#and a kaveh scribble

[yuzuuu4]

he is listening

[dragonfruitjazz]

Spy x Family AU for @hkvthm-action, requested by an anonymous donor :] this was a lot of fun

[kaveh-a-day]

Day 38

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

thank you to an odd textual mystery for kaveh hangout fulfilment!! kaveh and alhaitham dually creating a conspiracy because of their teenage habit of writing in books is something so deep and personal to me

kaveh initially circles the killer's name out of habit of annotating, but does so in permanent ink, not beating the urchin of kshahrewar allegations, creating a spoiler for the next reader

but without a second circle to create a red herring, courtesy of alhaitham, the conspiracy wouldn't have been started, but,,, alhaitham only draw the circle in the first place because he looked at a book that kaveh was interested in... this sounds.... familiar....

we've come full circle?? but now the two graffitiing in books is silly and doesn't have the potential to create a fall out because they can now talk it out!! <3333

[the-fandom-greenhouse]

Drew Kaveh, thought he looked pretty

Reblog with what you think he's angry about

~♡

[timothyclare]

spider-kaveh ./../ lines and colors

[yuzuuu4]

[dragonfruitjazz]

Their asses simply are not playing the game😭🙏 thank you so much for the prompt @flatvvoods (on twitter/x) !! I hope you enjoy it, it was so much fun to draw! @hkvthm-action

[pearlywritings]

hello! i adore you're writings! may i request alhaitham + xylophone from your event? thank you!

thank you for your kind words, dear anon <3

It's a secret... but from just one person

pairing: Alhaitham x fem!reader

prompt: secret relationship

word count: 1.2k+ words

~ The Music of the Night event ~

“No, can you believe it!? She told me– ME, her best friend, that whoever she is dating is none of my concern!”

“It seems peculiar to me that you, a possessor of such a bright mind, as rumors have it, can’t wrap your head around the fact that she indeed doesn’t owe you any explanation.” “You–!”

Alhaitham, without taking his crystal-shaped irises from the book in hand, tilts to the left, when an eraser flies in his direction. It hits the backseat of the sofa and falls onto the cushions near him, jumping two times before stilling. The architect, sitting cross-legged on a daybed near a huge stained glass window, fists an outstretched hand, cursing under his breath for missing.

“Of course you, with an emotional capacity of a fork, wouldn't understand me! How can I not be concerned? What if she doesn’t say anything because she feels threatened??”

“By your pushing? Oh, undoubtedly.”

“Or what if she worries that her ‘boyfriend’,” he shows quotation marks with his fingers, a scowl tugging on his mouth, “will get jealous because she has a guy for her best friend?” Alhaitham glances up from his book, giving Kaveh such a skeptical look, it makes the blonde want to throw a pencil at the Scribe too.

He actually contemplates on the thought for a little while, but decides that, on second thought, it would’ve been a waste: while he had two more erasers nearby, he took just one pencil with him. So he chooses to bury his nose back into the blueprints on the board he propped in front of him.

“Why am I even telling you all of this…”

“What a coincidence,” the ashen-haired man returns to his book and turns the page, “I’ve been asking myself the very same question.”

After that the silence settles in the room - busy with their respective tasks, two men no longer converse. The only sounds heard are the rustling of the pages and big sheets of paper, with a pencil scribbling and the architect occasionally groaning when something doesn’t appear to be according to his vision.

Kaveh truly can’t help it - you are very dear to him, the biggest support he’s ever had in his life, and a person he’s grown to care about like as if you were his little sister. Obviously he’s going to be concerned when you tell him nothing about a man you’ve chosen as your lover. There is absolutely no reason for you to withhold a piece of such important information from him, unless there is something awful going on, right?

He wants to know so badly, yet he can’t have you distancing yourself from him; as much as he doesn't want to admit it, his sarcastic neighbour has a point - should he put more pressure on you, it can result in a saddening ending.

So, as it seems, for now he can only guess and grumble, until you are ready to tell him.

About an hour later Alhaitham closes the book and puts it on the armrest. Kaveh ignores him when he stands up and leaves the lounge room, glancing up only when the man reappears in different clothes, with hair combed (though the Khashrevar graduate hardly sees the difference with how randomly cut his locks look) and a touch of perfume. Kaveh gives him a suspicious look.

“Is there an event I am not aware of?”

“You could say that. But it's the one where you are not invited to.”

“Okay…” the blonde says slowly, lowering the board with his blueprints. “Since when do you willingly attend events? Moreso dress up for them?”

“None of your concern, dear senior,” Alhaitham smirks, and something in the quirk of the lips and the haughty tone irks Kaveh more than ever before. It's as if the Scribe conveyed some veiled message, some important information addressed to the architect specifically.

But before he can ask anything, the other man is out of the front door.

Oh, you can definitely believe it. You’ve been witness to your boyfriend’s and best friend’s verbal skirmish way too many times, you can almost predict what taunt one of them is going to respond with next. So, when Alhaitham gives you a recap of their afternoon’s conversation, you are not surprised, not in the slightest.

“You two are so childish,” you roll your eyes, putting a vase with a bouquet of fresh, blooming viparyas onto the dining table. A soft smile graces your lips as you cup one of the flowers delicately, cradling its beautiful blossom.

“Should I remind you that it was your idea to keep our relationship a secret from Kaveh?” Your lover joins your side and nestles your back into his chest, both of his big palms resting on your waist. Your smile grows wider and gaze turns borderline dreamy, as you lean into him more, grazing the knuckles of his left hand with your fingertips.

“I was worried he’d be even more disgruntled at you,” you sigh, dropping your arm to your side. “He tends to be overprotective of me. I know, I know, you two can be civil and even amicable with each other, but Kaveh is emotional.”

“Just say ‘hysterical’, habibti, no need to hide behind the words,” the man behind you says monotonously, and you half-heartedly slap the back of his hand. The smirk he hides in your hair as he leans to kiss your temple tells you he is half-serious himself.

“Maybe you are right though,” you hum, welcoming his arms to wrap around your middle and putting your own atop of his. He starts slowly swaying from side to side. “It wasn’t my brightest idea. He’s stressing you, he’s stressing himself and soon he’ll most likely start stressing me, if I don’t reveal to him the mysterious character of my dear boyfriend. I am actually quite surprised he hasn’t figured it out yet or that someone from our friend’s circle said nothing to him.”

“I suspect they all found it hilarious,” Alhaitham offers an explanation, turning around with you still being in his hold, to check on the oven. “Or challenging. It’s keeping a secret from just one person after all and seeing for how long it can go on.”

“Mhm, I think you are right,” you chuckle, gleefully patting his forearms, tapping the rhythm known only to you. “But the joke has lasted long enough, let’s tell Kaveh. We can invite him to dinner where I can officially introduce you as my boyfriend!”

“He’s going to lose his marbles. And what happened to ‘I don't want him to be pissy at you’?”

“That’s not how I phrased that,” the man gives you a ‘sorry not sorry’ kind of look, and you can’t help but think that for all his restraint and wisdom, your beloved can really be impossibly childish. “Besides, I know you can handle that, look at all that muscle,” and you squeeze his thick upper arm. You earn yourself a blank expression as a response.

“If Kaveh arranges the ‘how well you know your lover’ quiz for me, and there is a question ‘why, in your opinion, your partner fell in love with you in the first place?’, I am telling him you are enamored with my arms.”

“Well, you’ll answer one question correctly at least,” snickering, your turn in his embrace to throw your arms around his neck and smooch him on the cheek. He shakes his head with an exasperated sigh, but nevertheless leans down, to ghost his lips across your forehead.

“I’ll answer all of them correctly.”

“Hehe, I’ll hold you to that, habibi.”

[celestemona]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

a brief look at their daily life & random family’ moments

pairing: dad & husband! wriothesley, cyno, kaveh x fem! reader

cw: different timelines. original characters, maternity, pregnant reader in wriothesley's part, parenthood, use of endearment names, arabic terms & fluff stuff. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

x

WRIOTHESLEY

Amid the quiet hum of daily tasks, you and Wriothesley shared a comfortable silence in his office, broken only by the soft rustling of papers and the scratch of his pen against documents.

The movements in your womb were a gentle reminder of the life growing within you, but it was the swelling in your feet that caused the most discomfort. Taking advantage of a moment to relax, you reclined on the new sofa your husband had thoughtfully bought, balancing a stack of papers on your belly. While you worked through a few revisions, your true attention was drawn to a crossword puzzle from The Steambird newspaper resting atop the pile.

“Wrio, quick—seven letters. Known as Liyue’s enlightened beasts or gods,” you asked, glancing up from the puzzle with a spark of curiosity.

Wriothesley looked up from his form, his lips curving into a smirk as he replied confidently, “Easy. Adeptus.”

You beamed, grateful for his quick answer, and eagerly scribbled it into the puzzle. Before you could move on to the next clue, a soft knock on the door caught your attention. Wriothesley called for the visitor to enter, and the door creaked open to reveal your teenage son.

“Mum, Dad. Are you busy?” Cameron asked, peeking shyly into the room.

“Never for you, sweetheart,” you replied warmly, setting aside the puzzle and placing the papers on the tea table in front of you. You gestured for him to come closer, and Cameron’s shy smile turned radiant as he walked over to sit beside you, quickly enveloped in your affection.

“Is something wrong, buddy? I thought you were in the city with Quentin,” Wriothesley inquired.

“Oh, no, everything’s fine,” Cameron reassured him. “Quentin forgot that today was his parents’ performance day, so Corinne picked him up while we were at the beach. Éveline is busy too, so I decided to come home.”

Both you and Wriothesley nodded in understanding. Rising from his desk, Wriothesley announced, “I’ll make some tea for all of us.”

As he left, Cameron nestled into your embrace while you returned to your puzzle, never letting go of your son. The peace was short-lived, however, as your daughter, still in your womb, seemed to sense her brother’s presence. She began kicking energetically, demanding attention of her own.

Cameron chuckled, watching the movements. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really,” you replied with a laugh. “Sometimes it feels like she thinks my belly is a playground, and even my ribs don’t escape her antics. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Smiling, Cameron gently placed his hands over your belly, where your baby's tiny feet were stretching. His soft touch seemed to calm her, and the powerful kicks gradually eased into gentle nudges. You sighed in relief.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Cameron said softly, his voice full of anticipation.

You kissed the top of his head, your heart full. “She’s looking forward to meeting you too.”

A few minutes later, Wriothesley returned with a tray of tea and a few treats, the sight of his wife and son greeting him with warmth. As he joined you, the love and contentment in the room seemed to swell.

