#sorry this set is so convoluted

[canisalbus]

Y’know, I’ve seen your characters as just these happy gay dogs in love so often, *that I forget there’s actually like. Traumatic backstory to them.*

Like “oh, look at these two wonderful lads, I m sure nothing bad has ever happened-“ AND THEN I REMEMBER

.

[campbyler]

hi! i finished acswy yesterday and im sooooo into it this changed my whole life's trajectory! the way i just spent the last hours reading all the tags related to acswy... this is my new favorite byler universe

but i cant stop thinking about mike and el relationship and the fact that happened after byler first kiss is just freaking me out!!!!! (in a good way!) is we getting some wills pov about their relationship or either mikes? (in the main history or another fic) i would like to know how their relationship worked and why and how it finished and the party opinion about that :))

WELCOME TO OUR CLUBBB WELCOME TO OUR CLUBBB WELCOME SQUIDWARD WELCOME SQUIDWARD!!! so glad that you are enjoying and that you took all the time to catch up on the millions hours of fic and blog content we have put out 😵‍💫😵‍💫 you are brave and dedicated fr!!

i am pretttyyyyy sure that all of the love triangle lore will be addressed in acswy main fic or one of the companions (especially now that we are mindful of it and can work it in if it’s not already there), but if it doesn’t, we will for sure clarify on here!!

[clerkwithamouth]

I recognize that Jason Todd was originally resurrected via Superboy Prime shattering reality. But given that's is literally the only part of Infinite Crisis that anyone remembers, I've elected to ignore it.

[ctl-yuejie]

you remembered, quite observant ｜hidden agenda ep. 1

[beehiveofblorbos]

see it’s even funnier when i try to do it bc I don’t get half the lore

like why do ppl lump together Deshret Morax + Remus? what’s going on w Renee de Petrichor? who tf is caterpillar? what’s going on w the yaksha? idk the answer to any of these??? Why is Zhongli considered sus??? All the mysteries related to him in my eyes seem to be over and done with - except w the contract to end all contracts…

but if you relate it back to one of my faves THEN i get it. want an explanation of the Fontaine archon quest? You got it. Who’s Istaroth? I’ve tracked down all the tiny mentions of her or implications of her existence. Who what why where when how Hexenzirkel? They had tea in Mondstadt, of course i know who they all are and who their modern connections are.

I honestly should be really glad that my fave is Venti and some more high up faves r Nahida and Albedo bc. Bwahahaa can you imagine how disconnected i would be if I was obsessed with like. Wrio Ayaka Jean n Fischl??? Not that these r bad picks they all at some point were high up faves of mine (Jean excluded) but in the lottery of lore relevancy, I def won having my top three faves be archons + then the runner ups including Rhinedottir’s creation

trying to find a way to explain genshin lore to people and it's like.

khaenri'ah/teyvat is like if a story broke through its own fourth wall and accepted people from our outside world into it and tried to get us to break them free from their story but then the author (celestia) got mad and massacred everyone inside it

and now we play as the traveler, who is basically another author but got confined to the rules of the story smh

[ilydeku]

teacher izuku has a girlfriend??

Regardless of the joy and spur he expelled towards the students, Izuku knew how to maintain the steady hand of keeping the class under set composure. Nothing but the intent to teach and the will to learn, an equitable relationship between the two—and it was no question. Being the most loved and favored teacher had its perks, and grandiose respect was one of them.

But no matter how mature a student has grown, having fun will always reign somewhere along their focal point. Even if that fun means encouraging their teacher in his love life.

"...-because a good relationship between your teammates makes for optimal communication, conduct, and cooperation," explained Izuku, pointing from one spot on the board to another, well immersed in his lesson. "Now, considering quirk-"

"Speaking of relationships, are you in a relationship, sir?" A student, a frivolous girl, teasingly pipes in sudden interest. Plenty of students amongst the grade claimed a crush on Deku-sensei. Of course they did: he's sweet, very tentative and understanding to all his students individually, and takes his time to really help and engrave the knowledge he possessed for them to become the best future heroes they could be. That, and mostly his physical charms. So wouldn't it be in his best interest to have a girlfriend?

Little did Izuku know that this inquiry marked the beginning of his first uncontrollable havoc.

For a moment, he hesitated, pausing midway on the convoluted diagrams drawn on the whiteboard. A strange question, but he thought nothing much of it. He turned around and crossed his arms, lazily pointing the expo marker to the girl.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Unrelevant, didn't see a hand raised-"

"Aw, but sir!" She draws out, slumping back in her seat. "Are you?"

Some students began to look at each other and exchange a few grins until the room began to slowly increase in volume and erupt into unintelligible chatter.

"Ahem."

The room fell into silence accordingly, but he could clearly read the expression on everyone's faces. The class was still waiting for his answer, the way they stared and leaned over their desks in anticipation. Izuku sighs and turns back to the board.

"...no, I'm not in a relationship. Moving on, the information I've drawn-"

"Really?" The girl cuts in matter of factly with a tilt of her head. "But aren't you and y/n talking??"

A chorus of engrossed 'oohs' echoed across the room and a very subtle, but defined shade of pink dusted his cheeks at the mention of you. He turned around again and attempted to regain composure of the class.

"Everyone settle down-"

"Y/n L/n? Isn't that (hero name)?? I think she's in the top 20's now."

"Yeah! I've seen her drop by the school a couple times during lunch!"

"Now that I think about it, Deku-sensei does have her come in as a guest speaker a lot..."

It was just one after another, the addition of suspicions and theories now bringing the truth to the surface. Izuku swallowed.

A loose black band around Izuku's wrist caught another student's eye and they stood up and pointed in excitement. "Look!! Deku-sensei has hair ties on his wrist!! Hair ties!!"

"Kids, please...-"

"Wow..I've never seen your class this rowdy before, Izuku!!" That voice. His head snapped toward you in surprised, totally flustered about the situation. The entire class went dead silent and turned to you, standing at the entrance of the classroom. You wave at his kids with a smile and stroll over to Izuku's desk, dropping off a bag of some sort. He watches you endearingly.

"You forgot your lunch at home, silly."

"O-Oh did I? Haha, sorry y/n. Thank you. You're on break right now, right?"

The students watched you both like a show, taking in the interaction, the body language, the words. There's no doubt you two were a thing right? Deku-sensei and (hero name)!!

And just then, you confirmed it with simple kiss on his cheek.

"Bye, Izuku! Be nice to the kids, hm?"

"You know I always am!!"

As soon as the classroom door clicked, the class burst into awe.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US???"

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 1

Jason Todd x Chubby! Reader (fem) A/N: I don't know what I'm doing here, I'm not even much of a DC fan, but Jason Todd has quickly become my latest hyper fixation character (Harley Quinn too, do I just have a thing for Joker victims???) so ... thank you for giving me a place to put this energy I guess! 😂 I'm not super confident on the characterizations, but I'm going with it because I like it. If it's wildly ooc ... that tracks, given that the only DC comic I've read is Batman: Wayne Family Adventures. Read it, or don't, I just needed to get the thoughts out of my head. The art doesn't belong to me, but the writing does. Please do not post elsewhere!

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, starting out fluffy, will probably get NSFW later so minors DNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

word count: 1.7k

Chapter Selection

In a city known for its masked fighters, you learn pretty quickly that everyone and everything is a potential threat. Every approaching stranger on the street, every loud sound behind you, every dark alleyway. Being bigger than me certainly isn't a prerequisite to being a danger, but it does have a way of setting off my mental alarms. I've found that big men are used to getting their way, and they get all sorts of bent out of shape if you deny them their wishes. Especially when they think they're doing you a favor.

It died down a bit after high school; I learned to exist in public with ‘fuck off’ stamped across my face. Headphones on, reading a book, intentionally seated at the table furthest from the other cafe patrons. All the typical signs of someone who wants to be left alone; nothing about me said ‘please come talk to me'. So I was understandably on edge when I noticed someone standing by the chair across from me. I look up just a bit, gesturing to the chair with a nod. Silent consent to take it back to his table and leave me to my book.

No such luck. The man simply smiled and mimed taking headphones off. Putting a bored look on my face, I moved one off my ear. “... Hm?”

“Hi! I'm sorry to bother you, but my brother thinks you're really beautiful and is refusing to come tell you himself.” 

I could feel my expression turning to stone. “... What is this, middle school?”

His cheerful grin faltered ever so slightly; “hey, I know it's a bit silly, but he's awkward around cute girls, so what's a brother to do, ya know?”

I stared him down; “... You're not fooling anyone. Move on.”

“... Sorry, ‘fooling anyone’?”

“It’s not funny, it’s not even hurtful the 20th time, it's just annoying. Go. Away.” It was a lie; it was always painful to be on the receiving end of these pranks. But that was what these guys wanted, so I wasn't going to tell him that. My headphones back in place, the guy slunk away.

Ten minutes later, another person was standing by the chair. I pretended not to see him, continuing to read my book, until he plopped down in the seat. I looked up slowly and he smiled, another oddly warm smile, leaning forward on his elbows.

An incredibly put-out sigh later, I slid the headphones off one ear again. “What?”

“Hi, I'm Tim! I'm not sure what exactly my brother said to you, but I wanted to let you know - we're not trying to prank you or something. Our brother is just way too awkward with girls. It's painful to watch, really, so we figured we'd give him a hand.” He spoke much too fast for me to get a word in. I blinked a bit, raising an eyebrow.

“... You frat boys are really committing to the bit these days, huh?”

“Huh? No, really, I promise!”

My headphones were nearly back into place when a child showed up. His impatient expression matched how I felt about the whole situation. “As usual, Drake, your plans are far too convoluted to be effective. Watch and learn.”

He turned to me, nothing about his demeanor changing; “hello. Todd said we shouldn't bother you because you ‘clearly want to be alone’, but I am convinced the only way to stop their nonsense is if he comes over. May he have a moment of your time?”

Frowning a little, I stared at the kid. He stared right back, neither of us blinking for a solid minute as we sussed each other out. His expression barely changed, but the boredom in his eyes turned into determination. “... Well, you're definitely not a frat boy. So I'll make you a deal; you may report back that he has permission to come say hi. If he doesn't choose to, that's the end of this little charade. And if either of them” I gestured to the one sitting at my table; “comes back over here, I start stabbing. Got it?”

The boy nodded once, and I thought I saw a ghost of a smirk. “You have my word.” He dragged the other man out of the chair by his shirt, pulling him stumbling toward their table. That was when I saw him. The only person at their table who hadn't come over yet. Even hunched over the table he was enormous, probably close to six feet tall; exactly the kind of man I typically avoided. The kid spoke sharply, pointing in my direction, and his head shot up to look in my direction. Even from across the spacious patio, I could see his face turning red. The obnoxious, cocky smirk I was expecting to see was entirely missing; instead he seemed almost confused.

Headphones back on but turned off so I could hear if he approached, I returned to my book. But I only got through a few pages before the first one shouted; “and offer to get her another coffee or something!”

I looked over to see the tall one frozen halfway between our tables, a look on his face like he was considering jumping over the patio fence to get away. His demeanor reminded me of a lost puppy, and I couldn't help the chuckle that rose up out of my throat. I bookmarked my page, set the book aside, and slid my headphones down around my neck. I really thought he was about to bolt until I lifted one hand, curling my fingers to gesture for him to continue toward me.

