed enthusiasm, embracing you tightly as you spoke of your adventures.

“Pantalone, Pantalone!” - You exclaimed gleefully “I learned something new while I was staying in Liyue Harbour!” 

“Oh? And do tell, sweetheart, what is it that caught your curiosity this time?” - Pantalone spoke elegantly, helping you undress from your adventuring garbs. 

“I was familiarizing myself with certain literary texts and it led me down a rabbit hole of traditional phrases common in Liyue… And I figured out how to call you precious! Bǎobǎo!” (baby) 

Pantalone’s eyes shot wide open with renowned zeal. He grinned and clasped his hands, “Oh, my treasure! How adorable of you! And did you go all the way out just to learn this for me? Let me hear you say it again.”

“Bǎobǎo! It suits you! Or maybe you prefer xīn'gān?” (heart and soul)

Pantalone was ecstatic, his smile further widening - “My, my, you certainly worked on your pronunciation. Your stay in Liyue paid off then, because dear, you are making me swoon with your adorable surprises. Pray tell, what other phrases did you learn?” 

“Well, I was told that lǎogōng (hubby) is good.”

“Mhm, yes, yes.” - Pantalone nodded.

“Also huài bāo,” (naughty)

“O-oh?”

“And wǒ yào nǐ,” (I want you)

“O-.... oh,”

“And also shǐjìn yīdiǎn (go harder), but I was told this one is a little bit intense.”

The Regrator became motionless. You gazed at him with such pure naïveté, so oblivious that your charming perception didn't grasp the weight of these foreign words. He placed his hands on your shoulders firmly and inquired seriously:  

“My sweetheart. Who, exactly, taught you all this?”

“Well, so. There was this lady who had a small perfumery shop by Chihu Rock. I think her name was Ying'er.” - you pondered but smiled “She was a nice lady, she taught me all these phrases, and said they would work like a charm!”

Pantalone had to exert all his mental strength to avoid fainting or exploding. He is unsure of what exactly, but one more word from you and he'd drop to his knees with a ring for you. Rather than translating your earlier words, the Harbinger lets out a shaky sigh and focuses on controlling his hitched breathing.

“Oh, Shǎguā (silly). If you were unsure of the words' meanings, you could have just asked me and I would have demonstrated. Personally.”

✧ It was another day at Tartaglia’s family home in Snezhnaya. You visit him often and his family has long since welcomed you as part of their household. Especially the siblings, as Teucer and Tonia always welcome you with tight embraces whenever you arrive. 

When you found your beloved Childe in the kitchen, he innately greeted you with a kiss on the cheek, asking: “You’re right on time, sweetpea. We’re planning on making homemade meat dumplings. Maybe some borscht as a side dish too. Is that okay with you?” 

To which you simply nodded, already moving to help - “Of course, milyy (sweet). Do you need me to start with the bullion?” 

The Harbinger stopped. He never heard you use native terms, but when he registered your words, his head quickly snapped toward you in astonishment.

“Do my ears deceive me?! Did you just call me…!” 

Aha, so you got him. You tried to hide your giddiness, a faint grin threatening to appear - “Well, I just tried to use something new. You love nicknames, right? So perhaps…” 

“Say it again!” - The man practically leaped at you, his eyes now glowing with elation as he hyped you up to reveal your cards. 

“Okay, okay big guy, just take it easy. I just said milyy (sweet). Maybe you’d like it if I said… lyubimyy (darling)?”

Tartaglia gasps as your sweet words hit his ears, but then a wide grin spreads across his face. “Oh, is this a challenge? If so, fight me! I will shower you with more love for each sweet word coming out of your mouth. But I warn you, you'll have to use them a lot more often from now on.” 

He kisses your cheeks again, this time with even more passion and fervor while he cupped your cheeks. His lips felt like waves crashing against the shore, and each one left an invisible imprint of love and adoration on your soul. As you chuckle at his affectionate antics, small hushed voices interrupt you two. 

Teucer and his sister Tonia were peeking behind the kitchen door, giggling as they eavesdropped on you two. However, when Tartaglia caught their gazes, the rascals scurried away giggling.

“Hey! Quite sneaking in! Did your parents not teach you to give adults some privacy?” 

Latin: melimelum (honey-apple), mel (honey), corculum (sweetheart) German: geliebter (Loved one), herzblatt (sweetheart), engelchen (little angel) Nahuatl (Aztec): notlazohtlé (my darling/precious thing), yōltzin (lover) Persian: azizam (my dear) Arabic: habibi (my dear), Ya balsam qalbi (O balm of my heart), qalbi (my heart), kalbi (my dog, lmao)  Japanese: Anata (informal you, dear for couples)  Mandarin: Bǎobǎo (baby), lǎogōng (hubby), huài bāo (naughty), wǒ yào nǐ,” (I want you), shǐjìn yīdiǎn (go harder), Shǎguā (silly melon) Russian: milyy (sweet), lyubimyy (darling)

*While I speak Arabic, and Russian and know a little bit of Japanese; If you have some additional info on the linguistic part, or speculation or spot some inaccuracies - please, please, please 🙏 kindly share them with me! I am open to fixing any mistakes. Or if you just have headcanons and love projecting certain languages onto these characters like I do - share them with me! 

Thank you 

[anonbinaryweirdo]

While it may seem a bit of an uncomfortable scent to have to constantly breathe in, the smell of the sweat that was faded into his clothes; and the smudges of dirt scattered about in his hair, matching how dirty his outfit already was; it wasn't exactly what one would describe as a pleasant scent . But it was fine. His gloves may be a little—just barely—damped in both water and blood; almost completely filthy and battered, but you wouldn't want anything more than the feel of it. To feel the quarter of that palm, of that very same glove against your skin, in your hair, squeezing you tightly.

"shhhh.." he pressed his chapped lips to the root of your nose, his heart only further breaking at the sound of your quiet, hardly concealed sob. Childe gently cupped your face in his hands, bringing your eyes to meet his own blue ones. His eyes, they never did carry a certain spark like any other, not since he saw the light of the outside world again after three months of blood and darkness.

But, you were always an exception. Just seeing you would bring an invisible shine to his eyes—one that no one could bring about.

His eyes were almost like an ocean; still, but only on the outside. Gaze into it, and you'd see the same thing as everyone else. They grew fierce during a fit of rage, like the waves of water flowing aggressively in a storm. You never knew what you were in for, just by staring into the surface. You never knew what was beneath it all.

But if you got the special chance of diving deeper into the hues of thick blue, if you get the chance of exploring the one place everyone else wouldn't dare tread into, you would see that it was full of life. It would consist of some dangers, of course, yes, but there was a sparkle that was shamelessly present, compared to what was shown outside.

and Childe believes, with a full heart, that he wouldn't even have one if not for you.

"I'm here now." he reminds you, trying to calm you with his voice and full promises. "and i'm not going anywhere. I promise."

You sniffle, looking up at your lover with wet, red eyes. you want to trust his words — and you do — it's just...

you needed to be sure.

You bring up a weak arm, battered in blood seeping through the ripped cloth, and hold out your pinkie. Your hand shakes. He knows what you're searching for and smiles.

He locks his pinkie with yours, and takes a deep breath.

“You make a pinky promise, you keep it all your life.

If I break this pinkie promise, you throw me on the ice.

The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend,

The frost will freeze my tongue off so I never lie again.”

He doesn't let go of your pinkie, even after the chant is over. Instead, he brings your locked fingers to his lips, and presses a tender kiss to your curled one. "Is that better? Do you believe me now?"

you nod.

You've always believed him. He's never failed to be there for you, to protect you when you needed protection. and he's proved that, time and time again. He's proved that today. When your life was flashing before your eyes, when all the fight had left your body and you were helpless and surrounded by foes—all you needed was to blink and suddenly the grass was red.

You don't know how he did it. How he knew you needed him.

But you were glad he knew. You don't know what you would've done without him there.

And he wouldn't know what to do if you weren't here.

[aurorasgate]

omg i couldn’t help myself from ur little event 🤭

can i pls have childe + [Suddenly feels around the bed to search for the other’s hand / body when they’re sleeping] KISSES U KISSES U KISSES U KISSES U KISSE-

eeeee goji!!! i was giddy as hell writing this for you heheh <3 i love you so much oxoxoxoox

🌙 prompt event

suddenly feels around the bed to search for the other’s hand / body when they’re sleeping | childe x reader with no pronouns used

“just lay down. i’ll be right back, promise,” you had assured a pouty childe before hurrying out of the bedroom to the hallway closet which held your first aid kit. you knew he’d do as you asked when you gave them that face that told him please just let me do this but you didn’t expect to come back into the bedroom only a minute later to him completely passed out against your pillow. 

the small cut on his cheeks that had you nearly in tears is still visible for his position. it had your heart aching to see even now but your anxieties were much worse when he first showed up at your door with it, small enough he hadn’t noticed it before you grabbed ahold of his face and fussed over him in a way he clearly loved very much. of course he still tried to ease your worry, telling you it’s nothing, just a scratch that would be healed easy peasy, and he meant it, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to care for him, for him to never be hurt.

he had been so much more exhausted then he let on too, all smiles and grabby hands that you also didn’t want to stop touching you but as soon as the softness of your bed, the smell of you, the warmth of the home of his heart, washed over him he couldn’t help but succumb to the comfort of you.

the tender expression on his face says as much. he looks boyish and sweet and kissable and what it does to your heart is indescribable with any words you know, you think. something akin to smitten love and all consuming adoration but on a level your body reacts to as if he had pulled the stars from the very sky and planted them in your heart, spelling out in his name.

with quiet movements, you place the first aid kit on your nightstand, taking out a wipe, ointment and a pink bandaid, crawling your way over the mattress to where he’s sleeping peacefully. kneeling next to him, with a whispered ‘sorry baby, this might sting,’ you ever so gently wipe along his cheek, having to remind yourself how small this cut actually is when you see the cleaning wipe now stained with his blood. 

his skin is red and a little raw around what you assume is the knick of a blade but it looks much better now and you’re soothed further knowing you’ll be able to watch after it the next few days. the ointment next, you use the same softness as before and feel even better with his skin under yours, soft and warm and just ajax. your ajax. 

angling the bandaid to fit right over the cut, you smooth it over his cheek, the soft pink making his expression look delicate and irresistible. leaning down, one hand holding up your weight so you don’t wake him, the other brushing locks of messy hair from his forehead, your lips press against the covered cut.

“don’t worry ajax, i’ll take care of you,” you promise against his skin and force yourself away so you can get ready to properly sleep next to him. 

the mattress doesn’t dip around your weight as you slide across it with care, placing the first aid items back on the nightstand, but you can hear him stirring behind you and when you look back, you see the rustle of his hand along the sheets as he searches for you in his sleep and watch his sleeping features scrunch in displeasure when he can’t find what he’s looking for.

with a giggle and quick footsteps, you hurry to blow out the lights of your room and come back to bed. the second you’re close enough, he has a hold of you, dragging you with unchecked strength, though never enough to hurt you, the rest of the way to him until your bodies are completely pressed together and his legs easily tangle in your own.

♡♡♡♡♡

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

[devosin]

" 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 . . "

old account : @ cupids-chamber a/n : experimenting . . .

His arms wrap around you, a comforting hand running down your back, gentle, soft, loving strokes, pulling you back into reality, breaking you out of your hysteria. He pulls you into his chest, whispered words of comfort, that you could barely hear. leave his mouth—and yet you can tell, that they were nothing more than filled with love.

The man in front of you would never hurt you, his soft hands shushing your cries as you melt. His words soon melt into thin air alongside your cries, as he just let's you process your emotions in silence, not letting you go, but not provoking you, just letting you melt in his warmth, in his presence—because that's all that mattered. You came first, his worries were second, but you were his priority, he may worry about you more than he drinks or eats, yet he knew, he could feel that at this moment, you wanted silence, just to know that he was there.