Even after all these years, Wriothesley couldn’t help but marvel at the simple beauty of his family. You, Cameron, and the little one on the way—his heart overflowed with gratitude for the life you had built together.

CYNO

The General Mahamatra was escorting the Lesser Lord Kusanali back to the Sanctuary of Surasthana after a lengthy meeting with the sages and the Akademiya's scribe when a familiar sight caught his eye—you, leaving the Grand Bazaar with the twins by your side.

A faint sparkle crossed his usually composed gaze, a flicker of warmth that most would miss—especially those who would go out of their way to avoid catching the matra's attention. However, the perceptive little dendro archon wasn’t most people. With a soft giggle, she turned to Cyno and suggested he end his day early to spend the afternoon with his family.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, her tone light and reassuring. “I’ll take a quick look around and be back home before dark.”

Cyno hesitated, concern briefly knitting his brow. As a protector, it wasn’t in his nature to leave the young archon unattended. He began to decline, promising to join his family at the end of the day. But Nahida, with her characteristic blend of wisdom and playfulness—and perhaps a subtle flex of her authority—persisted.

Eventually, Cyno relented, expressing his gratitude before bidding her farewell and making his way to you.

It was Isaar who first sensed his father’s approach, the boy turning to greet Cyno with a wide smile and an enthusiastic wave that quickly caught both Aryan’s and your attention.

“Cyno,” you greeted warmly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. His ears tinged red, though his stoic demeanor didn’t waver. Amused by his reaction, you chuckled softly as the twins ran up for their customary pats on the head.

“Hey, Baba, guess what!” Isaar exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. “We’re having Shawarma Wrap for dinner tonight!”

Cyno blinked, his brow arching in curiosity as he glanced at you. “That’s unusual. Any special occasion?”

Grinning, Isaar puffed out his chest. “I won three rounds against Yan in Invokation TCG! We bet that the winner could pick a special dinner, and I got to order from Mama!”

Cyno nodded in understanding while Aryan sighed, the quieter twin clearly disappointed. “I really wanted to eat Mama’s Panipuri,” he murmured, his tone soft and wistful. “Grandpa Cyrus even helped me pick the best potatoes for them.”

Your heart melted at his words. Smiling, you leaned closer to him, your hand gently stroking his face. “I’ll make them next time, Ary,” you promised in a quiet voice meant just for him. “I’ll even make double the amount, just for you.”

Aryan’s eyes brightened as he nodded, comforted by your assurance. Cyno, overhearing the exchange, couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Once again, you had effortlessly resolved a situation that others might dismiss as trivial, yet to you, every detail of your children’s happiness mattered deeply.

Without a word, Cyno relieved you of the shopping bags, holding them in one hand while his other reached for yours. Intertwining your fingers, he began leading you home, his quiet presence grounding and reassuring.

The twins walked a few paces ahead, deeply engaged in a lively conversation in their unique language—a secret code they only shared with each other. Even as they chatted, they never strayed far from their parents’ watchful eyes.

Moments like this were rare, given your respective duties, but Cyno savored every second. The simplicity of walking hand-in-hand with you, watching the twins chatter animatedly, filled him with a quiet, profound joy. These were the moments that reminded him of what truly mattered.

Perhaps, he thought, as his grip on your hand tightened slightly, he should ask Nahida for more days off. Just maybe.

KAVEH

“Daddy, daddy, daddy! I’m going to marry Hakim!”

Those were the enthusiastic words your sweet little girl announced as she bounded into the kitchen. You paused mid-preparation of lunch, glancing over your shoulder, while Kaveh, comfortably sipping his wine, choked violently on the drink.

Concerned but mildly amused, you hurried to help him recover from the coughing fit that erupted—not from the wine itself, but from Zahra’s startling declaration.

“Princess,” Kaveh managed to say after a deep breath, his voice still raspy, “I thought you were going to marry daddy.” He gave her a shaky smile, clearly hoping her young heart still belonged solely to him.

You snorted softly, shaking your head as you turned back to your work.

“No! Daddy is already married to Mommy,” Zahra explained matter-of-factly, placing her hands on her hips like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Ooh! Look at this pretty drawing Hakim made for me!”

She held up a colorful, childlike but remarkably detailed drawing of the Palace of Alcazarzaray. Even Kaveh, reluctant to admit it, couldn’t deny the talent evident in the work. Hakim, it seemed, though a miniature replica of his father, had his own gifts.

“Oh my! It’s so beautiful, Zaza,” you praised as you leaned over to admire the drawing. “Did you thank him properly?”

“Yes! I gave him a rose,” Zahra replied proudly, her chest puffed out.

Kaveh’s heart softened at her response.

Zahra truly was a thoughtful, kind-hearted child. Every day, he watched her grow into a bright, beautiful girl, reflecting the best qualities of both her parents. She was his little princess, the light of his life, and Kaveh would protect that light fiercely. The thought of anything—or anyone—taking away her happiness made his chest tighten.

“Daddy is still against this marriage, though,” Kaveh suddenly declared, snapping out of his reverie. He crossed his arms, attempting to look stern. “You’re too young, and I highly doubt Hakim has the resources—or the qualities—to provide you with a good home. Besides, men, in general, are terrible.” He paused, then added smugly, “But daddy isn’t. Daddy is the best. So daddy is still the best choice!”

You rolled your eyes, giving him a pinch on the cheek. Kaveh pouted dramatically at the gesture, though he didn’t pull away.

“Let kids be kids, Kav,” you said with a fond smile.

Zahra, meanwhile, seemed neither disheartened nor discouraged by her father’s objections. Instead, her little brow furrowed in thought before she confidently replied, “But daddy, Hakim promised we’d get married when we’re big like you and mommy, and his mama and papa. He said that when he grows up, he’ll be a great house artist like you, and then he’ll build a house for us to live in. You can visit us all the time!”

Kaveh was internally horrified. They were already making plans for the future, and Zahra hadn’t even turned seven yet. The idea was unacceptable. Intolerable. His sweet baby girl couldn’t possibly—no, wouldn’t—grow up so fast.

But as he looked into her sparkling golden eyes and saw the genuine joy in her smile, he couldn’t bring himself to crush her whimsical dream. With a dramatic sigh, he relented—though not without setting a few conditions.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But you’re not getting married until you’re fifty-nine. And Hakim has to build a palace with many rooms and a beautiful garden. And I’ll visit every day!”

Zahra clapped her hands with glee, her delighted giggles echoing in the kitchen as she threw her arms around him.

Meanwhile, you watched the exchange with mild amusement, a warm sense of comfort filling your heart.

If only Kaveh realized how common the “childhood friends to lovers” trope was, you thought with a grin, he’d surely take back everything he’d just said.

.

.

a/n: i planned to write a part for kazuha and alhaitham but i'm a little bit tired so in the next update? we'll see...

please let me know if there are any mistakes ;)

edited: dec/2024

[admiringlove]

tear-stained cheek. holy shit this is so long overdue i'm so sorry 😭. anyway here is the masterlist.

it's funny, isn’t it? how someone can walk into your life—unexpected, almost like a quiet storm—and leave behind a trail of emotions you'd never even known could exist. the kind that makes your heart race in the most unsteady rhythm, like the fluttering pulse of a schoolchild who has just learned the thrill of something new.

you remember it, don’t you? the first time you saw him—alhaitham. his presence etched so clearly in your memory, as if it were a moment suspended in time. his blue-green eyes, those striking, captivating hues, flicking around the towering bookshelves, searching with a sense of urgency that could be mistaken for desperation. ruby pupils narrowing slightly, scanning the titles of books that were clearly not in his jurisdiction, buried deep in the wrong section of the akademiya's library.

it was seven years ago, though it feels like another lifetime now. you were younger then, more naive. there was something so endearing about watching him from across the long corridor of dusty tomes. you could practically feel the tension radiating off him—his movements quick, sharp, trying to sort through a pile of parchments and textbooks. he was on the edge, overwhelmed by deadlines, his anxiety painting him in broad strokes. you could see it in the way his eyes darted back and forth, the slight hitch in his breath. you could’ve sworn his palms were clammy, his mind whirring with a thousand thoughts at once.

and then, just as your gaze lingered on him, his eyes met yours. for the briefest of moments, you could almost hear the shift—the silent flicker of recognition in his gaze. and just like that, the panic was gone. he gave a small, practiced smile, masking the chaos that had been there seconds before.

you chuckled quietly to yourself and took a slow stride toward him, deliberately setting your books down next to his with a soft thud. without saying a word, you sat down, as though you hadn’t just seen him nervously look for books, possibly in the wrong section—you were in the vahumana section, after all. and he, being a haravatat student, shouldn't really be in here. but your eyes couldn’t help but wander to his parchment, curiosity getting the best of you.

"that book is in the restricted section," you said, voice calm yet amused, pointing to one of the titles he had jotted down with such determination. "you're not allowed to read it without approval from a professor, and probably an inspector from the akademiya too. i know, because it involves my specialty. aetiology."

he blinked, just for a second, and then the smallest laugh escaped him. a soft, self-deprecating scoff. "i don’t know how i missed that. thank you."

that’s how your friendship began—small moments stitched together, each one quietly meaningful. your shared hours were steeped in academic conversations, unraveling dense research papers, and the whispered rhythm of scribbling as you wrote your thesis side-by-side in the library. sometimes, his sharp-tongued, golden-haired friend, kaveh, would join the two of you. and while alhaitham never seemed to notice the glances you stole, kaveh always did. he was like that—keen-eyed, always knowing, always watching.

one night, walking home under a blanket of stars with only kaveh for company, he spoke. his voice was quieter than usual, softened by the weight of what he was about to say. “you do realize he won’t notice unless you tell him, right? he’s not wired to pick up on things like that. not unless they’re spelled out for him.”

you let out a small laugh, more a puff of air than anything, and lowered your gaze to the pavement. “yeah,” you murmured, lips curving into a wistful smile. “i’ve figured that out by now. but maybe that’s part of what makes him... him. the way he doesn’t see how much i love—”

“love?” kaveh interrupted, his voice laced with disbelief, though not unkind.

