!! NO SPOILERS for snezhnaya; written before it's release 𓏵 after completing the snezhnayan archon quest, i faintly recalled that i wrote a short drabble for childe back in 2023 (woah). i went searching for it and realized it's a lot better than i remembered it to be, so i figured i might end up sharing it !!
ᯓ w.c : 0.8k
ᯓ warnings: mentions of injuries, nothing graphic; implied relationship? first kiss? idk what was going through my mind when i wrote it three whole ass years ago (DAMN)
ᯓ pairing: childe x gender-neutral reader
ᯓ final note: i never posted on tumblr, i hope the formatting is right i'm going based off of memory LMAOO
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Childe flinched as you dabbed the cut on his cheek with an alcohol-soaked rag. Your movements paused before he urged you to continue with a small, absent-minded hum and a minor nod of his head. With narrowed eyes and the precision of a nurse – or rather, someone who was not a stranger to such routine – you continued to clean his cut. The fireplace crackled, the grandfather clock ticked. The carpet was warm underneath you both, warm fur tickling at bare ankles as medical instruments lay scattered around you like flowers in a meadow.
Times like these were not unfamiliar to you nor the Harbinger, who came home bruised more often than you’d like. While he was more than capable of coming out of battle uninjured, the adrenaline rush from a weapon that came too close, a cut that was near fatal, was almost addictive to him. That's not to say he was careless, no. In battle, the 11th of the Fatui Harbingers always had an advantage; like a child playing with its food, like a predator taunting its prey, he let his opponent get a taste of short-lived victory with a single cut of skin like a temptation; a drop of honey on the tongue, a promise of success.
‘It makes them lower their guard.’ He told you once, one of the very first times he came to you with his injuries, ‘Makes them confident, too confident.’ He said, with a wave of his hand. You never understood — perhaps it was something you weren’t meant to understand. Maybe it was something learnt from the abyss, where opponents weren’t human enough to question what intentions lay behind a white flag.
You cup his left cheek, tilting his head to the side for a better view of the cut on the right. The steps that came to you like a second nature were once directed by Childe, passed down, first-hand experience from the one who once licked his own wounds until he could come out of hiding without a poorly-worn mask to disguise how the cuts and bruises burned on freckled skin.
“You've been oddly quiet.” He mutters, hollow, blue eyes flicking down to look at you. His voice is soft and hushed, it could’ve been easily mistaken for the blowing wind against your window. His hand reaches to engulf yours, the one that cups his cheek, fingers intertwining as he moves his head to press a small kiss against your palm.
“I've been focusing on your wounds.” You tell him, almost scolding, watching as he leans in slightly. His chest is bare, aside from loosely wrapped bandages that preserve little dignity as they wrap around his midsection. You can feel the heat rising to your face, and you settle an unoccupied hand on his shoulder in an attempt to put some space between you both – preserving your dignity.
“Focus on me instead.” He says, huffing and puffing like an attention-seeking child (truly living up to his title), hand lowering to grab your wrist instead, ignoring the way the bandages on his arms and wrists begin to loosen and fall with every small movement.
“I am.” You reply, hand escaping his grasp and rising to push back the ginger hair that began to cover his eyes. You press a fleeting kiss to his cheek before pulling away and looking him over, assessing his wounds. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine now.” Childe replies with ease, almost enough to fool you into thinking he’s telling the truth. He lowers his head, like a dog wanting to be pet. Who are you to deny him? Your hands brush against the ginger mop of hair, letting Childe slowly sink into you until he’s practically using you as a pillow, with his head on your shoulder and his arms wrapped loosely around your waist.
“Aren't you too comfortable?” You tease, your hands trailing to his bare back. Fingers running along his spine, the soft bumps of scars and minor burns underneath your fingertips. Childe shivers, humming into your shoulder and pressing a kiss there. He straightens slightly in his resting position, pressing a kiss to your neck before you come face to face with him.
He stays silent, eyes half-open and drowsy, sleep creeping into his movements.
Childe comes closer until your breaths become one, lips brushing against yours, a quick fleeting moment comes with a promise of more and — oh, perhaps you can understand, to an extent, the temptation that dooms his opponents. When his lips brush against yours, a promise of something that can happen, the taste of success — a want needing to be fulfilled, a victory to be achieved.
Your thoughts are given away as your face heats and eyes widen. His smirk is small, but it's annoyingly smug, even in his half-asleep state he seems to be enjoying this little game he created. Though unlike with his opponents, he won't give you the sweet taste of victory just to take it from you.
And so, he leans in closer once again. Your eyes close as his lips press against yours. His lips are dry, a bit cracked, but nothing that doesn't make him or the experience more enchanting. Your hands sneak around his neck, pulling him closer.
Besides the crackling fireplace and the ticking grandfather clock, on the warm carpet with medical supplies that surrounded you like flowers in a meadow, you let yourself get lost in Childe and the promise of more.
cw: sugestive (no actual smut), biting, blood, being woken up/undressed while sleeping. gn reader if you don't consider night gowns gendered.
proper sleep was hard to come by as a ballerina of the korolevskiy troupe. the grueling practices and dazzling performances left you with full body aches almost every day. so, this wonderful deep sleep you’d managed to fall into was welcomed greatly.
your sleep was going relatively undisturbed, until your unconscious body sensed some entity pawing at your nightgown like a desperate cat. followed by a voice that echoed through your head, filling it with sweet nothings.
the feeling of frantic movements began stirring you awake. irritation took control of your brain at that time. while still unconscious, it commanded your arms to swat at whatever or whoever dared disturb you at this hour. when the pawing turned into short kisses to your thighs, your irritation dissolved away like those touched by the primordial sea.
the darkness of your room prevented you from making out the person when you finally opened your eyes. the entity’s aura was a kind one as you sensed no ill intent. in fact, their presence felt extremely familiar, like that of a loved one.
a faint scratch of something sharp pressed into your skin with every touch of their cold lips.
oh, so that’s who this is. how odd he’s back at this hour.
with a groggy voice, you called out his name. “ajax?”
there was no response at first, but the attack on the meat of your thighs intensified. then came a string of weak, desperate apologies in between kisses.
“sorry” kiss “ ’msorry” kiss “imsosorry” bite.
his fangs pierced your soft skin, extracting the bright red blood he craved so much.
his actions reduced you to a writhing, gasping mess as you tried to get him to speak again. “my god… w-what’s gotten into you?”
he licked the wound after drinking for a bit. only pausing to answer your question. “you smelled so delightful and looked too gorgeous laid out like this. my dear… i-i couldn’t help myself. i just had to taste you.”
he continued his drinking frenzy by biting down on your other thigh.
“a-ajax.” you moaned out softly. gripping the hem of your gown to try and retain some composure.
“i know, i know where you want me doll. don’t worry i’ll make you feel so good. come on, open these pretty legs for me.” he mumbled out, amused by your weak moan. he would have held your legs open for you but his hands were preoccupied getting into his own pants so he could touch himself.
the sight of ajax’s face framed by your legs and the sparkle in his eyes as he started eating you out…. it's truly something you’d never get tired of witnessing.
⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, f!reader, written through Ajax's perspective, description of murder, blood, violence, slight corruption kink, yandere illusions.
⊹ Run time. 1.5k
⊹ Note. writing from his perspective was very challenging so i kept it a short interlude... with 7.0 out i've been thinking a lot about him so enjoy :)
❝Ajax finds the captor of his heart quite the fascinating subject to pick apart in the wake of vulnerability.❞
prev part || ao3
Ajax believes himself to be a good man. It was unfortunate circumstances that made it difficult for others, at times, to see that for themselves. Few and far between have taken a tumble head first into the Abyss and lived to tell the tale. Unlike himself. They didn’t have the constitution for it. He possessed far more determination in his pinky finger at the tender age of fourteen than most could hope to have in their entire life. Integrity too, as he’s so inclined to believe.
A lesser man would have come clean to you. Used your tears to assuage their guilt and told themselves it was a good thing to end it here, the fantasy. As if dimming the sweet twinkle in your eyes was more noble than a white lie. They’d stomp whatever dreams you had to dust and use it to jerk off. Ajax had seen it time and time again in Snezhnaya.
The faces of young women whose entire world had crumbled around them were burned into his eyelids. As were the gaunt eyes of tired little ones when they realized gallant knights who rescued distressed damsels were the thing of fairytales. Big brother and his band of comrades were the very definition of unscrupulous, little one, but don’t worry, you too can be just the same when you grow up.
It made Ajax irate just thinking about it.
A pantomime of power where whomever keeps their mask on the longest wins. How droll! There was nothing exciting about the subtle machinations of manipulation. Tick, tick, ticking away under the crooning mothers baleful eye, wasting what little attention she could spare. Ajax could feel himself falling asleep as he pondered upon it.
He preferred the hands-on work. Never minding how dirtied his pale skin could be with hot blood and spit. It made his own thrum in his veins with all the joy a man like him could have. Pleasantries were easy enough when the underlings did their jobs, correctly, ever so eager to please. Such nervous nellies that didn’t quite like how oft the quiver of arrows sat, splayed across his lap. A warning in its own right, it always did its job.
Just as he did.
That’s why Ajax so eagerly pressed his lips to yours, tonguing his way into your mouth to suck the bits of meat and vegetables from between your teeth. He pressed you into your bed too. It creaked beneath your collective weight. Old oak wood worn with age and weather weeping as though it were a willow tree. Springs, its metal bent out of shape, poked you in the spine. You didn’t shy away then, just mewled into his mouth. Spread your legs a bit wider, allowing him all the more space to meld his body to yours.
