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mischiefmaker615 · 1 day ago

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Eye for an Eye

Summary: Loki does not like the idea of you being around potential suitors and means to erase any form of interaction you had with them.

Rating: PG14

Note: this can have a potential trigger, be warned! it's a hint but nothing graphic.

Loki shot up from his chair- sending it falling to the floor once you had finally returned to the library like you promised. He was quick to close the distance, his long stride barely allowing you to take a few steps more before his arms wrapped around you and pulled you close.

‘’what happens this time..’’ he whispered into your hair, feeling his body relax just a little bit now that you were in his arms but you could still feel the tension while his arms locked around your hair.

You squeezed your eyes shut, hating every bit of the memory you had to report but allowed the feeling of safety to consume your body once you felt the warmth and smell of Loki against you. ‘’he took my hand..’’ you whispered, your hands wrapped just as tightly around Loki while you felt him sharply inhale and speak slowly.

‘’what else?”

‘’that’s all.’’ you whispered, taking a deep breath.

‘’swear it?”

‘’I promise.’’

Loki’s body fully relaxed before he raised a hand to gently stroke your hair, placing a kiss on top of your head and felt your own body fully relax with his. ‘’alright darling, come on.’’ He said and took a slow step back, his hands taking their time leaving your sides before he stood tall before you and held out his hand.

You instantly took it and saw a gentle smile tug at his lips while he guided you to his side before you both began to walk hand in hand. After a moment, he even laced your fingers together while you both left the library and towards your usual spot- the gardens.

‘’Loki.. it’s a bit tight..’’ you gently reminded him, causing him to quickly glance down at your hands before he relaxed his grip on it, a sheepish smile flashing on his face before he looked ahead again.

‘’I’m sorry darling- it’s becoming a bit of a unconscious habit..’’

You gave a knowing nod before you fell back into enjoying the sights and warmth of the sun. it was always the perfect place to relax after your weekly stress event- the suitor trial.

Loki absolutely hated it. Once a week, you would meet with a potential suitor and spend a good portion of the day with them. It was stressful because it was unwanted- you wanted Loki. You both had grown up together and naturally had fallen in love. Yet your relationship had been kept a secret because you were to be betrothed to unite a realm, while Loki was not permitted to have distractions only with his title as prince.

Every suitor you had met, you had disliked. Even those who were actual decent, you knew who you wanted to truly be with. Screw your destiny! But it wasn’t easy when the whole fate of uniting a realm rested on your shoulders.. Loki was just as angry with this whole thing but knew the throne of Asgard also potentially rested on his shoulders. So, you both decided to meet in secret, normally the library but had to make haste to a more comforting location when you began to have panic attacks with your suitor’s unwanted touching.

It was never to serious, just strongly unwanted and something Loki very much had an issue with. They would normally have an arm around you, sometimes playing with a lock of your hair, placing a kiss upon your cheek or a hand on your thigh. After each suitor meeting, you would return to Loki with a report of what they had done, and he would bring it upon himself to spend a good portion of the day doing exactly what they had done to you.

Erase the memory with a good one. Loki ensured you felt his affections and his alone.

Today was no different and the suitor had latched his hand on yours. Thus, Loki’s iron grip never leaving yours while you felt yourself relax from the previous events this morning.

‘’I wish we didn’t have to live like this..’’ you sighed, your other hand gently brushing up against the flowers as you passed them.

‘’I wish your suitors weren’t left alive after you return to me.’’ Loki half mumbled while he brought your hand up and placed a protective kiss against your knuckles.

‘’perhaps a little harsh- you and I both know we have duties we must uphold-‘’

‘’touching someone that isn’t there’s yet is utterly unacceptable.’’ Loki said sharply, instantly softening his voice and brushing his thumb against your hand in his grip. ‘’..there must be another way to unite a realm..’’

‘’if you were king, I’m sure you’d be able to change those silly rules.’’ You smile at him, seeing how his lips tugged at the mere thought of having the throne- a dream he’s had since he was a child.

‘’instantly. And I’d have you at my side at all times, you’d may grow bored of me.’’ He teased, brushing his shoulder up against yours while you giggled.

‘’I haven’t grown bored yet, so I’m sure you’re in the clear from here on out’’ you smirked. ‘’unless you turn the whole palace green.’’

Loki raised a brow with a grin as he looked over at you. ‘’I thought you enjoy my colors.’’

‘’I do, but how else am I suppose to find you when you practically blend in with the walls at that point?” you laugh and lightly tug at his cape for reference- knowing Loki was notorious when it had come to hiding growing up.

‘’then don’t leave my side and you won’t have to worry with losing sight of me.’’ Loki winked.

‘’then I may get bored of you-‘’ you laugh and quickly squirm out of his grip to run ahead, glancing back before quickening your pace to find he was running after you.

‘’I’ll be sure there is nothing to be bored of Little Minx, you’ll be too busy’’ Loki threatened with a laugh before he caught you around the waist and picked you up easily with one arm.

You laughed and gripped his forearm while you kicked your legs in your dress. ‘’hope you never grow bored of me.’’

Loki scoffed and set you down, making you face him while his hands went to scoop up yours. ‘’never darling, never.’’

The suitors came and failed, sometimes you would use excuses that they were worse than they really were just to ensure your father indeed sent them away. The routine stayed the same and you would meet with Loki, sometimes staying in the library but only retreated to the gardens if you were having a bad day.

You had grown fond of Loki’s touch and your shyness would instantly melt away when the safe feeling would wash over you as soon as he was at your side. One day he would spend the whole time with a hand on your thigh- just as a suitor had. Other times he would caress your neck with his slender hands and his lips. Youd melt and flutter your eyes closed and would have to stop him from getting ahead of himself and going beyond what he was washing away.

At one point he would have to be asked to stare at your cleavage, just so you could have the mental image that he had been the one looking and not the ogling pig. It would affect the prince though, and you would often see the affect of your requests through his pants, instantly making your cheeks red but also with a sense of pride how that is how he saw you.

One evening, you hurried your steps to meet him, practically throwing the doors open while you caught your breath and he jumped to his feet with a start. Your cheeks had fresh tears running down them and he instantly was at your side, cupping your cheeks with his eyes piercing yours.

‘’what. Did. He. Do.’’ He asked slowly, more so demanding with a careful tone while your hands reached up to grip his wrists.

‘’it’s not that Loki..’’ you promised, knowing your maid would have done something if a suitor would have gone that far in a meeting.

Loki could tell that you were telling the truth and his sharp gaze lightened up ever so slightly but still held your face in his hands while he searched your eyes. ‘’what happened?”

You bit your bottom lip while you looked up at him. it was not your first, but it was something defiantly special taken from you. ‘’he kissed me-‘’

Loki instantly pressed his lips to yours, the force and suddenness of it having you back up into a book shelf with his body following and his hands still cupping your face. His eyes were closed, lips passionate with a hum leaving his throat. It was a rarity action, something you both rarely got the chance to do in fear of getting lost in passion and truly doing something you might get caught in.

To hell with it..

You kissed him back just as forcefully, your mind seeming to melt away thoughts and just fall into the realm of feeling while your hands moved to grip his shoulders. He only pulled up for air a few times, barely giving you enough time to adjust before his lips would brush up against yours and press into them lovingly and longingly- like it were both of your first times.

At one point you did need to breath and used a bit of force to pull against his chest before he pulled away. Your hands stayed on his chest while his hands moved to rest on your hips, catching his own breath while he leaned his forehead against yours, eyes never leaving your own.

‘’this can’t go on Y/N.. something needs to change..’’ he whispered.

You slowly closed your eyes, the lurching feeling in your chest coming back that threatened to spill out more tears. ‘’I don’t know how Loki.. it seems impossible…’’

There was a silence between you both, just holding each other while Loki kept his arms around you and his chin resting on top of your head. Your arms never dared leave him, wrapping tightly around his own waist while you pressed your cheek against his chest armor. You honestly wished the moment like this could freeze, how it could just be you both and nothing else.. no suitors.. no responsibilities.. just you two..

After a moment, Loki slowly pulls back enough to gently cup your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away any remaining tears while his gaze almost startles you.

‘’..i promise my love.. I’ll figure this out..’’

Your fingers gripped your dress tightly, almost white knuckling it while your nerves grew with each step towards the throne room. A guard and said your presence was being demanded in the throne room, and that could only mean one thing- a suitor had been chosen.

You would expect to see your father, alongside Odin to finalize uniting the two realms between yours and.. wherever this suitor resides in. would you have time to say goodbye? Was it to late to run? Or elope- no.. Loki might not want that.. there had been to much on his plate as it is, he seemed distracted lately whenever you did meet. At one point, the suitors had stopped all together or a solid two weeks and you weren’t sure why.. not that you would complain.

You rounded the corner finally that would lead you to the big doors- only to stop short so you wouldn’t run into the Warriors Three and Sif. ‘’sorry-‘’ you mumbled, giving a quick bow to the side while they barely seemed to notice and Lady Sif looking nothing but pissed as she followed the others.

They seemed to have left the throne room.. oh gods- what had happened??

Their cold shoulder reactions seemed to speed up your pace to the doors, not exactly knowing why but your body just seemed to act on it’s own. The guards gave a quick bow with their spears crossing over their chests briefly before they opened the doors for the throne room.

You took a deep breath, hesitating for only a moment before you slowly entered and kept your eyes low in respect. ‘’my king.. you requested my presence?” you asked carefully, holding your breath as you prepared yourself for the speech and your fate while you stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

‘’indeed I did darling.’’

You knew that voice as your eyes rounded and looked up with parted lips, taking a sharp breath while you looked up the stairs to see who was sitting on the throne.

Loki smiled proudly down at you, seeming to have expected your reaction while his golden horned helmet sat on his head, his full armor shinning and his cape spreading out at his sides. Gungnir stood proudly in his hand, using it as brief leverage to stand himself up while your eyes rose even more to stay on his.

He looked every inch a king, a proud one at that and your mind hadn’t even begun to question anything while his familiar smirk tugged at his lips and a sense of relaxation was upon his shoulders, like everything was as it should be in this very moment and somehow you could feel it too.

‘’I told you darling, I would find a way.’’

Your lips tried finding words, your heart racing while you blinked up at him and pressed a hand to your mouth while shock seemed to overcome you with the impossible sight before your eyes.

‘’Loki… what did you do?..”

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing

TAG LIST IS OPEN JUST LET ME KNOW FOR FUTURE WORK :D

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shanefuckingscott · 2 days ago

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Building a life for with you. 🦾

Sevika promises a better life for you, she'd fight in every battle in Zaun, but can she win the battle between herself? 🦾

Warning: Angst with comfort at the end, Sevika being a jerk, Reader addicted to shimmer, horrible writing, barely proofread

🚫Men and Minors DNI🚫

This all started when Silco died. Sevika was rarely at home, even when he was alive, but still, she made it up to you in ways she can. You understood her job, you were there with here since day one. When she was with Vander, fighting on the bridge, and till she met Silco, you were there to support her. Everytime she comes home late with cuts snd bruises, she reminds that she's doing this for you, to have a better future, for your freedom.

Lately, she's been coming home once every week. She probably slept in Silco's office again, and you know she's trying her hardest to keep things running, while still finding a resolve for the other Chem-baron's turf wars. When she came home, you greeted her with her her favourite food for dinner, but she barely looked at it, and just went to bed. You, of course, being concerned for her well being, you follow her, and rub her back. "Is everything all right?" You ask with a hint of worry in your tone. She scoffs "Yeah, never better" You hear the sarcasm in her voice, and you go to her face, and kiss her, "Babe, please, take a break. Just this once. I need you home, I miss you, and every time you get home lately, you barely notice me, you don't talk to me, so please, can you just, talk?" you plead, you were almost in tears, seeing your girlfriend like this, your situation, everything feels like it's falling apart.

