#Inventory Alerts

[avonmom]

2023 LIST OF DISCONTINUED AVON PRODUCTS

Learn what #Avon products are being #discontinued in 2023 & alternative suggestions you can use instead. #JenAntunesBeauty #DiscontinuedAvon #InventoryUpdate

2023 List of Discontinued Avon Products Each year, Avon reviews it’s product line and decides on what products to discontinue in order to stream line their product line to make room for new collections, make it easier for customers to shop & help Avon‘s top selling products shine. Below is a list of products that have been announced by Avon to be discontinued in 2023. To continue to service our…

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#2023 Discontinued Avon Products #2023 Inventory Alerts #2023 List of Discontinued Avon Products #Avon Bath & Body #Avon Fragrance #Avon Hair Care #Avon Makeup #Avon Products #Avon Samples #Avon Skincare #Discontinued #Discontinued Avon Products #Inventory Alerts

[bizryt]

Features of Inventory Management through

Bizryt Inventory Tracking

Stock management and tracking helps to prevent stockout and overstocking across multiple sales channel.

Vendor/Item Management

It helps to assess which vendor (item) is more frequent (frequently bought) or places bulk orders (bought in bulk).

Order Management

Track new and pending purchase order. Gives an option to create purchase order if an item is low in stock.

Inventory Alerts

Bizryt alerts users if an item is low in stock and thus helps in inventory operation.

Create SKU

Bizryt gives an option to create SKUs for easy tracking of items.

Inventory Visibility through Unified Dashboard

Gives complete view of multi stores inventory management.

#Features of Inventory Management through #Bizryt Inventory Tracking #Vendor/Item Management #Order Management #Inventory Alerts #Create SKU #Inventory Visibility through Unified Dashboard

[gamerbot-22]

DNI

I love when let's players/streamers just spend way too long obsessing over their inventory organizations Like go for it, you funky lil game human, you make your backpack look neat for your grand adventure against the forces of evil

#this post was sponsored by Penny Snapcube's Resident Evil: Village VODs #Like she got a donation alert and barely acknowledged it cause she was too busy rotating bullets in her inventory #Genuinely she's one of my favorite streamers #Highly recommend the Funny Lady #Snapcube #Video Games #Rosie Rambles

[ensburg]

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#dnd comic #dnd art #dnd #sybil #maer #ahh yes back when i was trying to figure out how to include packs and inventory #spoiler alert: i gave up on that very quickly

[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 :)

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

[lunarmoves]

"can i help you with something?" you ask sun in muffled amusement one day, eyes glued to the tablet in your hands. the last kid at the daycare had finally been picked up, leaving you to do your end-of-day inventory check in preparation for tomorrow.

"hm?" sun feigns ignorance, lanky body casting your own in his shadow as he hovers over you at your side. "with what?" a tone of innocence lines his voice, but you know he is anything but.

you look up to give him a deadpanned stare, metallic fingers pinching gently at your cheek and pulling slightly in a way that makes your mouth stretch. "oh, i don't know," you start in a lighthearted manner, "do you need your fingers oiled again?"

sun tugs at your cheek a bit harder and you swat at his arm, but he doesn't relent. "mmmmnope! joints are in tip-top shape!"

"well can you stop pinching my cheek?" you roll your eyes and are forced to lower your tablet when his other hand comes up to pinch and pull at your other cheek, too. it makes him crowd further into your space, his lithe form moving to cover your front as his head bends over your significantly smaller body.

sun only hums again and you're forced to adhere to his whims for the time being. you know you won't be able to pry him away, robot strength be damned. "i can't help it! you're so... squishy."

"well, yes." you snort to yourself and squint your eyes closed as he pulls at your skin as though it's made of playdough. spoiler alert, it's not. "human being, remember? not durable robot?" you emphasize the word in an attempt to get him to stop, but he ignores it. you huff, and when you feel your cheeks start to ache from his ministrations, you complain. "sun, c'mon, you're acting like my grandma at holidays. stop it."

sun lets out a little click that makes you peek up at him through your eyelashes. his head has tilted to the right, and a twitch of his smile is all the warning you get before he forces himself further into your personal space.

"ooh look how much you've grown!" sun coos down at you in an impression of someone elderly, thumbs rubbing into your cheeks. it makes you huff, but you resign yourself to his teasing. hopefully he just needs to get it out of his system. "my baby is so big now! adorable! gorgeous! they grow up so fast!" he releases one of your cheeks so he can pretend to wipe a tear from one of his white eyes. you internally celebrate at the relief and quickly lift your hand not holding your tablet to cover your aching cheek. his head tilts to the left at the loss, but he's still got his fingers pinching at the other side of your face. you're not sure how much of this you can take.

"sun, buddy, you're killing me over here," you manage to get out, ears tinged red at all his attention. his grin seems to widen.

"i remember when you were just a wee thing!" sun continues in a voice that's a pretty spot on imitation of someone in their later years. "dancing around, pretending to marry that little toy you had. tell me sweetie, do you have any special person in your life, hm? any lover? am i gonna have any grandbabies running around soon?"

a flush crawls up your neck at his words and you halfheartedly glower up at him. honestly, what the hell? where is this even coming from? sun only finds delight in your glare, however, if the way his rays spin around is any indication.

"dude," is all you manage to say. it makes his eyes upturn into crescents. "knock it off— ow! hey, that hurts!" he'd given your cheek a particularly rough tug and it makes something drop in the pit of your stomach. you watch with wide eyes as he lowers himself until his face is mere inches from yours, dark with the shadows from the fluorescent lighting above.

"well?" sun whispers to you, all the mirth and delight gone from his voice as though they had never been there in the first place. you swallow heavily and suddenly feel very, very uneasy. his smile stretches farther along his face, unnatural and thin. "do you?"

#>:3c #teehee #anyways #dca #dca x reader #daycare attendant x reader #dca fandom #fnaf sun x reader #sun x reader #sun x y/n #sundrop x reader #sundrop x y/n #fnaf dca x reader #sundrop x you #sun x you #shay scribbles daydreams #honestly why do they have so many fcking tags i go insane everytime i post smthn #daycare attendant x y/n #daycare attendant x self insert

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Arabesque

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Being a ballerina is everything you've ever wanted and more but after a major injury, you had to stay a step back. Now you're able to get back into it, so you ask the one person on the team who has taken ballet if she can help you.

Squares Filled: “you better have a good excuse for being late again.” (2021) for @blackwidowbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

The mansion is so big that you have to split up from your team in order to cover most of it. You hate being on your own on a mission but this calls for you to be alone. You’re not much for violence but the team needs a sharpshooter, which you are. You’re highly skilled on your feet, very flexible, and light as a feather. You can sneak into a room and not make a sound even if there are fifty people in it.

Someone with that skill is useful on a mission like this one. Someone stole black market weapons that they want to sell to the highest bidder, and you’re here to stop him before they leave. You’re not sure who is behind this but if those weapons get out, a lot of people are going to die.

Your earpiece connects you to Steve, Clint, and Natasha so even though you’re not in the same room as them, you still have them by your side. Your steps are very light as you enter one of the back rooms and there is a man in the back by a table of weapons. It’s the stolen merchandise. If you play your cards right, you can do this without alerting him.

The man takes apart the big guns to be packaged easier in the boxes by his feet. As he is turning to package the guns, you panic thinking he is going to see you and start shooting. You do the first thing you can think of and haul yourself onto a high cabinet soundlessly. The man turns and doesn't see you as he continues to pack the weapons.

You jump from high cabinet to high cabinet as you make your way across the room silently. The space is small and compact but you’re very flexible. You’ve been training all your life to be where you are, and it comes in handy for missions like these. When you get right above the guy, you jump onto his back and tighten your legs around his neck. The man doesn’t have any time to react and begins flailing about trying to get you off him.

You take your knife out of the arm holster and stab his hands that try to pry you off him, and he falls to the ground in a fit of choked gasps. As soon as he is passed out from the lack of oxygen, you step away from him and clean your blade on his jacket.

“I got the weapons. Back room, west wing.”

“On our way,” Natasha says. Your teammates meet you in the back room and see the man sprawled at your feet. “You took him down without alerting the alarms. Impressive.”

One word from her and you’re a blushing mess.

“Thank you,” you smile.