He stopped short by a good several feet, eyeing the distance between himself and the chair, and took one extra step back. It seemed as if he was hyper aware of just how much he loomed over me; the way he stood was like he was trying to will himself to be smaller, and he kept his hands at his sides. “Um … hi. … Sorry, this is … this is really weird …”

I nodded, watching him. “It is a bit. … Todd, was it?”

“Jay… Jason.”

“Not Todd?”

“Jason Todd. Damian calls me Todd, he thinks using people's last names keeps them at an arm's length…” Jason Todd. The name felt familiar, but I couldn't place why. He continued to ramble about how important tone was in determining whether this Damian kid was referring to you with affection or disdain, and I watched him. He was admittedly very cute; he had a sort of a bad boy aesthetic -leather jacket, dark clothes, a white streak in his hair, some unusual scars on his face and arms-, which juxtaposed interestingly with the gentleness in his voice, bright eyes, and awkward mannerisms. That was actually the thing that made the most sense about this situation; bikers are often secret teddy bears.

“... Jason?”

He looked up at me, one hand sheepishly making its way into his hair. “Yeah, sorry, you want me to go. I'll get them to stop harassing you, so sorry-”

“Actually, I was going to say you don't have to stand the whole time.” I gestured to the chair across from me.

He hesitated, watching me. “... Y- you don't want me to go?”

I smiled softly and shook my head. “Sit?”

He quickly obeyed, a hesitant smile on his face, which was almost immediately hidden by his hand when his brothers whooped from their table. “... God, I'm so sorry … th- they mean well, really, they're not trying to be weird …”

I laughed softly, “it's fine, that's what siblings do, right?”

“... I guess so … I've been sort of … away for a while, but I guess this is pretty standard sibling behavior. … Right?”

“I mean, a little more insistent than mine, but not too far outside the realm of what I’d consider normal.” I shrugged, finishing my chai latte.

He smiled slightly, considering that. “... Hm … um … c- can I get you another?” He gestured to my cup.

“... Sure, I've got time.”

The pleased grin on his face as he looked away to flag down a server surprised me. Then again, everything about him was surprising. Still, no one had ever looked at me quite like that before… 

The server sauntered over, clearly curious about my new companion. Jason smiled brightly; “Hi, can we get another for the lady? And I'll have a medium black coffee, sweet, please.”

Huh. He called me a ‘lady’. Not a girl, or a chick, a lady. That was … also surprising. We chatted for a little while, sipping our coffees, and tried to ignore his staring brothers. He was incredibly awkward, in a sweet, endearing way. I got the impression that he wasn't fully comfortable, but chalked it up to how weirdly this all started. After a while, the first one returned, a small grimace on his face.

I raised an eyebrow; “I'm pretty sure I told the little one that the next one of you to come over was getting stabbed.”

“I know, I know! I'm so sorry, but Jay, we gotta go. Bruce texted…”

That was when it clicked; why I knew the name Jason Todd. He was a Wayne … his death had dominated the news cycle for a week. His miraculous, frankly poorly explained, return was the story for at least two.

He looked, torn, between me and his brother. “Oh … um …”

The man I finally recognized as Dick Grayson leaned forward and fake-whispered, “the words you're looking for are ‘can I have your phone number'?”

Jason swatted him away, blushing bright red; “Seriously, Dick? … well, can I-”

His ears were turning red as I held my hand out for his phone. I added my contact info and, feeling unusually bold, I added ☕💖 after my name while Jason dropped a couple of bills on the table; I smiled a bit, realizing he was leaving enough to cover my first drink for me too. I passed his phone back, enjoying the look of wonder on his face when he checked the screen. The way he whispered my name, like a prayer meant only for god's ears, had my stomach doing backflips.

“thanks … I'll call you?”

“Sounds good. I'm a night owl, so not too early, yeah?”

He nodded eagerly. “Not too early, promise.”

Next ->

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Besotted

♡ featuring: yandere!ajax x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She wants...my name.  

My name.  

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

How fucking dare they. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, my sister. A parting gift.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Is the hot chocolate good?” you asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spill it” you demand.  

“Spill what?” 

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

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

“It’s about Ajax” he exhales. “Oh.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ding 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ajax.” 

“Hm?” 

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

You unfurl the cover. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I love it, Ajax. Thank you.” 

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

Closing arrives, and you start wrapping things up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merengue, she’s my favorite.” 

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

“Ugh, don’t remind me!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mind making another, Lyney?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“How many times must I apologize?” 

“Until you die.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was a surprise.” 

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

“Yeah, from back home.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?” 

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

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

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

“Of course. Let’s go.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ajax?” 

“Yea?” he chirps.  

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I not good enough for you?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t need…me?” 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying-” 

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

“What if I just...lock you up?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ajax.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. It can’t be true. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[badkitty3000]

can u write a five x reader smut where five makes the reader watch him jerk off before fucking them

This request has been in my inbox for a LONG time...sorry. I set this during season four, and it's mixed with my usual sense of humor and confidently sexy Five 😉

Forced Confinement: Friends to Enemies to Lovers

Five x Female Reader-Insert, 5.7k words, one-shot, reader request

Warnings: Smut, explicit sex, masturbation

Summary: You and Five used to be friends. That is, until he got you stuck in the endless cycle of time traveling trains and no way home. Now he is the last person you want to be stuck with at the end of the world. But, after months of resentment and bickering, you and Five finally work out your differences

It had been eleven months. Eleven months since you and Five had taken that stupid fucking train to nowhere. Why you had let him talk you into going with him, you had no idea. You had been friends and you trusted him, sure, but that didn’t mean you wanted to skip out on the real world forever and live in captive domesticity for the rest of your life. You had wanted adventure and danger, which always seemed to follow Five wherever he went. But that’s not what this turned into. This had turned into playing house.

After nine months of mindless travel to various timelines that just seemed to get worse and worse, you were about ready to kill one another. The passive aggressive arguing had gradually turned into bickering, which then turned into outright shouting matches. You wanted to go home, god dammit! You didn’t care that time travel was tricky or unpredictable. He had gotten you into this mess and you demanded that he get you out of it.

To get you to shut up, Five had presented you with a temporary solution. When you came across a mostly still standing house with a greenhouse and clean water, he begrudgingly suggested that you two stay there for a few days. Just to relax, wash up a bit, and gather some food. It would also grant him some time to think about how to navigate this situation you were in. You had agreed, although you had scoped the crappy house out first to determine if there were separate living quarters. There was only one real bedroom, but Five conceded it to you and said he would take the living room floor.

A few days had turned into two months.

You knew he was trying his best. You knew that. And you knew he certainly had never meant to get you stuck in this endless loop of time travel fuckery. He had only been trying to save the world. Again. Only this time, he wanted company. And since you and he had become friends over the course of the five years you had been serving him large quantities of whiskey and beer at your bar, he had asked you.

It’s not that you were best buddies or anything. You had never hung out outside of the bar. But he was a frequent enough customer that you and he had a good rapport. You were comfortable around each other, which you had noticed for Five, was kind of a big deal. And maybe you were a little flirty with one another as well. Not that anything had ever happened between you, but the tension had been there.

So, when Five had come stumbling in one night, seemingly already drunk, and had plopped down on a barstool in front of you with a smart-ass grin on his face, you were intrigued. After a very confusing and convoluted story about something called “marigold” and Five having the power to teleport and time travel, you were already hooked.

How many times had you dreamed of doing something amazing? Something so incredibly exciting and weird that when you told your friends all about it later, they wouldn’t believe you? It was just one of those silly fantasies that never left your head. But the longer you ran that bar, and the more comfortable you got pouring shots and mixing drinks for others, the less likely it became that your fantasy would ever be realized.

But time traveling subway trains and teleportation powers? It was everything you had been waiting for! When he told you his idea of trying to get to the correct timeline and stop another apocalypse from happening, you barely even hesitated.

In those first couple of months, you didn’t really mind being lost with no real way to get back home. It was still exciting and you were getting along great back then. He confided in you; told you he had asked you along because you were his only real friend and he just didn’t want to face the unknown alone again. He had apologized when it became clear he was just as lost as you were, and he promised to get you back safely. You made each other laugh, and invented stupid games to kill the boredom, and would cuddle up together on cold nights even though there was nothing romantic going on. Those were the good times.

But now…now, it was like the two of you were living in some bad sitcom with no laugh track. Five was still good looking, there was no getting around that. Even when he was grubby and dirty and his deodorant gave out months ago. Yes, he was hot, you could admit that. But that wasn’t quite enough to cover the fact that he was an arrogant, know-it-all asshole that was systematically ruining your life. You missed your bed. And your bar. And god, what you wouldn’t do for some fucking fast food. You had dreams about McDonald’s French fries and if Ronald McDonald himself had come walking up to you and told you he’d give you a Big Mac if you sucked his dick, you’d be on your knees in a second. That’s what this had come to; you would blow a clown for a hamburger.

Instead, here you were, in some bullshit little Hobbit house, listening to Five’s snoring from the other room. And if you had to eat another fucking strawberry, you were going to vomit. You would rather eat a dozen half-cooked subway rats than choke down another one of those god damn red berries. Sometimes you laid awake at night, envisioning Five choking on one, his eyes bulging as he panicked and tried unsuccessfully to get air through his blocked trachea. It brought a small amount of comfort to you. Until the morning, when you walked out and saw there were no animals in your traps, and you wanted to cry. No meat. Only fucking strawberries.

“We need more water,” you told him as you came out of the green house where the first few sprouts of cucumbers and green beans were finally starting to come through.

“So? Go get some, then,” Five muttered back at you, his head buried in a notebook while he sat at the wobbly kitchen table.

“No. I’m always the one that has to go get the water. It’s your turn.”

Five glanced up briefly, then looked back down at his incoherent scribblings. “I’m busy.”

“You’re busy?” you asked incredulously. “How the fuck is making little pictures in a book busy?”

He looked up again, his worn-down pencil paused in midair. His eyes narrowed. “They are not little pictures. They are complex mathematical equations that your simpleton mind cannot possibly understand.”

You snorted. “Fuck you.”

One corner of his mouth turned up just slightly and he set his pencil down, leaning back in his chair and draping one arm over the back. Fuck, if he didn’t look amazingly hot like that. Asshole.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

He scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been eye-fucking me since we got here. Actually, since before we got here.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “What the…are you delusional? Did you hit your head the last time you were out scavenging? I have, under no circumstances, been eye-fucking you.”

“Ok, sure…whatever you have to tell yourself.”

You placed a hand on your hip and tilted your head to the side. “If anyone is eye-fucking anyone, it’s you to me. I see the way you just so happen to look in my direction when I’m changing clothes.”

“If I do that, it’s only because I want to make sure you’re actually changing into something new instead of wearing that shitty old tank top that smells like dead rats.”

“That is my best tank top! And look who’s talking. Who wears a suit in a fucking apocalypse? It’s insane!”

“At least I don’t walk around with my tits half hanging out. I mean, fuck, those things are going to knock you out the next time you have to run from anything. It’s like you’re just begging for attention.”

You smiled. “Oh, I just bet you’d love to see me running with my tits hanging out, wouldn’t you? Probably play right into some weird-ass Baywatch fantasy you have.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.” He tossed his head so that the piece of hair in his eyes flicked out of the way. “You are wearing the literal last pair of tits in the world right now and I wouldn’t care if you slathered them in baby oil and shoved them in my face.”