"Look, please, cut me some slack. I'm busy everyday dealing with everyone, just please get off my back just this once." That hurt. That hurt more than it should have. Maybe it was because you're sensitive. You try to understand her line of work as best as you can, but even you were only human. "I understand..." And with that, you get off her, and she's already snoring. She doesn't know, but you slept on the couch that day.

You could feel a rift between you and Sevika's relationship getting bigger and bigger by the day. She comes home with a new arm, with someone's blood on her, and she just casually mentions Smeech and her got into a fight, and wanted no more questions. You try your best, your absolute best to keep you too from falling apart. You try to make Sevika's day a little better, cooking for her, giving her space, preparing her lunch that she never eats, she comes home with the food already spoiled, and just leaves it for you to clean. Every night, she doesn't know, but you're not next to her. Or maybe she does. Maybe she just doesn't care. She hasn't said 'I love you' to you in weeks, she hasn't smile, hugged, or even kissed you.

The last straw was when she came home drunk after some fight with a piltie, and her girlfriend. She had bruises everywhere, she even had bitemarks on her. She looked like shit. You rushed to ask her if she was okay, and what happened, but she just pushed you away when you tried to give her a hug, and she just walked passed you. That was your breaking point. With tears in your eyes, you ask "Do you still even love me at all?" You were trying to hold your tears in, and stop them from spilling, much to no avail. So you're just wiping your face, not looking at her. "I'm not in the mood for this." She just says, not caring. And that was it. You lost your Sevika. You even wondered if she even was yours in the first place. Maybe you're just someone that keeps her grounded once in awhile, but as much as you love her, you were wondering if she felt the same anymore. Or at all. Everytime she was in the house, it felt like you were talking to a brick wall. And that’s when it dawned on you, that maybe she doesn't care about you as much as she says she does. You saw her lunch spoiled again, and you cried. That was it.

While she was in the bathroom, you were already fixing your things as quickly as possible. She probably wouldn't care if you were doing it infront of her. You hide your things, and you pretend to read a book in your bed. She just looks at you, and then she proceeds on doing what she's doing, and she lays in bed, facin gaway from you. You could gear her sigh, and you were trying your best not to cry. You were both quiet for a bit, until you finally decide to break the silence, and the tension between you two. With a different tone of voice, you just calmly ask her, "Do you still love me?" she doesn't respond. "Do you still love me, Sevika?" your eyes starting to wet, but you were met with no response again. The tears are now running down your face, but you try your best to cry silently, as you put the book down, you finally lay in bed sniffling, and till you just say, "Goodnight, Sevika. I love you." And that was the last thing heard from that night.

When Sevika woke up, she was just about to make a quick trip to the bathroom, and then head to work. When she notices the lack of your presence. She tries looking for you in the kitchen, in the bedroom again, in the bathroom, the living room, and outside. You weren't there. Where were you? She went back to the kitchen, and saw a note on the refrigerator she failed to see earlier. It wrote,

"My love, I've been with you through everything, I was with you on your worst days, and I was with you on your best days. There's no doubt in my heart how much I loved you. And I still do, but lately, I've been feeling that maybe you don't love me too. I know you always say, 'Everything I do, I do for you' which I appreciated, truly, but lately, I feel like our relationship is only one sided now, and it hurts. I trycto give you th love you want, and now, I just realized that maybe the only way you'll love me too, is when I'm far away from you. I'll miss you very much, every single day. I'll miss the days we were happy together, the days that you were happy with me. I hope someday, you find someone that'll make you as happy, as you made me these last few years.

– Sincerely, yours Y/N"

Sevika didn't know she could feel this hurt. She can't. She knows she's been pushing you away, she knows it's her that didn't value your efforts, she knows it was her that made you feel like you weren't important. She knows how hard you tried to keep you both together. She knows she fucked up. And now, you're gone.

The whole morning, she couldn't think straight while she was working. All she kept thinking was you, where have you been? It was like you had planned to leave, that's what hurt her the most. The note was true, you stuck around, when everything was going bad, and supported her. You were there. And now things are resolved, it was like you were one of her problems that had goe on their own. But you weren't. You're the whole reason she fights every single day, even though she failed to show you. She wants you back, she needs you back.

For the past few weeks, she's been looking for you everywhere, asking around, but she's not hearing from you. All she does is drink, and go home. Every night, before she falls asleep, she silently cries, and misses you. She smells your pillows before she falls asleep, and she hugs them. It was the only thing left of you. It was as if you were never there. Although your smell still lingers. She misses your presence. She misses the homecook meals you make her, she misses when you would greet her from work. Your face, when she comes back. Your smile, just, you as a whole. She misses you.

She feels regret of the times she let you sleep alone, the times she didn't say 'I love you' to you. The times she was tired from work, and she couldn't see what you were making her, but she knows you're right behind her, cleaning her wounds. Kissing her back, and then getting up, to give her space. It gets so hard every day, where she doesn't see you on the couch, reading your favourite book. She doesn't see your face smiling at her everytime you see her. She knows she's not the perfect lover, but she still wondered why you stick around. All of the things she didn't appreciate when you were there, she longs for now. She'd kill to hear your voice, to smell your scent, and to see your smile again.

A month goes by, she had a haircut, because you weren't there to tie her hair up for her, she quit smoking, and she got a new piercing. She's still actively looking for you, though. Everytime there's a rally, she always looks around to find you, but you're never there. The house that used to be a home for her is just a place where she sleeps now. She spends most of her time, drinking, gambling, taking care of the chem-barons, and or looking for you.

Until one day, your friend came up to Sevika. She told her where you're staying, she told her that you got new apartment. But that wasn't the reason she came to her. She said she hasn't heard from you in awhile, and you weren't answering her calls, and opening the door when she knocked. She got worried, and she had a hunch of what was happening, so she immediately went to Sevika. When Sevika heard the news, it was like her stomach dropped. She stopped to process everything she learned about you. But then she snapped out of it. "Take me to her."

When she got to your new apartment, it was much smaller than your old house together. She knocked at your door, to get no answer. She knocked again harder, but you still weren't answering. At this point she's getting more worried than ever, more worried than she's ever been. You leaving was one thing, since she knows she'll find her ways to you. But she was worried you died. She's now panting, her heart was racing. She's calling out your name, while knocking loudly. She went to peak to the window to you room, her heart stopped.

You were right there, with empty vials of shimmer in your hand. Some were scattered on the floor. You were laying there, it was like you were just asleep. "Fuck" she days to herself. She knew that shimmer was bad, and she was also addicted to it once. But, she never expected to see you resorting this. She knew she was the only one you had left, since you had no family, but she didn't know you were suffering this much. It was all so heavy in her heart, as it was on yours. But she couldn't think of her self right now.

She bursts the door open, and pics you up. She listens to your heartbeat. It was faint. She couldn't keep herself from crying any longer, as she carries, and takes you to Silco's medics. "Please, help her, do anything just don't let her die!" She orders, she was worried about you. She typically wasnt the one to cry, but all she could think about was you getting back to her, and it hurts her to think that there was a chance that you might not. She clenched her heart, when the doctors took you away to pump all the drugs out of your body. When they took you away, and she was all alone, she had an outburst, and she didn't leave until they tell her she could see you again.

You were now stabilized, but you were left in a coma, due to you overdosing. Sevika cries, day and night, waiting for the day you wake up. She doesn't drink anymore, she doesn't smokke. She makes sure she's with you at times where she doesn't have work to do. She talks to you in your coma, hoping you can hear her pleading for you to wake up, and apologizing to you for not being a good lover. She tells you about her day. She often talks about Jinx, and Isha, while you're out. What she had for lunch, and she tells you how much she misses your cooking. She falls asleep on a chair and rests her head on your bed.

When you finally woke up, your head felt heavy. You blink for a moment, when u feel weight on your leg thighs. That's when you see her. You heart beats fast, and it can actually be seen and heard on the machine. Sevika woke up worried, when she saw your heartbeat spike up, and her eyes go to your face, and she freezes. You woke up. She goes to hug, and kiss you, she's telling you sorry a million times, but you don't have the energy to hug her back, so you just smile. And suddenly, tears start rolling down your face, and Sevika stops as she hears you sniffle. "B-Babe! I'm so sorry about everything, I shouldn't have done that to you, you have no idea how much I regret everything I did to you, I want to be better, for us, for you, I know I'm not a perfect—" You kiss her.

For the first time in a while, you both feel genuinely happy again. Together. The kiss lasted for a while, and admittedly it was one of the best kisses you had your whole relationship. You both pull back to catch your breaths, but she pulls your face closer to hers, and whispers "I love you." You guys cry together the whole night in the hospital, after the nurses give you a check up. She's right beside you, re-telling the stories she shared you in your coma. You saw her smiling again, and your face is filled with joy. She's happy to see your smile too, and admitting that it was the first thing she misses about you.

Who knew one of you and Sevika's best dates would be in a hospital, but you wouldn't change a thing about it. You wouldn't change a thing about her. You're happy as long as she's hapoy, and she's happy as long as you're happy. The whole night was an emotional roller coaster of laughing and crying together, but ever since that night, you felt tour relationship with Sevika get stronger, and you're now alot closer.

After a few months, you both swore off drinking, smoking, and taking shimmer all together. Except that time she finally became a council. You both share a drink together to toast her achievement. And you're right there by her side, like you said you would. It was one of the many things Sevika loves about you. You both kept your promises to each other. She may not be the perfect girlfriend, or the perfect person, but she knows she's gonna get married to one.

Sevika proposed to you on your anniversary, now that she's given you the thing you thought was impossible, but everythings possible with Sevika. The freedom, the better future, the world she said she'd build for you. But she just now realized, she was building it WITH you.

And you lived happily, ever, after.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Yes, it's all cheezy, I couldn't keep hurting myself, or you for too long. heh.

#arcane sevika #sevika #sevika my love #arcane #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika fluff #sevika my wife #arcane angst #arcane fluff #sevika angst #lesbian #sevika x you #angst comfort #angst with a happy ending #light angst #angst

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lilgarbitch · 2 days ago

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For Better Or For Worse - Noah Sebastian

Beside You Pt. 2

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: more angst<3

Word Count: 1.2k

Author’s Note: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @chey-h @badomensgoodomens @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @enemiestolovershoe @blade-dressed-in-red @xmads-omensx @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @tosoundlessdarkistare

Y/N

It’s been about three years since that day, give or take. All I know is that time has passed and I’ve lost track. Things have changed, yet stayed the exact same. The pain has eased with time, but the love has yet to die. I’m still living in the old house, just changing as much of the interior as I could without feeling like I’ve lost too much. Because what else will be left when the hurt is gone? I now have a bed and sheets that have never touched his skin. A couch that didn’t home one or more of the boys in a time of need. The sad yellowing walls are now a light grey, with no sign of smoke stains or holes from bad decisions. Even I’ve changed. My hair is different, I’ve retired piercings, gotten new tattoos, and even changed my style. Things were different. Yet everytime I glanced into a room, I could see the memories replaying in my head like an old movie. Everytime I see the unclosed hole of my lip piercing, I’m reminded of Noah joining me for a last minute, impulsive decision. Everyday, I debate covering the tattoo that we got together when Nick started apprenticing, but then I see a photo of him on stage, singing with his arm raised, and I see that he still has his too.

He’s changed too. Not to the point of losing recognition, but enough that I can tell he’s getting healthier out there. His voice has grown, his hair is shorter and choppy, and he’s fit into himself better than he ever has before. I don’t mean to look at pictures of him and the boys, but I could never unfollow their accounts. I could never pretend that my love died that day like they have. It’s an internal battle everytime I see him, debating if him leaving me behind was really what he needed to do.

