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There have been gossip and rumours that's been going around at the start of October about me plagiarising another writer's idea. This is false. I don't intend to claim any idea or concept as 100% original (because at the core of fanfic, let alone art, aren't all ideas a variant of another?) but I'm confident enough in my own capabilities to say that I've always come up with my stories independently.
A large portion of my writing process has been documented through multiple iterations and forms of unpublished works. Certain habits, personality traits, and experiences of mine bleed out into my work in ways only I will be able to point out and explain.
Regarding the rumours that I've 'plagiarised' an idea, you may refer to [this document], where I've pulled out a number of instances to illustrate and explain my writing process and rationale for the fic that's been put into question.
I've spoken to the root of these rumours and they appear to have no intention of reaching any clear or constructive resolution about this. Please note that these rumours did not start from the author whose fic I supposedly plagiarised. The author themself has made no attempt to reach out to me or to get involved in any communication/exchange regarding this matter. This is entirely their decision and I respect it.
The only reason why I am addressing this publicly is because this is a serious matter that puts my integrity as a writer into question. It has always been my belief to be transparent about these matters, whatever the consequences may be. Having said that, what you choose to do with this information is your decision alone.
As the situation has taken an immense physical and psychological toll on me, I've decided to leave Tumblr indefinitely. I will not be addressing this situation any further as I believe my work can speak for itself. My blog will still remain up and will be public, but for the time that I'm gone, I will be uncontactable.
Synopsis: For Satoru's 18th birthday, you give him a book.
Word count: 1.3k
Tags: 16+, Crack, references to m!masturbation (in teasing, joking kind of way) but no actual mention of it, it's just crack tbh, idiot (gojo) in love, gn!reader, reader is shorter than gojo, we're all going to pretend hidden inventory doesn't exist
a/n: im ngl when i searched for pictures of waka inoue i blushed
“What’s… What’s this?”
“Hm? It’s Waka Inoue.” You answer brightly, pushing the book further into Gojo’s arms as he stares, and stares, and stares at the open book, flipped to the front page where the sultry smile of the model stares right back at him. Dread creeps up his spine, and the ‘honoured one’ gulps. “Suguru told me you liked her.”
“I… what?”
“And that you had her as your wallpaper for some time,” you continue to explain as he stands there, baffled. “I didn’t know you liked these kinds of girls, ‘toru, but I’m not sure what I expected. You men are all the same, really, but I guess I can see why you’re attracted to her. Her boobs are really nice.”
Satoru chokes on air.
“No need to be ashamed,” you pat his shoulder sympathetically. For the first time in a long while, he’s dumbfounded. Stunned silent. Satoru doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was this a cruel joke? Revenge for the times he’s annoyed you? Were Suguru and Shoko going to pop up behind a pillar screaming ‘gotcha!!!’? He hopes so. Dear god, he hopes so.
When he looks behind you, hoping, praying to see at least a wisp of his friend's cursed energy and coming up blank, it starts to sink in that this was, in fact, very, very real.
“I didn’t know what to get you in return for your birthday,” you say, and though he loves the sound of your voice—could listen to it for hours, really—but for the sake of his sanity, he needs you to stop.
“I wanted to get tickets to her fan meet for you, but it didn’t really work out. So I put together this book instead.”
The horrible, terrible implications of those words snaps him out of his stupor. “You put this together?!”
“Mhm. All by myself!” That makes things a hundred times worse. Satoru wants to wither away. Book thick and heavy in his arms, he can only imagine what might be in there, what you might’ve (most definitely have) seen. What you think of him now.
“Hunting down her photoshoots was pretty embarrassing.” Then you shrug like it’s no big deal. “But it’s whatever. Think of it as if I’m giving you merch! It’s pretty much the same thing.”
No, it’s not the same thing. It’s one thing to give him a magazine where the images were of a celebrity, it’s another altogether to pick and choose and cut those images out!
His cheeks tighten even further, heat rising to the tips of his ears as he breaks eye contact and looks down at his feet in a rare show of embarrassment. Humiliation rises steadily in his chest, the primal urge to fight back making him bounce on the balls of his feet. Realistically, would you be hurt (emotionally, never physically) if he blasted the book with Blue? Maybe. Yes. Probably. Definitely. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to try and find out. He’d like to be kept in your good graces, thank you very much.
Next best thing, then. Flight.
Toes curled in under the cover of his shoes, he wonders how feasible it would be if he ran out of school, if he warps to the other side of the world and starts a new life there. He could handle his clan, but would Yaga go after him? Demand an explanation? Shit. Would you accompany Yaga to bring him back? Saying no to you was impossible, and his ego can only take so many hits. Having to say “oh! don’t mind me, sensei! i’m just too ashamed to go back to school because my crush hand-selected and gave me a book full of Waka-san’s bikini photoshoots!” would be a blow not even his infinity could defend him from.
What next, then? Would it be better to just blast a hole through the centre of the earth and hide in its core? He could. He most definitely could. But then he wouldn’t be able to hear your voice again, and the signal’s probably shit enough that he can’t contact anyone else, either.
“It’s okay, Satoru,” you say in that sweet voice of yours, squeezing his arm lightly. Just like that, he’s rooted in place. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of your needs.”
He jolts. “I don’t–”
“It’ll be… good,” you smile wrily, “if this book can be of use to you. I just hope you don’t tell me what you plan on using it for.”
Did you think that–
“No! I’m not going to–”
“I really don’t need to know,” you cut him off without much fanfare. A stick dragged through sand to form a makeshift boundary. How was he going to recover from the wary look you were giving him? “Just be respectful, okay?”
Like his jaw, his heart drops at the insinuation. “No, w-wait! I really don’t–”
“I’m well aware that you’ll probably use this for more personal purposes,” he cringes at the wording you went with. Goosebumps litter his skin, crawling down his arms. It feels like nails were being raked down a chalkboard, except he was the chalkboard and those nails were yours. “But she’s still a person. So you should still adhere to etiquette—or at least some form of it.”
“I-I-I…!” he sputters.
“It’s really okay,” you reassure him once more. Is it too late to run? “Don’t be weird about it.”
“ME? Weird?” He almost cries, voice raising another octave in the empty classroom. “You’re the one handing me a book full of cut-outs of Waka Inoue!”
“Birthday presents are supposed to be memorable! And thoughtful!”
“Not this memorable!”
“If I had more time, I probably could’ve tracked down some of her trading cards!” You say excitedly, mistaking the distress in his voice for the simple embarrassment of receiving a raunchy gift. “Maybe I could do that for your nineteenth! I should run that through Suguru again…”
The bastard would give you the green light along with all his blessings. He’d pop out a bottle of champagne on his dime and clink his glass with yours.
“Do not do that for my next birthday! Don’t you dare!”
You laugh, a bright sound that temporarily overrides his shame. Satoru finds himself gripping onto the book a little bit tighter, heart skipping, missing a beat when you smile up at him with sparkles in your eyes. Pretty, he thinks, and almost forgets the predicament he’s in.
“You’re so cute when you’re shy, Satoru!”
“‘m not…”
“You are.”
Hooking an arm around his, you tug him out of class, pulling him out of school and in the direction of the dorms. Like running water under the bridge, the book and its contents and its implications get pushed to the back of his mind. Satoru stumbles after you like a newborn lamb, strangely docile as you continue to babble, shoulder knocking against his side as you share heat in the cold of December.
It’s not so bad, he thinks, to endure a bit of humiliation for your sake. For your happiness. Sooner or later, this will become a story for you and him to laugh over, in fits of giggles underneath a shared blanket.
Before any of that happens, before he sets his plans in motion, he still needs to handle something.
“Suguru.”
You’re not here anymore. Satoru saw to it that you were deposited back in your dorm room where it’s warm and toasty. Out of earshot. He would have stayed, picking a justification from a bookshelf of pre-made excuses to remain around you longer, but Satoru’s not quite sure how much humiliation he can take in one day, especially when you had given him a sly smile and told him to ‘go have fun’.
Oh, he’d have fun.
His best friend’s eyes drift down to the book he was still holding, an involuntary snort escaping him when he recognises what it was. Satoru’s nose twitches at the sight of an entertained, smug smile stretching across his face.
“Yeah?” Suguru snickers, and that’s all the confirmation Satoru needs.
“I’m going to kill you!”
a/n: shy, embarrassed gojo here i come :> ive missed writing him. also i gave up on a title lol
Do not plagiarise, use, translate and/or share my content outside of Tumblr in any way, shape, or form.
Likes and reblogs/comments are greatly appreciated if you enjoyed!
Edit - Due to recent developments, I've been told that this was the fic in question that I supposedly plagiarised from. The original reblog of this has been converted into a google document that you can find in the link below, it also has more information and more context now that I've been made aware of the specifics of the rumours.
synopsis: filler for what happens after the events in 1.2
word count: 8.0k
content: SFW, female reader, SPOILERS FOR HSR 1.2'S STORYLINE, established relationship, POV switch, some dialogue written in chinese (but i translate it for you), mostly filler - just wanted to explore character dynamics, i play heavily into cn jingyuan's characterisation, some angst but not really, cracky, reader gets emotional in this
a/n: wrote this to cope after 1.2 and,, um i forgot to post it oopz okie anyway if u find this then good for u!!! bc its untagged and unrebloggable
“Thank you for bringing him back to me, Fu Xuan.”
Warmth fills your hands as you carefully place matching celadons around the circular table. One for Fu Xuan, one for you, and another three for her companions, two young ladies and an older gentleman.
“It’s nothing,” the divinator huffs as you set the last cup down. This time, to the illusion of your past, now sitting before your very eyes. He looks the same as you remember, sea green eyes and motifs and all. The same, but different. Fu Xuan sighs. “And you don’t have to serve us, Madame.”
“It’s nothing,” you mirror her words with a smile that reaches your eyes. She averts her eyes. Fu Xuan is hardly ever frazzled, but she flushes when you lean over to smooth strands of her hair down. With her pink hair tousled and unkempt — messy, of course, from the mad rush to your home — you say, “It’s the least I could do.”
Satisfied with your work, you gesture towards the plate of osmanthus rice cakes in the centre of the table. “Please, help yourselves.”
“...Thank you for the tea.”
Cupping the jade-coloured porcelain, warmth runs through your arms, soothing your nerves, if just a little. Floral notes dance in the air when you bring the cup up to your lips. A special blend kept for special occasions; it does wonders to calm your heart. As you look over the glossy rim, you wonder if he still liked the tea you’d brew.
If you go by the pleasantly surprised gleam in his eyes, he does.
“These are so good!” The young girl, March 7th, was it? exclaims, cheeks stuffed like a squirrel. Dan Feng — no, Dan Heng — shoots her a look. You’re pretty sure he also kicks her under the table. Blinking, she slowly looks over in your direction. Then slaps a hand over her mouth when your eyes meet, a muffled sorry coming from underneath.
“It’s alright,” you wave off with an airy laugh. “It’s nice when people enjoy my cooking.”
This earns a surprised gasp from the girl. “You made this?! I thought it was from some high-end shop!”
“You flatter me,” you giggle. If you had known they’d be so lovely, you would have told Jing Yuan to bring them to you sooner. “If you’d like, I can give you a few more pieces to bring back.”
“Sure!”
Another kick under the table. This time from the one named Stelle. Oh, the poor girl.
March winces and waves her hand in a cross. “I mean– You don’t have to!”
“I insist.” It’s not an issue, really. “I usually make too much, anyway. And it’s not as if Jing Yuan’s awake to eat any. It would go to waste otherwise.”
“A-Ah… Then…” She looks over at Welt, eyes shimmery and round and wide. Like a child asking their father for permission.
You have to hold back a laugh when he sighs and addresses you. “We thank you for your hospitality.”
“You helped bring my husband back home safely,” you assure, though it’s less firm than you’d like. Shakier than usual. “I can’t be more grateful.”
Jing Yuan had left you in the wee hours of the morning, when the sun hadn’t yet graced the sky. Tangled in the sheets, wrapped in his embrace, it felt like you two were the only ones in the universe as he whispered assurances to you, a hand rubbing on your back. He leaves your side later than he should, a gentle kiss to your forehead, then a sweet, longing one to your lips.
“I will keep you safe.”
If it was meant to be reassuring, it was anything but. You knew your husband, and though he could be teasing and childish at times, he’d hardly speak to you without certainty. Swearing to keep you safe was vague. It could mean so many things. A far cry, as compared to the parting words he would leave you in an era of the Xianzhou strife with war. With more news of the situation’s developments making it to you by his staff and your aides, the worse the outlook seemed.
So when the doorbell rang, you had prepared yourself for the worst.
Never did you think that you’d come nose-to-nose with Dan Feng, or that he and a man that you had only heard of in passing would be holding up your very, very exhausted and unconscious husband.
“Truly… I can’t thank you all enough.”
Fu Xuan silently pours you another cup of tea. March grins as if to say no worries! but it’s Dan Heng that speaks.
“We only did what we should.” Funny enough, he had looked the most surprised to see you when the doors had opened. Moreso than you did, which said a lot, considering he was your old, exiled, dead but reincarnated comrade. Perhaps Yinyue Jun’s memories had shown him the way you and Jing Yuan had tiptoed around each other all those years ago, how you both had skirted around the age-old question of ‘Do you like me?’ in a fine waltz even after Dan Feng was gone.
Sipping on his tea, Dan Heng continues, “The General was kind enough to put his faith in us.”
“Yeah, exactly!”
“But if you’d like to reward us…”
Dan Heng gives Stelle a disapproving look. How adorable, you think, watching him tilt away from you, trying to hide as he mouths something to her. Welt wilts a little at the whole interaction, rubbing his face. It reminds you of simpler times, of five around a similar table.
“You’ll all be properly compensated. I’ll have Qingzu contact you as soon as the situation stabilises.”
Things around the table die down for a little bit after that. The air was lighter, far less awkward than when you were introduced to them as the General’s wife. It felt less like a diplomatic engagement and more like… a playdate. With Welt engaging you with stories of the Express, watching Dan Heng, March, and Stelle felt a bit like watching Yanqing when he was younger.
“Ah!” Plate empty, you’re halfway through your third cup of tea when March suddenly sits up, looking as though she had just remembered something. She spins to face you, a mix of curiosity and concern etched on her face. “Madame, wouldn’t it have been better for the General to have gone to the healers at the Alchemy Commission?”
“Oh,” you see where she’s coming from. Many of the best healers were hard at work at the Alchemy Commission, with most of them out on the field today. Jing Yuan would have been in good hands there, but, “People tend to talk.”
“Eh?”
“Jing Yuan’s a high-profile character,” you explain to her, dusting your hands off. One of the maids slips into the room, quickly replacing the pot of tea before leaving. “And the Alchemy Commission is more public than you think. If the people of the Luofu find out that their General was injured, then there would be widespread panic.”
Politics. Always so annoying. You didn’t need to be a divinator to know that news of the formidable Xianzhou General suffering from a wound in battle would send ripples throughout the Luofu, even beyond.
“Besides,” you add. “The General’s household employs healers, too.” There are a bit too many attempts on your life and his for there not to be healers on standby, but you decide not to let them know about that aspect. “You don’t have to worry, March. Jing Yuan is in good hands.”
“Of course he’s in good hands.” To your surprise, Fu Xuan chimes in. “The General would have made a fuss if he hadn’t been brought here to recuperate.”
“A fuss?”
“Yes, a fuss.” She drawls, eyes dimming as she thinks back upon the past. Your stomach starts to swirl just from imagining the things that Jing Yuan had probably said while you weren’t there to reign him in. “With all his nonsense about love being the best medicine and all, he’d be sulking if his wife wasn’t there to nurse him back to health. Do you still remember the last time he got a cold?"
The hair on the back of your neck stands at the reminder.
"He raised such a fuss," Fu Xuan tuts, much to the shock of the young trio. "And would only take the medicine if you fed it to him–"
“Ahem!” You cough, clearing your throat, feeling your face warm at the boggling pairs of eyes that shifted onto you. Was it so surprising to find out that Jing Yuan was a cheesy lover…? Surely not. Though, living for such a long time tends to warp your perception of normality.
Fu Xuan purses her lips. “Fine,” she acquisces. “But keep your lovey-dovey nonsense out of my sight. The lords only know how many times I’ve been subject to–”
“Thank you for your concern, March.” Unceremoniously, you cut Fu Xuan off. The Master Diviner could find you another day to poke fun at you, preferably one where Jing Yuan was up to wield and bare his own flowery words. You’d welcome that day with open arms, but that day was not today.
“Was there anything he said that concerned you?” You find yourself asking, tapping rhythmically against the wooden table in a steady rap of thuk, thuk, thuk. From what you had gathered from Mr Yang, your husband had held his own. He was decisive in battle. Fierce. His current predicament due to Dan Heng forcefully severing the tie that Phantylia had forged between them. Though you had your own thoughts about his ‘injuries’, at least it was nothing physical.
“Um,” March scratches her head. “Not really? But I’ll admit, the General’s pretty cool when he fights. Daring, too!”
“Really?” You laugh. Some things don’t change. Jing Yuan in battle is a sight you’re familiar with.
“Mhm!” The cheerful girl nods. “He even told Phantylia that his weeds gave him more grief than she did!”
“His… weeds?” Baffled, you stare at March before a bubble of laughter erupts from your throat. This time, it’s you who has to cover your mouth, fits of giggles wrecking through your body as you come to terms with what was said.
Weeds? Weeds? The ones in your garden? Perhaps it’s the stress, but you should not have found it as funny as you did.
“Is the Madame okay…?”
“I think you broke her, March.”
“What did I do?!”
“No, it’s just– pwahaha!” you try and steel yourself but to no avail. Helpless, you’re left to ride out the short high, letting the giggles wash over you in waves.
When it’s finally over, you’re left breathless, but it also feels as though a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Shaking your head, you smile at your guests: Fu Xuan, who seemed nonchalant but was watching over you carefully, and the outworlders who looked worried.
“It’s nothing,” you finally decide to say now that you’ve calmed. You'd ask Jing Yuan about it later. “I believe I was just stressed out from earlier.”
Welt seems to catch on. He shares a look with Fu Xuan, before nodding.
“We’ll take our leave first, then, Madame. Lady Fu.”
“Of course,” you say, as Fu Xuan hums dismissively.
“Today must’ve taken a toll on you. Please, get some rest.” Welt rises to his feet, bowing stiffly. March, Stelle, and Dan Heng all spring up one after the other, mirroring his actions, and like little ducklings following their mother, they scurry after Welt, following him closely as an attendant sees them out of the household.
“Ah,” you almost forgot. “And Dan Heng?”
He jolts, stopping at the door. “...Yes?”
“If you’re comfortable with it, feel free to stop by. I’ll brew you some tea.”
“I’ll… keep that in mind.”
“Will you brew me some tea, da jie?”
Standing at the foot of your back door, you tilt your head to the side with a close-eyed smile. Jealousy isn’t a good look on Fu Xuan.
“As I’ve said, when Jing Yuan’s fully recovered, you may feel free to visit me anytime. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you, too.”
“Ugh,” she makes a face, rubbing her temple. “Then I’d have to decline. You’re so much easier to deal with than—excuse me—that scoundrel.”
“He’s not that bad,” you defend.
“You’re only saying that because he’s your husband!”
“Well, a wife should defend her husband, shouldn’t she?”
“See?!” Your junior huffs, cheeks puffing out. A prickly pufferfish. The Yutie standing at attention don’t make a sound, but you can gather that they’re probably smiling under their masks, too. A little quirk of their lips. “You’ve picked up on the way he talks! That man has ruined you.”
“I believe we’re old enough to be your parents, Xuan’er.” She bristles at the old nickname, one given when you had first met her at the Seat of Divine Foresight. Truly, you can’t blame Jing Yuan for teasing her from time to time. It’s just too fun. “I’ve ruined him just as much as he’s ruined me.”
Another face.
“Alright, alright. I’ll stop teasing you,” you singsong, handing her over to her guards to be escorted back. The sky was already turning a brilliant gold, night befalling upon the citizens. “Please make sure the Lady reaches home safely.”
“Yes, Ma’am!” they salute.
“...Take care of Jing Yuan,” Fu Xuan says gruffly. “Don’t spoil him too much. I’ll have someone send over some herbs. And I’m sure you’ve already instructed Qingzu, but I’ll have people take over his work, too.”