“yeah,” you whispered, the word carried away like a secret on the night breeze. “unfortunately, yeah.”

you were always like that—quick to attach, even quicker to fall. you gave your heart away with the same ease you handed over your trust. quick to idolize, to elevate someone to a pedestal so high, you’d forget they were human. and then, you'd fall to your knees, treating love like a religion, a belief you held with a kind of desperate devotion. you looked at him as though he was the creator of the universe itself, as if he held the stars in his hands and had the power to shape the world with his touch.

one night, after graduation, you found yourself standing in his kitchen. the soft hum of the kettle broke the silence, and you watched him prepare tea with the careful precision only he seemed capable of. it was as if he could brew the entire universe into that simple cup. leaning against the doorway, you let the words slip from your mouth, barely planned, as if they had always been waiting there to be spoken. “you know, i think i’m falling a little, over here.”

his eyes didn't leave the kettle, and his response was quick, practical, a little detached. “you’re standing perfectly well,” he said, and you laughed softly. for all his brilliance, his understanding of emotions seemed quite lackluster. “i don’t see you falling.”

but you weren’t looking for his logic. you needed him to see you. you waited for his gaze to meet yours, and when it finally did, you took a breath, letting the night around you settle into the space between you both. the air was thick, but you pushed through it. kaveh was right. he wouldn’t know unless you told him. so you did. "alhaitham," you started, your voice barely a whisper, a tremble of something deeper. "i'm falling in love with you. actually, i’ve been in love with you for quite some time. before graduation, really."

he blinked, as though the words you had just spilled had left him tangled in a sea of confusion, and in that moment, your breath hitched in your throat, a quiet panic curling in your chest. you stumbled over your own words, quickly adding, "it's okay. don't say anything—"

but he cut you off, his voice steady despite the tension hanging thick between you two. "i did not say i didn't feel anything for you."

a relief so soft it was almost imperceptible washed over you, but you still couldn’t stop the trembling in your hands as you stepped closer, your shoulder brushing his with a closeness that felt like an unspoken promise. "you didn’t say you felt anything at all, either," you murmured, and then, almost like an afterthought, "and i’m saying... that it’s okay."

his sigh was a quiet thing, weighed down by the gravity of the unspoken, and he turned his head, his gaze finally meeting yours. there was something raw in the way he looked at you, as though the words he was about to say had been locked away for far too long. “doesn’t mean i wouldn’t like to try. i am capable of feeling, you know.”

the corner of your mouth lifted into a tender smile, soft and knowing, and you reached forward, turning off the stove with a quiet click. “you trying to experiment on me?” you teased, though your heart was racing, the words hanging between you like a fragile thread.

he smiled back, a little smirk tugging at his lips, and there was something in the way he said it that made your heart flutter. “i’m simply saying that you aren’t just a friend to me. i’m capable of feeling intimacy. romance. i don’t know, whatever you call it.”

your heart pounded so loudly in your ears, it drowned out everything else—the quiet hum of the kitchen, the soft rustle of the night outside, even your own breath. you blinked, the weight of his words settling on you, and your lips parted, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to feel. but before you could collect yourself, he rolled his eyes, an almost playful gesture that caught you off guard. then, with a newfound confidence, he pulled you close, his hand landing on your waist, firm and sure.

your eyes widened, and you stumbled over your words, "alhaitham, what are you doing? kaveh's sleeping in the other room—"

he met your gaze, his ruby pupils dark and intense, and a knowing smile tugged at his lips. “you don’t seem to believe my words,” he said, his voice low and steady, “so i’m showing you through my actions. perhaps that would make this ‘experiment,’ as you call it, more believable?”

how could you have said no? in your eyes, he had always been a god, high upon a pedestal so lofty you could barely see the top. everything he asked of you, you had already given a thousand times over without question. you saw him dangle the moon in front of you, its glow irresistible, and in that moment, you forgot that it was the stars you truly craved.

here’s the thing about loving the way you did: when it wasn’t mirrored with the same intensity, the same fire, the same burning passion, everything unraveled. you learned quickly that love, if it wasn’t met with equal fervor, would twist and contort into something unrecognizable. so, in an attempt to keep everything from falling apart, you started sweeping the cracks under the rug, telling yourself it was fine. when his words cut too deep, when he hurt you without meaning to, you pretended it didn’t sting. as friends, it wouldn’t have mattered, but as lovers? it festered, a quiet poison settling into your bones, pricking at your spine like a disease that had no cure.

faith and love were blurry concepts in your mind, tangled in a way that made it impossible to see where one ended and the other began. in his, however, the line was sharp, clear, and separate. while you raised him up, placed him on a pedestal so high it nearly touched the heavens, he never saw you as anything less than his equal. he treated you like a part of him; integral, a piece that completed the whole. but that’s where it faltered, you realized. you loved alhaitham as if he were a god, unreachable, perfect in his flaws, something to worship and adore from a distance. he, however, loved you like you were his reflection. just as flawed, just as human.

it was a cycle, you’d reckoned, one that started the moment you fell, and it was one you knew would lead to disaster from the very beginning. but in the quiet spaces between your words, there was something that still held you captive. something you couldn’t quite name, yet couldn’t escape.

“you cannot keep doing this,” he had said, his voice a sharp edge cutting through the stillness of the room. it was only hours ago, when everything still seemed normal, when the world hadn’t yet fallen into fragments. “stop bringing up the past and throwing it in my face when i least expect it. you can’t keep telling me to correct my past mistakes when there’s no way i can! tell me what i’m doing wrong as it happens, so i can fix it, instead of letting it go and dragging it up later when it’s too late for me to do anything about it!”

the words hit you like a slap, and the spoon in your hands clattered into the sink, a harsh, metallic sound that echoed in the air. you didn’t know what to say at first, only that everything in you had soured at the injustice of it. you looked at him, the weight of your anger and exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders, and you finally let it spill out, raw and untamed. “why can’t you understand what you’re doing wrong in the first place, before you do it?”

his eyes widened, cerulean irises reflecting a mix of frustration and confusion, his pupils dilated in a way that made you feel like you were miles away from each other. “how am i supposed to, if you don’t tell me?” he shouted, voice rising, desperate. “how can i know what’s hurting you and what’s not, if you don’t tell me?”

"i should’ve known this wouldn’t go anywhere in the first place."

the words hit you both like a cold wind, sharp and cutting. your eyes widened in disbelief at what you'd said, and the silence that followed was thick, suffocating, a weight that hung heavy between you both. it was a silence that spoke louder than anything, filled with all the things you had left unsaid, the actions you both had avoided. he stood there, taken aback, and yet, you couldn’t find the words to explain the ache inside you—the quiet, persistent pain of knowing that no matter how hard you tried, he could never truly see you until it was already too late.

“then perhaps we should cut it off before it rots.”

his voice was final, a verdict you hadn’t been ready for. it was as if the last string of connection between you two had snapped, leaving nothing but the cold, empty space in its wake. you turned, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer, and stormed out. now, here you were, sitting on a bench at the edge of the city, watching the world move around you as the sky shifted, the sun dipping lower in a swirl of colors, the evening air cool against your skin.

tears had streamed down your face a while ago, uncontrolled, as if they had been waiting to escape for far too long. the city bustled on, oblivious to the storm inside you. the clouds above seemed to echo the disarray in your chest, moving with a restless energy, while you exhaled a shaky sigh. your hands trembled, rubbing together desperately, trying to still the chaos within you, but nothing could stop it. your gaze fell to your lap, empty, lost in the sea of your own thoughts.

perhaps it was your own doing, you thought, as the weight of it all pressed against your chest. perhaps you should’ve stayed away from the very beginning. perhaps you should’ve never let that curiosity get the best of you when you first saw him in the library, never set your books down next to his, never spoken those first words. maybe none of it would have mattered, and maybe you would’ve been spared the mess of it all. but now, the silence between you two was the loudest thing you had ever known.

can you tell i'm channeling myself and how i feel into the reader

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[tinartss]

some of tin's fav haikavetham fics (fic rec list!)🍓🍓

hello all i've always wanted to make a fic rec list and i feel like i've collected enough hkvh fics to make one now LOL most definitely i am forgetting to include a lot but here are a few of my faves!

notes:

check tags before reading👍

most if not all are sfw bc that is my vibe

sorted from least recent -> most recent

was gonna add little comments to each but i'm now realizing that would take up a huge amt of space so. just know that all of these changed the trajectory of my life. thank u fic authors for all u do🫶

then who? by heartslogos (T, 27k)

“Let me,” Kaveh would say with his eyes, his head, his hands. Let him what? Let him in, let him speak, let him stay, let him touch and see and listen — All of the above. Has it not always been so, the two of them like this, Kaveh and Al-Haitham? Kaveh: not quite asking, not quite taking. Al-Haitham: not quite answering, not quite offering. - Al-Haitham has been confined to bed-rest for a month. Kaveh assists. Al-Haitham recovers, they both do.

Asked and Answered by heartslogos (T, 55k)

It begins in the House of Daena, or at least, Kaveh thinks that that’s where it should begin. If one were to trace the flow of events backwards, it would lead to this moment. If Kaveh were Al-Haitham, he would insist on going further back. Further. Further. Further. All the way back, to the literal beginning of all of time and creation, possibly. But Kaveh’s brain only has enough room for so many creations at any given moment, and the works of others — while inspiring — historically don’t get students passing grades. Or even grades at all. When thinking about one’s relationship with their soulmate, it seems natural to think to a first meeting. A first introduction. Well. This can be said for any relationship. It all begins with that first brush — a name, given; a silhouette, glanced; a voice, heard.

the truest forms of love by heartslogos (T, 29k)

“Nahida said that the moment you touch the seeds is the moment you must stop speaking,” the Traveler says to him, standing between Al-Haitham and the door of the simple, small hut that is to become his and Kaveh’s for the foreseeable future. “Is there anything else you want to say?” The beak of the swan is foreign, cool and strange. Al-Haitham struggles not to flinch away from it as it slides along the side of his jaw, his cheek — imploring and fretful. One last and ineffective plea. Al-Haitham feels the warm weight of solid muscle around his neck, his shoulders — the fidget of wings, the beat of a heart. Al-Haitham’s fingers sink into soft feathers and the bones and muscles of a bird shift against his hands as he holds Kaveh close. What is there to say? Why bother to say something to someone who cannot say anything back? “Stand aside,” Al-Haitham says, slowly lowering Kaveh to the ground. “The sooner I begin, the sooner it ends.” - A story loosely based on the fairy tale of "The Six Swans".

house of cards by luminvies (T, 21k)

There is a scrap of parchment he'd created and abandoned all the way back when the two had been attending the Akademiya together. Sometime between then and the first month he has to move in with Al-Haitham, the list gets crossed out, scribbled over, crumpled up, carefully unfolded again, and revised. The working title for his tireless troubles: Ten Reasons You Cannot, Under Any Circumstances, Fall In Love With Al-Haitham.