But I know it wasn’t. Because in the days where I really miss him and really want to feel the grief of the past, I listen to their new music. It’s not hard to understand where the lyrics come from. I’ve known Noah for too long to ignore how he portrays his emotion through his music. But what I don’t understand is why. Why sing of regret? Why put yourself through all of this pain and misery when we could have lived a different way? Every time his voice rings through my home, all I can ask is would you have been there when I came home? Could you not have held on to another day, just for us to be together? I could have easily joined you in your journey, nothing else more important to me than you, so why make the decision for me? Especially when all it resulted in was the two of us living in regret?

His regret being leaving. Of stupidly deciding that I was better off without him, even after years of me trying to prove that nothing could be worse than not having him by my side. Our lives may have never stopped that day, but I know, at least for me, that my will to try and make life worth living was gone the second he drove off.

That leads to my regret. The regret of holding on for so long. To still be holding on. To the hope that one day, things can be okay again. Because I’m terrified. Terrified I’ll never see him again. Terrified that, one day, I’ll accept never seeing him again. Terrified that I won’t be okay again unless he comes back. Terrified that no matter the outcome, I won’t be happy again. And those are the days that I’ve lived for the past few years. In fear of losing someone I already lost. Because there was a day where I allowed him to pull me out of a dark and lonely place, only to allow him to push me back in, and still forgive him in hopes he’ll pull me out again.

Noah

The days have become grueling again. I shoved my emotions into lyrics, pouring my rage and guilt into melodies, and it was a simple distraction…until tour started. And every song was another reminder of her. I didn’t even think. I was so focused on using my music as an outlet that I forgot it could bite me in the ass. That I’d be forced to travel back to Virginia, and sing these lyrics under the same sky. One we’d both be staring up at together again.

I was more than grateful that Sumerian Records was able to get us an opening spot for Attila’s tour, but that meant within a month, I’d be back in Richmond and close to her again. Each night of the tour so far was painful, just counting down the seconds until the next day, because it was another day closer to home. And I don’t mean the home I grew up in, but the person I left behind.

I had the whole world in my hands, and with one stupid decision, I gave it all away. What did I even think I would save? Life without her has been miserable. I thought I was helping both of us by leaving, but with every free moment I got over the last three years, all I could do was wish it was filled with her presence. I could’ve made it work, I just didn’t want to try. And I knew her long enough to know that she would’ve made it the easiest thing in the world. So this was my burden to take. Because I’m the only one to blame. I kept telling myself that she was so much better off without me. With nothing but the memories of my face. But now I know that, even if she was doing better, I wasn’t. Because I have no use now that she’s gone.

I have no way of knowing how to deal with this. I knew better than anyone else that the decisions I made ruined things, but I couldn’t handle being back there and not trying. I knew the chances of me absolutely fucking everything up again by simply showing my face, but the risk was worth it. I couldn’t have a chance like this and not take it. I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least see if there was a possibility to have her again. This could either destroy both of us completely, or finally be a second chance at being happy again. I had to take it. I had to do this, because I was running out of faith.

TO BE CONTINUED

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian and reader #noah sebastian reader insert #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #Spotify

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hannahssimblr · 3 days ago

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The next day, I find myself there again, following the path from the beach to the wellness centre, through the hallways and to the back of the room. The guru, again, saying his bit about the present moment, and me, cross-legged at the back of the room, trying to observe it.

My breath, my legs, my arms, my face, determined to focus, but unfocussing anyway, mind whipping away, spiralling, pirouetting like paper on the wind. This time, I stay twenty-three minutes, and then spend the day exploring. Afternoon, I eat a bowl of noodles in a restaurant without a top on, bare feet blackened from dirty floors.

I meet an Irish tourist there, a freckled faced girl, thick, rural accent, says she’s from Tullamore.

“Tullamore,” I echo, stomach flipping. “I know some people from there.” And give her the short list, Shane and Kelly Healy, Claire O’Gorman, tacking Evie Kilbride to the end, a desperate plea for intel disguised as afterthought.

“Don’t know an Evie, but my sister’s friend went out with a fella called Declan Kilbride before. Could be some relation.”

“No, I dunno. You don’t know her, it’s fine.” I could go on about her, this girl I knew for a while. Evie, from Tullamore, like you are. I’ve a girlfriend now, though, Danish girl, and I’m in love with her. Sometimes, though, I imagine what could have been if I had acted differently last autumn. Not that I regret it, I just wonder. It’s probably normal to visualise other avenues sometimes, the road untraveled, don’t you think? Veronica? Is that what you said your name was? Do you think I’m normal? Do I seem normal to you?

She clearly doesn’t. I’m shirtless and shoeless at a noodle restaurant, bits of sunburnt skin peeling from the bridge of my nose, long, knotted hair like some kind of beach hobo wandered into civilisation. I act aloof until she goes away, leaving me to finish my meal. Then, aimlessly once again, I wander the island until sundown.

On the third day, the meditators greet me.

“You’re the little dude that keeps leaving before the end,” one says, and I respond with a sheepish smile. “Well, I’m back for another crack at it.”

Jonas is with me today, colour back in his cheeks, fresh from his morning shower, fed and hydrated. This time, because of peer pressure, I stay until the end of the session, though with no improvement. Thoughts seeming louder, somehow, like rubber balls bouncing around the inside of my skull for the duration of the session.

The fourth day, we join an evening session on the beach, the sand slowly cooling around us as the ocean shimmers crimson under the setting sun. There, it is easier to immerse myself in the present, the breeze, the birds, the waves whispering through pebbles on the shore, nevertheless, every sound reminds me of something else, the past reaching out and holding my face, forcing me to look at it. I sit in place long after the others have left, staring, unseeing, at the horizon.

“Was it better today?” Jonas says, so quiet my by side prior to speaking, I assumed he had nodded off.

“No, I’m still bad at it. I’m still thinking all the time.”

“You don’t need to keep coming back if you don’t want it. If it is annoying you, or you are not getting anything from it, then you can simply stop.”

“Hm. I like the idea of not thinking.”

He nods. “A quiet mind.”

“Yeah, exactly. I think it’s annoying me, meditation, like, because I’ve realised how absolutely batshit wild my head is. I’m always just… thinking about things.”

“That’s probably most people.”

“Most, but not all. I want to be part of the few that can control it.”

He makes a noncommittal sound and stretches out on the sand. Foliage lining the shore rustles in the balmy wind, and little grains of sand lift, sprinkling over my bare feet. What a beautiful place. Heart stopping, breath stealing beauty, with those mystical rocks rising steeply from the sea, and yet I’ve found myself in a mood since we touched down. Distracted, restless, unhappy. I express this to Jonas, the frustration, my near certainty I am immune to good feelings and enjoyment.

“You always seem like that,” he points out. “Not just this week.”

“Oh.”

“You’re the most haunted man I know.”

Self-conscious, now, I rake up a handful of sand and squeeze it, focussing on the rushing sensation through my fist to avoid seeming too interested in his opinion of me. “Oh, am I? How do you mean?”

“Ever since we met, you have seemed troubled. I thought maybe you were feeling unsteady after moving, but you still seem that way. I hope it is okay to say that.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“I used to try to ask you about yourself, in case you needed to talk about it, but you never wanted to share, so I stopped.”

“Yeah, that was a weird time for me, back then, to be honest with you.”

He pauses a while, then encourages me with a cautious “yeah?”

“It’s weird, because I thought I was fine about it now, and I am fine about it, but something about being on my own so much this month has me feeling like I’m back there a bit. I’m, like, saddled with all that old shit again. And the summer and the sea and...” I trail off, gesturing lamely towards the ocean, as though it means something to him.

“What is it about?”

A sigh, or a laugh, or some combination at the ridiculousness of what I am about to admit. Something he could have guessed, and I’m sure he’ll think is quintessentially me.

“A girl,” I say. “There was this girl in Ireland.”

Jonas is quiet. I feel his eyes on me, but don’t meet them. I grab more handfuls of sand to soothe myself. “It was so weird though, because we–she wasn’t my girlfriend or anything. She was just this girl I liked. And maybe–if I hadn’t moved to Berlin. We… I…” Breaking off, embittered. “Doesn’t matter, though. I have Astrid now.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t make feelings about other people go away like magic.”

“It’s not… I don’t love this girl anymore. I don’t even know if I did to begin with, but it’s like she’s always there somewhere in my head, like some ghost not knowing it's dead, not moving on. It bothers me not knowing what could have been.”

“You think you would be together if things were different?”

“If I wasn’t an idiot, maybe, but maybe not. We were in different places in our lives, and she was really young. A year and a half younger than me, which is whatever, but she was young in a different way. Like, she was all having fights with her friends and stressing out about random drama and what things people were saying to each other. Things for me were already so much different than that. She was fun, though. It was easy.”

“Yeah?”

“Man, she was so funny. She made me laugh all the time. She used to come out with all these things, like awkward things she’d done or various thoughts she was having throughout the day, and they were always batshit thoughts, like, not at all normal things. Hilarious. And she'd ask me after, all embarrassed of herself, if it was normal, and I'd burst out laughing and tell her honestly, like, no. And the way she’d say this stuff. Like she knew it was fucking weird, and it was, but it was what I liked most about her. She felt like she could share it with me. I dunno who else she talked to in that way.” I hesitate. “She also, um, liked me a lot. Sometimes I think that maybe that’s the reason I spent so much time with her. Like, I craved the attention, or something, but that makes me feel like I’m actually horrible, so.”

“It’s nice to be liked.”

“Yeah. She obviously thought I was great, and stuff. She laughed really loud at everything I said, and was always agreeing with my opinions, telling me I was right, which I loved. In hindsight, it makes me think I’m awful. I'm thinking maybe all this is me grappling with the guilt.”

Jonas makes a thoughtful sound, and when I glance at him, he’s looking not at me, but out to sea. The final apricot streaks in the sky tossing a slash of light over his cheek. “Maybe you don’t really miss her, but the way she made you feel, and the person you were back then.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“That was awfully profound.”

He chuckles. “I’m happy I could offer some insight. Maybe you are apart for the best, you and this girl… What is her name?”

“Evie.”

“Evie. I imagine that being with her would have meant giving up some part of your life. Maybe not moving, or trapping you both in a long distance relationship.”

I shudder. “Yeah. That was my justification. But I guess now I see the fuller picture, too. I don’t think we would have worked long term, in terms of what we both needed from each other.”

“You are talking about sex now.”

“Basically.”

“You didn’t do it with her.”

“No. One time, almost. I knew I could have, but it was obviously not the right moment. Like, she was definitely– Um. I was planning to move away and just leave her there, anyway, so. It’s weird, though, to have all these feelings about someone I never had sex with, when I've done more with others and felt less.”

“You haven’t seen her since you moved away?”

“No.”

“Maybe if you do, you’ll feel differently about her, then. Sometimes, for me at least, I realise my mind has created a story about another person that isn’t true. Like somebody I'm certain I don't like, but I meet them and remember that they are perfectly pleasant.”

“God, wouldn’t it be weird if I saw her again?” I muse. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’d see her and be like ‘oh, she’s actually just some girl.’”

He shrugs. “Maybe she is, as you say, some girl. Perhaps she simply represents something to you, and reality will disappoint you.”

The prospect of this is devastating and freeing in equal amounts. Evie, an invention. An ordinary girl I projected my hopes and dreams upon. Easier to let go of, in that case. Less a real girl than a mirage.

