#did some tests and they all came out perfectly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

another-lost-mc · 1 year

Text

For Your Ears Only: When MC sends them audio porn

Featuring: The Demon Brothers x gn!Reader

NSFW // Content: Explicit smut. Mentions of sex toys, masturbation, sexting (audio/photos), oral sex (m! and gn!reader receiving), teasing, light dom/sub undertones, consensual recording of sex acts, penetrative sex, phone sex, mutual masturbation, pet names, praise kink, sex acts/masturbation in semi-public spaces, strip tease, oral fixation, cum eating, creampie, overstimulation, light degradation, dream sex, consensual somnophilia. 4.4k words.

For Your Ears Only series: Part II (the Dateables + Side Characters)

You: for your ears only 😘 ▶️ Attachment: missingyou.mp3

You relax into the mattress with a sigh and let the D.D.D. slide from your grip onto the sheets. Your breathing is finally back to normal, and you swallow thickly as nerves and lust and a hint of embarrassment wash over you. You’ve sent your lover dirty texts and teasing photos before, but this was different. You sent the audio clip—roughly two minutes' long—without listening to it first; you were worried that if you did, you might lose your nerve and scrap the whole idea.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you finally listen to it yourself. The quality is impressive and better than you expected since you’ve never tried making something like this in the past. (You're slightly aroused listening to yourself too, so you can only imagine what their reaction will be.).

Thanks to some careful planning beforehand, your soft sounds and whimpers and curses are crystal-clear without any background ambient noises. The toy you used squelched obscenely with lube and cum as you moved it against and inside your body. The recording even picked up the faint sounds of your squeaky mattress creaking under your weight when you came so hard, your trembling body shook the bed.

You still feel an inkling of desire not yet sated, and you resist the urge to reach for your toy again. You squirm imagining your lover storming through the door and finding you like this, or maybe they’ll call you and you can listen to them get off too? You rub your thighs together as your body tingles with all the possibilities.

Your glance at the phone in your hand and ponder what to do while you wait for a response.

LUCIFER // a test of patience

Lucifer puts his phone to his ear, and after a few moments of staticky silence, he finally hears you. He's memorized all your sounds, having drawn them from your body so often by now, and he can perfectly imagine the way your body moved as your fucked yourself with your toy. He wonders which toy you used—he gifted you several in your collection— and whether you did this in your bed or his.

It's only his sheer stubbornness and force of will that keeps him on the RAD campus, instead of abandoning his responsibilities to rush to you.

When he returns home, you notice that he seems mostly like himself, and maybe if you didn't know him that well, the subtle changes would escape you. His eyes are darker when he looks at you, and he finds silly excuses to touch you: a hand on your shoulder as he passes you at the dinner table, pretending to pull a stray piece of fluff off your shirt. He leans closer to you when he speaks to you, pressing his chest against your back while he murmurs quietly in your ear. His lips brush against you when he speaks, and you can feel him smile against your skin when you shudder.

You understand that this has turned into some kind of game. He’s teasing you and testing your reactions, and you know he’s waiting for you to break first. You refuse, no matter how much you might want to, and neither of you bring up the recording you sent him earlier.

He finally seeks you out in the library after dinner. "Come to my room in thirty minutes," he says quietly when he cups your cheek with his gloved hand. He brushes his thumb across your bottom lip. "Such a lovely gift deserves a reward."

When you stand up and try to follow him immediately, he looks at you sternly and it freezes you in place.

"I've been patient all day," he reminds you with a gentle rebuke, "so I think you can wait a little longer, too."

His footsteps echo down the hall as he walks away from the library. You try to focus on your book, but you keep re-reading the same passage and your eyes dart impatiently to the clock across the room. Time passes so slowly, and by the time you’ve waited half an hour like he asked, you’re nearly vibrating with anticipation and the inside of your underwear is damp with your arousal.

You knock on his bedroom door and slip inside. The room is dark, but you can see Lucifer sitting on the bed with his legs crossed. Candlelight from the mantle flickers across his skin and bathes him in wispy shadows and his deep, red eyes glow as he stares at you. You might’ve started this game between you, but his hungry smirk tells you what you both know: you’ve lost, and he’s won.

He pats something next to him on the bed, and you nearly gasp in surprise when you realize he fetched the toy you used earlier from your room. How did he know which one—?

“I was so impressed by your gift earlier, and I was hoping for a repeat performance," he murmurs casually, ignoring your shocked expression.

It’s not that you don’t want to, but his request catches you off-guard. He stands from the bed and reaches for the hem of your shirt so he can tug it over your head and toss it aside. His eyes roam your bare skin and you melt into him when he pulls you flush against his chest. Your nipples harden against the fabric of his shirt, and you shiver in his arms when he kisses your jaw.

“Unless you don’t want to?” he asks quietly. He pulls back and tries to read your expression—he can sense your hesitation, and no matter what he might want, he would never dream of forcing you to do something you’re uncomfortable with.

“I’d rather have your cock instead,” you admit, and it comes out as a needy whine that makes your cheeks warm.

It’s a brutally honest honest answer, but you’re not capable of anything else: Lucifer wants your honesty, and you’re so riled up from his subtle teasing this evening that you can’t seem to filter your thoughts.

“Perhaps I can give you a little taste for motivation, hm?” he drawls, and his gloved thumb runs along your bottom lip. His eyes glitter wickedly when you lower yourself to your knees and reach for his belt.

He fishes something out of his pocket as you undo his fly, and you realize it’s his phone. “Let’s see how beautiful you sound with your lips around my cock. I would love to see how it compares to your solo performance,” he admits quietly, and you can hear the eagerness in his rough voice.

You nod slowly to give him permission, and his eyes glitter with wicked excitement. He taps the Record button on the screen just before you swallow him down and moan greedily at his taste.

MAMMON // doesn’t care how, he wants you now

It doesn’t matter where Mammon is—the club, the casino, a photo shoot—as soon as he starts listening to that recording you sent him, he’s already abandoning his plans so he can come to you. He bites his lip to keep himself from groaning your name, unless he’s somewhere noisy where his frustrated exclamations will go unnoticed.

(Fuckin’ hell, baby, you’re so fuckin’ hot—)

He doesn’t even have to listen to the full thing, either. When the first soft moan falls from your lips, his cock is already stirring in his pants. He rushes to his car and speeds home, playing the recording on repeat over and over until he can see you.

He’s never felt so desperate, but he’s greedy for more of you, all of you. All your little whimpers and sighs, and the obscene squelching sounds as you fuck yourself and beg for him—they’re all his.

He rushes through the front door, gliding past your bedroom and marching straight to his own. When he opens the door, the scent of your arousal and cum makes him stagger in the doorway like he's intoxicated by you. You’re naked and writhing on his bed, thrusting the toy in and out of your greedy hole, while you whimper his name. The wet noises your body makes are even more visceral in person, and he can’t wait anymore.

He rips open his belt and tugs his pants down enough to pull out his cock. He crawls onto the bed and kneels between your legs. He stares at the toy that disappears in and out of your body. Your skin is wet with cum and lube and you sound so hot and you smell so fucking good.

He wraps his hand around yours so he can move the toy with you, and it's a little faster and deeper than you managed on your own. You’re so close and you don’t want to stop, but Mammon stares at you with his mouth hanging open and it's almost enough to undo you and he's barely touched you.

“I’m so close,” you whine. His eyes glow like molten gold as he moves his hand a little faster, grinding the toy inside you and brushing against that soft, spongy spot that makes your whole body tremble.

“Yeah, c’mon babe, lemme hear you,” he pleads, and he doesn't care how desperate he sounds because he wouldn't trade this for all the fuckin' grimm in the world.

His bed frame rattles when you come with a hoarse cry. He teases you through the aftershocks until you whine try to clench your thighs shut around his hand. He finally lets the toy slip from your greedy hole, and he tosses it aside so he can kneel between your legs instead. Your legs are still shaking, and he guides them to rest on his hips.

“Ready, babe? Nice and stretched for my cock?” he groans as he teases your entrance with the head of his cock.

You nod and roll your hips to encourage him, and you both moan against each other's mouths when he finally plunges inside you and claims your body for himself.

LEVIATHAN // dirty little secrets

Leviathan isn’t a stranger to porn. He pretends he doesn’t have a collection of videos and adult games with characters that look suspiciously like you, and you pretend you don’t know he has them. He doesn’t really need them anymore, and he’s slowly replacing his collection with videos and photos of you instead: you're the real deal, the attractive-as-hell human that wastes their time with him for reasons he’ll never fully understand.

There are nights when you can’t be together, like tonight—he doesn’t want to keep you awake with the all-night gaming event he's taking part in. You reassure him that it's okay and you understand, but you go to your room and lay in bed, thinking about him and missing him. You send him your little gift anticipating he'll listen to it at some point tonight before you fall asleep.

When his guild calls for a break, he listens to the recording through his gaming headset and he’s hard almost instantly. His body burns with embarrassment, and he hates how desperate he feels when he scrambles to pull down his pants and palm his weeping cock. Your first whimper of his name makes him whine.

He fumbles with his phone so he can call you, and you answer almost immediately. He groans when he hears the familiar sound of your creaky bed springs in the background as you continue touching yourself without him.

“My greedy little boy,” you coo breathlessly in his ear when you answer his call. “D’you want more already?”

He nods even though you can’t see, and his throat bobs when he swallows around the lump in his throat. “Yeah, fuck, you sound so good—“ he trails off into a long moan.

He doesn’t even realize he’s stroking his cock in time with the wet, slick thrusts of the toy plunging in and out of your hole. He knows how shameful and pathetic and weak he is, but he's so fucking hard and needy for you that he can't bring himself to care. “Wanna come, make me come, please, I want you so bad—” he babbles in your ear.

Your airy chuckle is punctuated by your own whimpers and moans. “Come for me, baby, let me hear you come too.”

Those words trigger his own release, and he bites his lips to muffle the shout as his cock shoots thick ropes of sticky release up his belly. He keeps going, hips jerking from the sensitivity, until you groan out his name and all the other noises on your end of the call go silent.

“How d’you feel, baby?” you murmur in his ear when his breathing calms down. “Did you make a mess for me?”

He winces at the mess covering his shirt and his hand. “Y-yeah, it’s…a lot.” He sounds so uncertain. He's doubtful that you like how out of control he is when he's with you, and he wonders if his desperation is what might eventually drive you away from him.

“Send me a picture of how sloppy you are, then clean up and go play your game.” The call disconnects and he scrambles to do as you ask. He sends you a photo of his cum-soaked shirt, his sticky, wet pelvis, and his half-hard cock resting against his thigh.

He worries that you might be disappointed when he hits Send. His phone pings with a reply, and he sighs with relief as your praise warms him though and he basks in your love and approval.

You: Good boy.

SATAN // self-care

Satan has a bad habit of overworking himself and denying that he does it. He spends long nights hunched over the desk in the library while he studies, or he holes up in his room when he reads.

Today, he skipped lunch at RAD and now he’s shrugging off dinner, too. He gives you a weak excuse about needing to study some more. You want to be supportive, but he needs a break. You know that if he were in your position, he'd be saying the same thing to you.

You go to your room and think about how lonely it's been without him these past couple days. You lay back on your bed with a satisfied hum and hope your little surprise entices him to finally indulge in some much-needed self-care.

It doesn’t take long before he knocks on your door and lets himself inside. He’s panting like he just ran down the stairs from his room. The front of his pants are tented and you can’t help the breathy laughter that bubbles out of you when you imagine him rushing through the house looking like that.

“Oh, you think this is funny, do you? You little tease—“ his words are pointed but his tone is playful. He tries to smother a wicked grin when he steps to the edge of your bed; he admires the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, the discarded toy still slicked with lube and traces of your release, and your half-lidded, bright eyes that promise him more.

You reach for him and run your hand over the outline of his cock and you smile when his hips buck towards you. You’ll give him anything he wants as a reward for finally listening to you, and he knows it. He asks you to swing your legs over the edge of the bed, and he kneels on the rug and pushes your thighs apart. His tongue licks long, slow stripes against your tacky skin and he moans when you run your fingers through his hair.

He unbuckles his belt and slips his cock free so he can jerk off while he chases the taste of your cum that still stains your skin. All your little noises sound so perfect even when he’s buried between your legs. He cleans up the mess you made of yourself while he makes one of his own.

By the time you whimper and tug at his hair from the sensitivity of coming more than once under his sinful mouth, he’s hard again and ready to fuck you properly.

ASMODEUS // a game for two

Asmodeus adores these little games you play together. He’ll send you a picture, you send him one back that’s just as naughty. It’s a nice way to build anticipation throughout the long, boring days when he can't sneak you away for some alone time.

Most of the time, it's not a problem. He’s the Avatar of Lust—he knows how to keep some semblance of self-control. Or he did, until he made the mistake of listening to that video you sent him between classes. He’s stuck at RAD while you’re waiting for him at home. He knows his options: he can skip class and go home where he knows you're waiting. Or, he can give you a taste of what you want and let the excitement simmer until later when desire finally boils over.

Being a student council officer has its perks. Asmo can walk into an unused office in a quiet part of the building without being hassled. He can lock the door and hop onto the edge of the large desk without being lectured about propriety or manners.

He lets your recording play on loop while he switches to the camera app on his phone. It's not loud enough to draw too much attention from outside, but he can still hear each lovely sound you make; they send little jolts of pleasure shooting down his spine.

He leans back on one hand while he takes a photo and sends it to you.

Asmodeus: Like what you see, darling?

His grin sharpens and becomes more feral with each new picture he sends you. In the first photo, the collar of his uniform is unbuttoned and the shirt hangs loose across the top of his chest. In the next, his uniform jacket is gone and his shirt is completely unbuttoned; he makes sure you can see how his nipples hardened in the cool classroom air. The third photo is focused on his lower belly and the outline of his cock straining against the zipper of his slacks.

He waits for your enthusiastic response before he unzips his fly and tugs his boxer briefs down. In the next photo, his hand is wrapped around his cock, and you can just see the tip that's trickling a stream of pre-cum onto his fingers.

You send him a new picture—your hand between your legs, mid-stroke along the edge of your arousal—and he starts jerking himself off too. Fuck it. He's too impatient to stave off his desire for you any longer, but it's so hot that he knows you're doing this together.

After he comes, he sucks one of his sticky fingers into his mouth and sends you one last picture; he bites his lip and stares when you send him a picture of yourself doing the same.

BEELZEBUB // impulse control

Beelzebub struggles with his insatiable appetite. If there's something he wants, he’s willing to rampage through the Devildom to get it. You’re careful about timing the little treats you send him to whet his appetite for you. When you send Beel something teasing or provocative, it’s not about driving him into an uncontrollable rampage (you’ve already learned that lesson)—it's about showing him how much you love him and miss him and want him. (And to keep him from getting too distracted by food on his way to see you.)

He doesn’t usually skip meals, especially after Fangol practice, but tonight he walks past the dining room to your bedroom door. After he lets himself in and locks it, he stares at your naked body laid across the bed. The musky scent in the air from your earlier activities makes his mouth water. He starts drooling from the corner of his mouth; he’s too distracted to notice, and you’re too enamored to care.

You make room for him between your legs, and his large, warm hands wrap around your ankles. He tickles you gently and glides his hands up your calves and over your knees. He rubs his hands over your soft, fleshy thighs; he spreads them apart even more while his gaze lingers on the glistening skin between your legs. He salivates even more at the sight of lube and slick and cum on your toy, and he licks his lips.

The only message he sent you after he listened to your recording was a request to keep your toy the way it is. It's beside you on the bed, and his eyes darken with lust and hunger when he sees that you did as he asked. He picks it up and examines it; it's not nearly as girthy as he is, but it's still an impressive size. He makes a show of licking it clean, and after a few greedy swipes of his tongue, you’re squirming with desire rather than embarrassment.

He hums and groans at your taste, but it's not enough. He swipes at the sticky mess between your legs with his fingers and sucks them into his mouth. He makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat when his fingers are clean and he's still hungry for more.

He lowers his head so his mouth can finish what his fingers started, and he shifts your legs onto his shoulders while he sucks on your arousal and flicks his tongue against your entrance. He stretches you with his thick fingers while your thighs tighten around his head and keep him in place. He finally raises his head when you tug at his hair and beg for him; you feel so empty and he's the only one that can fill you the way you want.

He watches his cock sink into you, and he finally fucks you with powerful, deep strokes that shake the bed. He holds onto the headboard for leverage, and each snap of his hips punches the air from your lungs in shaky moans and keening whimpers of his name. You come first and your walls milk his cock until he fills you to the brim.

His cock slips from your body and he lowers himself between your legs again. His tongue laps greedily at your release mixed with his. He does it over and over again, fucking you senseless with his cock and eating you out after, until your throat is hoarse and you can't possibly come again.

He looks satisfied when he finally raises his head from between your legs. The lower half of his face is warm and sticky, and he kisses you so you can taste how delicious you are on his tongue. He lays down next to you and gathers you into his arms.

While your breathing tapers off into quiet snores, he smacks his lips with satisfaction; the only thing that tastes better than you is the combined taste of both of you together.

BELPHEGOR // sweet dreams

You send Belphegor the recording you made for him, but you still haven't heard from him by the time you start getting ready for bed. When you check on him, you find him fast asleep in the room he shares with his twin. You smother your disappointment and hope he’ll still appreciate it when he wakes up tomorrow.

“You’re so fucking horny for me sometimes, aren’t you?” he whispers into your ear from somewhere behind you. He suddenly pulls you tightly against his chest and hooks his chin over your shoulder. His hand dances along the waistband of your pants and his cool fingers dip underneath and tickle the soft skin of your belly.

Your mouth opens soundlessly in surprise, but quiet, muffled moans echo around you. The sounds play on loop over and over, and you realize that they're yours.

“That pathetic little toy of yours can’t satisfy you the way I can,” he states matter-of-factly because you both know it’s true. “How many fingers do you want tonight?” he asks teasingly as his hand slips into your underwear. “One? Two?” You gasp at the cold, slick sensation of his fingers teasing your entrance. “Or three?” he breathes into your ear, and when you nod shamelessly, you cry out as he thrusts them inside and your hole stretches around him.

You reach behind you and fist one of your hands in his hair, and he hisses as a jolt of pleasure-pain shoots through his body. He smirks against your shoulder and nips at your throat in retaliation. You start rolling your hips and fucking yourself on his greedy fingers; he grunts when your ass rubs against his cock that’s hard and pressed into your back.

“See?” he taunts you as he coaxes you towards the precipice of pleasure, but his fingers are thrusting shallowly into your hole now and denying you the friction you crave.

“I’ve been here the whole time, you could’ve had me instead. I’ll fuck you however you want.” He tugs on your earlobe with his teeth. “You beg so prettily for my cock.”

“You were sleeping,” you whimper, and he clasps his hand over your mouth to muffle your frustrated cry as he pulls his fingers from your body completely. He wipes them on your shirt with a huff of laughter.

“Even if I’m asleep, I’ll still fuck you better then your fingers or toys ever could.” He licks away a bead of sweat trickling down your neck and sighs hotly against your skin. “You have my permission to do things, just like I have your permission, too.”

Suddenly you’re both bare and he pushes you down so you’re on all fours. He leans over you, and you feel the head of his cock slide between your legs and press against your entrance. “You riled me up with that little message you sent me, and now it’s time to wake up so I can fuck you properly.”

You gasp as your eyes fly open when the dream ends, and you moan into your pillow when he finally sheathes himself inside you.

Read more: Obey Me! Masterlist

3K notes · View notes

baldursgate3tempobsessed · 1 year

Note

Astarion teaching Tav embroidery/sewing. Preferably with him dragging them onto his lap for a close-up demonstration.

Why do I make everything so long? Do I have a problem? There is always so much introspective nonsense idk man. Anyway adorable idea actualized below!

Also mentions of sex but this is totally sfw. I went with the timeline of when your sleeping together but he hasn't quite admitted his feelings to himself, as a side!

Astarion had no idea how he became your camp's designated seamstress. How was it possible that a team of eight adults were all incapable of knowing the basics of such a fundamental skill?

Then again, Karlach seemed to be perfectly fine with wearing her clothes to tatters. Wyll was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Lae'zel, for some gods forsaken reason, was only capable of fixing up heavy armor. Gale seemed to prefer eating magical clothing items versus being able to salvage them and the rest were mediocre at best.

The look of confusion on Shadowheart's, who was the second most skilled by far, face when Astarion tried to explain a ladder stitch was enough for him to give up entirely. It was quicker to fix the tears then to explain simple concepts to simpletons.

Brats. All of you. With one who was significantly more brazen than the rest when it came to using Astarion as their personal tailor.

Tav, the lovely thorn in his side. Who could handle wielding a glaive with startingly accuracy, but somehow managed to consistently stab themselves every time they picked up a sewing needle. It was impressive, how useless someone who was otherwise extremely competent could be.

Impressive as it was frustrating. Because somehow you managed to destroy your clothes more often than anyone else. Always bashfully handing him over torn trousers and ripped shirts every other night. Anyone else he would have told to fuck off by now. Even the rest of the camp knew better than to test their luck with anything more than once a fortnight. But you lacked the very basic level of self-control.