And he'd provide it.

For in his eyes, he's an empty shell without you, you were perfection, you're a tapestry of art, art that had chosen him. You were never a trophy to be won, but he could feel that you were his biggest prize. No medal, gold, or silver, could ever replace you. You were one of a kind, his everything.

He let out a soft sigh, as he nuzzled into your hair, the overwhelming scent of your shampoo fills his senses, the brand he's all too accustomed to buying for you. He pulls you in closer, burying you in his warmth once again, and at this very moment, he wouldn't mind suffocating, if it was to provide even an ounce of light, for your shadow.

To be loved is to be cherished, and to be cherished is to be loved.

commissions / discord server / masterlist

@ devosin , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[vraiao]

sultry reunion

this was a request from my favorite (and only lolol) anon, and is now also an apology for disappearing for 4 months

✰ . fem!reader & wears a dress, calling him ajax in this, my hc with ajax having lots of freckles hehe, smut w plot-ish, lovesick and desperate ajax ehehehwhwehe he's so pathetic i hate him(lovingly), reader and ajax are drunk, nipple play, unprotected sex, very vague mention of pregnancy

in your younger years, you met a friend you quickly grew fond of. of course, eventually, your friendship came to an end when he had to abruptly skip town for an unknown reason. imagine your surprise when you met him again in a restaurant many years after! and later in your bed..

ajax swore to everyone he knew that he truly fell in love when he was young. many called him a fool for it, but he didn't care. he told them all the story of his dear childhood friend and first love, and to himself, he swore that he'd find you again as soon as he got the chance to visit liyue.

when you were a kid, you made friends with a blue-eyed boy who had bright ginger hair and so many freckles that you could map out constellations in them. he was a colorful and kind boy, usually the one cheering you up when you cried, and hardly ever the opposite. many of the other kids adored him, though you were his favorite above all else. not only that, but you two also made a silly pact to marry each other when you became adults.

unfortunately for you both, those dreams and fun times were cut short when you walked outside one morning to see his parents packing all of their things up in a moving van. you didn’t know why he had to leave, but you were both more than saddened to part ways. the last thing you remember is him promising he'd meet you again one day before his parents dragged him off and drove away.

and that he did! though rather unexpectedly. it was sort of late, and you were standing at the front of a restaurant arguing with the woman at the counter as she insisted that you didn’t have a reservation, even though you very much did. you turned around, about to leave the restaurant frustrated and hungry when you suddenly locked eyes with a very familiar man. big blue eyes(that no longer had that glow you'd grown so accustomed to :<), firey ginger hair, and just as many freckles as you remember.

the both of you froze, staring at each other with slightly widened eyes like deers in headlights. boy did he age like fine wine. broad shoulders and toned muscles all over, faint battle scars peaking from under his halfway rolled up sleeves, the lines of his perfect abs visible from under his shirt, and best of all, he was tall, towering over you like a building while his rich, musky cologne attacked your nostrils and clouded your senses. you couldn't help but wonder if those hundreds of dark and light brown freckles had expanded to other regions.

he was definitely eyeing you up and down, but after a short moment of shocked silence he was the first one to speak up. “..y/n?”

you smiled. “ajax! it’s so good to see you!” really good to see him, in fact. it took all of your might to keep your eyes from wandering all over him! he ran a hand through his hair, a charming smile as he spoke. you could almost detect a sense of.. nervousness from him? “likewise! you look.. wow, you look great. how’ve you been?”

you started off by telling ajax how your night was going, and luckily for you he happened to have a reservation. immediately after you both sat down, he ordered the most expensive wine on the menu, and through the night as you both caught up, one bottle quickly turned into three. just how rich was this guy?

you told him about your quiet life in liyue, and in turn he told you about his rather adventurous life all over, which was much more exciting. the one thing that didn’t go unnoticed by you was the underlying tension in the air between you two, and you wondered if he could sense it too. you didn’t once take your eyes off of him— you couldn’t, and you weren’t sure he did either.

a delicious meal and countless glasses of wine later, it was late enough for the both of you to head home. he somehow managed to safely drive you back to your place, but as you both stood on your doorstep and you glanced behind him at the rain that started to pour and got heavier by the second, you weren’t sure you’d feel safe letting him drive anymore given his lack of sobriety and the current weather. so instead you held your door open and said, “..do you want to come in?” it was the least you could offer since he paid for dinner.

he glanced at his parked car before turning his gaze back to you with a nod. "yeah, thanks," he muttered, trying to keep the drunken slurr in his voice down to a minimum. when you walked inside he followed behind you, and you hardly noticed his hand suddenly reaching forward and clutching yours.

you were tired and fairly wasted, the fancy wine lingering on your tastebuds as your fingers rubbed your temple and you tried to wish away tomorrow morning’s inevitable headache. you moved to your room, not even bothering to turn on the light as you sat on the edge of your bed and kicked your heels off. the moonlight peeking through your curtains was enough lighting that ensured you weren't rendered completely blind.

too dazed to pay him any mind, you didn’t know what he was doing until you looked up and saw his face so close to yours. so close that you could feel the softness of his breath brush over your skin. he was standing in front of you and leaning over, his hands on the mattress on either side of your legs, effectively caging you in. you froze. he was so close to you that your nose picked up the scent of liquor from him after you every breath. it was so silent that you could only hear the quiet sounds of his breathing, and you were sure that in this moment a pin dropping would be louder.

your breath caught in your throat and you swore he could hear your rapidly pounding heartbeat, but you didn’t pull away when he inched a little closer. he was so out of it that he hardly knew what he was doing, and all he could think about in the moment was how your perfect looking lips would feel against his. he moved his hand up, resting it on your cheek before he was pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours. immediately he was whipped.

the kiss was slow, a little messy as your teeth occasionally clashed with his. he leaned forward, pushing your back onto the mattress as he crawled on top of you, not once pulling his lips off of yours to catch his breath. he didn’t need to when this was so much better than breathing. his tongue slipped past your lips and prodded at your teeth, and your jaw immediately fell slack to let him in. his tongue tangled with yours, the taste of earlier’s wine somehow amplified by your lips locked together.

your hands moved up to tangle in his hair that was even softer than you remember, and his free hand moved to a firm grip on your waist like you were going to slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough. his kisses suddenly moved down to your neck while you softly panted to chase air back into your lungs. he was so touchy, his hands mapping all over your body like he was some madman. your boobs, your ass, your thighs, anywhere he could grab and squeeze hard enough to leave faint nail marks all over your skin.

but it wasn't enough-- feeling you only from above your clothes. the fabric suddenly became a great bother to him as he reached around your back, fingers struggling to undo that pesky little hook before he started to drag the zipper down. he pulled his lips off of yours, his eyes searching your own for permission before he went any further. he wasted no time after recieving a nod from you. he started to pull the dress down your shoulders, and he pulled it halfway down your stomach before he stopped, abandoning the idea the moment he caught sight of your bra.

his breath hitched, and he was completely awestruck by the sight of your perfect tits sitting so nicely in the delicate red lace. he started to kiss all over your neck, his hands working fast to remove your bra. the fiery trail of his lips all over your skin started to travel down when he finally got it off, kissing and squeezing all over your soft breasts before his lips suddenly latched around one of your nipples. his tongue swirled around it, sloppily licking and sucking at your nipple like it was the sweetest lollipop he's ever had. that combined with the feeling of him pinching and rolling the other between the pads of his fingers pulled soft moans from your mouth as your back slightly arched off the bed.

he was painting a picture of this moment in his mind that'd be engraved into every inch of his soul from this night on. every ounce of love he felt for you then and still feels for you now was boiling inside him and screaming like a tea kettle seconds away from bursting with the overwhelming heat of affection and attraction. pulling his mouth off of you only for a moment, his hungry, half-lidded eyes met yours before he lowered his lips to give your other nipple some attention. one hand now free, he used it to continue pulling that bothersome dress down your body. sliding the dress over your hips and down your squirming legs, he pulled it off and tossed it to the floor with your bra.

he finally pulled his mouth off of your tits, but the look in his eyes as a string of saliva connected his lips to your sensitive mound told you he was far from satisfied. he brought his head back up and caught your lips in a passionate, messy embrace with his. he smiled against your soft lips as he felt your grabby hands dip down, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging up at it. he lifted his lips off of yours to let you pull his shirt off, but they were crashing right back down when the fabric was lifted over his head and tossed onto the floor. he couldn't get enough of the taste of you and the way your tongue melded against his.

his hands hooked under your thighs, lifting them up and pushing them so far back until they were pressed against your chest. you softly gasped at the sudden feeling, having been unaware that you could even bend like that. one of his hands kept firm on the back of your leg while the other slipped downward and struggled to unzip his pants. it was hardly a moment later when he was eagerly shoving his pants and boxers down, and you shuddered when his fat tip already leaking with pre cum fell against your panties after he tossed his remaining clothes away to join the pile on the floor.

you didn't even have to look to know that he was big, his fat shaft dragging against the fabric of your panties, and you suddenly felt so small beneath him. his lips hovered over yours, his pulsing eagerness shrinking to a minimum, much more gentle as he pulled your lacy panties aside, eyes glued to your pulsing hole that dripped with physical evidence of the pure need that radiated off of you. you understood why he had suddenly become so gentle when he pressed his tip against your entrance, slowly pushing and easing inside of you.

the sheer size of him stole the air from your lungs. your greedy hole barely let him in, pulsing and squeezing as he pushed further, but it certainly wasn't gonna let him out now. a deep, needy groan jumped out of his throat before he could stop it, and by the time he finally bottomed out, he swore your pussy would cut of the circulation in his dick if you clenched around him any tighter.

he started off slow, but definitely not gentle. he'd pull all the way back, leaving just the tip in before slamming forward, the loud smacks of skin contacting skin reverberating through the room. his face was buried in the crook of your neck, bites along your skin muffling the groans that jumped out of his throat as his cock kissed your insides a little deeper with each thrust. your hands were desperate, fiercely tugging and running through his soft ginger locks as he fucked the very oxygen out of your lungs. his nails dug marks into the backs of your legs as he held them in place, and his teeth marked your delicate skin up with reds and pinks after every bite mark like he was painting a picture.

your head was spinning out of control, wanton moans and sharp whines pouring from your mouth as his tip kissed the deepest parts of you that no one had ever reached before. euphoric was the only way to describe what both of you could feel right now. he started to get faster, pulling out less and less each time before roughly snapping his hips forward, effectively burying himself inside of your already gushing pussy.

he'd given up on biting you because he could hardly control the groans that leaped from the deepest pits of his throat. so determined to reach that pinnacle of ecstasy, that exhilarating feeling, he was thrusting fast and desperate, hardly keeping a steady rhythm as he urgently chased his high.

it was too much-- too much! you could feel that familiar knot coiling in your stomach, getting ready to snap at any moment. your arms clung around his neck, squeezing tight as you buried your face in the crook of it. he was fucking you so fast and so rough that you could barely even voice the fact that you were seconds away from completely unraveling, but you were sure he could tell by the way you clenched impossibly tighter around him. and he definitely could. he leaned in, hot breath fanning over your ear as he used the last ounce of self control in him to coax it out of you. "fuck- hm.. you're close, aren't you baby? come on," he whispered, his voice dripping with seduction and a severe lack of self control, "cum for me, pretty."

his words were certainly enough, but he really pushed you over the edge when he brought a hand down from your leg, pressing the heel of his palm firmly against your lower stomach right where that bulge was penetrating you. you practically screamed his name as you came, copious amounts of your juices spilling all over his cock and lower abdomen, creating a creamy white ring at the base of his shaft.

your head fell back against the pillows, looking up at him with an expression that made him lose all remaining restraint. your cheeks were flushed, eyes half lidded, and beading sweat stuck baby hairs to your forehead. your mouth was hung open, jaw slack as overstimulated whines and desperate calls of his name slipped past your pretty lips and floated straight to his ears that picked up the sounds as if they were a set of notes composed in a symphony.

those pretty noises, combined with your sultry expression, sent him over the edge-- his head falling slack and burying his face in the crook of your neck as he came undone. his already unsteady pace stuttered more, and a loud groan escaped the very pits of his throat as his cock pumped seemingly endles thick, sticky ropes of cum deep inside of you, painting your inner walls totally white. his thrusts stuttered and slowed to a stop after he finished dumping his heavy load into you, and he waited for a moment, catching his breath before he pulled out, watching as his pearly white seed dripped right out of your utterly stuffed hole.

he was panting heavily, the lust-charged haze he was in slowly dissipating as he held your trembling legs in place. “d’you still wanna marry me?,” he murmured against your neck, half joking, half serious. given the lack of protection in the previous moments between you two, you just might have to!