You watched as his eyes moved briefly to your chest before landing on your face again. You smirked. “Gosh, Five, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you don’t want anything do with these.” You ran your hands up your sides and rested them on your breasts. Then you began to rub them and squeeze them together, all while looking him directly in the eye. You gave a little moan and licked your lips. It was subtle, but you saw him swallow and shift in his seat.

Five rolled his eyes, but you could tell you had gotten to him. “While the tits themselves may be alluring, there is the unfortunate fact that they are attached to the body that is powered by your idiot brain. Therefore…not interested.”

You gave them another hard push together, and then let out a short laugh before dropping your hands. “That’s what I thought.”

“What did you think?”

“That you’re a dickless asshole”

Five flashed you that devious smile that you had come to associate with an unfortunate fluttering inside your stomach. “I’ll concede to being an asshole. But dickless? Quite the opposite, sweetheart.”

Your mouth went dry at that implication and you momentarily had a loss for words. After a couple of seconds, though, you regained your cool.

“As much as I’m sure you’d just love to whip out your little pickle dick right now, how about you get your scrawny ass up and go get us some water? Sweetheart.”

Five gave a short laugh. “And as much as I’m sure you’d love to be choking on my pickle right now, like I told you…” He pointed his pencil at the notebook. “I’m busy.”

Without another word, he lowered his head and started scribbling again, ignoring you completely. Your mouth opened in another retaliation, but then it snapped closed again. There was no point in continuing your little childish spat. Five was a stubborn old bastard and it was a waste of time. You might as well go get the damn water yourself.

Giving a loud, dramatic huff, you flipped your hair over your shoulder and stomped away. You did happen to notice, though, that Five looked up to watch you leave. So, as a final act of brattiness, just before you were out of sight, you made sure to bend over and act like you were tying your shoe while wiggling your ass in the air. Which, if Five had the oversized brain he was always saying he did, he would remember that your shoelaces had disintegrated a month ago.

As you angrily made your way to the old well that was your water source, you mumbled out loud to yourself.

“He thinks he’s so fucking smart. Well, he’s not. Just because you’re a smoking hot asshole does not mean you’re a genius, I guarantee you.”

You tripped over a rock and you cursed before continuing on. “And he is dreaming if he thinks I’m the one that wants to fuck him. Granted, it has been a long time since I got laid, but still. I think I can do better than Five Hargreeves, even if he is the last man on earth.”

You approached the old-fashioned well pump that was still in service and started pumping, much more vigorously than needed while you ranted to no one. “Honestly, he is so hard up for some ass, it’s embarrassingly obvious. But, good luck buddy, because that ain’t happening.”

You watched thoughtfully as the water slowly poured into the plastic bucket that served as your portable water reservoir. You stared into the distance; the landscape not quite as bleak as the others you had seen. This one at least had some trees and wildlife. “Still…I did see him shirtless that one time and I can’t seem to get that little image out of my brain. The guy has sex appeal, there’s no doubt about that. And I suppose he’s not all bad. He did let me take the bed, after all. He hasn’t even tried anything, either, which I suppose makes him kind of a gentleman.”

You gave the well a few more pumps to fill the last of the bucket. “But why hasn’t he tried anything? Maybe he doesn’t think I’m attractive? He said he likes women, though. I wonder if he jerks off when I’m not around?”

You smiled to yourself, feeling your chest tighten a little at the thought. “I guess I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t used him as motivation for my own hand-fucking. He might be annoying but I bet he can deliver in certain areas.” You paused a moment more and sighed angrily, looking toward the sky. “Damn it…now I’m horny!” The water started overflowing in the bucket and you realized you’d been pumping the well for too long, wasting your most precious resource.

“Shit!” You stared at the dusty ground that was now turning into a muddy puddle around your feet. “He doesn’t need to know about this, that’s for sure. I don’t need yet another lecture on water preservation.”

Hoisting up the bucket, and holding it against your chest because the handle had given out a week ago, you started back towards the house.

“I’m going insane,” you panted as you made your way up the slight incline. “It’s official; I’ve finally lost it. Stuck out here in the middle of nowhere and talking to myself. Cool.”

As you walked into the house, the water bucket was partially obstructing your view and it sloshed water down your front as you set it heavily down on the floor.

“There,” you declared, out of breath. “Here’s the water, no thanks to – Oh holy shit!”

When you had looked up, you had been assaulted with the sight of Five pleasuring himself right there in your cozy kitchen. You froze, taking in the sight, not able to look away. He was on full display, with the chair pushed out from the table, facing the doorway. His shirt was open, sleeves cuffed up, head thrown back, eyes closed, pants undone, and his cock in his hand. He was languidly stroking himself, appearing to not be in a hurry to finish the job, while he sat there with his legs spread open for all to see. Well, not all to see…just you.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry…shit…what are you? Ok, never mind, um…I’m gonna, yeah, just go…” you stammered while still staring directly at the obscenity before you.

You said you were going to go, but you were rooted to the spot. Eventually, after what seemed like an inordinate amount of time considering what was happening, Five opened his eyes and looked at you. No, not looked. Stared at you. Those bright green eyes bored into you and a small smirk played on his lips.

Still panicking, but also confused as to the very real sensation of moisture not caused by the bucket of water forming between your legs, you abruptly turned to leave.

“Stop.”

Five’s voice was different than usual. Harder. Commanding. And you inexplicably stopped in your tracks.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed and slowly spun around, nervous as to what you might see, or have him see. You were sure the look on your face would give you away.

Five hadn’t moved. He was still stroking himself and he looked like he didn’t have one ounce of shame about it, either.

You swallowed hard. “What…”

“I decided after your little show earlier that I just couldn’t help myself. And now that you’ve got some wet t-shirt action going on, I’m going to need you to stay. I think you owe me that.”

Looking down at yourself, you saw that the spilled water had created a nearly see-through situation over your chest. Even your bra was soaked through, and your nipples were visible through the thin fabric. When you glanced back up, you bit at your lower lip. Despite the blush growing across your cheeks, you were intrigued with this new game.

“Owe you?” you asked, your voice cracking as you tried to keep your cool.

Five groaned quietly, picking up his pace and ignoring your question. “You really do have magnificent tits. Now, take that ratty ass top off.”

You couldn’t believe you were actually going along with his demands. You should be telling him to fuck off and throwing the nearest heavy object toward his head. Instead, you found yourself holding his eye contact while you slowly stripped your wet shirt away and dropped it onto the floor.

There was another deep moan from Five as he worked his shaft over with his whole hand, his breathing becoming louder.

“Bra,” he rasped.

As you unhooked your bra and let it fall on top of your shirt, you smiled at his reaction.

“Fuck honey…I’ve been dreaming about these tits for so long and they do not disappoint.” He groaned low in his throat again. “Perfect.”

You eyed him up and down, taking in the detail of his cock as his fist slid easily over it. It was most definitely impressive. Much more than you had imagined and you found yourself running your tongue over your bottom lip involuntarily.

“Shit, Five…I guess you weren’t kidding. Definitely not dickless.”

“You like what you see?” he asked, looking out under the pieces of hair that had flopped in front of his eyes.

You nodded, and then began to move closer in. “Yeah, I do.”

Five shook his head, pausing his fist fucking momentarily. “I don’t think so, honey. Not yet.”

“Not yet what?” you asked, thoroughly confused. Did he not want you to jump on top of him?

“I know you’re just dying for my cock to be buried deep inside you right now, but you’re going to have to wait. That’s your punishment.”

With your eyebrows drawn together, you suddenly felt very stupid standing there topless while he continued to jack off.

“What the hell…what do you mean? Punishment for what?”

“For walking around all bitchy and complaining about everything. All while throwing your body in my face and leaving me high and dry.”

“What!? You’re the one that has been the asshole –”

“Shut up, sweetheart. I don’t need to hear your mouth. I just need to look at you. Now drop your pants.”

It took a minute for your mind to comprehend just what the fuck was going on here. Five Hargreeves, your friend turned enemy turned…jack off partner?...was ordering you around like you were his own personal interactive porno mag. And you fucking liked it.

As you started unbuttoning your shorts, you gave him a lopsided smile. “So, how long have you been using me as your whack-a-thon inspiration?”

“I could ask you the same,” he snarked back before working just a little harder when your pants came off.

“Since about 3 months in,” you admitted with a shrug, pushing your panties all of the way off.

“Fuuuck,” Five groaned loudly, closing his eyes briefly before scanning your body hungrily. “I think I lasted 2 weeks.”

You laughed, leaning back against the table with your hands behind you as you pushed out your chest. When your eyes caught his again, you let out a soft whimper.

“Damnit…I really want to fuck you right now.”

“I know, darling,” he responded, his voice dripping with condescension. “You’ve made that quite obvious.”

Neither of you said anything more for a moment. The room was filled with the sound of your collective heavy breathing and the slapping noises as Five jacked himself hard and fast. You could see the beads of pre-cum forming around the head. On a whim, you decided to lean in, bending down with your mouth open and tongue out, to daintily lick up the tempting drops. Five growled and flung his head back again while you gave one more flick of your tongue over the slit and backed away again.

“Finger yourself,” he grunted out.

When you smirked, licking all four of your fingers before lowering them between your legs, the sound Five made, a shaking, guttural sound, had you thinking he was on the verge of blowing his load. But he only seemed to concentrate harder, working his fist over his thick shaft. You watched as his thumb traced the underside of his swollen tip, the veins that ran from top to bottom prominently on display. You had never really thought the sight of a man pleasuring himself in front of you would be that hot, but the wetness dripping out of you right now proved that maybe it just depended on the man.

Because watching Five unabashedly fuck himself; his left hand tight around his cock and his hips jerking up in response; the tendons in his forearm taught and straining; his hair hanging messily around his face, his eyes never leaving yours; had you more worked up than you had ever been in your life.

“Fuck, Five,” you moaned as your own hand began to move through your slick folds.

“Damn it, I’m going to come. On your knees,” he growled through clenched teeth.

You dropped down without a second thought, just blindly following his orders. Your hand was still working furiously, and you were unsure if he wanted you to suck his dick or not, so you just waited for further instructions. When he groaned loudly and shifted forward in the chair, his own hand moving fast, you realized what he was going to do.

“Don’t you dare come on my face,” you rasped out. You removed your fingers from yourself so that you could lean back, exposing your chest at a better angle.

With a strangled moan that sounded like some sort of wounded animal, Five bit at his bottom lip while he came; long ropes of cum covering your chest and dripping down your stomach as he unloaded onto you again and again. You watched his face as it contorted in orgasmic bliss before finally relaxing again, his hand slowing, and his body easing back into the chair.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered through heaving breaths; eyes still closed. “You have no idea how much I needed that.”

As you knelt before him, covered in his semen, and still horny, you frowned. “Good for you.”

When he opened his eyes, he had the nerve to laugh and he shook his head. “Give me a minute, ok? I might have a fairly quick refractory period, but it’s not immediate.”

“Hmm, yeah. Likely story,” you said under your breath, although your mouth twitched up with amusement as you stood up. “I’m going to use our most precious resource to wash up.”

“Use it sparingly,” Five reminded you.