It was his own fault for giving you special treatment in the first place. But sleeping together did warrant a few extra benefits. He got your protection and you got to experience the pleasure of being with him. Simple. Or it would have been if you didn't insist on making things complicated.

Because Astarion was starting to feel things. Things that he hadn't anticipated. Because your company was... oddly pleasant. You were an interesting little thing, he had to give you that. Well-read and talkative, but not boringly so. No, Astarion sometimes found himself losing track of time when he was with you. A simple question could easily turn into a two-hour conversation about the silliest things. It was... nice. New. And oh so different from what he was used to.

Cazador didn't even allow him or his brethren to speak in his home, let alone speak to each other unless it was strictly necessary. But here he was free to do whatever he pleased. And he was finding that included being near you, despite how differently you both saw the world.

He couldn't quite blame you for your delusional optimistic views. As a Tymora worshipper you were basically doomed from the start to believe inane concepts like good fortune, luck, and gods, the good that could be found in "anyone".

You were as sweet as you were aggravating and Astarion truly, honestly, had no idea how your insane trusting nature hadn't managed to get you killed yet. But then again he... kind of liked that about you. He liked that you trusted him. It made his life more convienet and... it was nice to be seen as a person worth confiding in. Instead of the blood-sucking monster he really was.

He... liked that. He liked you. A fact that he didn't enjoy thinking about. He didn't really know what to do with it, and the implications of where his feelings could lead were starting to become unsettling. So he pushed it out of his mind. It was an easy thing to do when doom was always looming in the background. He had plenty of things to think about that didn't include his fondness for you.

Like the inner-rage you caused when you managed to somehow rip the same shirt twice in one day.

"That's it," Astarion announced when you bashfully asked for his help yet again, "Come here. I'm teaching you how to sew."

"But you always get mad when you try," You whined. But despite the hesitancy you still obediently sat next to him as he got out the sewing kit, "Do you promise not to snap this time?"

"That depends," Astarion said with a roll of the eyes, "Do you intend on not maiming yourself with a sewing needle?"

Astarion smirked at the way that made a blush crawl up your neck, "That was one time!"

"Actually darling it was closer to seven," Astarion corrected as he snatched the shirt from your hands, "Now pay attention. Look at where the tear starts. Notice how it's on the seam?"

You nodded along as Astarion explained the basics to you. He could tell that you were trying your damndest to pay attention, but when it was your turn to hold the needle your hands couldn't stop shaking. Astarion frowned as he tried to watch you work, his view obfuscated by the angle and the flow of your hair.

Well that wouldn't do.

Before he could think better of it he was hauling you into his lap, ignoring your surprised squeak as he situated you just right.

That was better. At least now he could see what you were doing. It was a sloppy stich, sloppy enough for him to undo it before putting the needle back in your hand.

"Now do it again," Astarion ordered, "Let me see what your doing wrong."

Astarion watched as you tried again, frowning when he realized your shaking was even worse than before. In fact, you seemed more nervous than ever, your face red as you kept your eyes down.

It made Astarion torn between watching your hands and looking at your face. You really were adorable, getting all worked up from simply being in his lap, all while trying to stay dutifully undistracted. He could almost hear your heart racing, obvious through the tension coursing through you.

Silly little thing, acting all shy like he hadn't already literally been inside of you. But at least you were doing better, your stitching straighter than Astarion had ever seen it. Maybe he'd have to make the lap-sitting mandatory from now on, for the good of your learning.

"See," Astarion said softly, his breath tickling your ear as he leaned in closer, "You're perfectly capable of learning this."

"So it looks good?" You asked, taking a chance to glance at him. Astarion hadn't realized just how close the two of you really were. He had never... seen you like this before. So closely. Even when you slept together, he had been a bit distracted by other parts of your body. He never noticed just how many light freckles were hiding across the bridge of your nose, how your eyes looked almost golden in candlelight. You smelled nice too, sweet. Like you had been rolling around in a field of lilies. Considering your personality, Astarion had to wonder if that's exactly what you did.

It would take almost nothing to press your lips together. Barely a turn on the head.

"Astarion, are you listening?"

The sound of his voice snapped him out of his revelry. He straightened, clearing his throat as he looked over your work again, embarrassed in a way that he couldn't quite describe.

Maybe you weren't the only one being affected after all.

"It looks better," Astarion said honestly, "But still needs work. You'll almost certainly be needing more lessons."

Preferably like this. Astarion wasn't quite ready to let you go yet, not when you felt so pleasantly warm in his lap. But luckily enough for him, you didn't seem quite so keen to leave.

Astarion tightened his hold on you laughing at the way it made you gasp, "But that's enough for today. I think you've earned a reward. Don't you?"

"I-yes?" You said back, your eyes flitting from Astarion's mouth and back, "Please?"

You really were too precious. How could he possibly say no to that?

Astarion grinned as he tilted your chin up, finally pressing your lips together. It was an odd feeling, kissing someone when he couldn't stop smiling, but he supposed you just had that effect on him.

Maybe being the camp seamstress wasn't so bad after all.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #asks #cutsey #this was a very cute idea

2K notes · View notes

cyberesc · 1 month

Text

THE BOY IS MINE. (PART 2)

pairing: Prohero!Bakugo x Prohero!Reader

rating: slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader needs a break tbh

note: I forgot where I was originally going with this story when I wrote this a few years ago since part 2 was only 70% done in my drafts, hope this was a good read ! it was fun writing dialogue for Hitomi, might bring her back for a new series🤐

part 1

You don't know when it happened, but somehow, your very existence seemed to aggravate Hitomi, for reasons you couldn’t understand. Your coworkers noticed it, even your assistant made a passing comment, but they urged you not to take it personally. Still, the cold stares, the subtle digs, and the way she tried to one-up you at every turn, it all started to wear on you. What you didn’t know was that her attitude stemmed from the time she spent in one-on-one training sessions with Bakugo.

The list of things Bakugo is good at is so long it would be stupid to write about, so it was obvious that he would be the perfect mentor. His sharp eyes caught every mistake, his feedback was brutally honest, and his results were undeniable. Hitomi knew this and respected him for it. But there was something else that ate away at her during those sessions, something that made her resentment towards you grow stronger with each passing day.

It started with the small comments Bakugo would make, things he probably didn’t even realize he was saying out loud. “Y/N always nails this move on the first try,” he muttered once, when Hitomi fumbled during a drill. Or, “You’re gripping too tight—Y/N knows how to balance strength with control.” At first, Hitomi tried to brush it off, telling herself that Bakugo was just using you as an example to push her to do better, after all you were in the top rankings of Japan for a reason. But the more it happened, the more it grated on her. It wasn't just that you were good—it was that you seemed to be the benchmark against which she was measured.

The worst part, the part that truly made her snap, came during a routine training session. Hitomi was testing the mobility of her suit after some recent upgrades, moving through the drills with the precision she had honed under Bakugo’s guidance. He observed her as usual, his sharp eyes catching every nuance, every mistake.

But then, as she finished a complex maneuver, he made a comment that made her blood run cold. “You’ve got the power, but you’re hesitating,” Bakugo remarked, his tone almost distracted. “They would’ve read that shift in a heartbeat, made the move smoother.” he continued under his breath.

He didn’t even look at her when he said it. The reference was subtle, but Hitomi knew exactly who he meant. He talked about you enough for her to pick up on the unspoken comparison.

It wasn’t just that he compared her to you; it was that, in his mind, you were the standard she could never reach. The unattainable.

In that moment, it solidified for Hitomi: no matter how hard she trained, no matter how perfectly she executed every move, she would always be second to you in his eyes. His words echoed in her head, taunting her, and she knew then that she wasn’t just competing with a fellow hero. She was battling against the idealized version of you that Bakugo seemed to hold onto, an impossible shadow she could never escape.

It wasn’t rare for Dynamight to be paired with lower-ranking heroes on missions or patrols, but you happened to be his frequent partner. You weren’t sure if it was because your quirks worked well together or because you could read each other in any situation. Little did you know, Bakugo’s unconscious behavior around you was something even his assistant had picked up on. He didn’t lose his temper as easily when you were around, and on the rare occasions he did, it was never directed at you. He even made subtle nods at reporters before blasting off with you by his side. Almost every mission you collaborated on ended successfully, a fact that wasn’t lost on the agency.

Hitomi had noticed, too. She watched the way Bakugo seemed more grounded when you were around, how he sometimes deferred to your judgment without argument, and how he never seemed to mind your presence. That’s what made her resentment so sharp—it was one thing to compete with you in training, but another thing entirely to see that you were already a fixture in the life of the hero she admired—the man she wanted.

Your first mistake, if you could even call it that, was during a debriefing session. Hitomi had suggested a strategy, one that was sound but flawed in a way only experience could detect. You pointed it out, offering a correction in a calm, professional manner. It wasn’t meant to be demeaning, but to Hitomi, it felt like a public embarrassment. And Bakugo, instead of defending her, nodded in agreement with you, reinforcing the gap between her and you in his mind.

Another time, in the break room, she overheard a conversation where Bakugo was praising your tactical instincts. He never did that for anyone else, not even her—the one he had personally trained to analyze and fight just like him. She had been mentored by the best, molded to think and act with the same precision and intensity that Bakugo himself embodied. So, it came as a shock when she realized that everything she did, using everything she had learned from him, wasn’t good enough to hold his attention.

From then on, every interaction with you became a painful reminder that you held a place in Bakugo’s life that she couldn’t touch. So, she decided to carve out her own space, to prove that she could be the one who stood by his side.

The tension between you two only grew, feeding off these moments until it became a palpable force within the agency. And as much as you tried to stay above it, to focus on your work and ignore the subtle hostility, it was impossible not to notice. The whispers of office gossip, the way Hitomi would shoot you a look whenever Bakugo acknowledged you in a meeting—it all added up, and it all pointed to the truth you were too kind to see: Hitomi wasn’t just competing with you. She wanted to take everything you had, including Bakugo.

Hitomi’s resentment towards you was not something she could easily suppress. It wasn’t just about competition; it was personal. And when she realized that Bakugo saw you as a benchmark she could never reach, it drove her to desperate measures. If she couldn’t directly compete with you on the field, she would try to outmaneuver you in the court of public opinion.

So she set up a rumor to shift the narrative. It began subtly, with carefully orchestrated moments designed to seed the idea in the media. She made sure to be seen with Bakugo frequently, arranging coincidental encounters that were just intimate enough to spark curiosity. It was all carefully planned to catch the eye of the paparazzi.

The crucial moment came when Hitomi arranged for an image to be captured. A staged photo, one that would make it look like she and Bakugo were involved in a romantic relationship. The key was using a lookalike, someone who bore a striking resemblance to Bakugo, someone subtle enough to create a convincing illusion without risking his actual reputation.

The resulting photo, taken from a distance, showed Bakugo— or allegedly Bakugo—with his arm around Hitomi’s shoulders.

She meticulously chose the location of Bakugo’s favorite konbini, a spot he frequented to fuel up between patrols. This particular konbini was a well-kept secret among a few close friends and had become a sort of personal refuge for him. By selecting this location, Hitomi aimed to make a statement—a pointed message aimed directly at you.

The magazine’s social media team spread the image far and wide, igniting a storm of speculation and gossip. Fans and media alike began buzzing about the potential romance, analyzing every interaction between Bakugo and Hitomi for signs of affection. The craze was relentless, and soon, it became a trending topic. Headlines everywhere echoed the same speculation, and Hitomi basked in the growing buzz.

It was a clever ploy. With Bakugo’s name and your connection to him constantly in the limelight, it created a smokescreen that obscured the truth and shifted public perception. By the time you and Bakugo were confronted with the rumor, it had already gained enough traction to cause serious damage. Hitomi had successfully planted the seeds of doubt, making it seem like she was the one who had captured Bakugo’s attention.

Hitomi’s actions were not just about rivalry. She was trying to erase your presence and position herself as the ideal partner, hoping that by winning over those around Bakugo and creating a convincing narrative, she could finally gain what she felt she deserved.

Hitomi’s plan was working, and you were now caught in the crossfire of a fight you hadn’t even realized you were part of. And that’s where it all began to unravel.

After your checkup at the agency’s infirmary, the reality of your situation set in. The injury was severe enough that your boss decided to put you on desk duty until you were fully recovered. It was frustrating, but you had little choice but to comply.

Today, you found yourself seated at your desk, sifting through paperwork and mission reports. The mundane tasks offered a welcome distraction from your physical pain, but it did little to quell the storm of emotions that raged within you.

The agency’s hallways bustled with activity, heroes and sidekicks moving about in their usual hurried fashion. You were doing your best to stay out of everyone’s way, trying to blend into the background. You were engrossed in organizing a stack of reports when there was a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you called, not looking up.

“Hey, Y/N!” The cheery, singsong voice of Hitomi reached your ears, and you tensed. You had hoped to avoid any direct communication with her, but it seemed luck wasn’t on your side today.

You looked up slowly, forcing a neutral expression onto your face as she approached you with a case file under one arm and a newspaper clutched in her hand. Her gaze flicked over to you with an expression that was anything but friendly.

“How can I help you?,” you said curtly, not in the mood for small talk.

“I thought you might want to see this,” she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. She tossed the newspaper onto your desk and placed the case file beside it.

Looking down, your heart sank as you read the newspaper’s headline: “ANOTHER HERO BITES THE DUST! PRO HERO Y/H/N CAN’T HANDLE THE HEAT!” The article was filled with damning criticisms and snide remarks, painting you in a poor light due to your mess up.

Hitomi smirked as she noticed your reaction. “You know how it is. The media loves to stir up drama. Thought you’d appreciate the heads-up.” She gave you a patronizing wave and turned to leave.

The moment she was gone, you let out a heavy sigh, grabbing the newspaper and crumpling it in your hands. With a grimace, you tossed it into the trash can, trying to ignore the sting of humiliation that the article left behind.

It had been a week since the billboard incident, and despite your best efforts to avoid Bakugo, it was inevitable that you would cross paths eventually. You had spent those days focusing on your hero work, throwing yourself into your duties with an intensity that left you exhausted by the end of each day. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the heavy weight in your chest.

Boring days of recovery were soon over. The bandages were finally coming off, and you were able to inspect your hero suit in preparation for your first patrol since the incident. The repairs were almost complete, and you hoped that getting back to work would help distract you from the recent turmoil.

As you were adjusting your suit in the testing room, you heard the door swing open. Hitomi walked in with her repaired support gear, her humming coming to a halt at the sight of you.

“Hey Y/N!” She greeted

You nodded in greeting, quickly attaching the support items to your suit to avoid a conversation.

She didn’t seem to notice your lack of enthusiasm. “I saw you around the other day but didn’t get a chance to chat. You’ve been working hard, haven’t you?” Her tone was laced with false sweetness, and you could sense the underlying hostility.

“Paperwork kept me busy,” you replied, adjusting the straps to your suit . You really didn’t want to have this conversation.

Her smile widened, as she took a step closer. “Well, you know how it is around here. There’s always something to keep us busy,” she said, her tone light. “I guess it’s why they say people like us need someone who understands the grind, right? Someone who gets how demanding this work can be.”

You felt a subtle tension in her words, but you weren’t sure where she was going with this. “Yeah, it’s a tough job.”

Hitomi’s eyes flickered with a hint of something more as she leaned in slightly. “Exactly. That’s why it’s so important to have someone who can keep up, someone who’s… on the same level. Makes things easier, don’t you think?”

There was an undercurrent to her words that you couldn’t ignore, but you weren’t ready to engage with it. “I suppose,” you replied cautiously.

She tilted her head, her smile never wavering. “Like Bakugo, for instance. He really needs someone who understands him, someone who’s in sync with him. It’s funny how the media picks up on these things.”

Your chest tightened, the implication of her words hitting you like a ton of bricks. “The media?” you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral.

“Oh, you know how they are,” she said with a casual shrug. “Always speculating about who’s with who, who’s spending time together… Sometimes they’re not too far off, though.” She chuckled softly, but there was a sharp edge to the sound. “But I guess that’s just part of being in the spotlight.”

You raised a brow at her words as she continued.

“You know—people talk. They notice who spends time together, who seems… close. But anyway, it’s a shame you’ve been avoiding Bakugo. But I guess it’s for the best.”

Realizing what she was insinuating, you could feel the tension building in your chest. “What are you getting at, Hitomi?”

She maintained that infuriatingly casual tone. “Oh, nothing specific. Just making an observation. But…let’s be real, Y/N. You were never really in the running, were you?”

You bit down on your tongue, recalling the lessons from your time as a sidekick at Endeavor's agency. Back then, you were trained to handle criticism and bounce back quickly. Being a hero meant facing harsh judgment from reporters and the press, and you had learned to develop a thick skin. You’d been through the wringer as a rookie, chewed up and spit out, and had come out stronger for it. Hitomi wasn’t the first to try and get under your skin, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Your resolve was solid, and you weren’t about to let her words shake you now.

Seeing that you had no reaction, she pressed on, her tone turning more aggressive. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re even still around here. I mean, after that slip-up the other night, it’s a miracle you didn’t get yourself killed. Maybe you should stick to the sidelines and let the real heroes do the work.”

Something inside you snapped. The pain and frustration that had been building up for days suddenly burst free, and you opened your mouth to retort—but before you could say a word, a familiar voice cut through the air, sharp and angry.

“What the hell did you just say?”

You both turned to see Bakugo standing a few feet away, his crimson eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared at the sidekick. His presence was like a storm cloud rolling in, the atmosphere around him crackling with barely contained fury.

The sidekick’s confident demeanor faltered, her eyes widening in surprise and a hint of fear. “D-Dynamight! I was just—”

“You were just what?” Bakugo interrupted, stepping closer. “Talking shit to Y/H/N? Your superior?”

She stammered, clearly panicking. “I-I wasn’t… I didn’t mean—”

Bakugo’s expression darkened, his voice low and deadly calm. “You should know better than to run your mouth about things you don’t understand.”

The sidekick’s eyes darted between you and Bakugo, realizing she was in serious trouble. “But—”

Bakugo spoke over her, his patience completely gone. “You’ve got some nerve, talking like you know a damn thing about me or Y/N.”

You were frozen in place, watching the scene unfold in disbelief. Even after avoiding him for so long and keeping your distance, Bakugo was defending you—unrelentingly—and it was clear that he wasn’t going to let Hitomi off the hook.

“You’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass since you got here. Cause of what? All the delusional crap you read in a magazine? That ends now.”

The sidekick paled. “I’m sorry, Dynamight, I didn’t mean—”

“Save it. Now get the hell out of here.” he growled, not giving her a chance to finish.

You could hear when her heart broke, she glanced at you one last time, a look you read that you’ve won. Without another word, she bolted from the room, her confidence completely shattered. The moment she was gone, Bakugo turned his attention to you, his expression softening slightly, though the tension in his shoulders remained.

You stared at him, still reeling from what had just happened. “Bakugo, I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone gentler than before. “Don’t apologize for her being a damn idiot.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize,” you said quietly. “I just… I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

You looked down at your feet, your voice barely above a whisper. “About the rumors… I thought it was true.”

Bakugo let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Of course you did. Those vultures love to stir up shit for clicks. None of it was true. I’m not dating her—or anyone.”

You felt lighter from his words but quickly pushed down the hope that tried to rise in your chest. “But why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he muttered, looking almost sheepish. “I told you before, I wasn’t interested in dating. And I figured you’d know I wouldn’t get involved in that kind of crap.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of relief and lingering hurt. “I… I didn’t want to assume anything. And after what I saw… I guess I thought I had misread everything between us.”

Bakugo’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his hand resting on your shoulder. “You didn’t misread anything. I know what I said before—But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, dumbass.”

The warmth of his hand on your shoulder, the sincerity in his eyes—it was too much. Your resolve crumbled, and you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “I thought you were just stringing me along.”

Bakugo’s heart ached at the sight of your tears, and without hesitation, he gently pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “’m sorry… I can be a total idiot sometimes, but I’d never screw with you on purpose.”

He rested his chin on your head. “So, don’t let that bullshit get to you.”

You buried your face in his chest, letting yourself relax into his embrace. “I missed you,” you mumbled into his hero suit, the words escaping before you could stop them.

He let out a soft huff, his hand moving to the back of your head, holding you close. The sound of his heart skipping a beat was unmistakable. “Missed you too, idiot. We’ll figure this out, okay? Just… don’t shut me out again.”

You nodded against his chest, feeling the weight that had been pressing down on you finally start to lift. “Okay.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “Look, I’m not great at this, but… I want to try. With you.”

Your breath hitched, hope flaring back to life in your chest. “Really?”

Bakugo nodded, his expression serious. “Yeah. We can take it slow, figure things out…but I’m not letting you walk away.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Katsuki.”

He smiled, his dimples appearing at the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Good.”

You leaned into him, feeling the last remnants of doubt melt away. As he pulled back, you felt his breath against your skin. His eyes flickered down to your lips, with an unspoken question hung in the air. Without overthinking it, you leaned up on your toes, closing the small distance between you.

Bakugo hesitated for the briefest of moments, then closed the gap, capturing your lips in a kiss that was tender. Everything he couldn’t say with words was poured into that kiss—every frustration, every ounce of care, every unresolved feeling that had been simmering between you for so long.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you leaned into the kiss, the warmth of his embrace grounding you. His hands settled on your waist, pulling you closer as if he was afraid you might slip away. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in that moment.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other’s. His eyes were still half-lidded, a faint blush coloring his cheeks—a rare sight for him.