“Thank you for your concern.”
“Don’t look so gleeful!”
Laughing, you wave, watching as your beloved junior turns to leave. Fu Xuan can be a little rough around the edges, but she does care. You and Jing Yuan were like mentors to her, moreso you than the General, but mentors all the same. Before, she stood before you as a young, hopeful diviner. Now, she is before you as an equal, successor imminent to Jing Yuan.
When she takes a final turn, dipping out of your line of sight, you let out a small sigh.
“Siting.”
“Yes, Madame?”
“Is the congee ready? And the medicine?”
“Yes.”
You hum nonchalantly, stepping back into the courtyard. “Have it placed on the table in our quarters. Make it known that no one but me is allowed in the west wing. Everyone else may be excused to their quarters for the day.”
“Yes, Madame.”
Footsteps echo through the corridors as you walk towards the open courtyard alone, passing through the man-made pond meant to entertain and calm the dignitaries that were sometimes offered to stay in this part of the household. Colourful koi swim beneath the small bridge you cross, disappearing and reappearing underneath lilypads. Feet sinking into soil, you seek out a dip in the walls that were carefully decorated with climbing vines, pressing down when you find it next to a blooming jasmine.
The secret entrance, a door you haven’t used for years, guides you into another section of the household: where the walkways were spick and span, where it smelled less like expensive agarwood and more like your favourite flowers the further you walked. Muscle memory brings you wherever you wanted along the labyrinthine walkways as you step out of the darkness and into the light of the setting sun.
Though you much rather be in the small home bought all those years ago, tucked away in a gated community, the primary household of the General provided a defensive and offensive capacity that the cosy house under your name could not. Pros and cons, you suppose, hand tracing along the railings, finding nicks and recesses in zones that were more frequented, more loved. Dips caused by you, or by that of your husband. It’s silent as you pick up a watering can, pushing it under the bamboo fountain Jing Yuan had insisted on installing on your behalf. The finches raised by him (and spoiled by you) follow your hands as you shower the flowers in your garden. They hop and chirp, and one even nestles on your shoulder.
Behind you, Mimi stretches, coming out from her evening nap to join you in your venture around the west wing: following you into the bathhouse, sitting by your feet when you flip through the books in the library, curiously peering around you when you feed the finches. She keeps to you until the moon begins to peek out from behind the clouds and you couldn’t put off your return any longer.
“Good girl,” you croon, leaning to scratch the underside of the big cat’s chin. Mimi purrs, leaning into your hand. Content with the affection you’ve shown, she nudges her face into the side of your leg before settling down at the foot of the door. A guard.
Arrival anticipated, the door swings open easily, no creak or sound made. It smells just as it did this morning, a blend of the scents you both frequently use. There’s an empty bowl on the table and another with dark sediment pooling at the bottom of the porcelain. A custom chessboard has been neatly arranged, otherwise untouched apart from the first move made. There’s a plate with crumbs. A leftover osmanthus cake. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought there was a rat.
Closing the door behind you, you walk towards the closet, hands grasping the intricately carved wooden handle. A gleaming pair of golden eyes stare at you from the bed, one you easily ignore as you shrug off the fine robes hugging your shoulders, the silks pooling on the floor in a heap as you undress.
…From the way those eyes were following each line and curve of your body so intently, he might as well have undressed you himself. Yet, he sits on the mattress, on his knees. Silent. Waiting.
Turning away from the closet, you adjust your nightwear before sitting in front of the vanity. The audience of one watches, enraptured, as you dab cream on your hands, face, and neck, taking the time to rub the expensive lotion into your skin. From time to time, he shifts, trying to catch your eye in the reflection of the mirror. Each time, you avoid his gaze.
The golden eyes you’ve become so familiar with blink when you rise to your feet. Like a wounded puppy, they turn shimmery, wider, as they wait for you to approach. His imaginary ears flatten. The figure perched on your marital bed shifts on his knees, moving to make space for you to settle down. You ignore him.
Walking around the bed, his entire body follows you, rotating to keep you in his view. Silently, you slip underneath the covers. He inches closer. You wiggle away, purposeful, now, you huff and turn to face the wall, glaring a hole into the corner of the window frame.
“老婆...” (Dear…)
You swat his hand away when he tries snuggling into you from behind.
“老婆...” he whines, more insistent this time as he latches himself against your back.
“别碰我.” You spit. (Don’t touch me.)
Although reluctant, the heat against your back dissipates. You feel him shift around behind you, adjusting himself on the bed. Jing Yuan sits back on his knees, staring at your frame as you took deep breaths to quell the heat rising in your chest. Inhale, exhale, breathe.
“夫人，我到底做错了什么? 你为何对我这么残忍...” (My dear wife, what did I do wrong? Why are you being so cruel to me…)
Without missing a beat, “将军全知全能，怎么可能不知道?” (The all-present and all-knowing General should know what he did.)
He feigns innocence, shaking his head with fervour. You can hear the loose strands of his hair whip around. “景元不知。你丈夫我只知道他在为我国战斗时受了伤后，他亲爱的夫人可没进来看看他...” (I don't know what you're referring to. All I know, is that I got hurt while protecting the Luofu, and that my dearest, sweet wife didn't even bother to come in and check on me…)
“我来看你干嘛?” (Why would I come to see you?）
“因为我受伤吗!” (Because I was injured!)
You turn around incredulously. You had seen the twitch of his eyelids when Dan Heng and Welt were kind enough to help him to bed. “你今天有受伤过吗?” (Were you even injured today?)
“当然有!” (Of course!)
“那你身上哪受了伤?” (Then where were you injured?)
He thumps a palm against his chest.
“我的心受了重伤!” (My heart!)
Fu Xuan was right. He is annoying. Huffing, you turn back around, flopping back into the soft pillows that cushioned your head. Stupid, stupid man.
Silence. Jing Yuan tests the waters, foot carefully inching towards you. He nudges your calf lightly. You pull your legs back.
“…老婆?” You don’t dignify him with a response. “你不想知道是谁伤了我的心吗?” (Don’t you want to know who was it that hurt my heart?)
“不想。将军不是说收受了重伤吗？” You clearly remember the words that the physicians had said to you, no doubt instructed by Jing Yuan. Each of them had refused to meet your eyes earlier. Really, none of them could act to save their lives. “快睡。” (I’m not interested. The general should sleep off his injuries.)
“老婆您就陪我玩儿一会儿吧–” (Just play along with me for a second–)
“不要。” (No.)
“老婆...”
You let out a withering sigh, drawing your words out. “那谁伤了你的心?” (Fine. Who was it that hurt your heart?)
He grins.
“就是老婆大人您。” (You, my dear.)
You hide your warm face in the pillow, voice muffled as you retort.
“你别跟我讲这种废话–” (Don’t give me this nonsense–）
“这不是废话呀老婆！” He cuts you off. You don’t have to see him to know that there’s a deep pout on his face right now. “您拆开了我的胸口，偷走了我的心！当然疼啊！” (It’s not nonsense! / You stole my heart! Of course it hurts!)
Was this some kind of soap opera? What was he being so dramatic for?
Another stretch of silence. Jing Yuan tries to roll you over to face him this time, but like before, you stubbornly refuse.
“老婆你别这样，” he whines, hand on your arm. “我今天真的好想你 — 让你老公我抱一抱... 我是好不容易才解脱了这次的危机喔。” (Love, don’t be like this. / Let me hold you… It wasn’t easy for me to come out of this crisis unscathed.)
“不要。” (No.)
Lightly, you push him away. Jing Yuan, however, doesn’t let up. His gentle shakes of your shoulder turn more insistent, and before you know it, he’s looming over you, shadow encasing your frame. Perfumed in jasmine and peonies, he smells enticing enough for you to want to give in and let him pacify you, but the devil on your shoulder tells you that he needs to work a little bit harder than that.
He pulls, and you push back. A smile threatens to tug at his lips as he catches on to the name of the game; hundreds of years in a marriage has made him familiar with the way your mind works, how the gears turn and shift up in that pretty little head of yours. Pushing and pulling and pushing again, until–
“Ah–!” He grimaces, suddenly pulling away, looming presence collapsing unto itself. There’s a slight thud when he collapses back against the bed. You watch as Jing Yuan grips at his chest, a pained expression on his face as he breathes in uneven staccatos.
The sight makes you pause, staring at him in stunned silence as he grits his teeth, jaw tensing at the force. The vein along his neck pulses, blue and purple under his skin. His fingers dig into the sheets below. Hard.
“老公?” Your voice cracks, warbly as you scramble over to his side, almost slipping as you do. Did the physicians miss something?
A bead of sweat drips from his forehead. Hands shaking, you can barely bring yourself to touch him as he squirms on the bed, a pained expression on his face.
“你– 你怎么了？ 老公你哪里不舒服，哪儿疼？ 我– 我去找大夫、 你等等–” (Jing Yuan? / W-What’s wrong? What hurts? I-I’ll go get the doctor, okay? Just wait for me–)
Just as you’ve put a foot down on the floor, rolling off to call for help in your panicked haze—god, you shouldn’t have dismissed all the servants—something suddenly grabs at you.
A scream is ripped out of your throat when Jing Yuan suddenly shoots up, arms wrapping themselves around you. Vision obscured by your tears, it’s nothing but a blur when you fall with him back into the soft bed, his warmth enveloping your body in a tight embrace, almost as if he’s afraid you’d run if he lets you go. You struggle against his hold, heart still racing, voice stuck in your throat as you tap his arm lightly, insistent, yet afraid to exert more pressure lest you accidentally aggravate a wound. Was this an aftereffect of the hit he had taken? Or was it something more sinister?
A laugh suddenly rings out in the air. His breath hot against your ear. There’s no pained grimace, no ache or hiss in his words.
“我演的戏还满写实的。你说，我应不应该加入仙舟的国际剧团?” (Haha! I’m rather good at acting, aren’t I? I think I’d make for a good actor.)
Jing Yuan holds you firmly against him, body cushioning you as you lie on top of his chest, head tucked under his chin as you slowly go limp. Idly, he runs an open palm up your back.
Then pauses when he feels you shake under his touch.
“夫人?” He pulls back, trying to catch a glimpse of your face to gauge your reaction. You refuse to meet his eyes, but Jing Yuan sees the quiver of your lip, the shine along your waterline, and his heart drops. A little too late does it dawn on him that hey! it’s a little mean to pretend to have a medical emergency in front of the wife you had to leave this morning with no guarantee that you’d be back safe!
His heart drops to the balls of his feet at your silence, throat tight. Every organ in his body twists. He’s used to your fiery personality; he’d look forward to the tantrums you’d throw for the simple fact that he’d get to pacify you. To see you silently sitting there even after he’s pulled you up, even as he’s wiping the tears falling from your face with trembling hands, the feared Arbiter-General can’t help but think that this was it. You were done dealing with him. Hundreds of years of marriage, and this was it. A stupid momentary lapse of judgement, and he’s going to lose you.
You sniffle. Loud. And Jing Yuan moves to catch the next wave of tears that threatens to fall from your lashes when you suddenly snap back at him, slapping his hands away in a rare display of your temper. He flinches, seeing how your shoulders shake in the moonlight, how your arm comes up to wipe aggressively at your eyes while he sits there, scorned. Forbidden from you.
Your voice is softer than a whisper, easy to get lost in the wind. By some miracle, he catches it. “你到底有没有受伤?” (...So are you injured or not?)
“没。” He immediately says, swallowing tightly around the ball in his throat. Then winces and retracts it. “不，我... 是轻伤。皮外伤而已。” (No. / No, it’s… It’s just a flesh wound. I promise.)
“我不相信你,” you sniffle. “把衣服脱下。” (I don’t believe you. / Take off your clothes.)
Jing Yuan doesn’t hesitate to shed himself of his robes, exposing his chest to the night air. Baring himself to you, he shifts, guiding your eyes towards the wound without question. Just as he’s said, it’s a flesh wound. A thin scratch along his side. Nothing deep. It wouldn’t even leave a scar.
That doesn’t stop you from leaving. Jing Yuan’s voice gets caught in his throat when he watches you slide out of bed, dipping out of your shared chambers before he could even say or do something. Anything. The voices in his head debate on whether to run after you or to let you leave.
Thankfully, you make that decision for him.
You return with a chest that he hasn’t seen in ages, a medicine kit you had personally fashioned: stocked to the brim with bandages, creams, wipes, and other worldly essentials. You settle back onto the bed, and Jing Yuan’s heart settles itself back into his chest, rattling his ribcage and thumping at his sternum.
Wound dressed by the physicians as part of formality, a basic wrap done since it had already started scabbing over, there’s not much left for you to do. It doesn’t take Jing Yuan by surprise when you don’t care about the trivialities, choosing to snip away at the wrap to make way for your own. He’s done this song and dance before, but the gentle graze of your fingers against his skin never fails to make him shudder.
With or without your interference, the wound would be gone by tomorrow. For you, he forces himself to remain still. You’re on your knees, settled to his side. The scabbed wound on his shoulder tickles when you lean over to dab minty ointment onto it. Part of your routine, he lets you fuss, methodological in your steps as you carefully rewrap the stray cut.
He almost jumps when you move behind him, this time, targeting the faint nail marks along his shoulder and down the top of his back with a soft lotion. Oh. No wonder the physicians had looked embarrassed whilst treating him.
In any other circumstance, he’d peer around to catch your reaction. Make a tiny joke. Tease you a little.
He saves that for another day, hunching a little to give you an easier time.
“老婆?” He tries, stealing a glance at you when he hears the click of the box closing. Eyes red, you’ve stopped crying. Jing Yuan watches in silence as you shuffle, moving back over to your side of the bed to place the chest on the bedside table. Without any huffs or petulant little hmph!’s, you slip back under the covers, curling up under there soundlessly.
He’d rather you yell.
Swallowing thickly, Jing Yuan shifts his weight, thinking about what to do next. You weren’t leaving, which was a good thing. He’s had taken days to coax you out from the guest room (house, actually. You had moved your pillow to the other side of the household over that fight) before, so the fact that you were still here, in the same bed, in the same room, was in itself a miracle.
“老婆,” he whispers, deciding to take the plunge. Jing Yuan snakes his way under the same blanket, sharing in your warmth. Hesitantly, he touches your arm. You shrink away from his touch but don’t shrug him off, so he scoots in closer and carefully wraps his arms around you. “老婆，是我的错。我玩的太过分了。你... 你别生气，好吗? 睡觉前生气会对身体不好...” (I went too far. I apologise. Don’t be upset, it’s not good for your body if you go to sleep upset…)
You turn away, lacking the energy from earlier. Jing Yuan pulls you deeper into him, pressing a kiss to the back of your head.
“老婆... 说句话。” He pleads, voice wavering when you still don’t make a sound. “我看你这样会心疼的。我知道错了，我发誓，以后不会这样做。你能不能原谅我？就这一次。” (Honey… say something, please. / I know I’m in the wrong, and I swear that I won’t ever do it again. Can you forgive me? Just this once?)
Taking a deep inhale of your shampoo, he waits for your response.
“景元，你不可以用这种事来开玩笑。” You sniffle, wiping at your underline. He nods in agreement, shaking his head avidly. “你懂我有多怕吗?” (Jing Yuan, you can’t joke about these things. Do you know how scared I was?)
“我知道、我知道,” he almost sighs in relief when you twist your body to turn around, finally facing him for the first time tonight. He cups your cheeks, kissing you softly on the tip of your nose. Then your forehead. Then your lips. “是我的错、全都是我的错。” (I know, I know. / I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.)
“别哭了，好吗？ 你看,” he smiles sadly, thumbs rubbing across the apple of your cheek. “我没事、还活着。” (So stop crying, okay? See– / –I’m alive, aren’t I? I’m fine.)
Jing Yuan doesn’t really expect his words to send forth another wave of tears, but they do — they fall like pearls from a broken string of a necklace, an endless wave, and he’s not quite sure why. Panicked, he tries everything in his arsenal to calm you. From running a hand through your hair to rubbing your back, to peppering kisses on your face and whispering sweet nothings, nothing seems to work as you hiccup between full-body sobs, pushing at his chest until he reluctantly parts.
“景元你给我听好,” you snap at him in sniffles, glaring at him through the tears. “没我的允许，你不能比我早死。” (You’re not allowed to die before me, okay?)
“老婆,” he chokes, the words sinking in. “你别说这种话! 我哪里会–” (Don’t say such a thing! I’m not going to–)
“我不管! 答应我,” you cry, miserable. “给我发誓!” (I don’t care. Swear to me that it won’t happen.)
He hesitates. It’s a tall task that you’re asking of him. He’s the general. Raised on the frontlines, he bleeds for the Luofu. You’re no stranger to the risks of being married to a soldier, much less a general. Being wed to a man who could be called into battle at any second is tough, but you had always handled it well, never asking for more than what he could give; years of peace must have made him complacent if this was the breakdown you were having.
Still struggling to find the words to reject you—for what would happen to him if you were to leave this world first? you were his everything—you shake him with reckless abandon. (Somewhere in the trenches of his mind, he thinks it’s good that you still had the energy to shake him like that.)
“如你死的话，我就陪你一起死 !” Hysterical, you almost scream the last part. (If you die and leave me here, I’ll kill myself to be with you again. Do you hear me?)
His face drops. “老婆—” (Dear–)
“你懂不懂 !?” You insist, breathing ragged. (I’m serious!)
His heart breaks at the sight of you so frazzled, so frantic. Not even when he had left for the three-hundred-year-long war were you so distraught. Worried, sure. Anxious? Definitely. All he could leave you, just like how he had today, were his assurances in the form of words uttered to you nights before he had to leave, in the form of letters he’d send back home. You were newlyweds at the time. Death doesn’t discriminate, but Jing Yuan hadn’t planned on leaving you a widow. Even when he had returned victorious from the war with new scars that marred his skin, each one with its own story, you hadn’t reacted so strongly to his close calls with death as much as you were now.
Had you been bottling everything up? That’s… been an awful amount of time. As much as he doesn’t want to agree, right now, promising this to you was a kindness only he could provide. Tomorrow, or maybe the week after, when you’ve calmed down and situated yourself back into your usual rhythm, he’d have a proper talk with you.
"知道了," he finds himself whispering back to you when you call his name in a warble, tethering on the edge of another sob. “好吗? 我答应你。” (Okay, okay. I promise.)
“你说到就要做到...” (You have to keep your word.)
“嗯,” he hums, pressing his forehead into yours. Thumbs swiping at the corner of your eyes, at your waterline, he laughs wetly at your expression. He’s seen you cry many times, but it never gets easier. “那你就别哭了, 好吗?” (Mm, I know. So please stop crying, my love.)
Pulling you tight into his embrace, he lets himself take a few deep breaths, simply holding you there, holding you close, as he rubs your back and waits for the sobs to subside into stuttering breaths and infrequent hiccups.
Jing Yuan holds you like a teddy, like a child with a firm grip on their most beloved stuffed friend. He waits for the aftershocks to pass, lips planting soft kisses against the side of your temple as you grow more lax. At some point, he feels you yawn, your face tucked against his neck.
“好了吗?” he murmurs, combing your hair back, detangling the knots. (Are you feeling better?)
Throat sore, you cough, nodding slightly. You sound a little hoarse, and Jing Yuan cups your cheeks so he cough get a better look at you, chuckling when he see your doey expression. Cheeks warm from crying, eyes red (and now, dry) from all the tears, you looked like you had just come back from a particularly rough brawl.
“我去倒杯水给你–” (Stay here. I’ll go get you a glass of water–)
“不要,” you rasp, clinging onto him. “别走。” (Don’t go.)
“老婆，听话,” he nudges you, slowly starting to move you. “让我起来。” (Just let me get up, okay? Be a good girl.)
Realistically, there's no bargaining when it comes to you. Whatever you say goes. So Jing Yuan carefully manipulates your limbs; a silent compromise. After managing to sit up on the edge of the bed, he settles you on his lap, pulls your legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and lifts you easily. A koala, you hang from his frame like he was your favourite tree, until he walks and deposits you on the kitchen counter. He knows that you don't mind that much, just as long as you're kept close.