He didn’t have you then. But, he knew that he would. Someday soon when your eyes were wet with tears of your love for him. It was in his heart already, the seed of love and lust. Pulsing, hot and wet, beneath his skin. It planted itself there, its roots sprouting to wrap around his heart's ventricles with each desperate press of your eyebrows. Each whimper, half delirious with want and pain. Pain in your heart, in your aching muscles which were poked and prodded each time you went to sleep no doubt. Ajax knew then, that you were made of the same stuff he was. He could taste it in your saliva. Craved it when you eventually turned over to sleep with a sheepish smile that said you were lying to yourself in the silent vow that you wouldn’t do this again.
You’d do it again, Ajax was certain of it. He knew in his bones that now that lid to Pandora’s box was tipped over, you’d be unable to deny yourself. It was a matter of when, that you realized this too.
Between counting stars that glowed within the cracks in your ceiling, he counted each breath you took. When sleep finally came for you, a sweet savour of respite, the rise of your chest slowed. You nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck, your body flush with his. Even in the unyielding heat of almost summer. The unconscious sought after him, as if it could sense the true Ajax that lay somewhere in the middle of his sweetened cadence and his endlessly round eyes. Boyish charm was a gift when it came to learning. No one ever suspected a thing if he bat his lashes and shrugged his shoulders enough. He had all the insight in the world thanks to it. That’s how he came to understand you. Even when his head swam with the milk of poppy and whatever other concoctions you brought home.
Ajax sighs, the thrill of it all keeps his mind racing. His fingers are in your hair, gently smoothing it over the crown of your head. Even as you slept, your brows were furrowed. Bunched up with concern and shame so palpable he’d taste it if he pressed his tongue to your skin. You poor sweet lamb, he thought, a sad sort of smile on his lips. The air of sadness that shrouded you would soon vanish, carried off on the wings of your foolish God. He’d will it away. Ajax had the strangest penchant for always getting exactly what he wanted.
Morning light threads between the thin muslin of your cottons, the holes in the fabric giving way to bright spots. Ajax watches the light shift, how it grows brighter and brighter until you’re roused from your fitful sleep. Your eyes flutter open, lashes trembling. Long strands of hair are splayed across your pillow, you look almost bewildered by his presence in your bed.
Ajax smiles, “Good morning,” he hums, brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek. Your skin was warm beneath his touch, “Sleep well?”
You nod, swallowing a bit, “Your wound-”
“Is fine,” he finishes, encroaching on your space until your breath mingles with his.
Ajax kisses the tip of your nose, chuckling under his breath at how you shy away as if your pillows and sheets could swallow you up. Still so shy, he’d make quick work of that little quirk of yours. You’d learn sooner or late that there was nowhere on this earth that you could hide and he would not find you.
“Let me clean my teeth before you try to kiss me,” you murmur, a yawn on your lips, “It’s gross…”
You try to slide your body from beneath him but Ajax keeps you pinned down. A few short months of disuse did little to stifle the strength of his lithe muscle.
“Nothing about you is gross, every inch of your mind, body, and soul is the essence of beauty.”
You laugh nervously, “Ajax…”
The calloused palm of his hand caresses your cheek, smooth and lacking the same physical scars he did. Unblemished by all the true brutalities of this world. Ajax hums, tracing his fingers over the moles that are scattered across the plains of your face.
“I’m just being honest,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. He can feel your eyes on the bare skin of his shoulder blades, “Am I the first to tell you this? Have you not lay with another before?”
This time you’re able to slink away, your hand grasping at the robe crumpled on the floor, “I’ll get started on breakfast, you just rest.”
“I can help.”
Your hardened nipples poke through your nightgown, his mouth salivates as he watches you wrap yourself tightly in the robe. It’s shapeless save for where it’s tightly cinched at your waist, allowing for the barest hint of your body to the naked eye. He’d need to find a way to rid you of that, after he dispels that silly notion that he was in debt. In due time. Always in due time. He could bide his time and keep playing this role, it was easy when he had such a perfect partner.
“I like the quiet of the morning,” you reply, a bit too quickly, “I’ve become fond of this routine.”
Ajax peers up at you, smiling gently, “Two’s company,” he slides his body forward until his lanky arms hang over the edge of the mattress. You skitter further away, the warped hardwood floors creaking under your feet, “How else am I to thank you for your care if you give me no opportunity.”
You nervously flit out the bedroom, the pitter patter of your bare feet on the floor following after you without another word. He sucks on his teeth, rolling over with a huff and then a groan from a spring poking into his spine. The walls, like everything else in this stuffy little cottage, were paper thin. Ajax could hear you puttering around in the kitchen, metal clinking against metal as you tossed eggs in the skillet as you did every morning.
He’d make a meal of you yet, in due time, when you realized life didn’t need to be so endlessly bleak. You deserved it. Such misery should never go unrewarded.
dreaming how I'll get to you, scheming how I'll get to you .ᐟ
✴ 𝓘n what ways does Tartaglia plan on courting you?
WC: 0.7k
Content warnings : Nothing bad at all, simply just fluff, Tartaglia being a yearner, reader being a yearner back, reciprocated feelings for eachother. Reader works at a bakery in liyue. Might be out of character. No beta we die like Dottore.
── O1, frequently finding you .ᐟ.ᐟ
It doesn't matter where you're at, Tartaglia will do everything in his power to try to see you whenever he gets the free time, especially if he's has had a bad day training recruits or executing one of the Fatui plans !
The wind breezes softly as you sit down at the edge of Qinyung Peak, the air is just right, it's silent and it feels peaceful. Although, it was the very much opposite climbing up the mountain but in the very end, the journey was worth it.
That was until you heard a boisterous, loud voice completely destroying the peace and quiet. You didn't have to turn around to know who it was, you already knew it was Tartaglia, not that you were complaining.
"Comrade, it's great to see you on this fine day! How've you been?" Tartaglia asks, gleaming at the sight of you. "I was doing great, until a certain someone ruined the quiet and peace around here." You respond to him, jokingly of course.
"Come on, don't be so cruel to me, I fought tooth and nail just to get here and you're saying my presence bothers you?" He banters, practically giving you puppy eyes as he whines.
You chuckle in amusement as he plays along with the joke, patting to the empty space next to you near the edge. "Of course not, you know I enjoy seeing you, so don't mind whatever I say."
Tartaglia willingly takes the spot beside you without a moment of hesitation, a grin on his face as he mutters "knew it." Right under his breath, quiet enough to make it sound personal, loud enough for you to hear.
You jab his elbow softly at his little smrt comment as you both giggle, staring into the settling sunset together, hoping for more days to pass by just like this.
── 02, mentioning you in his letters to his family back home .ᐟ.ᐟ
Whenever Tartaglia gets the time, he finds ways to make everything about those he loves, so when he's writing a letter back home to Tonia and Teucer, he tries his best to include you in them and give his sibling more information on the future love of his life !
" Dear Tonia and Teucer, it has been quite some time since I've been here in Liyue, I miss the cold air of Snezhnaya and you guys too, but atleast the toy selling business is doing well, especially with a lovely helper of mine. She's kind, worthy, honest. All the things I hope you guys turn out to be in the future. How about this? When I come back home, I'll ask her to come with me so I can introduce you guys. I'll be home soon. "
All love, your (best) big brother
── 03, taking care of your problems/doing your favors !!
I would imagine that whatever you need help with, whether its running an errand or getting rid of someone extremely pesky, Tartaglia will eagerly be at your beck and call just for the sake if wanting to help you !
"Come on, are you sure you have nothing for me to do?" The ginger complains out of disappointment as you move around crates of material around the bakery.
"Yep, I'm sure. Besides, even if I did need something done, haven't you worked enough as a harbinger today? You counter, wishing that he would actually take some time for himself instead if always trying to push himself to the limit.
"Not that I don't appreciate it but you should really take some time for yourself." You added on.
"...Heh, are you worried about me? Partner?" He teases, hoping to get you flustered.
"Of course I am! Why would I not be? You know all the well how much I enjoy your company, I would wan't nothing but best for you."
An airy chuckle escapes his lips before he responds with "I'm ok with pushing my limits when it comes to you, because you're someone special to me, y'know?"
"Ugh, I know that." You retort, playfully.
. 𝓐lthough he might not say it directly, you know that he loves you and that you love him, besides, don't they say actions are louder than words.
in all honesty, it would be a miracle for him to keep his hands off of you. or his mouth. there is no moments rest with him, not even when you're asleep. and you can't complain if you're asleep, so how could he know if you even want it to begin with.
maybe he tests the waters, letting his fingers roam between your legs, watching you squirm a bit, but not react much. and that's enought to give him confidence, it's not like you can run away if you wake up, even if he does prefer you to be pliable and soft under his touch. he's eager. too eager maybe, as he doesn't care for your clothes very much, and would've ripped them if he could. but that would certainly move you too much, so he had to take his time and rid of them one by one. until you're bare to him, welcoming him.
like a hungry wolf, he presses his face immediately between your legs, taking you in before letting his flat tongue travel from bottom to top, slowly, savoring your taste. but he's not patient, his licks and laps growing greedier and greedier, moaning and slurping, taking every bit of you, your folds, your clit, your seeping hole. and it doesn't matter how much you squirm, because his hands have a tight hold on your thighs. and he only grins at you, face shimmering, when you wake up and pull his hair, immediately overwhelmed by the climax he gives you. and he doesn't stop there, no, he will take you beyond the land of dreams now
CW:Free use, a bit toxic, Gn!reader, sort of??? Human trafficking??? Reader is bought so I mean yeah?