“Damn idiot,” he muttered softly, his voice laced with affection. “Should’ve kissed me sooner.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. “Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move.”

He huffed, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Guess I’ll have to make up for lost time, then.”

Before you could respond, he pulled you in for another kiss, this one deeper, more confident—like he was staking his claim. And you kissed him back with equal fervor, knowing that, this time, you weren’t going to let anything or anyone come between you.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed in his arms, content and more at ease than you had felt in weeks. The uncertainty that had plagued you was gone. And for now, that was more than enough.

want more of my writing? I have a poll up on my account to choose my next fic

tag list: @berryvioo @poemzcheng @bri-licious08 @hypernovaxx @dragonscribble @adultseatdinonuggets4dinner

#mha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #mha bakugo x reader #mha x reader angst #bnha x gn!reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha x gender neutral reader #bakugo x reader angst #mha x reader hurt comfort #bakugo x reader hurt comfort #cyber.writes

297 notes · View notes

woso-dreamzzz · 5 months

Text

Injured (Alexia's Version) II

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Alexia comes home from work

Alexia comes in from a long day of coaching to find carnage in the house but no more than usual.

Jaume's muddy football boots are scattered in the entrance hall along with his school bag and his training bag. His jacket is thrown callously on the ground and she can just make out the dishes he hasn't cleaned up from his afternoon snack on the kitchen counters.

Her son is found in the living room, whirred into a game of FIFA and talking into his headset to his friends.

Your own ballet bag sits at the bottom of the stairs and Alexia can hear rhythmic thumping from your bedroom. She pops the door open and throws your bag onto the bed.

You're sitting at your desk, breaking in your pointe shoe by thwacking it against the corner of your study space. You're attacking the shank of your shoe viciously while your other one lays perfectly broken in next to you.

You've raided the sewing box too, a needle already threaded so you can sew on your ribbons as soon as you're done breaking in your second shoe.

"Did that one do something to you?" Alexia says and you jolt in shock, not having realised she came in.

"Yeah," You reply with a wry smile," It didn't come broken in." You whack it one final time against your desk and test its flexibility, finally content and get to work sewing your ribbons onto the shoes.

"You left your bag by the stairs," Alexia says and you roll your eyes.

"Jaume left his stuff all over the house," You reply," He's so messy."

"He's a boy. Boys are messy."

"Have you made him clean it up yet?"

"I'm letting him finish his FIFA match. It might embarrass him in front of his friends."

You roll your eyes again, tying off your first ribbons before moving onto the second. "They're so annoying."

"They're hormonal," Alexia replies. She takes your other shoe and starts sewing a set of ribbons on. "They'll grow out of it."

"Can they grow out of it now?" You mutter," I'm sick of them watching me."

Alexia freezes, like a pail of icy water has been thrown on top of her. Her mouth goes dry. "What?"

You give her a look. "Huh?"

"What do you mean they're watching you?"

You shrug. "I don't know. They're hormonal boys. I'm Jaume's older sister." You wrinkle your nose. "They say gross things sometimes. It's not a big deal."

Alexia hates that aspect of you. You're so resigned to the concept that it is what it is. You had problems like this when you were younger too, merely accepting bullying and rude words at you because you didn't think it would matter if you tried to fight it.

It's something that Alexia's never managed to snap you out of but she never thought that she would see it in a situation like this.

"What kinds of things?"

You frown at her. "I thought you knew."

"No! Is that why you didn't tell me?"

You shrug. "I thought if you were fine with it happening then I should be fine with it happening."

"No...Bambi...You should never think that those kinds of things are okay. They're not and if it happens again, you come to me right away."

You nod, not fully convinced. "Okay, Mami."

"Hey," She says," Put on your shoes. We're overdue a catch up."

Alexia's busy coaching at Barcelona most days. She's almost always working but she tries to find the time for you and Jaume both together and alone. It used to be a tradition that she would take you out once a week by yourself to 'catch up' but work has been so busy these past few weeks so you're long overdue some one-on-one time together.

"I'm sewing my ribbons!" You complain and Alexia fondly ruffles your hair.

"And you can take a break. You've just come from a full day of dancing. Go put on comfortable shoes. You can sew your ribbons tonight."

You huff but do what you're told.

Alexia goes back downstairs, switching the tv off.

"Mami!" Jaume complains, pulling down his headset," I was in the middle of a match!"

She gives him a pointed look. "And your stuff is in the middle of my house."

"I'll pick it up later."

"You'll pick it up now," Alexia says," This isn't your room, Jaume. I like my house to be tidy."

He huffs and moves to get up.

"And tell your friends to stop saying foul things to your sister."

He freezes, every muscle in his body going rigid and stiff. "What?"

"I know what teenage boys are like, Jaume, and I understand peer pressure and not saying anything so you can fit in but this isn't school. Your sister deserves to come home and feel safe."

"It...It was just jokes, Mami."

"Was it? You may think they were joking but were they actually?"

Jaume's face grows a little confused. "But they had to be! There's...There's no way they'd come to our house and...and say those things to her and actually mean them! Right? Mami, right?"

"Jaume..." Alexia sighs. It's clear to her now that Jaume genuinely had no idea that his friends could actually mean what they said. Alexia takes some comfort in knowing that, at least, Jaume hadn't done this out of spite or any other malicious feeling towards you. "Even if they were jokes, your sister doesn't need to be made fun of in her own house. If you let them get away with stuff now then they're just going to keep building and building and building on it until it's too late to stop them."

"Mami..." Jaume looks heartbroken now, glancing up the stairs where he knows you're doing something in your room. "They...She...Is she okay?"

"I'm taking your sister out," Alexia says," She's had a long day at practice and she needs some time to decompress, okay? Can I trust you to clean up your stuff and get started on your homework?"

He nods.

"Good boy." Alexia kisses his forehead. "Your Mama should be home soon. No tv until your work is done."

"Okay, Mami."

Jaume sits himself at the kitchen table, going through a mind-numbingly boring Physics worksheet when you come down.

"Ready to go?" Alexia asks and you nod.

"Hey, wait!" Jaume calls out and you stop, turning to look at you. "I love you."

You frown in confusion. "I love you too."

"Good," He says," I mean, it's good that you know that I love you." He nods several times and a small bubble of laughter erupts from you.

Jaume grins like he just won the lottery and Alexia trusts in her son to lay down the law with his friends.

She guides you out the door and to the car, driving down to some quaint café that's opened up nearby.

"A milkshake?" Alexia offers after you've found a table," I heard from Mapi that they do those big monster ones with a cupcake stabbed through the straw."

"Mami," You admonish," I still have dance tomorrow."

"Hmm," Alexia says," You're right. It's probably too big for one each. We can share."

"Mami!" You laugh," I'm trying to stay healthy. The Spring Season starts soon. We have performances to do."

Alexia reaches over to pinch your cheek and you roll your eyes. "Well, I'm your Mami and I say it's okay. You know, I'm quite wise."

"Fine," You say," But if we're getting a milkshake then let's get the red velvet one."

"Whatever you want, bambi."

Alexia orders some cupcakes and a cookie with it and rolls her eyes as you mock complain with no actual annoyance in your tone.

"Now," She says," I've spoken to your brother and he's going to sort his friends out or else."

You roll your eyes, poking at your food. "It's fine. I can deal with it."

"You shouldn't have to deal with it." Alexia reaches across the table for your hand. "Boys will be boys but that doesn't mean they should be saying those things to you. I...I just...Bambi why didn't you tell me?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes darting to the side.

"Bambi," Alexia says again," Come on. You can tell me things, you know that, right?"

You nod. "I just...I was worried that I was being silly. That..." You shrug. "You know, you would think I was overreacting. It shouldn't bother me as much as it is. They're just stupid boys."

"Boys are always stupid," Alexia says decisively," And I don't think you're overreacting. It's going to be sorted out. If Jaume doesn't then I will."

She speaks so firmly that you can't help but agree, saved from replying by your mouth full of cake.

You still look a little awkward talking about it though so Alexia pivots the conversation away.

"So," She asks," What ballet is it this season?"

You're not usually talkative about the ballets you're practising, preferring it to be a surprise when you gift the family tickets to opening night but with the season approaching, you don't mind as much.

"First half of the season is La Sylphide," You say, sipping on the straw of the milkshake," Second half is Giselle."

Those words mean nothing to Alexia but you look excited so she decides to be excited for you.

Your cheeks go a little red and you pick at your cake. "Actually...I...er..."

"Is something wrong?"

"No...I...Do you remember when I told you that a few of our soloists got injured?"

Alexia racks her brain. "I think so. You said it was after the Nutcracker performances, right?"

You nod. "Well, they're still not back and the balletmaster decided to start doing understudies in case of injuries and sickness."

Alexia nods along. It's a smart choice, like rotating the players in a team.

You don't look at her, staring down at your plate.

"They're guaranteed one night though, you know, as the lead."

"Okay?"

"Mami, I'm playing Giselle."

Alexia chokes. "What?"

You finally look up at her. "I'm playing the lead, Mami."

"I..." Alexia whips out her phone. "What day is it? I need to check I'm not busy. No, I'll rearrange my meetings if I am. Oh, we'll have to call your Abuela and your Tia. Oh! And Mapi too! Jenni, as well." She starts typing away at her phone. "Wait, let me just text Olga. We'll have to get Jaume a proper outfit if you're going to play lead. And-"

"Mami," You cut her off though your voice is soft and quiet," It's not that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal?!" Alexia scoffs," You're seventeen years old, playing the lead in a professional ballet company! How could you keep this a secret?! Oh, bambi, we have to sort out tickets. What day did you say it was?"

You laugh. "I didn't, Mami."

Alexia crams the rest of her cake into her mouth. "We have to get home. We have to tell Jaume and Olga!" She looks at you for a moment. "So grown up! My little baby, playing the lead!"

You slouch in your seat. "Mami, calm down. It's for one night. People are staring."

"Up! Up!" Alexia insists," Come on! What do you want for dinner?"

"Mami-"

"You choose. Anything! Anything you want!"

"Mami-"

"What about that fancy place near Alba's house? I think I can get us a reservation."

"Mami!"

"Sorry, bambi. What did you want?"

"Can I just have a hug?"

Alexia pulls you into a hug, cradling the back of your head with her hand. "You make me so proud, bambi. I love you so much."

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

973 notes · View notes

urdepressedslut · 1 year

Text

The Collection

♡ Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky arrives home and panics when he notices you calling for him from your room, but upon entering— he realizes what you have been getting yourself into.

♡ Warnings: superrrrr fluffyyyy 🥹, slight panic, hints to paranoia, hints to PTSD, hints to bucky’s trauma, overall a comfort drabble

main masterlist

A/N: i have been adding to my own squish mallow collection and thought of this 🥰 i’m unhealthily obsessed with squish mallows

Arriving back at your shared apartment, Bucky couldn’t help but notice the amount of time xtra large bags on the kitchen counter. He furrowed his brows in confusion and wandered to the fridge. Opening it in inspection, he didn’t see anything new or added.

You hadn’t gone grocery shopping…

He could hear faint shuffling from your shared room, and he couldn’t help but panic. His mind was brilliant at creating a problem from nothing. He was a professional over thinker— and sometimes it threatened to make his heart give out.

“Baby? I’m home!” He announced, shimmying off his jacket and making his way to the bedroom.

“James! Come quick— you gotta see something!” You said urgently.

He automatically thought the worst and all his suspicions were suddenly coming through. Visions of you hurt came to mind and he practically sprinted and busted through the door. The knob slamming into the wall with a loud thud.

“(Y/n)? You okay?!” He asked panicked.

His body relaxed at your calm state, only the look of confusion on your face. With a quick scan— he noticed there was nothing wrong with the room or you. In fact, if anything was different— it were the many new plushies on the bed.

Releasing a breath that he didn’t know he was holding in, and ran a hand through his hair.

“James honey— you alright? Just wanted to show you my new squishmallows.” You asked him worried, walking over to stand next to him.

Truthfully, if anything he was embarrassed that he’d let himself get in his head again. But after finding you perfectly fine, and organizing your plushies— which he found adorable— he felt fine. He was only happy that you were okay.

“M’fine baby, just thought you were in trouble is all.” He told you honestly.

You softened your gaze to him, grabbing his hand and hiding him to the bed. You gently pushed him down to sit, and he did so willingly.

“I didn’t mean to sound all panicky— was just excited to show you the new ones I got today!” You told him, smiling like the cheshire cat.

He chuckled, leaning back on his hands as he looked down at the medium sized squishmallows.

“You know— this is considered an addiction.” He pointed out.

You scoffed, waving him off like it was no big deal.

“Some consider it a hobby actually.” You defended.

He raised his brows in amusement, chuckling again when he saw you being so defensive. He thought you were adorable.

“You’re so cute.” He said out loud, causing your face to grow hot.

After all this time— he was still easily able to make you blush, flustered from his compliments.

You shook off the flush in your face, choosing to pick up a new squishmallow to show him. You held up a medium sized seal squishmallow, to which Bucky smiled at.

“This is a seal one, his name is Remmy.” You told him.

Bucky grabbed it from your hands, giving it a test hug and holding it while you grabbed another one. Next was a longhorn squishmallow, with a ring dangling from its nose.

“This is a bull one, his name is Shep.” You told him, giving it a hug and then passing it to Bucky.

You held back a giggle, Bucky holding the plushies to his chest an adorable sight. Such a tough man with these cute stuffed animals.

“I like his horns.” He noted, fiddling with the plushie.

You picked up the last one, being a bird squishmallow. You smiled wide as you looked at it, this one being your favorite.

“This is my favorite of the three. I think he’s a hawk or something, and his name is Sam.” You explained.

Bucky’s eyes went wide and he started laughing, dropping the other plushies on the bed, he reached out and grabbed the hawk and inspected it.

“Sam, really?” He asked chuckling.

You nodded your head with a sly smile.

“Does our Sam know about this?” He asked again.

“Definitely not— but I’m sure he’d appreciate it.” You told him.

You two laughed at the goofiness and you ended up being pulled by Bucky into the bed. He wrapped you up in his arms and the two of you started cuddling— just melting into each others embrace. The squishmallows surrounded you two while you both drifted off to sleep.

Nothing felt more perfect, nothing felt more right than being in his arms.

“Love you baby.” He whispered, kissing the top of your head.

“Love you more James.” You mumbled into his chest.

TAGLIST: @billy-reads @potatothots @buckyb-stan @kmc1989 @silverfire13 @ghostofwinter @hanihoney88 @stilesofhannah @skittle479 @marvelogic @meetmeatyourworst @engie115 @wilsons-striped-ties @x209x @kandis-mom @l0kilaufeys0n7

2K notes · View notes

vivalabunbun · 1 year

Text

As You Are, I Am Too

Summary: If we compare people to magnets, opposites attract and sames repel, so why are two stoic faces paired as soulmates?

Word Count: 15.4k (why are you surprised at this point, get some snacks)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem! Reader, Smut(r18+), NFSW, MDNI, Modern AU, Soulmate AU, Mutual Pinning, Fluff, Slow Burn, Slow fic, Perfectionist! Reader, angst, arranged pairing, TW: Toxic family, unhappy childhood trauma, child of strained marriage trauma, TW: Themes of self-loathing, themes of infidelity(misunderstanding), toxic work environment, slight workplace harassment, pushy boss, slightly yandere! Alhaitham?, Soft! Alhaitham, second chance romance?, slightly bratty! reader, Dom! Alhaitham, Degradation, Heavy adult themes, attempts at comedy

Author Note: This is experimental, I want to explore if two same sides of a magnet can still attract. I want to explore the fumbles and mistakes of love.

Side Note: Here is a continuation

Do you believe in soulmates?

It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you do. Because who doesn’t want to believe in it? The concept of an ‘other half’, a missing piece that completes you. Someone who loves you and only you unconditionally.

Who doesn’t want to experience that?

To be loved, to be accepted, and to feel whole are all natural human desires. So it’s no surprise society, regardless of the century, culture, or demographic all obsessed over finding that other half.

To find a hand that fits perfectly within the gaps of one’s own.

The greatest minds in all of Tevyat came together, analyzing each pattern, quantifying each data point, and testing each hypothesis until their magnum opus was created: The Akasha System.

Taking the work out of fate’s hands and into a large database.

What criteria did this wonderful system use to piece together two halves of a whole? Who knows, it’s a black box. However, the machine was quite smart, quite quick, and quite accurate.

So much so, there was no reason not to use it.

Humans, no matter how much some might deny it, despise being lonely. They fear it so much they’d rather hold a hand which strangles theirs with an equally crushing grip.

That’s why people rush toward their soulmates the moment the Akasha finds them, they fear being alone.

But do you believe in soulmates?

“No.” Alhaitham puts down his drink.

“But you still used the Akasha??” Kaveh juts a finger in the direction of an ashen-haired man.

“And?” Disinterested eyes glance at the time displayed on a clock in the rowdy bar.

“And?! What do you mean and? You just said you don’t believe in soulmates!” The slam of Kaveh’s palms on the table made a bit of beer lap over the edge of his cup.

“I don’t believe in soulmates, but I’m not ignorant to the benefits of marriage.”

“Huh?”

“It’s convenient.” The blunt statement rolling off Alhaitham’s tongue as he motions for the tab.

“Ugh, you know what, forget it.” Kaveh chases his heavy sigh with a hearty swig of his cup.

“Well then, I’ll call it a night.” He’s stayed out long enough.

Placing a handful of mora on the table to cover his tab, Alhaitham bids goodnight to his two workplace acquaintances and former college roommate.

He swiftly strides towards the creaky tavern door, swinging it open as he steps into the warm Summer evening. Tomorrow is another workday, better to get an adequate amount of rest.

“Still the same even after a full year with her, huh,” Kaveh sighs dryly.

“Did you really think he’d change after marriage, Kaveh?” Cyno finally chipped in from the sidelines.

“I should’ve known, someone as egotistical as Alhaitham practically married himself.”

“Now, now, his wife is nowhere as egotistical as him,” Tighnari says over the rim of his glass.

Cyno and Kaveh paused for a moment, sharing a glance as they considered Tighnari’s observation. With a shrug, they concluded: you weren’t nearly as egotistical as Alhaitham.

Still, the great mystery remains.

“How is he the first to marry?” The blond bachelor slumps further on the tavern stool.

“Life is full of wonders.” The ebony-haired bachelor gave a few comforting pats.

———————————————————————————

Unlocking the solid oak front door, Alhaitham steps into the serenity of a quiet house. Good, his ears were slightly buzzing from the boisterous conversation in a crowded bar.

Taking a few more steps into the entranceway, the man shuts the door behind his body.

The dull gossip over a few rounds of drinks made their influence known to him, he just wants to go to bed. Thus he takes a few more steps toward his bedroom.

“Place your shoes into the closet, I just mopped the floors.” A level voice called out from the living room.

Alhaitham’s movement halts, quickly glancing down at the Oxford shoes still on his feet, taking note of the spotless floorboards.

Wordlessly, Alhaitham unties the laces allowing him to kick them off with ease, placing them onto the shoe rack just behind a closet door.

It’s a habit that slips his mind every now and then despite a year of marriage; Surprisingly unsurprising when you take into consideration his busy mind.

However, times were different now, he’s no longer a kid, free to be lost in thought. He’s now a homeowner of a spacious house, a space he shares with you, and you liked things clean.

Not a speck of dust lingered on surfaces, no plates left in the sink, and books pristinely placed on organized shelves. Qualifications that he deemed exceptional for a life partner.

Now with slipper-clad steps, Alhaitham makes his way through the house, peering into the living room to spot your curled figure reading on a sofa. The warm glow of a floor lamp illuminated the soft curves of your cheek.

“Is something the matter?” You didn’t look up from the page as you addressed him.

“No, just heading to bed.”

“Okay, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The start and finish of tonight’s conversation, after all, you valued a quiet house as much as he did. His colleague’s words weren’t without merit, even Alhaitham isn’t stubborn enough to deny the obvious.

Hobbies identical to each other, books upon books lined up along numerous shelves, preferring to stay within the walls of this house unless dragged out by friends.

Your indecipherable gaze and stiff lips rival his own stone face. Perhaps that’s why the Akasha paired the two of you together. Two beings with stoic faces only another stoic would bear for a life partner, like two sides of the same coin.

Alhaitham stops unbuttoning his shirt behind his shut bedroom door, reanalyzing the previous statement. Actually, that isn’t a very good analogy.

It'd be more accurate to compare you and him to a double-sided mirror that reflected only one view.

“I don’t believe in soulmates.”

The man sitting across from the cafe table, introduced as Alhaitham, bluntly states, interrupting your sip of coffee, warm beverage just barely touching your lips.

Placing your cup back down on the coffee shop table, your gaze observed the stranger who just met you moments ago - a meeting in a small cafe arranged by Sumeru’s Ministry of Human Relations, the government body tasked with delivering the Akasha’s verdict.

After a few breaths, you decided to humor his abrupt statement with a response. Staring straight into his teal-orange eyes, you say, “What a coincidence, neither do I.”