[babie-spectatortsu]

imagine trying to explain artifacts and artifact farming to people in teyvat in sagau.

disclaimer: idk if this is the most self-indulgent thing i've written but it probably is

they're wondering why you are constantly going to the same ruins, a bag full of goblets, crowns, flowers and feathers and hourglasses and whatever else. they keep wondering why you are constantly giving them to them. they keep wondering why they see you mindlessly tapping on the air, then whining because 'it all went into flat HP', then carelessly throwing the precious artifacts away. so... strange.

the artifacts you give them don't look any different from eachother, but they can sense the improvements as you replace the crown on their heads with a different one, can feel themselves getting stronger, can feel their hits landing more precisely and striking stronger, can feel themselves regain their own energy quicker and quicker.

childe, in particular, is someone who seeks your presence. he'd been going to these broken-down ruins so far away from his homeland and destroying every creature within his way in the domain, just so he can find out what it is that you do. he'd grab the fallen plumes and cups, but he can't sense any improvements, unlike the ones you provide him. must be because of your own blessings, then.

on the bright side, he does lessen your workload a tad. its extra farming that you don't have to do yourself, childe just comes to you and asks you to enhance the pieces he'd get. sometimes it turns out good, sometimes it doesn't. you'd tell him how the results come out, and childe finds out it rolls badly more often than not, and he comes to realize that this is awfully repetitive and frustrating, and that killing the same weak beasts everyday in a few seconds for no worthy results is annoying --... but he begins to admire the lengths you are willing to go for for the sake of strength, appreciates how much you would do for the slightest improvements in power, for him, and for everyone else.

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Besotted

♡ featuring: yandere!ajax x f!reader

♡ summary: the love of your life knows you without asking, selfless and caring. however, you're slowly starting to realize the man you loved was a mask of the truth hiding underneath. wc: 12.5k+

♡ cw/tw: modern au, mentions of violence/blood, mentions of suicide, stalking, obsession, possessiveness, manipulation, rough sex, sideways sex, cockwarming, mating press, cunnilingus, drugging, overstimulation, praise, pet names (lots of them tbh)

notes: im so sorry i know it took me a long time but my time has been consumed by exams and its finals week soon so ahhhh. it's going to take me a little longer than usual until my semester is over, forgive me!! art by jam8366_dday on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

“Caramel macchiato for… Katheryne?” Your quiet voice deadens among the bustling crowd of businessmen, secretaries, and construction workers alike conversing through their morning wake-up. It’s incomparable to the serene appeal of a corner coffee shop—piled high with board games and books, the nooks and crannies decorated with some sort of trinket or knickknack you collected along the way, baubles that brought you joy and spread some to anyone that entered the cozy hole in the wall—“The Mad Hatter”. People are free to add stickers to the cash register, so convoluted with color similar to graffiti, including the pink-hatted cat Lyney glued to the top. Coffee tables share space with buoyant sofas, opposite of the display case viewing a multitude of extra sweet desserts and breakfast sandwiches. At night, the fairy lights bordering the wide veiled windows glimmered a dim hue that made feathery snow sparkle like stars during winter. You set the coffee under warm lights dotting the ceiling, emanating above the wooden interior. No one is finicky for your tastes; you are happy to see the familiar cheerful or grumpy faces entering the shop. You remember names, faces, and minute personal details they’d forgotten they shared over a steaming cup of latte left to warm because the art was too pretty to drink. They’re busy, but patient; they've acquainted you long enough to not be angry at the wait, and most times come to your defense against unruly customers. 

It's the worst—or for you, the best—in the afternoons, swarming crowds waiting for an afternoon pick-me-up. You and Lyney work to the best of your ability, serving up group orders with a quickness unparalleled by nearby chain coffeehouse’s. You regard it as your passion, although your parents were disappointed when you told them you and Lyney would be buying and renovating an abandoned property states over all for coffee; your delectable drinks have the potential to form long lasting relationships between you and other customers, and there’s a certain creative merit you relish whenever a guest takes pictures of the swan-like artistry foaming on the surface. The taste of bitter beans sparks moments of merriment, longing, and love—in some cases, it’s the best form of intimacy.  

Your best memories live in this shop; the ground powder that scattered everywhere and painted Lyney like a chocolate sculpture when he tried to push the inventory to the highest shelf or staying up after close in the middle of a blizzard to make flimsy homemade decorations for the grand opening with help from Lynette. 

It’s extra special that the very place you stand is where you found the love of your life. You met him at the register, loose curls dipped in autumn tones spilling over his long lashes. The void in his eyes motionless like the ocean before a low tide. You both stared at each other for a moment, taking in the lines and details of your flustering faces. You must’ve been staring for too long, as Lyney tapped your shoulder with a side eye that alerted you to the awkward silence and line heading out the door. You fumbled for apologies and took his order; the ginger boy chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck—Ajax—such a rugged name for a pretty guy. You prepared the Frappuccino with a drizzle of affection bespoken for him. When you gave him the drink, his hand grazed against yours, a kiss without lips. It left you breathless, and with an airy coyness he said, “I didn’t get your name?” You told him, and he tried out the sound on his tongue. You wished he’d say it over and over. With a rosy wash across his cheeks, “A fitting name for your beauty. Have a good day, (Y/N)” was all he said before he walked away, leaving you stunned and smitten. Lyney was the unfortunate victim that dealt with your wearisome fantasizing about Ajax. 

But Ajax already knew your name. And address, and friends.  

How could he not? When he saw you hanging lights in the windows on a particularly sunny morning that made your glowing face shine with pure radiance unrivaled by deities, he sunk endlessly. He vowed to walk at a distance at that same time every day to ogle your lustrous hair, your soft skin that didn’t break a sweat, the curve of your lips. You soon became an itch he couldn’t scratch, a plaguing thought that wiggled in the wrinkles of his brain and made it hard to sleep or work. You, you, you. Is your laugh a heavy snort or more lighthearted, do you have the same sense of humor as him? You’ll like what he likes, think what he thinks. 

You were constantly on his mind, he wondered if you were eating when he ate or how good you were sleeping as he drifted off to his. It’s not his fault that he snapped discrete pictures of your smiling face, you were too adorable to ignore. He valued coming home to kneel at the little shrine he made of your printed gaiety, surrounded by consistently fresh roses and citrus candles he thought you’d smell like. If he stood close enough, it was like you were right in front of him. The apron tied around your waist was a vibrant crimson—his favorite color. It's fate, the way the stars aligned and sent angels down to bless you with a pinafore of his approval. You had to know he was out there; he was already imagining returning to a cheerful home, and your swaying hips as you whipped up a glacé delight. He’d kiss you on the cheek, and you’d pop a tart blueberry in his mouth. Yes—it had to be this way, it must be what you wanted, too. 

Ajax coincidentally found himself rummaging through trash cans in the vicinity for an inkling of receipts from the shop. He stumbled upon it, of course—it’s not like he waited out until nightfall right before garbage day to have the highest chances of finding identification. The jagged fragment of a receipt led to your family, social media, and blogs you dedicated to your baking progress. And he’d monitor the sites on different screens with multiple tabs, an infatuated glaze over those dull eyes that kept him glued to the updates for hours. He made many accounts, liking your posts fervently with flimsy justifications of encouragement. You became reachable day by day. 

The day Ajax decided to pursue you upfront, it was a dream he hoped never to wake. He’d rehearsed it obsessively until the moment he stood in front of the glass door, a tremble in his restless legs at the thought of looking ridiculous. Seeing you up close felt like a special occasion. His heart was beating off-kilter in his quaking chest, as if jumping free fall out of a plane, and he held his breath until it opened. The confidence he mustered up before he got to the register did little to suppress the giddiness rolling in his veins. His pulse paced the closer he got. Two more orders and there you were; the center of his universe, and you didn’t know it yet. Pictures didn’t do you justice—no, he needed to see your grace preserved in museums depicted in rich Renaissance paintings onlookers could only fantasize holding or loving, but you’d be for him, and him alone. He drew a blank. “May I get your name for the order?” His eyes flickered with a brand-new luster, it melded certainty and delusion.  

She wants...my name.  

My name.  

The sweet harmony of your words lulled Ajax to an addicting turbid spiral that swept fondness through the tempest and scattered infatuation in its aftermath. A feeling too tenacious, it must be love. The incessant burn urged him to protect and guide you to him. You need him. Now he watched compulsively with a winded jaw, your smile to other men who couldn't compare to his devotion. They don’t know you like he does. He could map out the corners of your house from the slim backgrounds of your blog posts or name every club you’ve participated in since middle school. Hunger spread where his fists craved contact, like sunfire corroding the taught skin on his knuckles. They’ve breathed your air and existed in your presence. It’s undeserved, they’re unworthy. 

How fucking dare they. 

How lost you must be without him, led astray by intruding greed; he selflessly assumed his responsibility. You are his, after all. So, he stalked behind cars shadowed by harsh streetlamps to ensure you got home safe and intercepted your packages to check for threatening substances. The accomplishment he felt whenever he completed his—in his words, “duties”—instilled exultation beyond any memory. Within the envelopes, he’d leave an elegant note embellished with hearts hinting at his infatuation and the care he put in to maintain your safety. One letter turned to two, then five, to the point where you’d receive a sleeve stuffed with increasingly unhinged letters from your secret admirer that fanned out when you tipped it. 

On Christmas Eve, a limitless cloak of frozen stardust decided to flurry right before your shift ended. You covered Lyney’s shift so he’d have time to spend with Lynette and Freminent; it wasn’t like you had anything to do afterwards. You counted the flakes of the storm through frosted glass, thinking about the wellbeing of your family back home. Mailed gifts couldn't console the grief you felt during the holidays. A knock on the door turned your attention to the silhouette of a man wearing a slouched beanie with a pompom on top. You unlocked the door, and it swung open from the whirling heft of wind and smattered white across the wood from empty streets. 

“Sorry, we just closed-” You looked up, no time to register the freckled face from months ago, that stole your heart with a smile. Icy grains kissed his cheeks, as red as apples, and fused to the wool scarf draped around his trench coat. “Oh! Hello, again.” You tried to play it off, but the crack in your voice teetered. You were suddenly nervous. Ajax grinned hard and shuffled slightly inwards to escape the chill.  

“Hi (Y/N)! I was really hoping you weren’t closed, it’s a good day to grab a hot chocolate, y’know?” 

“It is. You’re probably freezing, please come in.” You should’ve been home by now, but for Ajax, you could spare a few minutes. He unraveled his winter attire to reveal a tightly fitted turtleneck and took a seat at the chair closest to you. You wrap around the counter and start the kettle, struggling with what to do next at the gaze gripping your mind. “One hot chocolate, coming up.” 