With the press of a button, Jing Yuan reheats the water in the kettle. As it whirs, his attention moves back to you, fingers interlacing yours by habit. Kissing the apple of your cheek, he sighs. "看看你、一哭就哭傻了。" (Look at you, you’ve cried yourself silly.)
“别弄我...” (Don’t tease me…)
Jing Yuan hums, more to himself than to you as he drifts around the private kitchen in search of ingredients, opening and closing drawers and cabinets. He’s a lot more clumsy here, too used to the layout of your other home, the one in the small gated community. But he manages.
Dried chrysanthemums, leftover monk fruit from before, and dates. He breaks them up and bags them together with a palmful of tea leaves, throwing them into a thin muslin bag before dropping them into the rolling water.
“在弄什么?” You can’t help but ask, rubbing at your eyes a bit. (What are you making?)
“对身体好的东西, 用来补补身的。” (Something good for your body.)
"酷不酷..." (Is it bitter…?)
"良药苦口," he chuckles. "酷才管用，不是吗?" (Bitter medicine works the best, doesn't it?)
Jing Yuan glances over, a soft smile on his lips. “你现在眼睛肿，声音也没了... 明日我们家里的佣人一定以为我在欺负你。” (Your eyes are swollen and your voice is almost gone, my dear. Our servants are going to think that I was bullying you.)
“你是欺负了我。坏人。” (You were.)
Jing Yuan laughs, squeezing your hand. “嗯、嗯。 我是罗浮上最大的坏人。开心了吗?” (Yes, yes. I’m the biggest bully in the Luofu. Satisfied now?)
The giggle you give him puts him at ease.
While waiting for the water to come to a boil and for the flavours to seep in, Jing Yuan keeps you occupied with carefully crafted sentences. He recounts Yanqing’s fight against Blade and Dan Feng, how he's still too impulsive, and how the duo had gone easy on him, which he appreciates. He tells you in detail about Tingyun, Phantylia's possession of her and of the Ambrosial Arbor. You learn, as Jing Yuan presses a warm mug into your palms for you to drink out of, that it was Nanook, the Aeon of Destruction, who was responsible for the chaos that had plagued the Luofu.
An Aeon, you whisper, breathless.
His hands find your hips when he gets into the details of the fight, thumbs rubbing circles into the plush of your body to soothe. The plan had been to antagonise Phantylia. The power she was deriving from the Ambrosial Arbor would have made her impossible to defeat. Getting her to target him, to establish a link that would then be used to attack her directly…
“Is that why you told her that the weeds in our garden gave you more grief than she did?”
Jing Yuan blinks. “How…”
“March told me,” you mumble, brows raised at him over the rim of your mug. Swallowing another sip, you add, “It’s funny — I don’t remember seeing you help with the weeds as of late.”
The laugh that leaves his throat catches him off guard. You’re willing to banter with him. That’s a good sign. As he’s said before, he’s familiar with your games. The situation with the Stellaron Hunters had taken some of his time away from you. Patient and kind as you were, you hadn’t made a fuss out of it, but it doesn’t mean you don’t like poking at him after the crisis is averted.
You miss him, is what you really wanted to say.
Kissing your knuckles, he smiles against the back of your hand. “Every slight those weeds have caused you during this time has burdened me as well.”
“油嘴滑舌。” (How glib.)
But you allow it, just pleased to get some recognition. Tipping your mug, you angle it for him to take a sip, too. A bit for him, a bit for you.
“It was a risky plan,” you finally whisper.
“I know.” He slots his lips against yours, tasting like honey and dates. Not a twinge of bitterness. “But it would have kept you safe.”
Time passes quickly when he’s with you. Immortality is an odd thing. He has his personal philosophy on it, but you’ve always been the exception. Perched on the counter, you watch him keep the rest of the tea in a jug that then goes into the fridge. The mug you were using goes into the sink to be washed when daylight breaks. When Jing Yuan carries you back to bed, it feels natural. The night is still young, but it just didn’t feel enough. Sometimes, living on with you by his side felt frightening. Who knows what tomorrow would bring? Sometimes, all he wants to do is to pause time. Indefinitely. To stop a moment and have it be suspended, forever.
“You know that there are easier ways to apply for leave, right?”
Nestled back in the indents of your bed with him holding onto you, he makes a face. If only it was as simple as it seemed.
“I’m well aware, but this was the best way to get them to leave us alone.”
Who would disturb the General if he was reportedly unwell? No one. But if he was healthy, then it’s a different story. The sheer number of times his vacations with you had been cut short over an emergency that could have been easily handled by Qingzu or Fu Xuan… He dreads having that happen again. After Phantylia was vanquished, his plan quickly turned into priming you both up for a vacation. Just a little break, away from everything. Just you and him; a loving husband and his doting wife locked away from the world, away from all your responsibilities as he supposedly recovers under your care.
The exhaustion he had felt had been real. Fading in and out of consciousness at the Scalegorge Waterscape wasn’t something he could exactly fake — his acting skills weren’t that good. But, he had regained most of his bearings on the way back to his household.
It was then that he remembers your words. The stars are muddled. Divination was difficult in these trying times. You couldn’t see anything, and neither could Fu Xuan. Though it was a testament to the danger he would be facing, Jing Yuan admittedly only thought about using it to his advantage. If his fate couldn’t be divined, taking a step back from the helm shouldn’t be a problem. Fu Xuan not suspecting a thing after Phantylia was gone had only spurred him. Frankly, he’s surprised he wasn’t called out on it.
Jing Yuan startles at the sudden feeling of your palm against his chest, too busy thinking to have heard you move. Your hand feels warm to the touch as it glides across bare skin. Goosebumps prickle up his arms, a shudder almost makes its way down his spine. You’re close enough for him to smell your body soap. Years of marriage, and you still never fail to reduce him into an untouched man. Jing Yuan wants to both shrink away and lean into your touch.
“Jing Yuan,”
"Hm?" His heart beats under the palm of your hand.
“...Does it hurt?”
Taking a blow that's essentially charged by the Aeon of Destruction, a Scion of Permanence, and the Ambrosial Arbor was bound to have hurt. He can tell by your furrowed brows and slight pout that you were still scared, still worried that the blow was a bigger deal than it actually was.
His hand comes up to wrap around yours. Bringing your hand up to his lips, Jing Yuan lays featherlight kisses on the tips of your fingers.
“I’ve been through worse, haven’t I?”
Resigned to the fate of being a General’s wife, you only sigh in response. “I suppose.”
“Don’t look so glum,” he rubs at your forehead with a chuckle, “I plan on taking a long break.”
“You’ll worry them sick.”
“They’ll be fine,” he dismisses. “Most of the threats are already being taken care of. The realm-keeping commission has enlisted the help of the Nameless. They’re quite efficient, did you hear?”
You shift, frown still on your face. “How long are we going to keep this act up, then?”
“For as long as you’re willing,” he nuzzles you. Then pauses after realising that you were in silent agreement.
“You’re surprisingly amenable to this plan. I had thought you would scold me.”
“I do think that you’re long overdue for a break,” you muse out loud. “Especially after seeing– Well, you know.”
…Right.
“It’s been hundreds of years.” Jing Yuan mutters, shifting to hold you closer to him. Your fingers find their way into his hair, lightly scratching his scalp as you would with a cat. He melts into your embrace. “Seeing Dan Feng at our door must’ve shocked you, too.”
As much as he keeps you appraised, as much as the subordinates reporting back to you were able to describe them in vivid imagery and prose, hearing and seeing with your own eyes is a different experience. Truth be told, he was winded when he first saw them.
“He goes by Dan Heng now,” you mumble, a faraway look in your eyes. “It’s just… He looks the same, and he feels the same, but he isn't the same.”
He knows what you mean.
“And his mannerisms.” Shaking your head, you sigh. “I had tea with him, Jing Yuan. It was nice, but I felt like I was looking at a ghost.”
His mannerisms. Now wasn’t that an interesting observation? If only he had been there with you to witness it. His encounters with Dan Heng hadn’t been the most pleasant, but with you, it’s different. You always had your ways to get people to open up. Sometimes, Jing Yuan thinks you’d be better suited as an Alliance diplomat than a divinator.
Hand grazing the small of your back, the both of you sit in silence. There’s nothing on the Xianzhou that you don’t know about. From Jing Yuan’s private appraisals to your own informants throughout the alliance, your reach rivalled his. Stewing in your thoughts, he waits for you to ask the one question he’s been anticipating since the start of this whole debacle.
"And Yingxing?" You finally ask, voice small as you bat your lashes up at him. He hadn’t been the only one to experience those losses all those centuries ago. You were there, too. Behind the scenes, yes, but there nonetheless.
"Is he… Is he doing okay?"
Jing Yuan tucks your hair back. To say that Yingxing was okay would be a lie, and to say that he wasn't would be a severe understatement. Hidden in the shadows, he had seen the crazed, almost depraved grin from when he had stabbed Dan Heng; the glint of his eyes, his laugh, and the abrupt snap back when Kafka had called for him — not for Yingxing, but Blade. The moniker must’ve made your heart ache just as his had; the man you once called a friend, a brotherly figure, now seemingly reduced to a weapon. A means to an end.
"I'm not sure," are the words he eventually settles on. Adjusting the blankets over your body and up to your chin, Jing Yuan holds you a little tighter tonight. If you could divine his fate, would you? Have you?
"But I hope he finds peace."
a/n: i dont know how this fic became 8k+ words long. it was just an excuse to write their banter in chinese but i went in without a plan and left thinking about danfeng and yingxing ;-;
Translations/Explanations:
so if you’re a chinese speaker you probably can tell that my translations aren't completely accurate! i had to contextualise it to the sentences before them and it’s not the words being used that conveys the meaning, it’s the way it’s said that conveys it.
the convo was supposed to be lighthearted (if read in chinese) but then i realised it would be kind of weird since im also writing in english so now you have this weird mishmash but thats ok. sort of. because i just needed this out of my drafts. maybe one day ill rewrite certain parts but that day isn't today i want to turn my brain off
i got carried away. anyway! for example → 你懂不懂 would literally be translated into something like “do you understand it or not?” but using that sentence would’ve been weird in the tl :< the phrase is typically used to express exaggeration/seriousness, which is why it’s translated as im being serious/im not joking or something to that effect
丈夫 (zhàng fu): Formal term for husband
夫人(fū rén): Formal term for wife
老公 (lăo gōng): Term for husband. Can be used formally/informally. Here it’s used as a pet name.
老婆 (lăo pó): Term for wife. Same as laogong
你 vs 您: Both mean ‘you’. The former is less formal than the latter! Either can be used but 你 is more common than 您. 您 is typically used when addressing someone you respect/someone high-ranking. You’ll see me interchange them a lot during Jing Yuan’s dialogue and there’s not really a reason behind it apart from the fact that Jing Yuan’s a really respectful husband and puts his wife on a pedestal. Also, I just like the idea of putting a heart (心, xin) into ‘you’ (你, ni) haha im so punny
The drink that jingyuan was making is called luo han guo cha (罗汉果茶) and it's good if you have a sore throat. You can add whatever you want to it. It's actually not that bitter but i can never get used to the taste because it reminds me of TCM ;-;
"Filler" was untagged and unrebloggable by design. i don't like sharing information that feels too close to my culture. it's a personal thing
Started on 19th July, completed on the 5th of August. Posted September 4th
Document + timestamps:
originally inspired by the line "the weeds in my garden give me more grief than you" that jingyuan uses in the battle against phantylia
Original name of the fic was just called weeds. it was a placeholder name
Can be seen here:
osmanthus rice cake reference (pinterest link)
i watch a lot of period cdramas and in the ones i would watch at the age of about 9-12 there was this one really nice looking scene that featured osmanthus cakes. i also enjoy eating osmanthus cookies and cakes, so i simply wanted to include something that paid homage to my childhood and my experiences
a lot of where this fic comes from is quite personal
jingyuan and reader's dynamic — partially inspired by my parents. they have a very loving, teasing relationship that i one day would also like to share with my partner
most of their dynamic is very self-indulgent. i enjoy writing (and reading) about couple spats where they make up at the end.
use of endearments — i enjoy the way 老婆 and 老公 sounds. i've made a post (a headcanon) on tumblr early when i first started about how if gojo could speak chinese, he would address his reader using these terms. i personally think that they're more intimate than the typical terms of endearment, and it fits the situation since jingyuan is from the luofu.
layout of the home — much of my historical architectural knowledge of the imperial palace comes from period cdramas that i've watched. for the residences of people of authority, there are multiple courtyards, bedrooms, "houses", kitchens, gardens, etc. since there are sometimes assassination attempts, there are hidden pathways for a quick getaway.
Google search history:
research that was done in addition to my own knowledge
i was trying to figure out the actual name for the cups used at the start of the fic
i was also trying to figure out how certain items/phrases could be translated
struggles with punctuation was because i couldnt find certain markers using my keyboard
drink that jingyuan was making — inspired by a situation that happened to me when i was 14/15. i texted my friend that i was sick while on the way to school (runny nose, sore throat, the likes) and her mom made me the tea in a thermoflask she had my friend bring to school + she gave me extra ingredients to make it with
It's not even in a brat tamer sort of way. It's completely innocent. He just... likes the chase.
Jingyuan enjoys playing games with you, honeyed words and all. Banter? Playful teasing? He's all up for it. Lives for it. But I think he loves it the most when you talk back to him, picking a fight over nothing.
When you get all huffy and pouty is when he really shines, pulling out all the stops just to get you to look at him again. He knows you aren't actually mad at him. It's hard to hold your temper against him unless he really screwed up, but that's rare. If he gives you some time alone, you'd eventually return to his arms with a mumbled apology and an explanation as to what had put you in a bad mood.
But where's the fun in waiting? Actively seeking you out, tagging alongside you like a shadow, and popping up with expensive gifts, silks, and your favourite delicacies reminds him of his courtship of you: An intricate waltz between wanting more and being afraid that the other would be scared off.
But now...
What was there to scare off now that you had bound him to you for life? Seeing that ring on your finger, and the matching one on his, never fails to make him go a bit light-headed.
It's a bit like petting a hissing kitten until they start to accept touch again. He sweet talks you, and you yap. He sneaks a kiss to your cheek, and you bat him away. Oftentimes, you don't even remember what you were mad about, just annoyed that he was suddenly latching himself to your side, poking and prodding at you. It's the tension that builds between the both of you that sets off the synapses in his brain. When you finally let down your walls and allow him back into the warmth of your gaze, your affections just feel all the more sweeter. He's worked hard for them, you know?
You had asked him once if he had found the arguments silly. Jing Yuan, you had noticed, typically doesn't engage when you get into one of those moods. He simply smiles, and stands there and takes what you have to give to him. Even if it's not so nice.
"No," he hums pleasantly, hands wandering. He likes it when you play hard to get. "I think it's cute."
The meaning behind his words was hard to miss.
Jing Yuan subscribes to the theory that a happy wife makes a happy life. And maybe it's cruel, maybe it's unorthodox, but sometimes, he angers you on purpose just so he can weasel his way back into your good graces again.
brainrot. i grew up on chinese dramas and some of my favourite male leads were annoying as hell when they're trying to get back into the good books of their wives
which was the basis of jingyuan poking and prodding at the reader
we call this 嘴巴甜 which roughly just means that he's a sweet talker
in the tags you will see me reference a 7k fic. that's the "filler" fic i've written for jingyuan.
cw: gn!reader, implied established relationship, reader is implied to be sick, sickness is unspecified
a/n: i wrote this a while back before 1.2 came out
"The Ambrosial Arbor is in bloom."
"...Yes."
The sight is as beautiful as it is alarming. Through the silver of space between your window and its frame, a golden leaf slips through, landing on your lap for your finger to graze over.
It does not quell the unease in your chest.
"And you're still not going to tell me what's going on?"
“No,” he whispers. “I’m not.”
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to do, Jing Yuan,” you mumble, fingers tightening over the soft silks that cover your body as you turn to look at him. “But if there’s something wrong with the Luofu, then you have to go.”
“I can work on it from here.” The bed creaks as he sits by your side. There’s a dimness to his eyes, fatigue etched into his movements though he carries an easy smile on his face. He’s been hard at work for the past few weeks over matters you know almost nothing about. “You don’t have to worry about it.”
“How can I not?” You retort, heat rising in your chest, almost sending you into another coughing fit. “Jing Yuan, this is our home.”
“And I’ll protect it, protect you.” He reassures, slipping his hand into yours, giving it a light squeeze. Then a long one.
Summary: Five different senses, five different drabbles.
Word Count: 1.5k
Tags: Fluff, gn!Reader, established relationship, angst (not a lot), suggestive only if you squint
a/n: testing this format out! lets see how this goes because gepard my baby if all goes well you're next keke
Sight
General Jing Yuan of the Luofu is a sight to behold.
Imposing, large, he carries himself with the air of a man that's seen countless battles. Imperial, yet humble. Kind, yet stern.
There's a force to him, the natural charisma of a leader.
A pillar, he is calm, pensive. Oftentimes more sleepy than not. But no matter how you place him, he's always in the process of doing something for the Luofu. Patrols guised as walks, sparring matches against his guards, mentoring Yanqing, finishing paperwork, planning, guiding...
The General is always busy, hardened with age despite his youthful appearance.
But his cheeky smiles make him seem younger than he is, more playful when he indulges you in silly banter. His golden eyes glow, sparkling with amusement. It's a side to him that no one but you and his aides see.
The rumours that shroud the handsome General do not faze him. His longstanding authority is not something so easily shaken by baseless rumours, and his character speaks for itself.
But ever so often he'll find himself looking over at you, sneaking little glances, hoping to get a glimpse of your reaction whenever there's new gossip about him going around. Especially when they concern the more... intimate parts of his life.
The people can think what they want. At the end of it all, he's curious to what goes on in your mind.
How do you see him?
Smell
A buzz of static in the air, a hint of petrichor; the commander of the Lightning Lord smells like an incoming storm when he's on the battlefield. A sign of his presence.
It's soothing to friends, terrifying for foes.
Sometimes the metallic sting of blood follows his footsteps in wake of his conquests, his wins. But it is accompanied by the smell of fresh dew, golden rays cracking through rainclouds. A light sheen of sweat coats his forehead, but the Xianzhou lives to see another peaceful era.
Back on the Luofu, Jing Yuan smells like home.
He smells warm. Inviting. He smells like freshly washed sheets, soaked in the warm love of the sun.
It's engulfing. A whiff makes you want to hunker down, curl up, and doze off in your shared space. The moniker of the dozing general was rightly named.
Notes of jasmine from his baths pepper his skin, and a shudder runs down his spine, from the back of his neck to the tips of his toes whenever your nose traces along the side of his neck just to get a deeper inhale.
"Has our lion's habits been rubbing off on you?" He laughs to hide the embarrassment he was sporting, a boyish sound that makes your heart skip.
"Just missed you," you mumble into his warm neck, pressing yourself closer against him until the scent of your shampoo starts to blend with his. Unsaid is the question: who knows when you'll have to leave again?
Even when he's away, the smell of him still lingers throughout the house, entangled with yours in a never-ending embrace.
It's a blessing and a curse.
Sound
"Tell me a story."
"Hm?"
Jing Yuan's voice is a deep baritone. Like a rumble from a chest, coated in honey. It's beautiful to listen to, calming and sweet.
Many things have changed with time, his speech and cadence especially. Sometimes you see another person in his place, a younger boy, one with an unkempt mane of long hair, one whose voice cracked. But it's hard to forget his laugh.
His true laugh is hearty, loud. Though that's been long altered with time. But if you catch him in your private chambers, you'd find that he still retains that same, boyish laugh from years ago.
"Tell me a story," you repeat, more insistent. It's late, but the artificial moon of the Luofu glows brightly enough that you can see the outline of your lover's features.
His hands brush away stray strands of hair from your face. Shifting, you lean further into his embrace, both your legs tangling in silken sheets.
"You're not a child anymore," he muses, leaning down to nose at your cheek. There's a teasing lilt to his voice, one that follows him wherever you go. "Why do you need a story to fall asleep?"
"Stop being annoying and just," you yawn, "tell me a story. Wanna hear your voice."
"We could always just have a conversation instead," he hums, twirling the silky ribbon of your robes around his finger. Like a schoolgirl catching up with their best friend, he singsongs. "What did you have for lunch?"
"Jing Yuan."