————————

So then why did two nonbelievers follow the verdict handed to them? It’s simple really.

Two salaries combined can buy a sizable house. Two pairs of hands get chores done faster. Two signatures on a certificate save tax money. Life is simpler with a partner to bear some of the burden.

Young professionals and fresh graduates aren’t known for their financial independence; a boy eager to move out of a cheap flat and away from an infuriating roommate, a girl trying to escape a noisy environment.

The circumstances had aligned.

And that’s how it’s been for two years now, a nice quiet house. Although, you’d be lying if you weren’t thankful that the Akasha paired you with someone as handsome as Alhaitham. Silver hair, broad frame, and beryl eyes with a hint of ochre - maybe he’s an apology gift from some fickle god.

He’s a well-rounded and capable man; perceptive enough to know not to cross boundaries drawn in the air, apt enough to not disrupt the serenity, and able to take care of himself.

Although, he could learn to launder better.

Your lips tug down as your eyes scan over the deep wrinkles crimping the fabric of a freshly washed button-down. It looks too rumpled to look professional, even on him. A sigh falls from your lips.

The presence of slow steps make your head turn in their direction, connecting with Alhaitham’s neutral eyes, quirked gray eyebrow questioning your purpose.

Two bodies, two rooms, and two beds.

The only time you or he crossed into the private haven of one another was when the floors needed to be mopped or shelves dusted. Owning a house means owning up to tedious chores and dividing up responsibilities spares one’s sanity from the tediousness.

It’s best to point out the critiques now to spare your own clothes from the same fate. Picking it off the back of his chair, you show him the shameful state of the garment.

“Leaving your clothes in the dryer for too long will create stubborn wrinkles.” You advise.

Teal eyes glance at the shirt in your hands before they flick towards the closet rack, your own gaze follows, noting the numerous other shirts in a similar state. Another heavy sigh escapes you, it's obvious Alhaitham attempted to do laundry yesterday.

Wordlessly, you begin gathering each wrinkled garment.

“I’ll rewash them and hang them outside, it’s the best way to smooth them out. Heat isn’t recommended for your fabrics.” You swiftly walk past him with your arms full.

“Thank you, I’ll clean the floors then.” He takes hold of the mop against the wall.

This seamless switching of responsibilities is done with less than two sentences, the efficiency of which is only possible between two people such as yourselves.

Button-downs are much more fickle than a casual t-shirt, using the wrong detergent or leaving it unattended for too long will cause unsightly wrinkles.

Alhaitham’s laundering skills have improved in the last two years… perhaps the singing of the dryer still slips past his preoccupied mind.

The two of you are working professionals. Crucial insight you’ve learned from your parents: A nicely ironed shirt, neatly brushed hair, and elegantly tied ties are all it takes to make others believe in the white lie of a put-together life.

Alhaitham was raised by his grandmother, a detail you recall from a passing conversation some time ago. It shows.

The amateur attempts at chores, the books strewn about a desk absent-mindedly, and the afternoon naps spent on a couch underneath a sunlit window are secrets only seen behind closed doors - all telltale signs of being well-loved.

‘How nice it must be.’ You thought, clipping his freshly washed button-downs to the clothesline, allowing the Sunday morning rays to shine down upon them.

A stone-faced man was once a beloved grandson. Maybe his juvenile attempts at chores were too endearing for an elderly lady to correct.

Hidden from everyone but the audience of swaying fabric and a curious star, a bittersweet smile tugs at stiff lips.

The clinking of forks against porcelain plates accompanies the evening news. Your eyes starring indifferently towards the TV just around the corner from the dinner table; looks like tonight's topic was the annual metrics of the Akasha.

With each passing year, these metrics only climb higher and higher, a machine learning to calculate better and better.

“What’s your theory behind the Akasha?” you blurt out the question without looking away from the screen.

A pair of utensils halted their movements as Alhaitham glances at the evening news. He takes a moment to wipe the corners of his mouth before humoring you.

Technically, the two of you have yet to fill your daily conversation quota. Might as well do it over dinner.

“It’s all mathematics, the Akasha system. Pairing individuals based on collected data. Demographic, interests, and dispositions, are all factors in a pairing,” he explains in his baritone voice.

“Mmm, then again it's all just a black box, we can’t be certain unless they choose to reveal it.” You ponder aloud.

“Correct. Those factors are all key when it comes to compatibility. The Akasha simply uses probability. However, there’s the element of human variability.”

“Meaning it can’t always be right.” You know this, live it even. “Is that why you don’t believe in the concept of soulmates?” Pivoting to an adjacent question, you return your attention back to the man across the table.

“Yes, it’s an unrealistic belief.” Alhaitham sips on his wine.

“Such a brilliant conclusion, what an astute mind you have.” Honeyed-voice mimicking awe over a glass of water.

Narrowed teal eyes honed in as his glass returned to its place on the lacquered surface, unamused by your quip.

“How about you? What theory brought you to hold the same brilliant conclusion?”

“Do you know phenylethylamine? PEA?” Glancing up from your glass.

From his idle gaze and unmoving lips, you take his silence as a “no”.

“It’s a stimulant that causes your heart to beat abnormally, released when you’re around a special someone. It causes what people describe as the ‘rush’ or ‘fever’ of love.”

He says nothing, waiting for you to continue.

“But then your brain gets used to it, and the abnormality in your chest corrects itself.” You take a sip before continuing, “Nothing last forever, so why do people think love is an exception? That only one person ever will cause their hearts to flutter till the end of time?”

A dry giggle follows the clink of your water cup against the wood.

“How insightful.” Alhaitham takes another sip of wine to chase his sarcasm.

Maybe it was the amusing quip or how tonight’s butter chicken turned out to be exceptionally delicious, but a subtle smile curls at the edges of your lips. With today’s conversational quota fulfilled you focus your full attention back to the awaiting dinner.

You remain ignorant to the gaze of teal eyes, oblivious to how it fixates on the faint smile complimenting the soft curves of your cheeks and plush lips.

“...”

The front door shuts and locks behind you, your shoes are halfway into the closet before a familiar scent beckons you towards the living room.

Quickly getting into your slippers, you trek through the entranceway and round the corner. The vivid hues of pale blues and gentle violets with pops of bright yellow catch your eyes, confirming your speculations: it’s a bouquet.

The bundle of flowers were placed into a long-forgotten vase. Turning away from the blooms, you face the man currently thumbing through a book on the couch -the only other person with access to this quiet haven.

Turning back to observe the blooms, you note each species of flower. The Sumerian Rose, Kalpalata Lotus, and…Padisarah.

You observe how the pollen of the Padisarahs dusts the radius of the surface around the vase. It’s a fickle flower after all.

A fickle and potent-smelling flower.

A scowl twists your face despite your best efforts, the sickly-sweet fragrance of the capricious blooms assaults your senses.

“Please open a window.” your hand comes up to shield your nose.

“Is something the matter?”

“The smell is giving me a headache.”

A headache forms from within the deepest depths of your mind, the same visceral reaction to the heavy perfumes that plagued your childhood walls. Your mother believed the saccharine scent could cover up her infidelity if she sprayed enough.

Compared to that artificial perfume, fresh Padisarahs were much tamer, but still enough to make a bitter taste appear at the back of your tongue.

“I see.” Alhaitham sets his book down, getting up to allow the Autumn breeze in.

Swiftly, you trudge away from the vase and its potent blooms and down the hall, eager to find an untainted corner of the house. It’d be best to sleep the headache off.

In the morning when you round the corner back into the living room, you notice the vacant vase and table wiped clean of any speck of yellow pollen. Passing through into the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts in the air.

As you pour yourself a cup, you take note of how the trash has already been taken out, a fresh trash bag lining the bin.

Good, flowers were a hassle to keep around the house.

———————————————————————————

“Chocolates?” You study the box of sweets left out on the kitchen table.

“I picked them up while getting ingredients for dinner,” Alhaitham answers, busy chopping carrots.

“You can have some.”

You return your gaze back to the intricately designed package in seasonal Winter colors. It’s not often that you indulge in such elegant treats, you couldn’t refuse such an offer.

Delicately picking up a piece, the glossy dark chocolate shine looks inviting, you can see the quality in these sweets. Placing the small chunk onto your tongue, savoring the rich flavor. Not too sweet and not too bitter.

Using your tongue to maneuver it towards your teeth you bite into its center, only for your tastebuds to be assaulted by a foul flavor. The distinct and sharp tang of alcohol and the revolting aftertaste of bourbon spoils the sweetness.

Refusing to allow the detestable flavor to remain on your tongue, you briskly swipe up a few napkins, spitting the foul sweet out. You frown at the stubborn tang of bourbon which threatens to ruin your appetite for dinner.

“You can have the rest.” You throw out the crumpled napkin.

“Are they of poor quality?” The tapping of the knife paused.

“They’re just not to my taste.”

“In that case, I hope tonight's dinner is.” Alhaitham resumes his task.

Taking a glass out from the cupboard, you fill the cup with fresh water before gulping it down, washing the foul tang of alcohol from your tongue, and even fouler memories of the stench of sour wine and crushed cans.

Wiping the escaped droplets off with the back of your hand, you go for a second glass. Hopefully, you can cleanse your palate.

———————————————————————————

“Do you have plans tonight?” Alhaitham’s words make you stop in the middle of the hallway.

You have a book ready in hand for a night of reading on the sofa under the soft glow of the floor lamp. You know his eyes can see that, gaze questioning his intentions.

“I was given two tickets to a movie, would you like to accompany me?” He holds out the slips of paper.

As your eyes pass over the printed font, you recognized the title, a name picked up within the chatter of coworkers at the office. It’s An adaptation of a famous light novel from Inazuma, and the reviews seem positive.

“Sure.”

You could get out of the house a little more.

…

It seems like everyone wants to see a movie tonight, the theater lobby is filled with bustling crowds, families with excited kids, and couples holding hands.

And then there’s you and Alhaitham. Standing side by side, his hands carrying two carbonated drinks, your hands holding an overpriced bag of popcorn, walking toward the room printed on the tickets.

“C5…C6, looks like we got good spots.” You settled into the plush seats, careful not to spill the bag.

Alhaitham hums in response, placing your drink in the cupholder. More and more people filed into the screening room, waves of ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry’s rolling through the space until all the seats were finally filled. The lights begin to dim as the opening logo booms through the sound system.

The cinematography was beautiful, the musical scores accompanying the plot pleasing to the ears, and the popcorn perfectly seasoned.

It’s been a while since you’ve last gone to a movie theater, maybe you should go more often. As you brought a few more pieces of popcorn to your lips, your eyes travel toward Alhaitham.

His arms crossed as the light of the silver screen reflects onto his skin, noticing your stare, his teal gaze connects with yours.

Moving the striped bag closer to his frame, you offer him some popcorn, he paid for the refreshments. It'd be a shame if he didn’t get to enjoy them too.

His large hand reachs over and takes a handful, your curiosity wanting to see his reaction to the snack. However, a piercing shrill snaps your attention away.

Just a few rows away, a woman stood up from her seat, throwing a bag of popcorn at the man sitting beside her. Screaming words you couldn’t quite make out as they merges with the onscreen dialogue and equally furious shouts of the now popcorn-covered man.

Their thunderous voices were only amplified by the acoustics of the theater.

They’re both standing now, still hurling insults and grievances one after another. There’s a ringing in your ears, their faceless silhouettes in the dim theater replaying a scene you’ve seen many times before. It’s as if they’ve finally developed a conscious, now aware of the stares and glares thrown their way.

Oh, look they’re leaving now, still fighting the whole way out of the screening room.

With the disturbance now cleared, a low wave of murmuring swept through the audience before dying out. The dialogue and soundtrack were audible again, the atmosphere reverting to how it was.

You didn’t feel like snacking on the popcorn anymore. Gaze focus on the fluffy puffs for the rest of the movie.

“Did you enjoy the film?” An indifferent voice resounds from your right side.

Walking out as the credit rolled in the background, following the flow of traffic toward the exit. You were walking by Alhaitham’s side, but your mind was elsewhere, a subtle frown etched on your lips.

“It was fine, just crowded and loud.” Your voice was just as flat.

“Oh.”

Tossing the unfinished bag of popcorn way into the nearest trash can, the two of you continue on the silent journey home.

Perhaps, it’s best if you just stayed curled up with a book.

“Eh? It’s been three years and you’ve never gotten your wife flowers? I knew you were cold-hearted, but not to this extent. Here, a quick bouquet of some fresh flowers I picked.”

“You should gift her some sweets, maybe then you two can talk a choco-lot… Did you get the joke?”

“Are you serious?! Almost four years and you never took her on a date?? You’re hopeless! Take these tickets and take her to the movies. By the way, you’ll have to pay for them.”

Alhaitham wasn’t sure what made his colleagues so invested in his marriage, maybe a projection of their own lack of one. To his colleagues, you were just as much of an enigma as the ashen-haired man.

Any passing comment, no matter how vague or curt, would bring forth an onslaught of unsolicited advice. And it was for that very reason within the walls of your home these details shall stay.

Alhaitham isn’t sure which was more irksome, the uninformed guidance of bachelors, or the fact he was the one who actually tested each suggestion. Regardless, at least these trials were fruitful in the sense he can gauge your dislikes now.

You despise flowers for their fickle messes and scent. You’re revolted by overpriced chocolates. You detested rowdy theaters and subpar films.

Four now going on to five years, and these were his results. Frankly, he didn’t have to subject you to such experiments for these results, because they aligned with his own preferences.

A waste of time, disturbing your peace for the sake of his own curiosity.

A heavy sigh falls from his lips as he sets the bucket of water down, one hand holding a mop as the other turns the knob of your bedroom.

It’s a Sunday, meaning the floors needed to be mopped. Your door's hinges sing as they swing open only to be abruptly silenced as Alhaitham stood motionless under the door frame.

Oh. He should’ve knocked.

You were in the midst of getting dressed in front of your floor-length mirror, glimpses of smooth skin peeking out from under baggy fabric. Before he could stop, teal eyes followed the dark fabric reaching just down to the middle of your thighs and draping low on one shoulder. Your fingers were in the middle of buttoning the clearly oversized shirt as you turned back to focus on him.

Blank gaze traveling up your soft lips set in a neutral position and meeting your deadpan stare, Alhaitham’s conscience restarts.

Today was Sunday, which meant it was laundry day yesterday, and it was the ashen-haired man’s turn to wash and dry the clothes. Somehow, his button-down got mixed in with your blouses, leading to your unamused reaction.

“I’ll be more mindful next time, did my shirt dull any of your whites?” Forcing his eyes to avert, a late attempt at respecting your privacy.

“It’s fine, fortunately, the dye didn’t bleed out during the wash.” You turned away as your hand pulls the draping fabric up your shoulder.

“Just place the shirt over the chair in my room, I’ll take care of it later.”

“Okay.”

Once more your door sings as he shuts it on the way back into the hall, deciding to clean the floors of his room first and allowing you to change into your rightful clothes. It was early noon and a weekend, meaning there was no reason for Alhaitham to brush out his sleep-tousled hair. Hopefully, messy gray locks were enough to conceal burning ears.

———————————————————————————

“The Evolution of Everything.” His eyes scan over the title held out in front of him.

A newly published scientific journal filled with freshly collected data, the book's spine still in mint condition. Alhaitham takes note of the identical copy held in your hand.

“You seemed interested in this genre, so I picked up a copy for you.” You motion for him to take it.

There wasn’t a rule etched in stone that forbade the sharing of books within these quiet walls. The books on your shelves have been more interesting than his as of late. A pattern of folded corners inflecting more and more pages of the books lining your bookshelves, evidence of a certain man’s meddling.

The warning glare every time you smoothed out a creased page directed his way didn’t seem to be enough to stop the unconscious habit of his hands.

It looks like you’re trying out a new solution, getting him his own copy to prevent the infection from engulfing each and every corner of your bookshelves.

“Thank you, I’ll read it soon.” He accepts the peace offering.

With that, you made your way back to the sofa. Flipping open your own copy, fingers gently making sure to not crumple the delicate pages or crease the pristine spine. Alhaitham compares it to the book currently held in his own hands.

An older book, while not falling apart or tattered, it’s obvious the man has thumbed through its pages. A well-loved book as his grandmother would’ve described it.

Alhaitham needs to stop this practice he never corrected in childhood.

———————————————————————————

“Alhaitham.” You greet him at the entranceway.

Said man is currently placing his outside shoes away into the closet, returning from an uneventful day at his office. You usually got home before him, but this was the first time you’ve waited for him at the front door. He notes that you seem to be holding something behind your back.

“Here.” Bring your arms out from your back, the distinct crinkling of plastic was heard.

Teal eyes study the gift basket filled with bath products, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, and lotion all nicely packaged with a satin ribbon.

“It’s to thank you for helping me with errands lately,” you explain.

Recently, you’ve been asking him to accompany you to the cluttered streets lined with stalls and haggling merchants. With his towering frame and larger hands, he could carry heavier bags and part a path through the pushy crowds easier. You were using your resources to maximize efficiency.

“There’s no need to trouble yourself with this, I’m just doing my part. But thank you.” He takes the basket from your hands, eyes remaining collected.

Just as the basket leaves your hands, the distinct chime of your phone goes off as ‘Bahram’ flashes across the screen. The name of your boss.

“Excuse me, I have to take this call. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.” Turning away, you walk toward the kitchen.

The he hums in response, slipping into his inside shoes. With brisk steps, he covers the distance from the front door to his room, closing then leaning against the solid oak.

Sharply inhaling as one hand balancing the basket of toiletries and the other holding his head.

You’ve always prefer to maintain the serenity of the house. Resolving strife with proactive actions or brief comments. Not once in these past five years did you ever nag him, you’re too pragmatic for that. At times it’s a curse more than a blessing, evidenced by the gift basket staring back at him mockingly.

Although Alhaitham was messy at times, he knows the importance of hygiene. Teeth brushed twice a day, a shower taken every day before dinner, and deodorant applied daily.

However, the temperatures this Summer were at record highs, even for Sumeru. The packed market streets pushing the two of you closer than usual, perhaps he’s no match for the heat this time.

Washing his hair twice and his body thrice, Alhaitham finishes his prolonged shower by gurgling some mouthwash for good measure. Walking into the kitchen in a fresh set of clothes and his hair still damp. The table set with potato boat and some steak. Impassive eyes met inscrutable eyes as you motion for him to take a seat.

Your nose remained relaxed, meaning you were probably satisfied with his efforts.

Alhaitham makes a silent reminder to research some cologne after he finishes washing the dishes. One that isn’t overbearing nor too weak to linger.

How embarrassing it is, five years in and the stoic prodigy known as Alhaitham is still testing the bounds of his wife’s patience. Selfish experiments and habits he can’t seem to correct conflicting with your wishes for a clean, serene, and quiet home.

The entire reason why you bothered signing your name next to a stone-faced man who said ‘I don’t believe in soulmates’ before asking ‘How are you?’.

Flowers, chocolates, and movie tickets.

You weren’t oblivious to the sentiment behind these arbitrary actions. In a way, it was expected. A husband wants to get closer to his wife, it’s simple chemistry.

The human mind craves connection, oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin released at the sight of gifted blooms, crafted sweets, and from simply sitting within each other's presence.

A chemical cocktail the mind gets drunk on.

Alhaitham isn’t immune to it and neither are you. Even if you were able to stiffen your lips, steady your gaze, and hide those flushed cheeks. Nothing you did could quell the abnormality in your chest, was Alhaitham having the same issue?

There comes the first hurdle, the unknown which hung in the air formed over years of peaceful silence. The thought of two stoic faces peering into each other’s eyes as two monotonous voices stated the obvious would make any romantic keel over and die.

It’d be too embarrassing, especially when it’s already been awkward.

Headache caused by sickly sweet blossoms, spitting out pricey sweets, and dulled reaction to a critically acclaimed film. None of this was Alhaitham’s fault, how can you blame someone for something they don’t know?

He never asked, you never told.

No one knew what happened within that noisy house with empty bottle-covered floors of two ‘soulmates’ who refused to release their crushing grips. All except the three unfortunate souls trapped within its Padisarah-scented walls.

Still, his keen eyes didn’t miss those details, reassessing his actions before ultimately channeling more of his energy into chores around the house instead of frivolous gifts. What a proactive husband.

A sting of guilt felt as you recall his sincere attempts at trying to cross an icy bridge. What should you say? ‘Thank you, you tried.’ Sounded far too condescending, it could even lead to a huffy fight. Something you’ve been good at avoiding these past five years.

Marriage is filled with compromises, meeting each other halfway along the road of life, side by side. So you tried this time.

Curiosity guiding you as it did a naive hero towards the brilliance of a red star.

———————————————————————————

Your first attempt was inspired by an article that popped up on your phone’s feed, something about wearing your partner’s shirt to make them flush, nonsense known as the ‘boyfriend shirt’.

You still gave it a try. Swiping up one of your husband’s black button-downs one Saturday night, only building up the confidence to put it on the next morning.

Your original plan was to just casually wear it around the house as you got the Sunday morning chores done, but that got thrown out when Alhaitham suddenly opened your door when one-third of the buttons were still undone.