Steve grabs the man while you, Natasha, and Clinbt grab the weapons. SHIELD has been looking for these weapons that will keep them in their inventory while keeping the man hostage to gather more information from him. Everyone wants to celebrate the successful mission but parties were never your thing. Nothing against your friends but you’d rather spend time in the gym than be mingling with all of them.

Tony made a section of the gym to mirror a ballet studio for you to practice in. You’ve taken ballet ever since you could walk since your mother was one. You’re just following in her footsteps, trying to make her proud. The dream is to one day be on stage in front of an audience but you have a long way until you get there. You face the mirror and grab onto the bar so you can do your stretches. You squat down and bend your knees outward for ten seconds before standing up and doing it all over again.

For your next stretch, you turn away from the mirror and bend backward until your head is at the same length as the low bar. You grab onto the bar and lean forward while still holding onto the bar so that your body is in a backward ‘7’ shape. You’re holding this position for thirty seconds when you see Natasha walk into the gym through the mirror. You stand upright and give her a kind smile.

“Nice form. Looks like it feels good.”

“Yeah, especially after a long mission.”

“Little tip? Try using the wall for that stretch and walk your legs down the wall.”

“Have you ever taken ballet?”

“We did it as part of our training.” You open your mouth to ask her something but decide against it. “No, what were you going to say?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to be my teacher. I could use some help with my form even though I’ve been doing this all my life. I took a long break due to an injury and I’m just now getting back into it. I’d like you to teach me only if you’re okay with it. I understand if it’s too painful for you to, though.”

She chuckles. “Had you asked me fifteen years ago, I would have said no but I can be your teacher now.”

“Great,” you grin.

You two meet four times a week, three times if you have a mission to go on. She is teaching you so much, stuff that you didn’t know about or have forgotten about. While this has been helpful for your ballet career, it’s bad for your thoughts and feelings. It’s no secret that you have a thing for Natasha. How can anyone not have a thing for her? She’s gorgeous, has an amazing personality, is sweet and funny, and puts everyone before herself. She might know based on the looks you’ve been giving her but you haven’t outright told her you like her.

“I appreciate everything you’ve been doing for me,” you say to her.

You’ve learned so much in the coming weeks that brought you closer to her, which is why you two are sitting on the roof overlooking the city below. Tony built the Avengers Tower right in the center of Manhattan so on nights like these, you can see the nightlife.

“So, have you always wanted to be a ballerina?” Natasha asks.

“For as long as I could remember. My mother was one. Maybe that’s why I got into ballet classes at such a young age. I was actually really good until I graduated high school. I got injured on stage which left me unable to perform for years. By the time I could do it again, I lost my way. I started to pick it up over the years but it wasn’t the same. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I can’t imagine going through Red Room training was fun, but did you like doing ballet? Can you see yourself doing it again?”

“No,” she shakes her head.

“What did you want to do in life? You know, if you weren't an Avenger?”

“I never thought about it. I was taken at such a young age, that I didn’t think I could know anything outside of that training.”

That hurts your heart. She was taken and forced into a life she never asked for. She better off now but at what cost?

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs.

Moments like these are precious because they don’t last forever. The training sessions after this got better because you two found a way to work well together. She’d help you with your form and you’d try and perform a number for her. It’s working well for you two except your feelings for her are increasing. It’s the way she presses her body against yours to make sure you’re in the right position or her hand on your body guiding you to where you need to be.

It’s driving you insane.

She’s gonna kill me. Fuck.

If you’re late one more time, she is going to kick your ass. You rush down to the gym in hopes she isn’t there. You yank open the door and sigh in relief when you don’t see her in the corner. To make it seem like you’ve been here for at least thirty minutes, you quickly put your shoes on and do some quick stretches.

“You better have a good excuse for being late again.”

You look up and see Natasha by the entrance to the gym.

“Okay, listen, my alarm didn’t wake me up.”

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

“Your point?”

“If you’re late again, I’ll have you on the floor in seconds.”

Damn, why’d that turn you on? Those are delicious yet dangerous thoughts.

“Yes, ma’am,” you nod.

She walks over to you just as you stick your left leg into the air behind you. The only thing you’re balancing on is your right foot on your toes. You arch your back slightly and raise your arms to look like you’re flying. One of the things you’ve had trouble with since getting back into the art is balancing. Natasha puts her right hand underneath your leg to keep it up as soon as she sees you wobbling.

“Don’t think. Clear your mind.” 

She moves her hand from your calf up to your inner thigh, raising your leg as she moves. She grips your hip to get you to stay still, but the only reason why you’re going to crumble to the ground is because her hands are on your body. Her hands are so close to the place where you want her the most even if she doesn’t know it. She must know what she’s doing to you otherwise she wouldn’t do it. You look at her through the mirror and see the slight smirk on her face. That motherfucker. She knows exactly what she is doing.

“Like that?”

“Just like that. Good girl.”

Those two words are what cause you to fall back into her. She catches you in her arms and you put your hands on her shoulders to steady yourself.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s okay,” she whispers back.

Your body acts before your brain can think. You press a kiss upon her lips but quickly pull back in shock that you actually did that.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to do that.”

“Do it again,” she says.

This time, you kiss her confidently. Ballet practice just got a whole lot more interesting.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fic #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff fiction #natasha romanoff fan fic #natasha romanoff fan fiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu #marvel fan fic #marvel fluff #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fiction #marvel fic #marvel fiction #mcu fanfiction

[faebaex]

Tangled in Wonderland - Leonotis Leonurus

author note: second poll's winner! also a plant pun for the title, just because (￣▽￣) i feel like Jade would be proud. speaking of, he has a teeny tiny cameo in this fic, simply bc he just fit the situation so well. so far, its been a housewarden clean sweep on the polls, with Azul winning the Octavinelle poll! new poll is up right now, a bonus one this time! who will be the comeback king? go vote if you haven't already! enjoy~

characters: Leona Kingscholar x GN!Reader

The library was your turf.

By this point, you were on a first name basis with all of the library ghosts, and you had a fairly good working knowledge of every section of the library, with Ace and Deuce often seeking you out at your usual table to ask you if you had any idea where a certain book would be. Of course, more often than not that meant that they would then sit at your table and you wouldn’t really get any meaningful research done, not with all their squabbling and general freshman catastrophic energy. When Grim tagged along, it was even worse, but at least you could keep an eye on him and make sure he was actually doing the assignments he was supposed to.

Despite all the time you had been spending at the library, you were still no closer to figuring out how to get home. Crowley was nowhere to be found, taking avoiding you to an entirely new level. The books and reading list that Riddle had provided you, however, had been very insightful. His recommendations were much easier to read than the previous tomes you had been torturing yourself with, and you were starting to see connections between theories, it becoming easier for you to source further reading without having to consult Riddle first. So yes, the library was your turf.

The botanical garden, however, was not. And you were well aware of who it belonged to.

Leona Kingscholar was one of the students at the top of your list to avoid. And considering his personality, the feeling was likely mutual. So you made a conscious effort to avoid places where you could run into him, not wanting to tempt the already volatile nature of fate to thrust you into his trajectory. You were even doing well avoiding conflict with the Savanaclaw students, especially considering they were always looking for a fight and the school’s only magicless student was definitely high on their lists to torment. But unfortunately for you, you couldn’t always avoid some of Leona’s favourite haunts, because what Crewel wants, Crewel gets.

You grumbled to yourself as you picked through the botanical gardens, a basket on one arm and a list in the other. Crewel had kindly brought it to your attention with a lash of his pointer that good ol’ Grim had been using ingredients from the potionology inventory for his lab work and assignments instead of collecting his own before class, as student handbook guidelines demand. With Grim nowhere to be seen and you being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Crewel had handed you an extensive list of every ingredient that Grim had used since the two of you became a joint student, and ordered you to the botanical garden to retrieve every single one of them, or face the consequences. And with Crewel swinging that pointer around, you didn’t wait around to find out what those consequences would be.

Being so unfamiliar with the botanical gardens made this job harder, and the sheer size of the list had you running around in circles, picking one ingredient only to realise that you needed something similar that was back the way you had just came. It was incredibly frustrating, and you found yourself huffing under your breath as you traipsed around the botanical garden. To make matters worse, you had to keep yourself alert, lest there be a certain lion’s tail draped carelessly on the pavestone.