"Fine," he laughs, and you find yourself wanting more. "I suppose I'll do all the work."
"I want an old myth." Even as a long-living species, some tales are lost to time. And some legends only live amongst those destined for something greater than themselves.
"Oh, we're making demands now?"
A half-hearted glare quickly makes him acquiesce.
"Okay, okay." You listen to him grunt, the heat of his body leaving your side as he adjusts into a more comfortable position in your bed. Jing Yuan's arms open, gesturing you in. "But I require compensation for all my hard work."
"Stay in tomorrow. I'll tell Qingzu that you've caught my bug."
Touch
Hands calloused with centuries of battle should scare you, but how could they, when they hold you so gently, so tenderly?
When you're in his arms, a habit of his is to run his hands down the expanse of your back, exploring it like it's his first time. Fingers run down your sides, trace the curve of your spine before returning to brush at the nape of your neck.
You're trying to map me, you used to say, and he'd respond with a chuckle and a peck at your temple. Nothing more, other than to squeeze you tighter.
It's infrequent, but on some days there is urgency to his motions, a slight tremble of his hands.
"I'm okay," you whisper, hearing his breath hitch a little when his fingers run across the bandages wrapped around your back. "It looks worse than it really is."
The Xianzhou has many enemies, the General even more so. When news of your injury, caused by some rebel group — a flesh wound, you argue. Nothing too serious! — gets to Jing Yuan in the form of a teary-eyed Yanqing, he immediately drops his things, and runs.
And now you were here, draped over Jing Yuan like a weighted blanket. You think he needs this more than you do. There's only so much that makes a hardened warrior crack.
"You're bleeding."
"I'll survive," you try and joke, but his hands still go over the silk bandages, golden eyes soaking in Bailu's handiwork, trying to find a mistake to nitpick over. Trying to find something to do, other than to sit and accept it.
So the next time you tell him that it's okay, you reach back for his hands, slip your fingers between his, and squeeze.
It takes a while, but you feel some of the tension leave his body.
He sighs.
"The next time you go out, you're bringing Mimi with you."
"Ah Yuan... She'll maul someone."
"That's the point."
Taste
Secretive glances are shared amongst peers, dusty pink blushes on the faces of the girls as they whisper, a question kept hushed, but you hear it anyway.
What do you think the General tastes like?
To overhear such a question being asked sends a minute jolt up your spine. You close your eyes, trying not to think about it, but the question bounces around in your head, haunts you like a ghost of your past.
What would he taste like? One of his favourite teas? The kind brewed just to his liking? Or would he taste like one of those osmanthus cookies he always carries around?
The latter doesn't sound half bad, you hear them say. You can't help but agree. After all, you baked them. The girls will learn of this in the future.
What do you think?
Embarrassment warms your skin when they turn to you expectantly, a comrade in arms.
You shrug in response, a tiny smile on your face as you avert your eyes back to where Jing Yuan was, giving out orders to his Cloud Knights. The girls roll their eyes at your answer, then go back to whispering amongst themselves, this time about more private matters.
You can't find it in yourself to be upset.
Because no one but you will ever know the answer.
Ginger.
The first time Jing Yuan captures your lips, you find that he tastes like mellow, syrupy ginger soup, the type you find with tang yuan. It's a matured taste, sweet that comes with a bit of bitterness, but never too much.
Jing Yuan tastes like ginger.
Within the depths of the sweetness is a twinge of spice, one that lingers on your lips even after he's pulled away.
It's intoxicating. Addictive.
You find yourself wanting more.
a/n: no one fucking look at me when i dust off my 18 + sideblog and post an n/sfw version of this okay i had to hold myself back the entire time i was writing this and ended up sprinkling in angst to cope???? this was never meant to be angsty at all
anyway :333 lets ignore what i just said haha!!! what a beautiful day!!!!!!!! allow me to pitch: dating young jing yuan!!! bc i wholeheartedly believe the man wouldve been a menace. like. gojo level menacing. his cn lines had me SWOONING like sirrrrrr i know what type of person you are huehue
written in tumblr textpost editor. no google document version.
original idea
Gepard version exists (incomplete)
i wrote jingyuan to taste like the soup that's paired with tangyuan because it was a sunday and my dad had made tangyuan
unfortunately i dont have pictures of it
reference to osmanthus cookies (under taste) — i ate these really really good osmanthus cookies made by the daughter of my great aunt's friend. they own a small local business and i really liked the taste of the cookies so i referenced it
i also wanted to show that jingyuan is very protective, which led to the scene where he tells reader to bring mimi along with them when theyre going out
old mythos under sound - in chinese families the people that know the most stories are typically the oldest in the family (grandpa/grandma). since jingyuan is canonically really old, i assumed that he would know a lot of old myths and stories and so added that scene in as a central bit
Alhaitham x gn!Reader | Tags: Modern au where the sumeru cast are streamers/influencers! Set in university! Fluff! HC Format, not proofread.
A/N: What do i think about streamer alhaitham??? What do i think??? i might not watch a lot of streams bUT I LIVE BREATHE AND EAT ALHAITHAM I THINK ABOUT HIM A LOT
What type of streamer is he?
You know how there are some insanely smart people streaming??
And you know how there are some really chill, no commentary streams?
Yeah. That's basically streamer!Alhaitham.
I like to think that he got into streaming not because he wanted to, but because someone (Cyno) introduced him to the concept and he went 'hm. why not?'
So he streams himself playing video games!
Setting things up is easy for him (and quick!) because of how he streamlines his process. Plus, he already had all the necessary equipment prior to streaming solely because of how it would improve his experience, so his stream quality looks quite professional.
What made him blow up?
A group stream with Cyno, Tighnari, and Kaveh.
streamer!Cyno who really likes TCG. Probably even has a youtube channel and a podcast
Influencer!Kaveh :D That man is too pretty not to be some sort of influencer. I like to think that he streams ACNH, the sims, stardew valley, etc. and that he has a pretty large following because:
1) his beauty tips
2) his insane architectural skills on the sims. What the fuck.
3) his storytimes
Look. Kaveh is the kind of dude you could gossip with for hours. He's definitely the bigger streamer of the bunch
Tighnari as a streamer dabbles in a little bit of everything! (Not sure what he'd be known for tho because my mind immediately went med student!tighnari who does study streams so if anyone has any ideas you can pop them in my inbox if you want)
Cyno proposes a group stream since they all do know each other in real life and have similar interests
Which leads to them playing the Backrooms.
Kaveh is the screamer. He gets spooked really easily.
Cyno is in charge of keeping the monsters away (he is shockingly good at evading them) and Tighnari and Alhaitham are the brain of the bunch! They're working out the puzzles, except...
Kaveh kinda led something back to them and kinda killed Tighnari in the process...
So while Kaveh is entertaining everyone with how dramatic he is, Alhaitham works quietly to solve the puzzles and sneaks around
He goes under the radar
It's strange. No one really notices alhaitham because of how quiet he is, but they're confused because (for some reason) the game gets completed at a really fast pace
Then Cyno proposes an Among Us stream. With Dehya and Nilou. And that is where shit goes down
Alhaitham, for the first time, speaks.
:333
We've all seen the man act when he was up against Azar.
Is it really a surprise if I say he's really good at lying and gaslighting?
If he's the imposter, he convinces everyone that he isn't within seconds. He drops really subtle hints, and they fall for it everytime.
Chat is astonished. Everyone is baffled. And when the players end up so paranoid of Alhaitham being the imposter (even if he isn't) Alhaitham is too far gone (and far too invested) and ends up dragging them and their opinion to filth (not harshly) WHILE presenting hard facts and evidence
On conjecture alone he manages to reveal the actual imposters.
Doesn't stop them from throwing alhaitham out first tho
streamer alhaitham !!! who loses his shit <;3 professionally.
It's hilarious to watch. Chat eats it up!!!
Alhaitham comes out of his shell a little more after that, and all the banter and insults that he trades with Kaveh are almost always clipped
His quick wit and snarky replies is why he blows up
What are his streams like after blowing up?
Same as before!
It's not for everyone, but his viewers like it. Sometimes it's just nice to sit and watch something without commentary, y'know?
He maintains a nice, steady 1-2k viewership. But clips and shorts of him typically have muuuuch more views.
Alhaitham does become a bit more talkative than before, but it typically only shows when some niche piece of information appears on screen
He casually displays his intellect on stream sometimes, which leads to a lot of 'nerdge' in chat
There's probably also a running joke somewhere about addressing him as professor
What about streamer!alhaitham's relationship with you, his partner?
You were waiting for this part, weren't you?
Having streamer!alhaitham as your boyfriend includes gaming dates, in and outside of streaming.
Chat first realises that alhaitham has a special someone when they hear him talking to another person in the room. It comes as a surprise because alhaitham is usually so quiet.
Now, they'd normally chalk it up to something else, but then Alhaitham's tone grows softer.
and he doesn't sound the same as usual.
and then he says:
"My partner bought food so I'll be ending the stream. See you."
Direct. Straight to the point. Alhaitham doesn't even know people were freaking out until chat bombards him with questions in the next stream.
He doesn't entertain them, but one message that comes in from chat that lingers in his mind
"Hey."
You look up from your spot in bed, watching Alhaitham stand from his gaming chair.
"Yeah?" You sniff, rubbing your eyes in the darkness. In just a few strides, he's on his side of the bed, sliding in underneath the blanket.
"What's wrong?" You yawn, laying on your back, letting him climb over you. Like an overgrown house cat, he lays atop you, sinking into the hug that you give. Idly, your fingers run through his hair, combing out the parts that had been flattened from the hours he had spent in front of his computer with his headphones on.
"Nothing," you hear him mumble. "Long stream."
Humming, you continue playing with his hair, your other hand running down to draw shapes into his back.
"Chat asked about you." He suddenly says, lifting his head up so he could look at you.
"Really?"
"Yeah," he mutters in an airy voice, as if contemplating something. You don't have a chance to ask what's on his mind when he nudges you.
"Wanna join the stream sometime?"
Livestreams are scary, so you're a little bit reluctant to the idea at first. But you do stay in the room with him when he plays.
Alhaitham doesn't turn on his webcam when you're over so as to protect your privacy.
At first, it's great! You enjoy sitting a distance away to watch him
But, I mean, it's a little draining to have to crane your head and watch... And it's a little bit hard to see from the angle you're at...
You end up taking advantage of the lack of a webcam to sit on his lap and cuddle while he plays video games. It's the same as sitting on his lap when he's doing his homework, except you don't have to stare at convoluted sentences and numbers and symbols!
Alhaitham, to your surprise, welcomes it with open arms. Literally. Before you had even pitched your idea to him, he had already gestured for you to get closer.
It's easier to talk to you like this, too. Sometimes, Alhaitham forgets that he's streaming, so he ends up having a whole conversation with you.
It ranges from random trivia, to "what do you want for dinner?", to playful banter.
You two think you're sooooo slick but the audio quality for someone who 'isn't near his microphone' is a bit too crisp for chat to believe you.
But hey! They aren't complaining. They get to hear Alhaitham's commentary, even if it was supposed to be just for you.
Not to mention, you're pretty funny as well! Making fun of the dumb shit the characters do entertains chat, especially during horror games.
And oh boy do they love the horror streams.
Alhaitham doesn't react much to jumpscares. Just the occasional, minute flinch.
But in the good horror games? It's the partial terror in his eyes in that gets his viewers rolling, the silence Alhaitham immerses himself in making it all just so much more terrifying.
When you come into the picture, his horror streams become less scary. More... appetising. In a sense.
The commentary and quips you provide helps everyone with their nerves, and when you scream at a jumpscare, chat doesn't feel like they're the only ones as terrified anymore
It's a nice palette cleanser. So once a week, Alhaitham invites you in to watch him play a horror game.
(Remember how you sit with him? Yeah. He totally uses these streams as an excuse to have you cling on to him. Cheeky bastard.)
Sometimes, you play games with him too! It's not so much different from when he isn't streaming, though. Alhaitham is a man of few words.
What is streamer!alhaitham like outside of streaming?
He's yummy.
Streamer!Alhaitham likes to spend his time reading. Staring at a screen for hours at a time isn't exactly good for your eyes.
He has a nice, set routine, and puts in the effort to go for a run every morning before returning home with your breakfast.
If you don't happen to be at his place, he'll simply jog over to yours. It's a simple detour from his usual route that he's more than willing to take.
He's a college student, so streaming is a side-hustle for him rather than a full-time thing. He doesn't see himself doing streaming full-time, either. His personality just doesn't seem suited for it.
Outside of streaming, Alhaitham's interests are simple. He likes to lounge around, so he does exactly that.
Most of the time when you go to his place, Alhaitham is just lazing about. On the sofa, on the lounge chair, on the bed... You name it.
He almost always has his nose buried in a book, and if he doesn't, then he's probably watching a documentary.
He won't admit it, but watching trashy reality TV shows with you is something he looks forward to every time you come over. I daresay he gets more into the plotlines than you do.
Nights with Alhaitham are calm and relaxing. To your surprise, he actually doesn't use his devices in bed, preferring instead to spend the time he has with you.
If you ask him questions like 'would you still love me if i was a worm', he'll react one of two ways:
1) tells you to shut up and sleep
2) engages you in a deep and strangely philosophical conversation until you fall asleep
Overall, 10/10 boyfriend! He won't let streaming or gaming get in the way of your relationship. Alhaitham knows when to give and take.
referenced streamers and youtubers i would watch from time to time (to better understand what goes on during a stream), like zyox, RTgames, etc.
I made it suit the character by considering their personalities when i situated them into games most commonly played
much of what i said in this is rather self indulgent
writing this i was also thinking about yamada-kun lvl 999 and i suppose you can see it in the way alhaitham's a quiet, but good gamer. i think they share many similarities in this sense
was also requested streamer!cyno in another, unposted ask
and another anon had sent in streamer!tighnari hcs themselves.
they were left unposted because april 2023 was a busy month for me with exams and such
Hi! This is not a request or anything, I was just wondering what are your thoughts on Alhaitham and long distance relationships? Would he be the type to break it off before parting (because his logical brain says that's the best option so that things end amicably)? Or do you think he'd want to keep the relationship going (because he'd rather yearn than mourn the relationship)? 👀
In it for the long run
Scenario: Alhaitham and long-distance relationships
wc: 1.6k
tags: slight angst, fluff, underlying miscommunication, alhaitham is whipped
a/n: I KNOW THIS ISN'T A REQUEST BUT I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG I WAS BUSY WITH LIFE ;-;
okay! kind of a weird formatting but tiny drabble at the front and original bullet point hc version at the back! not proofread and kind of rushed but yay!! xin is back and writing alhaitham!! now if only she could write gojo
Break it off?
The words that spill out of your lips almost make him drop his book. He stares at you, ears ringing, eyes focused on your lips as—fuck—you mouth those words again.
You were serious, weren't you?
Heart pounding in his chest, mind hazy with confusion and hurt, all that repeats in the forefront of his mind is a steady stream of why, why, why?
Alhaitham knows he's not the most affectionate boyfriend there is, and the gods only know how much you deserve better than him, but he was under the assumption that he's been doing a good job navigating a relationship with you.
You and he had your ups and downs as all couples do, but open communication had always been an integral part of your relationship. You hadn't shown any sign that you wanted out.
What happened? What changed?
Was this his fault? He knows that becoming the Acting Grand Sage had given him a lot more trouble than he had anticipated, but had he driven you away?
He closes his book, setting it aside. When Alhaitham manages to find his voice, it comes out raspier than usual.
"...Where is this coming from?"
You scratch at your wrist, a nervous tic. He stares at your reddening skin as if it'll give him an answer. It's better than letting himself get caught up in his own mind.
"I just," you stumble, and he pushes away his inner voice that details the hundred and one reasons why he doesn't deserve you. Why it's obvious that you wanted to leave. "It'll be easier on us if we do."
He frowns. There's a you-shaped hole in his chest where you lived, decorated with all the knick-knacks you love. It's sealed in. Cemented, even.
You've long since invaded his life and his mind. A permanent fixture. Easier? "For whom?"
"Huh?"
"What makes you think that separating"—and Archons does that word puts a bad taste in his mouth—"makes things 'easier'? Whatever that even means."
Was this about your research?
"Who put this ridiculous notion in your head?" He asks, chest constricting with an emotion he can't really discern.
"I... did?" you answer him hesitantly. "I don't want to either, but it's just— it'll be rough, Haitham. You'd be in Sumeru and I'd be in Inazuma-"
"It's not that far from here." He lies. It takes a week to get there.
"-and," you ignore his interjection. "You hate stuff that's complicated. A long-distance relationship will be complicated."
You don't elaborate, but Alhaitham knows the implications. He's heard all the horror stories from his time in the Akademiya.
"So... yeah."
Alhaitham stares at you. For once, he doesn't know what to say. Something churns and claws around in the pits of his stomach, and he painfully swallows down the lump in his throat.
"You know that it's for the best," you mutter, voice impossibly tiny. If not for the silence of the room, he would have missed what you said. But it's terribly quiet, and amidst the silence, Alhaitham can hear his own heart crack around the edges.
"No."
He doesn't say it much, but he thought you knew he'd follow you to the ends of the earth if it came down to it. Going long-distance wasn't the end of the world, but losing you? That'd be it for him.
Your head snaps up, eyes wide like you hadn't expected to hear that fall from his lips so decidedly. "What?"
"No." He repeats, biting the inside of his cheek as he glares at you. You didn't get to make this decision without him. Did you really think of him that badly? That he'd leave upon the slightest hiccup?
"Absolutely not. No. No."
"Why?" You ask, grasping for a reason to hold on.
"Because..."
There's a lot of things he could say.
Like that you're the love of his life. The only person he's ever imagined a future with.
He could tell you that he's loved you from the moment you walked through the doors of the Akademiya, from the very second you had looked his way. That he loved you then, and just didn't know it yet. That he loves you now, and will forever.
You've invaded every aspect of his life and made it yours even before he understood what love was. The fruit you love but he hates is always refilled, packed neatly in the fridge. The jackets that you wear are always tossed over the arm of the couch. Next to his collection of coffee beans is your collection of teas.
The memory foam in his room remembers your shape. The pillow you steal from him is bathed in the smell of your shampoo. The sheets that tangle between the both of you when you sleep is soaked in your warmth.
Everything he sees, everything he does, everything he feels... he associates it with you.
There was no before, no after. Only the present and the future.
He could tell you this. In fact, he should be telling you this. God knows how he doesn't say it enough. But you're teary, and you look like you're about to leave, and Alhaitham can't lose you.
"Why, Haitham?"
Because you love him and he loves you. Wasn't that enough?
You having to go away for a year, even a little bit more than that, was nothing in the grand scheme of things. He'd wait for you, even if the sky fell.
"Why?" He repeats, almost letting out a baffled laugh because how were you so smart, so adorable, and yet, still not see?
Why? Because your relationship was stronger than whatever momentary flings the Akademiya scholars were having. Why? Because you and he had built this relationship. Started it from the ground up. Paved a way even against everyone's expectations. And if you were doing this out of consideration of him, you didn't have to.
"Because I'd do anything for you. Even if it means to wait."
Besides, no one said that he couldn't apply for leave.
Okay weird transition point but hi!!!!!!!! this was my original response until my brain said fuck it lets write
Alhaitham would NEVER
Look this man is LOGICAL. Do you know how illogical a relationship can get???
It's my understanding that he AGONISES over deciding to pursue you/not.
So when he finally does?
BET that he already has a 6-month, 2 year, 5 year, 10 year plan mapped out
Binder? No. It's in that big juicy brain of his.
He isn't the most organised okay
The only concrete thing that signaled him even having a plan were tiny post-its and scribbles on random pieces of paper
In fact the disorganisation makes it hard/impossible for you to know until he tells you about it
Anyway
Alhaitham dates you with the intention of marrying you someday.
With his decision to date you came his decision to accept everything you and life would throw at him (within reason)
When you first brought up the possibility of needing to go overseas for a semi-long period of time he didn't even think that breaking up was on the table
It was that outlandish.
So when you randomly spring it up on him one fine day?? You effectively shatter a part of his heart
The both of you have been through so much and you're worried your relationship wouldn't be able to handle the strain?
I mean it's a valid point
But Alhaitham thought you knew better than that.