A moment of tense silence followed, impressively you managed to maintain a cool facade. Grasping the opportunity to leave this stale silence with an expertly crafted response.

———————————————————————————

In the end, he just wanted his shirt back. So for your next attempt, you toned it down, no longer taking advice from nonsensical articles.

Recently, Alhaitham has taken more of an interest in your bookshelf. More of the once pristine edges of your books folder here and there. If it was anyone else, you’d make them buy you a new copy immediately, but for now, you simply smoothed out the paper.

If he wants to read the theories and studies that muse you, why don’t you read them together?

However, two bodies pressed together on a sofa trying to read the small print along pages at the same time is simply uncomfortable. Plus, Alhaitham reads much faster than you.

To ensure a pleasant reading experience for both of you, two copies were the best solution.

He read it after you.

———————————————————————————

Your next attempts used thinly veiled excuses to get Alhaitham to accompany you to the bustling markets of Sumeru City. In a way, trying to make up for that lackluster movie experience.

Only for it to soon turn into using Alhaitham to carry arm fulls of bags as he shielded you from the push and pull of the busy crowd.

Perhaps you should stick to gift-giving, to spare your husband from working like a Sumpter Beast in this weather.

But besides books, what should you give him? He’s just like you, if he sees something he wants, he’d just buy it with his own money.

On the way home from work, you caught sight of a shop, one which displayed handmade soaps and fancy lotions. Huh, Alhaitham often takes your lotions, maybe you should get him his own. A bell ringing overhead announces your entrance into the cozy store.

“Welcome!” A bright voice chirped as a shop assistant with vibrant red hair and an equally vibrant smile bounded toward you.

“I’m Nilou, how may I help you today?”

“I’m just looking for some lotion.” You politely responded, trying to ignore the faint fragrance of Pardisarahs.

“We’ve got plenty of hand-made ones, for you or for someone else?”

“For my husband.”

“Oh? What does he like?”

You paused for a moment, lips pressed together in contemplation before deciding.

“Something fresh and not overbearing, nothing made from Pardisarahs.” If he liked using your lotions, then he must have the same scent preferences.

“We just got this new lotion that fits the criteria! Oh! But it pairs very well with this body wash… actually this shampoo and conditioner set is also a good fit. Oh! What if we bundle them?”

What was supposed to be a simple lotion turned into you leaving the small shop with an entire gift basket. A sigh leaves your lips, looks like you’re not as immune to sales tactics as you originally thought.

That night you handed the ribbon-wrapped basket to Alhaitham. Even if he isn’t interested in expensive handcrafted soaps, he’ll still use them out of necessity, they were a gift after all.

However, it doesn’t seem you had to worry about that. He used up the fancy soaps and lotions.

The opulent scent lingering on his skin and towel-dried hair, looks like your gift made you discover a new side of your husband.

He enjoys really long showers, evidenced by your rising water bills.

Still, the vast expanse of uncertainty didn’t shrink, not even one bit. Just like the distance between an outstretched hand toward the sun.

Books, lotions, and walks through a market, looks like it was all for naught.

The mutual agreement to not lock eyes, these cold halls, these awkward dinners filled with nothing but the clattering of silverware and plates. Where have you seen these patterns before?

Oh, you’ve seen these in your childhood home.

Ah, was this a curse passed on to you? What an awful wedding gift from uninvited parents to a courthouse office.

Clutching the straps of your bag tighter, your legs quicken their pace, wanting to get out of the crowded streets filled with the mumbles and pushes of people freshly off the clock.

With each stranger knocking into your shoulder another drop is added to a bottle. White knuckles gripping on your straps as a pressure rises within the bottle’s glass body, threatening to shatter it.

You can’t let this continue, the mounting pressure will sooner or later detonate into a hideous mess. Best to avoid that scenarios. Eyes catching sight of a small reprieve from the crowd, you direct yourself there.

The small store front provides you with some shelter for your lungs to breathe. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. The pressure subsides just a bit. There’s still room in there, you can suppress a little more, you can endure a little longer.

Eyelids fluttering open, you recognized the name of the shop. It’s the fancy soap shop, one with the vivacious sales assistant.

Peering through the glass you searched for that brilliant shade of crimson. And you found it, right next to glimmering silver hair. It’s like your body forgot how to breathe.

From the rumbling of the late evening rush, all you could do was read their lips from behind a thick glass door.

Petite pink lips giggling behind clasped hands as Nilou looks up at Alhaitham, tilting her head to the side as if she asked him a question. His lips remained stiff, but teal gaze reflected crimson as they softened. Something you never witnessed within the quiet walls of your home.

Looks like you found the cause of the rising water bills, perhaps Alhaitham likes the smell of Padisarahs.

Your bottle couldn’t contain the ocean anymore.

It wasn’t an Earth-shattering catastrophic event, no tidal waves crashing down, no flood flood devastating everything in its path. Only a defeated ‘pop’ and its pathetic echo as your bottle finally overflowed.

Bitter sea-foam fizzled out as it made an unseen mess.

Listlessly, you rejoined the rolling crowd, letting the eb and flow of its movement carry you all the way to the front door of a false haven. Systematically inserting the key, placing your shoes into the closet, and shutting your room door behind your back. Staring at the clean floor with its intricate wood grain.

However, your mind weren’t processing any of it, busy with its calculations.

When did his fever start? That one Autumn night with a chaste bouquet. What day is it now? The cusp of Summer. How long has it been? In a few months, it’ll be three years.

A lecture from an inescapable past resurfaces.

————————

“Hey, kiddo.”

Slurred words made you stop in your tracks, small hands tightening their grip on your backpack straps.

You weren’t quiet enough, the careful steps of your feet were rendered useless when it came to the creaky wooden floors of this house. Your lungs burned for air, but you didn’t want to breathe in the stench which permeated this air.

The aroma of cheap perfume, sour wine, and cheap beer. The source of this foul smell? The freshly awakened man laying on the couch just a few inches away: a man known as your father.

Still trying to reserve your stored supply of oxygen, all you offered the drunkard was a firm hum. Not that he’d care, judging from the crushed cans and empty bottles littering the path, he’s probably too far gone.

“Did you know love is a chemical? Something called ‘phenylethylamine’?” A hiccup interrupts his sentence, but he continues, much to your dismay.

“Haha, it makes your heart beat faster and your cheeks flush because it’s considered an amphetamine, one of the most powerful drugs.” His stumbling hand blindly reached for another can, knocking over empty shells until it found one with just a bit of liquor.

“Too bad the high can only last three years.”

Your disinterested gaze trailed off down the empty hall, legs itching to break away from the lecture you’ve heard numerous times before. Lungs begging to inhale the untainted air of your room, the only sanctuary this hollow home held.

Just a few minutes was all you needed, then you’ll start mopping these foul floors.

A clink of aluminum hitting the wooden boards draws your attention back to your father who had finished moisturizing his throat with another swig of beer.

“Stay away from that drug, kiddo” A sloppy grin stretched across his face as he stared up at a blank ceiling.

The sight made your arms bristle, seeing a smile on your father’s face was uncanny. Something you’ve never seen at the dinner table, just silent scowls and disgruntled glares constantly exchanged over a subpar meal.

Wanting him to finish this one-sided conversation, you gave another firm hum, every now and then glazing back toward the hall.

“Or you’ll end up like this old man.” He wraps the conversation up with a bitter laugh, one which resonated off the blank walls.

————————

Maybe you should’ve heeded your father’s words. A brilliant scholar to the public but a pathetic drunk when within the confines of a cluttered, noisy house is still a brilliant scholar.

This was your punishment for straying away from your beliefs. You reached your hand out towards the fire despite knowing it’d hurt, and you fell in love. Now look at where you are.

How utterly laughable, you, the ever-bright Ms. Perfect, who’s broken love down to its base form of chemical compounds, fell victim to the addiction that was love.

So blindsided by it.

The fog of love is slowly running its course through him. Once the trees abandon their vibrant greens for shriveled browns in the Autumn, his fever will be over. There’s no such thing as an endless Summer.

How did you not see this coming? Covering your eyes with ignorant hands, blatantly ignoring the signs right in front of your nose.

No more flowers, no more chocolates, and no more movies.

Turning back around, you took note of a figure in a floor length mirror. Indifferent gaze identical to how your husband looks at you.

Two sides of the same mirror, what’s what you and him are. What’s the use of that? Shiny surfaces point off in opposite directions, yet only ever reflecting one view. What’s the point of having two sides then?

You don’t intrigue him, you can’t show him his blind spots, and you can’t reflect to him a view he’s never seen. Same perceptions, same hobbies, same expressionless faces, how stale it must be.

It’s much more interesting to have a wife who’ll smile at receiving flowers, a wife whose eyes light up at chocolate, and a wife who’d blabber on about a movie as Alhaitham listens intently. The beating of his heart is starting with someone new.

Emerging out of your thoughts, you stare directly at the person in your mirror.

Dull eyes stared right back, light dimmed from years of staring at a bright star grasping at its warm rays in substitution of a cold house, only for your fingers to slip pass right through.

Idiotic girl, you can’t touch the sun, not even Icarus did.

An unlovable child grew into an unlovable adult. Add that to your footnote, so you’ll never forget this lesson again. The fool in the mirror finally looks away.

It didn’t matter if Icarus smiled or laughed as he tumbled from the sky. Silly girl, did you forget what happens in the end of that tale? He drowned alone.

Drowning isn’t like what the movies show. The thrashing of limbs against cold waves, the garbled screams under the water, all accompanied by the ominous soundtrack crafted by a sound master. It’s all dramatized for the silver screen.

Muscles pushing through the cold exhaustion, mouth agape but prioritizing large and fast gulps of oxygen over cries for help, followed by the melodic lull of water lapping over eardrums until the head disappears under its surface. Never to breach it again.

It’s possible for a person to drown in a pool full of people. Just like how it was possible for you to feel alone despite having your husband just across the lacquered expanse of the dinner table. Forks and knives clacking porcelain plates.

It’s a silent death.

For once you’re grateful to attend a nugatory dinner hosted by your company. Venue filled with superficial smiles and handshakes all over food served on sliver platters. Even if the heels are killing you, you’d rather not wallow in a quiet house.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips, catching someone’s attention.

“What a heavy sigh, here have some wine to ease the burden.” A glass filled with fragrant wine was held out in front of you.

Your eyes travel up the hand which offers the vile beverage to you, sights landing on the face of your boss, Bahram. Pushy as always, always testing the limits of your loyalty to a nice pension and dental insurance.

As always you politely push the glass away, uttering a firm “no thank you.”

“Oh c’mom Ms. Perfect, you look like you could use a drink.” He pushes the glass closer.

Stares from all around the formal dinner table hone in, the weight heavy on your shoulders. Stakeholders and coworkers turn away from their shallow conversations to watch the brewing spectacle just across the table.

That’s right, you have to be professional, where was your crafted mask? Make use of all those years observing the masters of deception you knew as your parents.

So you accept the vile glass.

Before the aroma could register on your palate, you emptied the whole glass. Not a single drip escaped past your lips. It took all your strength to no scowl at the sweetly bitter and alcoholic flavor.

“Oh? Ms. Perfect is drinking tonight?” Some nameless coworker mused.

Ah, the name lightly tossed around at the office with oblivious chuckles and ignorant smiles. You despise being called that, but not as much as you despise being told ‘you’re just like your father’ and ‘you’re acting like your mother’.

Better to be Ms. Perfect, so disgruntled ‘soulmates’ can’t compare you to their flawed counterpart.

“Do you like this wine? Have some more.” Eagerly, your boss fills the glass once more.

Staring at the beckoning liquid swirling in the glimmering cup, as the weight of those stares force your hands to accept it once more.

Maybe you should’ve just stayed home.

“I should really be trying to sell you our products but… I think you’ll find a better gift at another store. Here, I’ll write the address down for you! They have the best jewels, I’m sure you’ll find something for your wife there!” Hastily the shop assistant scribbles on a notepad before pushing the slip into his palm.

“Just don’t tell my manager.” Clasping her hands in front of her mouth, signaling to him to keep a secret.

Alhaitham simply nods, examining the address in his hands. He hasn’t tried jewelry yet, but a ring would look nice on your hand. Maybe you’d think so too.

“You really love her, don’t you mister?” Nilou notes how attentively his hands smooth over the address.

Pausing for a moment, Alhaitham envisions the softness of your cheeks shifting as that tender smile spreads across your lips. Yours eyes reflecting the light off the polished and cut gem as he slips it onto your bare finger.

“I do.” Unable to stop the softening of his gaze.

———————————————————————————

A ring still left in its miserable black box, stowed away in the depths of a drawer. A sigh slips out of him just like how he let another opportunity to place the jewel on your finger pass. You’re attending a company dinner tonight, a rare occasion requiring you to dress up.

The dress draped over your figure and curves just right and highlighted the contours of your body. He wanted to tell you this earlier as you were leaving, too bad he was occupied with swallowing ‘stay home’.

There’s an annoying itch in the deepest depths of his mind. Covetous hands crawled up his spine, they tried to convince his own fingers to grasp around your wrist and pull you back into the house.

Alhaitham shakes that itch away, refocusing his attention onto your bookshelf in front of him.

You have a life and responsibilities outside these walls, he can’t overstep the boundary to block you from your individuality. Running a finger along the tops of the neatly lined books, searching for something to redirect his impulses.

Momentum halting when his finger sunk into pages when he expected the firm edge of a spine. The force crumpling the paper, immediately he pulls it into his hands, smoothing out the folded edges. Title catching his attention.

The Lifespan of Love, the only book where the spine wasn’t facing out. Flipping it to the back, Alhaitham scans the blurb, noting the portrait of the scholar who authored it.

A familiar face, a professor who’s lectures he barely attended. A distinguished researcher and mentor in the eyes of his old university.

The sight of his face made Alhaitham recall a scene he once witnessed.

————————

The halls of the Psychology department were desolate, as they always were. A much-appreciated reprieve from crowded foyers as a quiet student walks to his next exam in the department next door.

Just as his hand reached up to activate his headphones, two voices caught his attention, the high shrills of a woman and the raspy shouts of a man leaking out from an office door left ajar.

It has nothing to do with him, Alhaitham know this, but he still had 30 minutes to kill before the exam.

Teal eyes peer through the gap between the oak doorframe.

A man the student recongizes, but the scowl and flush of rage twisted his face into an unrecongizable mess. The professor juts his finger towards the woman as foul names left his mouth, the same mouth which lectured the brightest minds of Sumeru.

The woman screams back equally loathsome words, tears leaving mascara trails down her red cheeks. Suddenly, she grabs a lamp off his desk and hurls it to the floor.

For a brief moment, the scholar pauses as his eyes scanned over the broken debris scattered along the floor. Then his fist slammed into the solid oak of his desk, thud so forceful the office ratted with the poor furniture.

His shouts resume, volume escalating by the minute.

Alhaitham backs away from the door, turning on his noise-canceling headphones. He’s satisfied his curiosity enough, walking off to his exam.

————————

A peculiar sight behind the superficial mask of a respected professor with his jolly grin and light hearted jokes with students. Inspecting the name printed just underneath the portrait, a furrow forms between his brow as he scrutinizes the spelling closer.

The professor’s last name was spelled the same way as yours.

Oh. So this is the source you were citing back then. Numbers and figures published by a notable name backing your rebuttal to the societal notion of a soulmate. Inquisiveness rearing its impatient nose, inciting his hands to choose this book as his subject tonight.

You never told him, so he never asked. This was a chance to peer into a view sealed behind your closed lips.

To study, dissect, and analyze the resources which congergated together to form the you of today. Alhaitham isn’t going to deny such an opportunity.

Teal eyes glance at the ticking hands of a clock, he’s got a good few hours of reading before you return.

The distinct rumble of an engine leaking in through the living room window interrupts his peace, the slam of car doors causing Alhaitham to promptly fold over the corner of the page he has yet to finish.

The dinner must have ended.

Getting up from a cushy couch, Alhaitham makes his way toward the entranceway.

His keen ears picking up the unmistakable hearty chuckle of a man, Alhaitham stills for a brief second before continuing to the door.

Before the chime of the doorbell had the chance to sound throughout the home, Alhaitham already pried open the front door.

Teal gaze darkening as they examine the display on the front steps.

Your arm around the shoulder of another man while his arm was snaked around your waist, pressing your body against his as he supports you up the steps.

The sound of the hinges directs the man’s attention to the homeowner currently staring at him, oblivious to the way Alhaitham’s grip threatens to crush a metal handle behind solid oak.

“Oh! You must be Ms. Perfect’s husband. I’m Bahram.” The man greeted.

Alhaitham already knows him. He’s seen that name flash up enough times across your phone. He’s seen you pick up no matter the hour and step out into an empty room.

A new habit of yours which started some months earlier.

“Haha! She drank a bit too much tonight.” The jovial man continues, his hand still resting on your hip.

Drank? You drank? You don’t so much as glance at Alhaitham’s wine cabinet at home, yet you drank with this man? The begins of scowl start to set into Alhaitham’s face.

“I’ll bring her inside for ya.” Bahram takes a step forward only to be blocked by a towering frame topped with ashen hair.

“I’ll take it from here.” Alhaitham barely bit back a pointed tone, forcibly smoothing it over to make his voice pass as neutral.

Prying that hand off your hip and your arm from Bahram’s neck, Alhaitham’s strong hold supports your slumping figure against his own body.

Pulling you across the threshold of the front door, finally putting some distance between you and that damn boss of yours.

“Have a goodnight.” Venomous lie rolling off Alhaitham’s tongue as he firmly shuts the oak door, not bothering with any more pleasantries.

It didn’t take much effort to carry you into the living room. Setting you down on the sofa then kneeling down with dexterous fingers, Alhaitham freed your feet from the chokehold of those heels.

You make a mental note to throw them out tomorrow morning.

“Thank you,” you breathed out, relieved to finally be home.

Your husband doesn’t respond as he walk away to place your shoes into the closet. The lingering taste of wine churns your stomach, you needed some water to wash it out.

Carefully, you amble into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with fresh water. Praying it can finally rid you of that foul flavor.

After three glasses of wine, your stakeholders and coworkers finally turned their attention elsewhere. You’ve entertained them enough.

Granting you the freedom to push away anymore glasses your boss offered, only getting him to stop after you agreed to his offer of driving you home.

What a troublesome night, your mood sourer than it has been for the past few months.

As you fill up your glass again your ears catch the pattering of Alhaitham’s steps as he trails into the kitchen, stopping only a few paces away watching you glup down your second glass.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” His husky voice resounds from behind you as his finger taps against the marble countertop.

“No.” You fill rinse out the cup, the stubborn grip of wine not releasing your tastebuds just yet.

“Oh? It sure looks like you did.”

Your body stiffens as your turn the faucet off, glancing over your shoulder with eyes narrowing.

“What do you mean by that?” Your tone a bit more sharp than you’d like it to be.

“I’m certain you know exactly what I mean.” Alhaitham stops his tapping as he lays his palm flat on the table, teal eyes boring straight into you.

“Well, well looks like your assumption is wrong.”

“I doubt it, stop mincing your words and just say you enjoyed a few drinks with your boss.”

Your body turns around fully, glaring stare connecting with his teal one. Ticking of a clock sounding throughout the quiet kitchen.

So that’s why he’s behaving like this, partners with wandering eyes tend to project their hypocritical insecurities onto the other after all.

“Then why don’t you say you’ve been enjoying your visits to Nilou?” Something more venomous than sour wine drips off your words.

“How is she related to this conversation?” His eyes narrowing at you, unlike the same teal irises that reflected the scarlet of her hair.

“You know exactly what I mean.” You spat his own words back at him, maneuvering around him as you make your way back to your room.

At this point you weren’t sure what was the cause of the headache threatening to form.

The wine? This deafening silence? Or the thought of Padisarahs?

You don’t care, you want to go to bed. The thuds of his steps weren’t far behind yours as you trek through the halls.

“Our conversation hasn’t concluded.” His deep voice ringing in your ears.

“Yes it has.” Your room was just in sight.

“No it hasn’t.” His hand encloses around your wrist.

There you were, halfway through the doorframe of your room with the pull of his hand preventing you from getting the rest you want.

There’s no longer any space left in a shattered bottle, just a rippling ocean getting rougher and rougher with each deep breath.

“Can’t you be honest?” His ironic, paradoxical words causes the tide to crush against each other.

“Can’t you be honest? Do you think I wouldn’t notice your showers right as you come back from ‘work’? You’ve been driving the water bill up with your cover-up efforts.” Glaring right into those damn beryl eyes, frown breaking your stiff lips.

“Cover-up? What a bold accusation coming from the same person who awaits a call everynight.” He mirrors your scowl.

“Maybe its because work offers better company than this stifling house.”

Alhaitham grip tightens on your wrist as his lips press into a firm line, indecipherable stare weighing down upon your frame. His broad shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath.

“Strip,” he commands.

“Have you gone mad?” You snap back, unable to budge in his hold.

“Yes, furious even.”

It didn’t take much effort for him to make his way into your room, pulling you in as well. You could barely keep up with it all, glaring at him but it didn’t affect him one bit.

The movement causes your dress to shift. Glancing down you realize a strap of your dress slipped off, leaving one side of your breast dangerously exposed.