…And how Kaveh falls anyway.

through the grapevine by katarasvevo (G, 3.8k)

Theories are passed around in the form of whispers: Professor Alhaitham probably said something that angered Professor Kaveh. Professor Kaveh, unable to let the insult slide, decided to take revenge by interrupting his precious class time. A prediction goes around that in less than ten seconds, Professor Alhaitham will proceed to offend Professor Kaveh even more with a tactless comment, which will lead to Professor Kaveh and Professor Alhaitham murdering each other. The whole class will walk out today without needing to write the test, having been traumatized by the tragic demise of the two professors. It is not a very pleasant line of thought, but it is sadly the only logical outcome.

In which everyone is convinced Professor Alhaitham and Professor Kaveh are sworn enemies, unaware that their relationship isn’t at all what it seems.

the kübler-ross model on romance by luminvies (T, 10.8k)

Kaveh smiles up at the stranger. "Sorry, he's right! I am taken. By him. But he doesn't know it yet." What. "Wait, what did you mean by that?" Al-Haitham asks faintly. "Oh, that?" Kaveh scoffs. "You're a little dense. Obviously, I meant exactly what I said. I wouldn't want to be kept by anybody but you." "But we are—" Al-Haitham trips over his words, trailing behind Kaveh as he walks purposefully through the city. "We aren't. Together. Neither of us has confirmed anything of the sort." Kaveh gives him a derisory look. "And what, we don't act like it? Some things don't have to be put into words to be understood. Ah, I forgot. Haravatat. You probably wouldn't accept anything else any other way." "It is not logical to make assumptions without empirical evidence." "You scholarly types," Kaveh mutters. "Always so particular."

So. Al-Haitham is in love with Kaveh. This has got to be somebody's fault.

Cue the five stages of grief.

The Fall by heartslogos (M, 131k)

In the third generation of Lord Sangemah Bays when all is but a dream, Lord Kusanali, from their divine seat in the Sanctuary of Surasthana stirs and reaches their hands to the sky. They arrange their fingers to capture a square of sky, humming and singing to themselves as they put the patch of star and moon and cloud through the divine calculus before they translate it into the tongues of men to be made knowable, and perhaps even understandable — and with great fortune, actionable. “Summon the court,” Lord Kusanali says, “The Third Face of God has spoken. Hear the Word through me and make your peace. For the God Kings only ever speak thrice on any given subject.” The court of Sumeru crowds the Sanctuary of Surasthana. “That which waits in the Palace of Alcazarzaray can only be absolved through a union of souls and an exchange of hearts, a lifelong journey that ends only in death.” Lord Kusanali translates. And then, beatific, “What you need is a wedding.”

set alight by celestialfics (T, 2.3k)

Since he was young, Alhaitham has followed a self-imposed, unspoken rule not to touch other people unless strictly necessary. Over the years, there have been two exceptions. One was his grandmother, whose side he would cling to as she read him books on the living room couch. She would pet his hair, and he’d lean into the touch, not unlike a kitten blissfully being groomed by its mother. The other exception was an Akademiya upperclassman named Kaveh.

transparent night by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (G, 9.4k)

“Sir, kindly do not obstruct us,” says the matra sharply. “We are in the midst of carrying out an arrest.” “An arrest?” repeats Kaveh, incredulously. “You’re arresting him? You’re arresting him? Why, what in Teyvat has he done?” The Archon Rescue Operation is going as smoothly as it possibly can — that is, until Kaveh returns prematurely from his desert trip, and runs into Alhaitham at the absolute worst possible moment. Of course he would.

this is what happens in the absence of small-talk by pencanze (T, 17k)

Haitham and Kaveh, whose travels are leading them in opposite directions, meet as strangers in a caravanserai—a travelers’ guest house. Because even opposite directions have a point of intersection or overlap, don’t they? Some might even call that point a headfirst collision. And another thing about opposite directions: they still run in parallel, even long after they’ve crossed.

trishna by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (T, 8.2k)

Down the seventh-floor passage in Vahumana, past the statue of the sage Zolfikar, and behind the third door from the left; inside a small, abandoned seminar room in the Sumeru Akademiya is a mirror cursed to show the viewer their heart’s deepest desire. Kaveh’s father smiles at him, slowly, so Kaveh can see it happen; the corners of his mouth quirk upwards and his eyes twinkle. He’s moving, alive. Kaveh hasn’t seen his father smile – not the expression itself, preserved in an old Kamera shot he kept in his sketchbook, but the very action of smiling – in almost ten years. An Alhaitham/Kaveh X Mirror of Erised AU

if they ask my gain from this world’s harvest by patchy (T, 16k)

In the silence that follows, Alhaitham seems to interpret the end of the conversation. He takes a step back into his bedroom and starts to shut the door. “I’ll pay you tomorrow,” Kaveh forces out, his voice cracking embarrassingly. The door pauses in its trajectory. Kaveh takes a deep breath. “But this is the last time,” he continues in a lower voice. “I’ll be out of your space by the end of the month.” Alhaitham pushes open the door.

The House, The Home, You and Me by sonotfine (G, 11.9k)

Alhaitham's books-hoarding situation continued to grow out of control. Kaveh magnanimously decided to offer to build a new house for him, with enough space for his ego and the books too. This was fine by Alhaitham. And, of course, he wanted it to be a house for two. -- On moving out of the old, moving on to the new, and moving forward together.

what it means to point true by luminvies (T, 9.8k)

It is biologically impossible for a man to replicate technological functions. As much as Kaveh (and colleagues) like calling Al-Haitham an index of niche and generally insignificant information on legs, he will never quite live up to the title. Here's a novel one: people must have taken to thinking of him as a human compass because they always seem to come to him when they're looking for Kaveh.

is that what I look like? by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (T, 3,8k)

Alhaitham grows a beard. Why? Who knows.

Three or Four (Or Possibly Five) Easy Steps to Living Harmoniously With Your Roommate by Bgtea (T, 28.7k)

The truth of the matter is, Kaveh has no idea how to read Alhaitham. He prides himself on being an expert at understanding people, his empathetic heart lending him the capacity to relate deeply with those around him (oftentimes to his detriment). But with Alhaitham, there is nothing for him to read; no clues from his cool expression for him to grasp. The man appears stoic all the time even during their petty bickering. Honestly, when was the last time Kaveh has seen the man do anything except smirk or frown? Does Alhaitham feel happiness? Has he ever seen the man laugh? Kaveh's mind is drawing a blank on the latter and it...bothers him deeply. -- Kaveh devises a plan to get Alhaitham to smile by being aggressively nice to the man (and also maybe if he makes Alhaitham happy, he can score a discount on his rent or something). Alhaitham thinks Kaveh ate some mind-altering mushrooms and is, understandably, confused and mildly afraid.

in weal and in woe by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (G, 26.7k)

“Oh, right – Alhaitham.” Kaveh claps a hand to his forehead. “Cyno, if you see him at the Akademiya tomorrow, don’t mention this to him, would you? I haven’t told him yet.”

“Told him?” Cyno asks slowly, a wary glint in his eye. “What exactly haven’t you told him?” “That I’m getting married,” Kaveh grimaces. “I wanted to tell him myself – I suppose I do want him at the wedding after all, you know – but I didn’t get a chance yet. You know what it’s like, trying to have a conversation with him.” It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. Kaveh is a single man. That's about it, really. or: the one in which Kaveh gets married, but not to whom you think.

the hypothetical shore by heartslogos (T, 10k)

When Al-Haitham was still a student in the Akademiya he wore his hair long. As long as Kaveh’s is now, perhaps a little longer than that, even. But unlike Kaveh's, Al-Haitham’s hair was just as quiet as he was, just as cool — like a stream of silver water, fresh from the mountain pass. To this day Kaveh remembers the exact moment he thought he might be falling in love with Al-Haitham and that, perhaps, it might not be such a terrible thing.

de insomniis by liyuen (M, 32k)

Kaveh and Alhaitham live together. Nothing ever happens. Nothing ever hurts. But sometimes, when Kaveh watches Nahida idly finish her homework, he gets the feeling that he’s forgetting something important.

Kaveh must have fallen asleep at his desk again, the morning light hitting his eyes like a slap. He blinked at the soft green blanket over his shoulders. When he stumbled into the hall, Alhaitham was sitting in the living quarters with his back to him, soundproof earpieces alit. He had a stupid moment where he wanted to call out to Alhaitham. What would he even say? ‘I’m having some trouble.’ ‘Is the blanket yours?’ ‘You were right, I’m in over my head.’ ‘Can you hear me out?’ ‘Help me. Please, help me.’ Stupid. He yawned and went to stumble his way to the kitchen. From his periphery, he thought he saw Alhaitham turn towards him with a look like he wanted to say something. But that, too, surely was just a very nice dream.

The Importance of Interruption by theSealby (T, 8.6k)

Years. It has been years, yet it could’ve been yesterday they were sitting side by side, thigh to thigh, eye to eye, filled with a contentment that their future selves have lost. Maybe it would be enough to have that again. Maybe correctness has no place here—has never been the ultimate goal between them—and Alhaitham finds himself asking a very different question than intended. “How would you like to come home?” ✥ Alhaitham loathes interruptions. (All except one).

To Dream in Shades of Green by Intensely_Reading (T, 55k)

“There are three suitors who you can romance in this game. You must complete all your requirements with one of them." “Who are the three potential suitors?” Kaveh asks warily. “Your three suitors are Tighnari, the blunt Palace Chamberlain; Cyno, the standoffish Captain of the Royal Guard; and Al-Haitham, the acerbic Duke of Vultur Volans.” There's a new invention from the Yae Publishing House that turns a user's dreams into light novel stories. Kaveh has the (un)fortunate pleasure of being one of its first users. Too bad it dumped him in a romance game.

The Theorem of Narrow Interests by lumielle (M, 36k)

Kaveh clicks his tongue. “Well, I hope you are also aware that with all these requirements, you don’t get a set (A+B), or even (A+B+C). Yours is a set comprised of the entire Sumerian alphabet!” Kaveh has had enough of Alhaitham always loitering around the house. In an attempt to get Alhaitham to go out more often, he jokingly tells him to start dating someone. Much to Kaveh’s shock, Alhaitham agrees—and promptly assigns him as his personal matchmaker. And even though Alhaitham’s requirements for his ideal partner are annoyingly specific, Kaveh refuses to back down from a good challenge. He’s confident in his abilities—that is, until his own feelings start getting in the way…

Precipice by viiparyas (M, 37k)

Lately, his heart staggers at a precipice, just one breath from toppling over. Into what, he doesn’t know. After everything, after everything… He can’t help but melt easily into the intimacy between them, whether it’s by his design or not.

