#custom space fairy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mooishbeam · 10 months

Text

『♡』 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 :)

#genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin au #ajax smut #ajax x reader #tartaglia smut #tartaglia x reader #childe tartaglia ajax #childe smut #childe x reader #genshin impact #genshin tartagalia #i need ajax BAD #so sorry about the wait this time

1K notes · View notes

midnightorchids · 5 months

Note

I am kinda curious

What would Jason be like if the coffee Cafe owner!reader built in a small library in her Cafe just for him,like she saw he liked reading and went like 'yup. I am building a small library for him'

This is such a fun idea, but omg please forgive me, I went a little overboard. Once I figured out what to write, I couldn’t stop. I apologize for how long it is. Also, this is completely gender neutral, so anyone can read!

But omg also, I was literally kicking my feet and giggling writing the end lol, Anyways enjoy!

Owning a cafe was a difficult job, there was always much to do— customers to attend to, drinks to make, and maintenance to do. You were always busy, but you loved your job.

You had spent a lot of time curating the perfect atmosphere for your beloved customers. The lighting was warm, with fairy lights and lanterns dangling from the ceiling. There was wooden furniture and two old couches that sat by the glass windows. The tiny space smelled of freshly brewed coffee and sweet bread. The cafe was always inviting.

You had many regulars at the coffee shop, each one with their own story, a different purpose.

For the past six months, twice a week, every Thursday and Saturday morning, a tall man walked in. Jason, you recalled his name from the many times you prepared his drinks. He’d order the same thing every time, a small London fog and a walnut banana bread.

He’d sit at the table nearest to the entrance, his back never towards the door.

Every morning, he’d come in with a new book. You had seen him read Franz Kafka, Oscar Wilde and Jane Austen; he’d read a lot of Austen.

He was a mystery and you wanted to know more.

You found Jason quite handsome. His skin was scattered with scars and you often found yourself staring at the permanent wound near his lips. You wanted to run your fingers along it, to trace it, to kiss it.

His eyes were always kind, a deep shade of green, forest-like you’d think to yourself.

He spoke with kindness. His voice velvety and rich, much like the espresso you’d brew everyday, except his voice was never bitter, almost always doused with honey.

Sometimes you’d catch him looking over at the counter, at you, you’d hoped.

Your coworkers were afraid of him, telling you to stay away, but you couldn’t help yourself. He was like an enticing book, waiting to be read. They’d warn you, “do not engage in too much conversation with the strange man.” But it was as if they were talking to a small child, their words would go in one ear and out the other.

“Strange,” you would never use that word to describe him.

From the small talk you had with him, to his choice in books, to even his taste in tea, you’d never describe him as strange.

Gentle was the word you’d choose.

He was huge, all height and muscle, terrifying to most, however to you, he was everything but that. You saw an angel and you didn’t even know him… yet, you’d tell yourself.

There were days, where you almost gained the courage to ask for his number, maybe ask for small detail, perhaps get a glimpse of his life. But each attempt was futile. Why was it so hard to speak to him for more than five minutes, you’d curse your inability to speak to attractive men.

You were beginning to give up on your dreams of getting to know the beautiful stranger, when he walked in through door.

The conversation began as per usual.

“Morning Jason, what can I grab you today,” you asked politely. He smiled softly in return and you stare at the scar by his lip as he begins to speak.

“Uhh surprise me,” you look at him confused, he’s never done that before and he finds himself smiling harder. “Just kidding, I’ll just the take the usual please,” he says as he places his copy of Jane Eyre on the counter to take out his wallet.

“Brontë, why am I not surprised,” you reply, gazing at the book. You take the cash from his hands and your heart drops. Shades of purple and crimson coat his skin. They’re bruised, again.

“What can I say, I’m a man of taste,” he smirks. You roll your eyes and giggle.

“Now who told you that,” and he shrugs. Then there’s a lull, you don’t know what to say now. It isn’t awkward, but you find yourself starting feeling a little uneasy. God, if you only you could come up with something else to say. You shake your head slightly and begin to warm up his banana bread.

You turn around and wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t walk away to his usual table this time, instead he takes a seat next to the counter. Odd, you thought.

Jason’s gaze doesn’t leave you for a second, he watches you in admiration, you don’t quite catch on.

If you thought Jason was handsome, then he thought you belonged in a museum. You were a work of art in his eyes. The kind of beauty they wrote poetry about. Absolutely stunning.

He wanted to get to know you, speak to you, but he was afraid. If you didn’t reciprocate his feelings, then he may never be able to see you again. The trips to the cafe would no longer be necessary and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

However today, Jason pushes his fears aside, he feels bold. He finds his confidence and he speaks.

“Do you read much,” he asks suddenly. You place his cup of tea and bread in front of him, and nod your head.

“I do, but not what you read,” you reply and he stares into your eyes, curious. “I mostly read magazines, you know Vogue and stuff,” his smile drops a little, he’s trying really hard to not look judgemental. Cute, you think. “Kidding, I read fantasy mostly,” and his face lights up again.

“So like J.K. Rowling,” he questions.

“No, Harry Potter’s good, but I’m not really a fan of her, you know as a person. I’ve been reading a lot Neil Gaiman recently though,” you say.

“Oh fuck, yeah, she’s said some pretty crazy stuff huh,” and you nod again. “Gaiman though, I don’t think I’ve ever read his stuff before, he any good,” he asks and your eyes go wide, you’re excited.

You spend the next hour of his visit speaking to him about books, about the things that you both like.

You only part from the conversation when there was a customer.

You’ve never felt this way before, all the assumptions you made about him were true. He was an angel, a kind and gentle one.

A month goes by and you notice your relationship with Jason change. Now, instead of sitting by the entrance of the cafe, he sits near you, back against the door. A sign of trust, you assumed. He smiled more, he showed his teeth and he laughed, hard. You loved the sound of his laugh. His eyes looked brighter, greener, emerald-like. He still walked in with a new book, but when the conversation began, it was long forgotten.

You watched his bruises heal and you watched new ones appear, you were always curious, but never had the courage to ask. He’d tell you when he was ready.

As time went by, you found yourself wanting to do something for him, you wanted him to know that you cared. You thought that if your words were going to fail you, then maybe your actions would prove otherwise.

Working a closing shift at the cafe on a gloomy Tuesday evening, you find yourself thinking of different gestures you could do.

Ideas came and left, nothing felt good enough. He deserved the best. Trying to busy your mind elsewhere, you begin to sweep the floors and that’s when inspiration hits you.

There, in the coffee shop, lies an empty corner. An odd spot, not necessarily small, but also not large enough either.

A perfect fit for a decently sized bookshelf. A library, for the community, but most importantly for Jason. You smile to yourself, proud at the thought. He’d love this, you knew he would.

The next morning you find yourself drilling holes into the pale walls of the cafe, trying attach the large shelf you lugged down to the shop.

Once everything was fixed into its rightful place, you begin adding the books, by genre and then by the authors’ last names. You add many of Jason’s favourites, multiple copies of Austen. You add children’s books, comics and something for yourself.

The shelf fits right into the ambiance of the cafe, elevating it honestly. The corner looked cosy and you found yourself wanting to sit by one of the couches with a book and a cup of hot chocolate.

You stare at the shelf once more, proud. Now, you just had to wait.

Jason walks into the cafe the next day, he’s late. He arrives near closing time. It’s just you and him in the cafe, most of your staff left for the day and not many people stayed this late. It’s quiet, the only sound coming from the machines on your side of the counter. He’s holding another book in his hand, but he has no intention of reading tonight.

His hair is slicked back, and there’s a small cut on his forehead. He’s dressed in a white dress shirt and black pants. He looks like he’s coming back from a big event or maybe he’s going to one later. Either way, he looks pretty like this, his arms look more defined and you can make out the muscles on his back when he walks around the room, waiting for his drink.

His eyes wander around the cafe before settling on the bookshelf nestled in the odd corner. His eyes soften, he’s never noticed that before, it must be new, he thinks.

“When’d you get this,” he asks, his fingers running along the spines of the books. He’s smiling, there’s so many books.

“Yesterday, it’s for you,” you say, holding your breath. This is it, the moment you’ve been preparing for.

“For me,” he looks over at you as you settle his tea on the counter. You begin walking over to his side, slowly, riddled with nerves.

“Yes, since you’re always here, I thought you’d like having a book shelf here. It’s like a library, you take a book and then you-“ he cuts you off suddenly.

“You made a library for me in your cafe, are you serious,” he’s trying to hold back a smile, you can tell. His scar gets more prominent when he does that. “Why,” he as asks, his voice is soft, it feels like warm milk with honey, comforting.

“You’re gonna make me say it,” you can’t see your face, but it feels hot, you can tell you’re blushing.

“Yeah, say it. Why is there a library in your cafe for me,” he says, enunciating the words “your” and “for me.” He’s smirking now. He knows the answer, he just wants to hear it from you.

The point of the library was to not have to say anything, for your actions to speak for you, but here you are. Ears burning and palms clammy.

“I…,” you trail off, you look around the room, anywhere but his face. He notices and walks closer, his hands gently make their way around your waist.

“Say it,” he exclaims, it’s not forceful, he’s smiling and shades of pink dust his cheeks.

You close your eyes shut, fuck, you’re going to have to say it.

“I really like you jas-,” and with that, his lips find their way to your own. You move in harmony, much like matcha and oat milk. His lips are sweet, he tastes like the banana bread, he decided to eat while pacing around the cafe. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, you pull back and smile. You peck his lips. Once where the scar is and once more on the centre. He grins.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that from you,” he mumbles against your lips, waiting for you to kiss him again.

And you do, you kiss him again and again.

#gn!reader #jason todd #red hood #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd headcanon #red hood headcanon #batfam

689 notes · View notes

valkyriexo · 5 months

Text

My Favorite Princess | Hyunjin

ᑉ³pairing; Husband! Dad! Hyunjin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Fluff

ᑉ³warnings; none

ᑉ³Authors Note; Hope you all enjoy :)

As you prepare for your daughter, Areum's Cinderella-themed birthday party, the air is alive with anticipation. Your little princess has been dreaming of this day for weeks, and you're determined to make it a fairytale come true.

With Hyunjin by your side, you dive into the task of transforming your home and backyard into a magical kingdom straight out of a storybook. The party decor team bustles around, hanging shimmering streamers in shades of blue and silver, while fairy lights twinkle like stars in the night sky.

"Let's place the Cinderella carriage centerpiece right in the center of the table," you suggest, pointing to the elegant coach adorned with sparkling crystals. "And we can scatter glass slipper confetti around it for an extra touch of magic."

As you direct the placement of each decoration, you can't help but feel a surge of joy at the thought of your daughter's delight. This party is more than just a celebration—it's a chance to make her dreams come true.

"Mommy, Daddy, look at this!" your daughter exclaims, twirling in her blue tulle dress as she examines the decorations. She is dressed in a custom-made Cinderella gown. As for you and Hyunjin, you've opted for a more casual approach to your attire, both donning outfits in shades of blue to match the party's color scheme.

"It's like I'm really in Cinderella's castle!" she continues.

You smile at her enthusiasm, feeling a warmth spread through your heart. "It's all for you, sweetheart."

Hyunjin crouches down to his daughter's level, his eyes sparkling with affection as he takes in her excitement. "You look absolutely beautiful, just like Cinderella herself," he says, his voice filled with warmth.

She giggles, twirling once more, the skirt billowing around her like a cloud of magic. "Thank you, Daddy!" she chirps, reaching out to take his hand. In her other hand, she clutches Jiniret, dressed like one of the mice from Cinderella. "I'm so happy!"

Your heart swells with love as you watch the tender moment between father and daughter. Despite the stress of last-minute preparations, seeing the joy on their faces makes it all worth it.

Hyunjin takes her hand gently, his touch reassuring as he leads her out towards the backyard. The sun casts a golden glow over the meticulously decorated space, where shimmering streamers in shades of blue and silver dance in the gentle breeze. A canopy draped with twinkling fairy lights adds a touch of enchantment to the scene, creating an atmosphere fit for a princess's celebration.

Meanwhile, you continue to oversee the placement of decorations, your attention focused on every intricate detail. Each corner of the backyard and house is adorned with magical touches. Banners depicting scenes from Cinderella's story flutter gently in the wind, adding to the whimsical ambiance.

As the party guests begin to arrive, your home fills with laughter and excitement. The air is filled with the aroma of freshly baked treats, from cupcakes adorned with edible glass slippers to sandwiches cut into pumpkin shapes. Tables are adorned with bowls of fruit arranged artfully to resemble a majestic castle.

Areum eagerly greets each newcomer with a radiant smile, her eyes scanning the crowd in anticipation, hoping to catch a glimpse of the "real-life Cinderella." She can hardly contain her joy as she awaits the arrival of the enchanting princess she's been dreaming of meeting.

"Daddy, Mommy, when is Cinderella coming?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Hyunjin chuckles warmly, ruffling her hair affectionately. "She'll be here soon, sweetheart," he assures her.

Your phone suddenly buzzes with an incoming call. With a furrowed brow, you step away to answer the incoming call. You were eagerly awaiting the delivery of the cake, and were hoping it wasn't a last-minute hiccup.

"Be back soon," you murmur, offering a reassuring smile before stepping away. "Hello?" you answer.