“How much I owe ya?” he chirped, arms resting on the table while he watched you grab two mugs. “No worries, it’s on the house. Consider it your Christmas present.” 

“I appreciate that, thank you. You really are kind...Lyney left you by yourself tonight?” You wondered how he knew Lyney’s name when they hadn’t met, but quickly brushed it off. 

“Yeah, I wanted him to spend time with his family.” 

“And you don’t have any here?” You didn’t retain your usual weariness towards acquaintances. On this lonely night Ajax didn’t feel like much of a stranger. 

“Nah, moved away to start this.” Your hands gestured to the quaint interior. Ajax scanned his surroundings, marveling at the scenery before he spoke. “What you’ve done with this, it’s lovely. Your ambition and dedication are apparent from the way you treat the customers, I can tell you’re passionate about what you do.” Your body flared like summer and succeeded in hushing the breeze. You poured a cup full of thick cocoa and plopped a dollop of whipped cream on both. “It’s not much, but-” the mugs settled on the table, and you sat across from him. “It smells amazing, (Y/N). You’re an expert at this” he interrupted. You traced the rim with your finger and rested your head on the other hand. 

“Thanks...I assume you don’t have family here, either? Think you’d be ripping open gifts by now if you did.” He took another sip. “Yup, they live in a different country. I should visit them soon” he sighed and glanced at the jumbled wool scarf. “Did a sibling make that for you?” you asked. 

“Yeah, my sister. A parting gift.” 

“It’s beautiful, she’s very talented” you remarked, admiring the delicate fleece. The bittersweet smile in response stuck to your heartstrings. “She is.” 

You both drank in silence and occasionally met each other's eyes, only to turn away. Something unsaid hung in the air. "Winter has a way of making us reminisce. It’s so depressing” you confided. You hadn’t told Lyney, but you were terribly lonely these past months. You replaced your emotions with extra shifts, but they came crashing down in the darkness of your bedroom. Ajax gazed at you like he could see through you. 

“The sky appears magnificent under the snow's embrace. Its purity is like the moon's gentle radiance. I don’t think there’s anything like a world covered in snow" he soothed. His words flustered you, and you homed in on the white trails dancing in your lukewarm cup. 

“I’ve never thought of it like that. I used to hate snow. It feels...intruding, I guess.” 

“But if we don’t allow ourselves to be intruded, how will we love?” he blurted. It was comforting to hear in the moment, and you returned his smile. 

“Is the hot chocolate good?” you asked. 

“It’s perfect.... you’re perfect.” You chuckled at the notion, mistaking it for pity. “I’m not perfect.” 

“But you are. The way you carry yourself, your intelligence, your courtesy. You’re flawless, gorgeous inside and out and you don’t even notice.” The way Ajax looked at you, on the verge of his seat and studying your face, lips, and hair. You couldn’t deny the flattery that drowned you and dragged you the more he persisted. “How would you know from one encounter?” His mouth fixed to say it, the truth, but he tight-lipped and reached into his coat pocket instead. He grabbed a blue velvet box and slid it to you. 

“I wanted to give you this. Ever since I saw you.” It felt expensive under your fingertips. You unclasped the front, and it opened to a twinkling pendant. It was a cable chain dangling an oval sapphire gem, with 18 karat white-gold halo sunbursts surrounding it. It’s breathtaking, as if stolen from the tomb of a goddess. 

“Wow, this is...stunning. Ajax, I can’t accept this; it’s too much” you pressured. You’ve never received a gift of this caliber from anyone, it didn’t feel right to look at it. 

“Consider it your Christmas present” he repeated. You shook your head and held up the box to hand it back to him. “I can’t, I shouldn’t-” 

“Please” he pleaded. He clasped your hands, a reassuring thumb gently caressing yours. You were so focused on its extravagance that you didn’t notice the note stuck to the roof of the box. Refined script dotted with hearts; the same style as the hundreds in your closet. Your mouth gaped. 

“This letter...you...have you been the one sending me all those love letters?” You should've had your suspicions, or the urge to back away, but you weren’t afraid. You tried to string together his ability to find your address or mail, or how he knew Lyney, but your brain couldn’t clear the fog of feeling loved after so many years. It’s a warm hug to the blood that instinctively ran cold. Your heartbeat’s fast, half with anxiety and the other with desire. 

Ajax solemnly hung his head and retracted his hands. He fidgeted with his thumbs. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you, I thought about being upfront, but I was so scared of your response and I didn’t want you to hate me, so I thought maybe if I sent them anonymously you could start liking the person behind it or if I played my cards right you’d find out who it was...but that doesn’t make any sense now that I’m thinking about it, I just wanted to be near you. You’re so amazing and smart and beautiful, I just...s-sorry…I’m rambling. I hope you can understand; I-I didn’t mean to harm I just want to make sure you’re safe” he choked. The strained words tumbled over one another and broke in places, where they traveled off at the end. Ajax averted your eyes, pools of tears threatening to fall from the corners. The sudden mood change took you off guard, and you reached for his guilty hands. You were on the verge of divulging your entirety for him, be it the isolation of the big city or lack of attention. He didn’t seem like a bad guy; he might have been misguided. What’s the harm in giving him a chance? 

“It’s okay, Ajax. I’m not upset, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered” you giggled. “The letters are sweet, I read all of them. They make me feel a little better about living in a shithole apartment. Thank you.” He looked at you, bottomless intensity searching for more. “I’m interested in you, too” you added. 

“Then you’ll be my girlfriend?” It was phrased as a question but arrived as a proclamation. “...I would love that.” 

Ajax moved around the table. You rose to wrap your arms around his neck while he squeezed your waist with his head lying on your shoulder. The duping tears vanished like they didn’t exist, and his shameful expression morphed into a conniving smirk stretching unnaturally in his triumph. Your authentic touch, the smell of perfume wafting in his nose. It’s not citrus, but it’s you. You, everything is you. This is how things were meant to be. His eyes curved like arches from sheer elation, biting his lip to stifle the cackle. You’re together, at last. 

The snow stopped some time ago, but the blizzard was just beginning. 

Your relationship with Ajax progressed fast after that day. A weariness dulled within you after you came to your senses from your prior confession, and you weren’t sure about the stability of his neurotic nature. However, when Ajax showed up with a bouquet of the loveliest flowers you’ve ever laid eyes on during an exhausting shift, it shined above all else. He showers you with consistent love and attention and worships the ground you walk on with doting devotion. He's clingy and somewhat suffocating, but his sick adoration blesses you with rose-colored glasses; you’re divinity on a golden pedestal in his eyes, and if he fell hard, you fell harder. The considerate, caring, good listener he is makes the small hiccups go over your head. In the first few months you were unequivocally enamored, the kind that tied your universe to his. You patter about him to Lynette, who gives you half-concerned approval at the story of how you met and the “little things” you cherish.  

Like when he allowed you to move in without a second thought. The paint chipped around dodgy windowsills and fraying carpets, and your landlord wouldn’t pay for the fixes. Unfortunately, you needed a place to stay and couldn’t afford to speak up about the horrible conditions. You were used to your slumlord at that point, but the absence of working heat and busted appliances led you to the arms of your boyfriend, sobbing about the stress your landlord subjected you to. He scooped you like fragile glass as you faltered through shaky breaths grating your lungs and hushed your distress. Kissing your head, he rubbed your back and mumbled into your hair. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take care of it...I’ll take care of everything.”  

A week later you’d found out that your landlord died from a gruesome suicide, and all tenants had to leave the auctioned duplex. Ajax took you in, and you began adapting to his midtown townhouse. Though you felt like a mooch at first, the welcoming interior had you snuggling between his downy bedding in no time. He shouldered your burden, accepted your genuine self and lavished generous replacements of the items you couldn’t carry. You don’t lift a finger around him, and he readily cooks and cleans for your comfort. 

You’ve gotten accustomed to his presence. When you wake, he’s either watching you sleep silently or preparing food for you to take to work. Ajax follows you around like an obedient pet, smoothing your hair and highlighting how beautiful you look in your rough post-morning wake-up state. He’ll try to kiss you before toothpaste, and you playfully mush his disappointed face off to get dressed. He compensates by kissing in other places, your clothed knee as he ties your shoes or your hands when they interlock. Prior to departing, he attaches that sapphire elegance to your neck. You grab your tidy lunchbox and stroll together in the early hours of the morning for your opening shift. “Have a good day, baby” he says, and places sugary smooches from your lips to your forehead and back again. You’d stand there forever, embracing his warmth if your alarm didn’t notify you to start prepping.  

When Ajax isn’t around, and you’re busy piping frosting onto cakes, there’s a profound hole in your happiness that can’t be filled with buttercream. The way his nose scrunches when he laughs hard, and those hot honey strands tickling your cheeks when you sleep because his face is directly on top of yours make you crave his sight and touch. Sometimes you ponder what you’ve done to deserve someone so over the moon for you. Hell, you’d give him the moon if that’s what he wanted; it’d barely cover a fraction of the benevolence he’s evinced. For now, you blink distraction away, and there's spread sloppily piled over the cakes and countertop. You simper to yourself; such a handsome, tender handful. 

Your daydreams carry you through close, and you and Lyney remain as you wipe down tacky tables with rags lathered in disinfectant. You’re circling surfaces with vigor, quick to move to the next. You hear him laugh from another table. “Okay, speed cleaner. Missing your house husband?” he teases. You roll your eyes and pretend to throw the rag at him. “Hurry up, I wanna go home.” He fake cowers and throws his hands up in surrender. “Yes ma’am. Don’t waste all your strength, Lynette will be upset if you can’t dance with her tomorrow.”  

“I’m not some old woman, Lyn. I can party.” You force away the memory of sleeping on Lyney’s shoulder in the lounge area of a booming club. 

“Sure, grandma. Don’t forget your cane when I pick you up” he jokes. You chortle, and actually throw the rag this time. Too bad his agile form dodges it. “I gotta let Ajax know.”  

“...Right.” Lyney loses momentum and stares at the steaming bucket for a pregnant pause, stirring the rag to buy time. You glance towards him, and he shifts a peccant look. You turn on your heels and lean on the back of a chair. 

“Spill it” you demand.  

“Spill what?” 

“What you actually wanna say.” Lyney bites the inside of his cheek to physically restrain the itch that vents brutal honesty. “I don’t think you’ll like what I have to say.” 

You narrow your brows and sigh in disbelief. “So what? We’ve been friends since high school, just tell me.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and gulps a deep breath. “Lyney.” 

“It’s about Ajax” he exhales. “Oh.”  

“I’m worried about you.” You weren’t expecting the serious air, it sounds like an intervention. It's unnatural coming from your easygoing friend. 

“Really? Why?” you question. He blinks for a few moments, dumbfounded at the innocent audacity, or willful ignorance. 

“Some of the stuff you say about him...it creeps me out. How is it not creeping you out?” he stresses, gawking at the exorbitant gem. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure what you mean.” To you, Ajax isn’t the scary type. Mysterious maybe, but his affection prevents you from seeing him as anything but the missing half of your soul. 

“Okay. You don’t remember telling me how he kept that rotting coffee cup from when you guys first met? Or how he watches you sleep? He made your favorite meal first try and called it a ‘lucky guess?’” The more he goes on, the more disbelieved he becomes.  

“I think it’s romantic” you chide. He expels his frustration. 

“(Y/N), I'm not saying any of this to be a hater, but all of this is unhealthy. Unhealthy might be an understatement. I mean, the man acts like he can't live without you. What if you were to break up, can you be sure he won't lose his fucking mind?” The hypothetical calamity of separation sinks seeds in puddles of doubt. It’s not possible. 

“We love each other. That won’t happen.” 

