𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑶𝑶𝑳

𝙄 𝙇𝙄𝙑𝙀 𝙇𝙄𝙁𝙀 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙉𝙊 𝙁𝙀𝘼𝙍

[leychin]

𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Lei • 20 • INTP • 5w6 • 584 • Choleric • SX5 • VLEF RCOEI

m.list // rules // DNI

now playing: Tyler, the Creator - New Magic Wand

i have AUTISM so im a little bad at talking to you guys, pls be patient i tend to come off as rude/uninterested.

like my shit? buy me a kofi...

block the tag #ash tray speaks if you dont wanna hear my yapping

[boundinparchment]

Reverberations

Once a week for over a decade, Zandik left his laboratory, tuned his piano, and took up the mantle of music teacher at the request of the Tsaritsa’s daughter. His final year of tutelage went further than either of you expected. Rated Explicit. On AO3 here.

Every Wednesday, like clockwork, The Doctor left his study and headed into the music room off the foyer.  Having arrived early a few times prior, you knew his pattern by heart.

This time, though, was different.

You swept your hair covering off as you stepped inside, your riding boots dusted with snow.  The valet at the door took your mare without question, the black beast shaking her head as she was led away. There was no missing your departure from the Palace after morning tea.

The question you were certain was on your fiance's lips popped into your head as you pulled off your gloves and tucked them into your cloak pocket.  

Why were you in such a hurry for piano lessons when your wedding was in just over a week?

Stepping into the lounge off the foyer, you propped open the top of the grand piano and took a look inside.  All strings and hammers intact.  A few were replaced in the last week, actually.  Usually the Doctor handled this but being early, you thought you’d spare his hands for once.

Not that he would ever share the sentiment.  And your purposes were wholly selfish.

You didn’t hear him approach, ever so much a snow leopard in the snow-caked mountains.  

“Tsarevna,” came the icy voice.  “You’re early.”

It wasn’t the words but the weight on your shoulder, cold and hard, that made you jump, hands slamming on keys in a cacophony.  You were thankful the key cover locked in place.

There was no explanation.  Not really.  Other than avoidance of your fiance.

You looked at the Doctor over your shoulder, pale hair falling from the careful arrangement of braids your lady’s maid spent an hour on.  Garnet eyes bore holes into you as you locked your gaze on his.  Much like Pierro and the Captain, he was a mainstay in your life, charged with your mother’s burdens while she buried herself in frozen grief.  Words were unnecessary.

Turning back to the piano, you heard him huff through his nose and shift his weight, cane thumping on the carpet.  He settled into the armchair nearby where he had a perfect view of the keys, pedals, and your posture.

“I have a new composition that could use your particular emotional touch,” the Doctor said.  “You haven’t done sight reading in months.”

“This one?” 

You glanced in his direction while gesturing to the folio on the stand in front of you.  He nodded once and you smoothed your skirts as you sat before arranging the sheet music.  Stretching your fingers and hands,  you were surprised to see neat notes and lines free of splatters.  Purposefully created, a final draft.

The piece started with both hands, left maintaining a rhythm while the right worked a melody, fingers never moving all that far.  You fell into the flow easily, fingers moving like water over the keys.  Occasional reaching with your right pinky.  Compared to other compositions the Doctor wrote over the years, this one was rather mild in its structure.

Yet it tugged at you.  Demanded not your skill, but your heart.  Notes became gentle snowflakes, tinkering on a window pane, the aching melancholy of an end.  It was punctuated with a legato flourish.

When you finished, you paused, staring at the sheets.  “It’s rather…tame,” you broached.  “I imagine an accompaniment would make it more robust.”

“Undoubtedly,” the Doctor replied, almost mockingly.  “There’s more on your mind, Tsarevna.  You never ignore a chance to hone in on emotional tones.”

It wasn’t a secret, your path in life.  Serve your mother.  Make connections.  Be humble and soft as fallen snow but keep your heart walled off, a treasure in an iceberg.  An illusion of freedom to all who looked in while being surrounded by few you could trust.

This version, the true version, of the Doctor was the one your mother allowed refuge.  A man far beyond his years in knowledge but shunned at every turn for it.  Who aged despite every effort to buy himself more time.  You hated the fragments of him, bitter and selfish and unnecessarily cruel to themselves and others.  Only the boy was kind.

And you ran into him just outside the sitting room, staring at you with red eyes.  Not a word was said but you felt them.  Raw and true, as only a child would see the world.

Leaving me like everyone else.

“Lamentation.  An end.  Satisfaction, perhaps, but gentle melancholia remains.  The last notes provide hope, as all humans long for.”

The silence was heavier than the gifted kokoshnik you’d tried on with a feigned smile.

“No one else is here, Tsarevna,” he said.

Even your own teacher wasn’t to be trusted but you could think of no one else.  Your mother?  Impossible.  Pierro reported to your mother.  Rosalyne may have understood, once, and would only be helpful after.  Regrator smelled of smoke too often for your liking and he was too familiar with your fiance, floating around the same social circles.  As the daughter of an Archon and a Fae, you were destined for a slow, long life, and few knew you as long as they.

But out of everyone, only the Doctor was open-minded enough to not shame you.  Ideally.

“I don’t want to give myself to him,” you said at last, looking out the window and then back to the sheet music, fixing their order.  “He looks at me like an object.  A thing to dress and entertain.  He behaves humbly in front of Mother but I can see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his hand holds mine.  I have one value for him and he doesn’t deserve it.”

His other selves loved to talk.  The origin point was quieter, a listener if you ever knew one.  A double-edged sword, for he knew how to use the information given.

“He never had to keep himself for marriage.  His maid actually cornered me on my way here and offered to visit me to teach me how to pleasure him,” you scoffed, fury bubbling deep in your gut.  “Yes, she’d love teach me and then continue to fuck my husband behind my back, I’m sure.”

You tied the folio closed, protecting the composition from your ire.  

“You wish to enter your marriage as equals, then,” the Doctor stated.  “So what is your solution?”

The words you rehearsed on the way here refused to spill forth.  You’d thought about long fingers, worn by time, whenever he would correct your positioning; leg touching yours when showing you foot placement; small praises when you played just right.  None of the younger versions ever played a role in your mind.  It was always the nose clearly broken one too many times brushing against your ear, feeling the leather of the armchair against your legs, the gravely tone vibrating against your breast.

“Tsarvena.”

You swallowed.  Chastising you only made it worse, solidified that if you had to choose someone you knew, it would be him.

Rising from the bench, you began pacing the room, skirts brushing along the ornate Sumerian carpet.  You followed the worn path, one carved by other shoes, mindful of the rest of the handiwork.

“I already leave without supervision to come here,” you began, turning your gaze back to him.  “And if I were to choose, they should know me.  Very few have ever conversed with me as a person.”

“Regrator would be the more romantic choice.”

“We both know his habit makes his entire being acrid.  Hardly a subtle choice if I return smelling like cigarettes.”

The Doctor watched you carefully, thumb running along the beak of his cane, aquamarine stone glinting.  He lost this battle ten years ago when you’d insisted that the Second Harbinger himself teach you how to play the instrument your father, the Tsar, loved so much.  This time, he had the stubborn tenacity of a man who insisted upon himself because time was not his friend.  They made for terrible negotiators.

“Why present this to me and not my younger self?” he asked at last, twisting his cane idly.

“Because while they are you, they are wholly separate from you.”

He couldn’t be serious.  The segment you saw the most, aged thirty-five, was too arrogant for such a task.  If he was your only other option, you’d just save yourself for your wedding night.

The expression on his face was unreadable but you’d struck a cord all the same.  His hand on his cane was tight, jaw set.

“Am I meant to be flattered by that?”

You stopped in your tracks in front of him and threw your hands out to the side, skirts spinning around your ankles.

“Take it however you wish.  I’d rather perform such an act with someone who at least was present for my first century than another who believes they’re entitled to it by law,” you snapped.  “Is it astounding that someone might actually want you, Doctor?”

“Astounding isn’t the word I would use, Tsarvena.” He stared at you a moment longer than felt natural before he turned his attention to the piano  behind you and the window beyond.  “I will give you my answer next week.”

Dismissed.  There was no mistaking his tone and you dared not push it.

“Be well, Doctor.”

You gathered your things from the foyer and left, not bothering with your cloak until you were halfway to the stables.  It helped clear your head, shake the thoughts of going back inside and climbing into his lap and grinding your wet heat on his leg, leaving a wet patch behind.

After all, if  he’d taught you anything over the years, it was patience.  

A package arrived for you on Saturday while you were out.  It was accompanied by a single flower, one you only saw  in a small greenhouse toured in the early days of your weekly lessons.  The name stuck with you because it was so unfamiliar: padisarah.  A flower from the era of the Goddess of Flowers.

It was fresh, petals soft and center fragrant.

An unusual calling card, you mused.

Ensuring your doors were locked, you settled onto your bed and gently pulled at the box’s lid.  Amid tissue paper, you found an envelope and soft pale blue lace.  Your heart skipped at the material as you ran it through your fingers and your face grew hot when you pulled it up, realizing the garments.

The lace panties in one trembling hand, you reached for the envelope and found a familiar script.

Wear these.

There were stockings and a sheer lace corset, structured only with the necessary underwire.

And you knew just the dress to wear, too.  Easy to undo in the front, no need for your maid that morning.

Perfect.

Your stomach twisted into knots as you arrived on Wednesday to a prepared instrument, score chosen and waiting for you.

This time, you’d taken your carriage, claiming to want to enjoy your last day in peace.  Planning was being handled by others (not that your choice mattered much anyway) and this was the better alternative to seeing you mope around, you mused.  A few hours of freedom before the rehearsal dinner was a small pittance you could be allowed.

Approaching the bench, your icy eyes scanned the sheet music.  New.  Messier.  That tempo was bordering on frantic.  Was he punishing you?

You heard the thump of his cane and turned as the Doctor rounded the corner.  In his free hand, two small objects, one with a thin wire dangling.  He looked a tad refreshed more than usual, monocle shining, but he’d always moved with a particular certainty despite the walking stick.  His back was straight; his tailored shirt did no favors in hiding the brace.  

“Do you still wish to proceed, Tsarvena?”  You nodded and he gestured with the top of his cane.  “Then sit facing me.”

Skirts rustling, you did as he asked and settled onto the smooth, polished bench.  The Doctor rested his cane nearby and held out a flat hand.  “Your foot.”

Brow furled, you raised your leg and rested your ankle into his awaiting hand.  He stepped closer, bending your leg and pushing your skirts up, revealing the stockings.  You felt his cold fingers against your thigh as he traced the material from your ankle to your thigh, a jolt running through you at his touch as he reached the soft flesh near your bottom.

“Good girl.”

You stared at him, watching his face as you felt a strap fastened around your leg, a small device pressed into your thigh.  The Doctor’s fingers didn’t stop and climbed higher, tracing the hem near the apex of your legs.  You caught the softest hum of approval as he dipped beneath the fabric and brushed against your hair, the worn pad of his finger meeting wet lips as he slid a small, round device between them.

“What is that?” you asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

He let go of your leg after a squeeze of your thigh before reaching into his pocket.  You saw a small pill before he slipped it into his mouth as though he was in thought for a moment.  

“I need time.  If you had given at least a few weeks’ notice, arrangements would be different.”

The Doctor settled into his usual armchair and you arranged yourself on the bench properly, the round device prodding your wet folds.  It sat in such a way that you felt a little pressure on your clit, and thus every shift of your hips made your eagerness all the more prominent.

“Play as normal.  We’ll see how the rest unfolds.”

Heart pounding, you took your position and began to sightread, willing yourself to focus.  Huh.  A tarantella.  This one looked old judging by the sun damage on the paper.  Quick and daring, like an arctic fox across the tundra, darting through ice tunnels.  You read ahead to keep the pace only for your pinky to slip and hit a sharp rather than a flat.

You felt a jarring sensation and buzzing beneath you that ran from your core to your belly button, your breath catching.  Maybe just the pressure.  Angling your hips a little differently, you pressed on and continued smoothly, fingers flying across the keys.

Wait, was that a quarter or an eighth note?  The pencil marks weren’t erased neatly, echos of previous thoughts not faded enough.  The strange feeling returned, stronger than before, and you gave a surprised yelp.  You felt yourself grow wetter, the dull throbbing you’d felt all morning giving way to a painful ache.

Thankful for the easy refrain, your fingers kept the melody.  Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the Doctor with one hand on his cane, the other idly playing with a small corresponding remote, half-hardened member pressing against his thigh.  You caught his thin lips in the trademark smug smile that the Segments were known for.

“Poor planning should be punished accordingly, Tsarvena.  Keep going.”

You tried to even out your breathing as you shifted pedals and recognized patterns.  These notes were part of a scale, follow through and hold two beats, not one.  Notes blurred together and you winced as you realized your mistakes just as the vibrations ran through your core, a taste of white hot heat ripped away from you.  Your hands slammed the keys before they slipped off the board entirely and gripped your skirts.  The sound that ripped itself from your lips was almost feral, sharp and keening.

“I didn’t think you had the stamina but that was simply pathetic,” the Doctor sneered.  “Not even halfway through a single sheet.  Come here.”

“I don’t recall you having authority over me, Harbinger,” you hissed, chest heaving.

“You’re in no position to bicker, Tsarvena.  If you had come to me weeks or even months ago, I’d have planned accordingly.  As it stands, I’m likely shaving off a decade of my life for this experiment.  Do as I say and come here.”

You cried out as the device demanded your pleasure again and you rose on shaky legs, every step towards the Doctor complete agony.  Burning red eyes took in every inch of your flushed skin and parted lips, your entire being drunk on arousal.  This must be what it was like, you mused, to be consumed by pure fire.  And he hadn’t even touched you properly.

He reached for the stays on the front of your dress, undoing the hooks with experienced practicality.  Pushing it away from your torso, the Doctor ran his fingers over the lace, callouses nipping at the gentle material.  He tugged you closer, only long enough to play with your hardened nipples.  Flicking, squeezing, sucking.  You felt teeth against the soft flesh underneath before he pushed you away.

The damp lace was irritating, no doubt the intention.

“On your knees.”

The carpet was plush as you sank down, thighs soaked with your own juices.  You’d expected only penetration, the act itself, not this.  What was he—

“Come closer and undo my belt.”

You pushed yourself up and reached forward, elbows resting on his thighs as you pulled at the metal.  You pulled the leather through the shining loop and flicked your gaze up to find him watching you.  He didn’t protest when you reached for his fly and he hissed in relief as he sprang free.  

You blinked, shocked that a man his age could even—

He shifted his hold on his cane and placed it across his knees, pinning you in place.  The dreaded device at your entrance hummed and felt your walls clench at the sight of his cock.  Worn, veiny, and when you dared touch, somehow still like velvet over steel.  He remained silent as you continued touching him, reaching the base and lower still, finding his balls, heavy and weathered.

The thought of them slapping against you clouded your mind and without much thought, you leaned forward to wrap your lips around the glistening tip.  The Doctor inhaled sharply, twitching against your tongue.

It took some coaxing but you finally were able to press your nose to his base, the ache in your core unbearable.  You bucked your hips on nothing, shifted your hips so your heel pressed the device against you harder, unsure of what you were seeking other than relief.

The Doctor growled and grabbed your head, pushing your face against him.  “No, no, save that orgasm for when I’m buried inside you, Tsarvena.”

The pleasure was momentarily broken as the Doctor set  an unforgiving pace.  You sputtered and gagged as he came, refusing to let you pull away until he finished, the last remnants shooting across your lips and chest.

His laugh was gleeful as his fingers painted his cum all over your mouth.

“Works much better than the evidence originally indicated,” he snickered.  “Perhaps I should thank you for forcing my hand, I might never have finished this project without your little request.”

Dazed, you didn’t quite understand what he meant until you realized he had yet to soften.  Virgin though you were, you were well aware of basic reproductive anatomy and expectations.  Wasn’t he at least tired?  He looked almost refreshed, like he’d just had a cat nap.

“Stand up and turn around.”

He shifted his cane to provide the freedom necessary and you turned around, reflection catching in the polished piano’s open lid.  Hair was falling from its pins, your dress hung like a death shroud, and neither of you wiped the pearly substance from your collar.  One look at you and no one could mistake the events.

The Doctor pawed at your skirts and pulled you back, arranging his legs between yours.  Hiking up the layers, you felt cold air on your thighs and bottom.  Fingers plucked the soaked device from your lips and you peered over your shoulder to see him lick it, your slick glistening.

“One experiment we have to forgo, Tsarvena.  Had I been able to plan properly, I would know every facet of your body and you would have the experience you so desire.”

“So you keep telling me,” you replied.  “But are you sure you would have been up for it?”

“I’d find a way.  I always do.”

More squeezing, exploration of the exposed skin between the stockings and the panties.  The lace was pulled down, and you stepped out of them before you felt hot breath on soft flesh, teeth grazing and nipping at one cheek, and then the other.  A shiver ran up your spine and he bit harder, likely enough to bruise.  You tried to reach back to swat at him but you missed.

“No marks, I thought that went without saying,” you snapped.

He gave a chuckle and bit you again, your mouth opening in silent shock at the pain.  “You’ll think of me every time you sit down.”