You were well aware that in the game, the poor main character had accidentally stepped on a certain stroppy lion’s tail, and he had retaliated by threatening to knock their teeth out. You’d rather not find yourself in the same situation. You’d briefly considered moving his tail out of the way with a stick or something, but decided that Leona was hardly worth the effort and would likely get offended at you poking at him either way, so instead you had to dutifully watch your feet as you continued on with your laborious task.

You had been hunting for ingredients for about an hour and a half by now, and clubs were starting to wrap up their activities and head back to their dorms. You, however, still had half of your list to go, so there was no such reprieve waiting for you. You wondered if you would be able to drop the basket back to the potionology lab with your half-completed list and promise Crewel that you’d finish the job tomorrow. Surely he wasn’t willing to wait around for you to find all these ingredients? If there was any professor at Night Raven College who you expected to have evening plans, it would be Crewel.

As you pondered your next course of action, you caught a flash of teal out of the corner of your eye. Walking towards you down the pathway was Jade Leech, and you fought the urge to do something stupid like show weakness by tensing or throwing yourself into the bushes. With his usual contrived smile affixed to his face, Jade eyed you in a way that really did make you feel like a shrimp, suddenly giving you a whole new understanding as to why his twin had dubbed the main character with such a pet name. Him being here was an oversight on your part, clearly you had thought that Leona was the botanical garden’s biggest threat, not even factoring in that Jade would use this place to fawn over his mushrooms. Thankfully he didn’t stop, passing you with an elegant stride that you could only appreciate, considering he had only been on legs for two years.

“Good day, prefect. Lovely weather we are having.” Jade greeted as he passed you, with you only responding with a small, tight-lipped smile back. No sooner had his footsteps faded away did the heavens decide to open up, a surprised cry erupting from your lips as you quickly found yourself becoming drenched, the sprinklers dousing the entire area and you in water. That could not have been a coincidence.

The sprinklers stopped as quickly as they had started, but by that point the damage had already been done, your clothes and hair dripping. The list in your hand was sodden, the ink running and quickly making the contents illegible. You growled in frustration, throwing the soggy list to the floor with a wet thump as you tried to squeeze out your clothes in vain. You were so busy trying to sort yourself out, to scrap back any shred of dignity you could that you almost missed the rustling of bushes next to you. Even if you had, there was no way you’d miss the soaking wet beastman emerging from the foliage, ears flat to his head and tail whipping behind him aggressively.

And he was glaring straight at you. Great.

“You got some nerve, herbivore. You got a death wish?” Leona snarled at you and you found yourself prickling up. “This wasn’t me!” You argued, gesturing to your own dripping form before glaring right back at him, “I might be magicless, but that doesn’t make me stupid! If I was going to set the sprinklers off, I’d make sure I wouldn’t get caught in it.” You huffed, once again trying to squeeze the excess water out of your clothes. Your words seemed to pique some interest in Leona, as he was suddenly all up in your space and sniffing you.

“Hm, you’re right. No magic at all, just wet herbivore.” Leona remarked, scrunching his nose up as he stepped back, as if the smell offended him. “Do you mind? You smell like wet cat.” You said flatly with an unimpressed expression, throwing your basket back over your arm with perhaps a little more force than necessary. You swear you could see an amused glint in Leona’s eye as he stooped down, picking up the soggy list that you’d thrown to the ground just moments earlier. “What’s this?” He enquired, holding the list away from him between his thumb and forefinger as if it was toxic, yet still holding it out of your reach when you tried to swipe it back.

“That is mine.” You said with exasperation, your dignity already running down the drain without Leona making you jump to get your list back, “whatever, its ruined anyway. Have it.” You huffed, resigned to having to go back to Crewel with your metaphorical tail between your legs and plead for a new list. Leona eyed you up for a moment before he stepped towards you again, tugging at the basket on your arm to get a look at the contents before dumping the ruined list into the basket.

“C’mon, prefect,” Leona droned over his shoulder as he started walking up the pathway, “I’ll get you some ingredients. First year ingredients are simple.” He scoffed as he navigated the garden like a seasoned pro, his gait lazy and leaving you no choice but to trail after him with a suspicious expression on your face.

“You’re… Helping me?” You questioned, the corner of your lips downturning warily. The Leona you knew was never helpful, only interested if he had something to gain, usually foisting off any inconveniences to Ruggie. “What’s in it for you?” You asked carefully, watching as he picked some stems from a bush and lob them into your basket, making you sigh as you attempted to tidy up his shoddy packing. Leona’s smile was all fangs as he caught your eyes before continuing along the path, “I’m always in need of another gopher. Having you owe me could come in handy, Ruggie has been nagging me lately and you could be just what I need... Plus, the quicker you’re out of the botanical garden, the more peaceful sleep I’d get without having to listen to your huffing and puffing.”

Ah.

Well, you suppose the original main character was truly onto something when they’d stayed up all night screaming outside Leona’s room in chapter three.

Leona had made short work of finding ingredients, and soon your basket was filled to the brim. “Those are all the common ingredients in first year potions. Any missing ingredients are on you.” Leona drawled as you both walked together towards the exit of the botanical garden, his hands behind his head as he yawned leisurely, “you owe me, prefect.”

“How do you even know what ingredients to look for?” You asked, your curiosity getting the best of you as you both left the garden, about to split off on your own paths as you planned to deliver the basket of ingredients to Crewel, whilst you assumed Leona would head back to his dorm. Leona simply kept walking, and you assumed he’d grown tired of you. But then he paused, looking over his shoulder at you with a smirk that you’d dare to describe as cheeky.

“Because I had to search out ingredients for Crewel in my first year, too.”

Huh. Perhaps Leona wasn’t that bad after all, you thought to yourself as you watched Leona’s retreating back, before setting off yourself to hand the ingredients in to Crewel, praying for fate to grant you some mercy for a change.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #leona kingscholar #twst leona #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x y/n

[mishoarts]

SBG GAME MODE 

Characters ideas? :

_ ASHLYN [player 1] 

more alert of the surroundings (gets warned immediately when there's any movements around)

Phantoms couse less damage on her

_ Aiden [player 2]

heals %20 faster than other characters.

Double jump.

_ Ben [player 3]

other players heal and get revived %35 faster when he's around.

Highest close-range damage.

_ Tyler [player 4]

biggest stamina.

Runs faster than other characters.

_ Taylor [player 5]

fights in both medium and close range 

Can fix materials/ machines 

_ Logan [player 6] 

far/long -range fighter.

Inventory can hold 3 different shooter weapons. 

_________________________

About Ash's characteristics remember in old zombie games where a red dot pops up on the side where the monster is coming from? what I meant is that with Ashlyn the dot pops up faster (I tried to explain 🗿)

-I can't stop thinking about them and this is the best I got -

#school bus graveyard #sbg #sbg (webtoon) #school bus graveyard webtoon #ashlyn banner #aiden clark #ben clark #tyler hernandez #logan fields #taylor hernandes #sbg game mod

[leggerefiore]

Villainous Team Boss's S/o Sneaking a Team Uniform and Wearing It For Them

(being a grunt uniform, the boss's uniform, and their own admin uniform. thanks to @whoisthatcreepoverthere for the original idea!)

cw: fluff,

characters: Maxie, Archie, Lysandre, Guzma, Giovanni, Cyrus

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 Sneaking one of Team Magma's grunt uniforms is harder than one might expect. Maxie prefers everything to be quite organised, so it would be rare that they have extra uniforms around or that a grunt would misplace theirs. However, as Maxie's partner, you had an advantage somehow in sneaking one. The Magma Leader looks up from his laptop on his desk, ready to scold the grunt who just walked into his quarters without scheduling a meeting beforehand or even buzzing themselves in. He then feels bewildered as to why you were wearing that. Did you join Team Magma? Why had Tabitha and Courtney not alerted him? Why did you not tell him yourself? He then realises you managed to sneak one of the few spare uniforms they had around when you started laughing.

🪨 Maxie feels embarrassed for getting so worked up over what was essentially a prank on him. You are asked to please return the uniform, as they need to keep track of their inventory and whatever else. Before you go off to do it, however, he does admire how nice his team's colours look on you… The maroon compliments you nicely, and the knitted fabric looked strangely… cute on you. He has to snap himself out of it because he feels less like he is ogling his lover and more like he is staring at one of his grunts.