On the other end of the line, you hear a hurried voice speaking, delivering the news you had feared. "I'm sorry to inform you that the princess performer has fallen ill and won't be able to make it to the party," the voice says, its tone apologetic.

Anxiety begins to creep up within you as you hang up the phone, your mind swirling with worry. How will you possibly break this devastating news to your daughter? And more pressing still, how will you salvage her dream birthday party now?

In the background, curiosity sparkles in your daughter's eyes as she turns to Hyunjin. "Daddy, what do you think Cinderella's like?" she asks, her voice filled with wonder.

Hyunjin grins down at her, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, I think she's probably very kind and brave, just like you," he replies, his voice soft and reassuring.

Your daughter beams at the comparison, her heart swelling with pride. "Do you think she has a prince, like in the story?" she asks, her excitement growing with each word.

Hyunjin's smile widens as he considers her question. "I think so," he says with a playful wink. "But let me ask you something, my little princess. What do you like the most about Cinderella?"

Your daughter's brow furrows in thought as she considers his question.

As she nods enthusiastically, she reaches out to squeeze Hyunjin's hand. "I love that Cinderella's prince always finds a way to be there for her when she needs him the most."

Hyunjin chuckles at her observation, his eyes shining with affection. "Ah, so you're a fan of the prince, then?" he teases, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

"He's like a hero," she declares, her eyes shining with admiration.

As your daughter's excitement fills the air, your thoughts race, scrambling for a solution to the sudden dilemma. It's already an hour into the party, and with the festivities in full swing, so finding a replacement princess performer seems virtually impossible.

Hyunjin's laughter breaks through your frantic thoughts, drawing your attention back to the present moment. His gaze flickers briefly to you, sensing something amiss. A subtle shift in your demeanor doesn't escape his notice, and a furrow creases his brow as he registers your troubled expression.

"Mommy, are you okay?" your daughter asks, her concern mirroring Hyunjin's.

You force a smile, attempting to reassure her. "I'm fine, sweetie," you say, your voice catching slightly. "Just... thinking about somethin-"

But before you can even finish the sentence, he's already spinning a new tale. "Oh my goodness, look who's here! Your best friend Ha-ri just arrived!" he exclaims, his voice filled with excitement.

"Really?" your daughter gasps, her eyes widening with anticipation.

Without another word, she darts off towards the entrance, her Cinderella gown billowing behind her as she races to see her friend.

As your daughter bounds off to greet the guests, Hyunjin's playful demeanor fades, replaced by genuine concern. He stands beside you, his hand gently squeezing yours as he senses your distress.

"Is everything alright?" he asks softly, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what has occured.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "The princess performer... she's unable to make it," you explain, your voice tinged with disappointment. "I don't know how to tell our daughter."

Panic continues to bubble within you, your mind racing with thoughts of your daughter's shattered expectations. She had been so excited for Cinderella to be there, and now you're at a loss for how to break the news to her.

"She's going to be devastated," you murmur, your voice catching with emotion. "All she wanted was Cinderella... she didn't even ask for presents."

Hyunjin's expression softens as he listens to your words, his heart aching for both you and Areum. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you close in a comforting embrace.

"I don't know what to do, Hyunjin," you admit, your voice trembling with worry. "How do we make this up to her?"

Hyunjin's arms tighten around you, his touch a comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions. "Shh, love, we'll figure it out," he murmurs, his voice gentle and soothing. "We'll make her birthday unforgettable, even without Cinderella."

Your words hang heavy in the air, the weight of disappointment pressing down on both of you. "But we'll never live it down if it doesn't happen," you whisper, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

Hyunjin's touch is tender as he brushes away a stray tear. "Don't worry about that," he says softly, his voice filled with determination. "You worry about greeting the guests and looking pretty. I'll take care of it, okay?"

His words wrap around you like a warm blanket, offering a glimmer of hope in the darkness of your despair. With a shaky nod, you lean into his embrace, finding solace in the strength of his arms.

"Okay," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "Okay."

As Hyunjin presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, you feel a sense of calm wash over you. With a shaky exhale, you reluctantly release yourself from his embrace, returning your focus to the tasks at hand.

As you make your way to the backyard to check on the guests, Hyunjin disappears into the depths of the house, determined to salvage the birthday celebration. Amidst the hustle and bustle of serving guests and attending to last-minute details, you lose track of time.

An hour passes in a blur, and as you glance around , you realize that Hyunjin is still nowhere to be found. A sense of worry hits you.

Where could he be?

Before you can dwell on your concerns any further, your daughter's voice interrupts your thoughts. She stands before you, eyes wide with anticipation, hope evident in her voice.

"Mommy, is the princess coming soon?" she asks eagerly.

You search for the right words to soothe her, but the truth catches in your throat.

"I... I'm not sure, sweetheart," you reply, your voice faltering. "But let's focus on enjoying the party, okay?"

As your daughter's questions become more persistent and her restlessness grows, you feel the weight of your uncertainty bearing down on you. Each inquiry chips away at you, until you're on the brink of revealing the truth to her.

But just as you open your mouth to speak, the sound of hoofbeats and the creak of carriage wheels cut through the air, stopping you in your tracks.

Your daughter's eyes widen in wonder as she turns to you, a spark of hope dancing in her gaze. "Mommy, do you hear that?" she asks, her voice tinged with excitement.

Before you can respond, the source of the sound emerges from around the bend, and there, coming into view, is a magnificent horse-drawn carriage led by a majestic steed.

Your heart skips a beat as you recognize the unmistakable look of a horse-drawn carriage. At the reins is Minho, dressed in regal attire from head to toe. And in the carriage, dressed in shimmering all-white attire, is Hyunjin, a dazzling smile gracing his features.

As the carriage comes to a stop before you, your daughter's face lights up with sheer delight. "I get to have my own carriage!" she exclaims, her voice filled with joy.

Hyunjin chuckles warmly, stepping down from the carriage and sweeping your daughter into his arms. "Of course, my dear," he says, his tone tender. "Why bring Cinderella when you are already a princess? My favorite princess, at that."

Your daughter beams at the compliment, her cheeks flushing with happiness. "And every princess needs her prince, right?" she says, her eyes shining with adoration.

But the surprises don't end there. Coming out of the the carriage is Chan, dressed in an elaborate costume that can only be described as the Fairy Godmother.

Chan, with an exasperated sigh, straightens his posture and adopts a stern expression. He clears his throat.

"Hello, I am Chanita, your Fairy Godmother," he announces in a deadpan tone, clearly not thrilled about his role. You watch as Minho snickers in amusement.

But before he can continue, Hyunjin elbows him so hard that Chan's tone changes abruptly, now filled with excitement. "And I'm here to grant all your birthday wishes!" he exclaims, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

As Chan waves his wand theatrically, a burst of glitter fills the air, and your daughter's laughter fills the space around you. "Fairy Godmother!" she cries with glee, running towards Chan.

Your daughter giggles with delight as Chan scoops her up in his arms, placing her gently inside the carriage. She squeals with excitement as he lifts her, her laughter echoing through the air as she settles into the plush seat.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin descends from the carriage and comes to your side, a grin playing on his lips.

"How did this happen?" you ask incredulously, shaking your head in disbelief.

Hyunjin chuckles, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I may have called in a few favors," he admits, his tone teasing. "You know, just to make our little princess's birthday extra special."

You raise an eyebrow, unable to resist pressing for more details. "And how on earth did you convince Chan to be the Fairy Godmother?" you inquire, still trying to wrap your head around the unexpected turn of events.

A grin spreads across Hyunjin's face as he leans in to whisper in your ear. "Well, let's just say Changbin wasn't available, and Chan and Minho both lost a bet and owed me a favor," he confesses, his voice laced with amusement.

As your daughter's joyful laughter fills the air, she calls out to Hyunjin, her voice echoing with excitement. "Daddy, come ride with me!" she exclaims, her eyes alight with anticipation.

Hyunjin's eyes sparkle with amusement as he glances at you, a silent question in his gaze. With a nod and a smile, you encourage him to indulge your daughter's request.

As Hyunjin climbs into the carriage, he keeps his gaze fixed on you, his eyes filled with so much love it's palpable. A smile blooms on your lips, and the warmth in your eyes doesn't go unnoticed by your daughter.

"You really love mommy, don't you?" she observes, her voice filled with curiosity.

Hyunjin's smile widens as he turns his attention to his daughter, his heart overflowing with affection. "Yes, sweetheart," he confirms, his voice tender. "Your mommy is my favorite princess."

Your daughter's eyes light up with understanding, and she snuggles closer to him, her small hand finding his. "That's why you're always going to be my favorite prince."

"Why?" Hyunjin asks, his gaze softening with affection as he looks at his daughter, waiting for her answer.

"Because you love mommy more than anyone else," she continues, her gaze unwavering. "And I want to be just like you, loving someone so much it makes magic happen."

Hyunjin's heart swells with pride as he listens to his daughter's heartfelt words. "That's right," he murmurs, his voice filled with tenderness. "Your mommy is the most special person in the world to me."

He intertwines his fingers with hers, holding her hand gently as he speaks. "And you, my dear, are the most precious princess," he continues, his eyes shimmering with love.

With a shared smile, they set off on their enchanting carriage ride, the gentle clip-clop of the horse's hooves accompanying their journey.

As the wind tousles their hair and the golden sunlight bathes them in its warm glow, Hyunjin leans in to whisper in her ear. "Happy birthday my sweet girl," he says softly, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand promises. "I love you."

295 notes · View notes

jirsungs · 3 months

Text

ep 6: the latte lounge incident

word count: 2.1k words (i write a lot...)

Much time has passed since Jaemin's last text, and you were almost done putting the finishing touches to your makeup and appearance. Once you were done, you walked outside of your apartment and locked the door shut behind you.

Not even a minute later, a car honks from behind you, and you turn around to see your dark-haired friend as the culprit, sitting in the driver's seat of his white Honda Civic. You walk down to Jaemin's car, stopping in front of the passenger car door, which he opens for you.

The second you sit down and shut the door, you notice the many decorations around Jaemin's car. You forgot how decorative the man is.

A Kawaii plushie hanging on his rearview mirror catches your attention the most, you hold in a laugh seeing it.

"Um, since when did you have that?" Jaemin doesn't get what you're referring to until he follows your eyes and finds them eyeing his light pink bunny plushie hung by a darker pink sparkly chain.

Your friend claps his hand in realization, "Ahhh, that!" He sees you still attempting to hold in your laugh, "Ning bought it for me, and don't laugh! There's nothing wrong with a man loving and enjoying cute plushies!"

You ignore his plea and start giggling at his protest, "Just drive, Jaem."

He doesn't scold you for laughing. But before he starts the car's ignition, you see him jut out his bottom lip in a pout, making you giggle even more.

“Holy shit, that's Latte Lounge?” Jaemin makes a hum of affirmation in response to your amazed question. He continues to pass the coffee shop to find a parking space while you are busy, admiring the place. It's decorated cutely with two round tan-colored tables with matching umbrellas out front, an espresso-colored awning to help with the shade, and two lanterns on both sides of the awning. What amazed you the most was the string of people lining up outside the door.

Jaemin puts the car in park when he answers your question again, “I heard it's even prettier inside. I think the manager's a woman too.”

“That explains the nice decorations.” is the last thing you say before you and Jaemin exit the car to walk up to the line and join the wait.

Turns out Jaemin was right, the coffee shop was somehow decorated ten times prettier than the outside. The aroma of coffee beans and the chatter of customers welcomed you and it somehow felt comforting. You observe customers all around, your eyes skim through the room as you see a group of four sitting on the bean bags placed in the corner of the shop as they chat amongst themselves, a couple playing Connect 4 on one of the coffee tables near the board games area, and when you look up to the ceiling, you found it to be lit up with multiple hanging fairy lights. No wonder this place gained popularity two weeks after opening.

Fortunately for both of you, the wait ended up shorter than you thought. For the number of people waiting, you and Jaemin guessed it would be a twenty-minute wait until it got to your turn, but here you were, already one person away from the cashier.

Your eyes slightly widen when you see who it is. Haechan? Rockway's lead singer? The man who absolutely rocked MJ's P.Y.T.?

It was different seeing him in a barista uniform. You’ve only seen him in his casual attire. But it wasn't a bad difference, it was different in a good way.

As you’re both signaled for your turn, you notice how he's busy clearing out the previous order to look up at the both of you.

Haechan's still pressing on the pad when he says, “Hi, welcome to Latte Lounge, how can I–” But pauses when he looks up and recognizes Jaemin. “What the hell, Jaemin! How’s it going, dude?” His once forced happy posture was now comfortably bright.

You found the sudden happiness plastered on Haechan’s face upon seeing Jaemin to be endearing.

He leans over the counter to bring your friend in for one of those dap-and-hug guys always do and Jaemin immediately returns it with a tap on the guy’s back. With you now feeling awkward, you clear your throat in hopes Jaemin will get your mental signal and formally introduce you to his friend.

And thank god he does. Upon hearing your cough, Jaemin then turns to you, “Oh! By the way, Haechan, this is Y/N. She’s one of the friends I brought to your guys’ performance last Friday.”