“It’s been over a year, and you know nothing about him. He comes out of nowhere, sweeps you off your feet, love bombs you, and you take it at face value. Maybe he truly is the one and it’s love at first sight, but this whole situation is...odd. I care about you, (Y/N), and this guy scares me. He’s hiding something.” You attempt to formulate a fact you’ve learned about him, a detail to prove how close you’ve gotten, and come to realize there’s none in your reservoir. You know naught of his friends or family or wealth. Ajax tells you safe verities, like his favorite food and hobby. You don’t thirst for personal space or secrets when it comes to Ajax, and the stygian plunge in his eyes gives you no hints, but you believe the pleasing words that escape his lips either way.  

You glance at the empty Tupperware on the counter, that was once packed with a hefty sandwich and strawberries carved into hearts. He's effortlessly adorable, a small berry-stained note with a simple phrase: "you'll do great today <3". Your dream man, he wouldn't hide things from you, you won’t fathom the thought. “I-” 

Ding 

That dazzling toothy gapped grin spreads warmth across your chest and the room instantly feels a bit brighter. Ajax saunters like he owns the place, engulfing your frame in his stature and placing a kiss on your head. Lyney freezes though Ajax ignored his existence. “I’m getting ready to leave” you muffle into the musky denim jacket. He nods, but his action won’t follow his hands sturdy on your waist as you shimmy out. You make haste to the back room, past the pantry dry goods and collect your sweater and bag. 

You’re about to push open the swinging door when you pause, catching a glimpse of Ajax and Lyney through the oval window. They don’t normally interact in the same space, and you thought it best to respect their boundaries. Ajax is turned away from you, but you can see Lyney clear as day, a stone solid unease skipping on his skin that makes calculated breaths too obvious. It’s silent enough to hear a pin drop. His arms are stuck to the sides, and you observe the apron jumbled in his clutches shaking ever so slightly. He’s trained to the hickory grain of the floor, and from a small portion of Ajax’s visible face, it’s a dreadful expression unbeknownst to you.  

There’s an almost tenebrous loom towering over Lyney, and you feel an alarming shiver settle in your lower spine. Were his eyes normally this gloomy? Your heart rate palpitates when it shouldn’t. You want to look away from the swirling dark depths possessing your soulmate, shooting daggers at your friend. His jaw is clenched to popping, veins on his neck and hands chasing bone. He has a lethal grip on Lyney’s shoulder, and the rough tension pulls at the wrinkling undershirt. But he sneers—a twisted, coiling kind that doesn’t match his glare—an impersonation of affability. 

“Ajax” you mutter softly as you sway the door. He turns sharply, and it’s like a flipped switch. The rage decays to ash swiftly and he’s yours again, your adoring admirer. “I'm ready.” He waits for your approach and tangles your hands. You make your way out, freeing Lyney from capitivity. He holds the door open for you to leave, and you shout “Bye, Lyn! I’ll see you tomorrow.” A shell-shocked cast on his face, he doesn’t say a word. 

You sit at the dining table, feeling disconnected from reality while the kitchen rises with a clatter of pans and glass. You scroll through posts on your phone and occasionally peek over at the corridor to watch Ajax work. His passion shows when he cooks, rocking the skillet to upturn the veggies sizzling within. His broad back flexes with skillful movements, and he looks at you, winking with a teasing pucker on his glossy lips. You giggle. I was just imagining things. 

He slides the plates on the table and sits across from you. Ajax sits like a giddy child waiting for you to try their creation, and you take the first bite. The bountiful flavor dances on your tongue. “It’s really good!” you muffle through bites. A tinge of pink sets on his cheeks. “I’m glad you like it.” 

You chew haphazardly out of focus. You can’t help but notice how quiet your phone has been since you’ve moved in, it feels foreign in your possession. Not a single call from your friends came through, forgotten and invisible. You contemplate apologizing to Lyney tomorrow, it was wrong to get defensive towards compassion. Ajax interrupts his eating to track your fork picking at the meal. 

“You okay, sweetheart? You aren’t eating.” 

You awake from your trance. “Huh? Oh, nothing. Just feels kinda off.” Ajax’s back straightens, and he tenses throughout at a semblance of negative diction. “What does? The food? I’ll remake it” he stumbles. 

“No no, the food is great. It’s, I don’t know. I haven’t got a call from Tiggy in a while.” The corners of Ajax’s mouth contort. 

“Really...I heard he’s been hangin’ out with some new people.” His tone is dry, it strives to be nonchalant. His elbows rest on the table, and he carves his knife into bloody steak like struggling living bone. 

“So, I guess that means he can’t message me anymore, huh” you chuckle. He twists the knife deeper, as if it’s digging in his back. “He’s just a bad friend honestly. Not consistent, you even said he missed your birthday last year. Who needs a friend like that?” 

“I guess.” Meanwhile, you flip through your contacts searching for Tighnari’s name; come to find out he’s nowhere in your phone. In fact, a lot of messages and numbers seemed to have dwindled over time. Your own parents, vanished. Perhaps you were so overworked you’d forgotten they deleted. You start scouring for his profile, but it doesn’t come up. You can’t imagine Tighnari wiping out his entire presence, and it’s not just him. Outside him are the piles of male friends you seldom locate, and you become flustered at your blindness. You look at Ajax, and his eyebrows quirk up to inquire about your confusion. 

“That’s so weird. I should try calling him-” 

“Don't.” It’s not suggestive, its one note, stern demand. It rings in your ears, and when that mask slips for a terrifying moment, you hold your breath until it recurs. “’S not that I don’t want you to, honey. He clearly doesn’t care in the first place, that’s not a sign of a good friend. I’m just trying to help; you know I always have ou- your best interest.” There’s an unrelenting pit in your stomach telling you it’s wrong. “You seem tense since we left, Ajax. Are you alright?” He stops, it leaves you on edge when a formidable shadow casts over his eyes from his bangs that make them look as endless as the bottom of the sea.  

“I feel like...you’re straying away from me. You’re becoming more secretive. Have I done something to violate your trust?” You don’t consider how Ajax knew Tighnari, let alone how he’d find the password to your phone. It was your fault, it had to be. The solemn quiver of his lips clears your suspicion. You’d forget it all to see him happy again. You stand and sway to his side of the table, sitting on his lap to take his face in your hands. “Not at all, babe. My phone’s been acting up, I didn’t mean to accuse you. I just asked because you and Lyney looked high-strung. ‘M sorry.” You kiss him softly with reassurance, and he melts in your touch. The foggy residue shows on his blushing face, and you introduce another to his cheek. “I’m going to a party with Lyney and Lynette tomorrow, so I wanted to see if Tiggy would come.” 

“Ah...okay. Don’t worry, darling, it was a short conversation.” Vague and unassuming, but it didn’t matter now. Ajax can’t deceive you. 

The state you drifted off—lying on Ajax’s chest with his arms embracing your lax figure—is not how you awake. A piercing scream rises, and you jump out of bed in a drowsy stupor. “Ajax?” you addle. Metal clangs to the floor, and the sheets hang low on your hips before you dart down the stairs and through the dining room to discover the cause of the noise.  

He’s kneeling on the kitchen tile, compressing his forearm. Vermillion overflows between his fingers and palm and spatters his shirt. The knife, along with a clumsily chopped apple, is muddy with blood. “Oh my god!” You sprint for a towel and first aid kit crammed underneath the kitchen sink. When you return, Ajax is hissing from the sting, salty tears smeared on his eyelashes. You accompany him on the floor, ignoring the crime scene peppering the cabinets and gently glide his hands to get free view of the wound. “Are you okay?”  

“Yeah, now that you’re here.” It’s a nasty cut, not a gash but painful, nonetheless. You bring him to wash the excess blood, and pat it dry carefully. The fizz from disinfectant makes his arm jolt, but you hold him steady to apply. As you bandage his arm, he blinks away the twinge.  

“I’m sorry, baby. You have work in a few minutes, and you’re here taking care of me. Go ahead and get ready, I’ll do it.” 

“No way in hell am I leaving you like this. Don’t apologize” you insist, the end of your wrap stuffed to secure. You can’t conceive clocking in or partying tonight while Ajax suffers at home. “I’m gonna call out for a couple days so I know you’re well. Relax, I’ll be right back, okay?” He nods, and you rush to the bedroom to retrieve your phone. Ajax wipes his face on his sleeve, streaking insincere sorrow near the serpentine smirk. 

You spent the day cleaning the home, wiping the kitchen top to bottom and making dinner for Ajax. He rests in bed, and you often check in on him. Treating him like an intensive care patient might’ve been excessive, but he accepts your gentle touch and hand fed meals nursing him back to health. You’re lying in bed with him, and the load of his brawny chest forces yours into the mattress with your legs on either side. You massage the pads of your fingers into his scalp, and your breathing weighted blanket emits a groan. Dazed and fully lax, lulling from the rise and fall of your chest. 

The second day is the same, but the lack of pressure divides your dreary lids. It’s midnight, and it casts a fluorescent glow that permeates the room. You feel your way from walls to banister, and as you’re about to step down the stairs to get water, you pause before the living room. Crouched, peeking through the bars of the banister, you see Ajax on the couch in absolute quiet. Shade stands in place of his facial features, obscured besides the hazy veneer in his iris that bores into the journal in front of him. The collage catches moonbeams on the coffee table, crowded with tiny notes that peak out the uniform pages, and polaroid pictures glued to each sheet, stacked so thick it can’t close. He uses the pen you thought you’d lost moving in, running his tongue over the older bite marks on its base. Squinting your eyes fails at registering the specifics. 

You suck in a breath and take another step, hoping the unreliable foundation won’t give way to whining wood. He skims across the words as if they’re memorized, and crows to himself. Eeeeir. It conforms, and the minute you press into it and that haunting sound whispers through the house, Ajax cracks his neck to your position. You stiffen, a deer in headlights. He puts down the pen. 

“Oh, darling. I’m sorry, did I wake you?” he coos. You shoot to a stand, and Ajax meets you at the bottom of the staircase. “I-I just wanna get some water.” You feel meek and small, fairly avoiding his gaze. He enfolds your jaw with his bad arm like it doesn’t hurt, and pecks you on your forehead, light with anxious sweat. “I can get that for you, dear.” Before he can go, you interrupt. 

“Ajax.” 

“Hm?” 

“The book over there, did you make it?” He alternates between you and the book and glisters his pearly whites. He delicately hauls it to you, “I was going to wait for it to be done, but you can read it now if you want.” You hesitate. You aren’t sure if you want to read it. Regardless, you ferry it in your arms, hefty despite being incomplete. 

You unfurl the cover. 

Page after page, your pulse pumps sonorously in your ears, uncontrollable where goosebumps surge through ebbing limbs. Without a doubt, you’re frightened. Aghast, gaping mouth with eyes the size of dinner plates. Dating from your first encounter, poems and chaotic paragraphs of infatuation. Your sleeping silhouette, columns of reverence, strands of your hair taped like art—pictures of you you’ve never seen taken behind cars and lamp posts.  

The lengthy muddled captions emphasize how beautiful you are, how gracious you must be, because he hadn’t met you yet. On top of it all, written repeatedly in red and smothered in hearts, “I love you (Y/N)”. You don’t want to hold it. It’s broiling on your palms; you want it thrown in fire and scorched to shriveling. It almost reads as a manifesto, with jumbled threats sprinkled above overriding ink. Brutal crimes he’d commit if you were ever harmed, the gory actions he envisioned doing to your male customers. It’s incoherent and unorganized. The last page you flip to etches drought in your throat; A dried scrap of the towel you used to tend to his injury is taped inside. A new entry: 

“ (Y/N) takes care of me! without her I am nothing  my sun and star        ♡    my blood and bone           ♡  ♡ my goddess, my angel,   the very essence of my existence     ♡        ♡     my love is infinite and eternal   you are destined to be mine   ♡     ♡        forever, forever she is mine ”  

You peek up from the book, not prepared to face the source. Ajax ogles you with heart eyes that can’t contemplate the absurdity. They surround you, limit you from speaking undulating panic. Part of you is fearful, the other reserves pure love you still have for him.  