Casting him an indignant look, the Doctor reached up to spread a hand over your back, bending you over.  The other, now free of the remote and his cane, gripped your hip to pull you back.  His shaft sat between your cheeks, hot and hard, sticky with your saliva.

“Really, like an animal?” you bit out.

“I warned you that Regrator would have been the romantic choice,” came the reply as his touch left your back and he slid his length along your flesh, jolting you as his tip brushed past another sensitive entrance.  “This angle should, however, provide intense results.”

You felt his tip finally pass along your soaked entrance and clit, slick swollen heat sliding around his length as he nestled between your lips.  Your inner walls throbbed eagerly, twitching at your opening, and he groaned in response.

“Last chance, Tsarvena.”

You gave no reply and instead rolled your hips, catching his tip with your entrance.  You wiggled and tried to sink down, your body pliable.  Long fingers grabbed your hips, guiding you down slowly until you sat down entirely, toes brushing the carpet.  Your body stretched to accommodate with a dull ache, unaccustomed to the intrusion.  The Doctor leaned forward slightly, as much as the brace would allow, letting go of your hip long enough to take your hand and guide it between your legs.  You felt his length and then where your body took over, until he took your hand lower, your slick coating his worn skin.  You cupped his balls, earning yourself a groan as you brushed them against your thighs.

“You seem to be quite bold despite your inexperience,” he grumbled into your neck, teeth grazing near the hem of your dress.

“I’m merely curious,” you replied.

“A healthy trait in the right dose,” his breath tickled your skin as he guided your hands to the chair’s arms, pressing them in.  “This works best if your feet are flat.”

Planting your feet and gripping the arms, you let out a shuddering moan at the slick sound as your bodies parted.  Nails dug into the flesh at your hips as the Doctor guided you along his length.  He lifted you to the point where he almost left you entirely, bouncing you on his tip before forcing you back down, your legs burning.  You relaxed into the rhythm he set, every stroke a spark stoking a fire building deep inside.  He bit you as he pulled you down into his lap, your toes balancing your weight and curling into the plush carpet.

Your sounds were obscene, squeals and cries and moans you never thought would fall from your lips.  Panting as your legs trembled, you tried to focus on the pressure building inside you, urging whatever release your body craved—

The Doctor slowed, setting long strokes that toyed with your entrance.  You gave a whining keen, your body craving the fullness, walls demanding more.

“Breath, Tsarvena, and let go.”

White hot heat engulfed your vision as something gave way, your body shattering like ice.

“Good girl.  That’s it, keep coming.”

You shuddered in his lap, swaying your hips, as you clenched down on his cock.  The sensation was so sweet it bordered on painful, your core wanting more despite having just had a taste.  You didn’t want to stop.

A second wave hit you harder and you gave a sharp cry as he guided you through it with a rougher pace.

“Hungry little thing,” he chastised.  “You wanted me that badly for all these years?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Yet you waited until the inevitable to come to me.  Pathetic.  We’ll just need to make the most of the last hours we have, then, hmm?”

The pace was unrelenting and you found yourself tumbling over edge after edge as he chased his own release, slamming you down as he twitched.  You felt warmth shoot deep inside, flooding you.

Your eyes locked with your reflection again, this time an image of complete ruination.  Hair truly in tangles, lips parted, eyes dazed.

The Doctor lifted you onto unsteady feet and you felt his essence drip down to your swollen lips.  Rough fingers scooped up the substance and plunged back into you, plush walls more than accepting of the touch.  One hand grabbed a cheek, squeezing and pulling at you.

“Admiring your handiwork?” you slurred, arching onto his fingers.

“If you behave this way for your intended, you have little to worry about, Tsarvena.  We’re hardly finished.”

You gasped as he slid his length between your cheeks again.

“How are you—“

“Anything is possible with the right chemical composition.  You will be little more than a stumbling fawn when I’m through with you.”

He was true to his word.  The piano and score long abandoned, you instead spent the rest of your time in a haze, pleasure so intense it bordered on painful.  By the end, you had no thoughts, filled to the brim and then some.

“I’ll feel you with every step down the aisle,” you mumbled, legs high as you were splayed on the nearby couch.

“Then my work is complete.”

You managed to find the energy to dress and tidy yourself.  When you reached for the lace panties long abandoned, the end of his cane kept them in place.

“Those are mine now.  A parting gift, if you would be so kind.”

Your skirts would be soaked with your mingled juices, then, you wanted to protest.  The glint in his eyes told you that was exactly the point.

Amid the crowd the next morning, you spotted a younger visage next to Pantalone.  The one always sent in the Doctor’s stead when he could not travel long distances.  Younger, the face the public always saw.

The smile and head tilt you received as you walked up the aisle with your husband was unsettling enough.  It was the lace tucked into his breast pocket, peeking out for all to see, that dropped your stomach to your feet the rest of the evening.

You spent your wedding night with thoughts of red eyes and worn fingers, unable to forget.

You returned from your honeymoon weeks later, routine upheaved as you eased into married life.  To no one’s surprise, you looked a little worse for wear despite spending so long in the mild climates of Mondstadt and Fontaine.  At first you only thought it was motion sickness, the boat ride home far choppier and unsettling than the initial trip, but it lingered; when you missed your cycle not once, but twice, all doubt disappeared.

Part of you had known.  You didn’t expect to feel changed but ever since the night before your wedding, your world felt ever-so-slightly off kilter.  

It wasn’t until months later, during a seasonal summit, that you saw the Doctor again.  You hadn’t felt much movement over the last day—hardly a concern for your physician—but it worried you all the same.  To come this far, only for something to go wrong…you only wanted to do this once.

Did he speculate, you wondered, as you did?  You felt it in your bones that the child was his: an intuition that he would never believe until bloodwork proved otherwise.

“Play for me, Doctor?” you asked simply.  “She’s been lethargic lately.  It’s harder for me to reach the keys now.”

He looked older than you recalled, the angles of his face harder, and gaze more pointed.  His shoulders must ache, too.  His words about shaving off years of his life were true, it seemed.  All to give you what you wanted.

What he clearly wanted, too.

You swayed in your seat on the sofa as he obliged you, a familiar tune that your father used to play.  Soft and tender.  How did he remember that?  

It wasn’t until the last notes of the song that you felt the familiar flutter in your belly, relief spreading through you.  You eased yourself out of your seat and walked over to the piano and then reached for his tired hand to press it against the swell of your abdomen.

“She’s yours,” you whispered.

“The probabilities are doubtful.  Your husband was boastful of your excursions over post-dinner drinks.”

“And you don’t think it’s strange that she’s active for you?”

“New stimulus provides that result.”

“We’ll see.”

Something softened in his face for the faintest of moments, as though he was entertaining the idea.  How ironic, you thought, the known heretic impregnating the daughter of the Archon he served.  Fitting.

He left after a strong kick, patting your hand wordlessly in departure.

You recalled seeing him next in a fevered haze.  Fighting with your physician, the one your husband insisted on, hurling insults at your spouse.  Your mother, Archon of her people with larger worries, pressed cold compresses to your head to keep you awake.

“The right thing to do would be to deliver the child,” the Doctor snarled.  “If you wait longer or hope for a natural rupture, you risk both lives.  Pathetic, you’re her partner, you dolt!”

“Zandik,” your mother said, the older man pausing in his rant.  “Is that what you do?”

He stared at you, solemn.  Perhaps it was the fever but you swore he looked guilty.  After a moment, he shifted his gaze to your mother and said, “It’s the only thing to do if you wish to give both of them a chance.”

“Then get the steadiest pair of hands among you for the task.”

The last thing you recalled was your mother singing to you as a figure with glasses and shining red eyes lowered a mask onto your mouth and nose.

Hours later, morning sunlight kissing the walls of your bedroom, you woke to find the chair in the corner occupied.  The aquamarine nestled into the figurehead of the walking stick glinted at you.  Murmurings of a language you identified as a dialect of Sumerian rang over the rattling of the nearby radiator.

A bundle, whining.  Tiny fingers reaching and rubbing cheeks.

“Ah, mamusya is awake, little duchess,” the Doctor murmured.  “You should meet her properly.”

Instinctively, you reached for the covers but the glare sent your way and the sharp stabbing pains in your abdomen halted you.

“I’m old but not incapable, Tsarvena.  Stay there.”

The babe was small and scrunched, cooing as she was shifted over to your arms.  It was impossible to miss the dusting of blue hair, the wrong shade to match yours.  The eye color would reveal itself in time.

“I told you.”

He was silent, idly playing with his walking stick as he watched not you, but the baby.  The Doctor reached out and the child wrapped a hand around his finger.

“Zandik,” you murmured, his name strange on your tongue.

He left without another word and you never saw him again.  Only the shadow of his younger self remained, ever present, ever curious.  The segment in the prime of his life offered you only few words when you were well enough to travel.

“Keep her from the others.  Take her far away from here.  She deserves that much.  It’s what he would have wanted.”

And when she began to show signs of darkening eyes, you did exactly that, determined to give her the freedom neither of her parents ever had.

[rockingbytheseaside]

Desperately clinging to your fics for comfort at this point LOL

✦ Ageless Metamorphosis

OG Zandik x immortal Reader witnessing him in different stages of life with segments. Reader is gn. Warning: Longer fic idk why I wrote this 

When Zandik was scarcely 18, he sat across from you as a junior Trainee Dastur. 

Tepid sunlight cascaded over an endless sea of book spines, towering rows undulating like hypnotic waves. If the sound of your quill scribbling across the parchment paper were akin to the sound of splashing waves, then Zandik would wish to stay on this shore. You amended his notes, and the junior sat silently, nervously adjusting the golden trims of his emerald uniform when usually vanity meant little to him. However, with you, things were different. 

“I see now why you wanted me to read it,” – you told him. “I believe this outline holds merit. I corrected some basic equations you wrote down, but I can say you're on the right track.”

His hands clench into fists in his lap, knuckles whitening with suppressed excitement. Was it foolish hope, or had you truly begun to believe his work on longevity might stand in defiance of Eleazar itself? Even so, you cautioned him gently, reminding him that the Akademiya’s six cardinal sins were not transgressions his supervisors would overlook: 

“You should've been my supervisor,” – he quickly interjected, arms crossed. “At least, a senior co-author. Are you truly certain you intend to leave after graduation?” 

Alas, your wistful smile confirmed you had already made that decision. 

Though Zandik inclined his head with due respect, the cast of his lowered gaze betrayed how bitterly he cursed fate once more. Had he only belonged to the same academic year as you, he might have shared so much more with you: his scholarly frustrations, sleepless research, the burdens of looming deadlines, and endless debate during field trips amongst the dunes of Deshret’s old kingdom. Lamentably, a young heretic like him could only covet an equal like you. 

You are far more intimidating than he expected. You sat there so calmly, pen moving across parchment like this is just another Tuesday. Yet when you stand back up, offering a gentle tap on his shoulder, Zandik’s face broke into an unfiltered smile he rarely wore in his scholarly career. It transforms his usually intense ruby eyes, rendering him to look exactly what he is – a mere young boy. 

“I'll take your words of encouragement at face value. Otherwise, I hope not all long-lived individuals such as yourself dispense polite encouragement to humor naive mortals?” “Maybe when I reach several centuries of age, Zandik. I am not that ancient yet.” 

When Zandik was 25, you watched him work tirelessly in Dar Al-Shifa’.

With a notebook in hand and chalk in the other, he scribbled tirelessly on the board in front of him. A crease formed on the bridge of his nose, right underneath his glasses. A white medical lab coat has replaced his once-pristine Akademiya uniform. 

"If I adjust the plasma conductivity here... no, this won’t do," – He mutters to himself as he scribbles furiously. Realizing he was far from alone in this room, he felt self-conscious of you watching him after hours again. A habit of yours lately, one he proudly memorized, even when your footsteps were soundless and your breathing undetected. "Oh! You're still here. Great, I will wrap it up to show you my progress."

You watch him fuss and mutter over cellular samples of the recent Eleazar patient. Simply resting your head on your palms, you remained seated by a medical table behind him. Any attempts to convince him that he was way overqualified for this run-down hospital remained futile.  

"If it keeps me afloat, then so be it. And it’s not like I can scavenge better opportunities elsewhere after my expulsion," – Zandik's shoulders tensed slightly, chalk dusting the fingertips of his gloves. "They're building a new wing for experimental treatments. More patients with Eleazar are coming in… This would be the perfect opportunity to experiment on the condition. What do you think?” 

You paid little heed to his pleas. Instead, you busied yourself checking the formulas written on the board here and there. Then, without warning, you turned to stare at him with such profound astonishment: 

“... You wear glasses now.” 

Zandik blinked at you. An embarrassing exhale escaped him, a sound halfway between frustration and affection. He abandoned the chalkboard entirely now, walking over to where you sit – "You're avoiding the topic again, aren’t you? I do not ask you out of whimsy, dear. I want to hear your opinion first and foremost. Always have." 

But both you and Zandik could already guess what you would utter. You knew these parts of rural desert villages. People here do not look kindly upon those who meddle with Eleazar, nor upon anyone who tampers with the ancient Khaenri’ahn machinery buried beneath the sands. To do so was akin to cursed omens. You shook your head: “Do something reckless, and they will exile you like Sumeru city did.”

The young man crossed his arms – “And is concealing your true age and origins from the villagers not equally reckless of you?”

Your eyes widened before your gaze drifted away in solemn silence. Indeed, neither of you was innocent, and the doctor sighed before leaning closer towards you.  

For seven years, since that golden afternoon at the Akademiya, through his exile, to your frequent visits to this remote hospital, the young doctor would gaze at you with an encumbered yearning. His desolation from Sumeru city was his burden alone, yet somehow, you’d return after him to ensure his well-being. Perhaps the shared disdain for the Akademiya’s taboos was what brought you to him as a senior, but to the young man, you were an image of everything he’d hoped to achieve. Was it immortality or change? His brilliant mind couldn’t grasp for an answer. 

"You think I care about exile?" he asked, voice low but intense. "They cast me out once already for pursuing forbidden knowledge. I was hoping that maybe after seven years, you'd see me as more than a puny junior. We can go together, it doesn’t matter where, even in the worst possible outcome. 

Silence followed. 

“... Eh? It's been seven years already?! Since when?!” 

You were helpless despite your seniority, Zandik concluded. 

When Zandik was 35, he proudly bore the title of the 2nd Fatui Harbinger before you. 

The luxurious Fatui facilities dwarfed the desert hospital; his excitement is ever maddening despite the decades. You, however, remained ageless and unchanged beside him. 

"You're looking at phase one of an artificial electrolyte solution," he said eagerly, gesturing to glowing vials on a lab table while you two toured his new laboratory. "Based on Khaenri'ahn bio-tech but adapted for human physiology. This allows for a better preservation of the segments I told you about."

He presented his first progress with confidence. Imitating ancient Khaenriahn alchemy as a framework for creating clones resembling him was a new idea, finally entering experimental phases rather than remaining theoretical. You, in the meantime, wandered the polished floors of his lab, a heavy Fatui coat draped over your shoulders as you read his notes on transferring embodied experiences and memories. 

“Mortality is nothing but a shackle, and for a segment it would be no burden,” – you remember he said. “Why would it be a shackle, Zandik? Immortality is more cursed when a person acquires it. After all, a human mind cannot comprehend so many centuries without any side effects.” “And would you consider your longevity a curse, then?” – He dared you, but you fell silent. 

He leans back against the lab counter, arms crossed as he studies your unchanged face. An eternity of familiarity in this world that keeps moving without you, while everyone you’d know and love would pass and fade away. 

"The segments would gather information from different times and different perspectives. Yet here I am at my height as a Harbinger, feeling more contempt than ever. None of it bears meaning if you're just going to outlive me by centuries."

Once more, you offered him that easy, distant smile: “You have much more to achieve than pursue me throughout centuries. You are a scholar after all, so I can only advise you so much as a senior. Besides, you now look more mature than I am. Had we remained at the Akademiya, most would mistake you for my senior instead.” 

Naturally, a scoff escaped him. Lately, you’ve been using quips about him looking older than you. He hovers close, hand cradles your jaw with careful, gloved hands as if cautious you’d vanish like a mirage in the desert he once fled from.

“If I'm to tear down and spite this decaying world,” – He whispered. “...I can't imagine wanting eternity with anyone but you. Be it through my own flesh or through my segments."

“What if multiple clones of you existed, which one of them would be the closest to the real Zandik?” 

He takes another step closer, close enough now that if either of you breathed deeply, your chests might brush: "Does it matter?”

Burdened with decades of unspoken admiration, the Harbinger leaned in to seal his lips with yours. And tragically for you two, you leaned in. 

Every time that young junior presented his work, he hoped for your approval. Every coffee break, he sat by your side but never touched. That night at the desert hospital, when it hit him that you'd never age like ordinary people, and never see him as an equal in mortal life, it became a condemnation to yearn for you more. It was his unspoken ‘I've loved you since forever’ – except for a mortal, his forever was merely decades, a minuscule blink of an eye for an immortal like you. Still here you were, hands clutching at his coat as you kissed him back. The Harbinger only pushed on with hunger to pour all his unspoken words against your lips, grasping your body flush against him even when pulled away in search of air.