Kaveh has won fame and renown through Sumeru, witnessed the dissolution of a corrupt government, traveled from the trenches of homelessness to the pinnacles of a fairytale paradise. And yet something deep between his ribs screams, more, more, more.

or, Kaveh discovering what he truly wants and finally reaching for it. (Spoiler alert: it's Alhaitham)

nazar by pencanze (T, 13k)

It’s like they’re in a globed world of their own, trapped within a glazed bead. Shatterproof, soundproof, impregnable and unbreakable to anyone else—anyone besides themselves. (On superstitions, friendships, and other things that shatter.)

case study of the scribe by Jazer (T, 25.5k)

"The consequences of obtaining knowledge is the overwhelming feeling of loneliness. "

In which Alhaitham realizes that a peaceful existence does not have to mean a lonely one.

People keep coming to Al-Haitham when they want to know where Kaveh is. Al-Haitham would be lying if he said he didn't know why.

silviculture by sunsmasher (T, 13k)

Kaveh’s face is bright, young, flushed, freckled, happy. He’s wearing an Akademiya uniform and is as tall as the last time Alhaitham saw him (fifteen minutes ago) which means he’s an inch or two shorter than the last time Alhaitham saw him, because the uniform boots are heeled. He’s staring at Alhaitham with the aforementioned flush spreading like dye over the silk of his cheeks. “Kaveh,” Alhaitham says. “Don’t freak out. I believe I’ve been displaced in time.”

spitefully yours by luminvies (T, 6k)

Dear Al-Haitham, I propose that we meet this Friday at sundown on the southeast edge of the city bordering Avidya Forest. This is a marital engagement. Please come prepared with your sword at the ready. With spite, Kaveh Al-Haitham sets down the letter, letting out a long sigh. After all, isn’t the answer to dealing with domestic disputes not marriage? Isn’t that entirely contradictory to the issue?

Kaveh sends Al-Haitham martial summons to sort out their issues. Unfortunately, he makes a small error in the letter.

The Art of Misunderstanding by Anonymous (M, 7k)

"Kaveh didn't consider himself to be vain. Yet he was becoming increasingly, upsettingly aware that most associates would disagree. Vanity, by definition, refers to an inflated sense of self-importance and pride in oneself. A vain person may believe themselves to be the best in the room. They may find it absurd that all eyes do not fall on them the instant they make themselves known. A vain person may put themselves on a pedestal, believing themselves objectively skilled in their field. And though Kaveh had trust and confidence in himself as an artist, he was caught entirely off-guard to hear that others thought of him as vain." ------ AKA, Kaveh misunderstands when he overhears an upsetting conversation between old classmates. His assumption is that they are attacking his character and commenting on his personality. In reality, they're talking about his looks. Everyone picks up on it, save for Kaveh himself.

Illness, Drowning, and Other Minor Inconveniences by EulerIHKH (G, 11k)

Faced with a uniquely difficult client, Kaveh is reluctantly forced to look for help in the one architect he considers more capable than himself: his mother. But soon enough, the turmoil of Kaveh's personal life begins to seep into their professional correspondence, forcing him to reevaluate his career, relationships, and identity.

love haitham and kaveh....love these fics....so many talented writers...thank you authors <33 def missing a bunch bc my organization on ao3 is horrendous but i can update this or make another list at some point....also i would highly appreciate any recs tyy🙏

( + bonus not rec but self promo of a hkvh fic i tried my hand at writing last summer but never shared oops. here she is if you're intrigued

a comedy of errors (T, 6.7k) )

[azxremoon]

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

Oh, My Divine Grace / in Your hands may You / wrap me within Your embrace / to define the comforts of home / within Your Heavens

pairing : kaveh x fem!creator!reader

ingredients : sagau cult au, selfship-coded, comfort fluff, spoilers for kaveh’s character story, incredibly self-indulgent, mentioned alcohol consumption, yandere themes + behaviors, introspection, baby’s first time writing kaveh.

note from the hostess : i played loosey goosey with the sagau lore, so take that as you will.

The layout of the All Creator’s palace is what Kaveh knows like the back of his hand and each arch of the veins protruding beneath the skin.

For as much as the craft is spurned and spat on, Kaveh prefers to think that he’s quite informed and talented when it comes to his architectural projects. His many years of study at the Akademiya and outside forces of years prior to his enrollment have sculpted him into the person he is now, after all. Anyone can learn it with enough dedication and passion, but calling this information special does it no justice. It isn’t anything like that of which was granted by the now abolished Akasha System or passed down by a fellow scholar. No, this is precious knowledge ingrained so deep into his mind, body, and soul so deeply it could border on inherent common sense. It’s a commonality shared between and reserved for he and his god alone, and Kaveh would normally be quite thrilled about that. It’s so personal. In any other circumstance his heart surely would have fluttered and swelled with pride, but now it beats too heavily and erratically for an entirely different reason.

He’s poured so much time and effort into this project that it would be rather humiliating if he didn’t recall it. He would go as far as to say it was impossible! Admittedly, that did sound a bit dramatic, but it was nothing short of the truth. The pain of waking after being hunched over sheets of parchment scribbled with intricate conceptual designs and blueprints along his desk, a pencil loose in hand, for hours at a time still aches at his joints. The one-dimensional recreation of passages and tunnels on his blueprints’ final drafts are burnt, engraved even, so finely into his eyelids that he can read over them once more when he shuts them for long enough. Sleepless nights dedicated to his craft are no stranger to Kaveh, yet the exhaustion is still a little fresh and Lambad’s wine a tart aftertaste on his tongue. He’s aware that His Creator doesn’t quite care for his all-nighters, but they’re worth it and hardly anything he could concern a deity with. He was happy to do so, in any case, and still is.

His feet guide him down the stairs and through the tavern door before he processes what he’s doing. He’s conscientious enough to leave what he owes beside his empty glasses, but his mind is otherwise wrapped in layers of numbing disbelief. He keeps to himself as he shuffles out of Sumeru City with the urgency of someone who most certainly doesn’t need to be somewhere at once, but returns the polite small-talk and greetings from scholars. If they notice the frantic look behind his eyes as he smiles, they’re kind enough to keep that to themselves. He treks across the grasslands and venture through the expansive forest until his shoes tap-tap-tap against the cobblestone pathway leading him skyward. The eyes of shadowed mercenaries burn holes through him as he inches closer and he only shivers beneath their stare to go through the motions. The front doors, massive and intricate in their design, squeal as he pushes against them with both hands and steps inside.

Forward. Left. Right. Up the twisting staircase. Left. Forward. Right. Past the sofa on the right. Its placement is rather awkward, in all honesty. Being the sole piece of furniture among a hall of grand tapestries it stands out more than it otherwise should. He still doesn’t understand why it’s here of all places, but it isn’t his place to question your decision. If you asked him, it would be better suited for an entertainment room or personal chambers. Kaveh truly doesn’t believe something so ordinary is grand enough for a deity and he’s certain you hadn’t given it a fleeting thought until he stopped to look at it for a second longer at the market. An exchange of Mora and hours afterward, it was carried and settled within your new, at the time empty, home alongside other purchases. He personally loves the pattern and firmness, and the decorative pillows! They give it a flare of color that compliments it and the wall it’s pressed against, and provides a good overview of the history across from it.

From his left does sunlight pour through the magnificent and intricately stained glass and caress his skin through the fine cloth that floats behind him. Though it encompasses him in a blanket of warmth, it’s inexplicably cold and sends another shiver down his spine that he’s only slightly more aware of than the last. Were the circumstances any different, he would stop to sit upon the adjacent sofa and marvel at the artistry upon the panes. He wouldn’t have to try and think before he’s able to recall what’s described before him, the memory of the scriptures he clung to in his youth and still do summon the knowledge forward from where they’re etched. The pane depicting your descension from Celestia is his favorite and the most recent, your ethereal figure bathed in a golden light as you shower Teyvat in the same kindness you’ve shown him and the land hundreds of years prior. Today, however, he cannot so much as glimpse at it. He fears he may lose even more of his resolve, of his facade, should he do so.

He eventually stops when he can go no further and Kaveh reluctantly raises his head. Before his lies a massive of set of doors and carefully carved into the athel wood is a grand emblem: The All Creator’s insignia. Each curve and marking is intentional, purposeful, and full of a divine representation, but what it signified is lost to time. After the passing of Rex Lapis, your most loyal accolade and the last to safeguard its meaning, the truth of it has since settled in your hands upon your rebirth, but never once uttered. Curious as he is, there are many days Kaveh cannot find it within himself to ask about it when something so saddened, ancient and nostalgic, finds its way into your eyes until you’re seeing a world he cannot. The reasonable part of the architect knows that it’s likely for the best that he’s made it to where he needs to be sooner rather than later and though he’s not ready, he has to be to prevent drawing out the grief and panic that dares to suffocate him the second he gives it the attention it craves.

Kaveh’s breath trembles and his knuckles tap-tap-tap against the wood. It’s weaker than he intended, but he doesn’t try again. “It’s me, Your Grace,” he says. “I’m sorry to bother you so late into the evening. May I enter?”

“Kaveh,” you pleasantly start from the other side. The sound of your voice alone does things to him, unspeakable and shameful and horrific things he refuses to admit to. “Please, come in.”

The architect stands a little taller and tries to appear a little more at ease within a body that battles the mind it belongs to. He eases away the anxiety until the only thing this false, ultimately convincing composure fails to hide is the trembling of his fingers around the handle as he twists and pushes against it. As he inches inside, Kaveh instinctively glimpses around. The bed is empty and well-made; the balcony doors are wide open and let in the breeze, and a potential threat that he will take care of, no need to worry; a collection of gears reminiscent of those used in Fontaine sits on the tea table, but they’re worn and unfamiliar. Red eyes finally settle on you, casually reclined against the plush sofa and supporting an open book in the air. By the time the time the door closes behind him, you’re halfway through slipping a cloth bookmark between the pages and setting it to the side. Once he recognizes the typography and decoration upon the cover, Kaveh is both flattered and embarrassed you’re reading one of his favorites.