“Do you like it, honey?” No, you hate it. It’s scary and not the man you fell in love with. But those sonnets and odes dripping in honey—descriptions that trickle raw vulnerability and expose his truest intentions—are hard to detest when he treasures you earnestly. His expression, he’ll shatter to flecks if you devastate him. So, you scrape back the bile and oblige a strained smile. 

“I love it, Ajax. Thank you.” 

You’re excited to be at work, and relieved to see Lyney. His banter distracts you from the overbearing air at home. Ajax proceeds like nothing happened, or at least nothing for him. It’s fresh in your mind, torments your thoughts as you get ready for the day. His bare chest hugs you from behind while your brush your teeth and he trails groggy kisses from your shoulder to your jaw. It leaves heat on your ears, and dread in your stomach. The necklace going around you is a cage. 

Closing arrives, and you start wrapping things up. 

“Could you get the dark roast box?” Lyney asks from the bookshelf. 

“Heard” you reply, strolling to storage to find that unnamed box squeezed beside larger product. Balancing the contents, you swing open the door, and let out a gasp to your shock. 

“(Y/N)!” Hollers from the dining area. Collei, Tighnari, and astoundingly, Zhongli swarm near Lynette and Freminent. They’re removing their sweaters, but you don’t give Collei or Tighnari time before you charge at them with an immovable hug.  

“Tiggy, Collei! Oh my god!” She welcomes your embrace, and you hear a labored sigh from Tighnari as he tries to pry your arms. “You might fracture my ribs if you keep hugging so tight.” Collei chuckles, and you break the reunion. “I missed you so much!” she bubbles, practically doing happy feet to exert her enthusiasm. You move to Zhongli and greet him with a lukewarm “Hello.” 

Zhongli, your college boyfriend. The terms you ended on were neither good nor bad. He was a cold selfish player, who wanted to have his cake and eat it too. Unfortunately, he got clumsy with the surplus of women he juggled, and you found out you were a number among many. You shed misery in front of his dorm room, and he stilled a detached glare whilst you shouted through its paper-thin halls with unfiltered rage. It was one of the worst moments of your life. A couple years down the line, and you’ve learned to forgive him for his disrespectful, arrogant attitude.  

“You look well” he charms with silky bass. “I am.” 

The couple hours you spend catching up and playing board games goes fluently. Tighnari, Lynette, and Freminent rib about the rules they established mid-way through their card game, and you and Collei sit enchanted by the cozy villager simulation on her handheld console. One of her legs is on top of yours, and you’re leaning in her space. Zhongli can’t catch your sight, purposely projecting louder than usual as he enjoyed a drink made by Lyney. 

“She’s so cute! What’s that one called?” 

“Merengue, she’s my favorite.” 

“Hope Merengue helps you with your PhD thesis” Tighnari intrudes, followed by an annoyed sigh at the “+2” card Freminent puts down. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me!” 

“I didn’t know you were going for a PhD, that’s great” you praise. 

“I guess you wouldn’t know, since you don’t bother to call. Had to find out how you’re doing from Lyney” he jokes. You tilt your head. “Me? You have me blocked on everything.” 

“You don’t come up for me either. I’ve tried calling you a few times, but it went to voicemail. I assumed you had a new phone” Collei supports. You reply with a dry chuckle, and navigate accounts you blocked, evidence they were restricted. It concludes with blank lists where their names should appear. Nothing, not even a way to add them again. This whole ordeal makes you feel like you’re going crazy. You feel bile filling the chambers of your throat, accompanied by a distinct unsettling swell on your temples. Collei notices your furrowed brows and rubs your back. 

“Is everything alright?” Her voice is removed from static hammering your eardrums. 

“Uh, y-yes. I need some water.” You move to the register, where Lyney is wiping down the counter. He slides you a water bottle from the mini fridge. “Don’t throw up, I just cleaned this.” 

“I’ll do my best” you retort. He slants to you, whispering, “Sorry about Zhongli, they didn’t tell me he was tagging along.” You wave it off and take a swig.  

“We gotta talk later. You were right...he’s hiding something.” He gives a comforting nod, and a slender hand enters your peripheral vision.  

“You mind making another, Lyney?” 

“God, you’re insatiable” he complains, and takes Zhongli’s cup for a refill.  

“You both did an outstanding job with the café. It’s homely.” You snort, head resting on your hand. “Is that your way of saying it’s shit?” 

Zhongli frowns, “I’m being serious, I’m proud of what you’ve done here.” 

“Interesting. I’m surprised this isn’t a downgrade to you.” 

“Anything you contribute to is an automatic upgrade.” That sad attempt at flirtation makes you scoff. “Guess your post-college affairs aren’t as frequent if you’re stooping this low.” Maybe you weren’t over it completely. 

“How many times must I apologize?” 

“Until you die.” 

“I’m willing to do that, as many times as it takes.”  

You huff, “It doesn’t matter, Zhongli. I’m in a relationship.” 

“Are you happy?” You don’t have a quip for that question, and it rains on your emotions when you consider it. A flower struggles to bloom through intense downpours. 

“Of course I am.” His smile is frail, and he places a mellow hand on your shoulder. “Then he has all he could ever ask for.”  

The door abruptly opens. Collei’s holding it, and behind it, is Ajax. Dire tension hangs in the air, arid like the anticipation of disaster. Faint smirk and murky glower; the swirling spiral coaxes the same fear you felt last night, and the previous days. His face can’t decide what demeanor to convey, it forces gladness where darkness veils his stare. You tread away from Zhongli, praying he didn’t see the hand that was on you moments ago. Your friend's wave, but he doesn’t return the friendly gesture, instead firing a shaded cast of disgust. He saunters to you with wrenched posture, and each step makes your heart race. 

“Sweetheart, you didn’t answer the phone. I was worried.” He guides you to him by your lower waist. Zhongli watches as Ajax kisses the corner of your mouth, and you beam from the one that tickles your nose. “’M sorry, not feeling so good.” 

“You didn’t tell me you’d be at a party.” 

“It was a surprise.” 

“Ah, I see. These are your friends?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know. 

“Yeah, from back home.” 

“Hello” Zhongli chimes in, holding out his hand to shake. Ajax methodically turns his head to him. You swear you see a vein popping out of his forehead, a splitting stress on his teeth. “Who are you.” 

“Zhongli, I’m an old friend of hers from college. We had a few classes together.” 

“...Friend” he mocks with rictus, “I’ve never heard your name before.” 

“Emphasis on '’old’. I figured I’d stop by since everyone else was here, it’d be a shame to waste such lovely weather-” 

“You talk a lot” he states monotone. Zhongli sneers, “Some may say. I’m quite talkative during social gath-” 

“So shut the fuck up.” The room hushes. You feel the witnesses shrinking themselves at the crushing tension.  

“Excuse me?” 

“Why were you touching her.” He’s jittery, suppressing the turbulent urge shredding through him.  

“I didn’t realize she was your ‘property’” Zhongli scolds. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You put yourself between them, splaying your fingers across Ajax’s chest. His mood switches easily at your expecting gaze. “Ajax, baby, I’m tired. Can we go home now?” He pauses for a final glare at Zhongli. 

“Of course. Let’s go.” 

You breathe a sigh of relief and hold onto his arm as you storm out of the coffeehouse, no time for goodbyes from your friends. You center on leashing Ajax home. Blocks down, you hear the far-off patter of footsteps on stone getting louder. It’s too dinning to ignore, and as you turn around your free arm is snatched by Zhongli. You shriek, “(Y/N), wait, don’t go yet-” 

Whack! His head flies back and pushes him off balance before his feet find stability. It happens so fast, and you look at Ajax, who has a most terrifying dusk pouring on his livid features. Blood gushes from Zhongli’s nose, but he straightens up tall with his fists held in front of him. Ajax cackles, and jabs between the fists that barely have time to block. His movements are fluid, swinging effortlessly after they fall to his sides. Zhongli paces back, and Ajax charges towards him with quick solid blows that make his loafers scratch on the pavement. He plants a mean gut punch to his torso, and Zhongli doubles over until Ajax punches him in the eye with steel knuckles. He collapses, but his fighting hands linger, any chance to defend himself against your merciless boyfriend. That is, until Ajax sits above him, and begins beating him to a pulp. 

Whack! Whack! Whack! His hits are thundering and vicious, tracking blood to his skin from the momentum. You feel lost to time, lost on what to do to save this situation. It sounds like bone swimming in curdling clots and makes you sick. You dive to Ajax, gone by the dead visage. You snake your arms around his waist.  

“Ajax! Please stop!” you scream at the top of your lungs. It falls on deaf ears, but you continue to scream. You’re sobbing into his back and yelling to a hoarse end, when suddenly the punches stop. He gets off Zhongli mechanically and braces your faint legs to rise. It’d be wholesome if not for the blood splattering his hands. He notices your tears and wipes them away, streaking faint blood across your cheek. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m here now.” 

The entire walk home, he’s silent. You hate it when he’s silent. There are cuts spread over his hands and blood steadily runs from the top lip to his swollen bottom lip. He stares off in the distance, concentrated on something—rage, anger—stirring in his cotton-filled brain. You can't read him, and you wonder if you ever had that privilege. 

The pieces come together themselves in a puzzle you unconsciously rejected. You can’t recall the last time you spoke to your parents. His ability to know your favorite meals without talking or gifting you outstanding presents that surfaced memories you’d long forgotten. Collei, Tighnari, Lyney, it’s unmistakable. You beg to be naïve again, hopelessly in love and enraptured.  

You’d rather keep your eyes shut. The sinister rampage spilling out of him is miles apart from the Ajax who serves you breakfast in bed every day and places soft kisses on your body from head to toe. Love is enough, and you know how much he does to show it. Was there another way? Is it your fault this happened? You can’t focus either or organize your jumbled thoughts, and find yourself searching for reassurance within him, any inkling of affection to prove he still loves you. When you sheepishly reach out to grab his wounded hand, he curls around it, and the thump in your heart reignites. A pulse loud enough to subside the dread clamoring in your feet, warning you to run. 

You make it home, and Ajax goes to the kitchen sink to wash away his crimes. He watches red cyclone down the drain, and you lean on a counter close to him. 

“Ajax?” 

“Yea?” he chirps.  

“Zhongli...will he be okay?” you meek. 

“Mhm. I didn’t kill him.” The matter-of-fact reply renders a shudder in your bones.  

“Is something wrong?” The kitchen is small, and from the way you’re standing you’ve closed yourself off to him. 

“No baby,  nothings….nothings wrong” he says, that convincing tone, smooth like satin. 

“But I’m worried. You’ve never acted like this before, tell me what’s on your mind.” He shuts off the water, and the cylindrical pull seeps a guttural groan. He grips the granite, and even that seems to deform. He finally turns to you, a hurt expression colliding with fiendish somber eyes and taut lips. 

“Am I not good enough for you?”  

“You are more than enough” you hearten. Ajax rebuttals a bitter laugh and spouts the candor he’d been gnawing on. 

“I tried. I tried ignoring your kindness. I tried being pitiful, hurting myself so that your eyes were only on me”, he creeps towards you, and your feet move on their own backpedaling. The echo of his self-inflicted scar produces beads of sweat, distracting so that the back of the wooden chair presses into your back and you almost topple over. Nowhere to go, and now he overshadows you with delicate fingertips slithering across your paling cheeks and behind your jaw, “but you’re surrounded by love. People love you.” 

His words drag and descend further, “Ohh, and it’s not fair at all.” 