With swift strides, he arrives at the edge of your bed. It’s rare for you to dawn such attire, applying a lovely shade of crimson to those plush lips, and tying your hair up so nicely. Did you get all dressed up for Bahram? Why couldn’t it be for his viewing only?

Tsk, noisy nonsense is cluttering his mind, those the claws of a green-eyes monster digging into his last shred of restraint. Seizing his rationality in its ugly, greedy hands tighter and tighter the longer your soft thighs pressed against his tense body.

Crashing into those crimson lips of yours, one hand positioning your face to allow his tongue to catch yours by surprise. Letting the two muscles dance together as his other hand explored the expanse of your body, pulling up the silky fabric to grant his palm the pleasure of gracing your soft thighs.

‘Oh, so this is what he wants,’ you thought as your lips moved against his.

‘Fine, might as well experience what he’s been doing behind your back.’ The fingers of your free hand tangling themselves into his hair, tugging at ashen locks with disregard.

Unfortunately, the pesky need for oxygen made Alhaitham release your lips. Chest panting as his darkened gaze observed the state of your lips. Crimson smeared over the corner of your glossy lips. You put so much effort into painting them, making sure they were nicely defined.

However, it felt so cathartic to know that he’s the one who messed them up, no one at the party saw them like this. Only him.

“I’ll ask you one last time, strip now.” Not letting go of your face.

“Go to hell,” you spat out.

And the last chain broke, dignity and self-control reduced to nothing more than ash as his hunger commanded him. Go to hell you say?

“Then I’ll take you with me,” he sneers through clenched teeth, pushing you into the mattress face down. One hand restraining those disobedient hands of yours behind your back.

Before protest could leave your lips a rip resounds through the hot air. Alhaitham knows he should be delicate with it. That he should carefully pull the zipper down your back, letting the fabric naturally drape off your frame.

However, a man who starved for six years now knows nothing about patience.

You feel the silky fabric slip off, leaving you in nothing but your panties. Teal eyes honing in on the darkened patch on the thin fabric, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.

“Wet just from this? Or were you wet during dinner too?” He pulls the fickle fabric off.

You wiggle in his hold, face flushed with frustrated embarrassment at your current predicament. However, in terms of strength you’ll always lose to Alhaitham. A violent flinch jolts your body as he runs a finger runs along your glistening slit.

“What a lewd thing, has he seen this slutty hole of yours?” Alhaitham watches the way your cunt quivers with each stroke of his digit.

“Do really you think I’d sleep with my boss?” Your voice slightly muffled by the sheets as you turn your face to the side.

“I need to confirm it.”

With two fingers, he spreads your soft pussy lips apart, keen eyes observing the trail of slick starting to drip down from between them. He sees the muscles of your entrance clenching around nothing, he glides a digit in, feeling your slick walls clamp around it. Clear essence drooling out. He hums in satisfaction before sliding his finger out, you bite into the sheet to silence any sounds.

“Enjoying this?” He muses, fingers spreading your cunt again.

You don’t respond, but the glare you’re sending his way makes his lip curl into a smirk. For once he could read the emotions behind your stoic eyes, he wants to see more.

Trailing his fingers up your slit until they bump into a hard nub making your body twitch. Softly pinching your clit between two fingers, he slowly rolls the senesitve bundle of nerves as you bite harder to stop your moans.

Cunt slick but unstretched, clit throbbing but not swollen, only your essence coating his fingers. Looks Bahram hasn’t gotten the chance to taste you yet.

Calming the thrashing of a green-eyed beast just slightly. However, this wasn’t enough. Alhaitham feels the parchedness of his throat as his eyes scan over your glistening slit.

Alhaitham once believed that the touches exchanged when his fingers brush against yours while passing plates, when you pull a blanket up his napping frame, or when your bodies briefly pressed against each other as he helps you hang the laundry out was enough to satisfy him. That he could sustain off just borrowing your lotions.

Such a false assumption, a foolish one even. As the heat radiating off your body melts away another restraint he imposed on himself. Alhaitham realizes just how much he’s been starving himself.

Thumb rubbing firm circles into your clit, the pleasure making your legs close together, trying to shut him out but the grip of his hand stops your attempt.

“Tsk, stay still.” His strength pinning your legs apart, showing you just how ‘feeble’ he was.

In retaliation, he pushes your legs further apart. Exposing more of yourself to him, it was embarrassing enough to almost make your lust-hazed mind care.

Thick fingers gathered up drops of slick leaking out from your dripping cunt as your lewd hole unable to contain its greed. Allowing him more access, feeding into his greed further.

Two fingers tracing the rim of your entrance before it slowly pushes through. Instantly, your gummy walls clamped down on his fingers, making him hiss through clenched teeth.

“If you’re grasping my fingers this much, how will you take something larger?” His breath ghosting over your cunt.

Your toes curled in the air as a kiss was pressed against your throbbing clit, almost enough to let a gasp escape you. Biting back a drawn out moan as his tongue traced your leaking slit, starting with your sensitive numb then traveling up to lap at the essence escaping your stretched hole with the smooth muscle then back to flick at your clit.

You never realized just how pent up your body was until whines and moans just fell from your lips like water. Turning your head away, pressing your face into the mattress in hopes it’d catch those sinful sounds.

“Tsk.” Alhaitham escalated the pace of his fingers.

A sharp slap against your puffy clit, shooting white-hot pleasure up your core. With a gasp you pulled away from the sheets, unable to stop the moan which tumbled out. Hastily, you tried to muffle your voice again, only for a warning squeeze on your still pinned wrist stopping you.

You’ve enjoyed your silence, he’s been deprived of those sultry moans, so for tonight let him enjoy them to the fullest extent.

Your back arched, hips bucking in the air. Your little pussy finally rewarded his hard work with a rush of slick soaked the sheets and his face further. Swiftly removing his fingers again with a disgraceful squelch, only for his tongue to dip into the cavern they left. He slurped and lapped up every drop of your nectar, quenching a thirst he never knew he had.

Overstimulated clit trying to flinch away from each nerve-frying lick while your weeping walls beckoned his tongue to go deeper. The tightness in his pants was painful now, engorged tip rubbing against the fabric and soaking it in precum.

With his unyielding hold, his half-lidded eyes, and his unrelenting tongue lapping up all of your essence while bullying your poor nub, you were powerless. Unable to hide from his hungry gaze, nails digging into his unflinching hand, and chest heaving with the mounting pleasure in your core.

Scowl long replaced by a loose expression, the pleasure ripping through every fiber of your being. Shooting up from your curled toes to the eyes seeing only the back of your head, the edge growing closer and closer-

Alhaitham pulls away, your slick dripping down his chin glistening in the moonlight illuminating the room. Cruelly pulling back from the edge before you could taste true euphoria. No, he doesn’t think you deserve it yet. Flipping your body effortless on your back, wrists now pinned above your head.

His teal eyes drank the sight of your breast bouncing with each pant, puffy cunt clenching desperately, and the glimmering tearful eyes rivaling the stars themselves. A sight so sinful the devil is writhing in envy.

“What the fuck?!” You thrashed in his hold again, mourning the lost of the orgasm your body was denied.

“With this attitude, you should be grateful for what you got. I’m tired of waiting.” Alhaitham sneers next to your ear, chest pressed against yours before his warmth pulls away.

Tugging his pants and boxers down his thighs with a hand still coated in your nectar, trailing kisses and red splotches in the valley of your breast as his precum and your slick mixed with each stroke of his shaft. The wet sounds even reached your ears.

Making the mistake of looking down, your eyes widened as they comprehended his length and girth. Your restless pussy twitching but your legs closing as to preserve the last of your ego. Something thick pressed against your dripping pussy making your hole quiver and legs freeze as his tip threatens breach your entrance.

“Trying to be coy now? When you were moaning like a whore mere minutes ago.” Smug teal eyes peering down at you.

Another frown breaks onto your face at his pointed words. Your tongue is just as sharp, best to remind him of that fact.

“What a practiced line, you say the same things to her as well?” A mocking smile curling your lip as a scowl tugs down at his.

Too self-satisfied with your small victory to notice his large hand gripping onto your hips, aligning himself with you. With a sinful squelch, Alhaitham snaps his cock fully in. Your lips thrown open with a gasp as your back arches off the mattress.

“I. Never. Had. An. Affair. So, instead of spewing out anymore nonsense, why don’t you just moan instead?” Puncuating each word with thrust of his hips, feeling the vibration of each syllable in his chest pinned against yours.

Jagged words ready at the tip of your tongue, yet you couldn’t form a single sentence. With a broken moan your back slowly descended back onto the sheets.

Tearing a hiss from his clenched teeth and a breathless moan from you, gummy walls contracting down tighter and tighter with each girthy inch pushed as his balls slap against the slick down your ass. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this. Alhaitham stays there, tip pressed against the deepest part of you, a furrow between his brows.

Alhaitham knows he should be gentle. He knows he should allow your walls to grow accustomed to his girth by slowly rolling his hips against yours.

However, you just won’t stay still. Mewling and whining against his frame, nails clawing at his hand as your legs fluttered in the air. Each movement makes your pussy slurp around his stiff cock, lapping at the girth as if trying to pull him deeper than he already was.

Tempting his hunger like a lunatic testing a starved beast, it’ll only be so long before the hunger bends the iron bars containing it and devours you.

“AH!” A sharp slap of his hips rips a moan from your lips.

Alhaitham pulls you off his cock until the tip threatens to slip out, then thrusts it all back in one fluid motion. Instinctively your teeth clamps down on your disobedient lips, desperately trying to bite back those lewd noises. The slurping of your greed welcoming him over and over was embarrassing enough.

What a selfish move, trying to deprive him once more of your pretty moans. Provoking that ugly appetite within the pits of his stomach again. If you won’t behave, Alhaitham decides to fuck the stubborness out of you.

Each thrust of his hips into yours rocking the sturdy bed, bullying your poor sensitive pussy still recovering from a ruined orgasm. Hands and hips held within bruising grips. The pitched gasps every time he railed into a certain spot didn’t escape his keen ears, his hips now angled to bully that spot with each thrust.

How helpless you were to the devastating rush of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin. Unable to ground yourself on anything, your last wisps of sanity swept away by the waves of pleasure.

A groan reverberates deep in Alhaitham’s chest, the sudden convulsions of your slick walls trying to milk him. It was almost impossible to move with the way your pussy just kept clamping down.

Unfortunately, his hips couldn’t seem to care, operating solely on selfish desire.

Fortunately, a fresh wave of arousal aided in his rhythm, relentless slams bouncing your body and bed.

Strength long leaving your arms Alhaitham releases his hold on them in favor of supporting your limp hips, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips as lust-hazed eyes honed in on the frothy white ring forming on his shaft.

All your lips could do was babble out nothings as the headboard continued to beat the poor wall. Cunt thanking his cock with a contraction every time his tip knocks against your weakness.

The sweet moans caressing his ears, the filthy slaps echoing through the room, and your walls pulling him deeper and deeper, Alhaitham was at his limit.

There was nothing separating you two, he had enough sense left to know that. Reeling in the reins of his greed, he pulls back, fingers digging deeper into your plush skin. Well, he tried to pull back, but your locked ankles behind his back foiled this plan.

He felt so hefty in you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his girth and length tore apart your sensibility. Something deep inside your cunt pleaded to be fed, to be filled, pushing your limp legs to lock ankles.

He feels a bit too far for your liking, blindly your hands groped at his body. Finally, reaching his face, cupping it roughly, you crash his lips down onto yours. Tasting yourself on his tongue still, but you couldn’t care less.

As your tongues tangled together, Alhaitham reached his limit. Pressing his thick tip as deep as it’d go, thick ropes of cum start to coat your walls with each twitch of his cock. His shaky moans swallowed up by your kiss.

The slurping of your pussy milking his still throbbing cock only prolonged his hunger.

Dropping his head into the space between your neck and shoulder, he relishes in what he’s been depriving himself of. Feeling the faint shiver of your neck against his face.

Something was fogging up his mind, Autumn breeze doing nothing to quell the heat burning him.

–

“Ah! Mmmh! A-ah Ah!”

The first rays of dawn breaking through the navy sky, the light so flushed by the scene it witnessed, it’s pink hue illuminated skin into the room heavy with lust and the slap of wet skin.

“N-no more… too m-Ah!-much-ch.” Intoxicated brain sputtering out broken sentences.

It really was too much, you’ve cum too much to bother remembering, from the creamy drops dripping onto the soaked sheets, he’s also cummed too much.

Pussy overflowing and spasming with each thrust pushing more milky seed out.

Cock rubbing its red tip rawer with each quiver of your gooey walls.

Six years of starvation will make any man forget gluttony is a sin.

“Too much? No More?” A husky pant between each word as Alhaitham continues with his punishing rhythm.

“If that’s the case… then why is your pussy refusing to let me go?” His chest pressed against your back, caging you further as his breath tickles your ear.

Unable to form a sentence anymore, your head pathetically shook side to side, stubbornly denying the obvious. Looks like he hasn’t fucked out of you yet, better change that. Large fingers digging further down on bruised hips, as the pistoning of his thrusts escalated.

Bed frame pushed to its limits.

Each smack of his hips against your limp body further drowning your pride out in a flood of dopamine. It’s mounting again, that familiar pressure building up in your core, making your toes curl in painful arches.

There’s a sudden flick at your swollen clit, walls flinching as his fingers encircles around the abused nub.

“Who’s making you feel this way?” His husky voice too close to your ear.

Groundless pride preventing you from unsealing you lips, refusing to feed into his ego anymore than your wanton moans already did.

“Who are you showing this shameful face to?” There’s an edge to his voice again, why must you be so stubborn?

Once more you refused to answer. Making Alhaitham’s jaw clench and his fingers roll your clit harsher, making your bruised hips thrash.

“Who’s shape is engrained into this lewd body?” Voice dangerously low as he pushes his thick tip deeper against your beaten and painted walls, fingers never stopping their torment on your little nub.

The edge was getting closer, you knew you’ll fall off it soon, you’ll dive head first into the euphoric sea of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin and drown.

“Ah-ah Al-mmh!” You try to collect your breath.

Alhaitham quickens his fingers on your clit, feeling your greedy cunt clamp down on him again, walls suckling his twitching tip as his balls tighten. He’s close, but he needs you to say what he’s been waiting to hear all night.

“Alh-ah a-a…” Your hips shaking violently in his hold now.

Lust-glazed eyes staring straight into equally hazed teal eyes. Shaky hands slowly weaving themselves into his damp ash locks, gently pulling his ear closer to your lips, your hoarse voice just barely audible.

“A bastard.”

Self-satisfied smirk plastered over your loose face as your tear blurred vision catches the stunned expression on his handsome face.

The heat of his touch, the chemical stirring in your brain, and the pleasure frying your nerves made a delirious smile grace smudged lips. Your sight so hazed by lust you couldn’t see where your smile was even directed to.

Alhaitham wanted to etch the sight of your debauch face, smeared makeup and glazed eyes rolled back, into his memories forever.

Too caught off guard by your response to remind his hand to stop its movement before it was already too late. Eyes seeing the back of your head, back arching under his frame, you fell back into the all consuming waves of pleasure.

A hard earned victory in this veiled battle of two egos. Exhaustion seeping into every fiber of your being. The pale pink of twilight dimming in your vision as the dark hands of sleep covers your eyes.

Somewhere in the middle of drifting off into a blank nothingness, you feel a hand tenderly guiding your head to rest on a soft pillow.

Your eyelids twitch and brows furrow as the brightness of the room crept its way behind your shut eyes. Unable to retreat back into the dark embrace of sleep, you begrudgingly open your heavy lids.

Greeted by blurred shapes and fuzzy colors, you slowly blink your unfocused eyes. Gradually, the shapes and colors merge into distinguishable objects: a mug left on your bedside table with vapors rising from its rim.

“It’s morning-after tea.” A husky voice followed by the distinct flip of paper tenses every muscle in your body.

Alhaitham’s still here. You wish he wasn’t, you wish he’d realize last night was a mistake created from the clashing of egos, you wish the other side of your bed was empty.

So why did the tightness in your chest melt away with the mere sound of his voice?

You drag your sore body up from the sheets, shaky hands supporting the weight of numb legs and throbbing hips. Your sealed lips refusing to give him the satisfaction of any audible ques of your current state.

Sitting at the edge of your bed, back bare of anything but your hair draping over the marked skin facing him, you took the warm cup into your hands.

A harmony of methodical sips and soft turns of pages fill the room, an open window washing away the haze of lust with an Autumn breeze. Just as the last bit of tea slides down your throat a gentle slap of a book snapping close brings an end to the heavy silence.

“It’s unreliable,” Alhaitham announces.

Peering over your shoulder with a quirked brow, freezing as you recognize the book clutched in his hands. Not waiting for a response, he continues.

“Anyone with eyes can see how his biases exude through each sentence. He only studied 15 couples, not an appropriate sample size for a world filled with millions of pairs. His experiments have yet to be replicated, it seems his status is what got this nonsense published.” He sets the book down.

“What are you trying to say?” Your eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Your theory of phenylethylamine having a shelf life is based on nonsense.” His eyes connect with yours with that familiar indifference.

A frown twists your face, so he still wants to argue huh. Of course, what else did you expect? You and him have long gone down the bitter circular path you’ve seen travled before.

Irritation rising in your chest, like Alhaitham had jabbed his finger into a wound you’ve yet to heal.

“Oh, then your theory must be the intrinsic truth, huh?” Words leaving an acidic aftertaste on your tongue.

“I never-”

“Look at you, so correct with no data to support your vague mathematical thesis.” You cut him off, anger replacing the soreness of your legs.

Cup knocking against a bedside table as your hand casts it to the side, getting off the bed you march into your closet, pulling a random shirt on without regard of your movements wrinkling the fabric.

You just needed to leave this room, just being by his side is making your blood pressure rise. Your bed creaks as Alhaitham gets up as well, but your back was already through the door.

Two sets of steps trekking through the halls, paces mismatched as one tries to take quicker steps to counter the broader strides of the other. Alhaitham keeps pace with your escalating march.

“It’s a critique of his research, not you,” he voices.

You didn’t want to hear it, sharply pivoting into your home office, but you weren’t fast enough to stop Alhaitham from following you in.

Now a husband wants to spend time with his wife, where was this before?

“It’s an experiment conducted at the Akademiya, how is that not reliable enough? You think you can do better?” Your body whipping around with a glare directed at him, your hideous ego showing its face again.

“Are you listening to yourself right now? Do you even believe in such a shallow analysis?” He mirrors your glare.

“I’d rather believe in something with actual quantifiable numbers.”

“Fine, you want quantifiable numbers? Care to calculate along with me? Or is your mind still recovering from last night?” Alhaitham folds his arms in front of his chest.

“Go for it,” you say through gritted teeth, accepting his challenge, wanting to shush that snooty tone of his.

“The Akasha bases its pairs off demographic, interest, and dispositions, all variables we can calculate,” he states.

You straighten up your back, staring him in those teal eyes with your head held up high.

“Sumeru city is home to roughly 1 million people. Only 1/3 are around my age.” Alhaitham begins his trail.

“That brings that number down to about 333,333.” No delay in your response.

“Only 1 in 10 people have a personality I can tolerate, then suppose only 1 in 20 of those people can withstand mine.”

“ Rounding up that leaves about 1,667 candidates.” You tsk at his estimations, that number should be far greater than 20.

“Next comes shared interest, only 1 in 4 people have touched a physical book in the past year.”

“417 left.”

Perhaps the gods didn’t think cheating you out of a childhood was enough, out of 417 people you had the misfortune of staring at his stony face.

“Having to arrange 417 separate meetings at a small cafe would be much too burdensome for the Department of Human Relations. The scope needs to be narrowed further.” Alhaitham takes a step forward.

“Only 1 in 16 will have the patience to teach a grown man how to avoid wrinkles in his button downs.” Baritone voice losing its pointed edge.

“26 left.” You take a step back to preserve the space, hating how your skin craves the heat of his.

“Only 1 in 8 of those people will allow me to borrow their books even when they know the edges of the paper will be creased when its returned.” He takes another step.

As you take another step backwards, the edge of your office desk prevents you from retreating further. The sensation of the cold wood distracting you momentarily from your calculations.

“Then only 1 in 6 people will drape a blanket over a body that hogs an entire couch for a nap, placing a pillow under my head to ensure I don’t wake up with a sore neck.” Alhaitham doesn’t stop.

Reaching an arm out, he firmly sets his palm on the expanse of your desk, caging you between the wood and the risk of your skin feeling the heat radiating off his body.

“How many people are left now?” His breath ghosts the shell of your ear.

“ 0.543,” You blurted out.

A deep furrow appears between your brows, something must’ve gone wrong in your calculation, it’s impossible to have half a person. In the context of the Akasha, one person, a whole person, is matched to another.

Once more your mind ran the numbers over again, then again, and then thrice trying to recompute the figures.

Each time the same number came back: half a person.

“Are you mocking me with those groundless fractions? Where did you even get those statistics from?” Your pointed gaze still directed at him, did he intentionally lead you down this illogical trail?

“Logic is neither an art nor a science but a dodge.” He peers down at you, teal gaze back to its neutral state.