Before your eyes can meet his, he snaps his line of sight to the carpet that dampens his slow and impossibly heavy steps until he becomes intimately familiar with the elegant stitchwork along the sides. In his hand lies no more than a few pages that he could easily be mistaken for being torn from a novel or ordinary pieces of loose paper, yet it and the words inked upon it weigh thousands. It makes the journey across your personal chambers twice as long to trek than it needs to, and Kaveh can’t even savor the feeling of being within your presence without being anchored down by every taunt and reminder that clasps his shoulder in a phantom grip and whispers into his ears. Soon enough, he stops with ample space between where he stands and where you sit. Even then he cannot find the willpower to lift his gaze from the cloth. Your confusion—he prays there isn’t hurt in your expression, he would sooner die than live knowing he hurt you—burns in every way imaginable, but he accepts it without question.

“Your Grace,” your accolade greets. He bows, palm to his heart. He tries to summon as much of his usual warmth that he can and while his tone isn’t cold, even he can tell it’s lacking.

“My Kaveh, welcome back,” you greet back with all of the love and warmth in the world. He wants to see the sparkle in your eye when you smile at him, but he...he isn’t deserving of that. “You know it’s never too late to visit me. I love seeing you.

I love you—seeing you, of course. I love seeing you. I could never stay away from you for long, is what he wishes he would say, fumbling and all. He is undeserving of the place and honor bestowed upon him, and Kaveh truly, from the bottom of his heart, believes that, but he cannot deny the space carved into his shape beside your throne for him alone. He could never forget about the outline of his body upon one side of your bed, and his belongings making a place for themselves on the bedside table he left them on by mistake. And then there’s the room for his spare clothing within your closet that he’s absolutely certain could be put to better use, but kept there with your insistence that it’s convenient. He certainly agrees, especially on common occasions where he just so happens to lose track of time talking to you and soaking up your attention, that it’s too dangerous and late to return to Alhaitham’s house now. Then the library, shelves lined with novels and autobiographies and textbooks are so simple and dull in the face of the sophistication and knowledge of the divine. 

Instead of all of the self-deprecation lodged in his throat, what he says is, “Thank you, Your Grace. Really, it’s my honor to be here with you.” The smile that pulls at his lips, he realizes, is wholly genuine for the few seconds it remains. “If I may, can I ask something of you?”

“For you, always.” It’s a simple reassurance, but it somehow makes this all the more difficult.

“Your Grace, did you...” Kaveh swallows, his breath wavers. He extends the wrinkled paper outwards without looking upwards, releasing them once you take it with both hands. His voice is too quiet, too vulnerable for everything he tries to make himself to be. “Allow me to start over: I received this in the mail today from Lord Sangemah Bay about the amount I owe her. By any chance did...Did you pay off my debt?”

“That I did,” you confirm. “I thought that it would make you happy, but...it seems not. Whatever is the matter?”

“Nothing at all,” he quickly assures. He shakes his head with a smile that scorches every inch of him. “Please, don’t worry yourself over me. To be within your presence is more than I could ever ask for. That was very kind of you, Your Grace, thank you.”

You’re quiet. A little too quiet, and Kaveh vehemently denies himself the risk of meeting your eyes by lifting his head and seeing what has silenced you.

You’re quiet, a little too quiet, and Kaveh vehemently denies himself the risk of seeing what has silenced you. The architect wouldn’t be able to show his face, let alone survive a day longer, if he learned that you were angry or disappointed with him. He can feel your eyes on him, so gentle and caring; so piercing and all-knowing. Small beads of sweat cling to the back of his neck and the skin beneath his clothing, but he feels so horribly naked.

“My Kaveh.” Your words are tiny, so full of emotion that he nearly chokes on it. “Come here.”

You know he’s deflecting, he’s sure of it, and now he was be punished for it. For not being truthful. His heart bleeds and aches with regret, but Kaveh is accepting of that. Like most things, he’s deserving of this retribution.

He takes a few steps and stops before you, still a little farther than he usually would. The silence is thick, it’s boisterous and loud and rings shrill in his ears. It mimics the silence of his childhood home. You extend a hand, palm skyward, in the corners of his vision where only the skirts and cloth of your attire linger. His hand twitches at his side and he places his hand within yours and kneels.

You effortlessly tug him forward with one hand and the other cradles his head. The back of your fingers trail across his skin in slow, meaningful strokes. Each caress, each brush, outlines the contours of his face like you’re engraving each shape and detail of him to memory. How many times has Kaveh closed his eyes, imagining this very scenario? How many times has he wished you would embrace him just as you do now, all while you will his body to venture across the land you birthed with your very hands? He couldn’t say. He would mimic how he believed your touch to be, but it was never the same.

Your touch differs from his own. Calloused as his palms are, they seemed to vanish into smooth softness whenever you guided his movements. His cheek rests against your thigh and his fingers curl into the soft skin. You comb through his hair, nails grazing his scalp. His heart flutters wildly in his chest and his trembling breath sails across your lap. His knees hurt from where he’s knelt before you, back starting to ache from how he’s bent forward, but he doesn’t mind.

He isn’t deserving of this kindness. Who is he now without this punishment hanging over his head? What now does he do? 

Something cold slides across his face and crosses the bridge of his nose, until it meets your skin. A finger smooths over each tear and the stain left behind with such tenderness it only makes his ache worsen.

“My Kaveh, do you know why I’ve done this.”

Kaveh shakes his head. It is not his place to question the All Creator’s motives and intent. He knows without a shadow of a doubt your actions are benevolent and well-meaning, as are his.

“I know how the burden of debt weighs upon you. I could not stand to see you suffer any longer. Your lack of sleep, the drinking, I wanted to relieve you of the stess in your life,” you say, fingers carding through his hair and nails scratching at his scalp so intimately he must swallow back the sound at the back of his throat. “And...I was hoping you would accept a place here, at my side.”

“Here? But this is your home. I really shouldn’t—”

“Our home, if you would agree.”

Home. The word is foreign, if not misused, within his vernacular. When was the last time he called someplace home? There were always houses, the misplaced house key and memories of his boyhood proved that much, and places to stay the night. But at the end of the day, houses weren’t homes. Where had his home gone? Could he even afford one?

You must notice the gears in his head spinning, creaking and groaning the further his thoughts drift into someplace far darker than he likes to admit, because you recline against your throne. The marble’s lined with your favorite gemstones and the iconography that represents you is chiseled into it, down to the finest detail. He’s proud of it, but the aesthetics of a mortal man surely do not translate into the same expectations of a deity. Of his deity. A throne he made for you, the palace he built to your very desires, it’s visually perfect, but he knows it’s not. He pleads for another chance, to grant you something worthy of divinity, but you always assure him: “It’s perfect, my darling. I love it just the way it is.”

You outstretch your arms and he crawls. Crawls towards the light gleaming from your smile. Crawls towards the warmth far more intense than Sumeru’s desert, yet intensely gentler than it. He’ll die without it. He crawls and clings on tight until he’s sure you won’t be able to slip from between his fingers. It would undoubtedly be humiliating, he’s certain he would do nothing of the sort for anyone else, but he feels none of the shame. He’s happy to, and a little desperate. He’s on your lap faster than he can comprehend. The finest silks wrapped around you hold him close and tuck his head beneath your chin. Your litter kiss after kiss against his head and hair as you cradle him close.

"Thank you,” he whispers as he sobs, heart bleeding and mending together. “Thank you.”

[xiaowhore]

scribbled hearts.

premise. alhaitham learns to stop falling asleep in places that aren't his bed the hard way. (alternatively, in which the librarian doesn't follow the script to wake sleeping beauty.)

Kaveh finds Alhaitham furiously scrubbing his face in the bathroom.

At first, he's absolutely ecstatic. For all that Alhaitham refuses to practice skincare, he's never gotten a zit on his face. An earth-shattering revelation to Kaveh, who maintains a strict nightly skincare routine—he's never gone to sleep without a moisturizing facemask. It's not the most infuriating thing about his roommate, but it annoys him that a guy who only washes his face in the morning has clearer skin than he does.

Is this it? Is Alhaitham receiving retribution at last? Is he finally suffering the consequences of his carelessness?!

But when Kaveh cranes his neck to get a better look at Alhaitham's face, he doesn't see any of the sort.

“Dude...” Kaveh can't even laugh due to sheer incredulity, staring at Alhaitham with a pitying look. Alhaitham thinks it would be less irritating if he just laughed in his face. “Did a third-grader pick on you?”

Alhaitham grits his teeth, wiping the remnants of ink on his face. He's mostly gotten rid of the sparkly anime eyes you drew over his eyelids, but it still looks like a fading black eye. The blush lines on his cheeks are a work in progress, but they'll disappear with some effort.

“They have the maturity of one, at least.”

Alhaitham has met his fair share of librarians—there's the stern, no-nonsense kind he's gotten forehead flicks from every time he's caught dozing off on his thesis paper; the introverted bookish type who stutters as they nervously but firmly tell him off for hogging all the books a certain class needs for a report; the motherly sort who smuggles him coffee in his all-nighters when he looks like death itself...

And then there's you.

Cheekier than his brat of a roommate, you somehow manage to annoy him like nobody else can. He'd rather have you scold him for treating the library as a second bedroom than clip ribbons to his hair whenever you catch him sleeping. Hell, he'd take a skull-shattering forehead flick over doodles on his face any day. But even if he preaches his troubles to anyone willing to listen, they're never sympathetic.

Because for some reason, you're never like this to anyone else.

If anyone at campus were asked to describe you, they'll say you're a model student. Scholarly, courteous, standing tall with dignified grace; you're the perfect picture of a goody-two-shoes. Nothing like the childish brat who terrorizes his nap schedule on a daily basis.

People who have a vendetta against him is nothing new. What he doesn't understand, however, is what he did to be the object of your wrath.

“Maybe [Name] likes you. Kind of like how boys bully the girl they like,” is the ridiculous answer Kaveh gives him, dropping those words like they weigh nothing with a nonchalant shrug. Alhaitham would think it more likely for the reverse to be true; your insistence to dedicate your time into ruining his day is nothing short of admiration—surely a testament to just how much you hate him.

...Okay, so maybe Alhaitham could guess a few things for why. There's been a handful of times (read: it happens at least thrice a week) he kept you stationed at the library longer than you had to be because he fell asleep until closing hours, and he has a tendency to forget returning the materials he borrows for his thesis to the library...

So. Perhaps this was a consequence of his actions after all.

He argues that there are far more mature methods to resolve this issue, though.