I imagine for a moment, somewhere in the distant future, running into her at some fictional supermarket. I’m picking up some lemons. She’s got a baguette in her bag, and we smile and exchange pleasantries. She’s doing well. Steady job, bought a house last year. I’ll search her left hand for a ring and find one. A strange feeling to see it, to imagine who the someone-else might be. Though I’m married, too. A baby on the way. “I always thought you’d be a good dad,” she’ll say, and I’ll nod and say yes, I kind of always imagined a family. We’ll talk for a minute, pleasant, but brief. Her, a strange woman, and I, a strange man. Knew each other once, a long time ago, teenagers on the Wexford coast, a summer that tasted of sea salt and ice cream, so long ago now we can barely remember it. Memories bleached and faded like old photographs by a sunlit window. “Goodbye, now,” I will say at the checkout, and I will go out onto the street, and never see her again. It won’t matter, for I no longer focus on the past. Barely think of it, never dwell. Enjoying, at last, and concerned only with the present. Content with all the things I already have, and never again cursed to wish, yearn, want for anything more.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2011 #finally am i right #ngl i was emotional at the end of this one #there's a lucky girl easter egg in this one if you can find it

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no-goodbyes-no-regrets · 3 days ago

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Day 1: Non sexual intimacy @bucktommyfluffebruary

I'm already a day behind and it's only day 2 🤦‍♀️ But I'm still planning on doing the full 28 days.

(whether or not they'll be posted within the next 27 days however remains to be seen)

A lover's touch (AO3)

Tommy takes care of Buck after he gets discharged from hospital in 8x05

---

"You don't have to do all this." Buck insisted as Tommy helped him into his truck. He'd just gotten discharged from hospital, with a prescription for painkillers and doctor's orders to take it easy for at least a few days.

One of the nurses had given him scrubs to wear after Tommy had insisted he couldn't put his uniform back on "It's covered in pumpkin guts, Evan.", and he'd reluctantly agreed, and carefully gotten changed in a bathroom, despite Tommy reminding him it wasn't like he'd never seen him in his underwear before.

"And how would you get home if I didn't?" Tommy asked, pulling Buck from his thoughts.

"I could've just gotten an Uber..."

"Oh, sure. You want me to just... leave you here, go home, wait for you to get home with your paid ride, then drive over to your place to see how you're doing - wait, would I be allowed to come over? Or would you just text me to tell me you're fine?" Tommy deadpanned.

Buck rolled his eyes and let Tommy fasten his seatbelt while mumbling something under his breath that sounded a lot like "bitch"

Tommy ignored him and gave his knee a quick squeeze, before closing the door and jogging to the other side of his truck and getting behind the wheel.

"Your place or mine?" He asked as he started the engine.

"Mine." Buck sighed. "I want to get out of these scrubs and I don't have old sweats and hoodies at yours. I only bring my sexy clothes when I'm staying over." he said, trying to sound less like a petulant child and more like the hot sexy man he wanted Tommy to see him as.

"Alright, yours it is." Tommy laughed a little and pulled out of the hospital parking lot. "Do you mind if we stop for food or did you want to attempt to cook with that shoulder?" he quickly glanced at his boyfriend, eyebrow raised, daring him to deny that wasn't exactly what he was planning.

"Only if we can get a greasy burger and fries. I'm done being healthy for today."

"Deal."

By the time they got to Buck's loft and had something to eat, he was feeling more and more grimy and restless in the uncomfortable scrubs.

How medical staff could wear those all day every day he'd never know.

Tommy was clearing up after their meal and had started a load of laundry, and had been waiting on Buck's hand and foot since the moment they'd walked through the door.

It was sweet but also a bit frustrating. Buck was used to taking care of himself, he hadn't had anyone fluff his pillow or adjust his blanket since he was a kid and Maddie used to read him a story before bed.

"Are you comfortable enough in that chair? Do you want an extra pillow? I think you can have more painkillers in about half an hour if you need them."

"No, no I'm ok. I just... kinda feel gross. I think I’m just going to take a shower. I feel like I'm still covered in pumpkin guts."

"I can assure you, you're not. You look just like you did when we woke up this morning." Tommy told him.

"oh great, so I look like I just woke up." Buck complained.

Tommy smiled but decided not to take the bait.

"Yep. Cute, a little pouty, and very kissable." he said and kissed Buck to prove his point. "Do you need any help with that shower?"

"I can wash myself, Tommy, I'm not an invalid."

"No, but you currently only have one fully functioning arm, and the doctor said not to lift it above your head for at least a few days."

"I'll be fine." Buck said a little too harshly, and immediately felt bad. "I'll let you know if I need help."

Tommy nodded.

"Sure. You know where to find me."

He went upstairs to find something more comfortable to wear, and smiled at the sight of one of Tommy's cut off hoodies and his spare charger on what had become his side of the bed.

They were going on six months together and things were going well. He was happy and settled in a way he hadn't felt since... pretty much ever, and he hoped Tommy felt the same.

He debated stealing Tommy's hoodie, but decided to go for something that would keep his shoulder somewhat warm. Warm and cold compresses is what he vaguely remembered the doctor saying. He'd been slightly preoccupied with the curse, as well as wanting to look good for Tommy, and hoping Eddie wouldn't rat him out for practically yanking off the hospital gown when Tommy texted to ask what room he was in.

Suddenly noises from the TV drifted up to the bedroom and it made him happy to know Tommy felt comfortable enough in his space to make himself at home, and doing something as mundane as switching on the TV.

He grabbed some clean clothes and made his way to the downstairs bathroom, pausing to press a kiss to the top of his boyfriend's head as a way of apology for snapping at him earlier.

He'd planned to quickly undress and wash the day off of himself, only the quick part, he realised once he'd turned on the water and tried to get the scrub top off without hurting his shoulder more, would not be happening.

He spent a good fifteen minutes twisting himself into crazy positions and jumping around his bathroom until he'd finally managed to get the top off. He was red in the face and slightly out of breath, but he figured at least the water would be warm and relaxing.

He stepped under the spray, tipped his head back against the shower wall to let the warm water run over his face, and felt himself relax. His prickly mood from before as well as the embarrassment of getting hurt on the job in such a stupid way washing off him and disappearing down the drain.

After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and moved the wet hair off his face, grabbing the shampoo from the little shelf in the corner. He squirted some in his hand on auto pilot, only to then realise he couldn't lift his arm high enough to actually rub it into his hair.

He awkwardly moved it to his good hand, but then quickly found out washing your hair with one hand was no easy feat. He bent down so he could use his injured arm too, but the movement tugged on his sore shoulder too much and when stars appeared in front of his eyes, he stood up and gave up.

He rinsed the shampoo off his hands and out of his hair as best he could, and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.

"Tom?" he said softly after opening the bathroom door. "Tommy?"

The other man was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone, while some sitcom played on the TV. He looked up at the sound of his name.

"Evan? Are you alright?"

"I uh... think I might need some help after all... i-if you don't mind..."

"Of course not. Tell me what you need." Tommy replied, dropping his phone on the table and walking over to him.

"I uh... tried to wash my hair... b-but it's not going so well with one hand."

"Good thing I have two then." Tommy smiled and gently steered him back into the bathroom. "Give me two seconds. You go ahead and get in the shower."

Buck did as he was told and got back under the warm water and watched his boyfriend quickly strip before joining him.

It was somewhat of a tight fit for two men of their size, but neither exactly hated being close to each other.

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I thought of showering with you." Buck joked, trying to distract himself from feeling completely helpless.

"Next time." Tommy promised and pressed a small kiss to his lips. "Just relax and let me take care of you." he said while squirting some shampoo in his hands and gently massaging it into Buck's hair.

As much as he'd hated asking for help, having Tommy take care of him like this felt like heaven.

He'd known Tommy's hands were magic and could make him feel amazing, but never like this, never outside the bedroom.

"I wish I had one of those stools for the shower" Buck mused as Tommy gently started washing his body. "I'd never leave this bathroom."

"I have one at my place. I got it a few years ago after I sprained my ankle getting out of the chopper."

"You mean you fell out?" Buck teased. He'd gotten to know Tommy's crew over the past few months, and they loved sharing embarrassing stories from Tommy's probie days at Harbor.

"It had been raining! Everything was wet and slippery!" Tommy protested.

"And you tripped over your own feet trying to get back into the hangar."

"Who told you that? Melton? Tess? O'Neil? Donato wasn't there yet, so it wasn't her."

"I have my sources."

"It was Sal wasn't it? I should never have introduced you. He's banned from ever talking to you again." Tommy said, only half joking. He turned off the water and quickly wrapped a towel around himself, before doing the same to Buck and gently drying him off.

"Maybe it wasn't Sal, maybe it was someone else."

Tommy stopped what he was doing and narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend.

"Maybe I should ban all of them from ever speaking to you again. Or monitor the conversation so they won't spread lies about me."

"It's not a lie if it's true." Buck teased, sore shoulder forgotten.

"Yeah, yeah, see if I fly you into a hurricane again." Tommy mock threatened. "You can get Donato to do it next time."

"Hopefully there will never be a next time." Buck said, letting Tommy push him to lean back against the sink and helping him put a pair of sweats on. "But maybe we can take a trip together? We could go to Vegas. It's not really fair that you flew Eddie there but you've never taken me."

"You don't like MMA." Tommy argued, mildly distracted trying to find a way to get Evan's hoodie on without hurting his shoulder.

"There are other things we could do in Vegas, aren't there? We could go to a casino... or see a show... or... go see Elvis."

Tommy frowned.

"Graceland? That's not in Vegas..." he trailed off as confusion made way for realisation. "Oh... you mean... Elvis. A chapel."

"Well... Maybe not just yet... but... eventually... maybe? Would that be something... you... would like... one day?"

Tommy tugged Buck's hoodie over his head and gently guided his arms through the sleeves.

"Get married? By Elvis? In Vegas?"

"Y-yeah?"

"I don't know about the Elvis part... but the rest..." He paused and bit his lip, looking almost shy and as un-Tommy as Buck had ever seen him. "Yeah... yeah that sounds pretty good."

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan #tevan fic #bucktommy fluffebruary #my writing #canon what canon

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bamboozledbird · 1 day ago

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oᥒᥴᥱ ι'm ყoᥙrs ι'm ᥲᥣᥕᥲყs ყoᥙrs //stiles stilinski imagine characters: stiles stilinski, fem!reader, mentioned malia tate pairing(s): stiles x you word count: 4k tags: exes to ???, hurt some comfort, set in s5 warnings: some light emotional cheating, i think that's it, sad boy hours, *pats stiles’s head* this boy can fit so much trauma in here

a/n: long time no see. i've missed you my babies, and thank you so much for all the love while i was gone. i'm back with my usual overdose of angst and em dashes. i can't help it; i have a sickness. also, the timing of when stiles and malia got together is a little fudged, so they probably started dating in 4b.

It’s an icy slice of fear that wakes you up. A white flash of ‘fight or flight’ behind your sleep-sticky lids. A rattling that doesn’t belong to the pitter-patter of sleet or the whiplash of wind against your bedroom window. You sit up on your forearm, peek out from behind your fleece blanket, and pray until you’re nauseous that there isn’t a pair of glowing eyes waiting for you on the other side of the glass.

The sleet leaves angry rivulets in the dirt-smudged panes. Sad little lines of streaming water, flooding in time with the choppy squall—you can’t help but think it looks like weeping.

A soft sigh falls from your mouth and stirs the stilted air in the room: No skulking eyes…but a foreboding sense of unease still looms above your head like the plumes of steely clouds outside your window. They swallow every trace of starlight and shift every so often in your peripheral vision, almost like they’re alive.

The rattling sounds again, soft but deafening in the darkness. It’s a familiar sound, someone scrambling on the loose tiling of your roof, but a forgotten one. It's strange, sweet-sharp, and out of place in your current reality.

A noise that shouldn’t exist outside of a memory.

Stiles spills into your room and lands on his knees, dripping water onto the hardwood floor. His hair is plastered to his forehead from the storm outside, and the dark clouds are a mocking reflection of the look on his face.