“I think I’ll use as much as I want, considering it’s your cum that’s currently drying all over my tits right now.”

“Fair,” Five said with a breathy laugh.

After you found one of the clean rags that doubled as a washcloth, you dipped it in the bucket of cool water and started to wipe at your chest. Five watched you bend over, ringing out the cloth and letting the water run down your breasts and abdomen. His refractory period may not have been instant, but watching you like that was most definitely speeding the process along.

While you were enjoying giving him this show, what you really wanted was a little more satisfaction than just watching him jerking off. With your body as cum-free as it was going to be for the moment, you sauntered back over to Five who was still sitting in the same chair; pants open and semi-hard dick out. When you stood in front of him, he looked up at you through the fringe of hair covering his eyes, that damn smirk of his playing on his lips. Without even thinking, you hauled your right hand back and smacked him across the face.

As he raised a hand to his stinging cheek, he glared up at you. “What the hell was that for?”

With a smile, you straddled his lap, draping both arms over his shoulders and leaning in to kiss him. After biting at his bottom lip, you pulled back.

“That was for stranding me here in this hell hole.” You kissed him again, tugging hard at his hair at the back of his head. “And for being the world’s biggest prick.” Your groin slid over his hard cock and he grunted. “And for looking so fucking hot all the time.”

Five grabbed your chin in his hand, holding you steady as he gazed into your eyes; his deep green ones sparkling as that arrogant look crossed his face again. Gripping your ass tightly with both hands, Five stood up, taking you with him as he slammed your body down onto the rickety kitchen table. When your back hit the wooden top with a thud, the pedestal holding it up wobbled dangerously underneath. You huffed out a loud breath from the impact.

Standing between your legs that were still wrapped around his waist, Five reached down between you, grasping his hard cock and rubbing the tip against your clit. When you gave a tiny whimper, he nodded.

“I’m sorry I got you stuck here. And I’m working on being less of a prick. As for looking hot all the time? That I can’t help so much,” he said with a grin, continuing to massage your slit by running his dick up and down, spreading your wetness over both of you.

“Asshole,” you rasped after sucking in a loud gulp of air. Your hands clutched at the edge of the table and your hips rocked against him.

He shook his head, closing his eyes with a moan before locking onto yours again. “No. If I were an asshole, I would have done what I’ve been dying to do for months now.”

“Which is?”

“Sliding into bed with you in the middle of the night and waking you up with my dick shoved between your legs.”

Your head tipped back as you tried to push yourself harder into his cock that was continually sliding over you in just the right spot. “Oh shit, Five…I wish you would have.”

“You’d like that, huh?”

You nodded. “I’d still have kicked your ass, but not before I’d let you fuck my brains out.”

“How about I fuck your brains out now and we can discuss kicking my ass later?”

“Sounds good,” you breathed out.

Five used his hand to guide himself inside of you. Once the head of his cock was inside, he thrust himself into you, impaling you on his sizeable dick, and watching your face for your reaction.

“Oh god…” you cried, gritting your teeth against the intensity.

“You ok?” he asked as his hands traveled over your thighs, sides, and hips.

You nodded. “Yeah. Definitely ok. Fuck, that feels good.”

With a self-satisfied smirk, Five grabbed your ass tightly with both hands, squeezing each cheek hard and digging his fingers into your flesh. When he started to guide you by pushing and pulling you over his shaft, you let him take full control of your body. With your arms splayed to the sides and your head tipped back against the table top, you wanted him to break you down; strip you of your inhibitions, and make you his.

“Shit…” he hissed through his teeth. “I need…fuck…I need more of you.”

Without warning or consent, he pulled you roughly up by one hand before pulling out of you and yanking you off the table to standing again. Not sure what his game plan was, you just stood there until he stepped out of his pants that had dropped around his ankles, and held you tightly to him. With a long kiss that made you momentarily forget where you were, he pulled back again.

“Floor,” he gasped.

Despite having a perfectly good bed in the other room, you were thinking the same thing he was. There was no time for relocation. You needed him inside of you again. Immediately. Hands clutching at one another, you both clumsily dropped to the floor. There was a moment of ungraceful maneuvering while you hastily repositioned yourself, but once Five was on his back and you were mounting him again, his dick slid inside once more and you let out a high-pitched whine.

In between grunts and whimpers as you started to move your hips, you attacked his mouth, face, and neck with kisses. Eventually, one of his hands came to rest in your hair. When you looked him in the eyes, he was smiling. Not his normal, asshole smirk. An actual, affectionate smile.

“I’m not sure why we waited this long,” he said before kissing you deeply, while also bucking his hips up, driving his dick in harder.

“Because we hated one another,” you explained as he sucked kisses onto your neck.

“Not always…fuuckk…” he moaned when you slammed harder on top of him.

“I kind of don’t hate you now.”

Five laughed and squeezed one of your breasts in his hand, hard enough to make you hiss through your teeth.

“Five….” you whined.

“Keep fucking me, baby. Harder.”

You were fucking him as hard as you possibly could. So hard that you were seriously concerned about the health of your knees as they bore most of your weight and dug into the hard dirt floor of your crappy kitchen. But that didn’t stop you. Riding his dick like it was somehow essential to your existence, you had never wanted anyone more than you did right then. You couldn’t control the loud cries and broken sobs that filled the small kitchen, and Five wasn’t exactly being quiet either.

“Oh shit, honey…please keep doing that…I’ve wanted this so badly.”

After one more long kiss, you could feel your body start to reach its climax. As Five grasped your hips again, working you over even faster, you let yourself go with a broken moan that got louder the more your body reacted to his. With your back arched, head tipped back, and your hips twitching wildly, Five clenched his teeth and looked down between your bodies. He could see the white lather of your arousal coating his cock. With a husky growl, Five pushed you down and came inside you.

Gasping for air, you collapsed into him, chests heaving against one another. He held you loosely, his hands idly caressing your back and hair.

“Five?” you panted; nuzzling your nose and mouth into the side of his sweat-damp neck.

“Yeah?”

“If you had been fucking me like that this whole time, these last several months could have been much more enjoyable.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “If I were more confident in my time travel skills, I would go back and remedy that.”

As your playful kisses traveled over his neck and cheek, you gave him one last, deep kiss on his mouth before pulling back again. You stared deeply into his eyes that you only just now realized were so easy to get lost in.

Moving a stray piece of hair from his forehead, you smiled sweetly. “While I definitely would not mind more of your amazing dick action, I am going to murder you if I have to spend one more day in this strawberry hellhole.”

Five matched your snarky grin with his own, and smacked your ass swiftly. “Off.”

Rolling your eyes, but not able to hide the blush that dusted your cheeks again when he took that tone with you, you unfurled yourself from his body and stood up. Offering a hand out, you helped Five to his feet.

“While the thought crossed my mind to leave you in the dark just so I can get some more action, I don’t have the heart. Look,” he said as he pointed to his notebook that had just recently been pinned under your body on the table.

When you looked closer at his illegible scrawls, you frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“I did it.”

You looked back over at him with raised eyebrows. “Did what?”

“Found our way home. While you were out getting water, I figured it out.”

As the realization of what he was saying washed over you, you shrieked and threw your arms around his shoulders, pulling his damp, naked body into yours. “Five! Oh my god, you did it! We can go home?”

He nodded, a giant smile growing over his face. “I think so. And I think I figured it out so that we will have time to stop the whole mess that was starting to go down before we left, too. I think we can save the world.”

“Oh my god! This is amazing!” You pulled him tighter and kissed him hard on the lips, still smiling. “Five, you’re amazing!” Then a thought came to you and you tilted your head to the side. “Hang on…if you figured this out while I was out getting water…were you really jerking off to thoughts of me, or just your own mathematical genius?”

Five shrugged with that sexy, lopsided smile of his. “Can’t it be a little of both?”

“Holy shit,” you laughed. “Let’s get the fuck out of here and go home.”

Five pulled you close with a jerk, his arm around your waist and his hand resting securely on the small of your back. With a look that made your heart flip in your chest and your knees weak and wobbly, Five leaned in to kiss you, biting gently at your lips before pulling away and rubbing his cheek across yours.

“Why leave now? We have all the time in the world and things were just getting good,” he said, his voice low and smooth; the rush of his hot breath down your neck sending shivers down your spine.

“Ok,” you breathed out before tipping your head back so he could access your neck. “What’s a few more days?”

[vorishthings]

The Last Delivery

This is my first vore story, and I hope you like it! Let me know if I can improve my writing by liking it, or just message me. If you want more send me some ideas or writing prompts. Enjoy!

It was any average Tuesday. Bryson was hungry. Not hungry in a simple, “I will eat food” sort of way. No, he was hungry for prey. He didn’t feel like going on a dating app and seducing his way into eating his prey, or finding some other convoluted way to go about getting his dinner. He decided to simply call in a pizza and have it delivered to his home. What a simple easy way to get his prey delivered to him. 

Eventually, the pizza arrived at his door, with a hot delivery guy to accompany it. Man, and he is hot too? I love hot prey. Hot prey for Bryson made it all the more appealing for him, as he loved the hot of someone gorgeous becoming worthless belly fat on him. Bryson opened the door, and the delivery guy greeted him. 

“Hello, I have a pizza for a…Bryson?” 

“Yes, that's me.” GURGLE. Bryson’s stomach must have had a mind of its own as it must have known its prey was nearby, and it grew upset in waiting. “Oh, excuse me, I haven’t eaten all day.” 

“Haha! It’s all right! I hope this will satisfy your hunger. One large pepperoni pizza with a liter of soda.” 

“Thank you, wait, hold on for one second.” He took the pizza and the soda bottle and set it down on the table, ran over to his desk and grabbed a ten dollar bill from it. He ran to the door. 

“Here is your tip, and…oops!” Bryson purposefully dropped the ten dollar bill on the floor. “I am so sorry…” 

“Oh no, it is okay. I can get it.” The delivery guy bent down and went to grab the dollar bill from the floor.  

Now was his chance, for his prey was distracted. Seizing the opportunity, Bryson grabbed the delivery boy by the back of his shirt and dragged him inside the house, slamming the door behind him with his foot. 

“Hey, what the fuck was that for? Let me go!” The delivery guy questioned and moved around to get him to let go of his shirt. Instead, Bryson took the delivery guy and put him in a chokehold. 

“Don’t worry, you will be fine…I promise. Just let me do what I need to do, and it will all be over.” Bryson tried to reassure the delivery guy. But the delivery guy was not reassured, and instead acted in a fighting response, kicking Bryson in the balls. “Oh, fuck!” Bryson yelled out loud. “Ok, that is it! You are going in there right now, so you can think about what you just did!” Bryson opened wide, his huge mouth leaking with drool to help maneuver his prey through his esophagus. He quickly shoved the guy’s head into his mouth, and removed his arm from the guy’s neck and put both his hands around the guy’s arms, forcing them to stay to his side. Mmmmfff!  The delivery guy was yelling, but his voice drowned out, as Bryson’s body made it impossible for any voice to be heard clearly from the outside.

Now, Bryson got his head down his esophagus, it was time for the shoulders, and eventually the guy's chest. Bryson was enjoying every second of his prey squirming, and his dick immediately got hard. The same could be said about the delivery guy. The guy’s dick was hard as a rock, and once Bryson got to the guy’s crotch, he started playing with the guy’s dick with his tongue. Mmmmffff! The delivery guy immediately moaned and orgasmed, with a cum stain appearing on the outside of his khaki pants.