Alhaitham stares at the crudely drawn portrait scrawled on his arm, deeply unimpressed. Although he's not one to boast about his looks, he's rather sure he isn't as much of an eyesore as you drew him to be, his nose an exaggerated point (a literal triangle) and his lips wide open as he drools, dangerously close to the rectangles he guesses are supposed to be books. Don't sleep on the reference books!! You'll get drool all over them >:(, reads the scribbled letters beside the portrait, an angry face scrawled haphazardly next to them.

(Still, by the corner of his eye, he spots a cup of his usual order of coffee, a neon pink sticky note pasted on the lid: Wake up and finish your report quickly, I have a show to catch at 8 :>

It would be easier to hate you if being bratty is all there is to your personality, really.)

You scribble all over your notes.

It's a fact Alhaitham has known about you since long ago. Everything else about you is neat and orderly, but every page of your notebook has some sort of doodle on the corners. They range from meticulous side-profiles of whoever sits beside you that day to meaningless hearts and smiley faces akin to what a five-year-old child might make.

If you've chosen to be more artistic for the doodles you draw all over him, perhaps Alhaitham might not mind as much. It's unfortunate you much rather prefer drawing exaggerated tear streaks on his face.

“I'm quite certain this is a form of harassment,” Alhaitham grumbles, rubbing his face with makeup remover. As pointless as it is to express his woes to the cause of said woes, he finds himself seated before the reception desk to keep you company anyway. “I don't understand why you're still doing this.”

“It's a punishment for falling asleep and keeping me holed up in here to guard the library until it closes,” you drone, fixing the library cards. “And yet you still refuse to stop. Is it really so hard to go to the dormitory instead?”

Alhaitham shrugs. A sigh inevitably escapes your lips.

Eventually, you run out of stupid things to draw on his skin whenever you catch him sleeping.

You start to write your shopping list on his arm instead.

“Why on earth would you need three cartons of eggs?” Alhaitham leans against the desk you're stationed at, reading the bulletpoints on his skin.

Eventually, Alhaitham gets used to scrubbing off your vandalism too. It's his personal brand of skincare.

“They're on sale today,” you reply, signing the papers requesting new stocks of books. “And I was planning on baking, so it's better I have plenty of ingredients for trial and error.”

“Sounds heavy,” he hums, eyes scanning the rest of your list. “Want me to come with?”

At that, your pen stops moving. “...Why?”

“I need to buy cereal.”

(No he doesn't. Kaveh went on a grocery run yesterday.)

“Sure, I guess...?” It's an unexpected development, but you wouldn't turn away an extra pair of hands. “Should we get going, then?”

“Yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow. “...But you didn't borrow a book today yet. Aren't you getting anything first?”

Alhaitham looks around. “The book I wanted isn't here, so I suppose I still have to wait a few days for it.”

“What is it?” You click your pen, reaching for your notepad. (You already have one of those, Alhaitham seriously sees no point in you writing down your grocery list on his arm.) “I'll tell you when it gets returned.”

“...No, it's fine. Let's go, the eggs you wanted might be all gone if we take our time getting there.”

You jolt up in alarm, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “You're right, we should hurry!”

For all it's worth, you're pretty gullible.

“You're still keeping that up?”

Alhaitham looks up from his laptop, fingers halting in their movement. “What do you mean?”

Kaveh scrunches his nose, pointing at the scribbles on his palm. “Your weird mating ritual. Can't you two communicate like normal people?”

Alhaitham glances at the mess you've made of his arm, full of little messages and doodles you wrote back and forth to each other during Biology period. Alhaitham had been, perhaps for the first time, not feeling drowsy. Regardless, you've taken to treating his skin as paper (“Save the trees,” you told him once, ignoring the disbelieving expression on his face), and Alhaitham has already accepted that you won't stop doing it as long as you still find it amusing.

“We do talk. Normally.”

“And if you do, why are you still doing... that.”

Alhaitham doesn't have anything to say to that. He did think it was inconvenient to wash all the messages off, and there are far more practical modes of communication.

But for some reason, he can't find it in himself to say that he outright dislikes it.

And maybe he traces the shapes you draw on his skin, in the private confines of his room where no one can see him. Maybe he admires the smooth strokes of your penmanship, the adorable curls of your letters, the bubbly font that always makes him chuckle because it's just so like you.

There are hearts sometimes, or even flowers when you feel like drawing something more detailed. The ugly sketches of him sleeping are somewhat annoying, but he still finds himself endeared. Though some things are appallingly inaccurate—you've done his nose a horrible injustice more than once—he notices the correct placement of beauty marks on his face, the sharp edges of his eyes, the meticulous dimple that faintly appears when he smiles.

A thrill runs through him when he thinks of you paying attention to him, more than you've ever given anyone else.

And, well. Alhaitham's certain he's been doing plenty of that for you.

“Don't you think you're being unfair?”

You pause in your typing, averting your eyes from the computer monitor to glance at Alhaitham. “Unfair in what, exactly?”

He mindlessly spins a pen with his fingers, staring at the blank canvas that was your arm compared to the sketchbook you've made out of his. “You're the only one who writes on me.”

“What, you want to write your shopping list on me for a change?” you arch up an eyebrow, unperturbed. “I thought you said it was impractical.”

“I never said I wanted to write my shopping list.”

“What else would you write, then?”

Alhaitham reaches for your arm. “Give me your hand.”

You blink, not quite unwilling yet confused all the same. You offer your hand and he uncaps his pen, scribbling on your palm. You've never been on the receiving end of this little game, so you're not sure what to expect from him.

“There.” Satisfied, he lets go and stands up. “I'm going home for the day. Good luck with the rest of your shift.”

“See you tomorrow, I guess...?” you wave at him in farewell, but he's quick to spring on his feet and dart out the door. “What's his deal...”

You turn over your hand, seeing a string of numbers written in neat font.

“Oh.”

Alhaitham feels silly for anticipating a text like some lovestruck teenage girl who exchanged numbers with her crush.

The blinking cursor on his blank essay document almost looks mocking, and as time passes by, the only word he's managed to type out is “The.” Even so, his attention is completely locked on his phone, devoid of any notifications.

If it weren't for Kaveh being nosy the other day, he wouldn't have gotten the idea of giving you his number. He did think something had to change, but he didn't know how to get there. But now that he's gotten this far, he can expect a little bit, right?

At last, his phone chimes its long awaited notification. Alhaitham is quick to ditch his laptop and shuts it closed, reaching for his phone where it sits on his desk. He swears he's never typed his password so fast before in his life.

Unfortunately, the text he's been anticipating for a good portion of the day is nothing but a disappointment.

Unknown number: eggs milk whipping cream flour

Unknown number: baking powder cocoa powder vanilla extract sugar

What was he expecting anyway?

He sighs and leans back on his chair, solemly pushing his laptop open. He doubts this message requires a response back.

Another notification lights his phone.

This time, Alhaitham doesn't even have the energy to unlock his screen. He squints at the notification preview.

Unknown number: wanna come over when I finish baking the souffles?

He doesn't quite drop his phone in shock, but it's a near thing.

You: I'll go carry the groceries too.

Unknown number: thanks! 💖

[featherlight-touches]

Tickly kisses

a/n: Tighnari's tummy deserves all the love. u . u

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

The sun slowly dipped below the horizon, the sky now painted hues of orange and pink as evening time fell over Sumeru City. Another day over.

Tighnari sighed contentedly as he lay with his head resting gently in Kaveh’s lap, the architect’s nimble fingers tenderly stroking along the soft, fluffy ears that drooped lazily on Tighnari’s head. In Kaveh’s other hand was a small glass of wine, his eyes looking over some plans that rested on the arm of the sofa they sat on.

Cyno was snuggled up close, his cheek pressed against Tighnari’s tummy, and his strong arms draped across the fox’s waist, holding him securely as the three spent a calming moment together.

Alhaitham had already retired for the evening, fast asleep in his bed. Not every night was a cuddling night for the scribe and his partners wouldn’t have him any other way, respecting his wishes.

Their blissful silence was interrupted by a huff from Kaveh, who took a long sip of his wine.

“What’s wrong?” Tighnari’s tired voice spoke from his lap, an ear twitching from the slight jostling movements.

“The client requested some changes, and it just ruins the entire plan I created for them,” Kaveh’s voice was laced with frustration as the hand that was idly stroking Tighnari’s ears now pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now I have to start from scratch.”

Tighnari reached up, the movement stirring Cyno slightly which earned a small sound of protest and started to rub away gently at Kaveh’s frown lines. “No frowning. You should just call it a night and start again in the morning after you’ve had some rest.”

Kaveh sighed and grabbed onto Tighnari’s hand, placing a soft kiss upon his palm before gently lowering it back down. “I wish I could, but with the deadline around the corner, I can’t waste too much time.”

“Nari’s right,” Cyno’s voice mumbled against Tighnari’s tummy, the vibrations almost forcing a giggle from the fox. “Rest is important. You won’t be able to create your best work if you’re slowed down.”

Kaveh groaned. “Fine. I doubt you two will let me get away with continuing now, anyway.”

Tighnari and Cyno shared a same look of smugness at their persuasiveness. Both were stubborn but it did their relationship a lot of good more times than not.

Kaveh finished the last of his glass and gently tapped Tighnari’s nose, which scrunched up. “Come on, let me up, I need to put this in the sink before we go to bed,” his finger then tapped the now empty glass.

Tighnari tried to move, but Cyno kept a firm grip as he groaned in protest at the movement. “Come on, Cyno.”

“Nn.”

“Cyno.”

“Nnn.”

Kaveh knew this wasn’t going to end well, so he squeezed himself out from under Tighnari, who landed with his head now on the plush cushions of the sofa and no longer Kaveh’s thighs. A downgrade in his honest opinion.

The architect then left the room to complete his task of placing the glass and other dishes in the sink. Tighnari leaned up on his arms to look down at the lazy Cyno still gripping onto him.

“Are you not going to let go?”

“Nope,” Cyno almost sounded half asleep, but his grip was quite the opposite.

“Not even if I do this?” Tighnari’s fingers gently scribbled at Cyno’s defenceless ribs, earning a small groan and a muffled giggle as Cyno began to nuzzle his face into Tighnari’s stomach to try and block out the sensation. “Still no?”

“You’re fighting dirty…”

“Well, you’re not giving me much of a choice here, are you?” Tighnari kept his fingers gently scribbling, not enough to get some real laughter from the general, but enough to get him twitching and giggling. “Cyno?”