“We shouldn’t, you know why,”

He knew. But his gaze hardened with pain of the expected rejection: “Do you regard me as a small blink in your life? Do not pity now, you of all people…”

“No, no,” – you shook your head, forehead pressing against his chest as your shoulder shook. “Don’t act as if I am an untouchable being incapable of understanding love. You know we shouldn’t because I-”

“Because you will outlive me, and it will break us both?”

Your eyes glistened at the thought. The Doctor only drew you closer, his head pressing to the crown of your hair.

“Or… you wish not to meddle with a heretic and let him grow old on his own?”

Thinking about it now, you should've smacked Zandik on the head more often for such words. Instead, you yielded, if only this once, to the desire between you, letting him lift you onto the table as he devoured your breath with a hunger shaped by years of discretion. Just this once, even if it meant your refusal would fracture yet another part of him. 

When Zandik was 80, you watched him create segments from various stages of his life. 

The lab grows ever more fervent with work and experiments. The various fragments of his own becoming have now meticulously embodied his personality and ticks from different thresholds of his life. Through it all, Zandik himself grew older. He may not have achieved immortality to stand beside you as an equal, but you chose to remain as an enduring friend. The day when he was 35, a Harbinger in his prime, you refused him. Not out of antipathy, it was a mutual decision you both agreed to. Would a heretic allow himself to wallow in his own longing till his elderly years? Each Dottore segment will give you a different answer.

Today, a familiar chorus of boisterous chatter spills into his lab. You had arrived for a visit. The youngest of the segments, the 8-year-old little Zandik, runs quickest to cling to your legs. The 18-year-old follows suit, already eager to show you his recent essay and research notes. Perhaps some things never change. “Easy, easy there! One at a time!” – you laugh, holding packed baklava confectionery away from 8’s grabby hands as you greet everyone with little treats from your travels. Even the 65-year-old segment cannot help but play the old charmer when greeting you with a bow of his masked head. 

Old man Zandik will have to reprimand his segments to respect your personal space. What a bunch of flocking children.

“You spoil the youngest too much,” – His voice rasped as he set a cup of coffee for you. Taking his seat opposite, he kept his cane in his grasp. “But I see you are eager to correct 18’s research notes. He says if he can’t get others to advise him, he’ll have you as his supervisor instead.”

You chuckled, a cup in hand.

“Ah, doesn’t it remind you of someone when they were a Trainee Dastur?”

Old man Zandik scoffed. Of course, they inherited his bodily experiences, perhaps even their adoration is part of him. Notably, you no longer looked as intimidating as you had when he remembered you from his youth. Poised as always, you sat ever the same, physically unchanged in posture and youth. Meanwhile, Zandik aged; his hair grew longer, and his skin wasn’t spotless. It’s basic biology; his reflection did not offend him.

“You know, I think you have changed,” – The Harbinger noted.

“...Me? Do we have matching wrinkles at last?!”

“Do not mock me now,” – he shook his begrudgingly, until his weary gaze settled deep into your eyes. “You look different. Your eyes look ever more distant. I assumed it was fatigue in your eyes at first, but you are not one to skip leisurely repose.”

You said nothing. Your gaze was indeed distant, despite the ever-gentle smile.

“Maybe you should get back to wearing glasses, then, because nothing in me has changed. Which, by the way, they looked good on you when you wore them at 25.”

“Hmph, my eyesight is perfect. At least you remember the years now. It’s unlike you.” 

The bickering between the senior and their junior resumed back and forth. Except that by this coffee table, it looked like an old man scolding an ignorant juvenile for being absentminded, while you chuckled and humored him over coffee. 

“Then in that regard, you haven't changed at all despite your years.” – your youthful hand came cradling his wrinkled one. “It's like I'm looking at the same 18-year-old I first met who sat across from me in the Akademiya library.”

The contrast was clear in your shared touch; his skin was now papery with prominent veins against your ageless one. Alas, you refuse to concede that your accumulation of decades had numbed you with inferential grief. He turned his palm upward to intertwine fingers with yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“We didn’t meet at the Akademiya first.”

You blinked in confusion, “Eh? Yes, we did. You shared your outline papers and whatnot. That’s the first time I met you.”

The old man regarded you with a wistful smile, “Hm, are you certain? I recall it differently.” 

“Hey now, don’t pull my leg. We were both Akademiya students, though I was about to graduate when you were still a junior. I know that much for certain!”

“Ah, you are right, you are right. Never mind, perhaps my mind was just wandering.” – Zandik didn’t insist on the topic, softly deriving a different question quickly, "Will I see you tomorrow? The younger clones always ask when their senior advisor is coming by."

“Same time, as usual,” – You stood up. “I need to check on Feofan again since his corneal repair surgery. He seems to be faring well so far. But I will see you tomorrow.”

“Suit yourself.” 

With a quick peck to his temple, you scurried off without further words. His cup of coffee remained untouched till it cooled, while Zandik watched you silently depart. Once again, the heretic would rather let decades go by instead of confessing the unstated. He did not lie - he actually knew you before the Akademiya.

When Zandik was 8, you stumbled upon him as he ran away from a swarm of kids hurling rocks at him. You, of course, don’t remember it, for you never asked for his name then.

Tears blurred his vision when he ran. Scratches stung skin until little Zandik collided with your legs by accident. Fallen backward, he remembers lying there sniffling. With a stern bark, you reprimanded the street children and shooed them off. And why would you remember a fleeting encounter where you kneeled by a small kid, checking his scratches and mending him? The little child only stared at you with big ruby eyes that day, shakily explaining what happened.

When Zandik died on his 85th birthday, you didn’t come to visit. 

[diz-eaze]

no you don't get it.... you must understand the severity of creepy older brother dottore... siscon dottore is so real and canon to me, and this is why #thesisdefense

; pseudo/stepcest, not proofread gulp.

dottore understands and craves kinship in others who have felt/been abandoned or ostracized. during his akademiya days, a senior, sohreh, tried to romance him, but she bored him greatly. born and raised normally, she offered nothing of benefit and only perceived him as an attractive loner. or maybe she thought of him more than that, and he was the one who never bothered to dig deeper before eliminating her.

regardless, he knows the feeling of abandonment. he understands what it's like to be chased out of a community; the persistence of never belonging. it's a trait of commonality that he prioritizes over others, but ironically enough, those he deemed to understand him always left in the end. continuing the cycle of his search to find someone he deems to be kin.

his encounter with you is through chance. you are a refugee coming to snezhnaya after the fatui obliterated your hometown. he remembers the zapolyarny palace that day being overly crowded, people in tethered clothes shaking from the cold, fearfully looking around the unfamiliar environment they're forced to be in. they were together in small groups, undoubtedly being families or friends.

a sort of chaos that he found to be too much of a bother, and he was simply passing by to access the wing leading to his personal laboratory. but he found you all on your own, teeth clattering and crouching down in pain; a singularity against birds that flocked together.

you had looked so pathetic then, eyes so dim and hopeless. hair a mess, and body adorned in scratches. a weakling who has no one to anchor to.

you were practically begging for a savior, and while he always enjoyed playing as a villain, dottore certainly didn't mind stepping up to play hero for a day.

his blue and black-gloved hand extends out for you, figure obscuring the light pouring through the glass-stained windows. his smirk confuses you with the benevolent words that accompany,

"come with me now, it'll be a long while before the refugees in this hall are all relocated. lest you prefer starving to death before they reach you?"

you take his hand and spring up in desperation, naively following behind as he navigates through the imposing palace, not once letting go of him. this kind stranger is the only proof of kindness you have right now; releasing him feels like letting go of a blessing.

he takes notice of your hand and even praises you,

"already so obedient. keep it up."

dottore situates you in his lab, a segment (it startled you to see another him) gives you bread and water, while another gifts you new clothes, all while he watches you change.

excitement clips into his voice when he announces to you,

"if you wish to stay here, then from now on, you shall be family. i once had a sister, but unfortunately, it didn't last. tch, how disappointing... i expect that you won't end up like her. isn't that right, sister?"

you will never be alone again, so long as he's around. you agree with an eager nod, already familiarizing yourself with your new family; your brother(s).

unlike the family dynamics you've witnessed all your life, dottore's approach to siblinghood is considerably more unique. he deems himself above you; he is the protector, and you are the weak. you are indebted to him, and as such, it's only appropriate that he gets to have a say in your autonomy.

"sister, do not visit the lab late at night."

"sister, that's not the outfit i prepared for you this day."

"i believe i made myself clear that you do not venture past the laboratory."

"allow your big brother to do your hair for you, dear sister."

you do this, not that. you're supposed to not like this because he told you to like that instead. when he tells you that he's right, then there is no point in arguing against his dictated reality. and you accept it because he is the only guiding light you can hold onto.

in a sense, you've never stopped holding onto his hand the night he found you. his eccentric attitude is one that you can excuse so long as he keeps feeding and providing a shelter for you.

whether you stick around because you benefit from him or because you truly see him as your family matters little to him. but his presented image of siblings continues to further warp, distorting all principles that you think are acceptable.

his say in your autonomy evolves, and so does his dynamic with you. it transcends the flimsy label of brother and sister as he attaches on a new one;

lovers.

his calling of sister becomes more of a petname with an affectionate and sultry lure each time he says it. his clinical hands abandon every research instrument whenever he deems it time for your medical check-up. rather than use a stethoscope, he presses his ear up against your chest and manually counts each heartbeat. your mouth is not pried open with a metal rod; he uses his fingers. he finds it pointless for you to wear a patient gown; in your bare underwear, it is more than enough.

sister, please tilt your head up and allow him to transfer the medicine into your mouth. sister, please help him get ready for the day. sister, you must finish your entire meal for maximum nutrients. sister, being kissed is not an otherwordly concept to you, surely?

it's others who don't understand the complexity of siblinghood you two have. he's your lover, brother, savior, and god all the same, and proudly dangles it above your head. without him, you'd be all alone, wasting away in hunger and neglect. he wants to be worshipped for being a good big brother and then praise you in return.

so long as you maintain this ideal version of family to him, you will always have dottore. and he doesn't plan on letting you go anytime soon, either.

teyvat's #1 siscon... #bless. oh albedo, you never even had that crown to begin with

[miloora]

commission for @leychin

[leychin]

i lauv and adore..... tysm

[leychin]

Hellooooo it is that time of year again where i want a new pfp! If any artists have commissions open could u post some of your art examples and stuff and get in touch w me!

I do not like the semi realism style, id prefer anime adjacent as always!!

EDIT: FOUND SOMEONE PLS STOP TEXTING ME

[leychin]

when im going through the shigaraki x reader tag and i get jumpscared by my own fics

[leychin]

If it is not obvious already, I write these fics for me and me alone. Writing the shit i went through with men ive dated and coping with my writing should not be something u mfs wanna complain abt. If u dont like it, block me and move on with ur damn life.

[leychin]

BASED AND REDPILLED

You're not like the other girls!

Shigaraki is sure to make you aware of that every time you two pass a girl wearing a crop top, or shorts that seem to make eyes wander.

His lips turn down in disgust for them, he calls them 'bitchy bimbo whores' or something like that. But you pay more attention to how he grabs your waist and pulls you closer to him, he whispers how you're so much better than them.

Tomura hates a lot of people, but he hates women who get life handed to them the most because they're pretty. He says it was never easy for him. His face dry and mangled from years of scratching, picking, and peeling slowly. He can only trace a thumb on your cheeks, cooing praises about how you're so perfect, you aren't one of them.

It makes you more self conscious about what you can and can't do around him. Not because you're afraid! No, of course not. You just don't want to remind Shigaraki of the things he hates, but thats not too hard. Your wardrobe was full of graphic tees, hoodies, sweatpants; nothing that was revealing or could give away what was underneath.

He likes how you dress "like him" he says. He says he appreciates how you don't care about your appearance (what?) and how you don't care how other people see you (harsh...)

But he kisses you all the same, holds your hand when you're out, and you've even gotten him to walk on the outside of the sidewalk when you walk together! Maybe Shigaraki just likes lowkey girls. You've seen people talking about them on some of the websites Shigaraki frequents, 4chan? Was that the name?

Shigaraki's friends online praise him for finding a "Good one" often. When his webcam is on and you bring him lunch they say you're one of the only tolerable women out there. You aren't "Stacy" and you correct them on your name, and they just laugh. Shigaraki always pats your head and says "I've probably snatched the last tolerable femoid left."

They all agree and play their games, but you look up what a femoid is. You're disgusted. You fall deeper into the rabbit hole that is 4chan, discovering being an "Incel" and what "Stacy" really means. You're heartbroken. Your sweet tomura was a raging misogynist! Maybe he didn't know what he was saying, or maybe he didn't understand how it was offensive.

So one day, you bring it up on one of the few dates he takes you on. You tell him how he shouldn't say those things about women, you guys were people too! He surely understood, he would never-

"I know. Thats why i'm sayin it."

"Yeah, and- wait what?"

Shigaraki knows exactly what a femoid is, a stacy, and an incel. He wears it like a fuckin badge of honor at this point. He said he was a "Truecell" and he thought you would understand that he wasn't one of those "Alpha chads" that "Stacys" want. Thats what was so great about you! You weren't like those breathing fleshlights, you were the only woman with some semblance of a brain, albeit a misguided one, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

You simply sit and stare at him. You should leave him, but then what? He'll go onto the next girl and she might not be like you, he might find a "stacy" and do something so unspeakable to her it makes your heart sink. He would never hurt you, he respected you somewhat.

Shigaraki gives you a dry laugh, and he ruffles your hair and grabs your wrist a little too tightly, pulling you up from your seat. "You sound like one of those stupid feminists. Its okay, I know you aren't like them. You know your place, don't you?"

And with a shaky nod, all you can do is agree as you accept that you are doomed to this, to protecting the rest of the world from him.

[lowkeyren]

in which : alhaitham speaks to you in 5 different languages, unaware that you understand every word he says.

wc 7.3k (pls give it a chance lol), academic rivals to lovers, unrequited hate, attempt at humor, college au, denial + pinning.. crazy ik, he falls first (and harder), tw stalking by a drunkard, a genius on paper but a total dumbass when it comes to crushes, lil smau at the end!, ft. sumeru gang. art by @/gamegatchihaja on x.

ps. translations ay nasa maliliit na titik, katulad neto!!

ps. translations will be in small letters, like this!!

PROLOGUE: GOD I HATE THIS GUY! (DOES HE THINK IM STUPID?)

the semester is nearing its conclusion, and the imminent approach of finals marks the most critical period of the year; students rush through the halls, clutching their notes and textbooks like lifelines, while you pour every ounce of effort into your studies —not just for your grades, but also to surpass a certain arrogant scholar. 

alhaitham. 

the name tastes like spoiled milk on your tongue, a sour reminder of all the times he’s bested you, even if it’s just by a small margin, leaving you dumbfounded when the difference between your marks during the last exam was a mere 1%. 

you were groveling in front of your professor, “please, just round the marks up?” you could practically feel your dignity slipping away. and the worst part? you were so desperate that you started mentally calculating how many odd jobs you’d be willing to do just to sweeten the deal. 

(maybe you’ll help organize the office, run around the campus to buy him drinks every day, or even wipe down the windows of his car…)

disclaimer: he ultimately said no, but he did compliment your impeccable taste in coffee so, a win is a win? 

anyhow, alhaitham’s nonchalance only adds to your frustration, especially when he switches to a different language mid-conversation. it feels like he’s rubbing salt in your wounds, why of course you can understand him perfectly —after all, you aren’t majoring in linguistics for no reason, plus he's not the only one who’s fluent in multiple languages.

though you keep that to yourself, perhaps because the things he says in those languages, which he assumes you don’t understand, are far from innocent, unknowingly letting you have a glimpse into his true feelings. 

ACT I: WHOLEHEARTEDLY, I DETEST YOU. 

alhaitham would never fall in love —such irrational and illogical emotions held no value to him. 

that was what he always believed, but then he saw you. 

the way you laughed so unapologetically at cyno’s jokes, how you always stood firm by your beliefs, your refusal to compromise who you are; you were a breath of fresh air in a world that often felt stifling.

as much as he tries to act unfazed, he can't help the heat prickling his skin nor the way his composure falters just slightly in your presence. and when his heart raced for the first time in what felt like forever, he knew —he was completely, utterly screwed.

(“fix me, kaveh.” / “hah. who do you think i am, ‘y/n’?”)

when kaveh told him that he just had a simple “crush”, he nearly rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck there permanently.)

likewise, this ugly arrogant handsome bastard here, is one you’ll never fall in love with. 

he’s infuriating, completely insufferable, and yet there’s something about him, something hidden beneath that arrogance, that draws you in. the idea that you could ever fall for someone like him seems laughable, impossible even. he's exactly the kind of person you should avoid and you know better than to be charmed by someone like him. yet, there's that nagging feeling, deep down, that perhaps you’re not as immune to him as you think.

by some stroke of luck, you’re in the same major, same year, and even enrolled in the same lecture periods, which means you end up in the same place at the same time more often than not.

but you can’t deny that, in some twisted way, you admire him. his intellect is beyond impressive, even if it annoys you to admit it. so surely, in his eyes, you’re still inferior, and you often wonder if he even considers your ideas as worthy of attention.

(they are.)