The moon has eclipsed all the sunlight in his eyes, and it feels so, so cold.

For a moment, you think you’re dreaming, or maybe you’re still stuck in that luminescent oil slick spill between sleep and consciousness. Stiles looks like something from a dream—from a nightmare. He’s a boy, but he isn’t. He’s there, but he isn’t. He’s lost to something you can’t see, swept up in the storm and turned into something else.

The glow of your phone illuminates the pinch of your brow, the squint of your bleary eyes. 3:27 am. Stiles used to sneak in through your window a couple times a week, even during the day, just to avoid the parental inquisition. He still does sometimes, rarely, only when Beacon Hills is on the verge of collapsing—and it always seems to be 3 in the morning.

He only ever needs you at 3 in the morning now.

It makes you feel a little sick, the reminder that the only string tying you together now is barbed wire.

You sit up in your bed and wait for Stiles to say something—to move—but he doesn’t. He just sits there, soaked to the bone on his knees, and stares at something beyond the shifting shadows on your bedroom walls.

“Stiles?”

Stiles doesn’t reply. Doesn’t even make a sound.

You crawl out of your bed and sit down on the floor next to him, draping a woven blanket over his shoulders. It almost matches his flannel, blue and checkered. It’s a little thing that would’ve made you smile before, mostly because Stiles would get this warm look in his eyes when you did: so fond it felt like worship.

It’s fall. The air smells like apples and earth. You watch the shadows of little fish swim in jagged circles through murky lake water. Stiles is a warm presence against your side.

He buries his nose in your hair and hums, “You like the pieces.”

A fish breaks from the group and bubbles near the surface. Its silver scales gleam in the setting sun: a piece of a fractured landscape, a detail that steals all the color in your peripheral vision.

You watch the fish swirl for a moment, almost like it’s dancing, and then shrug with a little grin. “I guess.”

You feel Stiles smile against your temple.

“Me too.”

Now, the only color your retinas can detect is black.

Stiles’s pupils swallow his face, and they stick to everything like tar. Seep into the room and stain the moonlight until the blue haze over his skin looks more sickly than luminous. He looks alarmingly corpse-like, so still on your floor, slimy from the storm keening outside—hollowed out from the storm rotting inside.

You sigh after a moment; a soft little sound to break the surface of strained silence coating the room. “Come on.”

It doesn’t take much prodding. Stiles bends to your guiding hands mindlessly and sits down on the edge of your bed without so much as a grunt. Pliant and robotic in the same breath. Ever the paradox, your boy is.

Though.

He’s not, really. Yours, that is.

Not anymore.

Not for a long time.

“Everything’s so fucked up.”

Stiles is quiet, but his whisper still startles you. His voice is raw—and maybe, you’d really convinced yourself that he was dead. It feels like he is sometimes. At least, a version of him. Stiles, in the mole-speckled flesh, he’s a ghost of the boy you knew, a killer of the figment boy you never lost. A paradox. So difficult to read. Impossible to hold on to.

Stiles doesn’t notice that you’ve gone silent, but he doesn’t really seem to notice anything beyond the wet film over his eyes.

“I don’t…I don’t see a way out this time. I don’t know…” he scrubs a hand over his face and looks infinitely older than eighteen, “I don’t think I can fix it—any of it.”

You’re reminded, briefly, of the night he broke up with you. When you looked up, saw the look on his face, and you knew. You have the same sick feeling in your stomach now, and you want to crawl inside yourself until the flip-flopping of your intestines stops—to wring them into little knots until there’s nothing left.

Stiles looks like he feels about the same, so small on your bed for such a lanky man.

“What?” You pull your knees to your chest and hold onto your shins so that you don’t reach for him. “The Nemeton? We’ll find it again…eventually, and—”

“No,” Stiles grits his teeth and closes his eyes, “I mean, yes, but it’s…everything. Everything’s falling apart.”

“Not everything. You’ve always got—”

“Not anymore.” Stiles gets that dead-inside look behind his eyes again, and your stomach turns. “You and me…and Scott—”

Your sheets whisper against your legs as you shift towards him. “Scott?”

You’ve seen Stiles wear pretty much every expression under the sun—backlit by shitty diner lights, laughing; tangled up in white sheets, panting; drenched in sweat, sobbing—but god. The way Stiles looks now, like his soul has been bleached from his bones, drained from his eyes with a power drill, it’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen. Worse than the Nogistune, because it’s Stiles. Whatever this skeleton on strings is, it’s him.

“I fucked up.” Stiles whispers so softly you can barely hear him over the cracks in his voice, “I fucked up so bad.”

It takes you a second to realize that he’s talking about Scott. Dumb, considering you asked, but you’ve imagined him saying that to you so many times it almost feels like a memory—like he’s talking about you.

You clear your throat and pull at a loose string on your blanket until it snaps. “He’ll get over it. He always does.”

Stiles just shakes his head, keeps his eyes trained on his muddy sneakers. “Not this time.”

Your fingers twitch with the impulse to grab his hand. “What happened, Stiles?”

“I…” Stiles rubs his hand over his mouth, trying to wipe away the taste of his thoughts. He swallows and then stands, tugging a little on his wet hair until it sticks up in random tufts—it would be cute under any other circumstances, if Stiles didn’t have a disturbingly manic look in his eyes and a desperate tumble of words flooding from his split lip. “The ends justify the means was just a thought experiment, right? Machiavelli was an academic, not a soldier—you know what kind of people actually practice Machiavellianism? Stalin, Mao—Peter ‘fuckin’ killed my own niece’ Hale.”

Your brow scrunches as you try to find the invisible path connecting all his seemingly disjointed thoughts. “Stiles—”

“And I know I rag on Scott all the time for being too soft,” Stiles sneakers squeak against the floor as he continues pacing, without a breath or so much as a glance in your direction. He might as well be pontificating to the darkness. “I mean, fuck, how many times have I said it’d be easier if we just killed the psycho? A dozen? Definitely enough for one of those stupid fuckin’ ‘take a shot’ memes.”

Stiles stops abruptly mid-step and finally looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time tonight. His Bambi eyes look so big right now, completely open and boundless on his sweet face, like the child he hasn’t been since sophomore year. “I didn’t…I don’t really mean it, you know. I don’t actually want...”

His voice is so small it breaks your heart.

“I know,” you say softly, coaxing him to stay here with you, in the moment.

Stiles blinks at you slowly and hangs his gaze on your face like it’s the moon. “I know it would kill him…feeling like this.” He spits it out like ‘this’ is something vile, poison on his tongue.

Your stomach sinks, and a prickling sensation of hot-cold settles through your sinew. You lick your drying lower lip and methodically rub your clammy palms up and down your thighs. “Feeling like what?”

Stiles’s momentary dip into the present fades with the next blink of his clumped lashes.

He starts pacing again, bending and flexing his fingers with twitching gestures that clarify little and worry you greatly. “I get it, totally support it as a concept. I mean, the greater good outweighs a scumbag or two—conceptually, because how do you really define scumbag? And that’s if you use a qualifier; real consequentialists think it’s totally fine to kill whoever the fuck you want as long as it’s in the name of a good outcome.”

You blink a few times and drag your tongue over your teeth, “Right…killing innocent people: bad. That’s the general consensus.”

Stiles’s eyes dart back to your face. “What if they aren’t?”

“Aren’t what?”

Maybe, if it weren’t almost four in the morning, you’d be able to follow his tangential breakdown. Maybe, if you hadn’t become dependent on his quiet sleep-babbling to fall asleep at night, if he hadn’t become the only thing capable of bleaching the nightmares from your eyelids, your temples wouldn’t be throbbing so violently. But it is almost 4 am, and you haven’t fallen asleep next to Stiles in over a year—no matter how right he looks when he sits down next to you on your bed.

Stiles’s throat bobs with his swallow before he says, “What if they aren’t innocent?”

“Stiles,” you grab one of his hands and search his face, scan every solemn line and curve for some semblance of meaning, “what’s going on?”

Stiles chews on his bottom lip and lets out a ragged breath, going stiff—bracing himself for the fallout. His voice is thick with fear when he finally whispers, “What if someone was going to hurt someone you cared about?”

You let out a heavy sigh and study his expression, eyes flickering across the unrelenting question written in his pinched forehead and glassy eyes. “Do the ends justify the means?”

Stiles nods and bites down on his jagged thumbnail, “Yeah.”

You hold Stiles’s gaze so that he can see your eyes, so earnest they almost look pained, and nod, slow and definitive. “Yeah.”

It takes a second, but when his body catches up with his brain, Stiles collapses in on himself. Turns into a ragdoll of relief and wet clothes, and drops his head into his shaking hands.

“F-fuck,” Stiles exhales and wipes his face dry with cruel scrubs of his hands. “Sorry—I just…” he digs his thumbs into his temples and trembles, “I’m losing my fucking mind, and I didn’t know where else to go.” He glances up from his hands, looks so devastatingly lovely as he peers up at you through his wet lashes it hurts, and murmurs, “There wasn’t anywhere else…anyone else. Nobody…”

Stiles shakes his head slightly and clears his throat, but his words are still syrupy with so much meaning when he says, “I don’t really feel like I’m…me anywhere else.” He pauses again, and you forget how to breathe when his gaze refocuses on your eyes. His tongue flicks over his split lip, and then he whispers, “I’m not me unless I’m with you.”

This boy. This boy. He can wreck you without even trying.

You have to reorient yourself before you get stuck on the drizzle of honey in Stiles’s eyes. They’ve always been so…alive. There’s an entire ecosystem in his irises, savanna grass swaying under the glow of sunset. A blackhole in his pupils, bending and distorting your every thought to Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. Stop. Breathe. Count your fingers.

Your arms are around your shins, the air is cold, and Stiles has someone who isn't you.

You still wake up with the taste of him sticking to your teeth, sweet honey and sharp cloves, but it’s never enough. Lately, it lingers like a cavity.

You spent so long thinking you weren’t supposed to be friends, and you weren’t. You were supposed to be together—now you don’t know what you’re supposed to be. How can you belong to a memory?

What does Stiles think when he looks at you now? Does a thought even come?

Does he ache for who you were that Friday at the lake? Does he still love that girl in his arms–orange and warm under the setting sun, blissfully unaware of the end?

Oh, he does. Stiles aches for you, thinks of you, constantly. He meant what he said; he only feels solid when it's just you, him, and the shiny little bubble that keeps out the rest of the world. He doesn’t feel…real when he’s around other people, pretending like everything’s fine. Like he hasn’t lost every shiny piece of the life he had before his mind was stolen.

That’s how it is for Stiles now; there’s before, and then there’s after. He can feel the schism widening with every single fucked up thing he does. Lately, it feels like that’s the only thing he does: completely and catastrophically fuck up.

The thing is, when they finally got him—it—out, Stiles thought that would be it. Happily ever after. Evil expunged. Demon defeated. End-stop. No page turn. Cheers to the Nemeton. Stiles learned, very quickly, that you can’t purge darkness. It always leaves a mark.

The days after…everything, Stiles discovered that rotting was a real human emotion. He still can’t believe people don’t smell it on him. The remnants of Stiles haven’t stopped putrefying in the Nogistune’s absence, and he just knows, somehow, that something this malignantly alive is contagious. He didn’t want to ruin you—doesn’t, Stiles corrects himself before he can finish the thought—doesn’t want to contaminate something so good with something so sick.

Or maybe…maybe it was because Stiles knew that you’d see it. You’d see it, and you’d leave.

The only clean thing he has is memories. He can’t stain the past. The figment girl in his mind can’t hurt. Can’t die. Can’t run. Stiles keeps you there—or, at least, some version of you, a you he can keep underneath the shelter of his ribcage, where you can watch the sunset turn fish scales into topaz in his maroon jacket, happy, forever.