🪨 If you manage to steal his somehow, he will be mildly annoyed. He likely only has three – a spare at home, a spare at the hideout, and the one he usually wears. He cycles through them as needed. Today was an “as needed,” and he had headed home quickly to grab the spare since it was closer than the hideout. He could only stare blankly at you, imitating his poses in front of a mirror in his uniform. There was only an ask for you to please return his clothing. He feels more embarrassed than anything about this – especially if his uniform fits you well.

🪨 Maxie would prefer his partner to join Team Magma, actually. So, in his ideal situation, you would have your own Magma Admin uniform. Naturally, he would have to approve any uniform you would design… Though, whether it be cosplay or an actual uniform, he would feel strangely flustered at seeing how it complimented you. Perfectly attuned to whatever you wanted it to focus on, so long as it kept to the red and knit style of Team Magma. Whether you go for shorts or a knitted dress, he appreciates the aesthetics dearly. He is notably more flustered if it was a cosplay, though, since he wishes you were a member of his team so dearly. Maybe now is a time to convince you…

🌧Archie🌊

💧 Getting an Aqua grunt uniform is too easy, honestly. Distressingly easy. Archie's filtering is mostly done by asking random aquatic facts and whether or not you support water pollution. Granted, not everyone did get approved since Shelly proved herself to almost be the brains of the entire operation. No one really questioned why Archie's partner was grabbing one, either. You just took it, put it on, and no one thought anything of it. Even Archie barely thought on it when you entered his quartets, busy tapping away and speaking with Matt and Shelly about who knows what. He popped a look over at you, about to tell what he thought was a grunt to come back later, before gasping.

💧 Archie instead gave a hearty laugh and a thumbs up before continuing his conversation. The Aqua Leader has no complaints or comments. You want to wear a uniform? Well, he trusts your interests align enough with his own that it will not cause any issues for him or his team. Besides, you look cute in the bandana and stripes. He almost wishes to ask you to wear it more, if anything. You look good no matter what, though.

💧 You likely have to sneak his uniform after he changes into something else (rare), so it is difficult to get the chance. Though, when you do, he finds out pretty quick since he probably wants it back. The sight of you in his wetsuit – whether it be horribly ill-fitting or surprisingly worn well – makes him grin. Though, he likely loses his mind a little if it is too big for you and scoops you up to laugh some more. If it fits, he is impressed by your form, however. He approves again, but he really needs it back.

💧 Like his dear red-headed companion, he would adore for his partner to be in Aqua with him, and it would only make sense for them to be an admin. Even if you are not, you are essentially an unofficial member with how you can come and go throughout the Aqua hideout with ease without question. So, he has given some thought to what you would wear as an admin. Granted, it would just be a themed wetsuit, but he loves the thought. So you were making it a reality? He is overjoyed and cheers on the cosplay while assuming this is your subtle way of asking him to join his team. Get ready for endless compliments and praises.

🔥Lysandre🍷

☕️ Getting your hands on a Flare uniform… Now, that was a difficult thing to do. No one was really eager to give up their 5,000,000 dollar uniform to just anyone. Well, except, maybe their boss's lovely partner, who seemed just so curious as to what one would fit like. Needless to say, you managed to get one of the bright red suits for your own. Wearing it, you almost wanted to say the price tag felt reasonable. Until you remembered why Lysandre even made his group in first place. Encountering Lysandre in the outfit had been difficult, as the average grunt was not at all allowed in his office. His café, however, served as a well enough hub.

☕️ Lysandre barely registered it at first, having been more focused on his many projects and getting a cup of coffee than any lonesome grunt. Something about you made him double-take, though. Upon a second glance, he registered your face almost instantly. The Flare Boss struggled to comprehend why you were in a Flare grunt uniform. There was absolutely no way you joined without him knowing. He then is pleasantly surprised by how well you pull off the suit. The bright red compliments you well and seems to bring out an elegant, almost handsome side that deeply respects. That almost makes him forget to question how you got a suit of your own. You do get interrogated, however.

☕️ He is mildly entertained by the sight of you in one of his suits. Naturally, it was not his only one he owned, but he found your attempt to wear some of his clothing rather adorable. Unless you are somehow both his height or build, the suit fits you improperly. Lysandre does debate having you made an outfit like his own since the thought of you in something properly fitting like his uniform almost seemed to suit you well. You are, however, his beloved lover and will be at his side of the helm in his beautiful world. The least bothered by it outside of Archie.

☕️ As for an admin uniform, assuming you go for the generic admin uniforms rather than one of the scientists, he finds himself intrigued by how long it took you to acquire the items to imitate it. He is an active purveyor of fashion, after all. There is also a minor concern about leaking among his group, but he just assumes you found out due to your connection with him. He enjoys the way it looks on you, truly, but he feels there is a certain lure that is missing and almost wants to design you one of your own. Perhaps… It was time he finally started involving you more actively in Team Flare. You opened a door that you can not close with this one.

🕶Guzma💀

□ Getting a Team Skull grunt uniform is easy. They are almost all DIY anyway, and the ones stashed out in the Po Pokemon Center are already selling some in there. You buying one barely raises any eyebrows, too. Boss's partner wants a uniform? Whatever, fine. Even when you pop into Guzma's room, he barely questions what you are doing. It does not even register with him at first until you try to sit on his lap. Then, he is suddenly aware that you have changed clothes.

□ He honestly feels a bit smug, seeing you in the uniform. The Team Skull cap and necklace look nice on you, and he barely cares to question where you got it. They have spares all around, and, once again, most are DIY made. He gets a chuckle out of it and just decides to roll with it. You were already an unofficial member. Why not let you wear a uniform? Besides, seeing you as an “underling” let his mind drift in some fun directions that it would not go for any other grunt.

□ Now, you stealing his uniform is less fun. Especially when he enters to see you sitting on his throne with his sunglasses over your eyes. He does not even want to know how you sneaked his watch without him noticing. He starts off with a laugh, expecting it to be over quickly, but you instead do a bad imitation of him. Guzma is now feeling annoyed about this. You get away with it until a grunt walks into the room and does not even realise that you have replaced Guzma at first. He is destroyed internally.

□ Team Skull's admin outfits… are not really a thing. It really is just your own flair to the general scheme they use, with a Skull necklace and black and white clothing being the only requirement. Or maybe you can match with Plumeria if you want. Either way, your wearing it intrigues Guzma. You are not an official member, no, but you do have some authority around Po town. He likes it a lot. There is almost an urge to ask you to join completely, but he gets you have your reasons. For now, he will enjoy your styling completely.

🚀Giovanni🐈

🟥 Getting a Rocket grunt uniform…. is likely easier than Giovanni would want it to be. They have spares in their hideouts, so sneaking one is not so hard. What proved a challenge was how unknown you are among the grunts and trying to navigate the den to even get a glance at your busy lovers. Too many questions and demands, or getting an order barked at you by some random higher-up. You felt like you were never going to get to Giovanni. Even trying to enter his office got you some looks from his guards, but they seemed to quickly recognise you. A questioning look was given, but the doors were unlocked.

🟥 Giovanni barely knew what to think at some random grunt, interrupting his busy schedule for an impromptu meeting, but before he could put the fear of whatever deity they believed into them, he felt suspicious Sure, he registered just the uniform at first, but when his eyes glanced at your face, he let out a sigh. Just what were you doing? He decided against questioning it and instead took a second glance at you. You really fit perfectly into the black clothing, and he would admit the bright red “R” almost felt like a claim on you. Suddenly, he will let this slide. His mind has gone elsewhere.

🟥 He barely responds to you wearing one of his suits. Yes, haha, very funny or interesting. You are even trying to get his sinister grin down but are not quite there. Giovanni claps but is mostly unimpressed. He instead recalls a time his son did something similar, and you get the feeling that he is calling your actions childish. He once again does find himself quite smug about the “R” logo, though it is quite a bit smaller on his own attire.

🟥 In a hand-crafted admin uniform, he finds himself more impressed with your talents in arranging such a look rather than you dressing up like a knock-off member. You even chose the correct styling uniforms his elite executives wore. Were you wanting a position in his organisation? He certainly hoped not because you were not getting one. Work and romance were entirely divided things for him. Though, you have given him an idea as you turned to show off the uniform. Maybe he should order you around like he did his underlings and give you a taste of the “boss” side of him.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ It probably would not be that hard for them to get a grunt uniform since they most likely do have a bulk around HQ. Just go in, grab one, put it on, and give Cyrus a heart attack when you pop into his office. Saturn would not approve you as hire, he knows for sure. He wants to know where you got that and also to take it off right now because he does not like the idea of him viewing you like one of his grunts.