“Why are they allowed your attention. It should be me. Only me. Don’t you want me?” Laced with love, but you can’t taste it. His dilated orbs ping-pong as they scan your face for confirmation. You bring your palms over his and muster fading courage in timid waves. 

“I love you Ajax. So, so much. But the way you’re acting scares me. It’s my fault and I could’ve gone home, but I haven’t seen them in a long time. I didn’t think things would end up like this.” He pauses, and engulfs you in an ardent embrace, his hand on the back of your head and another on your lower back. Oh, sweetie muffles through strands of your hair as he sways your bodies. You’re mannequin-like in his stifling sight. 

“Nononono, it’s not your fault honeypot. You’re too pure for this world, so kind without thinking. So perfect” he mumbles, absurd drivel seeping through the coherent parts in formidable notes—how he loves you, needs you, can’t live without you— “but they’re leeches. They try to taint you, show you horrible, disgusting things. That piece of shit was looking at me, he was asking for a fight. And he tried to put you in the middle. You could’ve gotten hurt, or God know what. I’ll protect you, my sweet, at any cost." 

“Ajax, I don’t need your protection.” It’s silent, profound when he retracts. You forget how to breathe or talk as he slides to your shoulders and holds them in place. His voice lowers. 

“You don’t need…me?” 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying-” 

“So let me help, let me be yours” he pleads. You don’t respond—you can’t. Each explanation you formulate sticks to the roof of your mouth and swells like a spell drunk in your throat. Ajax tenses, clinging to your skin. He reflects on a thought, and it blooms with a twinkle. 

“What if I just...lock you up?” 

“...What?” you say, hardly above a whisper. It’s arid to swallow, and shivers ripple under sweltering heat prickling your limbs. 

“I wouldn’t put you anywhere bad. It’d be a pretty place; I’ll take good care of you like I always do. Wouldn’t you like that?” He has a hopeful grin on his face, and when he lets you go for a second you jerk away from his reach. Your back hits the opposite wall, nauseous and lightheaded, shaking your head aggressively to push away the existence of the idea. He wrenches his neck, and you glimpse the deluded flush on his face. “No... I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Ah, sweetheart, I know it sounds scary. Can we try it first?”  

“You’re not gonna put me in some fucking cage like an animal” you assert. His eyebrows furrow, offended at your assumption that he’d trap you somewhere unpleasant. 

“I’d never do that to you. I love you.” He inches towards you, and you inch farther. The keys are in front of him, you can’t leave on your own. The steps you take feel critical. 

“Let’s sleep on it, we can discuss in the morning.” No. No no no no. You pan to the staircase, and Ajax curiously watches your paranoid glances. Before he can grab you, you sprint for the stairs. Wind travels in your ears and settles at your graceless movement catching hold of the banister, leverage used to leap. Adrenaline flows steadily in your veins, and your senses feel muddled to mush, focused on pushing your legs to proceed. There’s no room for thinking past the will of your body. You hear airy tsks coming from the dining room, and a singsong “Don’t make me chase you, baby.” 

Suddenly, the creaking floorboards succeed at a roaring parade marching behind you. Closer and closer, a sound you didn’t know he possessed. You don’t dare turn around; the squeak waltzes with your deafening heartbeat. You change direction, making haste to the peaceful bedroom you share, now eroding under his hearty stomps. You clash with the door, and barge in. Slamming it shut, your shaky hands promptly lock the knob. Ajax stops in front of the door and lets his fingertips dance along the wood, “Open the door, please.” 

The knob shakes aggressively, rattling in the socket and threatening to pop. It’s pulling against the edges of the door that rive at his harsh yanks. He perpetually pulls and twists it, “Darling, c’mon open the door, my sweet.” You’re sure if you don’t, he’ll axe his way through instead.  

“Please let me in, baby. Please, I’m dying without you.” 

“I don’t wanna fight anymore... please”, his tone barely lifts above the depth of wood, but you hear the faulty voice keeling in cracks. You know you shouldn’t open the door, but his sorrow beckons you as it often does. He wails so hopelessly, as if you’re punishing him for an unavoidable inevitable. It’s an innocent sob peerless to the ruthless violence he displayed hours before; the harrowing glare of the man you thought you knew was all too terrifying. But he’d never do that to you, would he? You’re his darling sweetheart, his infinity now and forever. You filled his divergent heart and sutured it anew. He needs you.  

Though your hands fidget to stay at their sides from common sense tucked in a forgone crevice of your headache, you force your hand up, and turn the knob. Maybe you should’ve never let him into the shop on that cold night, instead bidding him farewell and trudging in the snow to your crumby apartment. You’d continue running the shop as usual with Lyney. Things would’ve been different, wouldn’t have been so complicated to cut loose from tangling lies knotting the more he consumed you.  

But no, that couldn’t have happened. He would find you, it’s destiny that you’d never part. Stalking in bushes and narrow alleyways until the perfect moment he could walk towards you and catch your eye again, and you’d fall for another pass of courting words.  

Ajax stands there with sparkling sadness streaming down his cheeks that mingle with his quivering lips. He drops to his knees instantly in prayer and looks up at you with doey puffy eye bags that nearly make you overlook everything, about Zhongli, about the red flags that grow green the more you squint. It’s just you and him, that’s all it had to be. In times like these you reminisce about the sweet boy you cuddled and confided in, and things feel as they were. The messy-haired Ajax you remember pulls your lower half close to him with large hands that latch onto your waist the more you adjust. His face is mushed to merging in your stomach, and he sighs heavily, taking in your scent like the last breath he’ll ever have. They snake around you, and you meet eyes again. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I love you angel. So much I’d rip my heart out and put it in your hands…. you control me” Desperation clings to Ajax, and you urge to console him. You intertwine your fingers through his hair. 

“Ajax, this can’t happen again. Okay?” you caution, a warning dripping with compassion. 

“Mhm. Okay.” Unexpected warmth blooms over his cold aura, but the light doesn’t reach his eyes. His hands travel the contours of your hips and thighs, occasionally squeezing with an appreciative huff. He parts your legs and dips to your inner thighs to mold the doughy fat as his lips traverse your lower abdomen, decorating it with wanton kisses. “Love you so much” he utters. His touch is impassioned and fluid, he softens underneath your bottom and circles his thumb like a masseur. Ajax takes his time navigating your sensitive points, and switches between fluffy and solid pressure that licks down your back.  Skin to skin contact wasn’t enough, he wanted to crawl in your ribcage and live in your lungs so he could sense your steady breaths. He wanted to bask in your existence, feel the radiance of your touch and ethereal voice curl and melt into him, to make him nothing and all in your eyes. 

Your digits tangle in his hair, and when he nips your tummy, you tug his scalp. “Fuck” Ajax groans, strained through his lips. The peachy wash draping his cheeks is cherubic, appeased by the rhythmic kneading. One hand slinks under your shirt and guides a fingertip vertically on your spine, the other sculpts your rear. It’s dizzying how easy it is for Ajax to captivate you, a trance that turns your knees to jelly and leaves you at his mercy. You ignored the impulse igniting your muscles to push him off. You want him closer, suffocating you so deep the clouds of his scent dismantle your fear. You take his chin and redirect his attention, and he waits for order like a loyal dog.  

“Ajax.” 

“Whatever you want, princess” he toys, that boyish simper releasing butterflies through your body. 

“I want you.” He hoists you up without a word and carries you to the bed. He brings you down, a priceless vase above the pillowy cushioned bedding. “You comfortable?” You nod, blushing from the way Ajax gawks at your half-hiked shirt, and shorts hanging low on your hips. “Good.” He’s breathless, restraining his impulse to pounce and devour you. No matter how restive he was, Ajax usually prevented himself from indulging beyond your comfort; but tonight is different. It's starving while a succulent meal taunts you, only satiated by the sight of it. He hastily removes his shirt and pants, freckled muscles flexing as he discards them to the floor. It’s hard to avoid the growing spot staining his stretched white briefs. Spreading your legs, he crawls between them. He regards you for a second, but when you reach behind his head he plunges into a longing kiss.  

A longing kiss followed by hungrier ones. It’s abruptly rough and needy against your bruising lips, some skimming the corner of your mouth and tracking to the main course. He frees you for a breather, but the space doesn’t subdue the dull ache thrumming in your core. His nose brushes against yours, and you pull his flyaways back to get the full scale of his feral demeanor, sweating and reddening in the unshakable heat.  

You collide again, hands behind your head through the wild exchange. You can’t keep up; he bites your bottom lip and relieves it with the glide of his tongue. Your slow and steady lover begs for entry with a ravenous push, and you allow it to ruin you. The wet appendage invades your senses, explores your mouth in nonsensical shapes and withdraws with a filthy sound before returning. “So. Fucking. Good” he exhales through your intertwining tongues. You’re moaning into each other, lasting in the moment, forgetting everything. His hips start to grind against you, practically dry humping your clothed lower half. You wrap your legs around him and steer his twitching length to roll into you, nudging the inseam of your shorts to your neglected clit. He engulfs your moans, and retreats with strings of spit connecting your tumid lips. 

Ajax descends to your neck, and places damp and eager kisses along it. You feel the piercing remnant of a bite accompanied by sucking. His fangs pinch and snag and make you whimper. A budding purple and blue blend blotches to your collarbone--draining you like a vampire. His hands stay busy committing your curves to memory in greedy gropes. Ajax doesn’t notice his low rambling, “yea, you’d never leave me, right? I’m all you need”, to “you're mine.” It’s overstimulating, and so is the hammering pulse in your clit.  

Your abused neck is exposed to the delicious sweep of cold air, and he hurries to your shirt. In one swoop, it comes off with the impatient unclasp of your bra. He submerges a stiff peak in warmth while he works the other. His tongue swirls around the nipple, pushing in with a stiff tip and trading it for sucking. It elicits a moan where teeth graze and tweak the bud. “My pretty girl” he murmurs and delivers attention to the next. Ajax massages your spit-soaked tits firmly and diligently in fondling motions. His passion renders him shameless, and it encourages you to fold. You find yourself swerving your hips to his bulge to goad his thirst. He responds with languid nudging, and glances at the space inside your shorts, coated with slick film from your panties. Whine caught in his throat, he salivates and unconciously holds your legs apart. You impel him downwards, and he nuzzles the line to the hem of your shorts.  

“Can I taste you, princess?” It had to be hypothetical, since he was already unbuttoning them with his teeth and tearing them off. “Please?” he pants, a half-lidded mess itching to immerse in your desire. Before you can answer, a rrrip shreds through the room; the culprit of your mangled underwear remains, and you shriek. “Ajax!” you scold, but he’s not bothered when he rips the rest of it to display your arousal. “I’ll get you new ones, I’ll buy you the whole store” he sighs, forcing your thighs rearwards with his hands. He angles himself like a sniper and submerses in your pussy. 

Ajax doesn’t rush, he lazily trails his tongue around the outside and plays with the folds shlicking against him. He outlines the clit and meticulously weaves his skillful tongue, caring for the spots that make your back arch; paying special attention to your entrance, as he teasingly delves in just enough to coax a moan, then laps a flat tongue over your wetness. Ajax’s  ministrations are torturous, rapturing all while ignoring your release. He parts the labia and plashes the juices covering his chin and glossy lips. Your heart is in your ears, winding and coiling at the flicks of his tongue, his fingertips forging red indents on your thighs. Ajax begins to rock himself into the mattress, a fleeting friction comforting his sore erection. His leisurely grinding matches the pace of his mouth making out with your pussy. Mmmf he groans, and the vibrations oscillate. He gently slurps your lips, gasping for another mouthful and lapping at your clit. Your back levitates, and you tug his scalp. It only earns another growl, and faster swipes over the sensitive bud. 