“Ohhh… so you’re Y/N.” Haechan, as you remember, says with a teasing tone. But just as you're about to question it, another guy who's preparing drinks in the back cuts you off with a yell to Haechan to focus on working.

“Yeah yeah, I got it, Jeno!” Haechan yells back before giving you and Jaemin an apologetic look, mouthing a “sorry.”

Jeno… Jeno… Like, Jeno the bass player Jeno?! Since when did they all work at Latte Lounge? You think.

Wait. That doesn't include him, right?

Haechan, finally asking for your orders, interrupts your mental dilemma, and you don’t seem to remember what you were stressing about after you get your order number.

“Haechan, are you seriously sure this is gonna work?” Jeno doubtfully asks his friend for the seventh time.

The both of them were hiding in the employee's area after Haechan whined for Jisung to take his place at the cashier. When the younger one finally gave in, Haechan immediately pushed Jeno inside, leading them here, stuck in an area that reeked of coffee bean bags and dairy products so Haechan could discuss his plan with his friend for the—oh wait, he doesn’t remember the number—of times.

Haechan lets out an exasperated sigh at the repeated question, “Jeno, you’re stressing for no reason. Trust me, it’ll work. We’ll just have Jisung give Y/N and Jaemin their drinks and once he’s at their table, I’ll bump myself into him and—”

“Just don’t make it obvious or overdo it.”

Haechan frowns at the response, “I’m hurt that you really don’t trust me with this plan. I won’t do either of those things because once I push him into Y/N, her latte will spill on her shirt, PTSD, am I right?” He jokingly elbows Jeno’s side but stops when he sees no reaction from him so he continues, “Okay, after that, you party pooper, that’ll give Jisung the opportunity to fix what happened the first time and apologize by helping her out! See, isn't it a great plan?”

“Well… a great plan wouldn't include making it worse for him because now she'll end up with a second stained outfit and no caramel latte which may I remind you, Jaemin paid for that. Also, shouldn't we at least let Jisung in about this?”

Annoyed with Jeno's constant protests, Haechan shoves the round black serving tray in his friend's arms and pushes him outside the swinging doors in Jisung's direction, “That'll just ruin the authentic reaction, so just trust me, he's gonna thank us for this. Now, go get ‘em, tiger!”

“But I really think we sh—”

Once pushed outside, Jeno is suddenly met with Jisung's front and his sentence never gets finished. The younger one jumps at the close proximity.

“God! Geez, Jeno!”

The older one only gives a small smile, almost resembling a puppy before apologizing, “My bad, Ji. Hey, uh—” Jeno's eyes shift to the round tray which Jisung follows, “Order number 89 is ready, can you serve their drinks to their table for me?”

Jeno tries his best to stay convincing but it only makes Jisung raise one of his eyebrows in suspicion, “And why can't you serve it?”

That one simple question causes Jeno's brain cogs to stop working because his attempt to be convincing is now replaced with hesitant stutters.

“Uh, well, you see…”

Back in the employee's area, Haechan is watching Jeno's performance behind the swinging doors and is left impatient because of how bad he's doing. He lets out a quiet groan before walking out to help him. He stands behind the helpless man and puts his hands on his shoulders as a show of support.

“It's time for Jeno's break, Sungie. That's why he needs you to take his place.”

Haechan's tone sounds a little bit too casual and it leads Jisung to glance back and forth between both of his friends. Though he's still confused by Jeno’s sudden change in behavior, Haechan sounded normal and that was enough to convince him.

“Oh. Okay. Jeno, why couldn't you just say that then?”

Jeno shrugs instead of giving a verbal answer out of fear that he’ll make the situation more obvious.

Jisung gets the round tray from Jeno’s hands and walks over to the metal counter and places the finished caramel latte and iced Americano on the tray. Just before he’s about to walk out of the working station, he eyes his friends once more. Jeno’s still anxious while Haechan gives a tight-lipped smile.

They're acting weird. But then again, that's normal.

He scans the place for a table with table number 89, once spotting it, he begins to walk over, his hands carefully holding the tray to avoid it spilling. As he’s walking up to the table, he recognizes Jaemin but sees he’s accompanied by a woman. Your back is facing him and your hair isn’t familiar to him.

Is he… on a date? Jisung thinks.

But right when he reaches the table, you and Jaemin look over, and the next thing you know, your drinks spill on it… and your outfit. Again.

Neither of you has time to react because Jisung’s panicked placing of napkins and apologies distract you. “I am… so sorry. You guys can have drinks for free. I’ll pay for—” That’s when he finally sees you. Y/N.

Oh shit.

And you snap. “Great, another ruined outfit. Are you doing this on purpose, like, do you enjoy this or something?” You bitterly dab the multiple napkins in your hand, trying your best to lessen the spill from spreading on your outfit. Your malice tone from Johnny’s party makes its appearance once again.

Similar to what happened during your interaction at Johnny’s, Jisung is just as confused as to why you’re being so difficult when his attempt to help you is purely an act done out of generosity.

“What the hell is your problem? Do you seriously think that lowly of me?”

You take your focus away from your shirt to look at the now defensive young man in front of you in disbelief, “Yeah, I do. This is your second time doing this, and the first time, you didn’t even apologize!”

Jisung rubs his forehead with his hand in distress, he becomes more visibly fed up the more your anger spews out at him, “Y/N, I’m sorry, alright? Just let me help you, please stop fighting it.”

But his eagerness to help is what leads you to crack even more.

“Jisung, can you just leave?! I don’t want or need your help.”

And you guess, him too, because the thing you know, he can’t take it anymore and spits out his anger right there in the middle of the coffee shop, “You know what, fine. I tried to be nice and somehow gain your kindness back but you are making this so difficult. If you wanna stay stubborn, then have it your way. Stay fucking stubborn.”

He ends with the slam of the semi-latte-drenched napkins on your and Jaemin’s table before storming out to the back of the shop, his mind completely shutting out the murmurs from the watching customers. Your breathing stops when you watch him walk away, and in the peripheral of your eye, you see Jaemin looking at you. Why does this feel embarrassing? Why are you regretting yelling at him?

“Jisung!”

Your world blurs out again, the only sounds heard are from the swinging doors opening in and out along with the shouts and movement from Haechan and Jeno as they chase after the stupid drummer boy. For your benefit, it gives you time to fully indulge in what the heck just happened and ignore those talking around you.

You mentally replay him getting mad at you over and over. He said it in such a manner that results in you having a guilty lump in your throat and your brain almost tells you to run after him and apologize. You’ve never seen that side of him before, though, you haven’t seen much with your small number of interactions.

But your pride matters more. If he wants stubborn, then you’ll show him stubborn.

previous ☆ masterlist ☆ next

note: RAAHAHA their hatred is finally deep. thank the lord!! i had sm writer's block w coming up with this chapter but i'm honestly really happy w how this turned out :)) we welcome their enemies era with love and open arms

🎫: @idkwhatursayinh @sunghoonsgfreal @multifandomania @nanaxwi @odxrilove @sourrpatched @hancafe @chaellaa @dojaejunging @jising-jisang-jisung @heheheeral @haechansbbg @renjunsversion @seunghancore @woshixinqgiu @jiiieun @pinknjm

140 notes · View notes

darielivalyen · 8 months

Text

"Well then, allow me to introduce myself properly." The cow steps back gracefully and curtsies, a playful twinkle in her eye. "I am known by many names, but you may call me the Holy Cow. Think of me as your fairy auntie, here to offer guidance and a sprinkle of whimsy."

Everbloom is a cozy fantasy game set on the idyllic Everbloom Isle, a place where the charm of a simpler life and the warmth of a close-knit community come together. In this tranquil world, you're invited to slow down, cherish the small moments, and find joy in building connections and creating a space where everyone feels at home.

Your journey centers on the dream of opening a teahouse, an aspiration deeply influenced by your longing for independence and a meaningful life. This dream becomes a reality with the inheritance of your grandmother's house on Everbloom Isle. Here, in a setting far removed from the bustle of city life and your family's expectations, you begin the delicate process of building a new life for yourself.

Are you ready to leave behind the monotony and dullness of daily life and build the teahouse of your dreams on Everbloom Isle?

Play as male, female, or nonbinary.

Choose your appearance and personality.

Romance or befriend one of three distinctive characters: a brave knight seeking a new purpose, a mischievous forest guardian who finds joy in life's lighter moments, or an enigmatic elf with a complex past, seeking solace and clarity on Everbloom Isle.

Create and customize your own teahouse.

Cultivate and enhance your grandmother's garden.

Explore Everbloom Isle in search of unique tea saplings.

Interact with a host of quirky characters, from the whimsical Holy Cow and her not-at-all terrible fish choir to giant turtles, winged wolves, and enigmatic fernlings.

Follow a dynamic quest from the Holy Cow that will challenge you to build friendships, honor your grandmother's legacy, and expand your collection of unique teas.

Sir Castian/Dame Castilla Honeycutt

Personality: brave, honorable, old-fashioned, bashful. Blurb: In a land where swords are replaced by teacups, Cast(), a knight accustomed to battles and quests, struggles to find his/her role. Everbloom Isle, with its whimsical ways, challenges him/her to redefine what it means to be a hero. Can you help him/her weave his/her knightly virtues into the fabric of your new home?

Narciso/Narissa Roseblade

Personality: mischievous, lighthearted, adventurous, non-committal. Blurb: Nar()'s presence on Everbloom Isle is like a breeze through the Elder Tree's leaves – light, unpredictable, and full of life. His/her playful antics and seemingly carefree nature captivate those around him/her. Yet, there's a depth in his/her eyes suggesting more than just whimsy. Will you be the one who figures out what really inspires his/her eternal dance through the grove?

Ideru/Ideri Nightingale

Personality: calculating, composed, solitary, adaptable. Blurb: Ider() arrives at Everbloom Isle cloaked in an aura of intrigue, his/her quiet nature standing in stark contrast to the isle’s vibrancy. Amidst the isle's welcoming community, his/her enigmatic presence stirs a sense of curiosity. Will you be the one who digs into his/her mysterious past and discovers what brings him/her to Everbloom?

PLAY EVERBLOOM | FORUM | TUMBLR

#Everbloom #darielivalyen #interactive fiction #cozy #if #cozy fantasy #new project #interactive novel #synopsis #announcment #choicescript

201 notes · View notes

silversodas · 4 months

Text

The Fairly Odd Parents: A New Wish Observations

What actually sold me on giving this series a solid chance, was the theme song, why? Because for me it showed what the series is attempting to be, something that’s paying homage to the source material while being it’s own thing and knowing what it wants to be.

The original theme song is categorized as Electric Swing or Light Jazz. This new theme song sounds like straight up Swing and it SLAPS!

The Set Up

So Hazel Wells moves to the city with her parents for her Dads job and at the same time her older brother and best friend Antony has left for college. Leaving Hazel overwhelmed but still trying to put on a brave face for her family. Not long after arriving they are visited by their new next door neighbors

Cosmo and Wanda are masquerading as a retired human couple

Lol one of the gifts in the welcome basket Cosmo gives them is a jar of pennies. In some places it’s a thing to leave pennies as gifts for fairies, I wonder if Cosmo thought it was a custom human gift

The concept of the parents are pretty interesting, especially their jobs.

Angela is a therapist and author, with all of the non self awareness fairy world had going on her insight could definitely be interesting if she somehow finds out. she is also pretty open minded and non judgmental, not being off put by Cosmo and Wanda’s weird behavior and inviting them in

Marcus is a paranormal scientist, which instantly makes Cosmo and Wanda nervous but what makes him interesting is that he didn’t go in the direction I thought he was going. I thought he was going to go full FOP writing fashion and him basically say he was looking for fairies. But no, he is just wanting to learn the unexplained and mostly about ghost. I don’t know the fact that he is presented as a friend to Cosmo and Wanda who could be a potential obstacle because of the interest that are apart of his character is a lot more interesting then if he was presented as a blatantly obvious obstacle and that’s his only purpose as a character. ( not saying it was bad when FOP did it, they did it in a way that was funny just not to compelling)

Hazel figures out they are magic because both Cosmo and Wanda are piss poor at hiding it but Hazel actually completely drops it after being unable to get her parents to see it

Angela and Marcus actually make pretty good foils for Cosmo and Wanda they are both just completely normal people who highlight Cosmo and Wanda’s colorfulness just as they highlight Angela and Marcus’s normalcy. Hazel, Marcus, and Angela seem to be emotionally intelligent people and it makes them enjoyable and honestly is refreshing

This girl has more emotional maturity then I ever dreamed of having at 10, she keeps her brave face until she hears that Antony can’t come visit till the holiday brake, she has an understandable brake down and her parents feel really bad they are having to change so much so fast for her.

She almost runs away until Cosmo and Wanda catch her (which is interesting because when she passed them on her way up stairs they where to busy with their mail to pay attention to her, but when she is about to run away their full attention snapped to her. Their “child is about to do something stupid”senses must have been tingling) she relents and vents to them about her troubles and that she just wanted to see her brother.