Bryson could taste the cum with his tongue, and wanted to continue playing with his prey, but couldn’t, as the guy’s legs grew stiff from pleasure, and he stopped fighting. Pulling the guy’s shoes off of his feet, Bryson seized his chance, put his hands around the soles of the delivery guy's feet, and sent him with one final push to his stomach. GULP! Bryson’s neck bulged as the guy was being pushed by his insides to his stomach. 

“There, was it really that hard?” Bryson asked him. “Well, your job is now accomplished. You delivered my meal straight to my gut. Technically, you are the meal, but the little details don’t matter.” 

The delivery guy was pounding on the sides of Bryson’s stomach. “Let me out! Please! I will let you have the pizza for free! I will do anything! Just please don’t let it end like this!” Unfortunately for the delivery guy, Bryson’s stomach covered the sounds of his words, and it could only be heard as muffled voices from outside. “Oh, fuck! Your struggling is making me hard.”

Bryson’s dick was vibrating from the pleasure of having prey in his stomach. He took out his dick from his pants and started aggressively, pumping. Bryson couldn’t handle it anymore, and thick, gooey cum erupted from his cock and got shot all over his stomach, and the couch. He admired the orgasm he just had, and was too lazy and tired to clean it up. His stomach however, was not lazy, its job was just getting started.�� Grrrrrroan. “Wow, my stomach must be having a field day with you in there, my friend.” 

Bryson went to sit down on his couch and took the pizza box that was on his table that the guy delivered. “Don’t worry, I won’t let this food go to waste. Here, why don’t you try some?” Bryson rolled up a pizza slice, and swallowed it whole. Once it got to Bryson’s stomach, it unrolled, making it more cramped and less air was inside of Bryson’s stomach for the delivery guy to breathe.

Bryson downed more pizza slices, and followed it with some sugary soda, which his stomach received with enthusiasm. Grrrrrrrrrrooooaaaaan. “Hey man! Not cool! I can barely *cough* breathe.” He kept punching at the sides of Bryson’s stomach, and it only made it more upset and aggressive.

Bryson moaned. “Just give up, and make yourself comfortable. You can’t escape your demise.” He patted his belly in an attempt to make the delivery guy calm down. “Your life will serve as a matter of sustenance. I mean you did wish earlier that my hunger would be satisfied didn’t you?” 

“What? I didn’t mean me! I meant the pizza, and I…*cough* *cough*” Bryson’s stomach rumbled, as it contracted and splashed acid all over the delivery guy and the pizza. The delivery felt the acid burn through his clothes and eventually his skin. His shirt fell off of him, and so did his pants. He felt himself becoming deformed, and he tried to stop it. He aggressively used all of his might to pound on the outside of Bryson’s stomach, to no avail. He grew weaker and weaker, and eventually, he gave up and subsided to his fate of becoming his customer’s dinner. Well, at least I made a customer happy. At least I did my job right. Sort of. 

Bryson’s warm, smooth stomach walls started squeezing around the delivery guy, mushing him into whatever form it desired, almost like the stomach was playing with clay. Soon, the delivery guy became just soup and miscellaneous piles of flesh and bones. Bryson felt his stomach grow peaceful and quiet. The delivery guy stopped thrashing around his stomach, and his stomach stood still. “What? Gone already? Man, prey always digests so quickly.”

Bryson felt pressure rise from his stomach, and braced himself, and let out a huge belch. BURRRRRRRRPPPP. With a splat, what seemed to be what was left of the delivery guy’s uniform: his pants, his shirt, and his socks, got thrown to the floor. Bryson assumed that the guy’s underwear must still be inside his stomach, but that was fine with him, as he could just collect his underwear when it passed through his body as a keepsake of his victim.

He slapped his stomach, and started playing with it. “You are now a part of me, as useless body fat and energy that I can easily just exercise and burn right through. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay there, because my metabolism goes through things fast, and next thing you know, you will end up as undigested remains in my toilet. Thanks for feeding my hunger.” Grrrooaannn. His stomach erupted with groans and gurgles from within and kept eating away at the pizza and the remains of the delivery guy. As for Bryson, he went back to watching TV, while the delivery guy was stewing in his powerful stomach, along with the pizza he delivered.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

okay so i'm thinking post!prison reid and reader break up bc he's not ready to be in a relationship after everything that happened in prison. they just don't get back together bc when spence is finally ready it's been a while and they both think it's too late and no one makes a move and they remain as friends UNTIL jj's love confession brings some feelings back onto the surface - reader finds out about it and (cue jeid and their weird, longing glances🥲) has a whole it's all really over moment and then there's distance between her and spencer until there's a confrontation about it and BAM a love confession and second chances😁😁

THIS IS SUCH A MESS but i hope you get my point</33

Um yeah so, absolutely. Some angst for you indeed. I love a convoluted and angsty fight, especially whenever someone is arguing in circles with someone else because they're both just so passionate but angry, anyways, heheh, enjoy!!

WC: 1.5k

TW: Arguing, mentions of violence, mentions of prison, mentions of guns, honestly if you watched CM then that is your TW.

“I just want to know why you’ve been so distant lately. I mean, this is the first time I’m speaking with you one on one in over a week, and it’s because I manage to catch you in the office at nine fucking pm Y/n.”

"So what do you want me to say, Spence? What could I possibly have to say to you? I'm pretty sure Jennifer said everything there is to say."

This caused Spencer to lose all of the oxygen in his body. It froze up. You weren’t supposed to know what JJ had said, no one was supposed to know what JJ had said. 

You and Spencer were in the bullpen of the BAU. Luckily for both of you, since it was so late, no one else was there. Neither of you were extremely public when it came to your relationship, which meant neither of you would have chosen to have this conversation fight in a public place, but no one else was around.

I want you to say something you're afraid to say. Something you'd never tell anybody. And you better make it good. Cause if it's not, it's going to be the last thing you ever say. What's it gonna be?

“How did you know about that?” He whispered. 

“JJ asked Garcia to go through the footage, apparently she wanted to make sure no one could ever access the audio from it.”

"Y/n I--" Spencer closed his eyes, his jaw set. He didn’t even know what to say at this point. You had both clearly made up your minds about this, yet neither of you wanted to see the carnage, the outcome of it all. So, instead, you chose to stand in the middle of the bullpen, fighting against one another.

Fighting for one another.

"I just don't understand why you're so upset about this."

“Spencer–you didn’t even tell me about it, I had to find out about it from Penelope, and who knows who else she told. You were afraid to tell me, yet that giant genius brain of yours can’t, oh I don't know, comprehend just a teeny tiny little bit why this makes me upset?" For the millionth time this evening, you scoffed. 

Something you would never say aloud, not even to your partner. Your deepest, darkest secret. Impress me, or I'll kill him.

"Y/n--"

Spence, I've always loved you. I was just too scared to say it before, and now things are really just too complicated to say it now. I'm sorry, but you should know.

"Fuck Spencer I have been in love with you since I first fucking joined this team." You gasped out. The air around your head got thinner and felt dizzying like you were floating through the air now that this was off your chest. "And I loved you when you asked me on a date. I loved you through Emily's death. I loved you when you asked me to move in with you. I loved you through when Morgan left the team. I loved you through Hotch leaving. I loved you through fucking Cat Adams. I loved you even after I came home one night and you were making out with her against our fucking door. I loved you through every single case and every single flaw. I loved you when you fucking relapsed a few years ago. I even loved you when you went MIA for weeks and then found out you were in a fucking Prison. And I still fucking love you now. But, instead of being together, you asked for a break."

"That's not fair..." He whispered.

"What? Respecting you and your boundaries? Knowing that you needed time to readjust after you had been released, and believing in your promise that once you felt ready to try a relationship again you'd come to me and talk to me about it? And then watching as you fall for JJ all fucking over again? With your stupid fucking glances. This isn't a goddamn tv show Reid, I can see when you both stare at one another across the room, I can see it."

"We don't.."

"You do. You both do. And then, you tell me that Jennifer fucking Jareau is willing to make her last words the fact that she has always loved you and has always been in love with you, and you---" Your voice froze, the sound cutting out. You looked straight at Spencer, not caring about the tears running down your cheeks. You watched as his hand twitched up. When the two of you were dating, Spencer used to wipe away every single of your tears. But now he wouldn't even lift his hand.

"I--what."

You took another breath, trying to calm down, and really think through your words. "This woman who has been your best friend for over a decade just fucking confessed her love for you, in a life-or-death situation, and you're telling me, that she just fucking made it up, pulled it out of her ass, or at least is telling you that she did and now the two of you are going to act like everything is normal and okay?"

"Y/n..."

"You were in love with her for years Spencer. And now, all of a sudden she confesses her love to you, and that changes nothing?"

"No, Y/n, it doesn't. It changes nothing. Does it hurt a bit? Yes. Does it change the fact that I love you? No." Spencer was trying to keep his voice level, hoping you'll continue to match his volume since he didn't want anyone to potentially stumble by and hear your argument. His hand reached for your wrist, but you couldn't bear to feel his skin against yours.

This caused you to let out a water laugh, tears sliding into your mouth, ugly but pouring down your cheeks. A waterfall of grief in all of its rawest forms.

"You still love me."

"Why-Why is that funny."

"I have been waiting to hear those words since you walked out of that fucking prison and the first time I hear it in years, it's because you're trying to justify loving someone else."

"That's not true."

Make it a million and one, you scoffed.

"I have loved you since the moment you first walked through those doors. You were in a pale blue pair of pants, and a black sweater--I remember it because Emily complimented the pants. I spend my whole life loving you and manage to never fully give you every single piece of love I have because there's simply not enough time in the world. I would kill for you. I would go to prison all over again if it meant you would be okay in this world." Spencer ran a hand through his hair, his voice strained. But his eyes never left yours. "Last week, when that unsub had his gun against your head, I fired before he even spoke, not because I assessed it was the right time or whatever fucking excuse I gave to Emily. I fired that bullet because if you died in front of me, I'd......The only thing I was thinking about the entire fucking time JJ and I were stuck in that room was how the fuck I was going to be able to tell you I love you one last time because I wasn't fucking smart enough to take my chance and say it to you every single day."

Your chest was heaving, but you didn't move towards him. It didn't feel right, it didn't feel real.

Spencer was able to take your hand in his, enclosing it between both of his, trying to get you to look at him. "I should have told you the moment I was ready to try a relationship again, but I thought you...I thought you had moved on because I wasn't worth waiting for."

This caused you to laugh again, eyes red from crying. "Don't fucking start with that shit Spencer.''

"I'm telling the god's honest truth."

"I waited for you throughout all of Prison. I waited for you through Maeve. I am still pathetically standing right fucking in front of you, waiting for you to hopefully realize that you still love me."

He kissed your hand. "And I don't deserve you at all for it."

"Do you still love her?"

"Y/n."

"Answer the question, Spencer. Or I'm done. I-I can't do this any longer, watching you....the way she looks at you just--"

Spencer pulled you into his arms, enclosing your body in his arms and kissing the side of your head. "I have always, and will always, love you Y/n Y/l/n. And I want to spend the rest of our lives proving to you that I would choose you, I want you, over and over again."