He rather fight and try and make it last as long as he possibly could than give up without a fight
And he knows you're not doing this for your sake, but his! What's the point if he doesn't want it
Plus
What's stopping him from going to you?
Going to Mondstadt? He can just visit every now and then. It's not that far! Hell, he could live with you and just have his subordinates travel over to hand him any documents
Going to Liyue? Even easier. He can go to you every weekend. It's not that hard to get to Liyue from Sumeru!!
Going to Inazuma? Okay it's a little tougher but who says he can't just buy a waverider
Natlan? Fontaine? Snezhnaya? Fuck it! He'll move over with you!
It's not like he doesn't have paid and unpaid leave.
It's not like he isn't well-off, either. Please, he could always just rent out his properties and get passive income
I would argue that Alhaitham actually has a lot of investment schemes. The man is very financially stable (thats so hot of him)
Just give him a book or two, a peck here and there, and he'll be a happy happy guy
So going with you is definitely a feasible plan! Unless you don't want him to
So yeah! He wouldn't break it off. You'd be the one to suggest it and he'd be the one to strike it down.
Expect a debate where you lose.
And yes he would much rather yearn for you than mourn your loss.
Alhaitham has a lot of faith in himself and especially in you. He trusts you!!
Absence makes the heart grow fonder! He'll just write you tons and tons of letters until you return to him.
A letter for every day you're not with him, if you will. He'll label 'em and send them out a month before so you can slowly open them according to the days of the month
A bunch of inventions were made out of love! Wordle's creator made wordle for his wife, Halstead created surgical gloves for his wife!!
So what's stopping Alhaitham from making you the modern-day cellphone by using his knowledge of the akasha terminal?
Nothing. That's what.
Just let this man love okay
a/n: wow i feel so weird posting my writing again i do not like the jitters,, sorry for any mistakes too! wow its been some time since i've written
written using the tumblr textpost editor. no google document available.
was my response to an ask that was sent in
it was my interpretation of alhaitham as a character. i wanted to show that he's a devoted partner when he settles down with someone he loves
bringing up that he would follow you to the different nations was my way of saying that he would follow you to the end of the earth if it called for it
i also wanted to showcase his panic since he seems very level-headed most of the time
Synopsis: A young Alhaitham becomes a rather unwilling owner to a book.
Word Count: 5.7k
Tags: Alhaitham x afab!Reader, Fluff, (very slight) angst, Character exploration tbh, sort of love at first sight, slow fic (slow burn too), childhood friends! (sort of!), reader and alhaitham are 8 here! timeskip at the end to when they're freshly in uni
a/n: happy birthday to the best scribe !! best boy !!!! okay once again when i say this is slow i mean it ! this honestly feels more character-exploration-y than self-inserty :3
From knowledge-seeking scholars to artisans, the nation of knowledge is home to many. It is also home to an unassuming family-owned library, located in a modest corner of the city-state.
With the decline of physical books over the decades, scholars who were interested enough to seek out hand-held texts were few and far between. The library enjoys the serenity that came with it, but sometimes when it gets quiet, it feels more like a museum.
It’s no matter. Library or museum, it was home to a little eight-year-old prodigy and his grandmother.
Warmth eases into Alhaitham’s skin as he approaches the door, the Adhigma wood smooth under his touch. There’s a weightlessness to his steps as the door swings open for him, chimes of a bell hanging above his head ringing lightly in the clean, spring air. It’s a perfect day outside, but he much prefers the indoors. The smell of old books has never been more comforting.
Alhaitham bounds up the stairs, ignoring the light chatter at the counter, avoiding spots that would make the floorboards creak. It’s easy to slip past the few citizens that were here.
“Haitham, my dear, is that you outside?”
It isn’t, however, easy to slip past his grandmother.
“Yeah,” he calls back, making it up to the last few steps. He makes a mental note to water the potted plants later.
“How was school?” She asks, catching his tiny voice even from behind the walls that were separating them. Her comforting voice trickles out from the front door of their home to the short hallway.
Twisting the brass doorknob, the door opens and shuts behind him. “It was fine.”
The eight-year-old kicks his shoes off, nudging them into a corner.
“Fine?” She questions. He doesn’t have to look at her to know she has a small smile on her face. Alhaitham adjusts his grip on his bag, walking over to where she was sitting on the sofa, her arms open and waiting for him.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, “it was fine.”
“Haitham,” his grandmother chuckles. “My dear, if you’re going to lie, you need to learn how to be a better liar.”
He averts his gaze, suddenly taking interest in a basket of yarn on the coffee table.
“Come here,” she whispers, patting her knee. The quilt that she had been working on now rests at her side. “Tell me how your day really was, my young eagle.”
Alhaitham briefly contemplates lying, but it would be futile. She could always tell. With a resigned sigh, he sets his bag on the floor by her feet.
Routinely, he clambers up to sit on his grandmother’s lap. It’s quiet for a good while as Alhaitham composes himself, his mind rewinding through the day, his mind and body settling in before he finally takes in a deep breath in…
And out.
Like a lit match, flames spark his amber eyes ablaze.
“The Akademiya is boring,” Alhaitham puffs, fueled by all the annoyance one could possibly fit into the body of an eight-year-old. It’s a confession that makes his grandmother’s eyes widen in surprise, a bubble of laughter almost coming out of her.
“Their discussions are all empty. They’re not even talking! They’re just saying words,” he complains, eyes narrowed as he recounts the more unpleasant parts of his day. Alhaitham might have a wide range of vocabulary for his age, but he doesn’t think any word he currently knows could ever adequately describe these people.
It was a horrific thought in and of itself.
“They’re so noisy. How does someone adore the sound of their own voice that much?”
His grandma lets out a hearty laugh as he continues to take issue with his day. From the lecturers to parents and to the curriculum, there’s hardly any stone left unturned by his blunt observations. Even the food that was offered by the Akademiya didn’t go unscathed.
Though, he did like their candied nuts. “That was their only redeeming factor.”
Alhaitham’s grandmother only smiles fondly, eyes crinkling at the sight of her grandson so passionately displeased. For a moment, she allows herself to revel in the idea that her grandson had gone to a typical Sumeruean elementary school, not the Akademiya, and hated it.
“So I assume you didn’t have fun?”
Immediately, he shakes his head.
“I see.” And Alhaitham thinks this would be the last of it. She’d send him on his merry way back to his books and he’d try to forget any of this ever happened.
Instead, a foreboding sense of dread sinks into the pits of his stomach as he catches that look on his grandmother’s face. That one, where her brows pinch together. Where they soften and they sadden and make him feel like he’s being choked with the palpable worry that emanates off her.
“Did you make any friends?” Grandmother nudges him, a twinge of concern in her eyes. As much as she tries to maintain a neutral, almost positive tone of voice, Alhaitham can hear the slight quiver.
Alhaitham shifts uncomfortably, toes curling and unfurling. He knows what this is about.
“The researchers brought their kids for the trial today. Some of them are your age,” she prompts. “Did you manage to talk to any of them?”
Framing it as a talk was a rather tame way of putting things into perspective. He wouldn’t exactly classify any conversation he’s had today as a nice talk, especially when a good portion of them contained thinly-veiled disdain behind half-hearted condolences.
It’s either ‘It’s such a pity that your parents…’ or ‘I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine leaving my son/daughter behind!’ or ‘I hope you aren’t giving your grandmother much trouble. It must be so tough for her!’ or some other variation. The adults led the charge, their children unwitting accomplices.
Pathetic, really. Alhaitham doesn’t particularly like to dwell on it, but it’s clear to him that it’s a rather contentious topic with his grandmother. As he had just complained, the scholars were a noisy bunch. If even he knew about it, the things they must be saying to his grandmother must be far worse.
Alhaitham wants to scream. To resoundingly say No! To, perhaps, explain to his grandmother that nothing’s wrong. He’s fine. It’s not the most conventional childhood, he understands, but it’s fine. He’s fine. He doesn’t need friends, much less make friends with those at the Akademiya today. He just wants to read, and he’s happy as long as he’s with her.
But then he remembers a toothy grin. A phantom touch. A new book in his bag that he’s never read before.
And he falters.
“N-No.”
“No?” Grandmother raises a brow. “Are you sure, Haitham?” She chuckles, fingers tracing his warm cheeks. It’s kind of ticklish. “You didn’t make any friends?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why are you so pink?”
He scrambles off the sofa, off of her lap. “I’m not,” he sputters, picking up his bag. It’s abnormally heavier than how it was minutes ago. “It’s just hot out. I’ll be returning to my room to rest now, goodbye.”
“Haitham—”
He’s off, shutting the door to his room behind him.
Standing in the middle of his bedroom, fingers clutching onto the straps of his bag so tightly that his knuckles turn white, Alhaitham bites down on his inner cheek. Bringing his bag to his front, he unclasps it. Barely a whisper of a rustle sounds in the silence of his room, but for little Alhaitham, it’s practically an earthquake.
His heart pounds in his ears. His eyes shift towards the door, looking to see if his Grandmother would check on him. Thankfully, he doesn’t hear anything. No shuffling, no soft creak of the floorboards.
When only silence ensues, he tentatively pulls out what was carefully slotted between his book and his lunchbox. He doesn’t know why he feels so jittery. It was just a deep blue hardcover book.
It’s pretty, he’ll admit. Fancy. Like one of those books that belonged in his grandmother’s library. Or on display on a shelf, left to be admired by all. Silver and gold embossing glimmer under the watchful rays of what little daylight was left. Thumbing over the cover, he opens it up, staring at the neat letters printed on each side.
It’s of excellent quality, too. Alhaitham’s been around books long enough to know how to tell. The bookbinding was exquisite, the printing even more so. Judging from the binding glue, he thinks it was probably an old book, made a year, or two, back–
“Haitham?”
The book flies to the far end of his room.
“Yes?” He almost squeaks.
“Are you hungry? Would you like me to make something for you–”
“No! I’m fine.”
He can hear a non-committal hum coming from the living room, followed by a rest well, then. I’ll wake you for dinner. Alhaitham doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there, heart palpitating like he’s on a sugar rush.
His grandmother couldn’t find out. If she did, he’d never hear the end of it. Shaking his head as if it could shake the thoughts out of his mind, he moves to find the book, finding it sitting in his laundry basket pitifully. There were no scratches, no folds, having been cushioned by the padded cloth.
At least I missed the bin… But what was he to do now? The thought of throwing the book out, never to be seen again, flashes across his mind.
He wasn’t sentimental by any means, but— “We’re friends now!” —you obviously shouldn’t throw away a book. What kind of heathen does that?
That’s what Alhaitham tells himself as he clicks his tongue, pulling the thick book back out of the basket and against his chest. No, he wasn’t doing it for the little voice that had rooted itself inside his head. No, the same voice absolutely did not make a home in the space within his skull, either!
The mattress bounces when the young boy slumps down on his bed. Alhaitham falls back on his back, taking the book with him as he stares up at the ceiling. The imperfect edges, the slightest furled-in corners… signs of a well-loved book were there. Idly, he fiddles with the purple tassel of the bookmark still left within.
For all his complaints about the Akademiya, this was the one period of the day that he couldn’t find fault with. He could appreciate the fact that there was another reader like him out there.
But what am I going to do with this?
Young, Alhaitham doesn’t quite understand the warmth in his chest or the erratic uptick of his heart rate, but he does understand the calm that comes with his decision to keep the book. Your bookmark was placed barely before the halfway point. It would simply be too much of a shame if you couldn’t finish it.
“Hi!”
Alhaitham jerks, his elbow knocking into the rough trunk of the tree he was leaning against. He hisses. Immersed in his reading, he hadn’t noticed the arrival of another. Looking up from his book, Alhaitham clicks his tongue and pulls his knees closer to himself as his eyes squint against the bright sunlight, trying to figure out who was disturbing the peace he had carved out for himself in the Akademiya.
He had spent some time finding this spot. How did someone already find him? As far as he remembers, the vast majority of staff at the Akademiya weren’t that competent.
Against the glare of the sun, he couldn’t really make out their face. Was he about to be brought back?
“What are you reading?” The shadow cast over him hums, the silhouette of a person shifting. Alhaitham still can’t see them properly, so he resorts to simple deductions. A high-pitched voice and a smaller-than-average shadow length? You were another child in the gardens of the Akademiya, just like he was.
The real question was: Which one?
On account of recruiting new talents into the Akademiya, days like these where the children of researchers and faculty are brought into the Akademiya for lessons, are held on a yearly basis.
While some promising prospects were indeed selected this way, it’s also obvious how a large majority of those brought here were just being used for their parents’ bragging rights. The classrooms were filled with children of all ages. In Alhaitham’s opinion, they were too noisy, too loud, and too unwilling to accept that they might be wrong. Their parents, too.
He doesn’t exactly think that nepotism should be something to be so proud of in the land of knowledge, but to each their own.
Ah. He was going off-topic. The real question was, were you one of them?
From the way you’re excitedly exclaiming, it doesn’t seem so. Alhaitham doesn’t remember seeing you in his class, but you could have been in one of the others.
“That’s a Kshahrewar book!”
He clicks his tongue when you lean in closer. “Keep your voice down. And it’s none of your business.”
You ignore him. Your face becomes clearer now that you’re trying to catch a glimpse of the prose he’s reading, hair falling messily down your shoulders. Alhaitham breathes in, and you smell faintly of cookies and flowers. His eyes flit over to the resized book bag hanging off your arm, full of flowers from the nearby gardens. It’s easy to recognise them as Padisarahs. There were Sumeru Roses and lotuses, as well.
“Woah, you understand all of this?” You fawn, resting your chin on your knee as your eyes flickered through a page full of intricate formulae and wording. Alhaitham doesn’t know what to do when you look back up at him, expecting an answer. It’s the first time he’s had someone his age show so much interest in what he was reading.
So he simply nods.
Your eyes practically sparkle, with genuine excitement. “That’s really cool!”
He shifts closer to the tree he was leaning up against, looking back down at his book. Bangs falling across his face, he hopes the warmth on his cheeks wasn’t alluding to any type of innate bodily reaction.
“...It’s elementary.”
“Is that supposed to be a quote?” You clap, bunny-hopping closer to him. The grass tickles his feet as he moves away in surprise, but you don’t falter. Your bag of flowers gets placed on the grass, the shade of the tree enveloping you the closer you got. “Do you read Sherlock, too?”
“What?”
“Sherlock!” He watches in horror as you simply invite yourself into his space, plopping down to sit cross-legged right next to him. “He says it all the time to his Watson!”
“Watson?”
“It’s a character.” This time, it’s your turn to click your tongue. Though you sounded miffed that he didn’t recognise the story, your eyes twinkled with excitement. Strangely, he thinks that maybe if he got a closer look, he might actually see some stars in them. “He and Sherlock solve mysteries together! In some of them, there are murders! It’s a super cool series!”
Alhaitham simply stares at you. He… definitely heard that right.
“Aren’t you too young to read books like that? You’re, what? Six?” Now, he was a quirky child himself, but he’s pretty sure if he were to be found reading stuff like that this young, his grandmother would take away his reading privileges for at least a week.
“Eight!” You correct with a puff, and Alhaitham can’t stop the upturn of his lips at the pout on your face. “And I am old enough! Mama bought me the censored version after I stole the original, so it’s fine.”
“Sure you are—Wait,” he pauses, “You stole a—”
“Anyway,” you cut him off, “what are you learning? It looks fun!”
“You wouldn’t understand.” But the way you’re peering over his arm, staring at the pages as if the formulae could come to life, makes him think otherwise.
“Mmm, maybe.” You tuck your hands between your calves, leaning forward. “But can you tell me anyway?”
“And if I say no?”
“That’s fine,” you hum, unbothered. Toothy grin still bright and blinding. “I’ll just sit here and read.”
“Can you do it somewhere else?” He can’t help but bite, watching you pour out your various array of flowers. He did find this spot himself. The sun was still high in the sky, which was to say, there was a long way to go before the day officially ends. He didn’t really want to have to find another spot and risk getting caught.
“No. I like this spot, thank you very much.” You stick your tongue out at him childishly, “I come here all the time! You’re the one that should leave.”
The young boy considers the suggestion, a pensive look on his face.
“I was kidding!” You yelp, watching him mark and close his book, ready to up and leave with his own school bag in tow. “You can stay!”
Brows furrowed, he asks, “Why would I?”
“Huh? You don’t wanna be friends?” You ask, eyes suddenly shimmery. Like a puppy’s. Fists clenching, Alhaitham feels a strange pang in his chest.
What was it? His textbooks said something about heart murmurs, right? Maybe he should go to the Bimarstan to check it out.
“Don’t you find it lonely?” You continue, the heels of your palm digging into the dirt below you as you stare at him. It’s almost like you can see right through him, and Alhaitham doesn’t know what to think. Or feel. Or do.
“…Why would I find it lonely?”
“Well,” you make a gesture at him. “You’re clearly here for the trial lessons. You mustn’t have any friends if you’re here instead of class.”
“Who-“ he chokes, finding himself growing defensive, “Who says I don’t have friends?!”
You stare at him, cocking your head to the side.
“Do you?”
…
……
………
The silence is almost sad.
“What does it matter?” He huffs, breaking eye contact first as he settles back against the trunk of the tree. The spine of his book falls open on a marked page. He’ll stay, if only out of spite.
Seeing that you may have just hit a sore sport, you back off with an awkward apology.
You don’t speak much afterwards. It’s a weird thing. You’re a weird thing. Person. Child. Whatever. Alhaitham just doesn’t know what to think of you!
Impassively, he sinks back against the tall tree trunk, holding his book almost at eye level, rather than having it set on his lap. It wasn’t that you had touched a sore spot, it’s just… No matter how much you didn’t initially care, or how much you tell people you don’t, if it’s constantly being repeated by those around you (and even by the ones you do happen to care about), then it’s bound to grate on some thinly-worn nerves.
Yeah, ha-ha-ha. Alhaitham doesn’t have any friends. Very funny. At this point, he doesn’t even know if it’s out of choice or if it’s due to circumstance. He just tries not to think about it too much.
Through tiny, small peeks over the top of his book, he watches you as you hunker down and set up shop. It’s a strange way to pass time: A tiny pair of scissors is clenched between your fingers as you carefully shave off the thorns on the flowers and cut the stems of the flowers. There was a number to go through.
Maybe the fact that he hasn’t moved from the same page tips you off, because the next time he looks over, you’re staring right back at him with knitted brows and pursed lips.
Alhaitham shoots up, readjusting himself against the trunk of the tree. “I was not staring at you.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“It’s my answer in case you were wondering,” he retorts. “So you wouldn’t have to make any dumb guesses.”
“Guesses?” You mirror, slowly raising your fist to point at him. The flower you were holding sways around in the wind. “You were staring!”
“You’re seeing things,” he defends, picking up his neglected book. “Just be quiet while I’m reading.”
There’s a gasp and soft grumbling, and Alhaitham ignores you in favour of his book, looking at the passage he’s been skipping over for the past five minutes. A twinge of guilt stings him for being so rude since you hadn’t done much other than sit down and mind your own business. He expects you to walk away, they all do, but nothing of that sort happens.
The silence eventually returns, and — he’s not looking over his book this time! — he spots you in his peripherals dumping out the remaining contents in your bag, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Chubby fingers open a container full of what looked to be white sand, and his curiosity is piqued when you toss in the bunch of flowers you had just cut. Alhaitham watches silently as you shake the container out and secure the lid tightly over it. The cut stems of the flowers you had used are placed into a handkerchief, wrapped, and tossed back inside your bag. It’s methodological.
A thick book is pulled out shortly after. Alhaitham doesn’t really recognise it, but judging from the intricate details, the gold embellishments shimmering under the watchful eye of the afternoon sun, he thinks it might be some kind of well-known novel.
Under the shade of the tree, you settle yourself into the space near him. Despite his standoffish behaviour, you seem unbothered. Normally, the other kids would turn the other way, leaving him alone, but you don’t.
Frankly, Alhaitham doesn’t quite know what to do with that information. This seems to be a recurring theme today, so he resolves to do nothing.
A peaceful smile wiggles its way up your face as you open your book and begin reading. You’re doing a much better job than he is, clearly, since you actually manage to make it past a page.
It’s tough, and he’s hyperaware of your presence, and he gets distracted easily by the most mundane things, but he eventually follows suit.