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
Introduction:
Childe noticed how stressed all of his coworkers are, the thick tension in the air could be cut with a knife! He needs to find away for everyone to destress quick! (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞
Childe buying a sweet little puppy hybrid! Excitedly holding your collar as you walk back home. Fluffy ears twitching as you look around your new home! It’s huge! (Θ︹Θ)ს
The first to meet you is Columbina! She gets so giddy seeing you! Quickly reaching her hand out to let her sniff it and smiling as you gently lick it in greeting. She happily drags you to introduce you to everyone!!!! (๏ᆺ๏υ)
Headcanons:
Columbina is the most caring out of the fatui!! She has a little bed filled with stuffed animals by her bed just for you. However, you often sleep in her bed rather than your own! She’s a very teasing dom!!! and enjoys you curled in her lap!!! Gently curling her fingers as she teases you. Head against her chest as you whimper, tail wagging and ears twitching. I also think she has a thick strap on that she uses on you, gaslighting you that it’s not that big and you can definitely take more!!! Gentle voice coxing you to take more. (✿◦’ᴗ˘◦)♡
“Aw…you sound so cute!! You can take more puppy can’t you? It’s just my fingers silly puppy!”
“Hm? Why are you so loud puppy? It’s not that big puppy, you can take more.”
Dottore is on the meaner side….he has you sit under his desk if you want to spend time with him!! Cuddling into his leg while you chew on a chew toy that childe gave you. His hand does wonder to your cute ears and will pet you while mumbling as he writes his notes! Tail hitting his leather boot with a little thump! He huffs and puffs when you want attention though…throwing an old pencil across the room to play fetch with you so you’ll stop whining and chewing on his boot. When he gets fed up he’ll grip you by your shirt collar and plop you on his work table while shoving his thick cock in your cute hole! Lowly saying what an annoying mutt you’re being!!! (-ε- )
“I asked for an hour of quiet and you can’t even do that? Mutt? I’m asking you a question. I can’t help but wonder if being a hybrid makes you more vacuous.”
Feofan is extremely gentle when it comes to his sweet puppy!!! Doing paper work as you sit on his lap. Straddling him as you tuck your face in his neck, licking his face occasionally. He so gracefully runs his fingers up and down your spine. He gifts you the most out of all to! Most of your toys comes from him! Usually he doesn’t have enough energy to fuck you completely. So he lets you cock warm him or he’ll finger you, however he prefers cock warming you!!! His sweet puppy all squirmy as he holds his still. Sushing you so he can concentrate. (─‿‿─) ♡
“Shhhh…I’m almost done, and then you can ride me as much as you want…okay?”
Childe
He loves his pup!!! He’s the one that picked you out so you have a special place in his heart! He takes you out to train almost everyday!!! Playing fetch with you in the snow!!! Training you to bite enemies!!! (The poor fatui agent scared with his bite sleeve on) and he rubs your stomach because of how amazing you did!!! But Childe is gone often, only getting to play with him occasionally!!! But he makes up for it! Rewarding you by gently eating out your hole!!! Gently mumbling how amazing you did during training! •ᴗ•
“Oh puppy shhhh…you did so amazing today….good puppy..”
summary: it’s your man’s birthday. you decide to get him a special cake <3
tags: fluff, short and sweet (at least this is meant to be short), established relationship, modern! au, arcades, reader is anxious about their gift
rating: sfw
author’s note: soo.. ignore the lazy ending. i just wanted to get this out </3
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Your boyfriend calls for the fifth time. In ten minutes. Oh, your sweetheart… how you loved him, but he could be so clingy. Well… obsessive was more the right word.
Balancing a cake box in your right arm, you fish your phone out of your pocket. If you dropped this $30 cake, you would cry. Pressing answer, you bring your phone to your ear.
“Babe,” is all Ajax has to say.
“Yes?” You reply, raising a brow despite him not being able to see you. He didn’t sound very impressed and you knew why. Ajax is likely feeling ignored. Sometimes, it felt like you’re dating a dog; he needs constant attention and fussing over or he gets all huffy and puffy.
“I called you five times.”
“I know. I’m literally on my way home now-“
“Baaabe…” Ajax cuts you off with a soft whine. “Five times! Can you imagine what that does to your adorable birthday boy?”
You bite back a smile. “I haven’t forgotten my birthday boy. I’ve got a special surprise just for you.” You soothe, adjusting the cake box you’re practically cradling.
“Ooh, I hope it’s something yummy.” You can hear the grin he’s wearing. “Maybe… something dressed up all nice and pretty?”
“Ajax…” you laugh, continuing to stroll down the streets. You regret not bringing the car now that you’re holding this huge cake box… but you had wanted fresh air. “Maybe later, but that’s not the surprise.”
“Maaan…” your boyfriend huffs. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that later, though.” Ajax responds. You can hear a shuffle over the line; he’s likely getting comfy somewhere in your shared apartment. “Can I have a hint?”
“No. Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.” You reply immediately. Sure, a cake wasn’t that big of a deal… but your boyfriend was so hard to buy for. So, a custom cake would do. “You just have to wait. I’m nearby.”
Ajax hums, “should I come get you?” He offers.
“No, no. Trust me, I’m close enough. You stay put.” You tell him, picking up the pace a little. Once again, you hear shuffling.
“But I wanna see you now…” Ajax pouts. “Can I please come pick you up?” He pleads.
“Babe, I’m like… ten minutes away…” you respond.
“That’s too long…!”
“Babe, I’ll be home before you know it. Keep yourself occupied, ‘kay?” Once again, Ajax huffs.
“How am I meant to do that without my gorgeous partner? The love of my life? The breath in my lungs? The-“
“Babe, babe. I get it.” You chuckle. Geez, he was dramatic… but you loved that about him. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Just be patient for me.”
“Wait—“ Ajax had begun to protest, but you decided to hang up there. As much as he would pout about it, you couldn’t keep talking to him incase he managed to wriggle the surprise out of you before you even got there. He had a way of making you chatter about everything; it was probably how insistent he was.
Finally getting into your apartment complex, you take the elevator. You’re pleasantly surprised he isn’t in the lobby waiting for you, because that has happened before. Pressing the button for your floor, you let the elevator take you up, holding the cake box close. A small pang of anxiety washes over you. What if he didn’t like your gift?…
What if he didn’t like the flavour? Or the frosting? What if he just hates this overly expensive birthday cake? What if he’s expecting something specific for his birthday and you’re just arriving with a cake?? Buying a gift for anyone was such a nerve wracking thing for you.
Clutching the cake a bit closer, you take a small breath. Surely your boyfriend would enjoy a cake… he’s had cake for every birthday in the past. He has so much stuff you don’t know what to buy for him now… so, a nice custom cake would show how much you care for him.
The elevator stops with a ding, the door sliding open. Stepping out, you walk down the hall, managing to grab your apartment key from your bag as you come to a stop in front of your door. As soon as you twist the key in the lock, it swings open for you. Blinking up at your boyfriend, you both seem to gawk at each other for a second.
“You’re back!” Ajax beams suddenly, causing you to laugh gently.
“I am…” you respond lowly, carrying the cake box inside. “And I surmise you were about to go down to the lobby to wait for me.” He shuts the door behind you, not addressing why he was about to leave.
“I missed you! Is that my surprise??” God, he really was like an oversized puppy. He was radiating with excitement. That sliver of insecurity wriggles into you again.
“Yeah, you can open it soon.” You reply. God, why didn’t you just show him now…? if you built suspense, he’d expect something more flashy than a damn cake…!
But… you want him to have it after dinner, of which you were cooking for him tonight. If you knew your boyfriend, which you were 100% sure you did, he’d eat this whole cake before lunch.
“Maaan… I wanna open it now.” He whines, following hot on your heels. “Is it something nice?”
“I think so.” You respond. As soon as you put the box down, Ajax pouts.
“Can I take a peek?”
“No.”
“Just a tiny one??”
“No…!” You huff out a soft laugh. “You can’t peek. It’s a surprise, and you can open it after dinner.” Another pouting huff escapes your boyfriend’s lips… but he straightens up again.
“Fine, fine.” Ajax agrees. “But I’ll be thinking about this box all day.” He muses.
Oh, God.. he’s getting his hopes up. You can already imagine his disappointment when he sees a damn cake in that box. Then another thing hits you. What if it melts and becomes a big mess in this sweltering July heat??
Why did you go out of your way to buy a fancy cake…? well, it’s his birthday and you love him. This was meant to be a nice treat but now you’re anxious he’s going to hate it. As soon as you manage to distract Ajax with the promise of going out for lunch together, you grab the box and slide it into the fridge.
You keep your beloved as distracted as possible throughout the day. You take him to a gorgeous cafe where you both have a nice lunch, all paid for by you. When he jokes about going home and opening his surprise, you drag him to the arcade for a few hours. Fortunately for you, Ajax enjoys this. The two of you play every co-op game you could, and you definitely notice him going easy on you despite it being his birthday.
With your conjoined amount of tickets, Ajax gets himself an adorable huge penguin plushie, before getting you an even more oversized dog plushie you had been eyeing. What a gentleman you had on your hands.
Finally at home with two big plushies nestled on the couch, you cook Ajax his favourite meal. It’s a hearty Calla Lily soup, stock full of seafood. He’s always been fond of seafood; especially crab.
Your mind finally goes back to the cake. You’ve done such a good job distracting him, that you distracted yourself as well. Opening the fridge once more, you eye the white box on the top shelf. You have to take a breath before grabbing it, setting it down on the kitchen’s island.
You peek inside just to make sure it was still good; fortunately it seemed okay. Closing the lid, you contemplate your options; should you keep it secret a while longer? Or should you just let him see your lame surprise…?
“Babe!” Oh, god, why did you call for him…? now he has to see it. You’re not sure if you’re ready— but your beloved redhead is already peeking through the doorway.