“That’s not an answer Spencer.” You whispered, rigid in his arms.

“I-I.” He closed his eyes. “I did. And I still do love her, but not like that. I haven’t been i-in love with her since the moment you walked through those doors.”

Spencer felt the weight of your head against his shoulder as you finally conceded and hugged him back, tightly. “Let's go home.” He muttered into your head, waiting patiently for you to hum in agreement. 

Neither of you moved though. You both stood there, locked eternally in the other’s embrace, enjoying the peace you felt for the moment, even though tomorrow was a new day, where you would have to sort through how you really felt about all of this. 

But tonight, you stood with your arms around your love, forever.

[downtwngrl]

INTRICATE.

hi so it’s been a WHILE. uhhhh rewatched challengers for the thousandth time and it broke me out of my writers block! i don’t know how im going to continue w this, so feel free to drop any ideas and ill add it to the lore 😈 note: series prob isn’t gonna end with any smut scene bc im incapable of writing one without it sounding stupid asf! but who knows, you might be surprised

cw: 1.4k words,,, art and reader are dating but fighting, set in stanford era, tashi is NOT injured, patashi, hints of reader crushing on tashi but repressing it, fighting, tensiontensionTENSION! basically everyone is friends with one another but they all want each other BAD. lmk what else i should add :)

“it’s complicated.” that’s what you say every time someone asks you what your relationship with art donaldson is. and it’s true— you guys are fiery, but not explosive. complex, but not convoluted. it’s just… strange. intricate. hence, complicated.

you think he’d probably say the same thing, but there’s no real way to know, since you can’t exactly ask. the two of you aren’t on speaking terms right now, and for the same reason you two stopped talking last time, and the time before that.

art donaldson can’t split his time between his girlfriend and his fucking best friend’s girlfriend. and you can recite the argument quite well, maybe even word for word; it’s still fresh in your mind, engraved there.

“c’mon, you can’t just keep ditching me for her. it’s annoying, and it hasn’t just happened once or twice, you know.”

“i know.” art sighed, a hand tangled in his hair as if to ground himself. your name fell from his lips, voice cracking midway. “what do you want me to do? she needed help with her physics homework.”

“she can get one of her fucking groupies to help her! she’s a big girl, she doesn’t need to rely on you.” the way you said it, mocking and condescending, was mean, and you know it. you don’t hate tashi— you can’t even bring yourself to dislike her. but it hurts every single time you text art on your motorola and get hit back with some half-assed variation of ‘helping tashi. sry :( i’ll come later.’ he never actually shows up at ‘later’, which only rubs salt in the wound.

art’s jaw ticked. his eyebrows furrowed and eyes darkened in a way you’d only seen once before, when someone was talking shit about tashi in the cafeteria. you had watched as she calmly reassured art that is was fine, that he needed to relax, but he only shook his head and clenched his fists. in that moment, you wondered if he ever got that angry if he overheard someone talking about you. you now doubt it.

“don’t talk about her like that.” he said it calmly, but your skin still prickled. “she’s an accomplished lady. what about you? what have you done?”

if you sounded condescending before, it was nothing compared to how he sounded then. you scoffed away the sinking feeling in your stomach, blinked back the sting in your eyes. there was a lot you could have said to him then: ‘i might not be half as good at tennis as she is, but that’s less embarrassing than being second-best to her boyfriend.’ or ‘i didn’t compete for her number and lose.’ hell, even a good ‘fuck you’ would have sufficed.

instead, you just stood there, frozen, as he grabbed his stanford sweatshirt and left.

when you tell the story to patrick, he laughs, and doesn’t stop laughing until you jab him with your elbow, effectively knocking the oxygen out of him. his hands raise in mock surrender before speaking. “sorry, it’s just funny to see him get like this, i guess.”

you frown. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i mean that he likes you, but he likes tashi. i know it, tashi knows it, and from what i heard on the walk here—” he gestures vaguely towards the door to your dorm, “—the school knows it, too. i dunno, i guess it’s amusing ‘cause art has never been so disturbed about this kind of shit. usually he just picks the girl he likes best, but he can’t.”

“you mean he can’t because you’re dating her.”

patrick smirks his signature smirk. you have the urge to punch his teeth out; vagueness is beginning to be a pet peeve of yours. “no, i’ve told him that tashi is free reign.”

the way your stomach flutters at that is shameful. you push the feeling away. “like, you guys aren’t..?”

patrick shrugs. “i mean, currently she hates me because i said i’d go to her match yesterday and i missed it.” these guys really need to stop promising us stuff, you think. “but yeah, when she isn’t pissed off, we’re dating, and we talk about it. ‘bout you guys. she doesn’t really care if the two of you make moves on either one of us.”

you don’t say anything, but your ears feel warm, and your heart is about to explode out of your chest. it doesn’t help when patrick takes that as a sign to keep talking and says—

“i don’t care either.” it suddenly hits you, the closeness between you and him. close enough that you can smell his cologne, one typical of a rich frat boy you’d pass by in the halls. but it feels different, with him. patrick’s smirk has shifted into a grin, a big one. you realize he’s been gauging your reaction, and is thoroughly pleased.

“oh,” you breathe. he snickers, repeats it back playfully. you don’t understand how he’s so relaxed, able to make light-hearted jabs in this moment. art likes you and tashi. tashi doesn’t care if he likes her, or if you like her. patrick doesn’t either. but where do you stand in this?

your phone jingles, the sound muffled from the blood roaring in your ears. you don’t know if you should thank or curse out whoever decided to call you at this second, but you excuse yourself to answer. patrick nods begrudgingly, backs up enough for you to have room to finally start to inhale and exhale again. “hello?”

“hey.” it’s art on the phone. impulsively, you look around, as if he’s hiding somewhere in the dorm he marched out of a few days ago.

holy fuck. “hey!” you sound too cheery to your own ears, and hope that over the line it sounds more convincing. you hear a sigh on the other end, and can imagine art physically loosen. “what, uh— i thought you were mad. at me.”

patrick perks up. ‘art?’ he mouths, and you nod. he attempts to come closer, but you swat at him, moving a few steps away. he pulls a face, but doesn’t move closer. still, he’s definitely trying to hear what art is saying.

“i was.” art laughs nervously, the sound tinny over the phone. “but you’re right. i fucked up. tashi… she isn’t my girl. i need to pay more attention to you, and that’s gonna happen starting now.”

she isn’t my girl. “she could be,” you think aloud. you tense. art chokes. patrick stifles a laugh.

“what?” you pray that he didn’t hear it. you had mumbled it, whispered it, there’s a chance it didn’t pick up. art says your name one, two, three times before you respond.

“sorry, i just zoned out a little.”

“no, you said something. baby, what’d you say?”

“i said ‘you should be’. like, you should be paying more attention, dumb joke, i was trying to sound threatening,” you slap your free hand against your lips to stop your word vomit, then your forehead as you reprimand yourself for acting so stupid.

art hums. “oh, okay.” it should relieve some on the tension in your shoulders, but it doesn’t. he usually laughs when you fluster, but he didn’t. is he unconvinced, or are you overthinking? “hey, tomorrow can you come to my practice at noon? we can go to the cafeteria after, i’ve got wayyy too many meal credits.”

you look to patrick for help, but he shrugs, enjoying the moment. “sure.”

art says his goodbyes, goes ‘mwah!’ through the phone (which usually makes you laugh, but now you feel bad), and once you say bye, he hangs up.

“i’ll go to his practice, too.” it’s never a question with patrick (or with tashi); he just lets you know. “tashi’ll be there. she’s always on the court when she’s free.” you find it endearing that he knows her schedule.

“tashi.” you like the way her name rolls off your tongue, but you’d rather die than admit it.

before you can say anything else, patrick walks over, swings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. “don’t forget about what i said.” his breath smells like spearmint gum, the type art is always chewing. maybe he gave him a piece. “just think on it, yeah?”

you nod, and he pats your cheek before walking out the door, leaving you feeling dazed. after a few moments of just laying on your bed, soaking in the conversation you just had, your phone dings.

we’ll see u tmrw :-) -pat (&tash)

[butterflybuckethat]

Stranger Places ✶ Part II

Part I - 🦋 Masterlist 🦋

Notes: Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader; Carmy finds you drunk in the bathroom of The Bear. (1.6k words)

Warnings: Slow burn

You cupped your hands against the glass windows of The Bear. This felt like a never-ending nightmare, as if Dante’s Inferno was set in Chicago, as if the sky had fallen and you were the only one still trapped on Earth. It took all of twenty minutes after you left last night to discover that you had lost your watch, but you couldn’t go back, not when you knew he was still there. You figured now, at 6:30am, was a reasonable time not to run into him.

The restaurant was spotless, no trace of the confetti or glitter you had attempted to dodge on your way out, and completely empty. If you had left literally anything else you owned you probably would have abandoned it but of course it had to be your watch, your most prized possession. So you went around back.

Sleepless nights were not uncommon for Carmy; plagued with recurring nightmares, the exhaustion often felt more tolerable. This was not the reason he didn’t go home last night. He couldn’t get you out of his head. 

He really didn’t know anything about you, not anything he could use to find you. Except for that name, Milly. 

As morally questionable as the White Pages are, they did prove useful. It turned out that there were very few Milly’s in the Chicago area under the age of 80; two, in fact. “Are you still there?” This was one.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” he said, juggling the duct taped landline and his pack of smokes. He had already been stuck in this conversation for fifteen minutes. He didn’t mind listening to her story, he had disrupted her morning after all; that is, until it turned into a pitch for Mary Kay. “I’m not really into makeup.”

“That’s alright sweetie. It has nothing to do with that.”

You froze as you rounded the corner to the back alley, there he was. You watched as he spoke into the phone, lit cigarette in his mouth. Even with the bags under his eyes and mussed hair, he looked great. You could always come back, you supposed, but there was something that pulled you toward him. A sense of familiarity, of attraction.

He nearly dropped the phone when he saw you, barely catching it as his posture straightened. You looked so different from last night in jeans and an oversized sweater. You were beautiful and fresh faced and Carmen felt a strange relief wash over him. You greeted him with a wave and a tight-lipped smile. 

“I didn’t think I would see you again,” he said.

“I lost my watch.” You held up your empty wrist as proof, sleeve pooling at your elbow, and he gestured for you to come inside. “You can finish your phone call.” It took him a second to understand what you meant.

“Oh shit!” A burst of laughter spilled from your lips and it swelled in his chest. “I gotta go,” he spoke into the phone and hung up without waiting for a response.

Carmen ignored the guilt he felt on his hands and knees as he “helped” you search for the watch, acting as if he hadn’t meticulously cleaned every inch of The Bear just a few hours earlier. The watch wasn’t there and he was stalling your journey towards finding it but he just needed more before he could officially let you go. He wanted answers, he told himself, to the convoluted mystery you seemed to be at the center of. That was all.

“I still don’t know your name.”

“Why do you need to know it?” 

His curiosity overrode your curt response, “I figure we’re trauma bonded now.”

“I traumatized you?” 

“Well, you certainly made an impression,” he teased, emboldened by the upward twitch of your lips.

You told him your name and he knew he would never forget it. 

You weren’t sure how he convinced you to stay for breakfast. Somewhere between his goofy smile and a twirl of your hair, you agreed. 