Stiles can’t really remember the last time he saw you, the real version of you, happy. You must have laughed without him at some point, but he can’t think of anything other than when you were with him. Well, that, and the end. Stiles remembers the end with painful clarity.

You were at a lake. The lake. Somehow, it only occurs to Stiles now how shitty that must’ve been for you. Anyway, you just sat there for a while, and he just listened to the silence wash over the world like a flood until the sun reached its peak. He remembers thinking: Holy fuck, this is what they meant. All those stupid songs and poems. This is what it means to break. Stiles couldn’t stand the way you kept your eyes closed, like you were afraid of seeing the inevitable car crash. If I kiss her, he’d thought, everything will be okay. If I kiss her, she’ll forgive me.

Stiles didn’t kiss you. He just said, “I’m sorry,” and the words hung heavily over your heads. In the harrowing quiet, Stiles thought: I never realized cordial could sound so much like cowardly.

“What are you doing here, Stiles? What is this?”

Your voice drags Stiles from the gutters of his mind, and feels a fresh wave of shame when he hears how tired you sound. What is he doing here? Stiles knew it was a mistake before he even started his Jeep, but the flicker of doubt in Scott’s eyes drowned out his best intentions.

“I just…” Stiles swallows, and his hand moves to scratch at his wounded shoulder reflexively. He…he just needed to be with the only person on the face of this planet that still knew him—who would get it.

You get tired of waiting, and when you speak again, Stiles feels about two inches tall.

“You should be with her.” You say it nicely enough. Polite. No venom to fill the awkward hollowness. Cordial.

Fuck. Stiles fucking hates cordial. He kind of wishes you would yell at him. At least, then, he’d know that you still cared.

Stiles clasps his hands together between his thighs and leans his weight onto his elbows. He probably should be with Malia. No. He definitely should, but he’s not. And right now, like this, he doesn’t want to be.

“She’s not good at…” Stiles clears his throat and sits up a little, “she tries, but she just…can’t.”

It’s not even her fault, and that’s probably the worst part about it. He doesn’t want to be another bad thing that’s happened to Malia Tate, but bad things just seem to be his specialty lately.

“You know why you like her, right?” you say softly, not unkindly, but Stiles thinks he isn’t going to like the answer—mostly, because he’s sure it’s true.

“No.” Stiles pauses and draws a circle in the dust with his pointer finger, “Well, I mean, yeah. Didn’t know you put so much thought into it.”

You don’t bother to dignify such a blatant lie with a direct response. That’s fair, Stiles thinks, and tries not to shrink in on himself.

Instead, you lift your shoulder like it’s made of marble and murmur, “She needs you.”

It’s innocuous enough—sweet, even, under different circumstances—but Stiles feels it like a blade. He clears his throat; it doesn’t help the dryness. He manages to arch a brow as he pushes out a raspy little, “So?”

The corner of your mouth lifts into a small smile; Stiles can still see it quiver. “You’re a control freak,” you bump his knee with your own, and it’s the first place on his body Stiles can actually feel, “and you and I both know she’s never going to be the one to end it.”

That was just like you; even your jokes are wrapped up inside an argument. It always left him frozen in a maddening power struggle between quipping something snarky and kissing you. No one else had ever managed to keep him on the ropes like you, and maybe that’s why no one after has managed to keep his, admittedly, short-attention span for long. Stiles has always liked his sweetness with a little bite.

Of course, now there was no sweetness between the two of you. It’s all uncomfortable silences and unspoken thoughts that left his teeth aching for something more

Stiles’s jaw goes tight as he brings his lips to his knuckles, feeling a bit like bearing down on the bone. “That’s what you think happened?” He glances at you, eyes a little haunted, “I couldn’t control you, so I ended it?”

You tilt your head to the side, so sympathetic it makes Stiles a little nauseous as you murmur, “I think you realized that I didn’t need you; I think it scared the hell out of you.” You say it so softly, and it impales him the heart, right through the fucking center.

It would be one thing if you were angry; people say stupid shit they don’t actually mean when they’re angry all the time—but this? You look like you mean it. You look like you mean it, and you’re saying it for his own good. The look on your face, it looks a whole lot like the truth

And.

Maybe it is.

It’s not like you’re wrong. Stiles remembers thinking it, more than once. He remembers more than a few mornings where he woke up to the sound of your breathing, your warm breath washing over his neck, and he thought he’d probably die if you ever stopped. It felt like an epiphany every time, the reminder that without you his world would be irreparably changed.

Dark. Without you, Stiles’s world would go dark.

Maybe, the Nogistune was just an excuse. Maybe, Stiles had been leapfrogging over his heart for a long time before then. Avoiding the future. Wrapping the present around your body and constantly thinking: I can’t believe it's not over yet.

Yet. Yet. Yet.

Maybe, Stiles thought about it so much he tempted fate. Maybe, that’s why the Nogistune chose him. Maybe, he should stop scapegoating the devil. He did end up with Malia after all.

It’s different with her. Not bad necessarily, just different. He takes care of her, and he’s good at that. Making the plan. Having the answers.

Being in control.

With you…that was different.

Stiles is a cynic at heart, but when he looked at—looks at—you, he felt less lonely. When he was with you, he kind of got why his dad used to always show up to work 15 minutes late because he got distracted by the way his mom made coffee. The simple domesticity, the comfort of a morning routine for the rest of his life, the concept of tried and true blue love: Stiles got it all when he saw you.

You saw his happiness, and you gave it back to him. Every single time. That kind of love…it’s become abundantly clear to Stiles that kind of love is hard to find. Like maybe, once in a lifetime hard to find.

Stiles swallows hard and shakes his head. “Whatever it was I was afraid of,” his voice drops to a whisper, “this is so much worse.”

You’re still the only person he can really cry in front of. Stiles is reminded of that when his eyes burn and something wet drips onto his lips. He sniffles quietly, feeling so incredibly small when he realizes the sound is coming from him.

Stiles can’t look up from his shoes—won’t—and then you speak. You’re so quiet he almost misses it.

“Life’s a lot better when you’re in it.”

The corners of Stiles’s mouth twitch into a small smile. The first one in about a week. Feels like much, much longer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinksi imagine #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o'brien

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just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace · 15 hours ago

Text

Devourable (Thomas Hutter x fem!vampire!reader)

-> Thomas offers himself to you, but he’s not the only one blinded by desire

Warnings: some manhandling (by reader), hair pulling, smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, tease and denial, sub!Thomas (with a hint of cheeky though), dom!reader (but kind of soft for him) (even when she’s mean), shadow sex? sex with shadows? whatever you wanna call it, mentions of blood craving/drinking, lying in a coffin

*Written in the same vein (ha) as Moonlight. Consider it a sequel if you like.

Mature content below the cut - minors DNI!!!

He comes to you willingly. Eagerly. Even knowing what you are and all that you could take from him with barely a lift of your ancient, beautiful finger… he offers so much more. A predator you may be, but this sweet surrender of his nearly feels as though it is you being ensnared, so intoxicated by his desire that your own grows blinding.

“The gates are open,” you remind him, standing next to your coffin as he stops a mere few paces away from you. “The wolves have left.”

His throat bobs as he swallows—his fear, or pride, or both. “I know.”

In a moment of… weakness, you suppose, you had decided to spare him. You called the shadow of dread you had cast upon him back into yourself, cleared his path, offered him freedom. In truth, there was still a chance you might send the wolves who so dutifully served you to track him down and drag him straight back to your castle. Part of you so longed to keep him in your greedy clutches. Another fought against it. Now, you would never know which would have won, but of one thing, you are certain: this is not your doing. His choice to stay, despite the chance he was given to flee this horrid place and never look back, is exactly that—his own.

“You seek me out of your own free will, then?”

You know the answer, but you need to hear it out loud. You want to drink the words from his lips like you would his blood, savour the taste of them. And though his eyes are loud enough, he can’t seem to say it outright at first.

“I wanted to leave,” he confesses, voice wavering with raw emotion. “The moment I knew escape was possible, I ran faster than I can remember my feet ever carrying me. Yet with each step I took farther from these walls, it wasn’t relief that I felt. It wasn’t the forest or the snow I saw before my eyes. It was your face. Lit by the fire, bathed in moonlight. Each word we exchanged as we talked late into the night, each lingering gaze. The hunger in your eyes which so terrified me, even as I… as I longed to be the one to sate it,” his eyes fall shut as he speaks the words, struggling to let them out. “And though I knew, in my heart, that you were not of this world, though I saw your marks upon my skin and understood that you held my very life in your grasp, I couldn’t help but wish for more. To know you better, to see and understand every single part of you. Even if it brought my utter ruin. I knew that, if I left you behind, never to see you again… my every waking thought for as long as I live would be of you. Not a day would pass that I would not feel the urge to make the journey back and look upon your face, if only one last time. So, yes,” he admits, nearly breathless, “I come to you of my own will, seeking relief… from the torment of wanting you.”

It’s torment, indeed, which laces his every word and breath. A decent man such as him, wanting nothing more than to make himself respectable in society, to secure the good living a potential future bride would deserve, stripped of everything he had ever known about truth and fable, about his own fears and cravings. Baring his soul to the one who had made it unravel. You should find it pathetic, mock his foolishness.

You don’t quite find it in yourself to do so.

“I am not a person for you to want,” you remind him, a dangerous edge to your voice as you approach him slowly. “I am craving itself. Insatiable. Pitiless. I would devour you.”

“If that were true, you would have done so already,” he claims still. “Pitiless, you say, yet—here I stand. Had you not spared my life, I could not have returned to lay it at your feet.”

Oh, what a sweet romantic. When you stop, he takes the last few steps towards you, careful yet bold, coming to stand before you within perilous reach.

“How long has it been,” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, “since someone chose to stay? When were you last offered something more than blood?”

“Offered?” you scoff. “I am not offered blood. I take it.”

Thomas clenches his jaw, frustrated, and a decision is made. With quick, determined fingers, he undoes his buttons, pulling open the top half of his shirt.

“Take it, then,” he dares you.

It’s bait you shouldn’t take—but you can’t help your eyes falling to his flesh the moment it’s been bared. Your bite marks are still there, puncture wounds begging to be reopened. You fight back an animalistic hiss. If you do as he says… you would be doing as he says. Acting on his terms, even when fulfilling your own cravings. That thought alone might dissolve you more quickly and painfully than the first ray of dawn.

So fixated you are on his heart, you hardly notice Thomas reaching for your face. His fingers graze your cheek, hesitant at first, then more securely cradling it as you lift your gaze to his. His expression is as soft as his touch, hopeful and compassionate. He is taking your hesitance to feed off him as confirmation that he was right. That his willing presence is some kind of balm for what he believes to be a deep longing of yours.

There is only one thing you can do in the face of such a pure sentiment.

You bring your hand to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his soft curls. Still damp from running away, then straight back to you. He lets you pull him closer, even closer, until your lips are nearly brushing, your breaths mingling. It’s him who means to close the distance once and for all, but you plant your hand onto his chest to keep him at bay the moment his mouth begins to graze yours.

“Do you truly believe,” your voice begins soft, then grows into a growl, “that I am some wounded soul in need of deliverance?”

Your long nails drag against his scalp as you pull at the roots—hard, down, forcing him to his knees. Thomas gives a hoarse cry as they hit the cold ground.

“Do you wish to save me, Thomas?” you spit the word like it’s rotten in your mouth. “To ease my pain? My loneliness? Do you truly believe I can feel such things?”

Your words echo harshly against the stone walls, charged with blinding rage. How dare he look at you with such pity in his eyes? How dare he presume to know your heart, when it has been lost to you for centuries—

Thomas grabs your waist and, before you can even begin to push him away, buries his face in your stomach.