ACT II: YOUR WATCHFUL EYES, I CAN’T IGNORE.

your pen glides across the pages as you jot down notes, fully absorbed in your studies, barely registering the faint sound of distant chatter.

unbeknownst to you, a group of students has gathered just outside the lecture hall, peeking in from the door with curious, amused expressions. they’re clearly there for you, exchanging glances and murmurs, waiting for the moment you step outside.

you don’t notice, but alhaitham, seated a few feet away, certainly does.

his eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the scene. he doesn’t say anything at first, but his jaw clenches ever so subtly. as you begin to pack up, you glance up to find him standing in front of you, his tall figure effectively blocking the group outside’s direct line of sight to you.

with a discreet glance over his shoulder, he shoots them a cold, unmistakable glare. they visibly shudder, seemingly getting the message as they awkwardly shuffle away. 

“what was that about?”

alhaitham leans against your desk, “nothing important,” his tone is dismissive, laced with irritation, his gaze still fixed on the now-empty doorway. 

you narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “really? you just scared them off for no reason?”

“just getting rid of some… distractions,” he says casually, turning his attention back towards you. you raise an eyebrow, clearly not believing his words. “distractions? they weren’t bothering me.” 

his expression remains impassive, “khi họ cứ để ý đến em như vậy… em thấy không phiền, còn tôi thì có.”

“seeing them constantly paying attention to you… you're not bothered by it, but i am.”

“bởi vì cái cách mà em chú tâm hoàn toàn vào một việc gì đó…  nó quyến rũ vô cùng.”

because the way you completely focus on something… is truly mesmerising.

you blink, feeling a momentary flush of confusion and surprise at the words slipping from his mouth. did he just—? but before you can fully process it, he continues.

“vậy nên tôi cũng không thể trách họ khi họ muốn nhìn em gần và lâu hơn được.”

so i don’t blame them when they want to look at you closer and longer.

his words linger in the air, a moment passes before it clicks —he doesn’t think you understand. that’s why he’s speaking so… freely; letting slip things he’d never say outright in a language you both speak fluently.

“nhưng mà… chắc không ai trong số bọn họ có thể sánh ngang với tôi, em nhỉ?”

but… none of them can compare to me, right?

your chest tightens as a surge of warmth courses through you. 

his detached attitude only fuels your irritation. but there’s also a certain satisfaction in knowing something he doesn’t: you’ve understood every single word he’s said.

feigning ignorance, you raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with what you hope is a neutral expression. "what are you going on about?" you ask.

his expression remains as stoic as ever, not a single crack in his mask. he simply shrugs, eyes still on you, "just telling you to focus more.”

your grip on the pen tightens, there's a part of you that wants to wipe that smug look off his face, to show him you're not as clueless as he assumes. but not yet —you’re curious to see just how far he’s willing to push.

"right," you mutter under your breath, tapping the pen against your notebook. "focus. got it."

he leans down slightly, one arm resting on the back of your chair while the other presses against the table, effectively caging you in.

"you're wasting time, finals are coming up." he takes a brief pause before continuing, "i wish you the best of luck, you’ll need it.”

your eyes snap up to him in a glare, “don’t you have somewhere to be?" you bite back.

alhaitham straightens, giving you a final glance before turning towards the door. “naturally, i have studying to do.”

“bởi vì tôi sẽ chứng minh cho em thấy rằng chỉ có tôi mới xứng tầm làm đối thủ học thuật của em, không một ai khác.”

because i will prove to you that only i am worthy of being your rival, no one else.

why did he frame it as if it’s a privilege only he can claim? or is he trying to… flatter you?!

you shake your head, no way, that’s ridiculous. finals are coming up, there’s no time to dwell on whatever mind games he’s playing. though if the almighty alhaitham wants a rival, then you’ll show him exactly what it means to stand at the pinnacle.

ACT III: IN MY DREAMS, I SCORED HIGHER THAN YOU.

you’re tired, the kind of tired that seeps deep into your bones. every blink stretches longer than the last and you find it increasingly difficult to focus on the words in front of you. stifling a yawn, you feel the pull of sleep tugging at you, whispering sweet promises of rest.

there’s still time till your next class.

maybe you'll take a moment to close your eyes, just for a few seconds…

did you not get enough sleep last night, or did you stay up late studying again? alhaitham watches silently from across the room, his eyes narrowing as your head droops lower, your exhaustion becoming painfully obvious with each passing second. his gaze lingers on the way your pen pauses mid-sentence, the line on your notebook trailing off as your hand grows heavy.

he pushes himself up from his seat, and approaches your desk; he notices the sunlight streaming through the window, harsh and unrelenting, hitting right over the table where you’re sitting. he looks at you —eyes closed, with the faintest crease of discomfort on your brow.

without a word, he reaches out and slips the pen from your grip, the slight shift causing your fingers to twitch, but you don’t wake. 

for a fleeting second, he considers waking you. but then, as you shift again, settling more comfortably into your chair, he decides against it. what good would that do, anyway? you’d probably just brush him off and keep going until you collapse from sheer fatigue. typical.

instead, he adjusts his stance slightly, positioning himself just right to make sure the sunlight is fully blocked from your face, casting you in a cool shadow. 

you mumble something incoherent, and he can’t help but roll his eyes at your state. did you really think burning yourself out like this would help you focus?

“stubborn,” he mutters under his breath. 

you're always like this, pushing yourself past your limits, and while part of him respects your determination to outdo him, he won’t allow it to come at the expense of your health.

you stir from your slumber, lifting your head, your gaze lands on a familiar figure standing to the side of your table. his back turned, facing the sunlight that streams in from the window. 

alhaitham. 

he’s close, so close that his broad shoulders completely block out the sunlight from the window. the sight sends a rush of confusion through your already sleep-addled mind. did he… stand there the whole time? why? 

you shift slightly in your seat, your movement catching his attention. without turning, he speaks in that low, steady tone of his, “you’re awake.”

“alhaitham?” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

he glances over his shoulder, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the calm expression on his face. “you’ve been out for a while,” he comments, a hint of amusement in his voice. “i was starting to think you’d sleep through your next class.”

you rub the sleep from your eyes, “why didn’t you wake me up then?”

his shoulders shift slightly as he shrugs, still facing away from you. “you looked like you needed the rest. besides, it’s more entertaining to see how long you’d stay asleep.”

a flicker of annoyance courses through you as you roll your eyes, “oh, so you mean you care?”

he turns slightly, and you can see a hint of a smirk on his lips. “don’t read too much into it. i just prefer my competition functioning at their best.”

you wish you could roll your eyes harder because this man has an uncanny talent for grating on your nerves while somehow being insufferably charming at the same time.

“ah yes —because you need me to keep up with you,” you remark sarcastically.

“exactly.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you lean back in your chair. “you really think so highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“mushiro, kimi no koto o hijō ni takaku hyōka shiteiru yo.”

if anything, i think highly of you. 

your brows knit together in surprise, and you can’t help but scoff. “what was that? i didn't catch it.”

“i said i won’t go easy on you.” oh, the audacity. he’s lying again, and he knows it.

the corners of your mouth twitch in disbelief as you scrutinise his expression. there’s that familiar glimmer in his eyes, a spark of mischief that tells you he’s enjoying this too much.

“whatever,” you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. “not like i want you to anyway.”

despite your words, you can't deny that his actions earlier were surprisingly endearing. you wonder how long he intends to keep this up. perhaps it’s time you let him know.

“ii ne, kimi ga iraira shite iru toki wa kawaiikara.”

good, because you’re cute when you’re all riled up.

you feel a blush creep into your cheeks at his words, okay maybe you shouldn’t let him know. you instinctively look away, as if avoiding his gaze can help you regain your composure.

cute? what does he mean “cute”?! he thinks he can get away with calling you cute —well… well, there’s not much you can do about it, you’re not ready to confront him about this either.

the mere thought of asking him directly makes your stomach twist with a year’s worth of embarrassment. yet, as you try to refocus on the book in front of you, you find yourself biting your lip, struggling to suppress a smile that threatens to break free.

ACT IV: I WOKE UP TODAY, AND A DREAM CAME TRUE.

the hallway buzzes with excitement as students gather around the large announcement board, eager to see the results of their theses. you push through the crowd, heart pounding, the low hum of chatter filling your ears. 

when you reach the front, you quickly scan the list; the moment your eyes land on your name, your breath catches in your throat.

there it is, in bold red ink at the top of the board —a score higher than you’d ever hoped for, higher than his. and your name, on top of his.

alhaitham.

you glance over and spot him approaching the board, approaching you. his expression is, as always, unreadable. but you know him well enough by now to catch the slight pause in his movements, the brief moment where his eyes linger just a second too long on the board.

you try not to think too much about it as you collect your thesis, with alhaitham following closely behind, his fingers nearly grazing yours as you both sift through the stack of papers on the table.

you take in the glowing praise from your professor, each word making you feel like every all-nighter was worth it. you clutch the paper, resisting the urge to grin like an idiot. 

glancing sideways, you wait for him to say something, maybe some backhanded comment, but he remains silent. your eyes meet, and there’s a shift in his gaze as the usual sharpness in his eyes dulls ever so slightly, your smile lingering like the first light of dawn breaking through the night's embrace.

it’s subtle —just a flicker —but you catch how his gaze falters, softening, if only for a heartbeat. the edges of his stare blur, drawn to the warmth of your expression as though it’s something he hadn’t meant to witness, yet can’t look away from. 

at this moment,

"looks like i finally beat you," you say, not bothering to suppress the grin spreading across your face now.

he feels like

there’s no scowl, no sign of frustration —just the slightest raise of an eyebrow. “hmm. by a point.” he pauses, studying you for a second longer than necessary before returning his gaze to his paper. “enjoy it while it lasts.”

he's in heaven.

it’s as if he’s not bothered by the outcome at all. in fact, if anything, he seems... satisfied?

"hindi dapat ganito kalala ang epekto ng ngiti mo sa akin."

your smile shouldn't affect me this badly.

“—huh?” your mouth drops slightly open at his words; out of everything, you didn’t expect him to say that. it catches you off guard, making your heart race just a little faster. if you peer closely enough, you might catch a glimpse of the gentle arch of his lips, a ghost of a smile. 

the silence stretches on for a beat too long before he clears his throat and shifts his gaze away from you. “ang iyong ngiti ang pinakamagandang tanawin ng aking araw.”

your smile is the most beautiful sight of my day.

“what?” the word slips from your lips, barely a breath, a soft gasp that hangs in the air. it feels almost surreal and you wonder if you’ve misheard him.

each heartbeat thunders in your ears, a rhythm that matches the erratic flutter in your chest. why is he saying these things, what for in a different language…? there’s no way that he—

"—tulad mo na ang hinangad ko na ligawan, ngunit sa bawat ngiti mo, halip ay mas lalo akong nahulog para sayo."

—like you, who i wish to court, but with every smile, i instead found myself falling for you. 

your breath hitches as your heart stumbles, the implications of his words washing over you like a wave. a rush of heat floods your cheeks, “what… did you say?”

his shoulders stiffen, and there’s a subtle tension in the way his fingers curl against the paper he’s holding. “see you tomorrow, [name],” he mutters, his voice low but hurried, and before you know it, he’s already walking away.

two strange things happened today: 

1. you finally beat your sworn enemy!

2. said enemy… complimented you? 

huh, it’s as if the words slipped out before he could catch them, as if he’s been holding them in for far too long, as if… you notice the way his neck reddens, even as he turns away.

behind the door, alhaitham lets out a quiet breath.

“gago… nagkamali ba ako?”

stupid… did i make a mistake?

to his dismay, an annoyingly familiar voice cuts through the silence. kaveh, who had been waiting just down the hall, notices him standing there, a little too still. 

“oh, what do we have here?" there's a slight pause, followed by a raised eyebrow. "is that—no way, your face is red!” kaveh teases, amusement dancing in his eyes. “what happened there?" he leans in, clearly enjoying himself. "come on, spill the tea..!” 

"not a chance," alhaitham retorts, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms defensively.

just then, kaveh spots cyno and tighnari; grinning, he waves them over. “what’s going on? did alhaitham finally crack under pressure?”

alhaitham would rather reorganise the entire library than listen to kaveh recount what happened.

“i’m leaving.” 

"no, i'm afraid you're not getting out of this one.” cyno steps forward, blocking alhaitham’s path; and tighnari, who has been quietly observing till now, chimes in, “don’t leave us hanging.”

“you’re outnumbered.” 

alhaitham sighs and shakes his head. he hadn’t even thought it was physically possible for him, of all people, to do something as ridiculous as blushing —until today.

(on the other side of the door, their banter echoes through, and you can’t help but chuckle to yourself at alhaitham’s misery.)

ACT V: PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY, YOU SAY? BUT EVERYONE CALLS IT FLIRTING.

“i think alhaitham likes [name].”

the whole table falls silent before kaveh dramatically slams his glass down on the table, causing a splash of alcohol to spill over the edge. “oh finally, it’s so obvious! have you all seen the way he looks at them?” 

across the table, tighnari taps his fingers absentmindedly on his notebook, his attention only half on kaveh’s (incoming) rant but clearly invested enough, as shown by the slight twitching of his ears, to be listening. 

cyno snickers, “you’re telling me the man who can dissect any philosophical argument can’t handle a little crush? that’s rich.”

kaveh waves a hand dismissively. “come on! remember that time they were partnered up for a project? he was so... uncharacteristically patient! i’d almost say it’s cute if it weren’t alhaitham we’re talking about!”

right, it’d be almost endearing —if it weren’t coming from the most stoic, intimidatingly aloof guy in the entire school. it’d be adorable —if it weren’t alhaitham, who instinctively covers the corner of your table with his hand when you drop your pencil, ensuring you won’t hit your head as you bend down to retrieve it.

oh, you don’t notice (of course not). but your friend dehya, sitting nearby, catches the whole scene out of the corner of her eye. she raises an eyebrow, nudging the girl beside her. 

(“candace, do you see that shit.” / “yeah.”)

“a soft spot for [name], you say? well, i’ve got a story of my own, too.” cyno glances around, ensuring no one else is within earshot, then lowers his voice conspiratorially.  “have you noticed? he doesn’t wear his earphones when he’s around them.”

kaveh pipes up, nodding eagerly.

“he’s got those earphones practically glued to his head, he doesn’t hear anything he doesn’t want to, and he certainly doesn’t talk unless he’s forced to. but around them?” cyno pauses, pretending to think for a while. “not once. he’ll put them away entirely, like he’s actually willing to be… present.”

sure it’s small, subtle, the kind of habit no one would pick up on unless they were looking closely. but to anyone who knew alhaitham well, it tells them more than words ever could. 

for him, actions speak louder than words, even if he often doesn’t realise the meaning behind his own gestures.

his earphones slide down, resting forgotten around his neck, all so he can be close enough to catch the delightful lilt of your laughter. his chair inches a fraction closer, seemingly by accident. a subtle upward twitch at the corner of his mouth, so fleeting and often passing so quickly if one weren’t paying attention.

for him, it’s a language without words.

dehya laughs softly. "for someone who supposedly ‘doesn’t like being bothered,’ he sure seems invested in whatever [name] has to say."

and what sealed their suspicions? 

definitely the time when kaveh complimented nilou’s new bracelet. he glanced over at the man beside him, nudging him lightly. “what do you think?”

alhaitham gave the bracelet a cursory glance, before replying, “it’s nice.” though his gaze flickered back; and almost absently, he added after a pause, “[name] has the same one too.”

oh… oh? well that was oddly specific. kaveh’s eyebrow quirked as he fought to suppress a grin.

alhaitham had noticed a detail seemingly insignificant about [name] —the kind of thing he never cared to show the slightest interest in when it came to anyone else.

the glint in nilou’s eyes seemed to mirror kaveh’s unspoken thoughts, silently agreeing with his suspicions.  

now they’re certain —100% sure, in fact —that alhaitham has a crush on you.

“well, speak of the devil… lovely seeing you here, alhaitham,” kaveh quips. tighnari, ever observant, gives him a pointed look. “your jacket’s missing.”

“someone took it,” alhaitham replies, his tone as composed as always, giving nothing away.

—nothing until you walked past. draped over your shoulders, unmistakable, is alhaitham’s jacket. you don’t notice the way every pair of eyes follows you, or the way kaveh barely stifles a triumphant laugh.

...make that 110%.

(translation: he means he borrowed his jacket because [name] was cold.)

ACT VI: IT’S YOU, WHO COMES TO MY RESCUE. 

the quiet night hangs heavy, the road empty and bathed in the dim glow of distant streetlights. you weave through the streets, but no matter how many twists and turns you take, that weirdo just won’t leave you alone.  

he’s been trailing behind you for blocks now, his persistence grating on your nerves, cornering you with endless “compliments” and invasive questions. you’ve tried to shake him off, but his determination far exceeds your patience.

"come on, just give me a chance," he insists, stepping closer, a little too close for comfort. you take a step back. the smell of alcohol reeks from his breath, and his grin is making your skin crawl. 

"i told you, i’m not interested," you say firmly, keeping your voice steady, but the panic was starting to creep in. you glance at the empty bottle in his hand —he’s definitely drunk out his mind.

“you sure?" he completely ignores your clear discomfort. "how about you just give me your number, yeah?" he slurs out.