You could hear the steady chop of Carmen’s knife as you went to search the restroom. You hesitated at the threshold, dread flooding your system. 

 “Where did you get the name Milly from?” you asked, honestly just looking for a distraction. 

“It was the name your reservation was under.” You jumped, not realizing he was behind you. He must have noticed your apprehension because he wrapped his hand around the crook of your elbow, leading you away. “Your watch isn’t in there,” he confessed, explaining the nightly cleanings. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t tell you sooner…” You analyzed his face, looking for anything malicious or dishonest, but found nothing but open sincerity. “I just- I just didn’t want you to leave yet.” 

Carmy, suddenly feeling very much like an open wound, went to check his quiche. He was almost hoping for a disaster, anything to distract from what a fool he’s been, but it was perfect. “I actually might have found Milly’s number, though!” He couldn’t help himself, grabbing the home phone from where he left it, he peeled up the post-it with the second name, Milly Walker, and began dialing. He could fix this for you. You might not find the watch, but at least he could give you some answers. The phone rang in his ear and he offered you a soft smile, putting it on speaker. 

You were growing increasingly nervous. There was something you weren’t saying. Ring! Ring! It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Carmen because, weirdly enough, you did. It’s just, you left all this behind. Ring! Ring! You could practically hear your therapist's voice asking why you even went out with Mark if that were true. Ring! Ring! Your lips parted. Ring! Ring! “I actually know who she is, Milly.”

“Hello?” You lunged at Carmen, trying to get the phone. You both fell, landline skittering away, batteries popped and rolling in opposite directions. 

“Do you think it hung up?” you whispered. 

“Yeah, I would say so.” His laugh was low and breathy. Butterflies bloomed in your chest at the realization of his proximity. “You’re beautiful,” he said. 

You tentatively touched his chin, trailing your fingers up his jaw. This was all so fast and way too good to be true. “You know nothing about me.”

“I don’t need to.” His voice was hoarse, eyes locked on your lips. You leaned in, prepared to set aside all your hurt and pain for just this one moment, and—

Ring! Ring!

You jumped, startled, away from Carmen and onto the linoleum floor. You stared at the phone, batteries still removed. “It’s alive.”

“We have another one,” Carmen said, amused, helping you stand. You followed him to the second phone, further into the kitchen, next to a bunch a hanging printouts of pastries and movie stills and more. 

You watched Carmen adjust his clothes and his hair as if the person on the other end of the line was going to see him. You giggled, only a little, and he gave you a sheepish smile in return. You didn’t really date anymore, not really, not since Mark. It was just too difficult, the awkward first dates, one night stands that never turned into more, the managing of trust issues… So you decided, no more dating just to date. If you wanted to be with someone then that was who you would be with—that was almost a year and a half ago and no one seemed worthy. But maybe Carmen was. 

Carmy picked up the phone, completely unable to tear his eyes from you. He still couldn’t believe you came back that morning, like that was a sign or something—not that he believed in things like that.

“The Bear. This is Carmen.”

“Ugh, thank god you called back.”

“Is something burning?” You whispered. Carmy furrowed his brows. The quiche!

“I’m sorry, who is this?” He was distracted, rushing to pull his slightly charred quiche Lorraine out of the oven. He covered the receiver, trying to mask your laughter. 

“I spoke to Natalie a couple weeks ago about catering my wedding rehearsal?”

What the hell? Since when did they do  catering? He poked you in the side before running to grab a pen and pad.

“My fiancé loved the pasta course so we were thinking that that could be the main focus, like elevated comfort food.”

“Okay, I made a note of that and will call back to confirm.” He was not going to agree to shit until he talked to Sugar. 

“Oh, don’t you want the date?”

“Uh sure, yeah.”

“It’s in two weeks, on Saturday.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Milly Walker.”

[morning-star-joy]

not much I need (Joel x F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, established relationship, ASHWAH Universe

Summary: You're confused when Joel seeks nonsexual intimacy after a long day, then fall in love with the feeling of wanting each other without sex.

Warnings: Fluff, Soft!Joel, they're so in love, a bit of self-conscious awkwardness from both at first, touch-starved desperation, familiar intimacy/touch without sex.

Wordcount: 2.2k

A/N: This might quite honestly be my favorite thing I've written for these two. My babies have come so far, and this made me melt. Inspired by this post

You hadn’t realize you drifted off into a light slumber while reading another one of Joel’s books—a silly little action one, your eyes glazing over through each fight scene and description of convoluted political intrigue that the world had ended before you could fully understand, even as you kept reading, too stubborn to give up halfway through—until the novel was gently tugged from your fingers.

You jerked back awake, blinking a few times to focus on Joel standing next to your side of the bed, in the process of setting the book down on your nightstand.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and you hummed in response, not able to form a coherent thought yet as you were still in the process of waking up from your unintended nap. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

A yawn fell from your lips as you shifted, laying on your side and pulling your pillow closer to yourself as you replied sleepily, “You better have marked my spot, cowboy.”

The few seconds of silence that stretched out after your tired comment pulled a quiet chuckle from you, the sound huskier from sleep as you peeked an eye open to see Joel quietly flipping the book back open, flipping through the pages to try and find the page you had been on. You caught him clearly marking one at random before slipping your eyes back shut, a knowing smile curling on your lips that you hid against the pillow when he set the book down.

“‘Course,” he replied, and you snorted, unable to hide your sound of amusement as he leaned down to brush a kiss against your temple before moving back around to his side of the bed.

The mattress dipped under his weight, and you turned over to face his back at his quiet grunt of fatigue, watching the muscles between his shoulders flex in his flannel as he went through the process of unlacing and tugging off his boots, kicking them underneath the bed before undressing to his boxers.

You watched him silently as he did so, eyes roaming over the tanned, scarred skin that was revealed, lingering on those darling back dimples that traveled down the dip of his lower back, smiling stupidly to yourself at how after months of being determined not to strip for each other, you now did so nearly every day without a second thought.

“How’d guard duty go?” you asked, your voice a bit less raspy now as you began to wake back up fully, and Joel turned to climb under the sheets with you, leaning down to give you another quick kiss fully on the lips, a familiar greeting that still made you feel those goddamn butterflies before he stretched across your body to turn off the lamp on your nightstand.

“Fine,” he replied simply, arm moving to encircle around your waist and pull you closer to him, face dipping down into your neck as his large hand slipped underneath your shirt, traveling up your back while he pressed kisses down the skin that was available in the large t-shirt that you were wearing.

It was a shirt that belonged to him, one that smelled like him, and you could feel the moment Joel realized this as he smiled into the crook of your neck before nipping at the skin there gently, pulling another small mark to form on you, as if evidence of him wasn’t handprinted over every part of your life, over every inch of your body and soul already.

“You’re always such a talker, aren’t you, Miller?” you murmured, smiling in the darkness at his quiet chuckle, feeling the rumble of it in his broad, bare chest from how he was pressed to you, and your fingers slipped between you, finding the hem of your panties to begin to shimmy them off when Joel’s gentle caressing of your skin stopped.

“What are you doing?” his voice rumbled from his chest, genuine confusion in the question, and you paused in your actions, resting your head back against the pillow in the same moment his head lifted from your neck to gaze down at you.

Your eyes were adjusting to see his face through the darkness as his did the same, the both of you blind to each other for a moment other than the feeling of his arm still around you, long fingers splayed across your mid-back, keeping you tethered to him as you replied awkwardly, “Um…fucking you?”

You didn’t need to see him then to know he was frowning, able to hear it just in the subtle inflictions of his low drawl as he replied, “I wasn’t…”

Now you were frowning too, removing your hands from your panties to rest your elbows on the bed, pushing yourself up to get closer to his face, waiting until you could make out his features as best you could in the dark, hating the sudden surge of hesitation, of embarrassment you felt as you said slowly, “You…don’t want to?”

Joel’s mouth opened, then closed, brows pinching together in a way you always wanted to soothe whenever you saw it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch him in that moment, suddenly uncertain as to what was happening—Joel didn’t want to fuck you? He always wanted to fuck you—before he replied quietly, in a voice as hesitant as yours, almost bashful when he said, “I just…wanted to touch you.”

“Just…” you trailed off, an audible exhale of confusion leaving your lips as your face scrunched up, not understanding what he was getting at. “Touch me without…fucking?”

Joel shifted, his hand trailing from your back down to your hip, fingers squeezing your waist gently in a way that was reassuring without asking for more, and you softened from your trepidation as he murmured, “Well…yeah. It was a long day, and I missed you.”

You blinked a few times, a soft “oh,” leaving your lips, and the two of you continued to stare at each other in the dark for a moment, eyes adjusting to see the other’s face in the same moment, and you softened as you saw his face was just as awkward as you were feeling. Just as uncertain how to be in love, even as you both fell into it harder, deeper, with each passing day.

“Joel,” you murmured, finally lifting a hand to stroke along his cheek, and the sigh that instantly exhaled heavily from his lips was a balm on your soul, a familiar longing for him forming in your chest as you glanced over where you knew the most heavyset wrinkles on his face were by now, even if you couldn’t see them fully in the darkness of your shared bedroom.

“Mi luna,” he whispered back, the longing palpable in his own voice, and a shuddering exhale escaped your mouth in the same moment it met his, wrapping your arms around him to hold him close as his hand moved from your waist, slipping under your shirt to your back again.

You shivered from the familiar caress of his callouses against your skin, letting yourselves gently fall back onto the bed together, nothing else existing except for the love that you shared for each other.

A surge of adrenaline fueled by strong emotion coursing through you made you hold him tighter, fingers winding through the longer curls that you had grown so fond of as he grew them out, lips parting from his for just a moment to whisper a desperate, “I love you.”

The sound Joel made then was one of pure need, and it made you desire him even more—but not a familiar physical desire you had felt for him from nearly the first moment you met.

No, this was that desire to know him. The desire to lay in his arms until you were settled into his soul, finding your home in his heart time and time again, and you knew without a doubt that he would never let you leave that place in him that you had found as he whispered back against your lips, “I love you too. So much.”

Both his strong arms were around you now, holding you tight to him as his body weight pressed against you, and you exhaled a soft sigh, revering in the way the presence of his entire being against yours made you feel so safe, so secure, so fucking loved in the same moment he affirmed it with his words, pulling the emotion from your soul and out of his lips as he murmured again and again, “Love you so fucking much, I love you so fucking much.”

“Joel,” you whimpered, hooking your leg around his waist to bring him closer, but there was no rolling of your hips. You didn’t need to come tonight, didn’t need his body in a primal way, but you just needed him. Just him. Always him. “Joel.”

Your name fell from his lips in the same breaths that his left yours, prayers and vows exchanged between you with the way you uttered each other’s names alone, mouths swollen from the passionate kisses you exchanged.

You loved him so much, you loved him so much, you didn’t think you loved anyone like this. No, you knew you hadn’t, but the sheer intensity of it as it grew the more you accepted it was almost overwhelming.

Still, you couldn’t get enough, letting yourself fade into him as your hands touched and explored each other in the dark, not needing to see to know how your bodies molded to each other so naturally now, even as you caressed each other without the need for sex.

It was intimacy.

It was addicting.

The way he touched you showed how he knew you, fingers grazing across the spots of your body that made you sigh in content. He claimed you in that way, the act of purely knowing you, making you his the same way you made him yours.