“My soul weeps for you,” he persists hoarsely, shaking his head against the fabric of your dress. “I cannot help it.”

You release his hair, quite frankly stunned by the feeling of him so desperately clinging to you. You are still angry, and you could untangle him from your body with ease, but…

“You are a fool with a death wish,” you say, more softly than you had intended.

“I wish for you,” Thomas counters heatedly. Something wild, downright feral burns in his eyes as he looks up at you. “Let me prove it.” His hands leave your waist only to plant themselves on the back of your thighs—creeping ever so daringly upwards. “Let me taste you. As you have tasted of me. Please.”

You know very well what he means, but still: “You lack the teeth,” you taunt.

“But not the tongue,” Thomas insists, somehow pleading and stubborn at the same time. “May I please you?”

Blood is what pleases you. The hunting. The haunting. The biting.

But right now… you want this.

“You may try.”

The moment your permission has been given, Thomas hastens to lift the skirts of your dress. You don’t move a muscle, standing above him like an unfeeling goddess as he frantically works to move past any layer of fabric standing between him and your bare flesh. But you do feel, and it’s odd, so odd, to let yourself be worshipped rather than feared for the first time in what feels like an immeasurable amount of years. He kisses your knees with reverence, his lips ascending your thighs as though heaven itself might be waiting where they meet. His mouth is so hot on your skin, so sweetly arousing. If you were still human, you’d be trembling with want.

Yet when Thomas lifts his eyes to yours, silently pleading to see so much as a spark of his desire reflected in them, you deny him. Your pride demands that your gaze remain cold and expectant, as though you are unimpressed by his efforts so far.

That only seems to spur him on. He must make do with the little access granted, but your closed legs do not deter him. Determined to elicit a response, he plunges his tongue into the folds of your sex with vigour, seeking—and finding—that bundle of nerves which remains as sensitive in death as it had been in life.

For so long, your lust had been reserved for blood, you had forgotten how it felt to have it pool low in your belly, producing slickness and a delicious ache between your thighs rather than a compulsion to sink your teeth into a fresh vein. You certainly remember now, as Thomas licks and sucks at your clit, stoking the ache into a blazing fire spreading throughout your body.

He eats you out like his life depends on it—which it very well might. Though you don’t feel much like the ruthless predator your kind is supposed to be at the moment. A sound, foreign and breathless, reaches your ears, and you are shocked to realize you had produced it. Thomas groans in turn, satisfied with his feat. You grip his hair, pull at the roots in retaliation, but that only fuels the lust consuming you as much as it does him. When you feel him attempting to work his fingers into the space between his mouth and your cunt, you finally part your legs slightly, to better allow it. The bunched up fabric of your skirts obscures his face, so you pull it back to look him in the eye as he slides his fingers into you, two at once. He holds your gaze, brazen and feverish, and the sight combined with the stretch and curl of his fingers inside you are a strange kind of torment, endlessly frustrating and frustratingly addictive. You should be above such human afflictions, but it seems you are not after all. Your body still seeks pleasure, still weakens with it, now that you have Thomas kneeling at your feet with his tongue between your legs.

Thomas. Your beautiful Thomas. You’d have allowed no other soul such intimate caresses. It’s even worse to know that he alone could stir these emotions within you, from the pity that had led you to free him to the vexingly human lust which strips you of control over your breath under his touch. Relentless, his tongue strokes you to madness, his fingers find impossibly sweet places within you, and when a small whine from his throat reaches your ears, the dam breaks and you are coming, lost to rapture without a drop of blood on your tongue. You gasp, crush his face against your core, and in turn his nails dig into the back of your thigh as if he could pull you any closer than you already are. For once, you are being devoured rather than devourer. It’s freeing. It’s infuriating.

Even when you are done clenching around his fingers and the pleasure begins to subside, he doesn’t stop. His tongue drags almost unbearably against your sensitive clit, over and over, threatening to pull cries from your throat which would be dangerously close to whimpers, and that is when you use your grip on his hair to throw him away, rasping out, “Enough!”

Thomas falls on his back with a short cry. He scrambles to sit up, but remains there, looking up at you as he touches his glistening lips—glistening with the proof of his success in pleasing you, just as he had claimed he would. Certainly, that is why the faintest trace of a smile tugs at his mouth.

“Pleased with yourself, are you?” Your tone is biting, despite your lingering breathlessness. Thomas lowers his hand from his face, but not his gaze from yours.

“Do I not have reason to be?”

Here he is, offering himself to a vampire like a lamb to the slaughter, and yet his pride has not entirely left him.

To your chagrin, you must admit he is not wrong. Your chest still heaves after your climax, you still ache for more. For too much, in truth. Thomas is straining against his trousers, quite visibly so, and though you would rather have his cock buried between your legs than shredded in your teeth, you are excruciatingly aware of the blood that has rushed to fill it into hardness, pumped there by the heart you can hear pounding in his chest.

You are far from sated.

“That is enough for tonight,” you deadpan. You are too close to losing the last sliver of control you still possess, and that is as corrosive to your pride as it is potentially deadly for him. It’s a miracle, frankly, that you muster the will to walk away.

Thomas doesn’t see that line of reasoning. Looking as though you have struck him across the face, he catches your hand as you pass by him. “Wait. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Still on his knees, he shifts closer to you so he has to crane his neck even further up for his pleading gaze to meet yours. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Your hand is still in his. Once again, you allow more than you ought to and leave it there as he brings it to his lips, pressing a most delicate kiss to your knuckles. “Bite me,” he murmurs. “Take me. Anything. Just… don’t go.”

“Take heed what you ask for, Thomas,” you warn, though your voice lacks the bite he ought to be warned against. Your chest is tight with longing, warm with… affection. When you pull your hand from his grasp, it’s only so you can cup his chin, let your fingers tenderly graze his pale, damp skin. “If I were to lay myself upon you now,” you all but whisper, leaning down so your breath ghosts his mouth, “when I’m done with you, it will be your corpse I dismount.”

His lips part, letting past a trembling breath. Before he can protest as his face shows he means to, you stand back to your full height. “Sunrise is but an hour away,” you say sternly. “Not nearly enough for me to feed elsewhere and enjoy you properly. I shall join you in bed tomorrow night.”

Your tone leaves no room for argument, and you don’t wait for an answer. In the last glimpse you catch of him as you leave, Thomas breathes out a curse, eyes lowering to the straining bulge at his crotch as if it were an open wound.

If you remain much longer, it might be.

“Eat well yourself,” you order without looking back. “You’ll need your strength.”

***

Only after Thomas has returned to his bed do you return to your coffin, mildly but far from fully satisfied. The animals you had drained in this last hour before dawn were poor substitutes for the blood that beckons you from your lover’s veins.

Lover.

The meaning of the word had been all but lost to you before him. And though ‘love’ is a part of it, you doubt you are capable of such a feeling. What you feel for Thomas is nothing but a new, strange kind of appetite. You want his heart in your teeth, but not for so long it stops beating. You want to make him last. Perhaps… forever. If he were to offer himself willingly. For the first time, you feel you would not mind sharing some of your power with what you know to be called a ‘familiar’.

But any such thoughts must wait. The sky was already infused with a rosy hue when you retreated to the comforting darkness of your resting place, and soon enough your consciousness will awaken to yet another night, the hours of daylight passed as if in a blink of your immortal eye.

Thomas, on the other hand, has a long day ahead of him. The sleep he seeks, unlike you, will not claim him. You can feel as much even without reaching out to his mind with your power.

Which you are unable to refrain from doing, if only for the last few moments of the night. Eyes closed, you let your darkness stretch out, slithering along the stone walls of the castle, corridor after corridor and room after room, as though you are yourself making your way to the chamber where Thomas lies in bed. Soon enough, the darkness before your eyes is replaced with the image of him, skin glistening with perspiration, brow pinched in discomfort. A sight you have admired for many nights before. Only, it’s not a sense of inexplicable dread which plagues him now, but rather the torment of unfulfilled desire.

He tries to fight it, truly. Forcing his eyes to remain shut, his body to lie still. But the desire remains, a constant, maddening companion. Ever so often, his hips give a gentle roll, as if the softest friction against his trousers would bring him any modicum of relief. You may not have explicitly forbidden it, but he knew better than to relieve himself after you left him.

At the very least, he has managed to resist the temptation until now. With a sigh which spells defeat, he opens his eyes, taking in the softly lit sky. He can’t see that the sun itself has yet to emerge over the horizon, thinks himself already out of your reach for the following day. He only hesitates for a few moments before he reaches down, and the guilt in his gaze dissipates into a moan as he finally grants himself the pressure for which his cock has been aching. He palms it firmly, hips bucking into his own hand, before reaching inside his trousers and grasping his length fully. Perhaps you will not mind, you feel him think. He will confess it to you, yes. Beg for forgiveness if he must. Part of him hopes he’ll have to, his cock throbbing even more intensely at the thought, his rhythm quickening—

His wrist is snatched away by an unseen hand—by a shadow—and pinned to the pillow beside his head, right along with his other hand as well. He gasps in fright, then the loss of the blissful friction pulls a whine from his throat. Your voice is a disembodied hiss, crawling through his mind like a serpent.

“You asked to be taken. So this,” his chest heaves as your shadowy grip engulfs his swollen length, the feeling nothing short of devastatingly real, “is no longer yours to do with as you please. I alone shall grant your pleasure, and only when I see fit. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” he breathes out. “Yes.”

The latter is a wanton moan rather than a promise. He is all but thrusting into the air now, into your unseen touch, his head thrown back, his neck beautifully exposed. You wonder if he has the faintest idea how utterly devourable he makes himself for you.

“If you touch yourself,” your voice purrs in his ear, “I will know.”

Perhaps he won’t need to, at least for a while. If you keep stroking him this way, even from afar, even just for a few moments more, he may yet find the relief he so direly needs. He is close, you can tell, and you almost—almost—want to feel him reach it.

“Oh, my dear Thomas,” you caress his name with your tongue. “I fear I shall never have enough of you.”

Even without him gasping out the words as he writhes against the sheets, you know he feels the same. It’s not enough. You are selfish by nature, ravenous, vindictive. You want his desire to eat away at his veins as cruelly as yours has stripped you of your power over yourself, denting your ancient pride.

When he is on the precipice, ready to reach his peak, it’s gone. Your voice, your touch—melted away the moment that the sun is no longer obscured by the earth. Thomas has never resented its warmth as he does now. His heart may as well have dropped into his cock, the way it throbs with each pump of his blood, desperately unsatisfied, and what’s worse is he knows you intended it this way. That you revel in his torment.

But even worse still is—he, too, revels in it.

#thomas hutter x reader #thomas hutter smut #nosferatu 2024

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emilylawsons · 2 days ago

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@xenobean Your wish is my command…

(This will have a few spoilery things from S1 and S2 but none from S3.)

So let’s start with the setting and surface theme: journalism and news media. Anyone who works in that field faces questions of integrity every single day. Good journalists seek the truth. They ask questions. But sometimes the truth—or one person’s integrity—threatens to expose someone else’s lack thereof. We see it all the time in what the characters face each episode. Noelene gets fired for a day because she accidentally pulls a fabricated quote that her own bosses didn’t bother to check her on. Helen is constantly searching for stories that shed light on issues no one else will talk about, and in season 2 Dale is combative to that because he’s looking to save face and maintain his station which her convictions threaten. One of Helen’s most crucial moments comes because she has to choose between her integrity and her job.

Their professional world alone is meant to be built on truth and exposing the truth.

Then we get our characters.