"no, i have a boyfriend." you lie through your teeth, hoping that would be enough to make him back off.

unfortunately, he’s as insufferable as he is persistent.

he snorts dismissively, "yeah, right. a boyfriend? you’re just playing hard to get."

you sigh, you aren’t in the mood for this, not here, not now, and especially not with someone like him. "i already told you, i have a boyfriend," your voice now tinged with frustration. "so please, just leave me alone.”

"oh, don't be like that," he steps in front of you, blocking your way. "prove it. call your boyfriend. show me you’re not lying."

your heart races as the man reaches out for you, dodging his hand, you take the chance to look behind him for an escape. just then, you see an all-too-familiar figure in the distance. 

alhaitham. 

you barely manage to suppress a relieved sigh as you wave frantically in his direction. he spots you almost immediately and without hesitation, he rushes over.

"what, this your boyfriend?" the guy sneers with derision, still sounding a little too cocky for someone who was about to get a reality check.

alhaitham steps beside you, you can feel his eyes on you for just a brief moment, the faintest flicker of worry flashing across his face. it’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you catch it—and it makes your chest tighten.

his voice is low, unmistakably carrying a warning, "yes, i’m their boyfriend. and if you don’t want things to escalate, i suggest you leave." 

the man’s face twists as anger flares in his bloodshot eyes. he takes a step forward, his grip tightening around the neck of the bottle, the glass slightly cracking. "you think you can tell me what to do?" he slurs, gaze wild and unfocused. “y-you think you’re some kind of saviour? *hic* a-and you! how… how dare you reject me?!”

alhaitham doesn’t move, his expression cold and unbothered, and that only seems to make the man angrier. his frustration boils over, and with a snarl, he clumsily swings the bottle in his hand, aggressively lurching towards your direction. 

the world seems to slow for a moment. though before you can even react, alhaitham pulls you firmly behind him with one swift motion, his other arm instinctively rising to shield the both of you from the blow. the sound of glass meeting his forearm is sharp and jarring —you can hear the high-pitched tinkle of glass scattering, the jagged shards bouncing off the pavement, and some skittering across the ground.

but he doesn’t even flinch, his stance unwavering as the man stumbles back, glass crunching underfoot. you’re still frozen from shock, your heart racing in your chest as you watch the scene unfold. 

“big mistake,” he starts, and the man visibly falters. “harassment, assault —keep this up, and you’ll regret every choice that brought you here tonight.”

the man shifts around, clearly disoriented. his eyes dart between you and alhaitham, but it’s clear that the fight’s already left him. “you— you can’t do this!” the man stammers, trying to regain some semblance of courage; unfortunately for him, the tremor in his voice is unmistakable. 

“do you really want to find out?” alhaitham asks, to which the man shakes his head vigorously. “get lost,” he mutters. the man, looking more pathetic than threatening now, quickly stumbles away, mumbling incoherent curses under his breath.

you’re breathless, still clutching the edge of his jacket, fingers trembling slightly as the adrenaline courses through you. 

"are you alright?"

you nod, forcing a small, unconvincing smile."yeah... i’m fine. thanks to you." 

alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, scanning you for any sign of injury. you follow his gaze instinctively, glancing down at yourself. that’s when you notice it —not on you, but on him.

streaks of red stain his forearm, where jagged shards of glass must have cut him during the confrontation. the gash bleeds steadily, a dark line of blood seeping through the fabric of his jacket.

"wait," you breathe, your heart sinking. "you're bleeding."

your stomach twists with guilt.

"why didn’t you say anything?" you exclaim.

he shakes his head, a dismissive gesture that does nothing to ease the knot forming in your stomach. "it’s nothing," he says, but the slight furrow in his brow and the tension in his jaw betray his words.

"nothing?" you fix him with a hard glare. "idiot… you just blocked a glass bottle with your arm, don’t try to downplay this."  

you grab his sleeve, tugging it gently but firmly, the fabric sliding beneath your fingers as you pull it up. “—and unless you think an infection is ‘nothing’, you’ll let me take care of this."  

"hold still," you murmur as you settle beside him on the couch, your supplies spread across the coffee table in front of you.

the scent of antiseptic fills the air as you take a disinfectant wipe and gently dab it against the gash. the sting of the alcohol makes him flinch slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. you mutter a soft apology, your movements slow and deliberate as you try to be as gentle as you can.

you open a tube of ointment, squeezing a small amount onto your finger before smoothing it carefully along the edges of the cut. the cool gel glides over his skin, and you can feel the tension in his arm ease ever so slightly under your touch.

“nǐ zhème guān xīn wǒ, huì ràng wǒ wù huì de.”

if you care so much about me, i might misunderstand you.

your fingers pause briefly, the words catching you off guard. you glance up at him, but he only averts his gaze, his eyes remaining fixed on a distant spot beyond the room.

misunderstand? misunderstand what, exactly?

the bandage wraps securely around his arm as you smooth it into place. as you tuck the end of the bandage, his voice comes again, just as soft, but no less clear. 

“—wù huì nǐ duì wǒ yǒu gǎn jué.”

"—misunderstand that you have feelings for me."

your brain short-circuits, and in your shock, your hands jerk. in turn, the bandage tightens way too much, causing him to wince and tense up. before you can apologise, he lets out a light chuckle.

“suǒ yǐ nǐ dān xīn wǒ… nǐ shì bù shì gù yì ràng rén xīn dòng de?”

“so you're worried about me… are you purposely trying to make my heart race?”

his words only make you more flustered, and you find yourself fumbling to fix the bandage. “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to—”

his chuckle only grows softer, and you catch the glint of amusement in his eyes. “it’s fine.”

you quickly finish adjusting the bandage, trying to focus on anything other than how your heart is now racing. (ironically) 

“you seem flustered,” he comments casually, as if he isn’t the one who just made your head spin. “did i say something wrong?”

you shake your head quickly, hoping to hide the flush creeping up your neck. "no, not at all.”

his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smirk.

"nǐ bù bì yǎn shì, wǒ xǐ huān nǐ hài xiū de yàng zǐ, tǐng kě ài de.”

“you don’t have to hide it. i like seeing your flustered expression, it’s quite cute.”

(oh this bastard!!!!)

you try to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat. what do you say when someone’s teasing you so openly —and they think you don’t even realise it?

after a long moment, he stands, “it’s getting late, i should get going.” alhaitham gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment —and there it was, that trace of softness reserved only for you.

he heads toward the door, you watch him, feeling a strange sense of emptiness when he turns away.

“i’ll see you,” he pauses. "...and thank you for tending to me."

you watch him leave, the door clicking softly behind him, and the silence settles back into the room.

you blink, taking a deep breath. what a rollercoaster of a day. yawning, you turn to start tidying up, but your eyes land on something on the couch.

it’s his jacket, draped over the armrest. you notice a tear on the sleeve, just where his injured forearm had been. what truly catches your attention, however, is a folded piece of paper slipping out of the pocket. 

intrigued, you unfold it, revealing his neat, precise handwriting. 

ACT VII: THE SECRET I’VE ALWAYS KNOWN. 

To [Name],  I once believed you to be little more than a nuisance. A bright, well-meaning nuisance, no doubt, but a nuisance nonetheless. One who seemed intent only on striving for perfection, always seeking to best me at every turn, not out of malice but out of some earnest desire to prove your worth. In my arrogance, I mistook your relentless pursuit for a need for recognition, as if you sought my attention in some petty rivalry. Though very quickly, you made me think otherwise.  You saw the world differently, you also saw me differently. You didn’t treat me with the reverence others seemed to, nor did you shy away from challenging me. You refused to be seen as anything other than yourself; and that, in itself, was what made me admire you —what made me long to understand you more. Now, I find that I am standing with half a heart and an emptiness I never knew I could feel, because you showed me what it truly means to crave something more, something I never thought I deserved. You may think I’m a coward for not expressing my feelings more directly, perhaps you are right. I am a coward for fearing to lay bare the vulnerability of my heart. But even in my cowardice, know that my thoughts have always been of you.  If you have seen through my silence and hesitation, if you understand my actions when my words fail me, then perhaps you have already known this truth. I care for you, more deeply than I can fully express. Though I may never be able to say these things as openly as I wish, I’d like you to know that my actions have always been my confession. Even now, I’m still a coward for you. So please, if you decide to give me a chance, I’ll be waiting at nightfall. Helplessly,  Alhaitham. 

you absentmindedly trace the edges of the letter with your fingers while your eyes skim over his writing for the nth time, the ink seeming to blur together with your thoughts as you try to process everything. your fingers curl around the fabric of his jacket, a foolish smile creeping onto your face.

tomorrow’s nightfall feels impossibly far away, yet you can’t wait for it. 

alhaitham lays on his bed, his arm aches slightly from the injury, but it’s nothing he can’t ignore. plus, the bandage you had carefully wrapped around his arm is enough to keep the discomfort at bay. 

(originally, he had only planned to meet you, slip you the note, and be on his way. things didn’t go exactly to plan, but either way, he hopes you’ve read it by now.)

of all the possibilities, he’s never accounted for the one he’d be at mercy of his own emotions; he had always prided himself on his rationality, his restraint. but now? he’s reckless, absurd, foolish even —he can admit that to himself. but he finds he doesn’t care in the slightest.

for as much as he is a coward in your presence, he is just as much a fool in your absence.

ACT VIII: UNDER THE RAIN, I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY. 

“alhaitham isn’t really an expressive person, so don’t worry if he comes off as distant or uninterested. it’s not that he doesn’t care, he just… shows it differently.”

ah well, ‘differently’ indeed.

“—most importantly, alhaitham doesn’t waste time on people he doesn’t care about, so you must mean a lot to him.”

maybe you didn’t mind how your heart raced when you heard that.

“don’t fuss over it [name], you’ll know when he’s in love.”

how so? 

if he was in love, what would it look like? would you be able to tell, or would it be just another one of those things you had to catch on to?

you wrapped the his jacket tighter around yourself, a faint smile tugging at your lips. it wasn’t the answers to those questions that mattered, but asking them in the first place —that was what made you realize you already knew all along.

the evening air is cool against your skin; a gentle breeze stirs the trees, their leaves rustling quietly, and your heart beats louder than ever, urging you forward.

in the distance, you spot him, standing still in the dim light. and without a second thought, you quicken your pace.

“haitham.”

the sound of your voice catches his attention as he turns to face you; you can’t help but notice how his gaze flickers down for just a moment, his eyes taking in on how his jacket looks on you, before meeting yours. 

his posture is unnervingly perfect, rigid almost to the point of stiffness …is he nervous?

“hey,” he finally says, clearing his throat. “there’s something i need to tell you… though you’ve probably already figured it out. you’ve always been sharp.” 

“i… ” he falters, and it’s the first time you see him hesitate. “i’m not sure how to put it… since i’m not exactly great at this.”

you tilt your head, subtly urging him to continue. 

“but you’ve managed to make me care about things i never thought i would. and now i can’t seem to stop thinking about it —about you.” his voice lowers, softer now, but there’s a rawness there that’s unmistakable.

“i’m telling you this now, because not saying it... doesn’t feel right anymore."

suddenly, you feel a soft mist that barely kisses your skin, a slight chill against your cheeks, then a few tiny drops,  until they start to gather in your hair, the beads of water slipping down the back of your neck, but you don't move. neither does he.

his hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, droplets trailing down his temple. his clothes cling to his frame, soaked by the rain, yet his attention remains solely on you.

“[name], i am irrevocably in love with you.”

you stand there, the rain falling relentlessly around you, the pitter-patter mirroring the frantic beat of your heart. the water trails down his face, but it’s hard to tell if it’s just the rain, or something else.

his lips part, as though he wants to say more, but the words seem caught in the storm, swallowed up by the downpour. the rain is cold, but his gaze? his gaze feels impossibly warm. 

it’s only when you feel the dampness of his jacket beneath your fingers, that the words finally come. “you don’t need to convince me of that.”

you take a step closer, and for a moment, the world outside seems to disappear.

“i’ve known,” you add. “but hearing you say it,” you pause, allowing yourself a small smile, “makes all the difference.”

reaching up, your fingers graze his damp skin as you gently push a wet strand of hair from his forehead, the warmth of your touch lingering against his cool skin. 

“'uhibuk aydan, alhaitham.”

i love you too, alhaitham.

a single droplet slides down his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw before falling to the soaked fabric of his collar. another follows. and then another. his breath catches in his throat, and a shaky exhale leaves his mouth.

you wrap your arms around him, and he sinks into your embrace, his hair tickling your cheeks, as his chest rises and falls against yours.

“you’re gonna make me cry too, idiot,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest, your eyes glassy. “you really are a fool,” you tease softly, a slight smile playing on your lips. “but only for me.”

slowly, his hands rise, trembling slightly, until they cup your cheeks, gently stroking it. 

“la yujad 'ahad akhar 'urid 'an 'akun 'ahmaq min 'ajlihi.”

there’s no one else i’d ever want to be a fool for.

his palms are surprisingly warm despite the weather. his thumb grazes your cheekbone as he leans in, and the world falls away —nothing but the warmth of his presence and the soft press of his lips against yours.

“this is my first time in ten years seeing this guy cry! can you believe it?!” kaveh whisper-shouts, peeking out from behind the shrub. 

nodding along, cyno agrees, poking his head out just right below the blond’s. “[name] is truly exceptional. though i must say, seeing alhaitham cry is quite tear-rifying.”

kaveh rolls his eyes in exasperation. “ugh, you and your puns.” he mutters under his breath while zooming in on his phone, which is currently recording the whole scene.

“quiet down, you two!” a voice hisses from behind them —tighnari, face flushed with panic. “they’re literally right there, and you’re making more noise than a herd of goats.”

“relax, we’re out of their line of sight anyway!” kaveh raises his phone higher, almost giddily, eyes glued to the screen. “and damn this is a good angle.”

tighnari exhales sharply, “you’re incorrigible.”

“look who’s talking,” cyno raises an eyebrow at tighnari… who’s also peeking out from behind the bush. (what a hypocrite)

…

“they kissed oh my g—” kaveh’s voice rises in disbelief, but cyno quickly covers his mouth with a swift hand. the three of them scramble to duck behind the bush just as you turn to glance in their direction.

(“is that… senior kaveh?” you squint your eyes, “cyno, and tighnari?” 

alhaitham clears his throat before glancing over at his friends with a deadpan expression. “yes and unfortunately, they’re very invested in my personal life. so please don’t mind them."

you laugh, finding the whole situation a bit too amusing. “not in the slightest, but i’m sure they’ll never let you hear the end of it.”)

EPILOGUE: IN EVERY LANGUAGE, I HEAR LOVE YOU.

“how long?”

you blink, feigning confusion. “how long what?”

alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, an expression you know well. “how long have you understood everything i’ve been saying?”

you bite back a smile and offer a small shrug, “...ever since you started?” 

his lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you can’t tell if he’s upset or impressed. then, he sighs, almost amused. “and you let me embarrass myself all this time?”

“you were being honest,” you shrug, a smirk forming. “plus i knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “may ideya ka ba kung ano ginawa mo?"

do you have any idea what you’ve done?

"mas lalong umibig sakin?"

made you fall in love with me even more?

you tease, but there’s a tenderness in your voice that softens the edge of your words.

“yes, and you really are insufferable,” he mutters with no malice. his tone is different now. softer. warmer, even.

you lean in slightly, a playful glint in your eyes. “that’s not what i heard you say before.” your fingers graze the skin of his cheek before you tenderly pinch it, giggling softly at the reaction you provoked.

in one smooth motion, he catches your hand before you can pull away and tugs you towards him, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. you tilt your head back to meet alhaitham’s gaze.

you’ve often thought he’s the most-perfect boyfriend, undeniably handsome in every way —but there’s really just one flaw: his height.

“ugh, you’re too tall," you grumble, rubbing the back of your neck. "i’m having a neck sore just looking at you."

he quirks an eyebrow at your sudden words. “you could use a stepstool.” 

"or," you counter, "you could get on your knees and save me the trouble.”

he slowly lets out a breath, his lips curling ever so slightly. 

“'akida, 'antaziri hataa 'ashtari alkhatama.”

sure, just wait till i buy the ring.

"wh—" 

he crosses his arms, "what’s wrong? isn’t that what people expect when someone gets on their knees?"

you roll your eyes, half-smiling. "fine, then i’ll eagerly wait for that day.”

his gaze softens as his hand reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face; his eyes drop to your lips for a moment, and you know what’s coming even before he speaks.

this fic was not sponsored by duolingo, but with the help of my beloved friends!! wouldn't have been possible w/o em please give them a round of applause xx

vietnamese — @https-sourlimes

tagalog / filipino — @vxnuslogy

arabic — @ughscara

chinese, japanese — me!

ty @mitsvriii for proofreading, love u all <3

and thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated ^^

pspspss check out the cool fanart / comic based on this fic here by @rei-plswork 🤍

MASTERLIST.

[leychin]

peak.

[kurapikapikachuu]

Voices & Whispers

Alhaitham x Reader

✦ summary ✦

You start to realise the distance between both you and Alhaitham once you hear whispers about your relationship. Is it just all in your head?

Tags: established relationship, grand sage alhaitham and student reader, mild angst, romance, fluff Word count: 2.9k

A/N: anon req!!

⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡

Alhaitham was a simple man. He didn’t care for being busy, he didn’t care for being involved. At least not until he met you. It was a surprise for him to have fallen head over heels for another. He would never admit it in broad daylight, but, he was definitely in a conundrum.