Tighnari noticed that Cyno had raised his head to then lift the barrier of his shirt that protected the forest ranger’s skin.  

“Hey, no, what are you- Hehehey!”

Tighnari broke out into sweet giggles as Cyno began kissing at the bare skin of his tummy. The lummox knew full well that this tickled the fox, and he could feel the smile on his lips as they kiss around his navel.

“Cynoho!”

Tighnari’s tail flicked to and fro, betraying his enjoyment of the situation and Cyno took that as his opportunity to keep going. His lips planting tickly kiss after tickly kiss until the general reached Tighnari’s bellybutton and before he knew it.

“Pffffbbt”

“AHAHA! Dohon’t!”

Tighnari used both his hands to push Cyno’s head back away from his stomach after the offending raspberry was blown into his bellybutton. The grin on Cyno’s face was endearing yet something that Tighnari wanted to wipe clean off.

The general planted kisses up his stomach, up his chest to his chin then lips.

“Time for bed,” he declared, finally removing himself from on top of the fox. Tighnari barely had a chance to sit up before Cyno lifted him up into his arms, bridal style and began to head towards their bedroom.

“How romantic,” Kaveh jokingly commented as he followed not far behind.

[yandere-sins]

Prisoner #006

a/n: A spin on the usual yandere situation, but this story has been sitting in my drafts for a while, I think it's time to release it ^^

Fandom: Genshin Impact Characters: Yandere!Prisoner!GN!Reader x Prisoner!Kaveh Warnings: Yandere, Violence (Reader is being psycho, lost of mentioning of murder and death, Reader stabs someone... a few times, Scratching, Intimidation, Threats, Cornering and intruding on personal space), Long Post

[Prison Project Introduction | Pinterest Moodboard]

Kaveh should have been afraid.

Deep down, he believed he wasn't as stupid and gullible as everyone made him out to be, and yet, he sat still as you drew meaningless little patterns into his skin. The stolen pen scratched over his arm, leaving the area next to the ink red and agitated, but he didn't have it in him to tell you to stop.

You've been a depressed mess since you came to prison, not your typical murderer behind bars. He'd been dealing with a lot of them, and if they weren't the psychotic type, they were haughty and always up for cruel jokes.

But not you. You were... peaceful.

Even when you cried and begged him not to hurt you after you've been brought to his cell despite his protests, the air around you was calm. Unlike the storm of personalities outside the bars of your cell, Kaveh actually managed to think in peace when he was around you. He had learned to navigate and time his way around the prison. Still, with the ruckus and disgusting things happening in the shadowy corners, there was never any space for him to let go and relax for a while—until he met you.

The knowledge about your prolific murders should have upset him enough to keep his distance, but you reminded him too much of himself when he first came here. Scared and unable to go anywhere without being harassed by the others. You clung to him desperately when he told you to tag along to the cafeteria on your first night, and you still asked him to go to the washrooms with you for safety. Kaveh couldn't blame you for being scared. It was a scary world, outside and inside of this prison.

So even though he knew about your wrong-doings, he let you scribble your marks on him in ink. You were humming a song he hadn't heard before, your mind in your own world as you left butterfly wings and flower petals on his skin, and Kaveh honestly had no complaints. Coming here, art had become sparse around him, the radio rarely running, the TV filled with sports but never dancing or acting. The paintings on the walls leading to the facilities were, frankly, hideous copies of capitalistic emphasis, and the prison layout was a smack in the face of any architect.

And then there was you. Not a Picasso per definition, but you drew the patterns effortlessly, unbothered by pressure to perform and perfectionism. Every stroke of the ballpoint pen was all you, not a style you worked to learn or something you copied from another artist. It was all and truly just you. Kaveh had no idea how much he could admire someone—even someone as terrible as you. But he did.

"Let's leave from here. Together."

The words slipped from his lips before he could even think about them. Alhaitham's plan of escaping was still fresh, depending on some hacker he met in this prison, and Kaveh should have never talked about it so casually. He couldn't promise it, couldn't say it would actually work. But when you stopped scribbling, he realized his mistake, looking up at you in horror over his own blabbermouth.

Only to be met with tears streaming from your eyes.

"You'd take me with you? After all I've done?" you mumbled, rubbing the back of your hand over your eyes.

"You... you didn't do it to me. We could start over, somewhere new. Somewhere no one knows our faces and just... live. Quietly and unknown. Only if you want to come... with me."

For a long moment, you stared at him. Unblinking, unreadable. Your arms were thrown forward, wrapping around his neck before your whole body jumped into his lap, discarding the pen and leaving it to clatter on the floor. "Yes!" you agreed euphorically, smiling from ear to ear.

Kaveh felt the heat rush into his face, happiness prickling in the corners of his eyes as he hugged you back. It almost felt like you agreed to marry him, rather than just join him on the escape. But he knew then that he'd work hard to become the man you needed in the future. Someone reliable, someone who could provide you with a life that wouldn't need you killing anybody anymore. So that the dream of you two living together in peace could become reality.

«──────── 🗡♡ ︎𓍝 ────────»

Kaveh should have been afraid.

Deep down, he was as stupid and gullible as everyone told him. He believed that you could turn over a new leaf. Running away with you could become a new start, different from the pitiful life you two had. That the two of you could live away from cruelty and bloodshed, in peace and quiet and togetherness.

And yet, he was staring down at the cold-blooded killer he fell in love with. Whose trap had been placed so subtly that Kaveh ran right into it. He didn't even know you had a knife ready on the day of your escape, and there was no one left—alive—aside from you two to turn to. Everyone who had fled had spread into different directions, and now it was only him and you and the dead corpses of the police that had caught up to you.

It was his fault, entirely so. They might have survived this encounter if he hadn't gotten close to you and you hadn't been convinced to run away with him. Had he not gotten himself caught, maybe you wouldn't have turned back to help him and had kept running instead, far, far away. Perhaps you wouldn't have pulled out your blade and killed these innocent men who were only doing their job to keep unruly people away from society. That kept psychos like you away from more victims to massacre.

"[Name]..." Kaveh stammered, not believing his own, wide-open eyes. The hand he was holding out towards you was shaking violently as he watched you slam the knife into the policeman's back again and again, blood spraying all over you and the squelching sound of flesh being stabbed echoing through the forest. Somehow, he had gotten back on his feet after being tackled to the ground. However, now that he had to watch you defend him so violently, Kaveh wished he had stayed face-down in the dirt.

"GET YOUR HAND OFF HIM! HE'S MINE!" you kept yelling at the dead body, and Kaveh couldn't help but feel pity for the guy as you mauled him. "YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM! HE BELONGS TO ME! HE'S MINE! MINE!"

Your voice was a screech in the dark, possessiveness thrumming in every word you screamed. Even if you two had grown closer the last few days, Kaveh couldn't understand your thoughts. Although you had protected him, seeing the blood drip off you in the moonlight only sent shivers down his spine rather than thankfulness. And where he felt a crush bloom in his heart before, there was nothing but terror and disgust left.

"[Name]--" he tried again, this time a little firmer as he grabbed your shoulder.

Instantly, you whirled around, fury and madness in your eyes. The bloody blade swiped up his arms, cutting up the beautifully drawn pattern left by you. Kaveh knew it was just an accident, but he couldn't help but yell, "Ow!" holding his own arm firmly against his chest as he stared at you fearfully. Stumbling back, he tripped over a root, the pain of collapsing to the ground shaking him, but fear forced him to keep watching you. What if he was your next victim? Nothing about you screamed trustworthy, and yet, when you came to your senses, you changed completely.

Suddenly, your body went slack, eyes swelling up with tears as you looked at him. "Kaveh!" you sobbed, the knife falling to the ground as you stumbled to your feet, knees buckling so you collapsed into the dirt before him. You stretched out your arms, but this time, Kaveh managed to jerk away, avoiding your blood-soaked hug.

However, you were just a little faster than him. A little more alert. You managed to grab the wounded arm, your tears stinging as they fell into his wound. Leaning over his limb, you cried bitterly, but Kaveh couldn't help but try and tug his arm from your hands. Immediately, your crying stopped, fingers clawing into your skin as he tried to get you off him—no success.

"You can't leave me!" you sobbed, looking up with tears in your eyes. Manipulative tears, as Kaveh began to realize, the reality starting to dawn on him. "I love you! We'll have a life together! We'll go somewhere no one knows us! I won't kill again, I promise! I just didn't want them to hurt you... I wanted them to leave you alone! I won't do it again, I can be harmless, I promise!"

His gut wrenched, hearing you throw his words back at him. Now knowing how easy it was for you to end someone's life, how much of a crazy person you really were, it felt like he was the one that had been gutted. Maybe everything would be fine this time, but Kaveh couldn't justify it with himself to find out. Your hands were already so bloody; no trying to pretend you were normal was going to wash away your sins. At least he never killed someone. He couldn't imagine someone doing it as easily as you had, not even thinking twice before attacking.

"N-No..." he stammered, unable to put all these feelings into words.

"No?" you repeated, the tears stopping suddenly. "What do you mean 'no'? I saved you, didn't I? Without me, you'd be the dead one!"

Your tone changed so quickly that it scared him to the bone. The fire started back up in your eyes as you glared at him. Kaveh felt your nails dig into his arm, tearing apart layers of skin as your anger turned towards him.

"You won't leave me! You can't leave me!"

With your voice raising back into screeching, Kaveh shuddered, eyeing the knife that laid out of reach. You didn't need it, your nails cutting into his flesh just as painfully. Fear was mangling every muscle in his body, making them tense and tainting his judgment.

"O-okay," he stuttered out, and immediately, the pressure vanished. Your shoulders slacked, and a smile crept back on your lips as you whispered, "Thank god..."

You hunched over his wounded arm, now punctured by your nails and the cut starting to dry up. The next thing Kaveh felt was wetness wiping over his wounds, your tongue lapping off the blood that stained him, whether it was his or the one dripping from you.

"I love you," you mumbled while licking. "I love you, Kaveh. You're so nice, so sweet. You're perfect, and you're mine. All mine. Kaveh, Kaveh, Kaveh..."

Looking down at the unsightly view before him, Kaveh couldn't help but pity himself. Had he known what he got himself into, could he have prevented this? Which version of you had been the real one, and had you pretended to be sweet and shy, tricking him into this all this time? Or was it real? So many questions and so few answers. All he could think of was how he had been scammed yet again as he watched the ink smear from your licking, the beautifully drawn butterflies vanishing alongside those in his belly, all of them dropping dead.

And now, Kaveh was afraid.