As long as he can ignore how his heart is practically beating away in his ears, he finds the situation he’s in to be quite nice. There’s no incessant chatter, no unwanted comments, and no tugging at his book. It’s serene. Peaceful.
For a moment he allows himself to wonder if this was what friendship was.
He doesn’t even realise he’s staring at you until you say something.
“Do you want some?” You suddenly ask, catching him again.
This time he holds down the stare, his mind blanking as you shuffle closer to him with your lunch box. He’s unable to look away from you, and the silence in his mind makes his heart thud thunderously in panic.
“Baba and I made them this morning,” you tell him seriously, uncapping the box. The sight of the food hits him before the fragrant aroma does. “We can share!”
Although his first reaction is to decline, maybe finally take this as a sign to squash his curiosity and finally stop looking over, the growl in his stomach makes itself known.
“You’re hungry,” you innocently point out, and his cheeks warm though you sound more concerned than you are teasing. Holding a golden-brown samosa towards him, you look at him expectantly.
He reluctantly takes it and takes a nibble out of it.
Alhaitham expected this day to be insightful. If not, boring. He hadn’t ever considered that he’d be eating with someone of the same age all while hiding from the teachers at the Akademiya.
As his books suggest, life does have a funny way of doing things.
“Thank you,” he says after another bite, almost forgetting his manners. You merely beam at him, showing him a grin where one of your bottom teeth was missing. “It’s very good.”
“Delicious, right?” You practically jump in joy. “I made some of them allllll by myself!”
“Really?”
“Mhm!”
He plays along. “No wonder some of them look weird.”
The comment runs off like water down a duck’s back. “You just said it was good, so no take-backsies!”
And with that, Alhaitham determines that you’re likeable. Few people could understand his jokes, and it appears as though you’re in that minority. As a gesture of kinship, he remembers his Grandmother’s words and pulls out his own lunchbox, revealing tightly packed Pita Pockets from this morning.
“Huh?”
He holds it out towards you.
“We can share,” he says shyly, trying (and failing) to will his blush away.
You’re quick to react, enthusiastically sitting in front of him with your lunch box, exchanging Samosas and wraps for Pita Pockets and Baklava. You even let him have a sip of your chai, and he returns the favour by letting you try some of his tea.
“...What book are you reading?” Alhaitha asks quietly. He braces himself for a swift rejection, maybe an annoyed click of the tongue, but it doesn’t come. Instead, you babble on about your book. He’s right, it’s a novel.
Holding a conversation with you is strikingly easy. The banter is lighthearted and your exchanges with him are witty. Alhaitham can’t think of another conversation where he’s had so much fun.
“So what’s with the flowers?” Alhaitham finally asks, comfortable on only his second samosa.
“Oh,” you dust your hands off. Leaning back, you pull the contraption in question out and show it to him. “I’m drying them! Baba taught me how to make bookmarks with flowers!”
You even pluck out the bookmark in your book, showing it off to him. Similar flowers that you had been cutting earlier were embedded in the clear resin. It was pretty neat, but also showed signs that it was made by an amateur hand. “See? Cute, right?”
He hums, and his impromptu picnic with you continues. He comes to find that the reason why you’re here was that you were waiting for your mother, who was a professor here.
He’s not quite sure how much time has passed, but even as the sun is still high in the sky, young Alhaitham doesn’t want the day to end. Besides, his riveting conversation with you had been cut short when you had decided to take a cat nap, curled up and asleep against the tree.
Trying to be as discreet and quiet as possible, Alhaitham sets his book aside for a moment. He shuffles over to clasp your lunch box shut.
Didn’t his grandmother tell him to make friends? He hasn’t made it any further than five pages after your arrival, but he believes that this would be a good start to an amicable relationship. The bell signalling the end of the day at the Akademiya would soon ring, and by then, he expects to wake you up and exchange names. It’ll be a peaceful affair. He even thinks about inviting you to his grandmother’s library. Perhaps you’d find a book of your liking.
“Oh!”
But you jerk up instead, hair tussled and messy. Your bleary eyes are frantic as you take in the subsequent ringing of bells. Alhaitham blinks at you as you rush around, patting your skirt down, fumbling with your wares, and eventually standing to your full height.
“Where are you—”
“I’m late,” you fret, spinning around to leave. You sprint off, leaving him in the dust, coming and leaving like a tornado without so much as a word. Alhaitham swallows down a knot of disappointment in his throat.
“Ah!”
He looks up, expecting to see you having fallen, or something. Instead, you’re running back to him.
“What—”
You slam into him, falling over him in a heap in a tackle.
“I forgot to say bye!” You exclaim, reaching up to hug him tightly. Alhaitham sputters, shocked, and coughs a little when you pat his back with a little too much strength. “We’re friends now, okay? Bye-bye!”
Climbing off and standing back up again, you wave at him as you run off. “See you next time!”
“Wait!” He finally yells, remembering something only when you’re a good distance away. “We don’t even know each other’s—names…”
It’s too late. You made haste, running off before Alhaitham could do anything. It isn’t until he decides to return home that he realises you weren’t all too careful in packing.
A navy book sat on the grass, now ownerless.
Knock, knock, knock.
Alhaitham ducks under his covers, pulling them over his head as he holds the book close to his chest. He grips it with such intensity that he has to remind himself to loosen up lest he damages the book.
“Haitham?” He hears his grandmother say softly, and part of him begins to relax.
“Yes?”
The bed dips under her weight, and he feels a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Would you like to study at the Akademiya? You can tell me the truth.”
“I don’t like the Akademiya,” he blurts honestly. “If I have to study, I rather do it at home. It’s too restrictive there.”
“Did you really hate the Akademiya that much?” She mumbles, more to herself than to him. He simply shrugs under her touch. After a few seconds of silence, she speaks again. “I see. That’s alright. You know I’ll always support your decisions.”
“You don’t have to go for the trial lesson tomorrow,” she tells him. “I’ll pull you out, okay?”
“Okay,” he nods from underneath the blanket. He feels his grandmother press a kiss to the top of his head through the cloth, and later, the door closes.
Wait.
He sits up abruptly, clutching the book.
If she was going to pull him out of the class tomorrow, how would he return your book?!
Oh, no, no, no!
A yellowed bookmark is pinched between Alhaitham’s fingers, the resin holding its shape and form as he spins it slowly, like how it's done for the last decade. The purple tassel hanging off it is frayed at the ends. It’s old, but Alhaitham takes great care in maintaining its condition.
At first glance, one might not expect the boy, now man, to own something like this. It’s amateur, with the rough edges still marked with rough sanding. Not fit for someone of his status, they’d say. But Alhaitham was never one to care about these things. There’s something endearing about the bookmark that he can’t quite put his finger on.
Alhaitham never managed to find you. Be it due to his own reluctance to seek help from his grandmother, or through his own feelings of inadequacy, his infrequent returns to the Akademiya as a child were always fruitless. You had disappeared without so much as a trace left behind. The only thing that proved to him that you weren’t a figment of his imagination was your book. Your bookmark.
You were right on one front, he did come to enjoy the books you suggested, even going so far as to finish, and purchase for himself, a collection. He had even finished that thick, navy book of yours. It was a good read and was currently locked up at home behind a glass cabinet, waiting to be returned to you.
If you ever came back, that was.
The chatter of the class on his first day at the Akademiya is almost mind-numbing. there were so many bright-eyed scholars, thirsty for knowledge. But with the widespread use of the Akasha terminal, Alhaitham can already predict how this was about to go.
Alhaitham sits at the front, in a corner, hoping to be away from the bulk of the noise coming from the back. He’s been better at confronting his feelings over the decade. The seat next to him is empty, and he’d like to keep it that way.
But of course, the Archons loved to spit in his face. There’s a tiny hum behind him, and a bag being dropped into the chair next to him. Where once he’d be bothered and shift away, or even shoot them a look, Alhaitham doesn’t even look up now, his eyes trained on his book.
He sighs, flipping to the next page when he feels a tap on his shoulder. What now? Couldn’t he have a moment of silence? Alhaitham tries ignoring it, but the tapping grows more incessant.
Shaking his head, he turns to look at the one disturbing his peace. Exchange names, and move on, he tells himself. There was no point in being rude to someone that likely just wanted to familiarise themselves with the class, even if…!
“You–!”
“Uh-huh.”
There was no mistaking it. It’s you. The same nose, the same eyes… Your hair is longer and you’ve clearly grown, but it’s you.
And from the looks of it, you recognise him, too.
Your eyes sparkle like how they did when you were both younger, and Alhaitham swears his heart skips like how it did a decade before. In a teasing lilt, you sing, “Hello, book thief.”
A dumbfounded laugh escapes him, his cheeks almost hurting from the smile it was being stretched into.
“Thief?” he chuckles. He’s not sure why he even thought you wouldn’t recognise him. There weren’t that many grey-haired scholars his age in Sumeru. “You made me a librarian.”
“That sure is a nice term for theft,” you shoot back, but you’re holding back a laugh, too. You haven’t lost that spark.
“Hand it over, Alhaitham.”
His name rolls off your tongue so naturally that it sends shivers down his spine, the hair on his arms standing.
“You know my name but I don’t know yours,” he muses, leaning forward with your bookmark hostage. “That’s quite unfair, isn’t it?”
“Then why don’t you take me out for coffee?” He swallows at your words, surprised by your bluntness. He barely notices the professor walking in. “I can get my book, and you can get my name.”
He exhales, hiding a smile. That wasn’t a fair exchange at all, but after ten years, who cared?
“Puspa Cafe, after class.” He whispers, handing you your bookmark as the professor starts giving out instructions.
“I do hope that you won’t disappear on me for another decade.”
a/n: man i lost motivation writing this so many times. it was supposed to go in another direction but then i switched it and now my brain is all swirly whirly .-.
i made a lot of his characterisation as a child pretty (?) subtle so !! have fun figuring out how i hc him!
i kept listening to wonder girls while writing this
[The Art of Words]
Alhaitham x gn!Reader | wc: 0.9k | Tags: Modern au! Set in university! Fluff
A/N: this was meant to be like 5 lines long. i got very carried away.
alhaitham! who has always kept a palm-sized journal with him wherever he goes. the yellowed, weathered paper has seen better days, but they're comfortable and they are his.
alhaitham!!! who loves to write. the margins of the tough books he reads are littered with complex annotations, but if you dig a little deeper, you'd find scribbled prose that described the world a little too well.
alhaitham! who surprises everyone by going into language! everyone always thought he'd go to medicine/law, especially with those stellar grades of his
linguistics major alhaitham! who first meets you at a cafe on campus. he's reading thoughtfully and tagging the pages just right, but gets distracted when he hears a gasp right next to him and - 'oh! that's my favourite author!'
linguistics major alhaitham! who merely grunts at your enthusiasm, but your one innocent question about his current book instigates a discussion. he never intended to give you more than a minute worth of his time, but a minute turns into two, then five, and blends in with the hours as he buys you another cup of tea. talking to you is easy, like a puzzle piece finally clicked into place.
Huh.
linguistics major alhaitham! who doesn't quite want the day to end. you don't, either, but life can be as cruel as it is beautiful. he has a class, and you have a consultation booked.
don't worry! before he leaves, alhaitham purchases a bag of cookies and tea leaves at the counter while you're in the restroom. he slips a piece of paper, torn from his well-loved journal, into the bag, and sets it right on top of your closed laptop
linguistics major alhaitham! is secretly a romantic.
meeting you at the cafe soon becomes routine. it even evolves. invitations of talking about books over coffee slowly morphs into invitations to your abode for a movie. as much as linguistics major alhaitham loves analysing highly-accredited literary movies, he finds that he likes challenging you in mario kart, too.
the reality tv programs that play are... interesting, as well.
haitham invites you to his favourite bookshops around the city when you tell him you're searching for a particular book. the days once spent alone were now spent with you as he explores the city with you tucked against his side.
linguistics major alhaitham! likes objective facts. facts like how the sun is in the sky, how the waves of the sea will crash against land, and how when he runs, he feels the wind against his face. they are worldly laws, not a matter of happenstance; a natural state of progression.
so when alhaitham develops feelings for you, he's not at all surprised. he thinks that from the day he met you, it was bound to happen.
linguistics major alhaitham! writes you love poems because it's 'the only ways he'll get poem-writing practice in for his writing electives'. you receive one every week, without fail.
it's a silent push and pull whenever you and haitham meet, the both of you dancing back and forth the fine line of friendship and the possibility of something more.
it's a line that haitham is determined to cross. eventually.
for now, he bides his time.
"Hey."
You twist around, blinking at him once before taking a glance at your watch. A pout appears on your face. "You're late."
"I'm aware," he hums, offering you his arm. "Ready?"
You swat his bicep.
"Hm?"
"Not so fast, Haitham." Palm open, outstretched towards him, you make a grabby motion. Ah. He knows what you're after.
"I'm afraid I can only understand you if you use words."
Your eyes twinkle with what Alhaitham thinks must be stars.
"My poem," you request. Then, coyly, "Or did you forget?"
How could he ever?
"Someone's eager..." Alhaitham opens his book bag, unable to hide the fond smile on his face as you nose your way in to look. Your eyes take in his penmanship, tracing every curve of every letter, every space between each word. Suddenly,
Try as he might, it still unnerves him when you read his work.
"Good?" He asks, clearing his throat.
"Mm," you nod, and Alhaitham thinks he sees a flush across your cheeks. "It's very good."
Paper now in hand, you keep it securely in your purse, hiding it away in a zipped compartment to be read again in the comfort of your room.
"Haitham?"
He carries your purse. "Yes?"
"What if someone already bought the book?"
The story itself isn't a rare find by any means, given the many times the story has been redone. What made it difficult was finding the particular design you wanted. That had gone out of print a long while back.
"I doubt so," he answers swiftly. It's akin to looking for a needle in a haystack. The book might be rare to find, but it's even rarer to find someone that knows of the version you wanted. Besides, "We can just talk them into giving it to you. I'm sure they'll agree."
"How are you so sure?"
Because I still have one last poem to give to you. And forgive him, but a beautiful edition deserved beautiful prose. Alhaitham was still penning it into the front matter of the very book you had so desperately wished to find.
He had inadvertently found the book while going through his late-grandmother's collection. It was dusty, but in good shape. You would love the book well, just as how his late-grandmother would have wanted.
It would be an honour for you to be its new owner.
"Call it intuition."
He just needed a bit more time.
A/N: i tried a new way of styling my writing :> if i get it down i might be able to write more because writing this way feels easier + faster but we'll see how it goes
i simply wanted to write a university au with Alhaitham where courting and a cafe date was involved
this was in my 2nd semester of university and i had plans to take a linguistics class (which i am currently taking), so taking that + the fact that he's from haravatat, alhaitham was made a linguistics major
Was also trying a new way of writing (a new style) because I wanted to be able to put out fics more often
Both him and reader were made to love books. I included the part about his grandmother because i wanted it to relate back to canon
Summary: Mornings are a pain, aren't they? So let Alhaitham hold you for just five more minutes, won't you?
Word Count: 1.3k
Tags: Fluff, Slight Crack, Established relationship (reader x husband!alhaitham), very slight spoilers for the archon quest + his story quest
A/N: i can't get alhaitham out of my brain honestly
“Haitham, habibi, let go…”
“Mmnh… Not yet…”
“The sun’s already up. I’ll be late if you don’t let me go, Haitham…”
There’s no life to your words; anyone would be just as unenthused about having to go to work. You're not a stranger to the way you just want to melt back into the bed and ignore your responsibilities, especially when you had work and he, didn't.
Though, it seems like he's upset about that fact, too. Your weak complaints barely even make it into Alhaitham's ears with how tightly he’s hugging you against him. They're muffled against the flesh of his skin as he holds you like one would a beloved stuffed toy. Either he's sleeping deeply, or he's outright ignoring you in favour of holding you a little while longer.
With his arm acting as your pillow and your legs tangled beneath the sheets, you’ve honestly never felt more comfortable in your life. The air was light and cool, and the silk sheets felt heavenly on your skin. Truthfully, you still weren’t too sure if you were awake or if this was all just a dream. It’s been rather disorienting after the truth of the use of the Akasha terminals had come to light.
Eyes still bleary with sleep, you struggle to catch a glimpse of your lover past the shadows of the muscles that were caging you in. All you manage to catch is the way that the sunlight was filtering through your windows. Past your curtains and into the room, they bathe your shared bedroom in a soft morning glow. You can’t see it, but you can feel the rays that lap at your skin and his, mimicking the warmth of melted butter and lightly toasted marshmallows and everything good and well in this world.
“Five more…” you hear him mumble, arms tightening around you as he pulls you even closer towards him. The smell of his body wash is nothing short of home. “God, just five more minutes…”
It didn’t sound like he was talking to you. His eyes were barely even open. A clingy Alhaitham was something you hadn’t expected when you had first begun dating, but you weren’t about to complain. It was endearing. Sweet. If you didn’t have work, you’d melt back into his embrace and mould yourself against him in an instant.
“I have work, Haitham.”
“So?”
Spoken like a true linguist.
“Not all of us can escape it as easily as you can,” you mumble, trying to fight him off amidst the haze of your mind.
It’s a pathetic attempt. Between your heavy limbs and your desire to stay in for just a little while longer, all you manage to do is run a palm across his broad shoulders, lightly patting at his biceps in hopes that he did the work instead of poor, sleepy you. He doesn’t. He cages you in and locks you down. Alhaitham does shift, but only to roll on top of you. To trap you underneath him, pinning you down with his weight.
As much as you like to complain, the weight of him is more of a comfort than a hindrance.
“Don’t go in,” he mumbles, lips moving against the pulse of your neck as he inhales deeply. The hair on your skin stands, and you squirm at the brush of air against the slope of your neck. “They haven’t accepted my resignation yet, have they? Tell them I allowed it.”
That makes you laugh a little. You can even feel a corner of his lip quirk up when you do.
“Are you abusing your authority?”
“If Azar could do it, why can’t I?” He says, always quick with his words. They’re raspy and soft in your ear, filled with unadulterated affection. He noses into your neck. “It’s not like I’m trying to build a God.”
“Yeah, you’re trying to flatten me instead.”
You hear him grumble atop you. “No I’m not.”
Resigned to your fate, you stay still for a while more, content to be drifting in and out of consciousness. There wasn’t much to do today, anyway. Coming in a little later than usual would be fine. If your hard-working lover wanted five more minutes, who were you not to give him that temporary period of peace?
You’re not sure how long you’ve been laying there, but eventually, you hear Alhaitham’s breathing start to even out.
So you nudge him.
“What?” He grumbles, voice laced with sleep. Almost like a disgruntled child, Alhaitham buries his face deeper against you as you tap his arm weakly once more.
“I’m serious. I need to go to work. It's been five minutes.”
“No.”
“Haitham.”
“I’ll cover for you.” You can hear his hand patting around the bed, searching yours out, interlinking your fingers when he’s successful. His lips brush over your collarbone as they begin peppering sloppy kisses against the exposed skin, clustering them over one spot. “Won’t get you in trouble. Promise.”
He squeezes your hand, lifting his head just enough to catch your eye.
“Stay in with me for the day?”
Well... He asked really nicely.
Arms moving to wrap around his back, it’s your turn to pull him close before sleep could whisk you away once more.
Extra:
The house is flooded with the aroma of spices, simmering meat, and caramelised onions.
You wake to an empty bed, the sun high up in the sky. Whatever warmth that once lingered on the other side of the bed was now gone; replaced. You’d never understand how he always manages to get out of the most convoluted positions without waking you up in the process.
“Haitham?” You call out. His earpieces are still on the bedside table and the curtains were still drawn. You can hear the stove turn off, just rooms away from you. Just barely, there’s the sound of utensils being set down and crockery being moved.
Rubbing your eyes as you slip out of bed, you stumble out of the bedroom. Sleep still beckons you into her loving embrace, but you fight against it to find your husband in the kitchen.
“Habibti,” you hear him greet just somewhere in front of you, as you bumble your way towards him. It smelled delicious. A few dishes are already set on the dining table.
“Careful,” he whispers, pulling, and tucking you into his chest. Soaking in his warmth feels like being set in an oven, a non-existent timer ticking down to the second you’d inevitably have to part. Until then, you live in the moment and enjoy what life has to offer. What Haitham has to offer.