Cosmo and Wanda seem to have a Cathartic moment in realizing that Hazel needed help and that they realized that they were ready to be Godparents again. It was this moment I was like “yeah, you guy’s definitely retired because letting go of Timmy hurt you”

It’s when after everything is resolved and Hazel visits their vary magical and whimsical apartment (I bought the episodes on YouTube but they wouldn’t let me take screen shots) that they reveal that they had been on a 10,000 year sabbatical through time and space during their retirement. They don’t bring up Timmy, just say that they used to be Godparents to kids but then retired for 10,000 years (and no it’s not 10,000 years into the future, they were just time traveling). They actually nervously ask Hazel if she would consider being their Godkid which she enthusiastically agrees too. Don’t make pacts with fairies kids

How it’s going so far

Something interesting to note that while they never bring up Timmy, he kinda haunts the background I think they still have some unprocessed grief for Timmy that may get unpacked. I herd this show is supposed to get an overarching story and after seeing a few episodes I can tell that it’s staying consistent that it’s not completely episodic even if it’s a slow build ( as slow as it’s allowed to be anyway)

It looks like their human personas are their default disguises, that has the potential to be interesting in future episodes

I can tell that Hazel is still not 100% close with Cosmo and Wanda right off the bat, she is still getting to know them, like it was actually so enduring to watch her formally thank them for playing with her. Cosmo and Wanda are also trying to ease themselves in for her sake, but it’s clear that even though they are out of practice they are all in for this little girl and are in Godparent mode. Wanda is never not in Mom mode, and Cosmo already knows all of her special interests off the top of his head in the short time he has known her.

I don’t know, I just saw that a lot of people have been “rightfully” cautious about this show or have written it off, and just wanted to share some things that I thought made it interesting and made it worth giving a look

There are some who are a bit hopeful because one of the writers for infinity train is on the writing team so who knows

#fop #the fairly oddparents #the fairly oddparents a new wish #fop a new wish #fop a new wish spoilers #not the stuff I usually write about #but it did catch my interest #idk I just hope this didn’t get to rambley

136 notes · View notes

spacefairyhut · 1 year

Text

Custom color palette space fairy adopt for @portal-oddities

Stats:

Height: 23 cm Magical abilities: Calming/Hypnotic Spores Physical features: Antennas

#space fairy #space fairy adoptables #custom space fairy #portal-oddities #space fairies

2 notes · View notes

randoimago · 1 year

Text

Day 9 - Fake Dating

Fandom: Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

Character(s): Link

Type of Request: 31 Days of Oc-Trope-R

Note(s): The requester wanted Reader helping Link fend off his suitors and I love this idea so much. Also, I make Link talk a tiny bit in this (like only a few words at a time) Also Also I felt so bad for Paya while writing this ngl (sorry Paya!!)

You blamed it on how nice he is to everyone. Oh, you need ten apples? He's doing it. One hundred crickets to impress a girl? Done. It's insane what he'll do (you're still annoyed that you watched him cut grass for hours to get the crickets to only actually give the guy ten).

But then he was going to Karkariko Village next. He seemed nervous as you two traveled on the new horse he tackled and won over. Usually, he liked using his Sheika sleight, but you both quickly found out that you are not transported with him, and he had to hurry to get back to you before the Guardian shot you. It was not a fun time.

"What's wrong, Link?" You ask as your arms are wrapped around his waist while he directed the horse. He's quiet for a bit as he ponders the question. Or maybe he heard you and was choosing to be quiet like he sometimes does. A sigh is heard from him as he looks over his shoulder. You did not realize how closely you were holding him and tried to put some space between you.

"Be my girlfriend," he says. No lead in, no 'hey I have a favor', just a flat-out proposal and your jaw dropped. Link quickly realized his mistake and pink crossed his cheeks as he shook his head. "Pretend! Pretend to be my girlfriend!"

You had a million questions and were starting to ask before Link filled you in. Apparently almost every girl and woman (some men too) in Karkariko village has a crush on Link. Well, maybe not Impa, but that's still a large number. And Link does not know how many excuses he can give so he wants you to pretend to be his girlfriend just to keep them off of him.

And you agreed.

You don't know what came across your mind to agree, but you did. You and Link talked about things like how you started dating or other couple questions that might be asked. It was a bit weird, but ended up being fun? Mostly because he's a dork and you teased him quite a bit when he talked about how he didn't realize a lizalfo tail couldn't be used as food for some reason and a fairy had to save him after eating the dubious food.

When you make it to the village, you don't quite understand what Link needed help fending off. The people seemed nice, some kids wanted to play tag (and you found it adorable how Link did so), and there was a shrine that Link stole the apples from. It wasn't until you and Link went into a shop that you realized.

"Why hello, Link, here to fill up your quiver?" She practically purrs and your jaw drops at how much confidence she has while Link pushes you forward.

"Um, actually, we would like some arrows please," you say, and she glances to you in disappointment at you being between her and Link, who she still tries to eye as a piece of meat.

"And you are?" She asks, her tone a bit bored, but you can tell she tries her best to be nice to a new customer. Even if you're a bit annoyed with how she's treating you.

"His partner," you tell her, and she pauses as Link breathes a sigh of relief. She glances between the two of you and, without thinking, Link holds your hand.

Sure, he's held hands with you before. Mostly so you didn't fall off a cliff or when the wind was really bad. But this context felt different. Well, you're fake dating so it really shouldn't be that weird, but the issue is that you liked it.

You hear her mutter something about "typical men breaking a woman's heart" but you ignore it as Link buys up about every arrow in the store. You thank her as he drags you outside and sighs.

"'Fill up your quiver'." You are so quick to tease him, and his face goes a dark red as he puts his hands over his face to hide. You're interrupted from your next teasing as you hear a gasp and you glance over and see a, well, a very pretty girl.

"Hello Paya," Link greets politely to the girl while continuing to hide his face and her face gets redder than his is. And you realize that she likes him too. It's difficult not to realize it as Link gives you a look for help and you smile gently at the girl, Paya.

"Hi," you say, and she looks to you in confusion as her eyes glance between you and Link and how close you stand together. And you watch as her heart seems to shatter, but she keeps giving a smile. Your own heart aches with her reaction.

"Hello, I'm Paya. It was nice seeing you again, Link." It was sweet how she greeted you if only tears weren't forming in her eyes as she quickly walked off and Link sighed, muttering that he'll have to talk to her later.

You keep walking through the village with Link, continuing to be his fake girlfriend but the smile on your face felt faker. Your mind kept going back to the shattered look on Paya's face and you imagined yourself in her shoes. Link is your friend; one you've traveled with for so long. How would you react if he suddenly showed up with someone he looked really close to? You didn't like those thoughts.

Eventually you and him walk out of the village, going to where the fairy shrine is so he can catch some just in case. And you see the shining lights surrounding him and how handsome his face looks as he glances in the pool of the fountain. And you realize your "just friends" thoughts are full of crap.

You're silent as you two walk away from the fountain, following the path to a little overlook. Link sighs in relief as he sits on the ground, taking a break from the excitement while you stay standing and overthinking.

"What's wrong?" Link asks and you hate how perceptive he is. Or at least, when it comes to you, he seems overly preceptive. You force a smile and sit next to him.

"I was thinking of Paya, she looked heartbroken," you tell him and Link sighs at that.

"I know." Is his reply and you can hear the heaviness in his tone, as if he also feels guilt, but he doesn't say anything afterwards. Nothing about telling the truth or even hoping she'll be okay. You know earlier he said he'd talk to her, but you don't know what that entails. The only thing you're thinking of right now is, you don't want to end up like her, the poor girl.

"It'd be unfair if she learned that we are lying about dating," you say and Link glances over at you, giving a slow nod. "So, we should actually date." His eyes look like they'll pop out of his head.

"What?!" You wince at his reaction and are about to apologize and start to think 'maybe I will end up like Paya' but then you see the massive blush on his face again.

"Well, we've traveled together for so long and-"

"Let's date." He cuts you off from the long speech you're about to give to explain your feelings. You're a bit annoyed by how quickly he recovered, but that goes away as you sigh and lean against him, something you did as friends but now it feels different, but a good different.

#randoimago 31 days of october #legend of zelda x reader #breath of the wild x reader #botw x reader #link x reader #botw link x reader #loz link x reader

217 notes · View notes

chaibewriting · 2 years

Text

MESSAGES.

A DOLLAR MAKE ‘IM HOLLER! (( pt. two ))

yandere! gang leader! sanemi shinazugawa x chubby! black! fem! reader x yandere! gang leader! bakugou katsuki

-> NOTES: after the previous fiasco, y/n goes back to living her life like normal. but what happens when she begins to receive messages and calls from unknown numbers? will the police help her?

-> WARNINGS: stalking, unknown numbers, sexual content, nonconsensual photo taking, paranoia, anxiety, threats, tanjiro got that glock on him at ALL times, 6k+ words.

PREV NEXT

THANKFULLY, after the two hotheads had left the restaurant, you had no other problems to deal with for the rest of the night. However, as you finished off your shift for the evening, the parting words from the silver haired man had stuck with you like glue. The thought of dealing with them again made you frustrated as well as fearful. Despite being well-trained in basic self-defense and having the ability to stick up for yourself and others when deemed necessary, you were still allowed to be afraid. Something was wrong with the two of them and you certainly didn’t want to find out what it was.

Hours had passed, the customers had trickled down to none, leaving yourself and those on the evening shift to clean up like usual for the day. Nothing out of the ordinary, and before you knew it, you were locking the restaurant up and waving everyone off, urging them to stay safe on their way home and that you’d be looking forward to seeing them the next day. That was one thing you were happy about, you actually enjoyed your job, even with the obvious drawbacks that came with it at times. With a huff, you messed around with your jacket and tugged your bag a little closer to your body, beginning your walk down the street towards your apartment building. It was bordering on being pitch black, with a sprinkle of fairy dust in the sky, aka stars, but you were fortunately able to see your surroundings with ease thanks to the street lights— even with their eerie flickers that needed to be taken care of by the ctiy. You would have taken the bus or a taxi to your apartment, but there was really no use since it took you about three minutes to get there by foot. You were saving money and time so it was worth it, even if you had to walk past lightless allies and abandoned buildings. You haven’t had a problem with walking home so you could only assume you were safe. Plus, you didn’t exactly have a car to drive anyways.

With a huff of relief, nearly cringing at the sight of the cloud of heat suddenly coming from your mouth and colliding with the cold winter air, you were pleased to see you were nearing your building. And once you got to the parking lot, you walked towards the stairs and began to trudge up them to go right to your door. All while doing this, you failed to notice a particular black hybrid car following behind you from a safe enough distance to not alarm you of its presence. The need to get inside and bundle up left you ignorant of the watchful eyes that were taking careful consideration of where you lived, what door you had walked to, and how long it took you to find your keys, open the door, and step inside.

As soon as you shut the front door behind you, you dropped your keys onto the tiny table you had nearby the door and kicked off your shoes, slipping into your comfy slippers so you could shuffle around the house, warming up your hands by rubbing them together. Making your way deeper into your comfortable home, you flipped the lights on and found the wall-mounted dial that controlled the AC and heater, turning the temperature a bit so your living space could heat up. It was about ten when you’d arrived home and that prompted a quick but needed shower, mostly for clearing your nerves and getting rid of the build up from today’s extremities. A good shower or lengthy bath always had a calming effect on you, but you were a little too eager to wait for a bath, you had to call your friend before the day ended.

Once you’d gotten yourself cleaned up and changed into different clothing, you made your way into your bedroom with our phone and flopped on top of the bed, already dialing up your closest friend. A couple of dial tones later and the phone was picked up, much to your surprise and relief.

“Moshi mosh?” A familiar and soft voice inquired.

“Nezuko! You’re awake, thank goodness. Hi, how are you?”

A brief pause was heard, which was then followed by a cheerful hum, you could almost hear the smile in her voice as she responded to you.

“(Y/N)! I’m doing great. And yourself? I hope you had a nice day at work… When are you going to come visit Tanjiro and I?”

With a nervous chuckle, you rubbed the back of your neck, sitting up on your bed to turn your phone onto speaker phone to continue the friendly conversation.

“Ah, I’m not sure yet, I may be able to come this weekend if I don’t end up burying myself in work, y’know? How’s work going for you? I haven’t been by the flower shop in a while.. I should stop by sometime.”

“You should! Come and have tea with me sometime, the shop’s been doing pretty great even if we’re not in the most… aesthetic part of the city. I’ll even give you some flowers on the house, and no I won’t take no for an answer.”

Her words made you remember one of the main reasons why you had called in the first place, causing you to clear your voice before responding once again.

“I know I know, I promise I’ll come and annoy you one of these days… I also wanted to ask you about something. Do you know anything about the, er, uh… I believe they’re called The Explosives or something like that.” Following your question was a pregnant pause. Something about the lack of response on Nezuko’s end made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, you were worried that you may have offended her or something, but it’s not like you could see her face. You had begun to overthink so much that you nearly missed your friend’s response.

“The Explosivos…? Yes, yes, I know them, only a little bit about them though. They, uh, run this part of town, apparently… I don’t know much about them other than that you shouldn’t get on their bad side, there’s no telling how they’ll react. They’re a gang of aggressive people run by two equally aggressive men. I think… Tanjiro may know more than me since he’s a detective and all, you’ll have to ask him, Y/N.” After fully absorbing her words, you stiffened immediately and shuddered, those two couldn’t be… they couldn’t, there was no way, but you had to find some way to make sure.

“Nezu, do you happen to know what they look like..?”