“Yes, my love?” Ajax practically purrs, sauntering in. He smiles at the smell of the soup you’re cooking. “Ooh… that looks delicious.” He grins… then his cerulean eyes lock onto the box.
Oh, Gods above, help you…
“Oh, is it time for my surprise?” He smiles innocently.
You swallow thickly. “Uh… yeah…!” you force some optimism into yourself. He loved cake. Surely he would love your surprise. “I wanted for you to open it after dinner, but… I thought I’d do the surprise now.”
“Aww, you’re so sweet, honey.” Ajax’s smile widens. As soon as he gently grasps the lid of the box, you feel your heart pound a little. He lifts it up, peering inside at the chocolate cake covered in white and light blue cream frosting. Written on top was a nice little ‘Happy Birthday Ajax’, and stuck into the cake next to it was a white chocolate bar. He blinks at the cake, examining it. Oh, God he hates it…!
Just as you open your mouth to defend your purchase, or perhaps offer to throw it out for him, Ajax smiles brightly. “Baby, this is gorgeous.” He coos. “It almost makes me sad we’re going to eat it.” Reaching into the box, he lifts the cake out and sets it on the counter. “I mean, wow…! look at this.” He twists it a little, examining every side of it.
“You like it?”
“Of course I do! I love it!” Ajax grins. “Did you think I would hate it?” He raises a brow at you. Sheepishly, you nod, and he chuckles quietly. “Aw, baby. Don’t worry. There’s nothing you could buy me that I would hate.” Your boyfriend soothes you, wrapping you up in a tight hug. All that anxiety drains from you, and you hug him back.
“I was worried you’d be disappointed that it’s just a cake.” You admit.
“Honey, I love it. I love cake. And I love you,” Ajax chuckles. “It’s a beautiful cake, and I can’t wait to try it.” He adds, nestling his chin on top of your shoulder. “You’ve given me an amazing birthday, babe. This cake is the cherry on top.”
You hum lowly, a smile pulling at your face. “I’m glad you had a good day.” You respond.
“Mhm… but it’s not over yet, baby. I’m still holding you to that promise earlier… about something dressed up all pretty.” Ajax coos, peppering kisses against your neck. “But, I want a slice of this cake first.”
Laughing quietly, you nod. “You can have the biggest slice of cake.”
“Good. I’m still hungry, even after that lunch.” He grins, pulling back to look at you.
“Of course you are,” you laugh gently before leaning up to kiss him. “Happy birthday, baby.”
Summary: In silent rooms where shadows breathe,
A hidden gaze devours every sigh.
Through wires and walls, it learns to seethe,
Until the unseen stands close by.
I'm alive, I swear. This time I tried something a bit different, but I hope y'all enjoy it :P
AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVORITE GINGER
Warnings: Yandere Behavior, Hacking, Cyberstalking, Trespassing, Modern AU, Pretty Reader, Angst, Bad Ending.
Words: 9.066
The blue glow of the smartphone screen sliced through the suffocating, velvet dark of the bedroom like a scalpel. It didn’t simply illuminate the space; it dissected it, exposing every reluctant shadow that clung to the walls of the high-rise apartment overlooking Liyue Harbor. The sterile luminescence traced the sharp, elegant cut of M!Y/n’s jaw, the delicate fan of thick lashes against his pale cheekbones and the faint, uncontrollable tremble of his bottom lip.
In the bustling streets below, that effortless, almost ethereal beauty turned heads among the late-night crowds weaving between glowing jade streetlamps and pulsing neon signs. But up here, in the deafening silence, M!Y/n had long stopped seeing beauty when he looked at his reflection. His face was nothing more than a target now.
A single notification chime shattered the engineered quiet of his "Do Not Disturb" mode. It tolled like a funeral bell echoing through an empty, forgotten temple.
‘𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 <𝟹’
M!Y/n’s stomach lurched with a familiar, sickening vertigo. His eyes flicked to the glowing digital clock on the nightstand: 3:14 AM. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the neon veins of Liyue pulsed with restless, indifferent energy — the golden harbor lights shimmering on black water, the distant, low hum of hydro-powered freight ships, the eternal glow of the Jade Chamber’s modern spires piercing the thick night fog. Inside, the air felt dense enough to choke on.
He didn’t move. He barely dared to breathe. He simply stared until the white light of the screen seared ghosts into his retinas.
Eleven months, twenty-two days, and a handful of agonizing hours had passed since the mistake that invited this living nightmare into his life.
That evening, his younger brother Leo had been inconsolable, fat tears cutting tracks down his flushed cheeks after a high-level player in their shared online game had sweet-talked him out of every rare digital treasure he’d spent years meticulously collecting. M!Y/n — usually the quiet anchor among his circle, the one who calmed Xingqiu’s frantic all-nighters over publishing manuscripts with a steady hand and gentle tea, or checked on Yaoyao during her exhausting late-evening herb-gathering shifts — had felt something rare and fierce ignite in his chest. A protective, blinding fire. He had spent hours on the line with the game company’s support, ruthlessly cutting through layers of bureaucracy and digital red tape until he secured a verbal guarantee that the scammer’s account and IP had been burned beyond recovery.
He had felt like a hero. He had tucked Leo into bed that night, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead and whispering that the “bad man” was gone forever.
He hadn’t realized he had simply painted a brighter, infinitely more dangerous target on his own back. M!Y/n moved out of the house as soon as the stalking started, not wanting to put his family and especially Leo in danger.
Another message materialized on the screen, the refresh rate so smooth it felt inherently parasitic.
M!Y/n’s heart slammed against his ribs like a caged bird desperate to fracture its own bones to escape. Ten minutes ago. He had opened that profile for ten fleeting minutes on a burner phone — his fourth this year — routed through a premium VPN that drained his savings faster than his exorbitant rent. Layers of encryption, proxy chains, every paranoid precaution Yelan’s intelligence contacts had recommended. He should have been invisible. A ghost drifting undetected through Liyue’s vast digital underbelly.
The kaomoji were the worst part. Those cutesy, playfully innocent little faces stretched like a child’s plastic mask over something dark, obsessive and ravenous.
Tartaglia wasn’t merely watching. He inhabited the wires, the signals, the very electricity humming through the drywall of M!Y/n’s carefully guarded sanctuary.
M!Y/n sat up slowly. The expensive silk sheets pooled around his waist like a cold, discarded shroud. He padded barefoot across the dark hardwood floors toward the kitchen, muscle memory helping him avoid every micro-creak he had memorized months ago. He didn't dare turn on the lights. He had come to crave the pitch black, as if it could offer the thinnest veil of protection against the unblinking eyes he felt crawling across his skin — the cameras in the laptop, the smart TV, the voice-controlled ambient lights, the security hub by the front door. Even now, in total darkness, the physical weight of that gaze pressed heavily against the nape of his neck.
He remembered the exact night the monster had finally unmasked itself.
The first messages had been pure venom. Vicious, creative insults from a man whose digital empire had been dismantled by a pharmacy assistant. M!Y/n had snapped back, indignation burning hot in his usually soft-spoken replies. Get a life. Leave my brother alone, you pathetic snitch.
The typing indicator had appeared then. It lingered. Five minutes. Ten. M!Y/n had allowed himself a grim, satisfied smile in the safety of his living room, fully believing he had crushed the troll beneath his heel.
Then the reply came, slow, deliberate, and freezing cold:
‘......𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎’
From that exact second, the rage had evaporated like morning mist over the harbor. What replaced it was far worse: an obsessive, suffocating, syrupy affection that clung to M!Y/n like hot oil on bare skin. Tartaglia no longer wanted war. He wanted absolute possession. Consumption.
M!Y/n’s hand shook violently as he poured water from the filtered pitcher. The glass clinked painfully against his teeth as he drank. He had tried everything. The Millelith’s cyber-crimes unit had thrown up their hands after weeks of exhausting dead ends. His friends — Yelan with her icy logic and encyclopedic knowledge of encrypted systems, Yanfei with her meticulous eye for uncovering hidden patterns and legal loopholes — had helped reinforce his digital walls to military-grade standards. Yet even they had eventually faltered.
"We tracked the IP as far as we could," the lead investigator had told him months ago, rubbing bloodshot eyes beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the station. "It bounced from servers in the frozen north of Snezhnaya, through encrypted relays in Fontaine’s waterways, then vanished into a satellite feed somewhere over the open ocean. This isn’t some basement dweller, M!Y/n. This is a phantom who hunts for sport."
A phantom who knew M!Y/n preferred osmanthus oolong when the coastal nights grew bitterly cold. Who sent anonymous deliveries of his favorite almond tofu when his fridge ran low on groceries. Who flooded every single device he owned with digital bouquets of deep crimson roses — petals sharp as fresh blood — every Monday at precisely 8:00 AM.
The phone buzzed against the granite counter like an angry hornet.
The air in the kitchen instantly turned to ice. M!Y/n’s head snapped up, eyes wide and manic. The blinds were drawn completely tight. The triple deadbolts on the reinforced steel door remained untouched, physically disconnected from any wireless smart system.
He frantically scanned the shadows — the microwave clock’s faint green glow, the toaster’s blank metallic face, the unblinking red standby light on the expensive coffee maker.
Pure, raw panic surged through his veins. He lunged for the utility drawer, metal utensils clattering loudly, and snatched a thick roll of black electrical tape. Moving like a man possessed, he tore off strips with his teeth, plastering them over every lens he could find: the front and rear cameras on his phone, the tiny pinhole above the laptop screen, the infrared sensors on the TV and the smart hub. His breath came in ragged, hyperventilating gasps. His skin crawled as though thousands of invisible spiders were marching across his arms and throat, spinning microscopic webs he could never tear away.