☄️ The Galactic Leader does hate how it makes his thoughts swirl, though. You do not look bad in it — no, not at all. It appeals entirely to his tastes. He feels so bothered by this. The last thing he wanted was for you to figure out his group's real intentions since he knows even those among his most trusted seemed to struggle with it. You truly do look good in the grey uniform. If he was not so restrained – no, if he did not lack spirit, he would allow his mind to wander more.

☄️ As for getting his, well, if the cat is already out of the bag, he is probably leaving a uniform at home to change into instead of having to wear a suit out instead. Sneak it out and discover how ill-fitting it is on you (or maybe well fitting it is if you match his height and body type). Cyrus is mildly disappointed and confused as to why you are wearing his uniform. You are not trying to join Team Galactic and usurp him, are you? He asks you to take it off again.

☄️ If you style your own commander costume, he presumably walks into your shared home to see you in it. He blinks a few times in confusion. That is certainly not one of the uniforms commissioned by him or a commander. It resembles the general theme well, but he is distressed by how you got that and why you are wearing it. Are you… pledging your support to his new world? He feels like he is left reeling by all this… You just get to watch Cyrus.exe crash before your eyes as he fails to process all this. In the end, you will be asked where you got the outfit and the explanation of wanting to try out a uniform in the style of his team leaves him bewildered and a little disappointed since he had hoped he could have your support.

#pokemon x reader #maxie x reader #archie x reader #guzma x reader #cyrus x reader #lysandre x reader #giovanni x reader #pokemon/reader #pokemon maxie x reader #pokemon archie x reader #pokemon guzma x reader #pokemon lysandre x reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #pokemon giovanni x reader #maxie/reader #archie/reader #lysandre/reader #guzma/reader #giovanni/reader #cyrus/reader #pokemon maxie/reader #pokemon archie/reader #pokemon lysandre/reader #pokemon guzma/reader #pokemon giovanni/reader #pokemon cyrus/reader

[avonmom]

2022 LIST OF DISCONTINUED AVON PRODUCTS

See what Avon products are being discontinued in 2022 so far and alternative suggestions you can use instead. #JenAntunesBeauty #DiscontinuedAvon #InventoryUpdate

2022 LIST OF DISCONTINUED AVON PRODUCTS Each year, Avon reviews it’s product line and decides on what products to discontinue in order to stream line their product line to make room for new collections, make it easier for customers to shop & help Avon‘s top selling products shine. Below are a list of products that have been announced by Avon to be discontinued in 2022, To continue to service…

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#2022 Discontinued Avon Products #2022 Inventory Alerts #2022 List of Discontinued Avon Products #Avon Bath &amp; Body #Avon Fragrance #Avon Hair Care #Avon Home #Avon Home Cleaning #Avon Makeup #Avon Men #Avon Products #Avon Samples #Avon Skincare #Discontinued #Discontinued Avon Products #Inventory Alerts

[adorkastock]

⚠️ Low Inventory Alert! ⚠️

Handy Hand Books and Fancy Foot Books are both low inventory in my Kofi shop. There's 10 and 11 copies respectively and it might be awhile before I can reorder so grab 'em soon if you need them! 🖼️✍🏻

#adorkastock #hands #feet #drawing reference

[haee-elia]

spence-tober: day 31 - bookshop owner

pairing: bookshop owner!spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: in which you bring your newborn son to your husband's bookshop as a midday surprise

word count: 1292

warnings: fluff, talks of children, pregnancy, mentions of labor, bedrest, formula, pump for breastfeeding

spence-tober masterlist

The familiar ding alert of the bell above the door as you opened it was like music to your ears. It had been far too long since you had stepped foot into the homey feeling bookshop and you didn’t realise how much you missed it until you took in the sight you’d seen so many times before.

The lines and aisles of bookshelves to the right and left of you are abundant, but not overcrowding the space in the small storefront. There’s a small lending library in the front window next to the children’s reading space and a counter in the middle with curtains hanging on the wall, leading to the back where you know categorizing and inventory goes on.

“Welco-” The voice belonging to your husband starts to say, his voice ringing out in the room for everyone to hear. 

Spencer had his nose in a book, sitting behind the counter on a comfortable stool waiting for customers or anyone else who needed assistance in the store. When he looked up to greet the patron of the store, his eyes instead met yours. His darling wife of six years. 

However, his eyes didn’t stay on your form for very long, straying to the bundle all swaddled up in a travel car seat that hung from your arms. 

Your’s and Spencer’s newborn son, Gideon Reid, sleeping away in a swaddle unknown to his new surroundings. The tiny small baby with a little hat around tucked at his ears to keep him warm and a cute outfit that you had dressed him in just before leaving the house.

“Oh!” Spencer says in an adoring tone. Quickly he puts down his book and moves around the counter to come towards the two of you. 

“What are you doing here?” He whispers as he reaches you at the front of the store. Spencer pulls you in for a sweet kiss and then moves his attention to the car seat, taking it gently in his arms and gazing down at his son. He’s switched to a lower volume to not disturb the sleeping newborn.

In the last stage of your pregnancy, it was getting harder and harder for you to travel to the bookstore which you hated. But when your doctor prescribed bedrest for the last month of your pregnancy, Spencer had put his foot down and practically bound you to the bed, getting everything you need so you wouldn’t wear yourself out or go into early labor.

You smile at your husband who’s looked back to you, a large teethy grin, “I wanted to surprise you.” 

Spencer presses another sweet kiss to your lips before reaching behind you to flip the sign hanging at the front of the door to ‘closed’ before taking your hand and Gideon in his car seat and leading the both of you to the back of the store.

The bedrest had worked. You had a relatively fine labor, for how fine labor could be. Your recovery was okay and Spencer had been a big help with taking care of you and Gideon when you first came home from the hospital. Even though Gideon is your first baby, Spencer’s dad instincts kicked in and he instantly was so good with baby Gideon.

“Thank you for the surprise.” Spencer says genuinely before scooping his large hands into the car seat and gently hoisting the still sleeping Gideon to his chest, coddling him close.

You take your phone out of the large diaper bag you carry with you and snap a quick photo of your husband and your son together. Then, you take in the rest of the familiar sight that is Diana’s Library, the bookshop your husband had bought had renovated over the past four years. His former mentor and your son’s namesake, Jason Gideon, had retired and given his best employee, your husband, first right to buy what was the previous space known as Jason’s Library. Since then, Spencer had dedicated it to his mother and worked to make the bookshop of his dreams. 

You had contributed as well, putting together bookshelves and cabinets on your free weekends and scouring old second hand books online to add to the library. And when you and Spencer discovered you were pregnant, you also did most of the revamping of the old reading nook to a child friendly reading space. All of this is why you were so pouty when you were placed on bedrest and you couldn’t return to the warm and cozy environment you had grown to love so much.

“I thought it would be nice to visit.” You comment as Spencer rocks back and forth with your sleeping son on his chest. You reach your hand and fix your husband’s glasses that have slid down on his nose.

Spencer smiles back at you, his eyes gleaming with delight, “And you’re feeling okay?” he checks in.

You nod, “Yeah, I am. Took a shower, did some chores around the house.” You list.

“Don’t strain yourself.” Spencer warns, concern in his voice.

“I won’t.” You promise to him, “Besides, I just wanted to get out of the house.”

“You mean that you missed your chair here.” Spencer corrects, a joking tone in his voice and a matching visage in his eyes.

You scoff at his remark, though not denying it, “I don’t know why you couldn’t have asked Derek for his truck so we could bring it to the house.”

“Because you ordered one for the house! We’d have to move it back here!” He laughs. The laughter has jostled Gideon and he slowly wakens from his peaceful slumber despite the small pats Spencer gives on his back. 

You purse your lips, “But it’s on backorder and won’t be in for another five months.” You complain and pout. 

Spencer laughs at your not-so-serious expression. You take your hand and reach out again, this time adjusting the knit cap on your son’s head to not cover over his eyes. It let’s your son, for the very first time, take in the surroundings that you know he’ll get to know very well in his childhood to come.