“Hmm? What do they look like…? Well, I’m not sure, I think I’ve… heard… big brother…”

Oh no, oh no, oh no. She was falling asleep! And once Nezuko drifted off to sleep there was no way to wake her up until she woke up on her own, you had to get her to answer now before she passed out.

“Tanjiro said what? What’d he say?? Please don’t go to sleep, Nezu!” You pleaded, nearly leaning off the edge of the bed trying to hear what else she was going to say. Nothing. She’d fallen asleep.

With a sound of frustration, you rubbed at your temples and hung up the phone, plugging it up onto the charger near your bedside. You’d have to call Tanjiro tomorrow instead, hopefully he could fill you in on the missing details.

…

Did the universe hate you this much? The next day after your call with Nezuko you had tried to reach Tanjiro, only to find out that he’d gone on a mountain retreat with some of his cop buddies, for some training camp of sorts where the phone reception was shit. And what were the odds? He’d be gone for a week. You can only hope that your assumption was wrong and the two men you’d had to deal with yesterday were just some lackies from the group and no one important. It’s not like you could do anything aside from that, and so, you continued on with your life like normal, your week was the same as they always were, and before long you had completely forgotten about the whole ordeal. You were far too busy with work to dwell on what had unfolded a week ago, you had even forgotten to call Tanjiro to ask about the heads of the group. Being in the business of customer service made situations like that happen more offen than naught, so it was truly no surprise that you had forgotten all about those two men who’d disturbed your business. And that… would be the beginning of your downfall.

Just as a sense of normalcy for you was being reached yet again, everything came crashing down on you one morning when you were getting up to get dressed for another weekend shift. You were planning on going to see Nezuko after your shift to surprise her since you hadn’t met up in a couple of weeks, it was something to look forward to so you were in an especially good mood that day. In the middle of tugging on your work pants, you were interrupted by the sound of your ringtone and being a little spunkier than usual, you went to retrieve your phone and answered it without looking at the caller ID, speaking rather chipper into the phone.

“Hello?”

For a moment, there was silence, but then you heard the sound of heavy breathing, making you wonder if you were hearing things.

“Uh… Hello? Can you hear me?”

More heavy breathing.

“… I think you’ve got the wrong number, goodbye..!” You hung up afterwards, pulling your phone away from your face to go and look back at the call log, frowning when you saw that the call was from an unknown number. You were about to tuck it into your pocket after tugging your pants on the rest of the way when your phone rang again.

Unknown.

Once again, you answered the phone, but you were a little harsher this time with your tone.

“Hello? Who is this? This isn’t funny!”

“…”

“Don’t call me again.”

Yet again, you hung up. And then it rang again, only a second after you had successfully ended the call. Quickly, you declined it. And then they called again.

End.

Again.

End.

Again.

End.

Again.

End.

Again.

This was beginning to piss you off, someone must be pranking you. With a slight tick in your brow you quickly blocked the phone number and shoved your phone into your pocket, continuing with your day, your happy mood was ruined. But, you were going to continue on with your day as usual and forget about the weird game of phone tag, you pushed it to the back of your mind, and you were doing just fine until you got off work early. Since you were so work-oriented, you didn’t bother to check your phone often, and you were surprised to see a text message notification waiting for you across your lock screen as you started making your way to the bus stop so you could ride down to Nezuko’s Flower Shop. Since you didn’t have notifications previewing on, you decided to read it once you got safely to the bus stop where you took a seat on the weird metal bench underneath the bus shelter that looked more like a sculpture than a seat; it was the city’s way of making the seat as uncomfortable as possible so that the homeless wouldn’t sleep on it. They should have been focusing on more important things, but you digress. Unlocking your phone, you entered into the messaging app and opened your most recent text, having to do a double-take at the tiny words on the screen that greeted you from a number you didn’t know.

I don’t appreciate you blocking me. No worries though, I’ve got other ways of reaching you. I’m keeping my promise after all.

You reread the message a couple times, trying to understand what it meant and if it was for you. And then, your blood ran cold when those three little dots popped up, signaling that they were typing a new message. You felt anxiety swell up inside you upon seeing it and you wanted to quickly hit the home button, but it was too late, the message had already been sent, popping up and nearly making you jump out of your own skin.

I can see you read my message. Why aren’t you responding? Block me again and see what happens.

The threatening undertone of the text message had you quickly exiting out of the app, right as the bus had pulled up and opened its doors. Hurriedly, you stood up and climbed onto the bus, ignoring the incoming swarm of texts as you scanned your bus pass and went to take a seat in the back. Rosa Parks wouldn’t have approved but you were far too stunned to think about her right now.

After getting situated, you turned your phone to look at your lock screen again, only to audibly gasp at the amount of text message notifications you’d gotten in the span of less than three minutes. Whoever was messaging you was demanding your attention, wanting you to respond back to them since you’ve read their messages. Who was this? What did they want? With a sense of frustration and bewilderment, you opened the messaging app again and answered one of the many texts they’d sent you.

Who is this? Do I know you? What do you want???

Milliseconds later, you saw your message was read and then those three little dots popped up yet again. With a mingle of many different emotions, mostly anxiety, you waited for them to answer.

They had to have the wrong number. Who could be messaging you like thi—

Woooooooooooow.

How could you forget about me, Y/N? Especially after all the effort I’ve put into learning about you.

As soon as you read that, you blocked the number, though you subconsciously knew that that wouldn’t stop whoever from continuing to find a way to contact you. That, however, didn’t stop you from turning off your phone and avoiding the problem all together, eager to get to Nezuko’s Flower Shop and find some comfort in her calm yet cheery personality.

That afternoon, you finally made it there, and were immediately greeted by open arms and bright eyes, eager to talk to you about anything and everything while the two of you shared a pot of tea she had just freshly steeped. Her presence always seemed to calm you, no matter what situation you were in, you were always grateful that you had met her back in school, the two of you had been close ever since. In an attempt to forget the strange messages, you didn’t bother to bring them up to Nezuko and instead, the two of you discussed other things, such as your work, hobbies, and the new shipment of sunflowers that Nezuko had gotten from the cute farmer boy Zenitsu.

It was a nice change of pace from working all the time, spending some time with Nezuko and having your friendly talks, the two of you teasing each other about romance and whatnot. With ease, the deeper you sunk into your happy conversation and with every new mug of tea poured, you were shoving this new development further and further away from the main track of your mind. And for good reason. What were you supposed to do in a situation like this?

…

Texts. Calls. Voicemails. Hundreds upon hundreds a day. You were drowning in the paranoia that was beginning to eat away at your sanity. How many days has it been since this started? When was it ever going to end? After that evening you had departed from Nezuko’s flower shop after rejecting her attempts to drive you home, you had made the mistake of turning your phone back on and immediately regretted doing so when you saw the new rush of missing calls and messages.

You look pretty today. You should wear those jeans more often. See image attachment.

Who are you dressing up for like that? Wish I could suck on those soft looking thighs. Bet that fat pussy of yours tastes just like honeysuckle.

Do you like jewelry? I saw this and thought of you. Want me to buy it for you? See image attachment.

Thinking about you and that smart mouth of yours wrapped around my cock. Are you a spitter or a swallower? Think it’d be hot either way. Bet you slobber too, don’t you?

I was thinking about you today. I remembered the way you smelled and that’s all I can think about. What kind of shampoo do you use?

The messages you got were a constant rollercoaster, going back and forth, it was almost like they had two distinct personalities. It was unnerving.

The voicemails mirrored the strangeness. Heavy breathing. Groaning. Grunting. Whispered curses. Suspicious clapping. You were starting to think you were going to get gray hair after dealing with this shit for so long, even though in reality it was only a week.

No matter how many numbers you’ve blocked, the messages continue without pause. The threats that came with you blocking the numbers had stopped all together because, at the end of the day, they still managed to call, and text you from an entirely new number, each and every time.

You could have gone to the police, you should have, but what were you supposed to do? As long as the messages don’t escalate, you should be fine.. Right?That’s what you keep telling yourself at least, no matter how unsafe you feel, even in your own home, even when you go back and forth from work to home. Things could be worse, you remind yourself as you head to work again for the umpteenth time, ignoring the newest spam of messages that were no doubt going to try and ruin your morning. Ever since you started receiving the unwanted attention you’ve been extra vigilant with every move you made, but you weren’t going to let the weirdness impact you too much, you kept your work schedule and your already struggling social life underwraps— all while ignoring whatever was sent on your phone unless it was from someone you knew. You hadn’t told anyone about this, not even Nezuko, you didn’t want to worry her. And perhaps you should have told Tanjiro because of his occupation, but you didn’t want to make either of them become worried on your behalf, they both had a tendency to be rather protective over you, which you appreciated, but sometimes they babied you and that was annoying.

As you began to walk to work, you started to reminisce about your High School days. You’d just moved to Musutafu from your hometown, it was… an adjustment, improving your Japanese and becoming better adapted to a new culture. You were different. You stood out. Sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad way, but mostly in an uncomfortable way. People were mean, especially teenagers, you hadn’t realized just how ruthless and abusive they could be, teachers brushed it all off and swept it under the rug. No wonder why the death rates were so high. After a month of being at your High School you were convinced that there were no more good people in the world, that was until Nezuko had appeared, she was the new girl after you and people flocked to her like moths to a flame. You did feel a bit jealous at first, but then, unexpectedly she had approached you with a look of awe— something you were used to as people looked at you like some kind of animal at a zoo, but there was something about her gaze and her shy smile that you couldn’t look away from. The soft spoken girl with unnaturally pink eyes introduced herself to you and asked to be friends, while also eagerly asking you things about yourself. The two of you had hit it off with surprising ease and Nezuko was your first real friend since moving there. You had become inseparable, and with that, it wasn’t a surprise when you had ended up meeting her older brother, Tanjiro, who quickly took you under his wing as yet another younger sibling. Having the two of them as your friends has been quite a blessing.

As you approach the front door of the restaurant, you pull out your keys and unlock the doors, sighing as you step inside and begin to set the place up, waiting for the others to come in for the little-later-in-the-morning shift. Who the fuck wants wings and beer at 9am anyways? You didn’t open your franchise until 11:30 am. You began to wipe off the tables and leathered seats, simply for sanitary reasons, and went back to your nostalgic daydreams.

Being best friends with the steadily-growing popular new girl wasn’t always gumdrops and rainbows. Absolutely not, especially with you looking the way you did. Not only were you drastically different from others in this country based on skintone alone, you were also bigger than most, especially in this country, making you a prime target for bullying. Nezuko hadn’t always been around when girls in your class would come to pick fights with you or try and belittle your character, and Tanjiro was an entire class above you so he definitely couldn’t be around all the time either. You didn’t have a problem with defending yourself when proven necessary but that didn’t stop people from pushing you or shoving you a little too roughly into doors or walls or into the corners of desks.

You stopped daydreaming for a moment when you heard the bell at the front ring which meant someone had entered, looking up from the spot on the table you’d been buffing for the last five minutes, you smiled at the sight of Pony and gave her a quick greeting, which she returned with a smile and went right to work. Moving away from the table you’d buffed to perfection, you moved to another table and dove back into your memories.

A quiet chuckle escaped you when you remembered what happened when Nezuko had invited you over to her home to study, and when you were heading up the stairs to her room her eyes just happened to see the bruise on your thigh that your school uniform skirt failed to cover. As soon as the two of you were in the privacy of her bedroom, she began to ask you questions. They were simple questions, but somehow she ended up pulling the truth out of you and you spilled everything to her, telling her about the snarky bitches that were always coming up to you behind her back to bully you, which resulted in bruises like the one she had seen. You weren’t 100% sure what happened once you’d told everything to her since all she did was hug you and change the subject but after that, she was always by your side, even more than before, plus, you saw a lot more of Tanjiro. It had gotten to the point where neither of them would even let you walk anywhere off and on campus without either of them by your side. You wouldn’t want to imagine what would happen if you told them you had a stalker now. Sure, they were both grown ass adults with careers but you never underestimated their protection skills, you were an unofficial yet official member of the family after all.

By the time you’d finished your reflection, you were back in a decent enough mood to work with a small smile on your face, acting as the hardened backbone for your girls as the day went on. You couldn’t have asked for a happier life, even with this creep situation you’ve been put in, but you wouldn’t let it take control of your life. As far as you could tell, it was probably harmless (but still perverted), it was just someone hiding behind a screen and sending you vulgar messages, with the occasional dick pic here and there, or… pictures of you walking home at night or leaving Nezuko’s flower shop or pictures of expensive jewelry in a jewelry store. You’ve seen shows about stalker cases like this in fictional crime shows, the police don’t do anything until the person being stalked gets their home broken into or if the stalker gets up close and personal or if— the stalker kidnaps them. You shudder at the thought and quickly shake your head, remembering where you were at at the moment. It was a little later in the evening but you were still at work, you had plenty of things to busy yourself with and distract yourself from the impending danger. And so, that’s what you did, you buried yourself in your work like you usually did whenever you needed to dissociate. It worked most of the time, even now.

But, in doing so, that meant that time sped up a little faster for you, and you were forced to face the music after running on auto-pilot all day. You don’t even remember cleaning the tables and saying goodbye to everyone, when you finally came to, you were back where you started, only this time you were locking up and the sky was dark, not bright like it was when you first got here. It was time to walk home, again. Which meant you had to speed walk all the way back to your place while simultaneously looking over your shoulder, searching for something out of place or to see if anyone was following you.