He stumbled blindly back to the bedroom and collapsed onto the mattress, yanking the heavy duvet over his head like a terrified child hiding from the dark. For one fragile, suspended second, silence reigned.
Then came the soft, cheerful chirp of a forced system update.
The phone screen — still thickly taped — flickered to life beneath the layers of fabric. The black adhesive should have blinded it completely. Instead, the display glowed obscenely bright, projecting a perfect, crystal-clear live feed of the bedroom from the front-facing camera. The tape was physically there on the image, yet the lens saw straight through it, through the code, through reality itself.
A small command window opened on its own. There was no typing cursor. The letters materialized one by one, slow and deliberate, like blood blooming in still water.
A raw, broken shriek tore from M!Y/n’s throat. He hurled the phone across the room with all his strength. It slammed into the far wall with a sickening crack of splintering glass and slid beneath the heavy dresser, still glowing faintly in the shadows like a malevolent, unblinking eye peering out from under the floorboards.
He curled into a tight, trembling ball beneath the covers — a grown man reduced to shaking beneath fabric and fear. In the oppressive dark of his Liyue high-rise, surrounded by the indifferent neon heartbeat of the city, he tried to remember the person he had been before Tartaglia. The gentle soul who cared for his family, the protective older brother, the reliable friend.
That man was gone. Now, he was only prey in a cage of glass, fiber optics, and endless invisible threads. And somewhere out in the freezing night, the hunter was smiling.
The morning sun offered absolutely no sanctuary; it was merely a high-definition spotlight. It filtered through the blinds in harsh, geometric slats, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the stagnant air. Every single speck looked like a microscopic lens, a floating eye recording his every flinch and shudder. Liyue’s golden light, usually so warm and welcoming across the harbor’s jade-tiled rooftops, felt accusatory today, as if the city itself had been bought out and turned informant.
M!Y/n dressed with the mechanical, hollow movements of a condemned man. He pulled on an oversized, thick-knit beige sweater that completely swamped his frame — a desperate, futile attempt to bury the “prettiness” Tartaglia so frequently cataloged and coveted. The soft wool scratched against his skin like a hairshirt worn for penance. He actively avoided his reflection in the hallway mirror, utterly terrified that if he looked too closely, he’d see a digital watermark branded directly onto his own skin, or worse, those flat, hungry eyes staring back from within his own pupils.
He left his apartment without his phone. He had shoved it deep into the furthest corner under the dresser the night before, praying the lack of physical proximity would starve the entity inside it, if only for a few hours. The heavy door clicked shut behind him with its usual triple-deadbolt finality, yet the heavy clunk of metal brought zero comfort. Every lock in the world felt like wet paper now.
The walk to Bubu Pharmacy was a grueling gauntlet of paranoia. Keeping his head bowed, chin tucked deep into the collar of his sweater, he felt the crushing weight of every CCTV camera perched on the street corners like carrion birds waiting for him to stumble. Pedestrians brushed past him in the bustling Liyue morning rush — office workers clutching steaming cups of either tea or coffee, street vendors calling out fresh steamed buns, Millelith guards on patrol — but their chatter blurred into a deafening, distant static. He bypassed the usual morning crowd near the harbor market, his erratic heart only steadying slightly when he finally pushed through the heavy wooden doors of the pharmacy.
The shop was a cathedral of sharp scents and dried earth, a fragile, aromatic sanctuary amid the steel and glass of modern Liyue. Bundles of medicinal herbs hung from the ceiling, their earthy aromas blending with the sharp tang of powdered roots under the warm recessed lighting. His coworkers were already busy. Qiqi, usually sorting herbs with blank, robotic precision, paused her task to stare up at him, her glassy eyes catching a rare glint of distress. Herbalist Gui stopped grinding lotus roots, his brow furrowing with genuine concern.
“M!Y/n? My word, you look like a ghost,” Gui said, wiping his hands on his apron. “Are you coming down with that flu that’s sweeping the harbor? Dr. Baizhu said it’s a nasty strain this season.”
“Just a long night,” M!Y/n lied smoothly, though his voice came out as a soft, melodic rasp that felt entirely too thin in his throat, like it might fracture under the slightest atmospheric pressure.
He retreated to the back counter, reaching for a fresh bundle of dried Violetgrass that needed sorting. As he began to separate the tangled, stiff stems with practiced precision, a sharp piece hooked deep into the soft pad of his thumb. He didn’t hiss. He didn’t pull away. He simply watched the bead of crimson blood bloom against his pale skin, slow, vivid, and real.
It was physical. It was a pain that didn’t require a password, a firewall, or an internet connection. For a fleeting moment, the sharp sting grounded him back in reality.
The peace lasted exactly four hours.
At noon, the bell above the pharmacy door chimed — a cheerful, innocent tinkle that made M!Y/n’s stomach plummet like a stone dropped straight into the harbor depths. A delivery driver walked in, his silhouette framed by the harsh midday glare streaming through the glass. He wore a generic, unbranded navy uniform, his face obscured by the low brim of a cap and a high collar pulled up tight against his jaw.
“Delivery for M!Y/n,” the man said, his voice terrifyingly flat and unremarkable, designed to blend perfectly into the background noise of the city outside.
M!Y/n wiped his damp, trembling hands on his apron, his fingers leaving faint traces of herbal dust on the fabric. “I… I didn’t order anything. There must be a mistake.”
“Address matches. Name matches. Sign here.” The driver slid a digital clipboard across the wooden counter. The screen’s artificial glow felt immediately invasive.
M!Y/n’s hand shook so violently that his signature was nothing more than a jagged, panicked lightning bolt. The driver turned on his heel and left without another word, leaving a heavy, sleek black box resting on the counter.
Inside sat a laptop. It was an absolute masterpiece of engineering — titanium casing cold to the touch, an ultra-thin profile, a model M!Y/n recognized as a classified prototype from the recent Fontaine tech summits that hadn’t even hit the open market yet. On top of the closed lid lay a piece of heavy, expensive cream-colored cardstock. The handwriting was elegant, sharp, and slanted with a predatory grace.
M!Y/n recoiled as if physically burned, his back slamming hard into a towering shelf of ceramic pots filled with Qingxin flowers. They tumbled in a chaotic cascade, shattering against the tiled floor in a deafening spray of sharp ceramic shards and dark, damp soil.
“M!Y/n? Is everything alright out there?” Baizhu called out from his private office, his usually calm voice sharp with professional concern laced with sudden worry.
M!Y/n couldn’t answer. His lungs had completely seized. He watched, utterly paralyzed, as the titanium laptop lid began to rise entirely on its own. There was no whirring sound of a motor — only the ghostly, terrifyingly smooth movement of a machine responding to a command from the ether.
The screen didn’t show a login page. It flickered immediately to high-resolution, classified blueprints of Bubu Pharmacy itself, pulled from some heavily encrypted city archive. A small, pulsing red dot sat directly behind the front counter.
M!Y/n’s head snapped up. He scanned the pharmacy's ceiling with wild, hunted eyes — the smoke detector, the motion sensors, the discreet security cameras tucked near the rafters, the digital credit card terminal on the counter. Everything was a potential eye. The air grew thick, suffocating, completely filled with the sharp scent of crushed herbs and ozone. A frantic urge to bolt surged through his veins, an urge to run until the concrete pavement of Liyue Harbor ended and the churning sea swallowed him whole.
But then, a chime rang out. Not from the laptop.
From the pocket of his beige sweater.
His blood turned to slush. He had left his phone at home. He was certain — absolutely certain — he had kicked it far under the dresser. His trembling fingers brushed against cold glass and metal as he reached in, pulling out the device as if it were a live grenade pulsing with malevolent life.
‘𝙻𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗? 𝚆𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗’𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚎𝚝.’
The sender’s name had changed. It was no longer a faceless hacker handle or a digital mask.
Sender: Ajax
“Who is Ajax?” M!Y/n whispered to the empty air, his voice cracking like brittle porcelain.
The phone buzzed instantly in response, the vibration stinging his palm like a localized electric shock.
‘𝙰 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍. 𝙰 𝚏𝚊𝚗. 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠.’
‘𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙸’𝚖 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝙼!𝚈/𝚗.’
Across the street, perched comfortably in the second-story window of a nondescript tea house overlooking the pharmacy, a man with ruffled ginger hair leaned back in a plush velvet chair. He wore a simple, unassuming gray hoodie, looking for all the world like a bored university student taking a break from grueling lectures. A lopsided grin played on his lips — practiced, charming, utterly disarming. But his eyes told a vastly different story. They were a flat, matte blue, completely devoid of light, exactly like the bottom of a frozen Snezhnayan lake where nothing living could ever survive.
He watched through a high-powered, military-grade lens as M!Y/n stood frozen among the scattered herbs and shattered ceramic, looking exactly like a panicked angel trapped in a dying garden.
Ajax tapped a lazy, syncopated rhythm on his customized cyber-deck. Suddenly, the pharmacy’s overhead ambient speakers hummed to life. The soothing traditional guzheng playlist abruptly faded out, replaced by a haunting, violently melancholic violin concerto. It was M!Y/n’s favorite piece — the heavily encrypted one he only ever listened to when he thought he was truly, fundamentally alone, late at night with the lights off and the harbor lights flickering in the distance.
Ajax hummed along softly, his long fingers dancing over the keys with the grace of a master conductor leading an orchestra only he could hear.
“Soon, M!Y/n,” he murmured to the glass, his voice a low, pleasant baritone that carried a lethal, velvet edge. “Soon, the digital world simply won’t be enough for either of us.”
He clicked a final prompt, sending one last message to the trembling, terrified man across the street.
M!Y/n’s hand went back into his sweater pocket with mechanical, dread-filled slowness. His fingers brushed against something small, cold, and definitively metallic. He pulled it out into the light, and instantly felt his knees buckle beneath him.