Gideon, now awake and alert, moves his head around and by the look on his face, isn’t very happy. Both Spencer and you clock this.

“I just changed his diaper before leaving the house, so he should be good.” You inform your husband.

“Is he maybe hungry?” Spencer says, rocking him back and forth more quickly now. He looks at his son inquisitively, trying to figure out the solution to his grump face that you both know will turn into a shrill cry very quickly unless handled. The rocking holds his cry at bay for now, but its only a temporary solution.

“Hm, maybe.” You say uncertain.

Spencer’s ready though, he takes the diaper bag from your hand and puts in on a clean countertop behind him. Then he opens the cabinets above and you smile to yourself at the sight you see.

“You have a spare pump and formula here?” You say, your heart warming at the sweet sight in front of you. This just confirms to you that you have the best partner ever.

“Of course!” Your husband responds, bringing both down from the cabinet to the counter for you, “This is like our second home. I have a travel crib too if he gets sleepy.”

You pull him in again for a kiss, a longer one this time, and you make sure that you put all the love and emotion you hold for him. As you pull back, you instantly get a gratifying feeling. Being with your husband and your son in your favorite place in the world.

“You are simply the best, Spencer Reid.”

a/n: and this concludes the end of spence-tober 2023! thanks for coming along for the ride, whether this is the first one you've read (check back at the masterlist for more), if you've joined midway, or if you've been here since the beginning!

i'll admit, writing and posting every single day has been a little stressful and finishing writing challenges like these can be hard and taxing, especially with how unexpected life can get. i'll be posting some behind the scenes sometime later this week or next and then i might announce some new things coming soon too!

#criminal minds #criminalminds #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fluff #dr. spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid au #spencer reid fanfic

[actual-changeling]

Crowley has never been a bookseller, and he isn't one now.

Sure, he flips the sign during the day whenever he feels like it, sticking to the usual non-existent opening times. He does inventory and finally sets up a proper alert for any eBay sales involving old books on a PC that suddenly finds itself surprisingly modern and, most shockingly, functional.

Sure, he dusts, he organises books, and he carries stack after stack while explaining to Muriel how to handle the especially fragile first editions.

Anyone even just passing by the store would call him one, but they are all wrong.

After all, he never actually sells a single copy.

Semantics aside, he does allow people to come in and browse, finding himself craving human contact in a way that evokes almost enough shame to make him stop.

Almost.

When they move through the store with careful steps and rustling clothes, picking up books just to set them back down, and eyeing the precariously balanced stacks around the room, it breathes life into the building. A deep inhale saturated with the smell of tea and dust he never quite manages to fully catch, and beneath it, the taste of electricity still dancing on his tongue. His taste.

At first, the fracture running through his heart bled enough to drown it in iron and salt, but after a few weeks, when the wound began to heal despite itself, wisps of it managed to seep through. Tired and with his nerves rubbed raw, he chose the by far easiest solution and simply stopped breathing. While his corporation resisted for a few hours, craving the air it had no use for, it settled like everything else had.

He is no bookseller, yet the point is that on a sunny afternoon in November, Crowley is carrying a stack of books to the back and does not look back when the bell chimes. He has sent Muriel over for some coffee and expects her back any minute. When he hears no steps proceeding deeper into the store, he turns around while still walking.

"Just put it-"

His arms drop, the books tumble to the floor in a thunderstorm of paper, and Crowley briefly considers freezing time simply to catch his fucking breath (when did he start breathing again?).

Aziraphale hides a flinch, his gaze flickering to the books but quickly refocusing on him; uncovered golden eyes meet lightning-tinged purple. When he opens his mouth, Crowley almost stumbles back.

"Hi."

God-fucking-damn-it.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce

[buckychristwrites]

Could This Be | Chap. 3 | j.t.

Summary: One minute, you're single and working for AFC Richmond as the team's medic. The next minute, you're in a fake relationship with the team's handsome striker who you know next to nothing about..

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Discussions of Previous Emotional & Physical Domestic Violence. Cussing. Fake Dating

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy :)

Masterlist | Could This Be Masterlist | Main Blog

Sanctuary.

That’s how you viewed the medical room at the Nelson Road Stadium.

It was supply order day, which meant it was a day with your headphones in, going through inventory for yourself and for the physical therapists before placing the order, and resorting the stock if need be. It normally took all day, and you were only interrupted if someone got hurt or sick on the pitch, which wasn’t often on non-match days. So you could expect to spend the entire day by yourself.

You were sitting on the floor of the supply room, tapping your feet against the grey tile as you wrote down how many leg splints were on the shelf. Quietly, you were singing along to the song playing. At least, you thought it was quietly, but it was hard to tell over the music. It wasn’t something you bothered about though. No one would hear it even if you sang at the top of your lungs. Resting on the floor next to you was the two way radio, turned up loud so you’d be able to hear it, in case of emergency.

Over the two days that had passed since Keeley’s party, you had tried very hard not to think about Jamie or the conundrum he had put you in. It proved to be especially helpful to your mental health if you didn’t. The solution was a simple one. Everyone would just be informed of the breakup, stating that you weren’t ready for a relationship or things just didn’t work out or whatever, and then everything would go back to normal. And normal was something you yearned incredibly hard for.

Movement out of the corner of your eye alerted you that you were not alone. Slowly, you turned, finding Jamie Tartt leaning against the door of the supply closet. 

A loud shriek left your mouth while you scrambled to your feet. As you ripped your headphones from your ears, he raised his hands apologetically.

“Sorry, sorry,” He said in a quiet tone. The expression on his face read a mix of guilt and amusement. “I didn’t want to interrupt ya, but I need to talk to ya.”

You didn’t say anything, instead stuffing your headphones in your pocket and waiting. He also had his hands in his pockets, looking almost as uncomfortable as you did. After a moment, he sighed as he pulled his phone out.

“Do you have Twitter?”

Your eyes narrowed. That was the last thing you expected him to say.

“I- uhm… I got rid of my social media,” You admitted, pulling your hand from your pocket to run it up and down your opposite forearm. “Last year.” He nodded without looking up, and you were surprised when he didn’t push the issue. Most people would question you to no end about how you could live without social media. It was refreshing, to say the least. 

Jamie intently searched his phone before, hesitantly, handing it over to you. For a moment, you just stared at it. Whatever it was that he was trying to share, you knew you just by the look on his face that you weren’t going to like it. Maybe it would be best if you just didn’t know. He urged you to take it, as if he read your mind.

“You need to know, too.”

At that, your eyes met his. They were sad. Almost regretful. Without breaking eye contact, you slowly took the phone before looking down at it. 

What you found were pages and pages of tweets about you and Jamie, pictures of you and him laying together and also some with his arm around you from the party, attached to almost each one. You were named directly in all of them. It was so tempting to read each one, especially the ones where they picked you apart by your appearance and called you names. They still caught your eye, as hard as you tried, and each one felt like a bullet in the chest.

“Who leaked these?” You asked him as you finally forced yourself to look away. All he could do was shrug.

“Keeley said she would try to find out, but the source was anonymous,” He said. “It could’ve been anyone at that party.” Your phone suddenly felt very heavy in your pocket.

He’s going to see it.

He’s going to see it.

You wanted to scream as you handed Jamie back his phone. 

“I’m sorry,” He said, sincerely. “I never meant for any of this to happen. You were so upset that night, I felt ‘orrible.” You shook your head. 

“It’s fine, Jamie,” You said. “I’m not mad at you. I mean…” You smiled slightly. “I definitely was mad at you. The whole thing just had me more… overwhelmed than anything else.” You scratched your head. “Even more so now.”

He nodded, rocking back and forth from the tips of his toes to the heels of his feet. It was clear that the conversation wasn’t ending here. You watched him carefully.

“What is it?” You finally asked. He ran a hand down his face.

“I think…” He said, tilting his head. “I think we should keep this goin’, just for a little bit.” You stared at him in confusion.

“And why would we do that?” You asked in an unusually high voice, walking passed him out of the supply closet and back into the medical room. He turned to follow. The shaking in your hands started again as you sat down at your desk. If Jamie noticed your brand new demeanour, he didn’t comment on it

“‘Cos how stupid would it be if we told everyone we broke up right after we told them we’re together?” He asked. “Also, it still saves us from the blind date business we talked about. Can’t question ya if they know who you’re datin’, can they?” 