“Ha! Says the man who places logic and rationality on a pedestal, what caused such a change, Alhaitham?” You laugh dryly, not bothering to decipher the most brainless qoute you ever heard him use.

No change in his expression as his shoulders rise with a deep inhale, exhaling slowly as he leans his face in, his finger digging his palm against lacquered wood.

“Instead of wasting time citing subpar research, you should’ve just been honest. Then maybe I’ll give you what you want and sign those damn papers you hid away in this desk.” Voice low but steady as his gaze never leaves your frame.

It was a strange phenomenon, the chirping of the crickets had halted as two bodies remained unmoving, not even a single grain of dust dare move. If it weren’t for the faint ticking of a hallway clock, it would’ve seemed like time had stopped.

How long has he known about the divorce papers neatly stacked away a desk drawer?

Alhaitham slowly backs his body away from yours, hand returning to his side, freeing you from the cage it created. Teal eyes carefully observes your downcast stare and stiff shoulders as guilt suffocated him.

All the emotions he bottled up, all the fervor he held back, all the desires he swallowed down. It all came tumbling out, spilling out into a murky, repulsive mess.

“Wife.” If he had spoken any louder than a breathy whisper, that word would’ve crumbled on his tongue.

“I love you.” Alhaitham finally allows the words which have been clinging on his tongue for years now to fall out of his mouth.

Every inch of you froze at those three words, the weight of his stare heavy on your shoulders.

“Do you really feel nothing from those words?” Baritone voice beckoning an answer from you.

You don’t dare lift your head, gaze downcasted and frozen. Because you know you’ll have to stare at your reflection in his eyes.

Phenylethylamine, oxytocin, dopamine.

All these hormones and chemicals should’ve ran their course through your body. The haze should’ve faded and the abnormality of your chest should’ve corrected itself. It’s been three years at this point.

So, why is your chest aching?

The wood grain of the floor began to blur together as bitter tears compensated for the painful stinging of your irises. There it is, your brain finally short-circuits as the logic which once held up your sanity has crumbled away.

Finally, you met his gaze, staring right at your reflection in teal irises.

“It’s suffocating to be with you… it’s so lonely in this quiet house… it burns me like fire to touch you… yet… and y-yet see-”

“Seeing you leave will kill me, ” Alhaitham spoke the words just about to fall from the tip of your tongue.

The last piece of evidence that shattered the hypothesis he cultivated for all his life. If soulmates don’t exist, if the concept of an ‘other half’ doesn’t exist, then why is he feeling the same agony as you?

Looks like both theories were wrong in the end. Mathematics and chemistry unable to solve the enigma known as love.

“I… I want to love… but I’m drowning… Alhaitham.” You were finally honest, you’ve been drowning all your life, thrashing hands searching for something to hold onto.

Would you be oh so kind enough to grab that pen just behind you and stab its steel nib into his chest? Alhaitham’s certain that it would hurt less than the words that left your trembling lips.

A gentle hand cradled the back of your head as he pulls you closer. Letting those bitter tears strain his shirt and burn his skin.

No one, but the audience of a curious star and capricious gods peering down behind their blanket of clouds into this quiet house.

Alhaitham once thought of himself as a good husband. Doing his fair share of chores and paying his half of the bills.

However, seeing your broken figure barely clinging onto his stiff frame, it’s clear that his overconfident assessment was a grave error.

A good husband would’ve been more attentive. A good husband would’ve noticed the tide slowly sweeping you away into the rough sea. A good, loving husband would’ve never let you sink alone in salty tears.

“Then I’ll drown with you.” His other hand grasping onto one of yours, slowly easing it away from his wrinkled shirt with soft caresses.

Only monsters live in the deep cold sea, the only creatures able to survive the saltine waters and the pitch black nothingness. But as long as your fingers wove themselves into the gaps between his, he’ll be warm even as he sits on the sandy bottom of the murky ocean.

Maybe that’s where the two of you belonged, two unromantic and prideful fools sitting at the bottom of the ocean.

Hand in hand so that the stupidity contained between the two of you won’t pollute anyone else.

Gradually, those aching hiccups of yours faded into nothing more than muffled whimpers. Allowing silence to creep its way back into the gaps. The cause of this mess in the first place.

He has to remedy this, but what should he say? All those encyclopedias and journals he had thumbed through were all for naught. For Alhaitham’s mind couldn’t recall one fact from those pages.

One hand patting a slow rhythm into your back, trying to buy the man some time.

When logic and reasoning fail to explain the unexplained, folklore takes its place.

“According to legends, people used to have two pairs of hands, two pairs of feet, and two faces pointed in opposite directions.” He began.

“Back then, humans were powerful, powerful enough to threaten the gods who created them. So the gods split them in two. Cursing humans to a cruel search, desperate to be whole again.” His other hand still toying with your fingers.

You peer up at him, head still resting against his chest, feeling the soft beating of his heart. Blinking away the tears, listening to his telling of a myth.

“That’s the origin of a soulmate.” He finishes.

A soft giggle leaves your lips, a mixture of confusion and disbelief from Alhaitham quoting a fairytale.

“And you believe in that?” Amused gaze connecting with brilliant beryl eyes.

“Yes…because I found you.” Alhaitham tenderly brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss against your fingers as a glint catches the sunlight.

With a foreign sensation hugging a finger, your brows furrow. Holding your hand out toward the light again. Blinking eyes finally identify the gem which coyly appeared on your ring finger.

So that’s what he was doing, your tear stained cheeks shifting up as a smile stretches your once stiff lips.

Burying your head in the chest of the most unromantically romantic idiot you’ve ever known, a radiant laugh bubbling in your chest as it resonates off quiet walls.

But as he is, so are you: An unromantically romantic soulmate in love.

~Fin

2K notes · View notes

theminecraftbee · 1 year

Text

Tango makes a terrible, terrible face as he walks into Grian's new creation. Bit rude, he thinks that is, but whatever. Grian waves his arms out, getting ready to show Tango more than he'd shown him when the practice room was still in-progress, when Tango says:

"What did you do to it?"

"Huh?"

Tango shudders. He folds his arms over himself and looks at Jellie the ravager. "What did you do to it. To this place. Why is it... warm?"

"I mean, it's not really warm, see it's all white so it actually doesn't retain heat very well, even with the froglamps, so I had to do some work to make sure the temperature was appropriate for heavy physical activity while not risking frostbite the way the actual dungeon does, and..."

Grian trails off.

"The point is that it's mostly just, I don't know, mild temperature? Unnoticeable temperature? The fact you commented on it is weird."

There's a strangely echoing quality to Tango's voice as he steps back again, against the door to the practice room. "It's clean."

"Yeah. I mean, that's the aesthetic, isn't it? Wiped clean of everything but the ravager, the water, and the drowned. None of the distractions. Good for practicing, you know?" Grian squints. "You should like it. You said you'd like it. Wanted people to be able to practice so they'd do better at the dungeon."

Tango shudders again. "You've wiped clean the ravagers, too. I can't... touch her."

"What?" Grian says, baffled.

"What have you done to this place," Tango says.

"Listen, I won't have you insulting my clean room," Grian says. "I cleaned it of all the dungeon bits. It's nice and easy and white and understandable. I won't have you corrupting it."

Hm. Not sure where that one came from, he realizes. Probably a bad sign. He'd certainly guess as much from Tango, who is staring at him with something akin to horror.

In a voice that echoes like a card readout, Tango says: "You won't do this in the dungeon. You'll feed us what's left from this. Or I'll have to ask you to move it."

Grian rolls his eyes. "Geez, yeah, I won't touch the actual dungeon! I already broke the sound test room, I'm not breaking any really important redstone. Now, do you want to see the drowned dodging room or not?"

"I'm horrified to find out what happened to the drowned, if this is your ravager."

Grian looks between Jellie's blank stare and Tango and throws up his hands. "Nothing! I did nothing to her! I have no idea what you're on about!"

"It's like you bleached their insides," mutters Tango. "Bleached everything. It's not natural."

"Not natural? Like you're one to talk!"

"I need to know. Show me," Tango says.

"Right then. Take off your armor first, I don't want Jellie getting thorned or something, then let's practice some dodging and get in there. Then you'll see this is a perfectly normal set of eerie white rooms and leave me alone, right?"

Tango makes a face.

"I don't know why I bother. Honestly. You'd think I'd done something weird," Grian says, and then neither of them talk much, on account of the ravager trying to chew their faces.

#hermitcraft #decked out 2 #a bee fic #grian #tangotek #tango voice: what the fuck. how did you do this to the dungeon. what the FUCK #grian voice: what could i have possibly done. i just bleached the entire thing of everything that gave it life and made it hollow.#tango voice: WHAT THE FUCK #anyway i love how OPPOSITE the aesthetic of the practice room is to the actual dungeon #and how that is still somehow terrifying #also this one’s funnier if you read it as being in the universe where tango was COMPLETELY eaten because then it’s decked out itself #just going ‘what the fuck’ real quietly on repeat #but you can also read it as a universe where decked out and tango are more mutually the same thing or communicate or whatever you want

930 notes · View notes

larluce · 8 months

Text

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 (you're here) , PART 7

A little reminder that Merlin was a tree for over a decade before travelling back in time, though he doesn't remember it and also Arthur's traumas of that time.

In Gaius's tower

Gaius: (checking Merlin, after Arthur insisted something was wrong with him) No sickness or injuries. He's perfectly fine, sire.

Merlin: (to Arthur) See? I told you it was nothing.

Arthur: It was not NOTHING. Merlin, you fainted.

Merlin: I just tripped.

Arthur: Because you fainted! And before that you were in pain.

Merlin: I was not!

Arthur: Yes, you were! Everytime we go hunting or camping you have headaches and pains. Don't you dare lie!

Merlin: (sighs) Alright, fine. It's true. I don't know why it happens, but it's not unbearable. And you heard Gaius, there’s nothing fisically wrong with me.

Arthur: As far as we know. (To Gaius) Check him again.

Merlin rolls his eyes. He loves that this Athur is more caring and protective of him, but sometimes it was too much, honestly. He even carried him all the way here like he was some maid in distress.

Gaius: Perhaps is an external factor that it’s causing this. Like some particular smell of a flower, for example?

Merlin: (shakes his head) I don't think so. We're never in the same place. The flora and fauna changes from one place to another.

Gaius: There must be a common factor. When do you feel this pains and headaches exactly?

Merlin: (purses his lips, not wanting to say)

Arthur: Merlin.

Merlin: I don't think is related.

Arthur: Merlin.

Merlin: (sighs) when a living thing dies. Like a bird, or a plant.

Arthur: When a living thing- (between horrified and mad) Merlin, I've been killing animals in your face for WEEKS! And you tell me this NOW?!

Merlin: I'm telling you I don't think it's related! I mean, it can't be related. It's ridiculous. And it never happened to me before.

That's not entirely true but not entirely a lie either. He has always been sensitive to nature. That's why he always hated when Arthur hunted animals just for fun. But he has never been THIS sensitive to the point he almost feel the same pain these creatures feel. Not until he came back in time. Maybe this is another price he has to pay for his deal with the sidhes or it's just a time travel side effect. The pains could be random as far as he knows.

Gaius: Well, there’s only one way to find out.

Later in the forest. Gaius is next to a tree with a chicken in one arm and an ax in the other. Merlin and Arthur look at him, insecure.

Merlin: Is this really necessary?

Gaius: I'm sorry, my boy, but we won't know for sure until we test it. (Apologetic smile) If it makes you feel better, it was going to die anyways for today's dinner.

Merlin: And you're going to cut down these flowers too? 🥺

Gaius: Not in vain. They’re medicine and they'll grow up again.

Merlin: Okay (takes a deep breath) I'm ready.

Arthur: (worried, holding his hand and stroking it comfortingly) Are you sure?

Merlin: (Nods and smiles) I just want to get this over with.

Gaius: Very well. Merlin, turn your back to me. Arthur, hold him in place and look his reaction closely.

They both do as told, Arthur holding Merlin by the shoulders, firmly but gently, his fingers caressing Merlin's neck under the neckerchief.

Arthur: (his face inches from Merlin's) Just look at me, alright?

Merlin: (blushes and just nods)

Gaius: (Kills the chicken)

Merlin: (his face flinches)

Arthur: Are you okay?

Merlin: (nods) It did hurt. But not as bad as I thought it would.

Gaius: We can check animals then. (Makes some notes and then cuts some flowers)

Merlin: (whimpers a little)

Arthur: (concern) Merlin.

Merlin: It's fine. But it hurt a little more for some reason.

Gaius: Interesting... (takes notes) "plants hurt more than animals"

Merlin: (sighs. To Arthur) You can say it.

Arthur: (confused) What?

Merlin: That I'm a petticoat... or a freak... For being like this.

Arthur: That's not true. You just have a... (looking for the right words) an unusual medical condition. Like Morgana with her nightmares.

Merlin: (snorts) At least her condition is useful. How am I supposse to accompany you in your hunting trips if I get like this all the time?

Arthur: Oh, there won't be more hunting trips. They’re cancel. Forever.

Merlin: What?! 😨 But you love hunting trips!

Arthur: (shrugs) It was never really that fun anyways.

Merlin knows that's not true, but doesn't say anything, to moved with Arthur's action he wants to cry. Arthur's holding him close still, their foreheads touching. They lose into each others eyes. But just as they’re leaning closer-

Gaius: (sticks the ax in a tree)

Merlin: AAAAAAARGH! (Screams and curls in pain)

Arthur: (Hugs him in distress) Merlin! (To Gaius furiously) What did you do?!

Gaius: Merlin! (Running to them) My boy, I'm so sorry! I've been cutting other plants and killing some bugs and you didn't seem to feel it. I just thought-

Merlin: (cries histerically) NOOO! (pushes Arthur and Gaius aside and runs to the tree) YOU HAD NO RIGHT! NO RIGHT TO HURT HER LIKE THIS! (Looks at Gaius, face contort in fury but with tears running down his eyes. Then he turns to the tree and takes the ax out of the trunk desperatly. When he finishes he sees the hole in the trunk and falls to his knees, sobing)

Gaius: ... It seems that trees trigger him more than anything. I've never heard of any sickness like this. Perhaps someone put a spell on him. Or a curse.

Arthur: (completely pale)

Gaius: Sire?

Athur: (murmuring, very scared) It... it can't be...

Gaius: Sire, are you alright? You're pale.

Arthur: I have to go. I'm sorry.(runs off)

Gaius: Sire! Sire! (Sighs and sits next to Merlin, who is now just sniffing quietly. He pats his backs, full of guilt) I'm so sorry, Merlin. Does it still hurt?

Merlin: (shakes his head) Not anymore. (caress the bark of the tree with a sad smile) She says she forgives you. She understands why you did it.

Gaius: (surprised) You're talking about the tree? You can speak to it-I mean, her?

Merlin: (nods, just as surprised at his new discovered ability) It's kind of like mind speak. But there is no voice in my head or really words. Just feelings.

Gaius: Incredible!

Merlin: Don't tell Arthur any of this though. He'll realise I have magic for sure. Or just think I'm insane.

Gaius: He seemed very torned up before leaving.

Merlin: (worried) You think he figured it out?

Gaius: I don't think so. I'll have a fake diagnosis for you in the afternoon just in case.

Merlin: (sighs) I can't believe my magic is doing this to me. Maybe I am cursed. (Thinking) What the hell did the sidhes do to me?!

Gaius: You just discover a new power, my boy. Once you know how to control it, it'll be more an advantage than a disadvatage.

#merlin bbc #merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin fic #merlin fanfic #merlin prompt #merthur fic #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merthur fanfic #Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

530 notes · View notes

txemptress · 7 months

Text

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐌 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒 𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐈 | 𝐋. 𝐀𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞

You are the fifth wife of the infamous Lant Agriche. Yes, fifth. This man had four more wives that were unknown to you due to him excluding you out of his estate.

He claims that you were the most special amongst them therefore it'd be best to keep you away. Going on about how his wives could be in jealousy and murder you even.

Though you pretended to believe his word for it. You knew better. If a husband pushes you to the side away from his life, that means dark matters were at hand.

In truth the way you two hit off wasn't the most effective way of doing so. Just to make it simple, he had just decided to come ‘visit’ your father and murdered him and a dozen others in your household whilst keeping you as a trophy of his feat.

A trophy that was later found more useful than others. He had threatened to kill you at first until a night when you unleashed a demon inside of you, quite literally. The demon had swarmed and nearly killed your now husband. All for the sake of protecting you from harm.

That incident caused the entire discussion that was later referred to as a marriage contract. In which he'd provide you everything you wish for and all you have to do was sit, look pretty and bear his children.

To this you agreed. Why bother ruining an opportunity of living a life of near luxury and most likely die in the hands of some human trafficker? Plus he wouldn't be paying attention to you anyway. After all he's got all those wives pent up in his home.

You now stood in the presence of your husband who seemed quite intent in knowing what you or your children had become after the two months he left you alone in. His eyes landed on the children next to you who seemed ever so cold towards their father.

"Good work." A praise that was so hollow anyone could tell so. "Can they do what you can yet?" As expected a question towards their way of things.

"Not yet." A whispered answer came from you as your eyes came to contact with his.

"‘Not yet’?" Lant growled with annoyance. "I thought we agreed to keep working until they manage. It's only a few days left until our sons come to contact and fight against the other children."

‘Our sons’ you almost scoffed at that. He didn't even care about them at all. The audacity of calling them his sons was infuriating. Last thing they'd, so did you, was to call him father or husband and him to call you all sons and wife.

"Steady progression is better than rushing." You responded plainly. "If we rush, the demons may not gain strength and will most likely not hesitate to make the host feel immense pain." It was no lie coming from your mouth. Steady progression was best for taming demons. If the demon is rushed it will not do your bidding. Indeed it'd rather be a menace than other.

A strike at your cheek caused you to stumble as your hand touched the now red side. It burned like hell. Touching it made it worse. You were sure it'd leave a bruise later on.

"I don't care if they feel ‘immense pain’, they are Agriches." Lant was infuriated. "If you don't make them as good by then, the next day you will receive their heads at your doorstep."

Your lips gave a quiver as you realize the danger your children could be in for. "Very well." A hushed response from you made him satisfied.

Days loomed by and your sons were now perfectly using their demons in fighting. The demons were more than one which was shocking for you, for it took you too long to understand or tame such demons. Perhaps that's where Lant's genes went to. It didn't matter. Now it was the day of the special test.

Your husband's blind arse told you not to worry one bit because they'll be alright. Tell that to the others who died years past! You could almost scoff at his excuses.

When your door swung open, your heart pounded with nervousness. In front of you was a masked man. His eyes gleaming at you, he stepped aside to reveal your children practically unscathed. You rushed to them, tears falling as you hugged them.

"Great work." Your eyes lift to see Lant standing there as well. Your fury was triggered upon just hearing his disgusting voice as your body screamed ‘kill him’, you would. If only there was no guard with him much to your annoyance there were loads. "Don't you think they did well, dear?" He brought your children to a situation as the such and expected you to say that they did well? Sure they did do well in finishing the test with flying colors but it was still infuriating when he expected you to enjoy the thought of bringing your children to a dangerous place.

"...yes. i do believe so." You're practically trying your hardest to resist the temptations of releasing a demon to slowly and rather painfully kill the son of a bitch in front of you. But revenge will need to wait. First you must prepare that day and when it happens, you will bathe in the sweet indulgence of vengeance while watching him suffer.

Your children grow amongst the Agriche children to be the greatest. Even surpassing the ugly half-sibling, Fontaine who was undeniably disgusting and troublesome in terms of activities that he keeps up. But that didn't matter since your children advanced him, ranking top in the chain.

Pleased with their wonderful achievements, you made sure to ensure that everyone knew that if they were to lay one single finger on your children with wrong intentions in mind, you'd kill them and enjoy it.

“How are you faring, sweetling?” Your husband inquires while pouring himself and you some wine to celebrate yet another victory of the children you bore; they had fought against Lant's other children whom you'd just recently met as well as his other supposed wives.

You couldn't help but nearly scoff when you saw the women he had wed, all were pathetic in their own ways. But one of them made you wish to protect her in a way. That one unique wife was none other than Sierra. The woman seemed traumatized, unable to form a complete sentence and always seemed closed off.

You admit that you were curious so the only thing you could have done was spoken to the woman. And speak you did, she ie surprisingly cheerful to be with and she is such a sweetheart. It warmed your heart but you were also reminded that you still had a duty as a wife of Lant, that duty being someone who shows no weakness.

"I've been alright." You respond calmly, sipping your tea. Your eyes do not know where to rest, but you knew it would be better if they don't rest on him.

"Are you truly alright?" Lant seems rather suspicious this evening and it's evident. You nod, remaining calm and unbothered by his suspicion. You will not show him anything that could have him questioning everything.

"Very well." Lant returns to drinking his tea which you knew was mixed with some sort of alcoholic drink. You wanted to pour your own tea at him, but you knew that'd make him fly into a terrifying rage. You excuse yourself and head to your chambers for the night.

That was close, your demons grow restless. All are eager to savour him, but you must wait. You're reminded by your conscience. Patience. But why wait when he's right there? Your demons were countering your own thoughts. You take a deep breath, clenching your hands to regain the power between the battle of your mind and the demons that are becoming insufferable by the second.