It was a small, silver earring. A teardrop-shaped lapis lazuli, catching the pharmacy's overhead lights with an innocent, mocking gleam.
It was the exact earring M!Y/n had lost in his own locked bedroom three nights ago.
As the violin music swelled into a frantic, weeping crescendo that filled every corner of Bubu Pharmacy, the realization finally settled deep into M!Y/n’s bones like creeping frostbite:
The reinforced walls of his home, his triple-cylinder locks, his carefully drawn blinds, his very concept of privacy — they were all complete illusions. Paper curtains in a theater of absolute control.
Tartaglia wasn’t just a ghost in the machine.
Ajax was a ghost in his house.
And he was growing violently impatient with the distance.
The teardrop-shaped lapis lazuli earring lay discarded on the floorboards where it had been dropped like a tiny, glittering accusation amidst the dirt and shattered ceramic. M!Y/n stared at it until his vision swam, the deep azure stone appearing like a frozen tear shed by his own violated home. The pharmacy, which usually smelled of healing and comfort, suddenly felt like a sealed tomb: stale, cold, and claustrophobic, the air thick enough to clot in his lungs.
The violin music reached a shrieking, dissonant peak, pressing down on his diaphragm like a physical hand, stealing his oxygen one ragged, desperate breath at a time. He couldn't touch the earring again. To touch it would be to formally acknowledge that the breach had transcended code and data. A hacker was a nightmare of ones and zeros, distant and impersonal. But a phantom who could slip through triple-locked doors, stand over him in the breathless dark of his own bedroom, and leave physical souvenirs on his pillow… that was a monster of flesh, blood, and insatiable hunger.
“M!Y/n? Is everything alright?”
Baizhu’s voice sliced through the unbearable tension like a surgeon's blade. He emerged from the back office, his posture straight, his golden eyes narrowing with the sharp intuition of someone used to diagnosing deeply hidden ailments. His gaze flicked from the wreckage of the Qingxin pots to his employee, whose skin had literally drained to the color of bleached bone.
“I… I tripped,” M!Y/n managed to squeeze out. His voice sounded thin and brittle, like dry parchment tearing in a gale. “I’m sorry, Dr. Baizhu. I’ll clean it up. I’ll pay for the ruined stock.”
“Never mind the pots,” Baizhu said softly, his voice dropping its usual professional detachment, laced with genuine alarm as he stepped closer. He reached out a hand to steady him, but M!Y/n flinched so violently he nearly knocked over another display before Baizhu’s fingers could even brush his sleeve.
Baizhu paused, his analytical gaze sharpening into something fiercely protective. “Go home, M!Y/n. That’s an order. Take the rest of the day off. Gui can easily cover the closing shift.”
Go home.
The words landed heavily, like a death sentence read aloud. Home was no longer a sanctuary — it was the primary crime scene. Home was where the earring had been plucked from his nightstand while he slept obliviously inches away. Home was where the shadows had mapped the rhythm of his breathing and the exact creaking pitch of his floorboards.
“I… I think I’ll go for a walk first,” M!Y/n whispered, already backing toward the heavy glass door like a cornered animal realizing the trap has snapped shut. “I need some air. The… the herbal dust is bothering my lungs.”
He grabbed his coat with wildly trembling hands and fled, leaving his apron crumpled on the counter like a shed skin. He didn’t take the new prototype laptop. It remained open on the counter, its screen still glowing with that predatory red dot, a digital hunter tracking its prey in real-time.
The sprawling streets of Liyue Harbor were a cacophony of relentless, overwhelming life. The lunch rush turned the wide sidewalks into a churning sea of bespoke business suits, laughing students from the local academies, and street performers coaxing melodies from traditional instruments. Incense smoke curled thickly from roadside shrines, mixing with the savory, heavy aroma of street vendors frying Jueyun chilies. M!Y/n ducked his head low, pulling his scarf up until it nearly touched his eyelashes, a frantic, futile attempt to vanish into the moving crowd.
Every single person who brushed past him felt like a lethal threat. Every teenager tapping rhythmically on a glowing screen, every businessman checking his smartwatch, every shadow in the alleyway — any one of them could be him.
Ajax.
The name felt infinitely heavier, more solid, than “Tartaglia.” Tartaglia had been a digital specter. Ajax was a man. A man with heavy footsteps that could echo on hardwood, warm breath that could fog a bathroom mirror, and a skeleton key, somehow, to the locked vault of M!Y/n’s entire existence.
He walked aimlessly for what felt like hours, his heart a frantic, uneven metronome hammering against his bruised ribs. Eventually, his exhausted feet carried him to the city’s central park, where ancient, sprawling maple trees stood sentinel beside modern marble pathways. He sank heavily onto a cold stone bench near a massive hydro-fountain, letting the roaring cascade of water drown out the terrifying, oppressive pulse of the city. The mist kissed his fevered skin, but it brought zero relief.
He took out his phone. He knew it was a fatal mistake. Every digital engagement fed the obsession, giving Ajax another intoxicating, addictive hit of the fear he so clearly craved. But the absolute silence was a vacuum, and in that vacuum, M!Y/n’s mind conjured horrors far worse than any text message.
The notification was already waiting the exact instant the screen lit up.
M!Y/n’s head whipped around so fast his neck popped. The park was vast, filled with hundreds of people enjoying the mild afternoon. He frantically scanned the treeline, the sun-drenched balconies of the luxury high-rises overlooking the green expanse, the joggers in bright athletic wear weaving along the winding paths.
A jagged, ugly sob hitched in M!Y/n’s throat. He felt a phantom touch ghost across the exposed nape of his neck — a cool, invisible caress that raised every fine hair on his arms to attention. He shot up from the bench so abruptly he nearly collided with an elderly woman walking her dog. Stammering a frantic, barely coherent apology, he began to run.
Across the street, in his elevated perch within a discreetly rented executive office space, Ajax watched through the viewfinder of his high-powered camera. He no longer needed the digital tracking data; the visual was more than enough to satiate him. He observed how the oversized beige sweater bunched at M!Y/n’s narrow, tense shoulders as he ran, the way his panicked, gorgeous eyes darted wildly for a predator he could not physically see.
Ajax leaned forward, his thumb slowly, reverently tracing the curve of M!Y/n’s cheek on the high-definition monitor. A surge of possessive, white-hot warmth flooded his chest, clashing violently with the flat, dead blue of his eyes.
“Run all you want, little bird,” Ajax whispered to the empty room, his voice a terrifyingly tender silk. He reached for a secondary device — a custom remote relay synced directly to M!Y/n’s apartment systems. “But you have to come back to the nest eventually. And I’ve made it so much more comfortable for you.”
With a single, deliberate click, the smart-locks on M!Y/n’s apartment door cycled open with a soft, inviting chime. The lights inside dimmed to a warm, romantic amber glow, casting long, intimate shadows across the silk sheets. On the bedroom speakers, the encrypted violin concerto began to play once more — slow, melancholic, and endlessly patient.
The hunt was entering its final, most delicious phase.
The Ministry of Civil Affairs archives loomed like a fortress of weathered granite and ancient architecture, its thick, signal-blocking walls promising a temporary, desperate shield against the digital tether that had bound M!Y/n like invisible steel chains. He practically dove through the heavy revolving doors, descending rapidly past the sunlit main halls with their soaring ceilings into the subterranean basement levels. The air grew heavier, significantly cooler, laced with the comforting must of old paper, leather bindings, and faint traces of preservation incense.
He found a secluded, forgotten carrel in the deepest, darkest corner of the basement labyrinth, where the shelves towered like silent monoliths. Dust motes drifted lazily in the weak, flickering beams of light from outdated fluorescent tubes.
M!Y/n sat down and turned his phone off. He didn’t just power it down — he used the tiny, sharp edge of his keychain to pry open the back casing and physically disconnect the battery with violently shaking fingers. A desperate, low-tech ritual of severance. For the first time in months, blessed, total silence enveloped him. No pings. No vibrations. No predatory kaomoji to twist his stomach into agonizing knots.
For over an hour, there was a hollow, terrifying peace. The basement was dimly lit, the only sound the rhythmic, mechanical heartbeat of the ventilation system cycling through filtered air. M!Y/n dropped his heavy head onto the cold wood of the desk, closing his burning eyes. He tried to summon memories of Leo — back when life was simple arguments over school lunches and lost in-game artifacts. He tried to remember the man he used to be: the gentle soul who sorted Violetgrass with patient hands, the reliable friend who listened to Xingqiu's rants. Before he became nothing more than a collection of data points, habits, and escalating fears for a madman to savor like fine wine.
Exhaustion, heavy and grey as Liyue’s harbor fog, finally dragged him into a fitful, uneasy state of unconsciousness.
He woke to a soft, rhythmic click-clack.
M!Y/n bolted upright, his heart slamming into his throat like a trapped, dying bird. The library basement had been swallowed by an even deeper gloom; the motion-sensor lights in the aisles had timed out, leaving only the weak, sickly glow of emergency floor strips.
He was supposed to be completely alone. He had to be alone.
Sitting on the wooden desk, precisely three inches from his left elbow, was a paper cup. A thin wisp of steam curled lazily from the small opening in the lid, carrying the unmistakable, cloying scent of white chocolate and warm cinnamon. It was a white chocolate mocha with an extra shot of espresso and a precise, heavy dusting of cinnamon. His exact, hyper-specific order from the small, obscure café three blocks away that he only visited on particularly rough winter mornings.
Taped to the side of the cup was a small, perfectly square post-it note. The ink was fresh, the sharp, slanted handwriting elegant and utterly mocking in the dim light.