Only when you got into the comfort of your own home did you let out a breath you’d been holding, haphazardly kicking off your shoes near the front door and peeling off your jacket to toss it into the hallway closet. After putting on your slippers, you decided to do your usual nightly routine, but instead of your usual shower you figured a bath wouldn’t be too bad. And so, you slipped into your bedroom and exhaled, enjoying the familiar smells that filled your nostrils, flipping on the light switch to watch as your bedroom was flooded with light. That’s when you saw it.

You sprinted out of your room and went into the kitchen, grabbing the biggest knife you had out of your kitchen as your weapon of choice. The adrenaline pumping through your veins, mingling with paranoia was making your entire body tremble but you had to confront the situation. You had to call someone. You were freaking out at this point and didn’t know if you'd be able to move an inch from where you were. Yanking your phone from your pants pocket, still holding the knife with your other hand, you backed up into a corner of the kitchen where you wouldn’t be blindsided and unlocked your phone. You nearly vomited on the floor when you saw the recent messages.

You should really get your locks changed, there’s a lot of crazy people out there, doll. I just want you to be safe. Did you like the present I got you? I think it compliments your skin pretty well. And use the money to buy yourself a car, I’m tired of seeing you walk around without any protection. Make sure it’s a white plate, none of those yellow plate shit cars

Your hold on your phone tightened and you looked up quickly towards the hallway where your bedroom door was, your door left ajar. What money? After turning the lights on the only thing you saw was a big, black velvet box in the middle of your bed, nothing else. What kind of stalker leaves money???

Switching out of the messaging app, you quickly chose Nezuko’s contact and started a facetime call with her. After a couple of rings and some silent prayers from you, she picked up the phone. In normal circumstances, you would have laughed at how ridiculous she looked with her panda-themed face mask on but right now you had no time to think of such trivial things.

“Y/N? You don’t usually facetime me, what’s up?”

“Nezu,” you began, instinctively whispering to her out of fear that your stalker was still in your home. “I think someone’s in my house and I don’t know what to do.”

There was a pause on her end as she stared at you in silence for a moment, trying to see if you were joking or not but then she got up and moved. “What do you mean? Are you still inside? Why aren’t you calling the police? I’m gonna tell Tanjiro to go to your place right now!” She had dropped her voice down to match your volume level while hurriedly walking around her shared home. You looked away from your phone to glance around your home as well to see if you’d see something you weren’t supposed to, and when you saw nothing you decided to speak up again, finally making the decision to tell her what’s been going on lately. “I-.. I’ve been dealing with a stalker who’s been sending me weird messages and calling me every day and sometimes they send me pictures of me doing things like watching home and going to work and-“

“Wait a goddamn motherfucking minute—“ Nezuko suddenly said, using all of the English curse words you’d taught her without even a lick of an accent. “You have a stalker and you didn’t tell anyone?? What the actual flying fuck, Y/N? I’m coming right now. Stay where you are and don’t hang up the phone. I’m gonna put myself on mute for a second so I can talk to Tanjiro but I’m still watching you, alright?” She said, muting her end of the facetime so she could hurry around her house. You watched as she moved around with purpose from a weird angle of her holding the phone so that it was pointed underneath her chin. She would occasionally glance down to make sure you were still there but eventually she came across Tanjiro, currently going over a case from work. You looked away from your phone screen for a moment to keep a lookout for any movement in your apartment or listen for anything suspicious. So far, there was nothing, it looked like it was just you here, but you weren’t stupid, you weren’t going to go and investigate by yourself. The best thing would be to wait for Nezuko and Tanjiro, even if you were halfway there to biting your nails clean off from sheer anxiety alone.

Just as she promised, the two of them had quickly shown up to your place and Nezuko remained on the phone with you the whole time. As soon as you saw that she and Tanjiro were literally right outside you hurried to the door, unlocked it, and yanked it open, letting the two of them come inside. Tanjiro came in first and silently motioned for the two of you to remain near the front door after it was closed and locked. He was currently in his pajamas since he’d rushed over here as soon as Nezuko told him of the situation and he drew his gun, holding it safely in front of him with the barrel facing downwards. Similar to what you’d seen on countless TV shows with police officers going into homes for raids, he began to stealthily check your apartment out, making sure that no one was lurking in any corners or was hidden somewhere in the dark. While he had disappeared down the hall to check out your bedroom and bathroom, Nezuko placed a hand onto the small of your back and rubbed a comforting circle there, hoping to ease your nerves even while you remained clutching the knife. The two of you waited there for what felt like hours in suspense, not hearing a thing, not even the sound of Tanjiro’s footsteps.

Perhaps you were on edge, rightfully so, but when he came back around the corner you couldn’t help but to bring the knife upwards, a little closer to you in case you needed to protect yourself. But, upon seeing it was just the personification of sunshine himself, you sighed, lowering the knife as he approached with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that, Y/N-chan, didn’t mean to scare you. I was coming back to tell you that no one’s here but I did grab the things off the bed.” He held up a gloved hand that was currently holding the box you saw earlier, along with a bright red envelope. “Are these the things that spooked you?” Seeing that there was no immediate danger, you lowered the knife completely to your side before nodding your head. The older man frowned at that, seeing how shaken you had become and nodded his head, speaking up again. “Let’s pack up some things for you and then go back to the house, I wanna hear more about this ‘stalker’ you’ve been dealing with lately.”

…

As much as you hated the idea of being babied by your two long time friends, you didn’t seem to mind all that much right now, currently sitting in between the duo of concerned siblings. Just as Tanjiro had proposed, you had decided to come completely clean to the two of them about the recent issues you’ve been having to deal with. It was awkward for you, showing them the vulgar messages and letting them listen to the nasty voicemails you had been sent over the span of a week. Tanjiro seemed especially disturbed by the things he was reading, wishing you had told him about this in the very beginning considering he was a police officer after all, and also saw himself as your older brother. Once you had shown them everything on your phone, Tanjiro put the ‘gifts’ down onto the coffee table where the three of you had been sitting on the floor in front of the living room couch. He still wore a set of black latex gloves, popping open the velvet box with caution to see what was inside. And then, almost with inappropriate comedic timing, the three of you gasped at the same time upon seeing the snowflake-cut citrine pendant with gold around it, a solid gold chain to match, sitting prettily in the case. You could only imagine how much it must have cost, which begged the question of how much money was in the envelope? It seemed that your brunet friend was asking the same question with the way he picked up the envelope to slowly peel it open after setting the velvety box down. And once it was open, he pinched the sides of it and pushed them inwards, causing the envelope to pop open in an oval shape, revealing the thick stack of yen that was more than you’d ever seen in your life. Silently, the three of you stared at the things in front of you, not daring to move or say a word. Tanjiro had seen his share of stalker cases but nothing like this.

That was an hour ago.

A few minutes after your group discovery, Tanjiro left the house to take the necklace and envelope of money down to the police station for processing, hoping that prints could be pulled. He told you and Nezuko to stay inside while he was gone and make sure that everything was locked, which neither of you hesitated to check. Once you were safely inside of their home, or as safely as you could be, Nezuko took you to her room where it was decided you’d share a bed for the time being. But for now, you couldn’t sleep, and neither could she. How could you? You were still shaken up about the whole ordeal. Someone had let themselves into your home, invaded your privacy, and was keeping tabs on you like you were their property. It was unsettling beyond belief and you were truly unsure of whether or not you’d be able to sleep a wink after this. However, you spoke too soon, it seemed that the adrenaline pumping its way through your blood had dissipated completely and you were beginning to crash from working so hard all day. Has Nezuko’s bed always been this comfortable? Before you knew it, you were drifting off into a deep sleep and watching the back of your eyelids, Nezuko soon followed after.

Your phone, placed on top of the dresser on the side of the room pushed up against the wall near the bedroom door lit up the darkened ceiling, displaying a message that you wouldn’t be able to miss the minute you woke up and checked it.

You really shouldn’t have gone to the cops, piggy. It’s not like they’re gonna do anything for you anyways. And going to your lil’ friend’s house ain’t gonna help you either. I know everywhere you go, everywhere you sleep. You can’t run away from me.

-> TAGLIST: @simpforerensattackontitan , @mehhhho3o , @onlyk4is , @winterlovessanemi

-> AUTHOR SPEAKS: y’know it’s serious if sweet lil’ baby nezuko starts cursin’… anywho, who do you guys think is sending the messages and gifts? hehehehe i bet y’all already know but you can’t tell who is who. gimme your best guesses!

679 notes · View notes

chelledoggo · 14 days

Text

that tiktok "fridgescaping" thing is a dumb trend.

like bro. the only thing that should be in a fridge... is food.

all that aesthetic junk you put in there is taking up space that could be taken up by more food.

i don't wanna have to maneuver my hand around fake succulents and fairy lights to get some milk.

if you wanna customize your fridge just get some cool-looking fridge magnets like the rest of us lol.

#shut up chelle

30 notes · View notes

foundress0fnothing · 1 month

Text

Summary: Looking to rebuild her self-esteem after a messy breakup, Feyre takes Mor up on her suggestion to visit a lingerie store.

~6.5k words, rated E, content warnings for mild dub-con, light bondage

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Happy birthday to my darling @popjunkie42!!! Thank you for being such a wonderful person and the best beta around. I hope you enjoy this smutty, goofy one-shot. I was planning to save it for feysand week, but it was done just in time for your birthday and I couldn’t resist. I cherish you and the feysand brainrot you've encouraged in me, and I'm so grateful for your friendship 💕🥰

“Just trust me, okay?” Mor had warned her on the drive over that La Cour des Cauchemars was, quote, “an experience,” but even so, as Feyre stood at the threshold of the boutique next to her friend and surveyed the labyrinthine space within, she suspected that Mor had not been entirely transparent about what exactly she meant by “experience.”

It was lovely, at least—surprisingly light and airy for a lingerie store, smelling of sea salt and citrus that, paired with the gauzy fabrics and fairy lights and burnished mirrors that were set up around the space, made the space feel sensual and inviting. With the store’s name, she had expected something dark and edgy, something that played up angst and lust in equal measure. But this…

Feyre shouldn’t have been surprised. It was exactly the kind of place that Mor would love—decadent and luxurious, slightly sinful, and, most importantly, expensive. Feyre didn’t need to look at the price tags to know that every scrap of lace and boning in the building would be priced on par with, if not more than, the La Perla sets Tamlin used to buy her just so he could rip them off.

She mentally recoiled at the thought of him, although she supposed he was partly responsible for her presence here in the first place. Their relationship had been messy, their breakup messier, especially as more and more details about his infidelity came to light. When she left, she hadn’t taken much with her beyond a few comfortably worn clothes and the tub of art supplies she had been accumulating since she was a student at Prythian U. She left everything else behind—the gifted dresses, the custom jewelry, the Instagram gallery of romantic dates—all those hallmarks of the façade of easy wealth and passionate love that Tamlin wanted to present to the world that still failed to mask the rot at the core of their relationship.

So, three bottles of cheap wine deep into their good riddance to cheating assholes celebration, when she confessed to Mor that she missed feeling like herself and in control of her life, she expected her friend to sympathize, to reaffirm that she was “better off without that scumbag, babe,” to maybe (assuming she was sober enough in the morning to remember) send a motivational tiktok about the importance of “self-care” on her “healing journey.”

But Feyre didn’t think that this could possibly fall under the guise of “self-care.’ “Mor, I…”

“That doesn’t sound like trust, Feyre.”

Feyre snorted. “It’s just that—”

“No. You wanted to move past him and feel like yourself again? This is the best way to do that,” she said, grabbing Feyre’s hand and dragging her into the store. Feyre rolled her eyes. Trust Mor to think that her problems could be solved with clothes shopping. Assuming lingerie counted as clothes. “Find one thing. One. We’re not leaving until you do. And,” she paused, “once it’s yours you can take a few pics and make Tamlin regret literally his entire life, and then we’ll go get deliriously day drunk to celebrate.” With that, she squeezed Feyre’s hand and let go, moving into the recesses of the store with enviable ease.

Feyre stuck her tongue out at Mor’s back, not that she would see or care, and started following her into the boutique, passing racks of lace and silk that were loosely arranged by color and letting her hands graze the fabrics, buttery and slick beneath her fingertips.

She stopped as her hand caught on a red bustier and she savored the feeling of cool silk broken up by delicately stitched whorls of black lace. It was nice, but more than that, it was exactly the kind of thing that Tamlin would have hated. He preferred to see her in pastels, floral and lacy and frothy and soft, meant to remind them both that she was delicate, feminine, fragile. But this piece was something else, something that felt more her. Or, at any rate, the version of her that she was trying to find again—someone self-assured and powerful and strong.

Idly, she flipped over the tag and almost laughed aloud at the price. She had known it would be expensive, but $900 for so little clothing seemed ridiculous, even for someone as ridiculous as Mor.

“See something you like, darling?”

Feyre started at the sound of the man’s voice behind her, yanking her hands away from the bustier as if he might scold her for even daring to touch it. She turned to face him, an unconscious apology already half-formed—and then stopped, mouth parted slightly as whatever she had been going to say died on her lips.