It infuriated you that he was making sense. 

You turned in your chair as you contemplated all of this. There were so many factors to consider. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing, necessarily. It certainly would get everyone off your back about dating someone new. But then there was the fear. It would be one thing if Jamie were a regular guy, but he was a public figure. Meaning, your picture would get put out there more than it already had. You wouldn’t be under the radar like you had been, which is something you felt you needed for safety and sanity reasons. But maybe that could be a positive in itself. Jamie could offer a sort of security at the matches that you didn’t have before. Maybe being on his radar was exactly what you needed.

“How long would it go on?” You asked him. Running his fingers through his long hair, he shrugged. 

“At least a month,” He replied. “Give things time to smooth over.” You nodded as you continued to think.

“We’d probably need some rules then.”

He perked up at this, as if he hadn’t considered it. 

“Alright,” He said, sitting down on the edge of your desk. Which you hated. “Rule number one, you have to go to all of the matches.”

You stared at him with a blank expression for a long time, wondering if he was joking. When he didn’t respond, you knew he wasn’t.

“Jamie,” You said slowly. “I already go to every single match. I have to because of my job.” He looked absolutely embarrassed, and you felt it too. Had he really noticed you so little that he couldn’t even remember you being at the matches? Who was the person who had helped him every time he got hurt at a match? Maybe it would be easier if you didn’t think about it too much.

“Fine, sorry,” He mumbled. “Real first rule then. You have to go to public events with me.” Nodding, he looked pleased with this one. “Movie premieres. Charity parties. Weddin’s. All that shit. You’re going too.” You scrunched up your face.

“Does that include Coach Beard’s wedding in a few weeks?” You asked him. He slammed his hands down on the desk, clearly grateful that you reminded him. It made you regret bringing it up entirely.

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely it does!” He sounded so pleased about it, as if he was happy to know that he wouldn’t have to find a date for anything for the foreseeable future. As much as you wanted to be upset by this, your original plan for Beard’s wedding was to third wheel with Keeley and Roy, and while that would’ve been the safe route to go, now you’d have an actual date, and wouldn’t have to worry about Keeley, after a few drinks entered her system, asking every man who was alone to ask you to dance. Like she had at the last wedding the two of you attended. 

“Rule number two I think is an obvious one,” He continued. “Just be honest with each other.” You nodded, liking this one a lot.

“I think that for this to work, we have to become friends on some sort of level,” You said, adding onto what he said. “I feel like I know nothing about you.” This seemed to surprise me.

“Do ya know what, I think you’re the first person to say that to me in a long time.”

“So, we have to be honest with each other,” You repeated back to him. “That’s rule number two, but rule number three is that we’re going to leave this as amicable friends.” Your head tilted towards your shoulder. You wanted to add a comment about no longer being invisible to him, but decided not to. 

“Then, of course,” He said, a cheeky tone filling his voice. “There’s rule number four; Don’t fall in love with me.” 

You rolled your eyes so hard that you could feel them strain. Immediately, you changed your expression, giving him the best heart eyed look you could muster.

“Can you believe it, I already have!” You exclaimed, throwing a dramatic hand to your forehead. “Whatever shall we do?” He was fighting a smile as he watched you.

“I know, I’m just too irresistible,” He said, playing as if he knew this would happen. 

“Oh Jamie Tartt, the most real while also the most fake love of my life, how will I ever find anyone else?” 

“Alright, fuck off,” He said through a laugh. Dropping your hand to your lap, you found that you were laughing as well. He was looking at you, as if for the first time. “I always forget how funny ya are. Ya always seem to keep to yourself.” 

Yeah, you thought to yourself. There’s a reason for that.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. There was no good way to respond.

“Last rule,” You said, more reservation in your voice this time. “I…erm.” Your eyes dropped to the table, but you could still feel him staring. “I need…” You inhaled sharply. “I need you to… to ask before you touch me.” The words hung in the air for a moment, and you wished so desperately to suddenly gain the ability to turn invisible so you could escape his gaze. “Or, at the very least, let me know before you touch me. Please.”

He stared at you for a long moment, waiting for what you could only assume was an explanation. But you didn’t intend to give one, instead just continuing to stare at the table awkwardly while trying to remain cool and not panicked. 

“Alright,” He said slowly. Another beat passed before he continued, “Can I ask-”

“No,” You interrupted him quickly, feeling stupid by how desperate you sounded. “No, you can not.” His face softened, head tilting to the side slightly.

“What I was going to ask… if it upset you when I touched ya the other day.”

The heat rose in your cheeks.

“Oh, erm… It did,” You admitted, trying not to replay the absolute panic attack, along with washing your skin raw and sitting in the burning water for an hour, in your head. When the guilt filled his face, you shook your head. “Please don’t feel bad. There’s no way you could’ve known.” He shook his own head, waving you off.

“I should’ve asked. I’m sorry.”

You were dumbfounded by this response. This conversation usually went very, very differently. Never had it been this easy to set a boundary and not only not have them question you on the why, but also have them apologise for unknowingly breaking them in the past. The anxiety that had initially filled your chest completely evaporated, and you found it replaced with ease. 

You opened your mouth to speak when you were interrupted by the door flying open. The both of you jumped up, turning to see Roy Kent at the door with Will the kit man next to him. Will’s nose was gushing with blood. Alarm bells began to ring in your head at the sight of him.

“Did you throw your radio into the fuckin’ ocean or somethin’?” Roy shouted as he grabbed Will by the sleeve and dragged him over to the bed. “Or are you too busy making puppy eyes at your new fuckin’ boyfriend?” Ignoring Roy, you ran to the supply closet and grabbed your radio, feeling nauseous over missing the call. You set it down on your desk when you reentered the room before turning your attention to Will.

“What happened?” You asked as you put some gloves on.

“The boys said I couldn’t juggle shoes,” Will explained. With his eyes on the ceiling, he couldn’t tell that you were giving him a look. “I had to prove I can.”

“It’s not broken, just busted up,” You said, your eyes scanning the area. “Did you prove it? That you can juggle shoes?”

“Yes!” Will exclaimed at the same time that Roy said, while shaking his head, “No.”

“I would’ve been fine had Isaac not thrown a 5th one into the mix.”

“I think you would’ve gotten clobbered with one of them either way, if I’m honest,” Roy remarked, taking a seat in the chair that you had previously been sitting in. He looked over at Jamie, who hadn’t said a word since they had arrived. “Don’t you have practice? Fuck off, Tartt.” Completely unfazed by Roy’s aggression, Jamie nodded while taking a step towards you.

“See you later, yeah?” He said gently. You looked at him as you packed Will’s nose with gauze, giving him a smile and a nod. He leaned in, before tapping his finger against his cheek. You stared at him, the corners of your lips flicking upwards into a small smile. It was clear by his eyes that this was a question, not a demand. He was giving you the power. You planted a kiss onto the side of his face, and he gave you a wide smile before sauntering out the door. 

“I fuckin’ hate this,” Roy grumbled as the door clicked closed.

“I heard about you and Jamie,” Will said quickly, his voice all mucked up from the tissues in his nose. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Will,” You said as you grabbed a wipe to clean the dried blood from his cheeks, now that the bleeding had stopped. “If only everyone were as nice and supportive as you.” You made sure to say that last part a little louder, so that Roy was sure to hear it. 

“Fuck you.”

“If you’re just here to pout and be an arse, you can fucking leave,” You told him with a friendly tone. Giving Will one last look, you ripped off your gloves. “Alright, Will. You’re clear to return to work.” Tossing the bundle into the rubbish bin, it dropped in easily. You gave Will a look of warning. “Maybe hold off on the shoe juggling for now, yeah?” He nodded understandingly before hopping off the bed and making his way out the door.

Roy, however, stuck around.

“Who said I don’t support you?” He demanded. Sitting down on the bed, you stared at him.

“Your entire behaviour has said it.” You cocked your head to the side. “You literally just said, and I quote.” You did your best Roy Kent impression, having perfected it over the years, “‘I fuckin’ hate this.’” If he was impressed by your Roy Kent voice, he did not voice it, to your complete dismay.

“I do,” He admitted, casually. “That don’t mean I don’t support you.” You crossed your arms over your chest, saying nothing. Roy leaned forward in the chair, pressing his hands together as he looked at you.