And he has so much.
Little symbols are traced into your back, letters spelling words in different languages that you’ve learnt were variations of mine, mine, mine.
“Don’t go falling back asleep on me now,” he croons, lightly poking you when he notices your eyes starting to droop. “It’s almost one in the afternoon.”
Had you slept for that long?
His fingers pause.
“Love?”
“Hmm?”
“Why aren’t you at work?”
“You told me to stay in with you,” you mumble, reluctantly pulling away to look up at him. Messy grey bangs frame his face, and you brush them aside.
His eyes twinkle with affection; and mirth.
“Hm. Did I?”
It takes a while for his words to settle in, but when they do, panic seizes your chest upon the thought that you might have really dreamt that up. You jerk away from him, adrenaline thrumming through your veins as you grip his arms.
The facade breaks. His lips curl up.
Alhaitham laughs at your expression, squeezing your side and pulling you in despite your silent protests to press his lips to the crown of your head. “I’m kidding. I had a letter sent in just now.”
You smack his arm. “It’s not funny!”
“It’s pretty funny,” he pecks your temple. “Brush your teeth and join me for lunch. I made your favourites.”
A/N: i don't think its possible for me to ever shut up about alhaitham anymore
Wasn't really inspired by anything. I wrote this on a whim because I wanted early morning domestic fluff
Written on google docs, subsequently transferred to tumblr
Document history + partial timestamps:
i like writing about food and cooking because i think of it as a love language
it's important to me, so sometimes i make it important to my characters, too. i think food in asian cultures is also very central when it comes to relationships
Summary: Alhaitham always imagined a future with you in it.
Word Count: 0.3k
Warnings: major character death, angst, female reader, pregnancy
A/N: I dunno why it is that whenever i get stressed and my heart does the badum-badumps i like writing angst :<< Here's a little drabble based off a thought I had a few weeks ago about the after hours couple. Can be read as a standalone.
To clarify that this is NOT a continuation of after hours! It's just an au of that couple! Don't worry they are safe they are happy this is just a what if
Alhaitham was not one for baseless dreams, but when it's confirmed that you're pregnant, he dreams. He imagines countless beautiful scenarios he could build, a million or more memories he wanted, and would, share with you.
Alhaitham thinks - and feels - many things. When he sees the home that you and he have made, his chest warms with pride and adoration. This is where you'd spend the rest of your life with him. This is where he'd devote his entirety to you.
Building a family here is not half bad, if he might say so himself. His mind conjures images of you and him and a bundle of joy in the nursery he built. He imagines future nights spent pacifying a fussy baby, the countless diaper changes, the disrupted sleep; but there's no dread that settles deep in his bones, only anticipation. Navigating a new world is worth it because it's with you.
Early on, he already imagines early mornings with a tot attached to his hip, helping him make pancakes to surprise you in bed. In the springs to come, the tiny hand of his tot would hold onto a similarly sized stalk of flowers as they toddle next to him, on their way to surprise you at work. His mornings will be spent preparing them for school with you, bumbling around as he tries his best to get his child's pigtails right. Nights will be accompanied by the vast stories he's accumulated since birth, all while tucking his child in, with you.
You, you, you.
You had his heart in your palms, his mind wrapped around your finger. You consume his thoughts. You were his everything.
Alhaitham is a capable man scholar husband father who thinks of every possible outcome before it happens.
He just didn't think he'd be sixteen all over again, sitting in the cold living room with papers for funeral preparations sprawled across the table.
a/n: i had no idea how to name this it got SO long like?? i swear originally it was just like 6 lines in total i wasnt even going to tag it under the main tag... then i got carried away LMAO ok enjoy! i will go back to my assignments now
Extra:
His newborn cries in nursery. Alhaitham rises to his feet.
As he picks up his crying daughter, it seems like she, too, grieves for a touch that neither of them could ever experience again. The weight of the world is heavy on his shoulders.
Synopsis: Alhaitham has multiple, very good reasons for not liking to stay after office hours. You're one of them.
Word Count: 4.8k
Tags: Female reader x Husband!Alhaitham, Spoilers for the archon quests, Fluff, Domesticity, Slight angst, Pregnancy, Morning sickness (pretty heavy on the morning sickness but nothing graphic, just mentions of puking + inability to keep food down), Pregnancy woes, Established relationship, kind of hidden pregnancy, Alhaitham is 27 in my head and so is the reader
A/N: listen. LISTEN. I don't normally write pregnancy but I had this idea and HAD to let it out. There is nothing hotter to me than a smart, dependable man with a stable, cushy job that's utterly in love with you. I'm a gojo writer, but damn. Alhaitham has me feeling some sort of way.
"Given the recent developments, there are many researchers wondering about what will happen to their funding. Acting Grand Sage, do you have any-"
"I'll be taking my leave now."
"H-Huh?"
Alhaitham clears his throat and stands, his chair dragging against the floor. From high-profile staff at the Akademiya, to esteemed researchers searching for an answer, Alhaitham casually shrugs off the bewildered, confused stares they give him.
"It's 5PM," he says nonchalantly. "You can find me at my desk tomorrow morning at 9."
"B-But we're not done with the meeting-"
"Goodbye."
"Wait-"
"My work for the day is done," Alhaitham hums, effectively cutting off whatever it was that was about to be said. Silence befalls the room, tension growing in its stead. "Haven't I already made my stance on this very clear?"
For all that is said and done, at least they knew how to stop talking when he displays his displeasure. Maybe being the Acting Grand Sage wasn't that bad after all. There were very few that would dare challenge his authority.
"But Sir, our meeting just started..."
Maybe not.
"Well, you should have started it earlier." Alhaitham doesn't miss a beat, neatly gathering his documents into a pile for his assigned assistant to take away. There's a tiny smile on his assistant's face, the young, interning scholar finding the entire exchange amusing.
Alhaitham fails to see what could be soooo amusing about working past official office hours.
5:01. Alhaitham clicks his tongue.
"Acting Grand Sage," a scandalised voice begins, but the person he's referring to is in a rush. Alhaitham should be out of the Akademiya by now. He can't risk being late. "It is imperative that you give us the necessary instructions so that Sumeru can still function as per usual..."
He tunes the voice out. It's past 5. He doesn't have to listen.
If they could handle themselves under Azar's so-called leadership, they can handle themselves under no supervision for the next sixteen hours. Sure, years worth of rampant corruption was difficult to erode without work, but it wasn't as if staying past 5 would magically fix everything overnight.
Alhaitham would tell them to go home and leave it for tomorrow... But it's now 5:02 and he's running behind on time. Simply being within the House of Daena was a pleasantry he was not willing to give for even a second longer.
"A-Alhaitham!"
He walks past the old man, past Cyno, and he's out of the door, out of the Akademiya, in mere moments.
The passing scholars greet him, all up to date with the change of hands after the atrocities of the previous Sages had gone public. Various pairs of eyes linger on him. Seemingly overnight, he had become known to the public as one of the core few that had freed Sumeru's Archon and foiled Azar's plan.
A mighty accomplishment in the eyes of the people, indeed.
It doesn't take long to get to the Bazar, where his task at hand was. He's done this tons of times before, but with every passing day, he only seems to get pickier with the produce before him.
Yoghurt, Tomatoes, Ginger, Butter...
"Oh, honey..."
He looks away from a ripe tomato and into the eyes of an older auntie who stood next to him with a fond look on her face.
"You're going to stare a hole into that poor tomato at that rate."
Alhaitham has no idea who she is. Silently, he returns his gaze to the tomato pile and narrows down the select few that had passed his earlier inspection. He'd grab them, pay, and leave.
"Ah ah!" The lady laughs, interrupting his process. "Come, dear. Have these tomatoes instead," she says, offering him her basket of tomatoes. "It's the least I could do for the Grand Sage."
"Acting Grand Sage," he can't help but correct.
"Yes, yes, the Acting Grand Sage. Honestly, what does it matter! Come! Have these. I have a good eye for tomatoes, you know?"
Alhaitham can't help but agree. The tomatoes are perfect. If his departure hadn't been halted, even for those few minutes, he would have gotten to them first. Ripe, juicy, no blemishes whatsoever, fresh... They're good. Declining is the first thought that comes into mind. He has no need to owe anyone any favours. But how can he when he remembers who was waiting for him back home?
"Ahhh, don't be shy!" The auntie shoves them into his own basket, where a few ginger roots sat alongside some cloves of garlic and some extra spices. "You've done so much for Sumeru! This is the least we could do."
She doesn't seem malicious. Or looking for anything in return.
"...Thank you, then."
And that special phrase unleashes hell on earth. The moment the tomatoes make a touchdown in his basket, he gets swamped by the aunties and uncles at the bazar.
"Here! Have some fish!"
"Oh! Oh! Here's some preserved vegetables! Take these, too!"
"Acting Grand Sage! My mama told me to give this to you!"
"Me too! Here! Here!"
It's comes and goes as abruptly as a tidal wave. There's not even a chance to reply to anyone, or reject anything. Before Alhaitham knows it, he's decorated with new groceries. Everyone who had gifted him something was long gone, walking away like nothing had happened.
For the first time in a long while, Alhaitham feels awkward standing alone in the Bazar.
"I'll take these..." Alhaitham says, sliding his personal basket to Housein. It's a little difficult to get his mora pouch out while holding so many items, but he manages. It's not like he can just abandon everything at the side of the pavement. There were too many prying eyes.
"Oh, they'll be on the house, Mr Alhaitham!" Housein grins, declining the mora. The produce seller looks pleased with himself. "The Bazar technically owes you for helping to oust Azar! Now the theatre can continue their performances!"
"I insist-"
"Really, it's alright!"
"No, I-"
"Alhaitham! Oh, my sweet boy!" Someone grabs his arm, whisking him away before he could get Housein to accept his mora. Greying hair frames the old lady's face, and Alhaitham recognises her in an instant.
"Auntie?"
"Yes, yes. Come," she ushers him, giddy with excitement. "I have some things that you'll appreciate."
"I don't think that's necessary," he sighs, nodding at the bags he was already carrying. He had fish and chicken slung over his shoulder. Not to mention the countless fresh produce in each bag... "Can it not wait until our next visit?"
"Nonsense," she swats his arm. "You will like what I have!"
Rationality and knowledge cannot override the cultural traditions and norms ingrained in each Sumeru citizen from a young age. Alhaitham follows the former Amurta researcher up to the hospital she now worked at during her retirement.
Dutifully, the Scribe stands in wait, ignoring the stares and awed whispers of the people as the old lady rounds the corner of the reception desk to dig through her stock. Save for a couple of patients and their attending physicians, the Bimarstan is quiet today.
"Here," she hums proudly, brandishing a bundle of pouches. They're beautifully embroidered, with patterns that he could easily identify to be from some of the Seven nations. "I got some supplements for your wife."
The mere mention of you has the tips of Alhaitham's ears warming. The lady might be old, but her eyes are still sharp as ever. She chuckles, patting his arm appreciatively, and some of the staff familiar with you and he smile to themselves, knowing something many did not.
"You two are so adorable," she sighs wistfully. "Come, I'll explain each one to you."
"Thank you."
The old pharmacist explains each supplement in great detail. There's a whole assortment available, from powders, to tea bags, to roots, and to pills and potions from each nation. All of high quality.
"I'm sure she'll appreciate it," Alhaitham says, setting down his groceries to pull out his mora pouch. Once again, he's declined.
"If you really want to repay me, then go take better care of your wife," she tuts. The old lady always had a soft spot for you. "It's not healthy to make her worry so much."
The reminder brings forth a surge of emotions that he gingerly represses for now.
"Of course," he bows deeply, "I will. Thank you."
"Ah, I shan't hold you up anymore. Off you go!"
Neatly packing his spoils for the day, Alhaitham bids his farewell and walks off in the direction of his home. Though, unfortunately, it's not fast enough to escape the various food stall owners...
Returning home is no easy feat, not when you're lugging home months worth of groceries. Still, as with anything thrown his way, Alhaitham manages. He's careful with his keys, making sure they don't make too much noise lest you wake from your slumber or worse, run to greet him. And - Oh.
"Habibti," he says, greeting you out of habit even if he can clearly see that you're asleep on the couch.
As quietly as possible, Alhaitham shuffles his way into his house along with all the groceries. It's almost feels like he's a thief in his own house.
The groceries are set on the floor, in a neat pile that he'll sort out later. The citizens were well-meaning, but he needed to do another check to make sure nothing was tainted. He braces himself when the bags crinkle against each other, but you don't wake. Good, he thinks. You needed the rest.
Shoes off, his hands washed, any fatigue laced into his muscles dissipates the moment he comes to stand in front of you. Alhaitham leans down to brush aside stray strands of your hair away from your forehead. His fingers ghost over your soft skin. You looked glowing.
"Good evening," he greets softly, lips pressed against your forehead. You stir, but he soothes you back into dreamland. His palm smooths back and forth between your waist and where your bellybutton was, and he smiles himself when he sees the corner of your lips curl up.
Gently, he plucks your hands from the knitting needles Kaveh had gotten you. The half-done blanket resting on the swell of your belly is removed, set neatly on the coffee table with the rest of your colourful balls of yarn. Alhaitham easily carries you, slipping his an arm under your back and the other under your knees.
Though he wants to tuck you back in bed, he knows you well enough to place you into the comfy armchair he had gotten instead. He leaves, only to return from your shared bedroom with a fluffy blanket to keep you warm. Tucking you in is an terribly short affair. Parting from you takes a lot of willpower.
In the time you're asleep, Alhaitham busies himself around the house. The groceries get checked, washed, and put away, and he takes a much needed shower. He's halfway through sweating the minced garlic and shallots when you finally wake, your tiny, sleepy voice making its way to him.
"Haitham...?"
The fire goes out.
"Yes, habibti?" He pulls his apron off, walking out of the kitchen. Warmth pools in his chest when he takes you in; how your blanket slides off your shoulders; how your eyes blearily search him out.
"Welcome home," you say dazedly, arms open and raised up to beckon him in for a hug. Alhaitham closes the distance in less than a second, pulling you in.
"Mm," he hugs you tight, mindful of your baby bump. His hand splays out protectively over your tummy, and a light giggle erupts from you as you bask in his warmth.
Getting down on one knee, level with the evidence of his, and your, love, he looks up at you and asks, "How was your day, habibti?"
"I was working on the baby blanket," you tell him, gesturing at the knitwork on the table. "I was thinking of making a few."
"It's going well?"
You nod, happily engaging him in conversation before he carefully nudges open a new door of conversation. One that you understood, but didn't like. High on pregnancy hormones (and on stress), he distinctly remembers you crying to him in the middle of the night, telling him that it felt like you were being interrogated whenever he wouldn't let up on the questions.
You had subsequently thrown up dinner.
And promptly fell back asleep on him.
Thus, the small talk.
"Did our baby give you any trouble today?" He asks gently, a hand gently circling your wrist. One finger traces unintelligible symbols against your skin as the other pressed against your pulse.
You shake your head slowly as he counts in his. "Just some nausea."
"And lunch?" He asks, switching hands. "How was lunch? What did you have?"
You shake your head sadly. "Couldn't keep much of it down. Baby bird didn't agree with it."
"They didn't?" Alhaitham frowns, a contemplative look on his face. "I see. Did you drink-"
"Did I drink the tea you made?" You raise a brow, completing the question for him.
"...Yes."
You were catching on. And fast. Silently, he pulls your hand towards his face to kiss the back of your palm, hoping that it would throw you off.
"Did it help?"
"It did," you tell him. The suspicious look you had softens. "It was very good. Helped with the nausea for a bit."
"I see. And did you-"
"Haitham," You admonish gently. "Stop being such a worrywart. I've been taking care of myself. These things happen. It's normal."
"Yes, habibti, I'm aware, but you're already in your second trimester. I just want to check if-"
Accustomed to this, you cut him off with words he can't ignore.
"I'm hungry."
"You're hungry?" He pauses. He supposes that you're bound to be, considering what you had just reported about lunch. "I just started cooking, but the people at the Bazar gave us a lot of food."
"Really? That's nice of them. Why?"
"As thanks," he says vaguely, squeezing your side. "There's a lot of it. Tandoori chicken, Curry, Kebabs, Wraps... Is there anything to your fancy?"
"Mm, I guess," you half-heartedly answer. "Then why are you still cooking?"
"You said you wanted Butter Chicken this morning."
The name of the dish makes your mouth water, the reminder perking you up. The baby nestled deep in your womb agrees.
"Grab something light," he says, recognising that expression of yours. You looked pleased to smell his cooking wafting through the air, only just realising it after the grip of sleep had loosened its hold on you. "I only just started."
"Okay-"
"Sit down. I'll grab it for you. What do you want?" Your husband urges you back into the chair. It begins, once more.
"I don't know," you roll your eyes at him, "I have to get up and see what there is, don't I?"
"I already told you what there is. If it helps, there's Samosas and-"
"I want to look for myself," you interrupt. "I'm pregnant. Not incapable."
"The doctor said you need to be careful."
"The doctor said that I can move around. That I should move around."
"Within reason," he adds, grumbling, just because. Helping you stand after your complaints, you hold him, hugging his arm tightly, and Alhaitham watches you waddle towards the kitchen with him in tow.
He never expected the pregnant waddle to happen so soon. Archons, he hadn't expected you to look so cute, either. You were partway through your second trimester and he can't imagine how it'd be like in your third.
"Oooh," you coo, and he gets dragged back into reality. "There's Baklava?"
"And Panipuri." He says, hovering over you. If he thinks about it, he's almost like a little fly... Even his colours matched. With the way you're looking at him, you must have thought of the same thing. "And Custard. And Cakes. And-"
"Oh! Pudding!" You excitedly nab the Padisarah Pudding out of the cooler, clapping. Alhaitham lets out a low chuckle at your delight, reaching over to grab you a teaspoon so you could enjoy your desert.
"Now sit," he tells you, guiding you to the kitchen island, where there was a chair. He had gotten Kaveh to design and make one for you as part of his rental agreement. "You can watch me cook."
"You're not letting me help again?"
He shakes his head. From temporarily stepping down from your work as a researcher, to repeating dreams, and to Alhaitham having to go away for a mission, you had been stressed out from all the back-to-back changes. Only recently had you been discharged from bed rest after the news that he had gone insane from consuming forbidden knowledge and was exiled had caused you to faint in the middle of Treasure Street.
Alhaitham prides himself on his rational decision making skills, but keeping you in the dark to the happenings in Sumeru's political sphere had been by far the worst decision he had ever made.
You had fallen sick, carrying a fever for five days and five nights as the doctors at the Bimarstan worked around the clock to keep you stable. Luck had been on your side for you to have been found by one of the physicians. He had almost...
Alhaitham shakes his head, focusing instead on the metal band around his finger. Cooking was the least he could do for you after everything you had to handle.
Ignoring the pang in his chest, he resumes cooking. The wok sizzles, and you're happily munching away on your pudding, offering him a spoonful here and there as his ingredients go in in a methodological order. He tosses in peeled and boiled tomatoes, spices, and marinated chicken cubes from last night.
"It smells so good..."
"I know."
"But why aren't you making more?" You ask, leaning over so he could feed you a test bite of the creamy dish. "Is Kaveh not coming home for dinner?"
"It's none of our business, habibti," Alhaitham hums. "Kaveh can freeload food elsewhere."
"Haitham," you giggle. "That's not very kind."
"What? Letting him stay here rent-free is kind enough. I don't have to feed him, too."
"You're making him build our nursery," you remind him. "And baby-proof the house."
"It's part of the rental agreement."
"Still," you huff, watching your husband roll up his sleeves before portioning the dough for your naan. "At least leave him some food."
"He can have whatever we can't finish. Can we agree?" He says, rolling the dough out into flat circles. "We have too much food from the people, anyway. He can have those. The Butter Chicken is yours. You don't have to share."
You're swayed.
"...Fine."
He graduated from the Haravatat. To put it loosely, he's a linguist. A knack for words comes with the job.
"Good," he hums, handing you a bowl of melted butter so you wouldn't feel left out. You stir it with a clean spoon, mixing in garlic paste and chopped coriander.
It's peaceful. Serene. The sizzling in the background is nothing but homey, nothing but comfort. Alhaitham loves it when you sing to him while he cooks, but today he settles for a spritely summary of one of the books he's gotten you.