M!Y/n’s blood turned to liquid nitrogen in his veins. He hadn’t heard a single footstep. The library floors were polished marble that echoed like a war drum with every movement. It should have been physically impossible to approach without sound. It should have been impossible unless someone knew exactly how to time their silent footfalls with the pulsing ventilation hum. Unless they had painstakingly memorized the blind spots of every security camera and motion sensor in the entire municipal building.
He pushed the cup away with a shuddering, wet gasp. Hot liquid sloshed over the lid and spilled across the desk like fresh blood from a gaping wound. His wild eyes scanned the total darkness between the towering bookshelves, where the shadows seemed to breathe and pulse with a malevolent, observing life of their own.
“Show yourself!” he shrieked. His voice cracked and fractured, echoing off the stone walls in a dozen broken, pathetic pieces. “Please! Just… leave me alone! What do you want from me?!”
The shadows remained perfectly, terrifyingly still.
Then, the desk’s built-in computer terminal—a hulking, ancient machine with a cathode-ray tube monitor that literally hadn’t been powered on in over a decade—groaned to life with a high-pitched, mechanical whine. The screen flickered with heavy static, bathing M!Y/n’s face in a sickly, jaundiced green glow. A single command-line window opened in the dead center of the screen.
M!Y/n backed away, his heel catching on the frayed edge of a stray runner rug. His spine slammed brutally into a bookshelf behind him, sending several heavy encyclopedias tumbling to the floor with loud, violent thud-thud-thuds that sounded exactly like gunshots in the suffocating silence.
“You’re insane,” he whispered to the glowing screen, chest heaving, hot tears burning at the corners of his eyes. “You’re a monster.”
The screen began scrolling through a rapid-fire sequence of high-definition photos. M!Y/n sleeping in the very carrel he was standing in, head pillowed on his arms. Taken from directly above. Close enough to count the individual lashes resting against his pale cheek.
M!Y/n turned and bolted for the stairs, his lungs burning with battery acid with every desperate breath. He didn’t look back. His frantic footsteps echoed wildly up the concrete stairwell as he burst through the library’s heavy brass doors and out into the dying, bruised amber light of the late afternoon.
He stumbled onto the crowded sidewalk, violently gasping for air, eyes darting frantically across the endless sea of faces. The golden hour painted Liyue Harbor in rich, molten hues — the jade rooftops glowing, the harbor waters shimmering like liquid fire — but the beauty felt aggressively mocking now. He stood there, trembling uncontrollably, desperately searching for a face he didn’t know but a presence he felt everywhere: in the stranger checking his phone a little too long, in the man casually leaning against the lamppost across the street, in the faint, ghostly reflection of the library windows directly behind him.
The wind carried the distant, agonizingly familiar sound of a violin drifting from somewhere among the evening street performers. Or perhaps it was only playing in his own fractured mind.
M!Y/n hugged his arms tightly around himself, the oversized sweater suddenly offering zero warmth. The city that had once felt like home now pressed in from all sides, every camera, every smart device, every shadow a tightening thread in Ajax’s inescapable web.
The realization crashed over him with the crushing, suffocating weight of a physical blow: there was literally nowhere left to run. The authorities were blind to phantoms who danced effortlessly between satellites and offshore server farms. He couldn’t drag this infectious rot to Xingqiu's estate, or to Yaoyao’s quiet home. He absolutely would not lead Ajax to the people he loved.
With a sinking, hollow horror that hollowed out his chest cavity, M!Y/n understood he had been funneled all day long like raw data through carefully routed cables — every panicked turn, every desperate hiding place, expertly guiding him back to the one location Ajax had already claimed as his own.
His apartment.
He flagged down a taxi, his eyes glued first to the driver’s weathered hands gripping the wheel, then to the man’s reflection in the rearview mirror. Was this him? No, the driver was too old, skin like crumpled parchment, eyes tired from decades navigating Liyue’s winding streets. When the car finally pulled up to his luxury high-rise building overlooking the glittering, dark harbor, M!Y/n bypassed the elevator entirely — that steel cage with its unblinking, omniscient ceiling camera — and sprinted up the concrete stairs. His lungs screamed in agony, legs burning with lactic acid by the tenth floor. He fumbled with his keys, the metal clinking like a frantic, utterly useless prayer, before bursting through his own front door.
He slammed it shut behind him and manually engaged every lock, every deadbolt, every heavy chain until his palms were raw and bleeding. Then he slid down the expensive wood until he hit the floor, burying his face in his knees, desperately trying to make himself small enough to simply disappear from reality.
The apartment was deathly, unnaturally silent. The black electrical tape he had applied in his manic frenzy the night before sat like small, square scabs over every visible lens, turning his once-modern, pristine home into something patched, paranoid, and violated.
Then, he heard it.
A low, melodic humming. Tuneless, wandering, and terrifyingly, intimately casual — the exact sound of someone completely at ease in a space that fundamentally did not belong to them. It drifted seamlessly from the kitchen.
M!Y/n stood on legs that felt like solid lead weights sinking into the deep harbor silt. He drifted toward the archway, his heart thrashing against his ribs so violently he legitimately wondered if the bones would finally crack under the pressure. He rounded the corner and stopped dead, the air freezing instantly in his lungs.
The kitchen was absolutely spotless. Every dish he had left abandoned in the sink during his frantic morning rush had been washed, dried, and placed in its exact spot with obsessive, terrifying precision. A fresh pot of his favorite osmanthus oolong tea sat on the stove, the kettle just beginning to emit a soft, rising whistle that sounded exactly like an air-raid siren in the quiet.
And on the small kitchen table sat a single, perfectly wrapped gift in shimmering silver paper tied with a deep, blood-crimson ribbon.
M!Y/n approached it with the stiff, mechanical gait of a man walking his final steps toward the gallows. His fingers tore at the paper in jagged, clumsy hitches, his breath coming shallow and ragged. Inside was a sleek, high-end digital photo frame, its glass face perfectly reflecting his own wide, panicked, bloodshot eyes. As soon as the ambient kitchen light hit its sensor, it chimed softly — the exact same notification tone as his phone.
A slideshow automatically began.
The first image: M!Y/n at the grocery store three days ago, captured from a high angle while he hesitated over a carton of milk.
The second: M!Y/n sleeping, taken from directly above his pillow, the angle intimate enough to trace the vulnerable, exposed column of his throat.
The third: M!Y/n in the shower, the hot steam blurring most details but perfectly, explicitly outlining the graceful curve of his spine and the water tracing down his bare skin.
A strangled, broken sound tore from M!Y/n’s throat. He grabbed the frame, intending to smash it into a thousand pieces against the granite counter, but the exact moment his fingers touched the plastic casing, the display shifted.
It was no longer a slideshow. It was a live feed.
The screen showed the back of his own head — right now, standing in his own kitchen, holding the frame.
M!Y/n spun around with a bloodcurdling scream clawing its way up his throat, but the kitchen was entirely empty. Only the insistent, mocking whistle of the kettle and the faint, sweet scent of brewing tea greeted him. He looked back down at the frame. The video mirrored his every frantic, terrified movement with perfect, mocking fidelity.
Then, from the extreme edge of the frame, a hand slowly entered the shot.
A hand with long, elegant, pale fingers and a heavy, brutal gold ring on the thumb.
The hand reached out and gently “touched” the image of M!Y/n’s cheek on the screen in a slow, digital caress that somehow felt infinitely more violating than any physical blow could ever be.
“Don’t scream, love. You’ll ruin that pretty throat of yours.”
The voice did not come from the frame. It vibrated directly through the metal ducts of the air vents above him—resonant, deeply intimate, and chillingly close, as though whispered directly against the sensitive shell of his ear.
“Where are you?!” M!Y/n shrieked, his voice fracturing into pure, raw desperation. “Where are you hiding?!”
“I’m everywhere,” the voice replied, distorted slightly by the metallic ductwork but unmistakably that pleasant, lethal baritone. “I’m in the copper wires. I’m in the drywall between your rooms. I’m the ghost in your machine, M!Y/n. And I’ve been waiting so patiently for you to finally come home.”
A soft, heavy thud echoed from the ceiling just outside the kitchen. One of the hallway access panels to the crawl space — a panel M!Y/n hadn’t even looked at in years — dropped open with a quiet, agonizing creak.
A pair of long legs swung down first, followed by a lithe, dangerously athletic torso, and finally, a face. The man dropped to the hardwood floor with the silent, fluid grace of an apex predator who had practiced this exact descent a thousand times. He was exactly as M!Y/n had imagined in his darkest nightmares, yet infinitely more terrifying in the flesh.
Vibrant ginger hair caught the dim amber lighting, shining like fresh copper wire. His face was strikingly, undeniably handsome — youthful, sharp-featured, almost disarmingly boyish. But his eyes… those were the true horror. Flat, matte, abyssal blue, like the bottom of a frozen trench where light and life had never once reached. He wore a simple, soft gray sweater and dark jeans, looking for all the world like any other young, attractive man who might live down the hall. A university student. A friendly neighbor. Someone entirely harmless.
He looked exactly like the end of the world.
“Hello, M!Y/n,” the man said, tilting his head with a curious, bird-like flick. A grin spread slowly across his lips, revealing teeth that were just a little too white, a little too perfect. “I’m Ajax. But I think you’ve grown rather fond of calling me Tartaglia by now, haven’t you? It does add a nice… dramatic spice to our little love story.”
M!Y/n backed away instantly until his spine slammed hard into the kitchen counter. His hand scrambled blindly behind him for a knife, a heavy bowl, a pan — anything.
Ajax watched the frantic movement with deeply amused tenderness. “Oh, don’t bother with the cutlery, love. I already moved the sharp ones to the top shelf this morning while you were sleeping. I wouldn’t want you to accidentally hurt those talented, gentle hands in a panic.”