You enter your chambers and wave aside the maids, asking them to leave. Alone, you massage your head as you continuously hear from them who live inside you. No. You said firmly to the desires of those who were trying to take the reins.

They are angry, but you did not care. You will wait. Until the time has come, they will remain abstain whether they like it or not.

Slowly, the time came at last. Your husband is before you, you had summoned him here. His suggestive remarks were implying that he thinks you've summoned him for other matters.

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him, your bodies pressing close. You close your eyes and count to five then everything went dark, at least, for you.

When you regain control of the vessel known as your body, you're greeted with the sight of Lant on the floor bleeding out. A cruel laugh escapes you. "Did you truly think thay they'd accept you as my husband? That I'd accept you as my husband?" Your smirk towards him earns a strangled noise from him.

"Oh how silly of me, I forget you can't speak when you're choked! But of course you knew that right?" She referenced a time in their life when he had choked her to shut her up and she'd passed out.

She snapped her fingers and the strangling is put to a halt. "Please...Name, don't." Your husband's weak and frail voice was music to your ears. Despite it being a plead to let him live, it only fueled your thirst for his death if anything else.

"Let me think, hmm." You pretend to think and then you gave an all-knowing smile and shake your head. "I'm afraid, no." She says softly as you step away from him. The demons around him stare with hunger in their eyes.

You turn swiftly and leave the room, leaving them to enjoy their snack. There are screams, violent but oh so melodious screams. Then there's an eerie silence afterwards, he is dead. The whole house knows so.

There's a summoning, everyone must come. The crowds of the Agriche family enter in silence. The demons loom in the sides of the room, they leave the children and wives glancing with fear-stricken expressions. The wives were especially horrified at the prospect of you sitting on the dead head's supposed throne.

You sit on what was once his seat, your children coming forth. "Is he dead?" Your eldest son Alexander asks with a soft voice.

You nod. "He's gone now. No one will hurt you anymore." You kiss his brow and then turn to the rest of the wives, a smile tugging on your lips. She meets to Sierra's horror for only a moment's time. "The head of the Black Agriche is dead, I am the one you have to deal with now."

#manhwa #self insert #manhwa x reader #lant agriche #lant agriche x reader #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #the way to protect the female lead's older brother x reader #twtptflob x reader #twtpflob #twtptflob #{ ♡ heartstrings — fics }

591 notes · View notes

reminiscingtonight · 9 months

Note

baking distaste laughs w/alexia 👀

Baker’s Secret (Alexia Putellas x León!Reader)

[WOSO Masterlist]

“This is ridiculous.”

Mapi only squints harder, holding both cookies up to the light as if she’ll be able to detect any flaws easier that way.

“Maria.”

“Shh! There must be some indication of what you did wrong to these cookies.”

You roll your eyes and huff. “Have you thought that maybe I didn’t fuck anything up?”

“You can barely cook a meal to save your life. You expect me to believe you baked a perfect cookie?”

The sound of the door opening and closing has you breathing out a sigh of relief. Alexia and Ingrid round the corner, bags in hands the only indication of where they were.

“Ale, can you tell my idiot sister that I’m a perfectly fine baker?”

Alexia and Ingrid exchange a look.

Ingrid hadn’t wanted to leave. After spending the night over in your guest room, her and Mapi came downstairs to find you and Alexia groaning about running out of coffee. The perfect solution, in your opinion, was to send her and Ingrid out to get some. Neither of them thought leaving you León sisters alone and unattended was a good idea, but you roped Mapi into sending them away, claiming you needed some more sister bonding time.

So they left with a huff, making you promise to behave.

They didn’t expect to come back to a mountain of cookies on the counter.

It doesn’t take Alexia or Ingrid long to find out what the problem is.

Mapi mutters something under her breath, pushing her cookie into your girlfriend’s hand. “If you’re so trusting, you eat it first.”

Before Alexia can do anything of the sort, you snatch the cookie out of her hand, all but throwing it back at Mapi. “That one’s yours. Here babe, this one’s made with extra love.” You reach for the plate, handing Alexia another cookie.

Alexia blushes but takes it without a fight.

“You guys are disgusting. Whatever. Taste test it, Ale. Then tell me I’m being dramatic.”

Alexia looks at the cookie in her hand. She shrugs, shoving the cookie into her mouth whole. You laugh while Mapi scrunches her face up in disgust.

“Yum,” she mumbles around her mouthful, already reaching for a second one before she even finishes the first.

You slap her hand away from the plate, grabbing a cookie yourself to hand to her.

“You’re being dramatic,” Alexia quips around the second cookie, munching away happily.

When Mapi reaches for a cookie you also slap her hand away.

“You already have some.” You place the cookies she discarded onto the table back into her hand.

Mapi looks down at them, eyes still full of suspicion. She glances up at Alexia, who looks like she’s having the time of her life. Sighing, Mapi raises the cookie to her mouth, taking a hesitant bite.

She only chews once before she’s spitting it out.

“What the-- yum?! This is-- this is--” Mapi sputters, instantly reaching for her water.

Ingrid frowns, reaching for the remaining part of Mapi’s cookie. You’re quick to intercept, gently grabbing the Norwegian’s wrist. Your sister’s girlfriend gives you a look but you ignore it, too busy finding a cookie to give her.

While Mapi’s still cursing you out, Ingrid slowly bites down on her cookie, chewing thoughtfully for a couple seconds. Mapi instantly stops, turning her attention to her girlfriend. She hovers, eyebrows pinched together as she awaits Ingrid’s reaction.

Ingrid swallows before giving her opinion. “Mapi, these are perfectly fine.”

Her mouth drops open in shock. “Perfectly fine?! I’m pretty sure I’ve just been poisoned.”

“Honestly, you’re being dramatic. (Y/N)’s a perfectly fine baker. If anything, these are better than the cookies from that bakery you like.”

The noise that comes out of Mapi’s mouth sounds more like a squawk than anything else.

While Mapi starts whining and Ingrid defends your honor, you spy Alexia inching towards the plate again.

“Don’t touch those,” you whisper-shout, swatting at Alexia’s hands when she picks up another cookie. She frowns, eyeing the cookie in her hand until it hits her. If it isn’t Mapi’s extreme reaction, it’s the way you’ve gatekeeped which cookies to hand out all morning. She sighs. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. Your cookies are normal. Made with sugar and a lot of love.”

Alexia rolls her eyes, knowing you better than to just stop there. “And Mapi’s?”

“I thought she could do without the sugar. It’s not good for her teeth after all.”

There’s a brief silence.

You smirk. “And salt. They’re made with a whole bunch of salt and love.”

“(Y/N)!”

Send me a 3 word prompt

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes #3wp

668 notes · View notes

ghoulfuckersincorporated · 4 months

Note

imagining ghoul just being completely dazzled by vaultie reader….their beauty, their clean teeth and nails, their skin…the softest, smoothest skin he’s seen in hundreds of years. he could hardly remember how it looked til now.

he’d watch over you while you slept by the fire he made with such fascination, studying your features like this when he knew you wouldn’t be able to raise an eyebrow at him and he could allow himself to be relaxed and let down his tough guy wall (after all, you only just met a few days before).

and when you roll up the pants of your suit one day in the heat and expose your legs…he sees they’re perfectly waxed (who knew they had that in the vaults?) and it takes everything he has not to just reach out and touch them.

Smooth Skin

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Vault Dweller

Word Count: 3,109

Warnings: smut (18+), sexual tension, masturbation (male), mild somnophilia, very mild angst.

Summary: Cooper's new companion is beyond distracting.

Notes: Another excellent submission! I have had VERY similar thoughts about how people in the vaults would still adhere to so many old grooming practices that had long disappeared from most of the Wasteland. It would be such a weird thing for non-vault dwellers to see, and not being able to maintain them would be quite the shock for vault dwellers.

Also, this poor old man wouldn't consciously recognize the feeling of "arousal inspired by a specific person" if you beat him over the head with it. It's been about 200 years since he felt it.

Cooper was beginning to wonder if he'd been screwed.

Holding the deeply familiar vial up to the light once more, he gave the liquid contents a shake, examining the consistency, the color, the weight. For the half dozenth time that hour, he lifted it to the open cavity in his face where his nose once sat, inhaling deeply, testing for any unfamiliar odors, ultimately finding none. Lifting the solution to his lips, he tasted it, once, twice, rolling it around in his mouth with deep suspicion.

Everything seemed to be normal about the latest bunch of vials he'd acquired, at least on the surface. However, he was beginning to worry that he'd been given some sort of dud batch, and now he was starting to dissolve into some sort of ferality.

But this didn't feel like the dozens of other times he'd cut it close over the years, when his chest constricted, fighting for every breath as his mind began to cloud with aggressive thoughts, making him feel ready to lash out at anything that moved. No, he could breathe just fine, and he didn't necessarily feel aggressive, but he did feel oddly tense and ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. It didn't seem like anything had changed about his treatment.

Then again, something else had changed pretty drastically over the last few days.

Standing in the baking sun, he waited impatiently for the little vault-dweller he'd inexplicably managed to become attached to to finish her business, infinitely more fidgety than usual. He scanned the horizon with uncharacteristically anxious eyes, his boot tapping in the dirt.

"C'mon, Vaultie! Move your ass!" he called, harsher than he intended, but when the girl came scurrying up out of the ditch, he offered no apology, simply jerking his head in the direction they'd already been headed down the road, waiting for her to get a step or two ahead of him so he could follow, watching her closely.

Very closely.

The old cowboy prided himself on his ability to analyze people, to figure things out about them long before they were disclosed. It had proved an immensely useful skill over and over again. This girl, however, confused him. The pristine cheeriness of her was unsettling, making her stand out clear as day against the dingy, angry, consuming Wasteland.

He didn't trust it, frankly. It had been a long time since he'd met anyone who was genuinely selfless and kind simply because they felt it the right thing to do. She was definitely hiding something, concealing her true nature, but at least she was good at it. Besides, he'd be lying to himself if he said part of the reason he allowed her to tag along with him wasn't that he didn't want to walk past her pretty little corpse on the side of the road in a few days...as if there would be a corpse leftover. At least, a recognizable one.

Ahead of him, the girl caught her boot on a crack in the ancient asphalt, sending her stumbling; his quick reflexes kicked in almost instantly, and he yanked her back by her suit sleeve, sighing when she cast a sheepishly apologetic glance his way. He rolled his eyes and gave her a small push to keep it moving, watching as her hair swished back and forth with her movements.

How many decades had it been since he'd seen a woman with long hair? Maybe it had even been a century, or more. Most women in the Wasteland kept their hair cropped fairly short; easier to care for, less for someone to grab onto if you were attacked. Shampoo was still fairly easy to acquire, but only because most people didn't have consistent access to enough clean water to bathe with. Hair could also be sold in some cases, and many people found themselves desperate enough to do something like that in this world, unfortunate as it was.

But this girl, her dark curls hung down to her waist, flowing down her back and shoulders elegantly, or laid along her spine in a neat braid when she got especially red and sweaty. It was so shiny; he wanted to run his fingers through it for some reason, so badly that when she'd bumped into him their first day of travel, her view obscured by the dark curtain, he didn't even think to scold her, too busy willing himself to not thread his fingers into the soft strands. When he was close enough, he noticed that it smelled like wildflowers.

He'd met her just outside Filly. Where she was headed, a few settlements northwest to find an aunt or a sister or a grandmother or something, wasn't the most perilous route she'd shown him on her Pip Boy (in a very surreal conversation where she'd treated him like he was any other man), but she was already showing that she wasn't truly equipped to make it there intact. Hell, she had flagged him down for directions, in a move that had made him genuinely wonder if he hadn't done too much Jet that morning. That little maneuver wouldn't get her killed with him (at least, on the right day) but it would quickly get her robbed or worse with many others.

His first instinct had been to leave her to her fate, but he found that he just couldn't leave her there on the side of the road, that blinding white smile, those big, round eyes, her basically pristine vault suit making her stand out like a sore thumb. Begrudgingly, he had agreed to let her walk with him to where she was going.

She tired rather quickly compared to him, his condition making thermoregulation much less of a concern. His soft new companion, however, was unaccustomed to the sun, to the heat, and was often too exhausted to continue in any real capacity by the time the sun set. The nights got cold, colder than it seemed she'd anticipated, and she chattered her way through that whole first evening; each subsequent night, he'd built a small fire to keep her warm through the coldest part. It annoyed him immensely, having to expose them in the dark like that, but, oddly, he found that he equally disliked watching her shiver on the ground.

"Do you think we could stop for a while?" she asked suddenly, stopping in her tracks to turn to him and nearly slamming into his chest in the process. His hand braced on her shoulder, slightly shoving her aside so they didn't collide; the hand that touched her tingled when he pulled it away, and he cast a quick glance at his palm.

"You're really pushin' it today, kid. You know that?" he growled, his tone dripping with unconcealed irritation. They could easily get at least a few more hours of walking in before the sun went down, and once she stopped walking for the day, it was hard to get her going again.

The way her eyes widened at him before dropping to the ground actually made him feel guilty, flooring him just a little. He held his face in its usual neutral mask.

"I'm sorry." she murmured, chastened. "I'm just not used to walking so long in the heat."

Immediately, he rolled his eyes, though whether he was rolling them at her or at himself, he genuinely didn't know. Casting his eyes further down the road, then around where they'd stopped, they fell onto a clutch of old, dead trees and rocks, a small amount of shade gathering there. It was well concealed enough, he supposed.

"Fine. We can stop over there. But we're gonna get a few more miles in today, at least, so don't get comfy."

Flashing him those perfect teeth again, she quickly made her way off the road and threw herself down at the base of the largest tree, hiding from the sun as best as she could. He took the opportunity to dig some food out of his bag, have another smoke or two, and reflect on his choices, his back to her by and large as he watched the road.

"I didn't know the sun was so bright." she huffed after while, her tone almost petulant. "Or so hot."

He turned back to her, a slick reply about her general naivete locked and loaded, but he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of her sat there on the ground, tugging off her boots and socks. Folding each sock into a neat little ball, she tucked them into their corresponding mate and sat them aside, stretching her legs out in front of her. Quiet, he watched her roll up each pant leg to her knee, as high as the cut of the material would allow, reclining back in the small patch of shade she'd found.

Those toned, smooth calves that peeked out at him were the most intriguing thing he'd seen in a minute, his eyes practically glued to the exposed skin. There was a softness to her that he thought didn't exist anymore; in her supple body, the way she actually held a little extra fat from years of being fed and safe in a vault, the soft, clear expanse of her skin, her clean, manicured fingernails. Oddly enough, he found himself deeply wanting to reach out and wrap one of his hands around her ankle, the other running up the taut muscle of her leg. He shoved the feeling down and turned back to the road, fidgeting.

A while later, the sun was dipping behind the horizon, but still frying everything it touched when she finally spoke again.

"Do you wanna get going soon?" she called, tone much more relaxed than before.

He turned to look at her again, having avoided doing so for over an hour, her sleeves rucked up to her elbows as well, and shook his head.

"Nah. Might as well just bed down here and get some sleep. Good a place as any, I guess. I wanna cover some real ground tomorrow." he replied, keeping his tone noncommittal. "Get your rest, princess. If you can't keep up tomorrow, I'm leaving your ass behind."

She shot him a look, somewhere between evaluating whether or not he was serious and rolling her eyes at his continued unpleasantness, but she didn't respond outside of a simple nod, sinking back down onto the ground and closing her eyes. Once the sun went down fully, he went around gathering up dried sticks and brush to build a small fire, setting up near where she was obviously quickly falling asleep, curled up on her side and using her backpack as a pillow.

Cooper kept watch for a few hours as it quickly darkened, the girl falling soundly asleep as he sat polishing his guns. Eventually, he grew bored of weapon maintenance, and his eyes were drawn to the vault dweller lying a few feet to his side.

He leaned closer, allowing himself to inspect her face closer than he'd had a chance to thus far. Walking behind her all day allowed him plenty of time to study her silhouette, her gait, the dancing length of her hair. But her face was always hidden, and when she turned to face him, he felt unable to look her in the eye for too long without that itch creeping into his brain, sending him searching through his pockets for his inhaler.

Now that he could take a long, uninterrupted look at her without worrying about being caught, it finally dawned on him, though, not immediately:

Fuck, she was beautiful.

And she was, and would have been if he'd met her in another life, too, each feature of her more appealing than the next. That long hair had been braided back away from her face, the length of it coiled like a snake along her back as she snored ever-so-lightly, her head sitting crookedly against her backpack. Before he could even think about it, his hand had already been tugged loose of his glove and reached out to softly pet at it, the strands silken under his bare fingers.

When did he get so close to her?

He thought back to her exposed legs, now hidden back away beneath her pant legs, kicked most of the way back down to assist in keeping her warm, and thought about how there had been no hair there. Many aspects of grooming that had once been normal were long lost to him, but that was certainly one of the biggest ones. He had completely forgotten that women once generally shaved the hair from their legs, and how big a deal it was considered when they didn't. He'd thought it was a silly thing to expect then; now, it just seemed like a sad thing to fixate on, with all that had been going on at the time.

However, that didn't stop him from imagining how smooth, how silky her legs would feel if he ran his hands along them, how high the smoothness would go until he would be able to feel the presence of downy little body hairs, the likes of which he hadn't had himself in centuries. Would they start at her knees? Or would he have to feel all the way up to the tops of her pillowy thighs to feel them? He remembered, vaguely, that some women would shave between their legs, too, and wondered if she did that as well.

Why was he thinking about what was between her legs?

His brain was so foggy the longer he looked at her, his one free hand quickly moving to dig his inhaler out of his pocket, taking the longest drag he could take off of it. It didn't clear his mind, didn't stop him from feeling like he wanted to touch more of her, to lean close and smell her, taste her. A hard shudder broke down his spine, and his cock set to throbbing in his pinstriped pants, his teeth gnashing. He was anxious to get to the next big settlement so he could buy new vials; he was convinced there was something wrong with these ones.

Regardless, he could breathe fine and didn't feel like a threat to the girl, necessarily...so his attention shifted, rather sourly, to his aching erection, now straining against his thigh.

It wasn't that he never masturbated; he was still a man beneath all the rads and rot, and his sex drive had never fully died, only dwindled down to a single flame whose presence didn't usually draw any attention from him. But it wasn't something he relished in, no more than eating food he couldn't really taste anymore to sustain himself or feigning sleep to allow his legs and back to rest. It was simply another need that had to be met on occasion; a quick tug at himself, not thinking of anything in particular, until he spilled onto the ground and went on with his life. It never needed to be more than that.

Now, however, his entire gut was aflame, the smell of her filling the air and further intoxicating him, his still-gloved hand moving to press against his cock through the fabric, the feeling leaving him arching his hips slightly up into his own touch. He wanted so badly to touch more than her hair, but knew that it wasn't advisable; the girl slept more soundly than anyone in the Wasteland, it seemed, but if she were to wake up and find him touching himself beside her, who knows what trouble there would be?

He couldn't touch her, but that didn't mean he couldn't study her, running his eyes over each part of her over and over again as the light and warmth of the fire slowly died down. He was tracing curve of her breasts and the way it flowed into the little roll of her belly for the umpteenth time, grinding hard against his hand, by the time the flames died down completely. She'd curled almost completely in on herself, hiding her face against her hands, and he wished he could look closer at it again as he slunk closer and closer to the edge.

As if she could read his mind, she suddenly rolled onto her back, resettling quickly as her head slid fully off of the bag. The mild highlights of the moon played along her face and torso, her plush lips parting in a soft, dreamy sigh. Fleetingly, he wondered if she would make that sound for him if he touched her just right, and, embarrassingly, that thought was enough to put an end to him.

The orgasm that washed over him granted some mild relief, his spend pooling in a sticky mess in his pant leg as he let out a few quiet heavy breaths, the hand that had been touching her hair scratching lines into the dirt, but it was bittersweet. In the haze afterwards, for the first time in a long, long time, he thought about Barb, about the way she would sigh his name when she came apart, about how soft and warm she would feel against him when he held her close after they made love. The deeply buried pain behind his breastbone that had started the day he'd found out the truth about her kicked up once more.

Sitting in the dark silence, a hard edge of discomfort and annoyance steeled up his spine, leaving him still in his ruminations until the uncomfortable feeling of the mess in his pants became intolerable. Letting out a huff, he shifted away from her and walked a few steps away as quietly as possible to clean himself up as best as he could, shame thick in the crisp air. When he finished, he dug into his pocket for an angry cigarette, jamming it between his thin lips and turning back towards her to face away from the breeze as he lit it.

But when he looked at her once more, really let himself look at her, he felt that pain in his breast soften, her soft skin almost glowing in the moonlight as she slept, peacefully unaware of anything but her blissful rest. It wasn't something he saw often. When he sat back down beside her, grabbing for his loose glove in the dark, he sat close enough that the outside of his thigh touched the arm under her head, pulling on his lit smoke absentmindedly as he continued to study his little companion. Her even, steady breathing was quite soothing to him, actually.

He was still going to buy a new set of vials.

#cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x reader #ghoulcy #vaultghoul #submission #I hate titling so much #fallout tv show #fallout prime

286 notes · View notes