"Thank you, Haitham."
"Of course," he leans over to peck your temple. After serving you a hearty plate, Alhaitham finally sits with you to eat. "Anything you need."
"What would people say if they knew I had the Acting Grand Sage at home like this?"
"They'd praise me," he deadpans. His own plate lightly clinks against the table. "Especially if they knew the main reason why I helped."
"Show-off."
Wanting to keep his cushy job at the Akademiya may have been what had spurred him to take on a core role in the planning of rescuing Lesser Lord Kusanali, but apart from that, he was not about to leave a year's worth of fully-paid, fully covered paternity leave in the hands of some old man that woke up and decided that he wanted to play god.
Even now, it still sounded ridiculous in his head.
Alhaitham and you were only aware that the Grand Sage had something sinister cooking up, but nothing had been concrete. Investigating further was on the top of your priority list until you were faced with the possibility, and eventual confirmation, of your pregnancy.
Being so unexpected, the news had hit the both of you hard and fast. After both of your priorities needed a complete upheaval, it was a scramble to decide the next course of action.
Having you step down from your work as a result of the rough start to your pregnancy had been hard to hide from the prying eyes of Azar, his minions, and gossiping researchers. The walls of the Akademiya had ears. The barest wisps of whatever Azar was planning that had gotten back to you gave you the impression that they had wanted you to join in on the later stages of their scheme.
Recuperation may have been the main motivator, but the likelihood that a blunt rejection would spur on heavy retaliation had been a major reason why you were urged, and convinced, to take a medical leave of absence as early in as possible. As quietly as possible. Your weakened constitution had only spurred the advance of this plan.
Your sudden request for long medical leave had formed the basis of a well-known rumour that you were adamant on not acknowledging, not when you had suspected Alhaitham to be on Azar's hit list. Few knew of your marriage to him, only that you were in a relationship with the Scribe. He can only imagine what types of words were said behind closed doors.
Those days had been tense. Your act—though it wasn't really an act at all—was convincing, but the Sages seemed adamant on having you stay on. They had even questioned Alhaitham about your supposed illness. Half-truths made the best lie, and when Alhaitham only had the truth to tell them, they had no choice but to turn to other avenues.
Thankfully, the rumours had all died out when Tighnari was invited by the Sages to check on you.
Your long-standing friend had done you a favour that day. Under the watchful eye of the sages, the three of you had shared a look that Tighnari easily interpreted. A strongly worded letter of recommendation for medical leave had been issued, and you were immediately granted long leave. The rumours were put out in an instant. On account for your contributions to the Akademiya and to academia itself, your leave had been fully paid for as well.
Alhaitham makes a mental note to send the forest ranger some gifts again after everything dies down. He's been thinking of taking you on a short trip to Pardis Dhyai so you could visit some old classmates and colleagues. Maybe some crates of wine for him and his subordinates would suffice...
"If you revealed everything, I think they'd have a heart attack first," you muse, picking up your spoon. Looking at you now, it's almost as though your pregnancy had been nothing but smooth sailing. You looked so peaceful. Happy and content and glowing.
"I love your cooking," you sigh between bites, taking meaningful chomps out of your meal. Eyes falling shut to savour the taste, Alhaitham can't help but chuckle at the blissed out expression you made.
It's not rare for Alhaitham to cook for you, especially after finding out that you were expecting, but the way your eyes always light up, glimmering with stars? It makes him wonder just how good his food is to you for you to always react like this.
"Good?"
"Mhm!" You nod happily, shoveling the Butter Chicken coated garlic naan into your mouth. The flatbread was cooked to perfection, just the way you liked it. Too busy with your food, you don't even bother with a conversation.
Alhaitham sits back, watching you eat, making sure that his unborn child enjoys his food, too. It was early on in your pregnancy that he realises just how picky his child was. Coupled with morning sickness, any food that wasn't made by him, your body would reject. He had been tense those weeks, pouring over countless texts in the library trying to find a solution that would guarantee both you and your child's safety.
He had tracked your food intake, just to see if there was any sort of pattern that would emerge. To his surprise, one did. The only meals you could hold down were either those made by you, made by those close to you, or his. The latter worked the best. Alhaitham still has that nutrition table in his office, updated to this day.
Really, it's a wonder how people hadn't realised that you were pregnant. After Sumeru's political situation began to calm, he hadn't bothered hiding it. What did people think he ordered maternity dresses for? Even now, the number of people who knew of your pregnancy was few and far between. Cyno, surprisingly, was one of them.
Oh, well.
After seeing that you showed no sign of nausea, he finally picks up his spoon.
"Shall we go for a walk later tonight?" He asks after swallowing a bite of his food. "The weather is nice today."
Before getting swamped by the citizens, he had been thinking that it would be good to bring you out. So far, the only interactions you've had were either with him, the doctors, the stray cats that would visit, or with Kaveh. Although you hadn't complained, he knew that you were getting lonely.
"Really?" You ask excitedly, biting into your coated naan. "Where to?
"Anywhere you want," he says, pouring another ladel full of butter chicken onto your plate. "But we'll take it slow, okay? You haven't been out in some time. I don't want you to overexert yourself."
You chew slowly.
"I'm not weak."
"I never said that."
"You're implying it."
"I did not."
After a bit of back and forth, in which he could tell you were thoroughly enjoying, he remembers something that Housein had told him earlier in the day.
"I believe Miss Nilou is performing tonight. Would you like to watch?"
"Really? I'd love to!" Compared to him, you had always had a deep appreciation for the Arts. It's been some time since you've seen a live performance. Eyes shimmering, you ask, "Can we go get some sweets at the Bazar, too? The baby's been craving it."
You didn't have to pull the cravings card to get it. Alhaitham would have gotten them for you regardless.
"If you'd like," he agrees. "I was thinking that we could get some more books, as well."
"What," you snicker, "the library you have isn't enough for you?"
"It's good to broaden your horizons. And I mean to get books for our child."
"Hm? Why?"
"Aren't you the Amurta scholar?" He quips. Then his voice grows softer. More gentle. "...I read that our child can start hearing in the second trimester."
The look of confusion on your face turns into a fond smile. "I'm not that far along enough, Haitham. That only happens later."
"Better now than never, don't you think?"
"Are you going to be reading to them, then?" You ask, resting your chin on your palm, a smile on your face as you tease him. "Are we going to have bedtime stories now?"
"Of course."
His bluntness takes you off guard, but Alhaitham fails to see how shocking this revelation can be. Why wouldn't he be reading to his child?
"Oh," you say dumbly. "I... Yeah. That's a good idea—Ah!"
Alhaitham's spoon clatters to the table at the sound of your punctured gasp. He's by your side in an instant, looking over you once, twice, thrice, as you hold onto your stomach, eyes blown wide open, pupils dilated.
"W-What?" Adrenaline rushes through his veins. "What's wrong, albi? What's the matter? Are you alright? What hurts? Stay here, I'll call for someone right now-"
"No," you whisper, grabbing his hand to stop him from running off. They tremble in your hold, and he swallows tightly past the lump in his throat. You stare silently at your belly, and Alhaitham, at you.
"Albi," he insists. "My love. Don't scare me. C'mon, we need to... go..."
Palm covering his, you guide his hand to your belly.
Alhaitham, the Scribe of Sumeru, the star of the Haravatat, for the first time in forever, is at a loss for words. Every letter and every syllable he's come to learn dissipates on the tip of his tongue, his mind blanking out into nothingness. Within him, synapses fire off rapidly, capturing everything about this moment. Everything refocuses onto what rests below his palm.
There's a tiny flutter. One that grows more insistent.
"Haitham... I think our baby is trying to say hi."
Bimarstan: Hospital in Sumeru
Habibti: Term of endearment meaning Darling
Albi: Term of endearment meaning My love
A/N: bc of this fic i'll have to make a new masterlist and update my pinned aaaaaaa okay goodbye it's time for me to return to my studies (and to gojo) [i say this but tell me why i wanna write about the time cyno found alhaitham at the bimarstan with reader...]
im ngl having to write an explanation of why and how i didn't plagiarise this fic kinda sucks because its my baby
but whatever
Fic was written in tumblr's textpost editor, transferred to Google docs.
Documents + file history for After Hours:
Majority of the titles are WIPs. Several of them have been referenced as a fic that I would upload in due time. Examples:
Nursery Rhymes — WIP. I asked for submissions for songs that were sung to my followers that they enjoyed. Was meant to be a hybrid of a songfic and the 5+1 trope. Was meant for Alhaitham and his daughter
Komorebi — Mentions of this fic was made in this account. It's too far back for me to find the actual post given that I am writing this in a rush, but if you scroll, you will be able to see me post the following snippet:
Freeform board on the iPad illustrating the ideas i had for the series:
Masterlist that I had prepared + timestamp:
Snippet posted prior to upload:
im ashamed.
gojo i love and miss you very much I LOVE AND MISS YOU VERY MUCH I SWEAR ILL RETURN IM JUST TIRED FROM WRITING YOU
I like the idea of my faves being girl dads so I wrote this fic + began to ideate more domestic scenes
The start of the fic draws upon how I interpret Alhaitham as the type to get off work on the dot.
I drew on the concepts relevant to my culture as well as the commonly used phrase "It takes a village to raise a child".
In many Asian cultures (where I am from) community spirit is an integral part of life.
My main aim for the part where Alhaitham is bombarded with food is to capture the essence of community in Sumeru.
For a lot of us, food is its own 'love language'. Giving someone food, or not accepting payment for items that they're trying to pay for, is a way of giving back/showing appreciation
Pregnancy related ailments were drawn from my own knowledge as well as articles I have read, videos I have watched, and stories from the women in my family who have been pregnant. It was also around this time where I was coming across many TikTok videos about pregnancy related issues.
Synopsis: In which 40° weather grants you insight into Satoru’s powers
Word Count: 2.0k
Story Content: Female reader, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Seemingly unrequited pining, Idiots in love but they don’t even know it yet, Slow-burn (doesn’t get anywhere), Crackfic, We learn the many ways in which Satoru can use his technique, Reader POV!
A/N: this is a celcius only household (kidding. but not really.) This has been in my drafts for a reaaaally long time im just glad its out honestly
GOJO SATORU is a frigid blast of cold air during a warm summer day.
It’s surprising, considering his typical characterisation. People, yourself included, likened him to the sun. Bright and blinding. That’s how the pillar of the Jujutsu world should be, they’d say. He’s the epitome of sorcery. The honored one, they’d praise.
Just to be clear, you thought of him as the sun for entirely different reasons. Reasons that you weren’t about to go into too detail about. But just as a tiny, small little hint: It had to do with his body temperature. And you were currently being quickly betrayed by what you once thought was fact.
“Am I a portable air-con?”
“Yeah,” you spit at him. Half in betrayal and half in fascination, you huff, gripping his elbows to keep him still as you tuck your body against him, forcing his technique over you with your own.
The chill settles into your bones and makes you sigh sweetly. It almost makes you forget about how the sun was shining a little too brightly into your eyes.
In the back of your mind, you can’t help but envy him and his thousand dollar shades. Did he bring a spare? Could you have them?
one of the originally drafted fics back in november/december 2022, meant to be uploaded then but wasnt
was written and saved in the tumblr textpost editor
was mentioned in the temporary WIP list i had up (early followers of mine should remember seeing it)
inspired by the hot and humid weather in my country
as per the a/n at the end of the post, i had plans to make a gojo x reader series surrounding the weather. this was scrapped, but i had a masterlist drafted:
original fic had involved gojo and reader needing to stay overnight at a hotel. was going to be a one bed trope but i had decided against it
through this fic i was mainly exploring the possibilities with gojo's infinity. i had made a comment elaborating on a separate post by a mutual how i think that gojo's infinity could technically be selective to let people in through the identification of their biometrics. it's been almost a year, but if my memory serves me right, that idea had first stemmed from the part in this story where i made a comment about gojo's infinity slowing down heat waves.
Ideas i had + scrapped drafts:
*link was to a canva page. i don't remember what it was for (and it can no longer be found) but it was likely because i wanted to make a collage for weather-related pictures.
I don't know if you accept request yet I might have one 😂 you can disregard this if you don't.
Just thinking about kissing Satoru on Christmas day. After you throw a party and everyone went home and just the two of you.
Thank youuu. I just love the way you write Satoru. ✨
Hello hello!! I'm glad you enjoy my work! I don't really accept requests but I do love me some solid suggestions :DDD Especially those that stick in my brain (and this did the job)
Hope you like it :>>> It's just a tiny lil short drabble
Just thinking about how Gojo's so naturally attuned to you that he notices the most minute changes. From the droop of your shoulders to the way your smile strains at the edges, him and his Six Eyes catch everything.
("I don't need my technique to tell me that you're tired, babe! I just know it!")
The moment you show any sign of weariness, Satoru's on top of it. He's clapping, gathering the attention of your students only to tell them that it's bedtime and to have them herded out of the party and back to their dorms with their presents on their back.
The enforced curfew leaves the room occupied with the few adults that managed to come for the Christmas party you and Satoru were hosting. And you shoot your lover a small smile before settling into your corner of your couch.
"Can't do PDA anywhere else?" Mei Mei teases, watching as Satoru gathers you up into his arms and onto his lap.
"Nope," he sings, tucking you under his chin and against his chest as the speaker continued to play soft Christmas tunes. It's easy to forget the small crowd of friends in your home when you feel nice and warm in Satoru's embrace.
Some colleagues whom you were passing acquaintances with leave first, and it's a reminder that the small party was dwindling, coming to an end along with what was left of the year. Next was Shoko and Utahime, the both of them inviting Nanami, Ijichi, and the rest out for drinks. Slowly, but surely, the party leaves you two be, taking their leave with grace.
Yaga doesn't forget to leave behind a monotonous, yet teasing, comment before shutting the front door behind him.
Soon enough, it's just you, Satoru, and your Christmas tree.
"Tired?" He asks, leaning down to brush his lips across your forehead. All you can do in response is to sleepily hum, snuggling in closer, and tilting your head up in a silent demand.
Satoru's laugh is deep and reverberating, and you feel your face warm with every rumble of his chest as he obliges to your wishes.
"You're so needy," he coos, though he shows no issue with peppering butterfly kisses all over your face. "Can't use your words, baby?"
You shake your head, hooking your arms around his neck just so you could get a better view of him under the ambient lighting. You think he looks beautiful like this; rarely would he put down his bravado.
Winters are your favourite for this reason. Satoru was only ever able to relax during the cold, where curses laid at an all time low, and now you reaped its benefits, up close and personal. And with many kisses to christen the day.
"Love you," you mumble, high off adoration and unable to help yourself. Instead of teasing or poking fun at you, Satoru only smiles softly.
"Yeah?" He laughs. Soft, but full. Nose nuzzling yours. "Love you too. Merry Christmas, baby."
a/n: Funny enough I was actually doing another drabble for this before realising I misinterpreted the ask and well now that one is being uploaded soon too LOL I actually did this pretty quickly yayz
Summary: In the spirit of Christmas, Gojo decides the best way to get you to kiss him is by sneaking you under a mistletoe
Word count: 0.95k
Story Content: Fluff, Established relationship (new), Reader and Gojo are still in school, Idiot in love (Gojo)
Published: 24/12/22
A/N: A nonsense christmas is one of the best christmas remixes of a pop song i've heard. Also, happy holidays! The new year is coming soon!
“Um…”
Satoru smiles back down at you, eyes round and soft and shimmering with glee. You stare so cutely up at him; bewildered eyes and all that, and he wants nothing more than to cup your cheeks and nuzzle your nose and breathe you in and—
What is wrong with me? Suguru was right. He's disgusting around you. It was bad when he was simply crushing but now that the both of you were officially dating? It seemed to only get worse.
But who cares! For now, he has a full view of your cute expressions! He wants nothing more than to maybe sit and scream or cry or gush over you to anyone who would listen (Suguru, if he's lucky). Sure, maybe some of the leaves were blocking his sight, but he’s more than willing (and already was) activating his Six Eyes so he could take all of you in—
“Did you really tape a mistletoe to your forehead?” You ask, incredulous.
Your fingers brush against his forehead, a slight quirk of your lips indicating your amusement at his desperate attempt for your touch. The faint contact makes his skin prickle and his body shudder, goosebumps lining his arms, the hair on the back of his neck standing. He has to remind himself to keep his infinity at bay, just in case he accidentally freaks out and activates it unconsciously again.
“Yep!” He quips, though his voice is strained as he struggles to maintain eye contact with you. Your eyes are glimmering up at him, and he feels more than what the word 'nervous' could ever encompass. The leaves rustle, the red ribbon tied onto the shrub a stark contrast against his white hair. The tape on his forehead struggles to hold the plant in place, but it does an excellent job nonetheless.
You poke the white berries, amused. And your fingers trace the intricate bells attached to the ribbon.
“Why?”
“Why not?” He retorts, proudly thinking back on the moment he had thought of this idea. He doesn’t know exactly where the tradition came from, but he wasn’t about to complain when it would get you to kiss him.
Think about it! Since he naturally towered over you, the mistletoe on his forehead would dangle over both of you if he angled himself right and — ta-da! You’d kiss him!
An infallible plan, might he say so. So much more original compared to simply sticking it to the top of a door.
“Gotta respect tradition, don’t you think?”
You hum, and his breath hitches as when your arms hook around his neck. From the corner of his eyes he notices Suguru and Shoko, peeking in to cheer him on, the latter even taking a video of the moment. Fortunately, his mind cancels them out, his body reacting on overdrive and his brain going blank when your breath tickles his neck.
“I thought you hated tradition.”
Satoru swallows, and he wonders if you can hear how his heart is pounding away in his chest. He doesn’t say anything, too flustered to, and you giggle lightly.
“You’re doing all of this for just a kiss, ‘toru?”
Meekly, he nods.
“Okay,” you grin, leaning up. Your lips barely brush against his, and his fingers tighten around your waist as invisible fumes blew out of his ears.
You kiss him softly. Sweetly. And Satoru feels whatever is in his skull and chest melt and pool into his lower abdomen. You were about to be the death of him, and he’d die happy if it meant feeling like this.
And then you pull away with no warning, with only a playful nibble to his lower lip.
“I need to go see Yaga,” you tell him, untangling yourself from his gooey limbs. Disbelief paints his face as he stares at you and your casual nonchalance, as if you hadn’t just offered him the world on a platter and snatched it away from him.
“You’d rather see that old man than me?” He sputters, just staring.
The laugh that follows you is teasing. Cheeky. You lean up to peck his cheek.
“Why are you upset? I kissed you, didn’t I?”
“You had to, it’s mistletoe law,” he grumbles, lips pulling into a frown. He glares lightly at you, bemoaning the loss of your warmth. Of your lips. Of the press of your chest against his. Of everything. “Doesn’t count. You need to give me another one.”
“I’ll give you more when I come back,” you tell him pacifyingly, already picking up your bag and standing at the front door. He hovers over you, wanting to say — or do — something. Somewhere in the back of his mind he just knows that if his friends were still watching, that he’s about to be teased for looking like a lost puppy with the way he’s standing there dumbly while you put on your shoes.
But most of his brain had already melted under your touch, and he's a shameless man, so he doesn't think about it as he pursues you.
“We’re under a mistletoe,” he says, except this time is different from the first. There’s no bravado, no confidence, and no smug smirk. You had stripped him from that the moment your lips touched, and he can only hope that Christmas comes early so you give him another as a gift.
Laughing, you reach up to flick the shrub stuck to his forehead, causing a light jingle from the tiny bells attached to ring out. The sound is pretty, he thinks, just like you. And he thinks that you might show him some mercy when the tip of your nose grazes his.
“This is a snowberry, dummy.”
A/N: i searched up what plants look like a mistletoe and got a whole page worth of google searches telling me how mistletoes are parasitic plants like haha ok now tell me what plant looks the same -.-
Shoko and Suguru would 100% tease him forever but I also think they wouldve left to give reader and gojo some privacy
uhh looking back at it now i am now realising that a mistletoe and a snowberry look quite different
my plan was for it to be a similar looking plant (but not too similar) to give the reader an opportunity to tease him, as well as to showcase how much of a dork gojo is
three christmas fics because i wanted to complete the song lyrics