He took one slow, unhurried step forward. M!Y/n tried to bolt laterally for the front door, but Ajax was impossibly fast — faster than any normal human should be. In a single heartbeat he was there, his palm slamming violently against the wood cabinetry directly beside M!Y/n’s head with a dull, final thud, caging him in completely.
All the air between them vanished. Ajax stood so incredibly close that M!Y/n could smell him — crackling ozone and expensive espresso, mingled with something sharp, coppery, and metallic, like fresh circuitry and overheated, predatory skin.
“You’re even prettier in person,” Ajax whispered. His dead gaze raked slowly, agonizingly over M!Y/n’s terrified features with a hunger so raw and unfiltered it felt like skin being flayed away layer by layer. “The lenses and cameras never did your complexion justice. It looks like the absolute finest Liyue porcelain. I’ve spent ten thousand hours watching you through glass and pixels… and I still wasn’t prepared for the real thing.”
“Let me go,” M!Y/n begged, hot tears finally spilling over his lashes and tracking down his cheeks. “Please. Take the laptop… take my accounts, take whatever you want… just leave me alone.”
Ajax laughed—a soft, terrifyingly genuine sound that was somehow worse than any screamed threat. He reached out, and this time, there was no screen between them. His fingers, burning warm and slightly calloused, brushed M!Y/n’s cheek, catching a tear and smearing it slowly, deliberately across his skin like a physical claim of ownership.
“You still don’t understand, do you?” he murmured, his voice a flawless mixture of velvet and steel. “I don’t want your things, M!Y/n. I have the entire world at my fingertips already.”
Ajax leaned in, pressing his body flush against M!Y/n’s, until his lips hovered barely a millimeter from M!Y/n’s ear, his breath hot and steady against the hyper-sensitive skin. “I want the person brave enough to hunt the hunter. I want the one who made me feel something other than static and cold code for the first time in my entire miserable life.”
He gripped M!Y/n’s chin with surprising, agonizing gentleness, physically forcing those terrified, tear-filled eyes to meet the bottomless abyss of his own.
“You deleted my account, M!Y/n. You burned my playground to the ground. So it’s only fair that I take yours, isn’t it?”
Ajax smiled, wide, affectionate, and utterly deranged, and for the first time, M!Y/n saw the full, bottomless depth of the madness swimming just beneath the charming, boyish mask.
“Welcome home, love. Population: Us.”
The realization that there was no escape, no eleventh-hour rescue, crashed over M!Y/n like a tidal wave of black harbor water, dragging him under into the crushing dark. He literally couldn’t breathe. The once-familiar air of his kitchen — usually scented with delicate osmanthus and the faint sweetness of medicinal herbs brought home from the pharmacy — was now entirely consumed by Ajax. Ozone, rich espresso, and that sharp metallic tang of a trap snapping shut.
Ajax’s hand remained locked like a vice around his chin, impossibly strong. The heavy gold ring on his thumb pressed deep into M!Y/n’s jawline like a cattle brand, cold and unyielding.
“Don’t look so tragic, little bird,” Ajax murmured. His voice vibrated directly against M!Y/n’s skin like a lover’s solemn vow laced with lethal venom. He swiped his thumb aggressively across M!Y/n’s cheekbone, smearing another tear into the skin. “I promised I’d take care of you. And I’m a man of my word.”
M!Y/n’s hands scrabbled desperately behind his back across the empty granite countertop where the butcher block used to rest. Ajax had anticipated absolutely everything — every frantic synapse, every primal survival instinct. The monster had already surgically sanitized the space of anything that could be weaponized against him.
“I told you,” Ajax whispered, his grin never once faltering, looking almost sick with affection, “I know the rhythm of your pulse. I know exactly how your beautiful mind races. Did you really believe those cute little deadbolts would keep me out? I’ve been sleeping in the crawl space above your hallway for a week now. Listening to you breathe. Counting your heartbeats when you thought you were completely alone.”
M!Y/n’s stomach plummeted into an endless freefall. A week. For seven endless, agonizing nights, while he had paced frantically in the dark, taping over every lens and flinching at shifting shadows, Ajax had been right there. Breathing the exact same recycled air, suspended only inches above his head like a massive, patient spider in the rafters. The lapis lazuli earring… Ajax hadn’t simply stolen it during a break-in. He had watched M!Y/n sleep, reached down into the dark, and plucked it from the nightstand while listening to every uneven breath.
“You’re sick,” M!Y/n choked out, his voice cracking like thin ice over a deep lake.
“Sick?” Ajax chuckled softly, finally releasing the chin only to slide both large hands down to grip M!Y/n’s narrow waist with agonizing, possessive gentleness. Beneath the soft gray sweater, his body was corded, lethal muscle, as unyielding as the stone cliffs surrounding Liyue Harbor. “I greatly prefer ‘devoted.’ Who else knows you hum to the Violetgrass when you think Dr. Baizhu isn't looking? Who else would walk four blocks in the midday heat just to ensure the barista didn’t skimp on the cinnamon in your mocha? I know you better than you know yourself, love.”
Ajax leaned his entire weight in, burying his face directly into the exposed crook of M!Y/n’s neck. He inhaled deeply, a slow, shuddering, obsessive breath that made the blood freeze solid in M!Y/n’s veins. “You smell like those herbs,” he murmured wetly against the skin, “even with the faint copper tang of that thorn prick from earlier today. Absolutely intoxicating.”
M!Y/n squeezed his eyes tightly shut, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could dissolve into the floorboards and vanish into the earth below the high-rise.
“If you… if you really love me,” he stammered out, desperately trying to weaponize the man’s own delusion against him, “you’d let me go. You wouldn’t do this to me.”
The manufactured warmth vanished instantly from Ajax’s demeanor. The oppressive, crushing silence returned, broken only by the kettle’s increasingly frantic, screaming shriek. Ajax pulled back slowly. His flat, matte blue eyes seemed to swallow what little ambient light remained in the room, turning them into black holes.
“Let you go?” he repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register that physically chilled the air in the room. “Back into a world that doesn’t deserve you? Back to Baizhu, who sees you as just another cog in his pharmacy? Back to Yelan’s cold networks that utterly failed to protect even a shred of your data?”
With casual, terrifying ease, Ajax reached behind M!Y/n and flicked the stove knob. The screaming kettle fell instantly silent. The sudden, absolute quiet that followed was more deafening than any scream.
“No,” Ajax said softly, stepping forward until their chests pressed completely flush together, trapping M!Y/n against the counter. “You don’t belong to them anymore. You belong to the one who tore the entire digital world apart just to reach you. You belong to the phantom who made you his.”
He reached casually into his jeans pocket and pulled out a sleek, black remote. With a single tap of his thumb, the digital photo frame sitting on the counter switched inputs. The live kitchen feed vanished.
M!Y/n’s breath hitched violently, a horrible sound tearing from his throat.
The high-definition screen now showed a child’s bedroom, illuminated softly by a familiar, star-shaped nightlight. Under a tangled mess of superhero blankets, Leo slept peacefully, his small chest rising and falling in an innocent, steady rhythm.
“Leo,” M!Y/n whispered. All fight, all adrenaline, all hope drained completely from his body, instantly replaced by a cold, absolute terror that hollowed him out until nothing remained but a shell.
“He’s a sweet kid,” Ajax noted conversationally, tilting his head with that same bird-like curiosity. “He was so heartbroken when he lost those digital treasures. It was incredibly noble of you to avenge him. A real shame his new bedroom window doesn’t lock properly from the outside, though. The latch is quite loose.”
“Don’t,” M!Y/n begged, his voice shattering completely. He clutched desperately at the fabric of Ajax’s sweater, his knuckles bone-white. “Please, Ajax. Don’t touch him. I’ll do anything. I'll do anything you want.”
Ajax’s smile was radiant, brilliant, and almost tender. It made bile rise sharply in M!Y/n’s throat. He gently untangled M!Y/n’s desperate, clinging grip, brought those trembling hands up to his lips, and pressed a lingering, devoted kiss to the white knuckles.
“I know you will, love,” he whispered. Those dead, abyssal blue eyes locked onto M!Y/n’s with terrifying, triumphant, absolute finality. “You already have.”
Outside, the city lights of Liyue Harbor continued their indifferent neon pulse beyond the heavily sealed windows, casting shifting, colorful shadows across the walls of what was once M!Y/n’s sanctuary. Inside, the apartment no longer felt like a home. It felt exactly like a beautifully decorated, inescapable cage, sealed airtight.
Ajax guided him gently toward the kitchen table with inescapable pressure, pulling out a chair as if they were any ordinary couple settling in for a quiet evening. The tea was poured — perfect temperature, exactly the strength M!Y/n preferred. Steam curled slowly upward into the dim air like incense at a funeral.
“Sit, love,” Ajax murmured, his voice as soft as silk and infinitely more binding. “We have the rest of our lives to plan. No more running. No more fear. Just us.”
As M!Y/n sank numbly into the chair, his legs no longer able to support his own weight, the very last fragile piece of who he had once been finally, irrevocably shattered. Outside, the massive harbor kept moving — freight ships gliding across dark water, jade lanterns glowing, millions of lives continuing without him. Inside, Ajax sat across from him, smiling that boyish, utterly perfect smile, pouring tea like a perfectly devoted partner.
In the end, the phantom had won. M!Y/n was finally home.
And he would never, ever leave again.
Just a reminder that this is a work of Fiction and in no case will I ever excuse or condone any act regarding stalking and whatsoever is written in the story. If you feel like you are being stalked or are in danger then please contact the police or whoever is close to help you.