He also caressed the parts of you that you weren’t the fondest of—his fingers dancing across the ink of the tattoo on your torso, thumb stroking along the outline of it and making your heart ache, because you knew he hated them, that he despised the Fireflies the same way that you did. But he loved you more.

You touched him in the same way—stroking your fingers along the taut muscles in his arms that you knew he was proud of, gently grazing your palms across the softer stomach from the comfort in Jackson that he didn’t like so much, but had become one of your favorite fucking things about his body.

Wrinkles on his face that he detested, grays in his hair that you were obsessed with—they all made him Joel, made him yours. The man who had survived through hell the same way you did to get here, to be in each other’s arms like this, for as long as you could.

And when the heat of passion faded, love still remained. You both laid back on the bed, limbs completely entangled, still softly touching, and you didn’t need him to explain to understand what he had meant. But Joel finally found the words to tell you anyway, filling you with a joyful satisfaction only he could bring to you as he said them.

“There’s not much I need,” Joel murmured, running his fingers through your hair and watching how the soft strands slipped through them, humming as the scent of your shampoo filled the small space between you. “Just you, waiting in my bed for me like this. Don’t need to fuck, I just want you.”

You laughed a little, unable to help your faint amusement at the sentiment, even as it warmed your heart and nearly turned you into a fucking embarrassing puddle of emotions for him.

Joel arched an eyebrow at your laughter, his other hand spreading across the small of your back, tugging you closer to him as his head ducked down to nip at your neck, almost as if in a reprimand for your giggles, an action that only made you laugh louder as he grumbled playfully, “What’s so funny?”

“Well,” you giggled a few more times, not missing the light in Joel’s eyes as he pulled back up to gaze down at how your face scrunched up in a rare expression of pure joy from you. “It’s just that we wouldn’t even be here if we weren’t both really fucking horny in the first place.”

Joel gave a sigh that bordered on over exaggerated, and you laughed again, loving the way he smiled into the kiss he placed on your lips, so wide that your teeth nearly clashed, pulling more laughter out of both of your meeting lips and bodies as you tangled them together, enjoying a soft, easy night of caressing each other, touching and exploring just for the sake of intimacy.

When you drifted off again wrapped up in his embrace, his calloused fingers still stroking gentle, calming circles across the spot between your shoulder blades that Joel and you both quickly learned was one of your favorite places for his hands to be—you couldn’t help but briefly entertain the passing thought that this may be your new favorite activity with your love, even blowing sex out of the water, as Joel’s soft murmurs into your hair and loving touches lulled you to sleep.

taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @sinsofsummers @dinsdjrn @cupofjoel @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi @dissentientss

[ipleadbritney]

lovers to enemies, the play

osctober day 20: lovers to enemies

landoscar, vaguely high school au

Oscar's about to say some very bad things any moment now.

“Where the fuck did George get this from?”

Okay, so Oscar might have worded that out a little bit differently. But the sentiment is the same, because yeah, where the fuck?

It's telling that no one berates Lando for his comment. Everyone's fatigued from George's latest script read. The team has separated into little cliques across the auditorium, poring over the new script.

Lando untangles himself from the curtains. Logan hasn't repurposed the curtains yet, but he says they're supposed to be the night sky. All Oscar sees is a lump of blue fabrics. “In the last scene, I'm proposing to Oscar, then in this one, I'm— I'm killing him?”

“Maiming him, actually,” Alex drawls, flipping through the script. “Oscar's getting killed by Carlos in scene 14.”

“So I don't even get to kill Oscar!”

Alex shrugs. “Take it with George.”

Lando huffs, returns to his pile of would-be night sky curtains. He looks like he will take it with George. Luckily, George was called by his student council peers to supervise a fight. Or something. Oscar wasn't really listening; he was preoccupied with understanding how his character turned from engaged to half-dead in between scenes. 

He stares at the tiny scrawls his sisters left in the margins of his old script— the one George called “too raw to be performed” and completely rewrote over the weekend. Heart eyes for Harry! Don't forget! Based on George's pace, Oscar will have to forget everything and restart.

Even Lando's character's name got changed. Logan says it was first Stephenson, but Lando demanded something different and it turned into a whole fight. Oscar wouldn't know. He hadn't been casted yet. Then it was Harry, up until 30 minutes ago. Now it's Orlando.

At least Oscar kept his name. Oscar, played by Oscar Piastri. 

“Do you get it?” 

Oscar considers bailing out. He's only doing this as a favor to Logan, who's only doing set design as a favor to Alex. Mr. Stella would be disappointed, but that might be better than whatever George's thinking of.

“Hey, Oscar!” 

Oscar looks up. Lando's moved closer to him, dragging his island of curtains with him.

“Been trying to talk to you,” Lando pouts. 

Oscar flushes. “Sorry, was just… trying to understand the edits.”

“Yeah, that's what I'm trying to talk to you about.” Lando fully sits in front of Oscar. “Do you get it? The edits?”

He's not entirely sure he got the previous draft. “To be honest?”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, not at all.”

Lando's face brightens up. “Great, because I don't either.”

It's comforting to know Lando, who's much more experienced than him, is just as confused as Oscar. 

“George's my mate,” Lando says, “and he's brilliant, but this is— what's the word? Convulsion?"

“Convoluted.”

“That one, yeah. Convoluted. He went to this workshop with Nico Rosberg and Jenson Button— the actors —and suddenly he thinks he's Shakesy P reborn."

Oscar nods, unable to form a proper answer.

Lando doesn't seem to mind. He continues, “Why do you get to keep your name, anyway? Orlando's horrible. And I know George's into this whole lovers-to-enemies trope, but where's the development? Where's the tension?”

Over Lando's head, Alex gives Oscar a thumbs up, mouthing, now's your chance. Oscar ignores him. 

“What's the point of being—” Lando pauses, checking the script, “—of being fated enemies if I'm not gonna kill you? Orlando and Oscar don't end up together, but they deserve to at least kill each other, right?”

Oscar tries to process the dozen plot points Lando discussed. He fails. Instead, he says, “I see you're excited to kill me.”

“Totally not the point, Osc.”

“Osc?”

“If I keep saying ‘Oscar’, it sounds like I'm asking for your hand in marriage. So, you're Osc.”

“Let's have dinner first before all this marriage talk. I'm free tomorrow. We can also go over the script again. Sounds good to you, Osc?”

That can be arranged, Oscar thinks deliriously.

Wait, what? 

Lando laughs, fond. “You're cute when you blush, Osc. I'll text you the details, okay?”

“Uh, okay.”

Oscar feels like they've skipped a couple steps, a couple scenes— but when Lando Norris is looking at you like that, who would ever say no? 

The moment breaks. George storms inside the auditorium and stalks towards the stage. “I have a new idea!”

Everyone groans. 

[grimm-the-tiger]

Misadventures with Google Translate

I put Life Series quotes through Google Translate too many times. Please help me, I can't stop.

The Names

Bdubs -> Bduby

BigB -> Capital B

Cleo -> Language

Etho -> line

Gem -> Decoration

Grian -> Shooter

Impulse -> Road

Jimmy -> Jimmy

Joel -> Hurrah

Lizzie -> Lizzie

Martyn -> Martyne

Mumbo -> Explosives

Pearl -> Beer

Ren -> Ren

Scar -> Right

Scott -> Scott

Skizz -> Writing

Tango -> Background

The Watcher -> Inspector

Some highlights

Scott: this house Jimmy: And street. [Original line: "It's home?" "Home."]

Language: Be good to me: die for me. [Original line: "Do me a favor: Die for me."]

Lizzie: And I left this world the same way I entered it: troubled. [Original line: "And so I left this world just as I had entered it: confused."]

Shooter: Scar, I think we are spirit descendants and you are too busy catching fairies!! [Original line: "Scar, I think we're soulmates and you're too busy chasing fairies!"]

Scott: They tear up carpets and kill farm animals. It immediately burst into lava. [Original line: "They break carpet and kill cows. And they mine straight down into lava."]

Language: Look, if you have a lost father, you might lose it? [Original line: "Look, if you're gonna be an absent father, could you be at least absent?"]

Scott: Our theme is ABBA's summer house, is it there now? Dead metal?! [Original line: "Our theming was once Cottagecore ABBA, now it's what? Death metal?!"]

Martyne : Tell me something before you go. Why are you attached to the sun? Inspector: Hmmm... HE. It was never meant to be. He just wanted to look. [Original line: "Just... tell me one thing before I go. Why were you so set on Grian?" "Hmph... HIM. He was never meant to be there. He was only ever meant to watch."]

line: I'm a good person to have someone light my tree. [Original line: "I was a good person till somebody burned down my tree."]

Decoration: God, that seems like a recipe for anxiety. Yes I am. [Original line: "God, that sounds like a recipe for angst. Yeah, I'm in."]

Lizzie: Follow it! No friends! [Original line: "Ha! You've got no friends!"]

Beer: Something bad is happening here. [Original line: "Something wicked this way comes."]

Shooter: Here we show our true truth? For yourself or for someone else? Are we all excited? [Original line: "Is this where we show our true allegiance? To each other, and no one else? We turn on everyone?"]

Background: It's not fair, it's not fair, I'll come back to it. [Original line: "This is unjust, it's excessive, and I will return."]

Capital B: No holes! [Original line: "There is no hole!"]

Some notes

I thought it'd be funny if the translations I used were all into languages I either knew off the top of my head that the creators speak or are official languages where they live. This got really convoluted really fast, because Ren was the only person I could think of who speaks a language other than English and I completely ran out after French and Scottish Gaelic, so I added languages spoken by Hermitcraft members instead, then threw Maori on for good measure because New Zealand's close enough to Australia (sorry, New Zealand) and I couldn't find any aboriginal Australian languages on Google Translate. So the translation order roughly went Afrikaans -> French -> Scottish Gaelic -> German -> Swedish -> Polish -> Maori -> English.

Ren's line "Red Winter is coming, me laddie" line got translated as "The red winter is coming, my lady." Honestly, it still kind of works?

"Watcher" got translated as "Inspector", which gives me the mental image of Inspector Gadget in a Watcher costume.

I don't know where the extra e at the end of Martyn's name came from.

I don't know why Etho's name is the only name that got translated into lowercase.

The fact that Mumbo's name somehow got translated as "Explosives" made me start cackling as soon as I saw it.

There were several points where Grian's name got translated as "The Sun" instead, probably because "Grian" is the word for "Sun" in Irish and Scottish Gaelic is from the same language family, so they probably share the same or a similar word.

"Soulmate" somehow got translated as "Spirit descendants". I'm pretty sure it's because it got split up into its component words; "Soul" corrupted into "Spirit", and "Mate"...I honestly don't know.

I translated a grand total of one line from Bdubs, and for some reason when I translated the document back to English, that one line stayed stuck on what I'm pretty sure is Maori except the word "Boogey", which stayed exactly the same.

I'm genuinely surprised by how many lines stuck remarkably close to the originals. Aside from his name, one of Joel's lines ("Where's the fun in that?") somehow survived perfectly intact, and one of BigB's lines ("There is no hole!") got pretty close ("No holes!").

I think the best part about this is that you can tell how and why Google translated some things the way it did, and then others you're just left completely stumped about how the hell it happened.