Affection was a new concept for him. But slowly and surely, he was able to understand that you were relatively similar to him too.

Simple gestures, moments of silence, speaking through eye-contact alone – they were only a small sample of the things he adored about how you both communicated your love for each other.

You were a soft lover, and so was he. There was nothing flashy about your relationship, and never once did you expect it to be.

You never craved more from Alhaitham, truly. But as he got appointed acting Grand Sage, he grew more and more distant. After all, he hated being busy and he didn’t care for being involved – all at once, he was disposed into a new world, one he deeply despised. And yet, he still persevered through it, and you admired him for that.

Though Alhaitham was efficient with his work, you knew deep down he was drowning within it. You didn’t want to stress him further. So, you did what any reasonable lover would do, support him fully as best as you can, and stay out of trouble.

That was easy of course, for you weren’t the type for mischief. You were studious, your nose in your books – your academics always came first.

It wasn’t till you hear whispers about you behind your back, does your focus begin to falter. Snickering. Whispers. You didn’t like that. You heard your name and then mumbled hushes. And then, your lovers name.

More snickering. Your heart drops.

You didn’t know how, but you felt the pieces come together as the seconds pass by.

“Absolutely not, there’s less distance between Mondstat and Fontaine than those two”

Your fingers drop your pencil and grip back onto it, you close your eyes and draw a breath. You needed to focus on your work, but it was so painful to not focus on it. For some reason you were able to understand that the pain in your heart only meant that you saw some truth in the words they spoke.

Distance.

As you return home you feel a little gloomier than usual. It wasn’t true. Quite literally, you were standing, living, breathing, in the same space as Alhaitham, that was far closer than the distance between Mondstat and Fontaine.

But, figuratively, you felt it. Distance.

You don’t notice the way Alhaithams eyes haven’t left yours since you entered. You would usually greet him with a smile and warm embrace, but today you seemed dazed.

“You’re later than usual, were you busy today?”

Alhaitham doesn’t miss the way your shoulders shrug up at his voice, as if you were snapped out of a trance. He tries not to raise his eyebrows up at you in surprise, he knows you would notice that. And he really didn’t want you to know he noticed that you were acting strange today.

“Oh yes… sorry. I’m sure you were even more so? Is everything okay on your end?”

Alhaitham nods, making his way over to you. It was rare for him to get up from his position when he was nestled on the couch with a good book.

“The usual. People have been… more frustrating than usual. I can’t stand it sometimes. I hate having more than necessary on my plate, but their problems keep piling on. The attention as a grand sage also, it’s suffocating.”

Your eyes widen a little as he finishes. Somehow, his usual venting seemed to sting a little more than usual. You didn’t know why, but somehow it felt like he was speaking it to you, when you knew he wasn’t.

And if he ever found out you felt that way just now, he’d surely never open up ever again.

You smile softly, trying your best to reassure him, pushing away at the guilt that was tearing you apart. You didn’t want to bother him even more. You knew he was busy, you knew he was stressed. A petty little attack that had hurt your fragile heart really wasn’t the thing he needed to deal with right now.

What more, would be upset people were whispering about his supposed relationship with you? He hated attention after all, you knew that. Somehow you were the one at fault now – perhaps you accidentally spoke to him too long in the hallways?

You begin to feel your breaths a little faster, feeling as if your mind going from one thought to another-

Surely that would affect his image as a grand sage. Would he be upset that people knew? No one in the akademiya truly ever knew of your relation to one and other after all – how could they, you barely run into each other due to your status as a mere student. Yes, that would surely affect his reputation. Were you going to be his downfall? Were you going to cause him more stress? He’s already been getting such little sleep already.

Warmth.

You freeze. You don’t understand a thing but the feeling of your lovers lips on yours. It was a simple kiss, soft, warm, delicate. And it ended almost as quickly as it started. You look to Alhaitham, a little flustered,

“You should get some sleep”

Did he sense you were upset? Did you give it all away? Now you were surely worrying him? Should you tell him-

You feel his soft fingers on your chin, his eyes narrowing onto yours, gentle, loving,

“Do you want me to join you tonight?” his voice was honey-like, your face heats up. You have on many occasions slept with Alhaitham, but you still grow flustered whenever he mentions it. Since you both have varied schedules, sleep was something precious, and so, both of you had agreed to having separate rooms. It wasn’t an issue for either of you, you were both practical people, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t sneak into his, or, vice-versa, whenever the other wasn’t busy.

“N-no that’s okay, ‘haitham. I need to finish off some work. You have an early meeting tomorrow too.”

Alhaitham looks as if he wants to say something, but he resists. With a single sigh, he nods and kisses atop your forehead,

“Don’t stay up too late”

⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡

As weeks go by, you grow more and more agitated during your hours spent at the akademiya. Once a solace, has now become a place where you feel self-conscious and weary of your every move. Even a normal glance towards you feels like a piercing glass arrow aimed to cut through each and every one of your mistakes.

Your only escape was your studies, but now, you didn’t even feel safe with it.

Your work has gotten sloppier and even your lecturer has called you to stay back, asking if you were okay. You even found yourself forgetting to pack lunch for Alhaitham and yourself and almost break into tears when you see he had packed one for you instead.

Alhaitham who was probably 10x busier with work that was bettering all of Sumeru altogether.

You stay back at the library in the akademiya a moment longer one night, dreading the walk back home. Alhaitham wasn’t home anyway. He was gone for the week on some important matter. You’re glad he isn’t home tonight. You’re a mess. More of a mess than usual.

You try to cheer yourself up in the mirror, smacking your cheeks together with both your palms – tomorrow was supposed to be a good day. An expedition into the forests. It was your favourite type of excursion, you were just thankful you managed to grab a spot with your favourite professor. You had this day marked on your calendar for months now, with a smiley sticker smacked right on the date. To top things off, Alhaitham would be home when you're back too. With all that in mind, you were suddenly able to sleep a little better.

You expect to wake the next morning perkier and full of life but you’re groggier than usual. You groan and huff at the way your body is being stubbornly exhausted and drag yourself to the akademiya.

The travel to the forest wasn’t horrible, you managed to snooze through the ride, flinching all of a sudden when you hear you’ve reached your destination. Your classmates all rush out, and your finding even walking a little difficult. Everything seemed to spin till you stepped out into the luscious green grass, and feasted your eyes on your favourite sight, the forest.

You smile immediately, and somehow you’re momentarily able to get through the first hour into your expedition. And once you’re able to reign free, you truly feel at ease...

That is until your body gives away almost immediately out of nowhere.

You let out a small yelp before you tumble down a small ditch, holding yourself up when you finally feel stable.

You groan, opening your eyes slowly as you hear worried footsteps rush toward you. You look up to see three classmates of yours, you feel embarrassed. They must have seen that, oh how humiliating.

“Are you okay? That was a terrible fall” one boy begins, crouching down to you, you nod.

You try to stand up but you feel a stinging sensation on your knees. The boy of the group raises his brows as he looks to your elbows and knees, dirtied, and obviously bleeding.

“Stay right here, I’ll fetch some bandages from someone. Don’t move, I mean it”

“Hey no that’s fine- Wait!” you begin to call out but he was already out of sight. You let out a small huff and look to the other girls who simply shrug. They assure you that it’ll be fine and that they’d wait with you. You bite onto your lip, feeling awkward now. These were the girls that were speaking of you before.

But for some reason, they were the ones helping you. You didn’t understand it all. Were you dreaming? Nothing made sense. They were so friendly too, they were talking kindly to you. Were they always like this? Were you just imagining the snickering and whispered voices?

Nothing made sense.

And as if you’re mind was toying with you once more, you see a familiar figure approach – one you would never expect.

The two girls stiffen and step away from you as he approaches, and you truly can't figure out if any of this were a dream.

That was Alhaitham.

Why was he even here?

You stand up albeit the pain, dusting yourself off, pretending as if you were in tip top shape. You didn’t even have to ask him, he spoke first.

“You didn’t pack your lunch” he says plainly, and you can understand the small bag he was holding in his right palm now.

You grow hot at his words, your eyes darting to the two girls who were obviously watching, “Oh. I- um- thank you”

Alhaitham smirks, tilting his head to the side playfully, “You know, I expected a little more after not seeing each other for the whole week”

You open your mouth to speak, and then close it. There’s silence, and you try again to speak, but you simply cannot. Alhaitham finds it all too amusing, he can see your eye’s darting over to your classmates, and he can sense a few more heading over to see the commotion.

He leans in towards you, a gentle whisper beside your ear, “Don’t worry, the presumption of me bringing your lunchbox is reasonable enough to assume a relationship between the two of us. One that is… romantic by nature, no?”

His voice is teasing enough for you to scowl softly, “Alhaitham”

“Yes?”

“Please, can we talk… elsewhere?” you manage, stepping a little further back to create somewhat of an appropriate distance between the two of you.

“If you insist. But please, take this first.” He sighs, holding out a small bottle of your medication – medication that you have been neglecting.

“Your vitamins, and most importantly, iron. When I came back last night, I checked to see if you have been taking them. As I expected, you haven’t. I was suspicious since you’ve been exhausting yourself more than usual.”

You bite onto your lip. Oh. So that explains why your body was so tired for no good reason and how you had fallen out of nowhere.

“Y/N, here, I fetched the bandages from-” a voice startles you and you almost feel as if the ground has swallowed you whole. You stutter out a word of gratitude to your classmate who is rather star-struck at the sight of Alhaitham. Truthfully, it must be an odd sight to see the acting grad sage out in the midst of the forest, you didn’t blame him.

Alhaitham quirks a brow at the boy before looking to you. He looks back to the boy,

“Thank you, I’ll take care of them from now on” he says, and the boy nods immediately, bolting the other way.

“I see I’m too late, aren’t I?” Alhaitham sighs, shaking his head before giving you somewhat of a stern glare. He didn’t mean to scare you off, of course, merely a soft scolding of some sort. And you completely agree with him, you were reckless.

You feel Alhaitham stride closer, impossibly closer,

“Where did you hurt yourself, hm?” his voice is so gentle you almost whimper at the way his fingers saunter over to your arm.

“It’s only a small cut, it’s nothing” you breathe, but you hear him scoff instead as his eyes narrow at the way your jacket had been dirtied and cut. Without word or warning, Alhaitham begins to takeoff your jacket for you, and you completely still, your face heating up.

“You’ve been reckless, darling” he mumbles lowly, and you begin to feel your voice soften involuntarily,

“I know, I’m sorry”

Alhaitham’s eyes look back up to yours, a certain gentleness pouring into you as he speaks, “it’s my fault as well, I’ve been neglecting my care from you”

As Alhaitham begins to work his magic on your arms you begin to speak, “You don’t need to, you’ve been busy”

Alhaitham shakes his head, “I have. But I won’t be making the same mistake anymore anymore. I’m quitting”

Your heart almost drops, the conversation itself has left you thinking only of you and Alhaitham. The now crowd that was watching you wasn’t even in your sight.

“What?”

Your lover scoffs, “Don’t act so surprised, you know how much I hate it”

“I know but, you said, at least-”

Alhaitham interjects before you can continue, “If you’re thinking if it’s your fault, it’s not. I’m merely reshaping my priorities. It’s been taking over a spot that it shouldn’t have – you”

Your heart swells at the words, so much so you don’t realise that he’s gotten close to you once more. And before you can react, his lips already swiftly kiss you onto your cheek.

“You know, your pants have been dirtied too” he begins to say before you can react to his sneaky kiss. Hes already bobbing down to your feet where he rolls up the fabric from your ankles up to your knees.

Alhaitham looks up at you, frowning, “I knew it. You rolled down a ditch, didn’t you?”

“I did not!” You snap, embarrassed all of a sudden, but it was clear as day. The ditch was right beside you after all.

Alhaitham scoffs, amused and all too giddy at the way you have gotten riled up. He always found it adoring to see you loose your cool since you weren’t the type to.

“You totally did. It explains how the dirt is distributed amongst your clothes, and the way your injuries are settled at your elbows and knees” he muses, and his grin only spreads as he watches you look away in silence, he was such a clever know it all sometimes.

“Loss for words, means I’m right on the mark” he hushes, before continuing to aid you once more. Once he's done he smiles softly, he knew you were troubled for some time, and during the week he was gone he had come to a realisation that perhaps you had been hearing about some of the rumours between the two of you.

He never cared for such things, so he naturally didnt expect you to either. But he wasn't going to make the mistake of ignoring it ever again.

No words need to be exchanged anymore, for some reason, you feel as if Alhaitham understands each and every part of you. And with the way he has patched you up, you feel as if he's patch up your heart as well. And the unsettling storm in your mind.

All just with a shared look between the two of you.

"Thank you" you mumble shyly, averting your gaze a little. He knew it wasn't just for the way he'd tended to your wounds.

Alhaitham smiles and leans into your frame once more. His eyes are hot, they focus on your lips intently before flickering back to yours,

“Don’t be embarrassed, I’ll take care of you” he whispers, “In more ways than one, but I’m sure you’d appreciate that we continue away from prying eyes, no?”

You almost choke when you snap back to the reality of the situation, your eyes widen and you push back at his large chest with your palms. Alhaitham has to hold back a chuckle as he watched you fluster, finally realizing the eyes that were on you.

“Give me the money, I told you they were a thing! I told you!” one whispers harshly, jabbing their elbow at their friend, “No way, you totally got that intel off someone, as if!”

Perhaps those whispers would come to an end.

Perhaps it didn’t matter even if they didn’t.

With Alhaitham, every one of their words would drown out. You were sure of it now.

⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡

[jeansprettybaby]

sukuna loves his bratty little wife ☘︎

you’re trying to paint your toenails on the couch, tongue poked out in concentration. he’s looming over you, a dark shadow. "what are you doing?" he grumbles. "it’s called self-care, sukuna, look it up," you mumble, not looking up. he watches for a full minute, his eyes tracking your shaky brushstrokes. suddenly, he snatches the bottle from your hand. "hey!" you yelp. he kneels, grabs your foot, and his four eyes are laser-focused. "you’re terrible at this, hold still." his massive, deadly hands paint each nail with terrifying, perfect precision. "…you’re weirdly good at this." "hush," he says, not looking up. "if it’s on your body, it will be perfect. no exceptions."

you’re wearing his favorite hoodie, the one that smells like him, and it’s swallowing you whole. he comes into the room, stops, and just stares. you’re scrolling on your phone, oblivious. "take it off," he says, his voice low. you look up, confused. "what? why? it’s comfy." "i know," he says, stalking closer. "that’s the problem, you look too good in it. it’s distracting me from my rage." you giggle. "so you want me to take it off because you think i’m cute?" he cages you against the wall, nosing the collar of the hoodie. "no, i want you to take it off so i can put you in a different one. this one needs my scent renewed, it’s my duty."

you’re telling him about your day, about some guy named steve in accounting who was mildly annoying. sukuna has gone preternaturally still. "…and then he had the audacity to take the last coffee pod—" "where does he live," sukuna interrupts, his voice flat and deadly. you pause. "what? why?" "i just need to have a… conversation with him. about coffee pod etiquette." you can’t tell if he’s joking. the unblinking stare from four eyes suggests he is not. "babe, no. it’s fine, i handled it." he relaxes marginally, pulling you into his lap. "…good, because the only person who gets to annoy you is me. it’s in our wedding vows if i remember correctly."

you’re trying to leave for a girl’s night, putting on your earrings. he’s sitting on the bed like a grumpy gargoyle. "you’re not wearing that," he states. you look down at your perfectly normal outfit. "why? what’s wrong with it?" "it’s on your body, that’s what’s wrong with it. other people have eyes." you roll your eyes. "i’ll be back by eleven." "ten," he counters. "ten-thirty." "ten-fifteen, and you will text me when you get there. and when you leave, and if any man breathes in your direction." you kiss his scowling forehead. "you’re insane." "and you're mine," he corrects, like it’s the same thing.

you’re half-asleep when you feel him shift. you crack an eye open. he’s just… watching you, his head propped on his hand. his expression is intense, unhinged. "what are you doing?" you slur. "memorizing you," he says, completely serious. "in case i ever have to avenge you, i need a perfect image for my rage." you are too tired for this. "…avenge me from what? i’m sleeping." "from anything and everything. go back to sleep, i’m on watch."

you buy a new, ridiculously expensive perfume. you spray it on and model for him. "how do i smell?" he walks over, buries his face in your neck, and inhales deeply. he goes still for a long time. "…wrong," he finally grumbles. "it’s too strong, it’s covering up your smell." "my smell?" you laugh. "yes, the one that’s mine." he picks you up and carries you straight to the shower. "we’re fixing this. i need to be able to find you by scent alone, it’s a security protocol."

you’re watching a movie, and the hero does some grand, romantic gesture. "aww, that’s so sweet," you sigh. sukuna scoffs. "that’s nothing." "oh yeah? what would you do?" you tease. he turns to you, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "i would carve your name into the moon so every night, everyone on earth would look up and know you are taken. i would defeat a thousand sorcerers just to use their cursed techniques to power a nightlight for you. that," he says, pointing at the tv, "is amateur hour." you stare at him, speechless. he seems to realize he’s said too much. "…shut up and watch the movie," he mumbles, pulling you closer.

you have a nightmare and jolt awake with a gasp. before you can even process it, he’s bolt upright, his hands already crackling with chaotic energy, his eyes scanning the dark for a threat. "where is it? what hurt you?" he demands, his voice a demonic growl. "it—it was just a dream," you stammer. the energy vanishes instantly. he pulls you into his chest, his heart hammering against your ear. "oh. good." he kisses your hair, his voice dropping to a whisper. "tell me what it was. i’ll go into your dreams and destroy it for you. i won’t let anything scare you, not even your own mind."

a/n: lowkey wanna write a nurse x prisoner toji drabble (smut)..