“O-oh fuck” you moan, watching Ajax lose his composure and rut himself into the bed like an animal. He’s panting with a quiver, whimpering some rendition of your name until he sputters. He jolts from the material emptying his balls and soaking the sheets, but his energy doesn’t deplete—It seems to motivate him as he hoists you to his mouth. Ajax always prioritizes your pleasure, but it’s difficult to stop him once he’s invested. And he isn’t done feasting, sloppily eating you up with little concern for your fluttering senses. He rides out his orgasm and brings you to yours, and you hardly realize the intoxicating slide over your clit spelling his name. Ajax, Ajax, Ajax, marked into you; It brings you to a chant as you come undone. Ajax doesn’t waste a drop, avidly cleaning up the juices pulsating out. “Thank you, fuck, thank you so much” he whispers. He swills the bud, and you spasm and squirm from ecstasy in his iron grip. “Ajax, p-please.” 

“I got you.” He gives one last French kiss before exiting tranquility. A combination of spit and arousal blankets his mouth, and he smiles like the happiest man alive. “You okay?” Not a thought in fruition, tender mellowness smothering you. You wince from the prolonged position, and he immediately puts you on your side.  

“Need to feel you.” He wrings his underwear down, and reveals his pulsing shaft adorned with beads of come dribbling down the rosy pale tip. He’s above you, trapping one leg over his shoulder, and aligns himself with your sex. “Perfect tits, perfect pussy. You’re so beautiful, all for me.” The bulb slips in effortlessly, and he sighs at the muscle clenching around him. Each inch drives seamlessly into you, stretching your unadjusted frame. He lulls on your ankle, absorbed by the coziness enveloping the base until he bottoms out. Then it’s unmoving. Agonizing, even, the way you feel him twitch inside. “Y-you can move now.” 

“Let’s just stay like this for a little.” He rubs your leg, savoring the serene patter of rain smacking the wide windows and toasty light dusting your dazed appearance. It’s intimate and placid minus the rise and fall of your bodies, and you’re surprisingly shy. You rush to cover your face, but Ajax grabs you. “Don't hide, pretty girl. You’re stunning” he flirts, kissing your hand. 

“Do you love me?” His blinks are exaggerated, confused that you’d ask such an obvious question. 

“Of course.” 

“What do you love about us?” He brings your hand to his cheek. “You complete me. You’ve forgiven me, loved me, and accepted me for who I am. I can be open around you.” He kisses your wrist, silken as to quell the trivial thoughts resurfacing. 

“I’ll love you until the end. I’ll find you in the next life and start all over, even when this universe collapses. I won’t let anyone get in our way, so love me forever.” Ajax pulls out to the tip, and you whine at the loss of wholeness. Then, he drives his sticky cock unhurriedly to the hilt. You mewl, and he palms your chest. “Shh, ‘s okay.” The milky translucent trail links you and erupts obscene syrupy noises. “What are you thinking for baby names?” You can’t focus, the swinging strokes graze your g-spot. You’d say anything to him at this point; you need him deeper. He casually thumbs your clit and continues at a sluggish tempo. “I really like the name Aleksei” In and out, veins embellishing your walls. You meet his thrusts and shudder, though he stops occasionally to redirect the sopping length. 

“A-ahn, you’re so wet, it keeps slipping out” he moans. He picks up the speed, squelching stirring with whimpers. “I love you, honeypot. Sosososo fucking much, just wanna breed this pretty pussy every second of the day. Ah- you wanna be a mommy, yeah? We can have a big family, hah, just you me and the kids. Wouldn’t you like that, darling?” He’s drilling into you, stuffed to bursting. You feel yourself approaching and seize his wrist. “’M close!” 

“Give it to me, fuck, please” Ajax whines, and you climax under him, juices saturating his balls. You don’t get time to recover; he fucks you through your orgasm. You’re reeling, clawing at his forearm when he puts you flat on your back. “Wanna come inside. Can I, please? I want it so bad” he pleads. He adjusts you to a mating press with brute force, and plummets inside.  

It’s vicious, staggering plap’s and squelching audible from outside. The headboard bangs on the wall while he pummels your pussy. A sheen of lust shrouds his eyes, and his heavy balls smack against your ass as he wrecks you. More, more, more drowns him in senseless fucking, precome frothing at the base. You convulse around him, and he burrows full throttle. When his tongue finds yours, you interweave through the sloppy pumps. His balls tighten, and he chases his high frenetically bobbing. “O-oh, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.” Harsher, meaner strokes hit you quick, and Ajax melts into endless whimpers striking his climax. Ropes of thick white paint your insides, teeming to globs where they crowd your pussy and leak to your ass. Ajax bucks into you, and you milk him dry. The shakes eventually stop, and he goes limp on top of you. You feel him softening, his steady inhale. He smiles at you, showering you with affection you couldn’t resist.  

“I should use the bathroom” you suggest, patting his back as a signal to get off. “Sure. Wait here, I’ll get you cleaned up.” He returns after an eternity, with cloudy water and a tepid towel. 

“Here, drink this.” You take the cup and sip. Ajax tips it a bit, urging you to gulp. He wipes you down lovingly while you swallow the contents. He disregards your vulva, however, collecting the come on his fingers and pushing it in. Oddly, you’re leaden—insanely leaden, so much so that your head tilts to one side and threatens to give up entirely. Your knees are wobbly, and your bones are lost in a dreamlike state. Ajax passes the towel under your chest.  

“You know, I didn’t feel bad about it, when I strung his guts across the wall. I only thought of you.”  

No. It can’t be true. 

You can’t scream or fight, and simply gape at the words hulking through your numbed rationale. The towel cools your sweat, but the fear persists.  

“I met him behind your complex. He was bitching about rent, sleazy fucking scum. I asked him if you live there, and he went on a rant about it. Saying nasty stuff no one should ever say about you. I couldn't help it, (Y/N), I had to see his organs carved out of his body.” Your jackhammering heart doesn’t compare to your sloth behavior. You want to run, move in with your parents again and pretend; pretend like your life hasn’t been propelled into disarray, pretend that the ginger boy caressing your face didn’t butcher a man.  

“Ajax, let me go” you cried, a teardrop coursing across your temple. He wipes it, “I’m not holding you, dear. You can’t stand on your own right now, but the effect will wear off after you sleep. Rest for now, okay sweetie?” 

“What did you put...in my...” You’re swooning, ferried by the effect of the unknown medicine sprinkled in your cup. With no will to combat, your eyes reluctantly close. His pupils are desolate and obscure, the night of a severe blizzard. 

“I’m sorry, but I won’t make the same mistake twice.” 

tags: @zhochikennugget (if anyone else would like to be tagged, dm and i'll tag you on the next one :)

[madaqueue]

f!reader - 18+ MDNI (briefly going down on you and then just him fucking you + praise…hhh need him so bad - wk: 0.5k)

childe is eager, almost impossibly so. eager for battle, for blood, for the way his heart lurches with a landed strike and beats loudly in its golden cage.

he’s especially eager, it would seem, tonight. with the way he yanks your clothes off, tearing a few seams too many (something to repair later, you think), the way he mouths at your cunt through the thin fabric separating him from your warmth.

the sharp, prolonged inhale from him is almost embarrassing, almost makes you cover your eyes to hide the heat staining your cheeks. you’d try, if you didn’t know him so well - there’s an eagerness to hear all your little sounds, to see your face twist and warp into pleasure, because of him. he’s making you feel this good, as his tongue travels a slow, tortuous path up your folds. he’s making you feel this good, as his lips curl and suck over your clit. every moan that drips from your throat is rewarded ten-fold, hot breath and his own low, vibrating sounds against your skin, his hips rutting into the mattress, not even seeking friction when they search desperately for more of you.

once you’re finally naked, shredded articles laying around the mattress in a heap, once he finally sinks into you and feels the sun washing over him, he finds himself eager once more: this time, for your praise.

“is that good?” he asks into the space above your collarbone, hot breath filling his lungs but left with no other option than to suck it in quickly, ravenously. the way his cock stretches you with each thrust only spurs him on, faster, harder. “you like that?”

when you nod, quickly, his teeth nip at the column of your neck.

“tell me, pretty.” hips slam into yours, skin and sweat and more, more, more. “tell me how good i make you feel.”

and you worry you can’t, can’t fill the ever-emptying hole inside him that needs a constant source of your love, your light. but you’ll try.

“so good,” you babble, words bubbling over your lips and into his. “so good, it’s so good. you’re so good.” you think your fingers are running through his hair; you think he smiles.

“yeah?”

“yeah.” and you think maybe you’re smiling too. “feels - ah - the best.”

a grin that’s all teeth; a thrust that has your back arching from the bed and further into him.

“never felt like this before, never felt so good.” and now, your fingers trace his cheekbones, and you wonder if you’ve ever looked at the sun with half as much adoration. “the best, ajax, you’re the best.”

at that, he whines, and fucks you harder. “it’s because nobody’s ever loved you like i do. right?”

“nobody.” sky-blue eyes meet yours, and you feel the question hiding behind the clouds. “i’ve never loved anyone like you.”

he lets the fire inside him burst when his thrusts pick up speed and lose their tempo altogether. lets you feel it in the boyish giggle that morphs into a moan of your name when he hears you whispering ‘i love you, i love you, i love you.’ eats up the words and your lips, hungry, aching, begging. swallows them with an eager tongue and smiles.

a/n: yearning for him in a way that’s soooo normal (i would pull the sun from the sky and hand it to him with burnt palms)

[luxthestrange]

G.I Incorrect Quotes#136 Damn childe- DAMN!?

Childe in a near-death situation...But being saved by a mysterious deity with ever-changing shape

Creator!Y/n*Floating above him* Be not afraid.

Childe: Raw. Next question

Creator!Y/n:....

Creator!Y/n: Be a little more afraid...

You cannot convince me Childe isnt a certified monsterfucker-lover,that boy want someone who can break his back-

[graveantics]

Read my mind (and heart)

A drabble i made back in march about a mind reading!reader and a pathetic yearning loser childe

*italics for thoughts

"You're avoiding me."

You do nothing but avoid his eye contact, trying to let go of the grip he has on you. But he noticed and tightens his grip Don't run away from me again.

"....I've been busy." No you haven't.

"No you haven't." Oh hey that's what you just thought.

"Did...You find out..? Is that why you're avoiding me?" he looks at you. Do you hate the idea of me being in love with you that much.

His thoughts stab into your guilty conscience. "I..Um. May have known from the beginning." Silence from Childe's end. However not very similar, are his thoughts.

How!? Did Xiao tell them. Was I really that obvious. DID HE TELL THEM ABOUT THE SONGS—

"Please stop thinking." He blinks at your words. His normally crowded mind is finally quiet since the first time you met him. "Xiao didn't tell me anything, and you weren't too obvious." Childe's brows are furrowed, you watch his expression shift from shock to understanding as he puts the pieces together. "Did you...read my mind...?"

This time it's your turn to be silent. You only nod, with eyes averted away. The overwhelming guilt that you've held since developing this power envelops you.

"I'm really sorry, it's incredibly intrusive of me. And I don't really know how to NOT do it so I couldn't help it. I understand if you think it's freaky of me to be knowing your secrets—"

I told my friends I'd gladly write a 5000 word essay on how beautiful you are when you smile.

"W..What?"

I bought clothes online that are couples special because I imagine us wearing them on dates

"Childe!"

I didn't come in on Valentine's day because i got so excited about giving you chocolates, That I couldn't sleep the whole night and passed out till noon.

"YOU WHAT?"

"You really can read my mind." Childe finally speaks.

"You tested me by airing out all your embarrassing secrets? You really have no shame Childe."

He only grins at that, with red visibly tinting his cheeks It is embarrassing, so much that I want to bury myself alive. But that means you know how serious I am about you. He grabs your hand, it's warm. The sound of his heart and real voice overlaps.

"I wouldn't be able to hide it from you forever. I like you a lot, [name]."