He was gorgeous—tall and dark, with eyes that she swore almost looked purple in the soft light of the store. She let her gaze travel over him, cataloging the strong lines of his legs, the golden rings that glinted on a few of his fingers, the night black waistcoat that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the narrow dip of his waist. God, she wanted to paint him—a study of darkness given breath, she thought idly—if only for the excuse to let herself savor every inch of his perfect body.

The sound of a slight cough brought her back to reality, and she saw the man’s mouth curve into a smirk, obviously delighted at having caught her staring. “Well, darling? Something you like?”

Feyre scowled and flushed. Fuck. She absolutely did not need to get involved with another self-satisfied man who would expect her to cater to his ego and fawn over him, no matter how pretty this one was.

Trying to salvage some semblance of her dignity, she made a show of dragging her gaze over the man’s body before offering him a smirk of her own. “Not a thing.”

If anything, her answer only made him look even more delighted. “I didn’t take you for a liar.”

She rolled her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder and turning away from him back to the rack of red satin. “I don’t think you could take me at all.”

His smirk grew sharper, more dangerous. “Is that a challenge, darling?”

Feyre looked over her shoulder and glared at him, ignoring the flutter she felt at the menace in his voice and internally berating herself for encouraging the stranger. “Stop calling me darling.”

“Not until I know your name.” He raised a brow expectantly. “What’s your name, love?”

As if she would give it to him. She turned around to face him.“Don’t you have something better to do then calling random women ‘darling’ or ‘love’? Someone to buy something for here?”

“I don’t actually.” He smiled. “I am merely here to serve.” He inclined his head slightly in a mockery of a bow.

“So you work here?”

“After a fashion.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes. Whatever the fuck that meant. “Shouldn’t you be helping customers, then?”

“What do you think it is I’m doing, darling?”

“Annoying me.”

“Another lie? Shameful.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock reproach. She rolled her eyes, choosing not to allow him to goad her into continuing their argument.

He raised his hands. “Well, if you decide to do more than look, there are dressing rooms in the back. I’d be more than happy to help you.” He paused, and then, with an absolutely sinful smile, added, “With whatever you might need.”

“I’m sure you would.” Feyre gave him a fake smile, determined to ignore the way something low in her stomach clenched at his offer. He was just an attractive man, and it had been a while. Nothing more.

“I mean it. It’s tricky to get the sizing and the colors right, darling. This,” he held up the red bustier she had been eyeing, a flash of something—sincere?—lighting his eyes as he looked at it, “is divine, of course. But not for you. You should let me help you.”

Taken aback by his apparent earnestness, Feyre frowned slightly. “I’m sure I can manage.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Confident, are we? Not everyone has the eye for it.”

Never mind. Just another condescending prick. “I’m an artist. I think I can trust my own eye.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Well then, darling,” he raised his hands in defeat. “Happy hunting.” With that, he turned smoothly on his heel and began walking back into the recesses of the store.

And if she glanced over her shoulder to check out his ass as he walked away? Well, she was only human.

But as if the man could feel her eyes on him, he paused and looked back, smiling at catching her ogling him. Again. He settled himself against a display of crystal-adorned black silk negligees and lacy two-piece sets, looking far too at home amidst the silks and the sheer fabrics, and raised an eyebrow as if to say, Get on with it then.

Feyre huffed, irritated that he had once again caught her staring, and spun back around to face the rack of clothing in front of her, her eye landing on the bustier she had been studying before. She pulled it off of the rack, because fuck him, and began moving toward the back of the store where he had indicated the fitting rooms were. Did she have the money for this? Hell no. Was she about to let a man bully her into choosing something else while he watched? Also hell no. She would try on the bustier—which would look fucking incredible on her, by the way, asshole—take a few pictures for her Instagram, and leave before he could corner her again. Easy.

Much like the rest of the store, the fitting room was a study in sensual elegance. The light was a touch brighter, perhaps, but still—there was something almost ethereal about the space—maybe it was in the way the just opaque enough curtains fluttered as she walked past, and Feyre buzzed with anticipation as she stepped into a room and pulled the curtain shut. Fuck you, Tamlin.

Shucking off her oversized sweater and piling it in the chair in the corner of her room, Feyre shimmied into the bustier, awkwardly fiddling with the zipper in the back until the two halves of the garment pulled together to envelop her torso snugly.

Feeling jittery, she turned to study her reflection.

She looked … fine. The bustier fit her well enough, dipping in easily at her waistline and cupping her breasts decently well, even if it didn’t make them look like anything special. Nothing about it was special. She frowned at her reflection. Maybe the color was wrong for her? Too bright? Too harsh?

She fiddled with it for a minute or two, smoothing and tugging at the fabric before giving up. It was good enough for what she needed. It’s not like she was planning to buy the ridiculous thing. And besides, it was probably just that asshole clerk getting in her head.

Deciding that it would all look better if she let her hair down to soften the look, Feyre gently coaxed it from its habitual braid, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she finger-brushed some of the strands, trying to get them to lay right.

As she messed with her hair, a little sign to the side of the mirror caught her eye: NOTICE: NO PHOTOS OR VIDEO ALLOWED IN THE DRESSING ROOM.

Feyre wrinkled her nose at the sign. Wasn’t that the whole reason Mor brought her here? To take a picture in some lingerie as a “fuck you, look what you’re missing” to Tamlin? Did she know about the policy?

She sighed. What a waste.

But…

How would the store know? Feyre flicked her eyes up to scan the ceiling to make sure that there were no cameras. Nothing—just gauzy swathes of fabric and fairy lights. Good. The store may be expensive as hell, but at least whoever ran it wasn’t some kind of pervy creep.

And what harm could one picture do anyway? It’s not like Feyre was some influencer who was going to try and promote her brand while taking advantage of the store. She just needed Tamlin to want to die a little. That’s all.

Before she could lose her nerve, Feyre rummaged in her pants pocket to find her phone. It was an old model from before she met Tamlin. She didn’t trust any of the phones he had given her not to have some creepy location or data monitoring built in, and she didn’t have the money to buy a new one right now. So good ol’ faithful (that didn’t get a signal on cloudy days) it was. Flicking to the camera, she started moving through poses—torso and face, full body, hand in her hair, hand on her hip, even the too desperate peace-sign-tongue-out pose that saw her and Mor through college—taking pictures all the while.

Hopeful that something in the photo reel would work, she began idly flicking through them—too smiley, too dead-eyed, okay, god why was she making that face, until finally, hot. Thank fuck. She quickly opened Instagram and drafted a post, tweaking the lighting and the shadows here and there until it looked perfect—sultry and effortlessly hot as hell, topped off with the caption, “Tell her about me.”

She was just about to post it when a deep voice startled her.

“Well, huntress? Pleased with your catch?”

Feyre jumped at the unexpected sound, fumbling the phone in her hands.

“Shit, no—” Feyre winced as she watched it clatter onto the lacquered marble floor and slide just past the edge of the curtain, praying to whoever might be listening that it hadn’t cracked beyond repair.

“Let me.” Feyre heard the subtle shifting of the stranger’s body as he bent to retrieve her phone, and she waited, expecting him to slide it back to her under the curtain.

But no phone came. Instead, there were a few beats of silence before the man spoke again, his voice now gone cold. “I knew you’d be a liar, darling.”

“Wait, what?” Feyre asked, confused at his shift in tone.

And then she remembered what had been open on her phone. The picture.

“Oh, um, I’m so—”

But her apology was cut short by the man who, wrenching the curtain open, stood before her. With his arms bracketing the door frame, he took up almost the entirety of the open space, and for a moment, Feyre appreciated anew how big he truly was.

And then the reality of the situation set back in. “What the fuck?” She yelped, bringing her hands to her chest in an attempt to cover herself.

“I thought you said you were an artist—”

“Get out!”

“—but no self-respecting artist would be satisfied with something as pedestrian as this.” The distaste was evident in his voice as he appraised the post, and she saw him delete it before casually slipping her phone into his pocket. “I mean really, darling.”

Feyre glared at him. “I’m sorry, are you mad about the quality of the picture? That’s what—” She interrupted herself and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Obviously.” Even though she was more than a little irritated that he had the gall to call her ‘pedestrian.’ “I’ll delete the picture, just get out!”

But he remained standing in the door, examining her with a critical eye before turning his attention to his nails instead. “I just think an ‘artist’ would aim higher with her clumsily executed thirst trap, don’t you?”

“It was not clumsy, oh my god—”

He interrupted her. “But what do I know? Perhaps whatever little boy you intended this for doesn’t know any better, darling.”

Well, he was right about that. Not that Feyre was going to let him know—or that she agreed. “Good thing it wasn’t for you then.”

A feline smile curved over his face, and Feyre realized that he had goaded her into arguing with him while he was still in her dressing room and she was still mostly naked. Nice work, babe. Feyre had to get out before she made an ill-advised decision just because she liked arguing with pretty men. So she ignored the excited flutters in her stomach and said, as forcefully as she could, “How many times do I have to tell you? Get out! Do I have to call someone?”

“Do I?” He asked, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“You’re in my dressing room!”

At that, his smile turned mean. “I think you’ll find, darling,” he said, the pet name taking on a mocking quality, “that this dressing room, that bra, and this entire boutique belong to me. So it seems to me that we have two options.” He held up one ring-adorned finger. “One: you can get dressed, walk to the counter, buy the bustier that looks absolutely dreadful on you, and leave my store “Or,” he continued, gracefully lifting another finger, “you let me dress you. And then we take that picture.”

“What?” Feyre swore she heard him wrong. Did he just offer to…dress her?

He tutted. “I’ll simplify it for you, darling, don’t worry.” Feyre rolled her eyes at his condescending tone. “I just want what belongs to me. Either the money or you.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t belong to you.”

“Then I’ll meet you at the counter”

“Oh my god,” Feyre sighed, half to herself. What the fuck had she gotten herself into? “Look, I don’t have $900 right now. Can I—I can bring it to you later?”

He tilted his head, a predator surveying his prey. “No.”

“Why not?”

The man shrugged lazily. “My store, my rules.”

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?”

“Such harsh language, love. Surely you can work it out. There were only two options after all.”

“I’m not going to be some plaything for you to dress up.” Feyre ignored what saying the word ‘plaything’ in reference to herself made her feel. Those were not normal feelings. Those feelings would get her into trouble. The situation could get figured out in a normal, non-deviant way that also didn’t force her into dropping nearly $1000 she didn’t have on apparently lackluster lingerie. Probably.

The man appraised her, moving to lean his weight on the door frame and crossing his arms. “Why not? I take very good care of what’s mine.” Feyre felt her traitorous heart flutter. “So be mine.”

“I—” Fuck. What should she do? She didn’t want to just agree. Also, where the fuck was Mor? Mor! “I could call my friend, and she could bring the money.” She owed Feyre after subjecting her to this experience.

He hummed. “You don’t have a phone, darling.”

“Because you have my phone.”

The man just shrugged, unrepentant. Feyre glared at him. He looked coolly back. Maybe she could wait him out? Mor had to be looking for her at this point.

A few beats of silence passed between them, neither backing down.

But then he broke the silence. “Decide, darling. There’ll be no other options.”

Feyre sighed. Was she really about to let him dress her? She didn’t have $1000. And…and this was his job anyway, right? So maybe he would keep it professional. And maybe this would mean that she could get a better picture, and that would be worth putting up with his nonsense. Hopefully. So she mumbled, resignedly, “Fine.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Oh my god.”

“Mmmm, not ‘god,’ but I appreciate the flattery.” He pushed off of the door frame and stood up straight, gesturing to himself in introduction. “Rhysand. Rhys to my friends. Or my lovers.” He purred the final word.

“Okay?” She didn’t know why he was bothering to tell her name. It’s not like she actually cared. Much. He looked at her expectantly, and she rolled her eyes at him. Again. “I’m yours.”

“Use my name.”

“Are you serious? Fine, I’m yours, Rhysand.”

She said his name with as much bored derision as possible, but he didn’t seem to care. He only smiled and said, “Then we have a bargain.”

And he stepped forward and pulled the curtain shut behind him, enclosing the two of them in the dressing room. Feyre backed up until she felt the cold glass of the mirror hit her back and the garment hooks just brush the top of her hair.

He studied her, reaching into his pocket for a tailor’s measuring tape and slowly unwinding the roll. “Well, darling? Strip.”

Feyre blanched slightly. “I thought you could just measure me over this?”

“And risk an inaccurate sizing? No.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I won’t. Strip.”

God, maybe he was a creep who got off on seeing a customer's tits. “Fine.” She twisted her arm behind her back to get the zipper, and in doing so had to lean closer into Rhysand. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him, but he kept his eyes on her face, even as the bustier opened and she let it fall to the ground at their feet.

“Good girl.” Feyre felt something rush through her body at his words—sweet and cloying like molten honey—and she shifted slightly as she stood under the weight of his gaze. Her nipples hardened, and she cursed her body for betraying how the words made her feel.

“Now arms above your head.”

Slightly dazed, Feyre started to lift her arms, happy to follow his authoritative voice. And then she paused, blinking back into awareness. “I don’t think this is how a fitting is supposed to go.”