@jeansprettybaby ★

[soulphoria]

𝜗𝜚 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒. ? ━━ ❪ SUGURU GETO ❫

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴. Suguru Geto 𝒙 Female Reader

Geto and you have always been friends. However, at one point in your friendship the platonic line was blurred, making you think there is actually something more happening between the two of you. Will you risk ruining the friendship by accepting your feelings or simply ignoring the butterflies in your chest every time he kisses you?

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁. Best friends to lovers. besties who kiss. roommates. kinda college au. a little overthinking. slight mention of b*ochemistry. porn with plot. sexual tension. explicit smut. suguru geto has a really big dick. unprotected sex. chocking. fingering. creampie. dirty talk. geto is horny af. overstimulation(?). Dom! Geto. getting together. he’s so sweet, i’m in love. satoru gojo being a menace. shoko being a stressed med student.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁. 6.2k

𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗶𝘁𝘀. beautiful toe curling art by @hunnismokah

𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗹’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀. First ever one shot on tumblr, hope y’all like it.

1 year ago

Your room fills with the scent of black coffee and smoke as you watch through the window how the sky turns an overwhelming jet black, with clouds that could only mean a long rain. Geto was lying on your bed, putting out the cigarette he’d been smoking after a long protest from you. You hated the smell.

“You’re weird. You don’t like the smell of smoke but enjoy the awful taste of black coffee just fine. I still don’t know why you like it.” The irritation in his voice was barely audible—it was impossible for Suguru to get mad at you.

You just rolled your eyes and closed the book you were reading on the floor, leaving the highlighters and sticky notes still messy on the carpet. You stood up and, without a word, sat on the edge, right next to where Suguru laid as if it were his own bed. The dark circles under his eyes were obvious—he’d been studying too much lately. His hair was loose, and its length spread across the pillow where his head rested.

“What about you, old man? I’m just waiting for you to get out of my house so I can finally rest.” You were clearly joking—Suguru’s presence was the best thing you could have during those days.

It was the final week of exam season, and if you wanted to get into your dream university—the one Suguru was already attending for his first semester—you had to study a lot. You were grateful to have him, lending you his old notes and explaining the topics you didn’t understand. The dark-haired boy always made time for you, no matter how much university was draining him. That was your friendship: unconditional support and a love that didn’t need words because actions were enough.

A friendship like any other.

If it weren’t for the occasional liberties you both took.

Noticing the humor in your voice, Suguru simply propped himself up on his elbows, ending up almost face-to-face with you. He raised his hand, guiding his long fingers to your hair, gently brushing the strands and tucking them behind your ear. His large hand settled on your nape, sending shivers down your spine, and without a second thought, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that lasted just long enough to leave your face burning.

Clearly, this wasn’t the first time.

It all started during a silly game of truth or dare before Suguru graduated, you were sixteen and obliviously in love with your best friend. It was a short kiss, but enough to make you both addicted to each other’s lips. It was never discussed, but it felt so normal and so right that you both ignored the conversation that should’ve happened and simply enjoyed how good it felt.

Pulling away from your plump lips, Suguru got up from the bed and grabbed the backpack sitting on your desk chair, slinging it over his shoulder before stretching and letting out a tired yawn.

“I should get going either way. You know how my roommate panics when I don’t get home early,” Suguru said with a small laugh.

“Better not give poor Haibara a heart attack. His presence is way more welcome here than yours.”

Geto just rolled his eyes playfully, reached for your hair, and messed it up into a complete disaster. He walked to the door, but before leaving, he turned back to say one last thing.

“Haibara is an excellent roommate, but I know you’ll be even better. You’re the best—never doubt that. When you ace all your exams, I’ll take you to your favorite restaurant to celebrate.”

And with one last warm smile, he turned the doorknob and left, leaving you with a lump in your throat and your heart pounding like you’d just run a marathon.

You still don’t know how you’re going to survive living with him once you graduate.

Now

Living with Suguru was a dream for many girls on campus, but for you, it was torture.

At first, it was hard to admit that what you felt was jealousy—those constant stares from other girls in the cafeteria or the few people watching and talking about him when he waited for you after your last class to walk together to the small apartment you shared, just a few blocks from the university.

Your classmates would approach you just to talk or simply to look at Suguru, some bold enough to ask you for the raven-haired boy’s number. But you didn’t judge them—how could you?

You always remind Geto that when you two first met, he was a skinny, pale kid with hair so short you could barely tug it when you fought over the Max Steel toy or the game controller. But now, Suguru looked sinful.

Long, black, silky hair usually tied in a bun or half-up, with the rest falling gently over his shoulders. Tattoos decorating his toned arms, and his skin that had tanned over time. The piercing on his eyebrow made him look even more masculine, and his kind, noble personality made both girls and boys on campus swoon over him.

It was impossible not to find him attractive, but for you, that was something that shouldn’t even cross your mind. He’s your best friend, for god’s sake—a best friend who didn’t have the slightest feeling for you and who would never even think of seeing you in any other way!

That’s what you tell yourself while Suguru has you on top of him, devouring your lips and gripping your hair like his life depends on it. You didn’t know how it ended up like this, but before you realized it, an innocent kiss had turned somewhat open-mouthed and frantic. Still, it didn’t feel wrong, despite the nature of the kiss, like he wanted to memorize even the most hidden taste of your mouth.

“S’guru…” you say between kisses, “We’re supposed to be studying, idiot.” But you have no intention of stopping him, because the way he kisses you feels so good.

The notebooks that were once used for taking notes lay forgotten on the small coffee table in front of the couch. Suguru’s soft lips are leaving you breathless, his mouth moving meticulously to savor every corner of yours, his tongue slipping in, and his tattooed arm tightening around your waist.

Your previous kisses had been soft, less deep, but this one was different. It felt hungry, desperate for more. It was frustrating how the thought of Suguru wanting more than just kisses sent shivers down your spine. You fought the urge to move your hips for some kind of friction, knowing that at any moment you might come into direct contact with Suguru’s member beneath his black loose pants.

His teeth caught your lower lip, and within seconds you were whining into his mouth, trying to keep up with the rhythm of your best friend’s deep kisses. His other hand, which had been cupping the front of your neck, buried itself in your hair, tugging briefly forward, deepening the kiss even more.

Too much too much too much—

You pulled away abruptly, though not enough to alarm him. “I really n-need to study, my exam is in two days and I’m still lost on some topics sugu.” Please don’t keep going, you begged silently, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.

Suguru, as expected, gave you a sweet smile, and stroking your hair, simply nodded, gently lifting you off his lap to grab your books and to look over the topics from that subject you hated so much.

Studying isn’t the hardest part—but trying not to think about Suguru Geto’s kisses definitely is.

It’s during your second semester of university that you come to terms with the fact that you want much more than just making out with your best friend. Not even just sex—you want dates, holding hands, Christmas dinners together, etc.

Y’all know how it goes.

But even with that feeling gnawing at you every day, weighing heavy on your shoulders, and with a confession sitting thick on your tongue, you do what you know best: ignore it.

Metaphorically, you took those feelings and stuffed them into one of the many boxes in your room, hiding them under the bed until they gather grime and dust and are forgotten for all eternity.

But when your best friend—the one you’re supposed to hide your feelings from—acts like your boyfriend, things get much harder than you expected. You two touch each other. A lot. Way more than you should.

Shoko, one of the friends you made during your first semester, was disturbingly confused when she found out Suguru wasn’t your boyfriend but your childhood best friend. But it wasn’t that strange for her to think that, considering the first time you introduced them, Suguru greeted you the way he always does: a kiss on the cheek, your favorite coffee, and a firm hand on your waist.

“He’s in love with you,” Shoko told you one day in the middle of class, making you choke on the water you were drinking.

After recovering from your coughing fit and giving your professor an apologetic smile that didn’t quite soften the murderous look he gave you, you frowned at Shoko.

“Of course not. Sugu is my best friend, and it’s impossible for him to see me that way.” He’d never shown otherwise, had he? “He’s just… thoughtful.”

Shoko had a look on her face you couldn’t quite decipher, but you were sure it was a mix of frustration and annoyance. “If he were just thoughtful, it wouldn’t look like he wants to fuck you every time he sees you.”

The boundaries between the two of you had blurred a long time ago, and that’s making you wonder if there are second intentions behind Suguru’s actions. The late-night study sessions to help you understand a topic, the daily coffee, waiting for you to walk home together, making you breakfast in the morning—or things so intimate and domestic like brushing his teeth in the bathroom while you’re showering.

And the kisses, oh the kisses. Since you started living together, you’ve lost count of how many times you put on a movie in the living room only for it to be forgotten in favor of a good make-out session on the couch. Those times when you were bored in your room and went to Suguru’s to talk about anything, only to end up trapped beneath his strong arms with a few hickeys on your neck.

You no longer know what’s going on between the two of you—if you’re dating, if you’re exclusive, or if you’re just best friends who have fun and seek that kind of comfort in each other without any feelings involved. You’ve never seen Suguru date anyone, he doesn’t bring girls home, and besides you, he only hangs out with his other best friend, Gojo.

Whatever it is, you need to stop thinking about the situation before your thoughts eat you alive.

Or figure out what’s really going on inside Suguru’s mind.

“Oh my God, can you two get a room already and stop eye fucking each other in front of me? Thanks,” said Shoko with an irritation you couldn’t tell if it came from trying to understand notes from a class she didn’t get at all, or from genuine frustration that you still hadn’t slept with your best friend.

At that, Satoru let out a loud laugh that drew the attention of several people in the cafeteria. You felt a little embarrassed—not just because of the stares, but because she (and probably everyone else) had noticed Suguru’s firm grip on your thigh and how your hand was gently stroking his hair while you listened to him talk about his morning.

You’d come to the cafeteria hoping to escape academic stress for a while, but Shoko still had one last biochemistry exam—one of the subjects that were a pain in the ass for the both of you.

“Someone’s stressed~,” Suguru said, and calling that stressed was putting it mildly. She didn’t even bother replying to his sarcastic comment like she usually did. “Don’t look at me like that. Let’s take a break.”

Suguru pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and motioned for Shoko to step outside for a bit. Normally, you’d scold him for smoking, but to be fair, he hadn’t done it in months, and you knew Shoko needed a break from all that human body information.

“I like you now, Geto. Hope you stay this way,” she said as they both got up and headed toward the exit, not without reassuring you and Gojo they wouldn’t take long.

You couldn’t help but think about your friend’s words. Lately, you and Suguru had been more (Yes, more, like it was even possible!) physically affectionate than usual—so much so that he’d even stolen a kiss from you in public, something that had never happened before. You couldn’t go two minutes without his hands on your waist or hips, or yours playing with his biceps or hair.

You remembered all those domestic moments from the past few weeks. The kisses had become more frequent at home, and it felt so natural to reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers when you went grocery shopping. Even gaming nights had turned into quiet cuddling on the couch with soft R&B playing in the background, simply enjoying each other’s presence.

“You two should just fuck,” Gojo said in the most nonchalant way possible. “I mean, it’s not like Suguru talks to me about it much, but I swear all that stupid tension between you both would disappear if y’all just did it and got it over with.”

You raised an eyebrow with an incredulous smile. “Get what over with exactly?”

“The mutual pining, the oblivious looks, the constant touching wishing it wasn’t just platonic… come on babe, you know exactly what I’m saying.”

And you did—how could you not? These days, your not-so-just-best-friend’s behavior made you question more and more whether your feelings were actually reciprocated. It would be impossible not to—Suguru looked at you like he wanted to give you the world right then and there.

“Do you think that could be the solution?”

“It’s the only one. You two are so stupid neither of you would confess even if y’all had a sign on your forehead saying you like each other.” He said rolling his blue eyes.

With your cheeks burning, you chose to ignore—or rather postpone—the conversation, as the two figures who had left the table earlier were now returning. You were determined to do something about it, and Satoru’s words were all the motivation you needed.

That’s how your innocent plan began.

Attempt #1

You headed to the kitchen to try out a muffin recipe your mom had sent you. It was common for you to bake from time to time—Suguru was always the first to taste your creations, and today wouldn’t be the exception.

He was already sitting on one of the bar stools in the kitchen, scrolling through his phone and sipping a glass of water that nearly went down the wrong pipe when he saw you walk in.

You were wearing one of Suguru’s old band shirts—a metal group you both listened to constantly. It wasn’t unusual for you to wear his shirts, but what really caught his attention were the black lace panties that hugged the curve of your hips and ass perfectly.

You knew exactly what you were doing, even when you crouched down to reach the mugs and continue with the mixing of ingredients innocently. Suguru tried not to think too much about your choice of outfit, especially while he was busy trying to hide the growing erection that was clearly visible through the gray pajama pants he was wearing.

Attempt #2

After that little incident, Suguru became more careful about which pants to wear when you were around. The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was a pervert just because his dick turned rock hard every time he saw you lately.

The second time it happened was one of those nights when you came home late from university. After a long reading session on physiology and anatomy, all you wanted was a shower and some rest—but at the same time, it was the perfect excuse to tease Suguru again.

“Could you give me a massage, Sugu? My back is killing me.”

Luckily, Suguru was an expert at that. Ever since you were kids, he’d always helped you with massages because of your constant back pain.

Who knew good posture would be so important?

“‘Course, sweetheart. Come here,” he said, settling on the edge of the couch and pointing to the space between his legs for you to sit. There was also that little detail—Suguru had gotten bolder with the use of pet names. You didn’t mind at all, but sometimes they made you so nervous you forgot your original goal.

Once you got comfortable, Suguru placed his firm hands on your shoulders. The silence was broken by a low whine coming from your mouth. “Does it hurt? You seem tense, baby.”

Again with the damn pet name.

But you couldn’t lose.

“It doesn’t hurt, but your hands feel so good.”

Suguru applied more pressure to the area where your muscles were still tight. He was rubbing out the tension you’d been carrying all day, so it was normal for you to feel this good—and to react the way you did.

Suguru didn’t want another erection, but hearing you moan and tell him how good it felt wasn’t helping. Letting his thumb do most of the work, he discreetly grabbed one of the pillows beside him to cover his hard-on, which was fighting to escape his pants.

Geto focused on releasing the tension in your neck with very gentle strokes, but it wasn’t enough.

“Ah, Suguru, more please.”

The impatience inside you was growing, and it was getting harder for him to keep this as just a massage, when he could have you making those sounds from something much bigger than his hands.

Unfortunately for you, Suguru’s phone rang, breaking the silence that had been filled only by your dirty sounds. As if it were a chance to escape, Suguru muttered a quick apology, grabbed his phone, and headed to his room.

It may not have ended the way you wanted, but a smile crept onto your face as you noticed how he took the pillow pressed against his crotch with him as he walked away.

sugu <3

just got home, im on the elevator

4:27

sugu <3

today was so fucking stressing baby you have no idea

4:28

You turned off your phone, placing it gently on one of the pillows beside you on the couch. It was an annoyingly hot afternoon. The AC in the house had apparently decided not to work properly that day, and your body couldn’t handle another shower. The small white tank top you were wearing clung to your skin from the sweat, outlining your nipples, and your silky shorts left little to the imagination in the position you were lying on the living room couch.

This would be attempt number three. You tried to cheer yourself up by telling yourself “this is it,” and to hold onto a bit of hope, you decided to text Satoru.

You

Last time trying… hope your tips work

4:28

Toru

Trust me girl

u wearing something slutty?? 🫢🥵

4:30

You

pls don’t use those emojis ever again…

4:30

anyway… yes sir I am

4:31

he just came home, i’ll update u later

4:32

Toru

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

4:33

You heard the front door close behind you, followed by a soft “I’m home.” Today was the day Suguru only had one class—one of the most confusing of the entire semester. On top of that, his professor was a witch (as he constantly called her when venting to you), and the subject was ridiculously hard. Combined with the lack of sleep and the heat in the air, Suguru was on the verge of collapse.

Noticing his presence in the room behind you, you turned to find him blushing, discreetly eyeing the curve of your ass and how your long hair had fallen to one side, exposing your neck—which still bore a mark left by Suguru.

“Welcome home, Sugu,” you fluttered your lashes, looking him up and down. Suguru had taken off his jacket, revealing a basic black shirt that clung to his toned muscles. His hair was down today, falling over his shoulders. Your gaze didn’t go unnoticed by the older one, and you could swear you’d never seen Suguru blush this hard before. “How was class?”

That seemed to snap Geto out of it and remind him why he’d come home with a headache. He walked over to the couch where you were, sitting on the floor and leaning his back against the soft cushion, resting his head on your abdomen. Instinctively, your hands reached for his hair, gently stroking the silky long strands.