“Do you remember my last match as captain of Richmond?” He asked. “When I fucked up my knee-”

“-Sliding into Jamie,” You finished. Because of course you remembered. He got up and took himself out of the game, and you found him with Keeley in the locker room. Staying out in the hall where they couldn’t see you, you waited until she left, and then you gave him care. “I remember.”

“Do you remember the first thing you said to me?” 

You nodded. “‘Should’ve kicked him harder, you would’ve broken his ankle.’”

Roy smiled fondly as if he was replaying it in his head. “Yeah.” Another moment passed before he spoke again. “And then do you remember the second thing you said to me?” You nodded, this one being much clearer.

“‘You’re more than this, you know. You’re so much bigger than this game. When you’re old and can’t remember how to wipe your own arse, they’ll still remember you as one of the greats, even if you don’t feel that great at this moment. It’s okay to rest now. You’ve done it.’”

He had been so hurt, so devastated, when it became clear he couldn’t keep playing. His knee just wasn’t doing the job anymore. You had known him for a few years at this point, as you wrapped and iced his knee. A few years of watching him dominate matches. All you had done in that moment was be honest with him.

“You’ve done it, now,” He said tenderly. “You’ve always been more than that arsehole who you won’t let me kill. And you let it hold you back for longer than you should’ve. You deserve someone kind. Now you’ve got that. Of course I support you.” He sat up straight, face hardening once more. “I’m still going to complain about it, though.” You rolled your eyes, as the softness of the moment had reached its end.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

~

TAGS

@daffieapple, @my-left-sock, @buckybarnex, @jelleeyfish, @ricciardhoe3, @picked-off-by-barzal, @lilweirdgal, @hotdoglamp, @loveslide, @rosea-h, @13-7-19-67-71. @wickedheartz, @xxenia14, @zazima, @alainabooks143, @geek-and-proud, @imagines-reblogged, @fuckifuckedup, @booklovingduck, @loveforaugust, @f1maverick

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #tedlassosource #ted lasso fanfiction

[mathanlin]

Alien AU where alien!Tommy works with a team of humans. 

They’re… strange. He can’t tell what their mannerisms mean. If he’s annoying them, angering them, making them hate him. 

So, desperate for their approval, he does some research. 

“How to Make Humans Happy.” 

The results are… inconclusive. There’s far too many wildly different options, all sorted under… “love languages?” (Something Tommy’s translator strangely doesn’t have.)  

So he tests a few on SBI. 

“Physical touch,” specifically, “hugs.” Something about putting their arms — of which Tommy has four — around each other. 

So surely he’ll be good at it.

And there’s no one better to give it to than the crew’s fighter, Techno.

It’s *easy.*

The moment Techno appears, Tommy practically tackles him, throwing his arms around the human and *squeezing.* 

And it’s… nice, too. Warm. Solid. Comforting.

Until Techno pries him off with a grimace.

“Not my thing, kid.”

Tommy doesn’t dwell on it. 

(Doesn’t spend a sleepless night on panicked research. Doesn’t fill a notebook with frantic scribbles and ruined hypotheses. Doesn’t pace, terrified he’s ruined something.)

No. He just moves to his next target. His next test.

“Phil: ‘Quality Time.’”

This one’s a bit clearer. Something about giving the human ‘undivided attention.’ Talking with them. Being close.

(Tommy ignores how that sounds nice to *him,* too. This is about Phil. Not himself.)

And just like Techno, it falls apart in seconds.

“Sorry, mate. I’m busy.”

Phil brushes right past Tommy, captain’s coat flicking behind him.

Tommy stumbles after him, translator failing under how much he stutters. "I just— wanted to talk? Time? Just a little—”

“Maybe later,” Phil says. And to his credit, he sounds apologetic. 

But later never comes. 

He’s *captain.* Of course he’s busy. Tommy forgives him instantly. 

But he doesn’t forgive himself. His quarters are practically drenched in papers now, pieces of research, frantic notes. Failed attempts to show love (to see if they love them).

He has one last shot.

Wilbur.

Maybe he’d like ‘physical touch.’ Or, ‘quality time.’

But those failed. And Tommy can’t do, ‘gift giving,’ with nothing to give. Or ‘words of affirmation,’ with his translator so unreliable.

But he can try ‘acts of service.’ He can work more.

That’s why he’s here, after all.

In the next few days, he disappears.

He cleans, takes inventory of supplies, organizes plans, always trying to catch Wilbur’s eye. (Never *telling* him. Surely this love is supposed to be selfless. Quiet.)

But what catches Wilbur’s attention is how Tommy ruins everything. 

It was meant to be kind.

It was just one leak in the ship’s engine room. Tommy knows basic mechanics — he knows how to fix it. Just a few patches, a few readjustments—

And then every alarm light goes off, every emergency alert wailing. 

“What the fuck were you doing?”

It’s only after the leak’s patched that Wilbur whirls on him, face bright, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.

(Rage, Tommy can understand. It’s just love he’s confused by.)

“I was… I was trying to help? I was doing my job?”

Wilbur scoffs, snatching his mechanic’s kit and stalking out the door.

And right before he disappears, Tommy hears him mutter, “Then it’s a good thing your contract’s ending.”

And it is.

Tommy has a few more days with them. A few more days to try to show them love, to piece together the frantic notes around his room.

But he doesn’t. Just curls into a quiet ball. Small. Unnoticeable.

Because if they’re giving him up, then that’s what they must want.

.

.

.

“You were supposed to pack up.”

It’s Techno that stands outside Tommy’s quarters, peering into the room. 

Pack up — to leave, with the contract ending. And Tommy hasn’t even gotten up.

Or hidden the notes & failed research scattered around the room. 

“I’m sorry.”

He clambers to his feet, swaying dizzily. Surely Techno won’t notice them. He hadn’t noticed Tommy’s failed attempts either, and if Tommy’s leaving, he surely doesn’t care now—

“What’s this?”

Techno’s brow furrows, eyes fallen on a sheet pinned to the wall. (Test 1: ‘Physical Touch’)

Tommy stumbles in front of him, blocking his view. “Sorry, I’ll clean that up—”

He almost slips on the papers across the floor. The frantic notes he’d written each time he failed.

His handwriting’s shit. But he can still see Techno reading them, brow furrowing deeper and deeper.

*Test 3: ‘Acts of Service.*

*Wilbur should like this one? I’m helping?*

*I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.*

*I don’t know how to love them right.*

Stupid. All of them. And Techno must think the same, with how he slowly looks up.

“Tommy—”

Tommy bolts. If they want him to leave, he’ll make it easy — and so he runs.

Or… tries to.

Because Techno catches him. Pulls him close, arms gently closing around him.

A hug. 

“What were you trying to do?”

Techno’s voice is soft, murmuring over him. He’s… not letting go. Not shoving Tommy away. So Tommy almost manages to say, *I just wanted to love you—*

“Tommy?”

And oh, this hug is nice. 

Because Tommy can hide his face in Techno’s chest as Wilbur and Phil slip into the room.

No one even has to say anything. There’s just silence, as the two slowly take in Tommy’s mess of research.

“I tried.”

Tommy’s voice breaks on both words. But the translator must catch them, because all three humans turn towards him, Techno’s hug gently tightening.

Even before Tommy whispers, “I didn’t know if I was loving you right.”

“You were.”

It’s Techno. He slowly lowers himself to the ground, still cradling Tommy so painfully soft.

 “You’re trying.” Techno’s voice catches as he looks at the scattered papers. “So, so hard. That means everything.”

And right there, Tommy starts to sob.

He’s done his research. He knows what SBI’s doing, as they comfort him.

Techno, holding him, rubbing his back. Phil, sitting at his side & never leaving, quietly talking like Tommy’s worth his attention. Wilbur, only leaving to bring blankets & fresh, warm drinks.

It’s love.

(Afterwards, there’s… a bit of change around the ship.

There’s clearer communication, for one, giving a bit of extra time for translation errors. 

And sometimes, words aren’t even necessary. Just gentle contact. Gifts. Time spent quietly in each other’s company, warm and safe. 

A different language entirely.)

#mcyt #dsmp #dsmp au #sbi #sbi au #threadfic #tommyinnit #technoblade #wilbur soot #philza