He gave her a wicked smile. “It’s a proprietary technique, darling, don’t argue.” He motioned for her to continue.

Well, in for a penny. Feyre lifted her arms above her head.

“Now stay still.”

“Wh—” But before Feyre could get her question out, he had grabbed both her wrists with one hand and, with the other, looped his tape measure around them in a complicated series of motions, securing her arms to one of the hooks above her head.

“Perfect,” he purred, finally breaking her gaze and letting his eyes trail down her body.

Rhysand didn’t move to touch her yet, but she shivered under his attention anyway. His expression was hungry and calculating and more than a little smug as he catalogued the way he affected her—her peaked nipples and the goosebumps that broke out across her skin and the hitch in her breath. She felt on-edge and keyed up as she stood there, waiting for whatever he was about to do. Was this some elaborate revenge plot for breaking the store’s rules? Or was this actually how he did fittings? Would he touch her? Did she want him to? Feyre wasn’t sure she was ready to find out.

He didn’t leave her wondering for long. “I’m going to touch you now, darling.”

She wasn’t surprised, really, but she grimaced anyway. “Do you have to?” She pulled on her bindings to see if there was any give, wondering if she could still call this whole experience too fucking weird and walk away. She could probably charge the cost to her card and leave before he realized that she wasn’t good for it. Right? But the binding didn’t give at all, and Feyre stopped pulling after her first few experimental yanks proved fruitless.

Rhysand arched an eyebrow at her attempt to free herself, his amused disapproval clear on his face, although he didn’t comment on it. “I’m flattered by your faith in my abilities if you think I can do this without touching you.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled on her bindings again. “Well, it’s not like you’re going to use a tape measure.”

“It’s already in use, darling.” There was a pleased glint in his eyes as they flicked up to her bound hands.

Feyre huffed, irritated by the smug look on his face. “No, this cannot be—”

But Rhysand cut her off, pressing a long, ringed finger to her lips to still them. She was so startled by its intrusion and the sheer command in the action that she stopped protesting for a moment.

He moved his hand to cup her cheek. It was surprisingly tender and intimate for what they were to each other, and she had to steel herself against a crazy urge to nuzzle into his touch. “Trust me.”

“I don’t know you.”

“I don’t care.” And with that, he finally reached for her.

Feyre was well-endowed, but his hands were still large enough that they easily covered her breasts, and she gasped at the contrast of his warm hands and cold rings against her skin. It felt like he was everywhere—overwhelming and insufficient all at once—as he mapped the contours of her body.

She had just grown accustomed to the sensation of him touching her when Rhysand shifted and began to tease her nipples. The surprise of the heat that flashed through her made her shamelessly arch into his touch with a breathy sigh, and he smirked at his effect on her. “Do you still doubt my abilities, darling?”

“Yes.” She bit out, just as he leaned down and took one of her nipples in his mouth, forcing her to stifle a moan.

He released it, flicking his eyes up to hers, although he brought his hands up to tease her as he asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

Feyre didn’t answer him, not daring to admit that she actually liked this. She was only still here because of fucking Tamlin and fucking Mor and because she didn’t fucking have enough money to buy her way out of the mess they’d encouraged her to make. That was all. She wasn’t ready to deal with what it meant if she admitted that some depraved part of her was actually enjoying what Rhysand was doing and it wasn’t just her body reacting to his touch. It would be better if she didn’t acknowledge his question at all. Maybe he’d just keep going and she could have the plausible deniability of just being along for the ride.

But as the silence stretched out, Rhysand’s hands stilled while he waited for her answer, and when none came, he asked again, more forcefully, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” The answer slipped out of her unbidden. But it was true—no one had touched her like this before. His hands were everything, and they were making her insane, and besides, it had been so long—even since before her breakup with Tamlin—that she had felt this damn good from anything beside her own hand that the thought of stopping this bliss was unthinkable.

“Thank the Mother,” he growled. “These are a gift, darling. A revelation. It would be a crime to do anything but worship them.” And then he did, groping and teasing and tasting until Feyre thought she might shatter with need and desire from just the attention he gave her breasts.

But right as she felt the beginnings of an orgasm start to build, Rhysand withdrew his hands and took a step away, a satisfied smile blooming on his face as he took in flushed face and the devastation she knew must be flashing in her eyes at the loss of contact.

Half-mindless, she whimpered and shamelessly pulled forward against her wrist bindings, straining toward where he stood as if that could entice him to come back and finish what he started.

But he only hushed her with a reprimanding cluck of his tongue. “We don’t want the other customers to hear you, do we?”

She glared at him in response, still reeling from the unsatisfied ache that pulsed between her legs.

Rhysand smiled back at her, looked her over, and then nodded. “I know exactly the piece for you.”

And with that, he pushed aside the curtain and stepped out of the fitting room, leaving Feyre panting and needy and still tied to the garment hook on the wall.

“Rhysand.” She whisper-shouted. The absolute asshole left the curtain open. There was a mirror in one of the other rooms across the way, and Feyre had no choice but to look at herself, naked and flushed and helpless. Anyone who came in to try on something would see the same thing—she couldn’t move or hide or even cover herself with her hands. She cursed Rhysand and staunchly ignored the traitorous wetness she could feel pooling between her thighs.

It seemed like ages before he returned, long enough that she had contemplated shouting for Mor to come and rescue her. They had been friends long enough that they had seen each other in various states of undress over the years. What was another look at each other’s boobs between friends anyway? Sure, Mor would have prime mockery material for the rest of their lives, but the longer Feyre hung there, the less she cared.

But just as she was steeling herself to start yelling, Rhysand stepped back into her line of sight.

He smirked at her. “Well, look at you, darling.” The hunger hadn’t left his gaze. He still looked every inch the predator as he let his gaze sweep over her naked form. “What a perfect girl for staying here, tied up and waiting for me.”

“This was not part of our agreement,” she spat at him.

Rhysand only arched an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, darling.”

Feyre was about to snap back at him, but then a glint caught her eye, and she finally noticed what he was holding.

It was a bustier, black as night, and she wondered briefly if it had been one of the pieces he had perched near as he watched her in the store. She couldn’t see much of it yet, but from the way it sparkled under the dressing room lights, she assumed that the garment was adorned with intricate beadwork as if someone had spilled starlight across the fabric. She knew, even without trying it on, that it would be seductive and sexy and slightly wicked, and that she would absolutely love it.

But fuck, she hated Rhysand for being right. Prick.

“Step in, darling.” He stooped down and held open the bustier near her feet.

Feyre rolled her eyes but still obediently lifted one leg and then the other, allowing him to pull the material over her legs and up her torso. The sensation of his hands as they skirted against the sides of her body had her twitching, the phantom memory of her ruined orgasm making her core flutter piteously.

Once the bustier was around her, Rhysand crowded further into her space and reached his arms around her to pull at the laces in the back. “I need to lace it up, love.”

This close, she could see the delight in his annoyingly purple eyes, could trace the faint stubble that dotted his chin, could breathe in his scent of sea salt and citrus. It was heady and intoxicating, and the combination of it and the proximity of his body had Feyre nearly keening from desire again.

“Rhys…” Feyre whined, and she didn’t know if she was asking for him to hurry up lacing her or to finally give her the pleasure he had teased her with, but either way, she was tired of waiting. She wanted to see what he would make of her.

Standing this close, she caught the way that his name on her lips—the name his lovers called him—made his breath catch just slightly. And some vindictive part of her was pleased that she wasn’t the only one affected by what was happening between them in the dressing room.

He didn’t stop his work, however, and his hands made quick, deft work of the laces behind her until he nodded and stepped back a pace, looking her over as he did so. “All done, darling.”

Feyre waited for him to say something else—to praise his work or mock her for how she looked or offer some other depraved choice that she’d somehow get roped into.

But nothing came. He just stood in front of her, staring fixedly.

She glanced down at herself. Everything looked normal from her vantage point—nothing bulged out or cut in or gaped, and so, reasonably confident that the issue here wasn’t with her, she swung her gaze up to him. “Well?”

“See for yourself, love.” And then he stepped aside, leaving Feyre to look at herself in the mirror across the way once again.

She was still tied up like some wanton plaything, but—it was different somehow, now. The bustier wrapped around her like a second skin, following the curves of her waist and her hips that somehow made both look sinfully exaggerated, while the top of it dipped down low between her breasts while arching up high on either side in delicate points that were flared and tapered almost like bat wings. The entire garment was covered in the black sequins and gems that had caught her eye before, adding some dimension and texture to the otherwise monochrome color scheme.

And it all came together to make the woman in the mirror look fierce and wicked and alluring and powerful somehow, even caught as she was. It was everything Feyre had wanted when she let Mor drag her here in the first place.

Her eyes flicked over to Rhys who was leaning against the side of the fitting room door, still just watching her.

He tilted his head. “Pleased?”

“Yes. I—” She paused, realizing that she had almost thanked him for tying her up and touching her and coercing her into agreeing to all of it. As if.

Rhys nodded, apparently unconcerned with whatever she had been about to say. “Now, there’s just one more thing we need to do before you take that picture.” He took a step back toward her.

Feyre blinked. “Wait, what?”

The smile he gave her was unholy. “You need to look the part, darling.”

And then his hands were on her again, skimming over her breasts and down her sides until she felt him start to tease her inner thighs, straying closer and closer to her core until she realized exactly what part he meant.

She had been performing in her picture before, playacting lust and sensuality and desire. Rhys wanted it to be real.

“Wait, Rhys—” But Feyre’s protest was cut off by the brush of his finger against her clit, and the bolt of sheer pleasure that shot through her stilled the words in her mouth.

“Let me, darling.” He continued exploring her as he said the words, dipping his fingers lower to gather some wetness before bringing them back to her clit and starting to rub in firm, tight circles.

It felt perfect and right and necessary, and so Feyre did, giving herself over to whatever Rhys had in store for her.

He grinned as he sensed her resistance melting away and began to play with her clit in earnest, rubbing and stroking until Feyre was nearly insane from the desire and the pleasure coursing through her. It was like he had never stopped his teasing from earlier, for far too quickly, Feyre was needy and shivering and shaking as she hung from the garment hook.

“Please—Rhys…I need—” Her voice was breathy and desperate, but Feyre didn’t care. She just needed to come.

“I know, love, I know. Come for me.” He whispered the command in her ear, his hand still working her clit, and Feyre shattered.

It was intense and all-consuming, and, tied up as she was, Feyre had no choice but to let herself be overtaken by the pleasure that coursed through her.

She could still feel her core fluttering when Rhysand stepped away again and smoothly slid her phone out of his pocket.

“Now, let’s take that picture.”

A few minutes later, Feyre found herself standing at the store’s counter as Rhys packaged up the bustier she had reluctantly agreed to take home with her—on the house, of course, he had told her with a wink. She was dressed in her regular clothes once again, grateful that the baggy sweater hid the faint marks on her wrists from Rhys’ tape measure.

“Feyre!” A voice cried out from behind her, and she turned to see Mor striding toward them. “Girl, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

“I—” Feyre didn’t know what to say. I’ve been a little tied up? I think maybe I saw God back in those fitting rooms? She didn’t want to admit to either of those things.

But thankfully, Mor didn’t wait for her answer. “Oh, did you find something?”

“She did.” Rhys’ smooth voice cut in, and then he nodded at Mor. “Cousin.”

“Cousin,” Mor replied, sticking her tongue out at him. “This is Feyre—she’s the friend I told you about.”

They were—what. the. fuck.

“Pleased to finally meet you, Feyre, darling.” He put extra emphasis on her name now that he finally knew it, and she glowered at him over the counter.

“Did you buy it?” Mor asked excitedly, trying to peek into the small black bag. “Will it work for your revenge picture?”

Before she could answer, Rhys smirked at her. “I think she found exactly what she needed.”

Feyre glared at him and nodded at Mor, choosing not to acknowledge the pulse of interest that reignited between her thighs.

Mor’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two of them as a pleased smile bloomed on her face as she realized that something was going on. “Oh, I knew you two would hit it off. See what happens when you trust me, Fey?”

Feyre snorted. The bag on the counter and the marks on her wrists and the ache between her thighs proved exactly what trusting Mor got her.

Not that she minded, necessarily. But still—it would be quite a while before she let herself get roped into another scheme like this one.

Mor pulled out her phone to check the time. “It’s time for drinks! We need to celebrate!” And with that, she grabbed Feyre’s arm and pulled her out of the store as Rhys looked on with a smirk.

As they sat down at a bar a few minutes later, Feyre’s phone pinged with a notification from Instagram. Her picture had gotten quite a few likes already, and friends had commented various combinations of fire emojis and hearts and marriage proposals that made her laugh.

And there was a comment from her newest follower, one highlordrhys: “You make my clothes look like art, darling.”

Feyre scoffed lightly at the presumption of the comment (although, to his credit, she did look good—flushed and relaxed from her orgasm, her body arching deliciously with her hands still tied up above her head) before noticing a dm from the same account. More quickly than she would care to admit, she opened it and saw that Rhys had sent her his number with the message “Call me the next time you need help looking the part, darling 😉.”

She swore she wouldn’t and closed the app without sending anything back.

But she saved his number first. Just in case.

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABE I LOVE YOU #feysand #feysand fanfiction #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #acotar fanfiction

44 notes · View notes