“That witch gave me one of the longest assignments a professor has ever sent me,” he grumbled. The frustration was clear in his voice. You knew how hard Suguru worked to maintain good grades—it amazed you more each day how smart he could be. But you also knew everyone had a limit, and sometimes you had to prepare a cold compress to help him rest his eyes, his head, and his mind from all the academic stress weighing him down.

“I missed you. Did you eat well today?”

“I always eat well, Suguru,” you whined. “I just had one of the muffins we made on Tuesday. There are still some left in the fridge.”

He simply nodded at your response. You noticed the tension in his neck and, without thinking twice, said, “Come here.”

You curled up more to one side of the couch. When Suguru turned with a confused look to ask why you’d moved, you simply patted the empty space beside you repeatedly, inviting him to lie down there.

One of the best purchases you’d made was that couch—it was big enough that even Satoru Gojo with his long legs and Suguru Geto with his broad shoulders could sleep side by side without discomfort after one of the fraternity parties they occasionally attended.

To your surprise, Suguru didn’t settle beside you on the couch. Instead, he climbed on top of you, placing both thick legs on either side of you, supporting himself with his forearms so his weight wouldn’t crush you. This wasn’t part of the plan you’d crafted in your mind. The idea was to make Geto your prey, but right now he was looking at you like he was ready to devour you whole.

Suguru, you bastard.

“How are you feeling?” you asked innocently, noticing how his hair fell over his shoulders. It was normal for him to wear it down only when he had a headache, since keeping it tied in a bun made it worse.

You raised your hand to brush the strands from his face, giving him better visibility and revealing how tense his jaw was. The only light in the room came from the large window that opened onto the balcony and the tall buildings of the city. The contrast of Suguru’s jet-black hair with the slowly setting sun made him look mysterious, his eyes appearing even darker than usual.

“Very stressed,” he said. After staring intensely into your eyes, his gaze traveled across your face, ending up in your lips “wanna help me ease a little tension?”

You could feel the wetness in your underwear from hearing his rough voice, desperate, almost begging for you to take away all that stress that was heavy on his shoulders. With your hands, which were petting his hair, you drew his face near yours, inhaling with effort, the aroma of his cologne flooding your senses.

without any hesitation, suguru threw his lips over your own, biting and sucking ruthlessly while one of his hands reaches out to grab you jaw to control your movements even more. His tongue got inside your mouth without warning, and the firm grip he had on your jaw, got even harder deepening the kiss, making it more burning than it already was.

His hand reaches down slowly to grab and squeeze your neck, making you moan against his mouth. You wanted more, you needed more. “Sugu– Ah”

As if he new exactly what you were yearning for, his hand reached even lower, brushing your tits, your belly and ending at the curve where your waist met your hip. As best you could, you grabbed his hair, tugging at it as best as you could with trembling hands, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensation.

Those same trembling hands grab the collar of his black t-shirt, tugging up until suguru pulls away and yanks the fabric off his body. You take a second to admire his toned abs and how big he looks compared to you.

Your mouth gets dry at the view.

“Like what you see?” He asks with a cocky smile on his face. God, you wanna punch him.

You only roll your eyes, tugging at his neck again to get close to you and kiss you hungrily, this time with more urgency than before. You can feel the dominance on suguru’s every move, griping your waist and hips, making you arch into him to feel some type of friction you needed so badly. Feeling your desperation, Suguru gets even closer to your body, humping his growing erection against your wet clothed core.

“Can I?” Suguru gets his hand inside your tiny shorts, only making you pull your hips up for him to take off the clothing piece easier after you quickly nodded to give him permission. His hand gets dangerously down to the center of your panties, feeling the wet spot that was leaking inside of you. “So wet for me, so good baby” The kisses didn’t stop, you were feeling breathless and you could imagine how your lips were going to look tomorrow: swallowed and totally red.

“Bedroom” You said desperately “Please”

Suguru takes you in his arms like you weight nothing, walking to his room with his mouth still pressed on yours, gripping your ass firmly leaving a hard spank before throwing you gently on the bed. Suguru untucks his pants at the edge of the bed and your eyes couldn’t help but grow at the sight of the size that was under his boxers.

He’s so big you’re scared it wont fit.

Suguru came back crawling to you on the bed, this time pressing his hard erection against your clothed pussy, rubbing and brushing with every movement, leaving you more wet than before. Without noticing, your underwear was already on Suguru’s bedroom floor while the latter was getting his first finger inside of you. You couldn’t stop moaning and whining at that moment, his hands were so big and thick— but his dick was even more.

“I can’t imagine how good you’re going to sound when you feel all my cock inside of you, darling” His mouth was sucking and leaving marks of hickeys and bites on your thighs, and before putting his tongue on your clit he said, “Ready for another?”

Not expecting an answer, another finger was pushed deep inside of you. You didn’t even know what to do with your hands, so you tried your best to tuck the pillow where your head was resting, moaning and whining incoherent words. His fingers and mouth were making you feel in heaven, completely dizzy because of the pleasure.

“You have no ideas how much i’ve wanted to do this” He groaned against your pussy, getting his third finger in, playing with your insides, getting out wet sounds.

“Then what are you waiting to get it inside me, huh?”

You almost screamed at the feeling of the abrupt emptiness that was left inside you, looking how suguru took the three fingers that were inside of you to his mouth and sucked them, tasting you with every move of his tongue “Watch your mouth, brat”

You whimpered. It wasn’t supposed to affect you as much as it did. Your pussy visibly clenched around nothing, waiting for suguru to just finally destroy you with his dick.

“Knew you’d like that” Suguru laughed, before removing his boxers, getting free his big length that hit his abs just from how hard it was “You always liked to be treated badly, huh? I’ll give it up to you, princess”

It was humiliating how soaked you were by his words only. He obviously knew everything you liked, he was your best friend, the one you trusted and told every single detail of your life, even your kinks.

You saw how Suguru pulled a bottle of lube from one of the drawers of his nightstand, pouring it over his throbbing cock and moving his hand up and down in a steady rhythm that left you mesmerized. His head spun in circles around your entrance, and you bit your lip keeping yourself from yelling at him to stop messing around.

“What is it? What do you want” Your lip was on the edge of bleeding from how hard you were biting it, your eyes were looking at suguru begging for something— anything “Use your words”

“Please” you spilled out completely crushed and defeated “Please Suguru, Please just f-fuck me, put it in. Wanna f-feel you inside… all of you”

Suguru’s eyes darkened, revealing hunger and aggression behind his gaze. His smile turned sinister, as if he were waiting for the signal to corrupt you, to break you, to eat all of you— until you’re just a disaster of tears, sweat and cum “What a good girl”

the stretch you felt when he started getting the tip in was blindingly overwhelming, you’ve never been with someone this big before. Suguru was entering slowly til his cock is buried all the way inside of you, grabbing the back of your legs and lifting them to get even deeper. With a loud scream, you grabbed at his wrists in a hopeless attempt of slowing him down.

You felt like you were breaking in half.

You rolled your eyes biting your lip, feeling every vein abusing your walls. Suguru’s hair was sticking on his forehead and you could swear you’ve never seen him look more attractive than how he’s looking now, giving strong thrusts and making your skins collide one against the other leaving sinful sounds behind.

“You’re so tight, baby” He groaned while still shoving all of his dick into your cleaving walls, getting even more sounds and moans coming out of your mouth. You weren’t surprised by the fact that he knew how to move.

You feel your heed spinning, the words coming out from your mouth don’t make sense anymore and you could feel the spit coming out of your mouth unintentionally. Suguru isn’t paying attention to any of this, getting even bolder by the way he was literally lunging inside of you.

Tears were coming from your eyes, being quickly cleaned by Suguru’s tongue. “Beautiful, so fucking perfect for me” He said sounding a little broken while his thumb went to your clit, moving it in circles taking you even closer to your orgasms.

“And all mine…” His other hand was gripping your neck, not enough to choke you but enough to cut your breath a little in such a delightful way. You were enjoying this way too much. With all the strength you had you took your two hands to the back of your legs, gaping even more so you could feel him even more burying himself on your wet pussy.

With the last move from his thumb you could feel like something was exploding inside of you, getting out a loud moan, leaving you with shivers and trembling. Feeling you even more tight and soaked, suguru threw his head behind with a husky groan, squeezing your waist and fastening his pace without mercy.

Overstimulated, the only thing you could do was cry. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, feeling how he grabs and squeezes your nipples and chokes you again. It’s too much but it’s exactly what you needed.

“S’guru… i-inside” You managed to say, but Suguru’s expression made you realize that he didn’t exactly get what you were saying.

“What is it baby? what do you want? Use your words”

Slowing down his movements, he carefully heard what you were trying to tell him. “Want you to come inside… please”

That was enough to push him over the edge. His eyes widened and now suguru was fucking you like a madman, making the headboard of the bed hit the wall behind it. The neighbors will probably knock to complain, but that’s the least of your problems right now. Suguru leans in, his face inches from yours, pressing his lips against yours in a fierce kiss, biting your lower lip.

“Yeah? Gonna take my cum like a good girl?” You couldn’t answer, It was getting harder and harder to talk when suguru’s cock was getting you so full. “Take it baby”

With a last thrust and a loud groan, you felt how your insides were filled by that hot and sticky liquid. Suguru’s sweaty forehead was pressed against yours, trying desperately to control your breathing. He pulled out softly, you whined a little feeling how his cum was leaking out from your hole.

“Fuck— that was…” He said watching how his white creamy liquid was decorating your thighs.

Suguru reached for his nightshelf, grabbing a box of papers and wiping your legs and abdomen, removing any trace of his cum still lingering on you.

You were on the verge of sleep, your eyes growing heavy, struggling to stay open but losing the fight. Suguru, just as exhausted, lay down beside you, pulling you into his body. Normally, you didn’t like holding him when he’s sweaty, but right now, that was the last thing on your mind.

“I love you” Was the last thing you heard before falling asleep.

You were surprised to wake up in an empty bed, your heart tightening against your chest, confusion written all over your face. You thought that after last night, things would change for the better—but anxiety was playing tricks on you, convincing you that you’d ruined one of the longest friendships you’ve ever had.

When you sat up in bed, you found one of Suguru’s shirts and a new pair of your underwear at the edge, both folded meticulously, one over the other. You frowned, trying to remember if you had done that the night before.

Still with trembling legs and your back killing you, you put on the two pieces laid out for you and headed to the living room, trying to find Suguru—unsuccessfully.

You caught the scent of fresh food coming from the kitchen, and when you walked in, you found two plates of eggs and bacon. You stared at them, even more confused, wondering if you were still dreaming.

You snapped out of your thoughts when the apartment door opened, revealing a freshly showered Suguru holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and your favorite coffee in the other. When he saw you, he froze, as if he was not expecting you to get up that early.

“Good morning sweetheart, seems like you woke up already. Also, you ruined my surprise,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. You noticed the tips of his ears turning a red shade.

“What is all this, Suguru? I mean… why are you doing it?” you asked. Suguru chuckled softly at your expression. Your face was burning, and you wanted to jump and explode with emotion, realizing Suguru wasn’t acting like his usual self.

He was acting like you two weren’t just two best friends who spent the night together and were going to act like nothing happened.

He was acting like a boyfriend.

“I thought it was obvious that I like you dumbass”

The confession hung in the air, sweeping over you like a strong breeze. The voices in your head screamed and cried finally, finally, finally, and the first thing you did was run into his arms, wrapping yourself around his neck and burying your face in his chest.

“Very happy, I see.”

“Shut up,” you said, punching his bicep. “Kiss me and shut up.”

“Your wish is my command.” Suguru’s lips met yours, interrupted only by the wide, uncontrollable smile of happiness neither of you could hide.

[satoruined]

suguru geto was never meant to be the type for a casual, no strings attached relationship. a simple exchange of orgasms and a shared smoke on the balcony shouldn’t be that difficult, but he’s terrible at playing that game. he’ll agree to all the rules, then dismantle them by kissing your forehead after railing you into oblivion. like, who even does that?

those eleven months were, arguably, the happiest you’d been for a while—a fever dream stitched together from mind-melting sex and domestic bliss. maybe that’s why the ending didn’t hurt the way it should have. it was clean. amicable, even. you joked “look at us, healthy communication!” and suguru had only offered you that tired little smile of his, the one that reminded you he never really lost his hold on you.

“if i kiss her right now, will my angel come back down to earth?”

warm lips settle on the nape of your neck, dragging you out of memory lane. you whirl around and there he is: your husband, smiling as he goes in for your mouth. suguru laces his fingers through yours, a soft clink when your rose-gold wedding band bumps against his platinum.

suguru geto doesn’t do casual.

[confessionsandcreampies-deactiv]

shigaraki, your growling boyfriend

tomura shigaraki wasn’t exactly known for his social finesse. he showed up to lectures with red-rimmed eyes, hunched over in a hoodie that smelled faintly of instant ramen, weed and something vaguely synthetic, kinda like a controller left out in the sun too long. his fingers were usually ink-stained, his backpack was a chaotic mess of wires and manga and his laptop was decorated with peeling horror game stickers and opened straight into a heavily modded skyrim file.

no one was even sure what he studied. some were convinced he was auditing classes illegally. others were sure he lived in a basement. the rumor mill was brutal.

but somehow he was dating you. you. the girl who brought homemade muffins to group projects. who always had a spare pen, a travel-sized lint roller and band-aids in her bag. who said please and thank you. who laughed like sunshine and remembered people’s birthdays. you waved at the janitors, offered strangers your umbrella and kissed tomura’s cheek in public like it was the most natural thing in the world.

and the campus population could not compute it. especially not the guy currently hovering near your lunch table with one elbow leaning on the bench and a smile that was trying way too hard.

“hey,” the guy said, flashing too many teeth as he held out a pen. “you dropped this.”

you blinked down at it. it wasn’t your pen. “oh! um… thanks,” you said, taking it politely anyway.

tomura didn’t move at first. he was slouched next to you with his hood pulled up, his body warm against your side, eyes locked on the switch in his hands. from the outside, he looked half-asleep. maybe even dead to the world. but you knew him better than that. he was watching everything. especially the way the guy lingered.

“cool earrings,” the guy added. “they look really cute on you.”

that’s when tomura paused his game. as if the weight of that sentence alone had yanked him back from the brink of his carefully maintained apathy. you glanced sideways. tomura didn’t look at you. he didn’t even turn his head. he tilted his chin up ever so slightly, cracked lips curling downward into something that looked dangerously close to a snarl.

“grrrrrr.”

it wasn’t a joke. it wasn’t ironic. it was low, feral, pure warning.

the guy blinked. “uh… sorry? do you have a sore throat or something?”

tomura didn’t blink. “grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.” longer, meaner and possessive as hell.

you set your sandwich down with a sigh, pressing a hand gently against his arm. “baby, it’s okay. he was just being nice—”

“he can be nice somewhere else,” tomura said flatly, eyes narrowing like he was targeting a weak point. “unless he wants to keep that hand.”

the guy stepped back like he’d touched a live wire. muttered something about “crazy boyfriends” and how you “must be into freaks”. and then he was gone.

tomura watched him leave, eyes still sharp and dangerous. you exhaled slowly, reaching for your drink. only then did tomura slump against you like a cat that had just finished hissing at the mailman. all attitude and limbs, curling into your side with a scowl that was more pout than threat now.

“fucking parasite,” he muttered. “trying to smile his way into your pants. i should’ve set his shoelaces on fire.”

you giggled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “you’re such a guard dog.”

“not a dog,” he muttered. “dogs are loyal and well-adjusted.”

“then what are you?”

he tilted his head toward you, eyes half-lidded, voice raspy with that sly edge he only used with you. “a gremlin with an exclusive breeding license.”

you choked. “tomura!”

“what?” he gave a little shrug, unbothered. “you let me leave a toothbrush in your apartment. that’s basically the same as staking a claim. now i get to growl at things.”

he unpaused his switch like nothing happened. but his other hand, the one not gripping a joy-con, slid under the table and curled possessively around your thigh. you smiled, heart fluttering and leaned your head against his shoulder. because what the others didn’t understand was that you were just as gone for him as he was for you. when you got weird looks for holding his hand in public, he squeezed your fingers tighter. when someone tried to flirt with you, he wrapped both arms around your waist like a scarf and muttered territorial threats under his breath. and when someone looked at you with that soft kind of pity (that silent question of what’s a sweet girl like you doing with a guy like that?) he always kissed your temple like it was the only answer you’d ever need.

but you had your tells too. you brought him painkillers when his migraines got bad. you wiped cheeto dust off his face with your sleeve. you sat through his rants about loot box algorithms and anime betrayals. you kissed the corners of his mouth when he got too overwhelmed to talk. you put up with his moods, his silence, his growls.

because you knew exactly what was underneath. you’d seen the way his voice cracked when he said “i love you” for the first time. the way his hands trembled when he held you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the planet. the way he clung to you after nightmares like he’d never let go.

so let them stare. let them wonder. let them whisper that you didn’t match, that he was too scary, too strange, too rough around the edges. because as far as you were concerned, tomura shigaraki was yours and you were his.

[leychin]

i got into a loving relationship and stopped posting sorry guys

[leychin]

he broke up with me we are so back

[leychin]

do you have an ao3?

Yes i do, user is jayguts420 but i don't keep things updated up there unfortunately