Helen tries to hide her mental illness, at least from the public. And herself. She panics when her past stint in a mental institution is threatened to come to light. She runs away and tries to hide her episodes but isn’t quite so successful—but she’ll still attempt to lie. (“I accidentally took too many pills,” “I think I was really dehydrated.”) And we see how her running from her mental illness rather than facing it head on or seeking help does more harm than good. And she constantly has reminders of the stigma of mental illness shoved in her face. She has people around her—namely men—screaming at her and not taking her seriously, and it just fuels her reactive anger. Which makes her impossible to deal with to most people. Except Dale, who becomes the only safe person she knows. But even he can’t always understand, especially when her struggles threaten his image.

Dale, meanwhile, has run from his bisexuality since he was a teenager. Didn’t even have the language for it. He was shamed, wrongfully punished, made to feel like a pervert. As a result, he’s kept his true feelings to himself. He’s leaned into what everyone else wants from him. Helen is probably the first person to know the whole truth and still love him as deeply as she does, but the way in which she finds out is at the cost of an indiscretion to their relationship. She feels betrayed not because he has that attraction to men, but because he kissed someone else—he entertained being with someone else while they were together—and still doesn’t quite trust that he won’t leave her. So how he is supposed to feel anything other than ashamed? How is he supposed to respond other than to hide in his career and the one place he seems to be successful, accepted, and admired? No one can know he has these feelings or these thoughts. No one can know the real him. Because they would be appalled—or that’s what he’s had reinforced in his mind.

Both of them, in their shame, fall apart despite the fact that they’re the only two people who literally only see each other and love each other regardless.

Then we’re introduced to Kay Walters, who’s spent her entire life having to live up to her parents’ public image. Who fell to addiction because of the pressure. Because she never felt good enough in the eyes of the two people in this world who should have loved her unconditionally, without question. And when she comes back and Geoff and Evelyn find out what state she’s in, they’re forced to face their own failure. Their own neglect of what’s important. Because they, themselves, are so full of shame at the idea of looking even just a little less than perfect. And when they face the fact that she needs help, there’s shame on their part because their daughter is in rehab—which is just as shameful to her. It takes that come to Jesus moment to get them to reexamine themselves.

And without giving anything away about the final season, we watch the fallout from this shame and how Helen and Dale specifically must confront it. And throughout the entire series, it’s the people who refuse to be ashamed of themselves that seem to be the happiest—Gerry and Carla, for instance. Or Tim. Or Linus. And I’d love to dig more into how we see this play out for Helen and Dale these last six episodes, but I’ll leave it there since everyone is still watching.

So, yeah. That’s the point. And I adore this show for everything it is. ❤️

Anyway the thesis of The Newsreader is that embracing the truth and everything real that you are is always going to be better than hiding in shame in this essay I will—

#the newsreader #kayli talks

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kavehayati · 7 months ago

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Chappel Roan saying she’s sad she’s demisexual and then there’s me being aroace as a whole like don’t you think I’m even more sad 😭

#not saying she’s not allowed to feel sad at all #just makes me think about myself LOL #I hate being aroace it’s like everyone’s part of a secret club I will never be a part of #and that people don’t tend to understand and if they do they never uphold that fact #like I actually have thrown up before from the concept of being in a relationship because it’s horrifying #and disgusting to me in a practical sense #like I don’t want to throw up every time I start thinking about those things I just want to be normal #and not panic like a relationship sounds like even worse than a death sentence #ppl think aroace is cute and problem free but it’s literally so uncomfortable and inconvenient when you’re in a world which a) doesn’t #understand wth aroace is b) doesn’t respect it at all c) has shit povs on what friendship is and how it can be more fulfilling than somethin #and d) how badly it impacts some ;-; like ik it sounds easy but try telling yourself omg I want to have a forever bestie #but then said forever bestie will never end up truly putting you first because they’d have a partner who will be their number one #and as usual you won’t even be second place you will be last like always #because I’ve noticed that the moment ppl get a partner suddenly they become their forever bestie role and then I can’t have that cause it #freaks me out and disgusts me all at once so I’m literally just cursed with forever feeling lonely and not meaning anywhere near as much to #someone who you wish could even look your way the way you do to them …#honestly by the day these reminders make me feel more and more aplatonic but it’ll simultaneously always feel like a hole in my heart #because apparently being aroace is like being some weird person and some freak #and not in the 𝒻𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀𝓎 type of connotation LMAO I mean just plain freak #and then that loneliness will always accumulate and accumulate and accumulate until I physically cannot handle it anymore or I take matters #into my own hands and just off with her head to myself LMAO #dora daily #and that is why despite aroace being cool to me it’s just not placed in an environement which makes it cool #as those assholes tend to say oh meh meh meh you never struggled girl … we’re in the 21st century every person in the lgbt community is #living the life dating who they want and being with who they want #but allegedly it is but a crime I can’t like anyone and that nobody fucking listens to me when I say I have an attraction deficit #and that they take it upon their hands to define what I’m attracted to or head canon me as whatever they are #I swear I’m not even fucking worth that shit just leave me alone 😭#I promise like if I was with somebody they will regret the day they were born by being with me LOL I am not all that in fact me being aroace #is saving them from torture ☠️ anyways ! rant over :3

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butnotbubblegum · 7 months ago

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using the tags to vent my current emotional state into the void bc ig story feels like a bad plan for this, read at your own risk.

#but jesus christ coming back home while already knee deep in a suicidal episode was an awful idea #like i was maybe on the verge of improving and then i came back to all of this family bullshit #and the place as well like it’s so. i don’t want to say isolated necessarily. but so much it’s own little bubble #and i spent the last eight or nine years i lived here depressed and the last six suicidal #and being back here feels like the actual place is telling me to die #and i don’t think it helps that every place i go i know or know of someone who successfully committed suicide #like. oh this person drowned themself here. or that person hung themself in these woods. or several people jumped off the side of this clif #like. it all feels like reminders of my failures. and it’s like. cmon. wouldn’t it be easy. all you need to do is jump. is slit your throat #is find a decent piece of rope. idk. but everything is so much and i just want it to stop and it feels like the ground itself #is giving me a way to do it.#i genuinely feel like i’m like 16 or 17 again. and everything that isn’t within these hills #feels like a haze and not actually real. like the concept of buxton doesn’t actually exist and my friends do not actually exist and nothing #actually exists except the place i’m in and my family and the pub #i think going back to work at the pub was a mistake; i think it’s making this worse. especially because it’s henry’s dad’s local #and where henry’s wake was. and nothing there has changed at all. it’s like the whole last year never happened.#and i only need to get through two more days but it feels like an impossible task and i keep thinking being back in york will fix me but id #if that even true like. i was suicidal before i left. and it’s going to be intense and stressful and then i have to leave again.#come back here and do three full weeks of this all over again. i haven’t even managed two yet this time around. and i feel like #such a failure and such a drain on my friends (and on one in particular) because it just #is so much and has been so long and everything is complicated and awful and i think if i hadn’t come back i’d be in a normal mental state #by now. that’s the worst fucking part. and also the whole thing of i know how to be suicidal here. i know how to not give a shit about #living here. i know how to do that. but ive never had to try before. like im trying to improve and im trying to hold on and hold off the #urges to kill myself or self harm or whatever because i said i would and because i KNOW it can be better than this and bc i love my friends #and they love me and i don’t want to upset them or make them anxious or anything like that and kat made me promise to try and im trying so #fucking hard and it feels like it’s not even worth the effort because it’s so much effort and everything is so overwhelming and awful and i #hate the way my family interacts and i just want everything to stop and idc if suicide is the cowards way out or selfish or whatever #bullshit people say it feels like the only option i can actually withstand because everything is so much pain and so much effort and so muc #everything and i can’t deal with it anymore. and also i forgot just how much i have to fucking mask in front of my parents and especially m #father and it’s so exhausting and i can’t sleep and there’s so much yelling and i just need it all to stop #i’ve had major breakdowns the last 3 nights about wanting to die so much & trying so hard to not let myself & idk how much longer i can tak

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elytrafemme · 2 years ago

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this year (as in, from august until now) has been a lot for me in terms of like... everything changing, having to come to terms with a lot of things, a lot of important conversations and realizations. and i think yesterday night it really hit me just how many things are starting to piece together, all that i have to grieve but all the things i’m better off now understanding.

and it’s funny that this was the one thing that really stuck out to me, but yesterday i was trying to explain to my sister how i can’t really open up to people because of the way my emotions work, which is largely a BPD thing, and then i realized as i was telling her like. there have been so many times since i’ve started using the internet and discord where i felt extremely guilty for the way that i would open up to people, it was like an avalanche. i can’t just confide in one thing, it’s a thousand and nobody knows how to handle it because there’s so much. and i never knew what was wrong with me so i just assumed that this was my fault, that i was a bad person for it.

realizing that this is just... how i work, and that i just needed to be kind enough to myself to realize it was a recurring problem, something that i could maybe fix once i worked it out, was both relieving but also kind of sad. because i spent-- and still spend-- so much time angry at the fact that i can’t just say one complaint and be done, everything comes out. and i think maybe the hardest part of growing up is looking back at the things you used to blame yourself for and realizing that they were just cries for help.

#nightmare.personal #there were so many times where i'd just try to talk about the depression i felt #thinking it was just normal depression or normal sadness #and then it was all of a sudden like my entire life was in crisis and i couldn't breathe and #all my relationships were falling apart and i'm losing grip on the tangible things around me and i don't know who i am #and i can't move or eat or get up at all #and i just thought i had depression and this was normal and i was just exaggerating it #i wasn't exaggerate it. i was having episodes. i've BEEN having episodes.#and my body is just trying to keep itself safe but in doing so it's tearing us both apart #and the best i can do to maintain control is grasp at the slivers of reality i have #and leave reminders of it in every place i can so that one day i can fix this #and my mental health is always something i'm desperately trying to piece together #but right now at the very least i think i am okay with doing that

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opens-up-4-nobody · 2 years ago

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...

#ugh. the fucking struggle of a thing i will not talk about. its just an off shoot of one of my many #obessive compulsive tendencies. it just makes me think of my dad. like hes also a fucking anxious person but hes like. i have the thoughts #but then i dont let them control me so its not an issue. and he knos i get caught up on the structure and identification of problems so #hes always like. its only an issue if its like ruining ur life. and hes right and i definitely meet the standards of both of those things #bc im fucking thinking abt these things constantly. its in my head literally all the time. every second of the day #and i mean i guess this specific thing isnt ruining my life but it certainly isnt helpful and in combo with everything else my quality of #life is not what it could b. idk it just feels all empty which is y i became a fucking workaholic #bc i just get so fucking bored stuck in these stupid patterns that at least i can make myseld useful as i drive myself nuts #it also doesnt help that im still trying to unfuck my leg and not being very successful bc theres this fucking voice in my head like #keep moving. u cant sit down. walk around. dont stop. dont stop. dont stop. i can feel the muscles getting irritated again #its unbearable bc it doesn't really even hurt. i just kno im fucking it up for myself and i have all this excess energy that i cant get rid #of bc i cant run. anyway its just irritating #i probably triggered myself by watching the bear all day lol. its so good but it reminds me of working in a shitty banquet hall when my #brain was on fire. and theyve got that toxic workahoism that i so desperately cling to. and in a weird way i can relate tho their fucked #up mom when everyones just trying to help but shes so fixated on this thing that's clearly causing her distress but shes just screaming at #them. like i mean i have insight into my issues and i try not to let them affect anyone but me but its so hard when its like. i have to do #this thing. i have to do it. i kno its bad. i kno its fucked up but shut the fuck up and let me do this. u dont fucking understand #but i wouldn't say that bc i kno its irrational. ugh. i also have to go to a lab dinner tomorrow. maybe #no time has been listed so idk. its for my leaving so im technically the focus. hate that for me. whatever. itll b fine #at least the place is within walking distance and its like less than 3 weeks until i leave #unrelated

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fadingstrawberrynightmare · 7 months ago

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i miss You already

#🕸️#I'd like this to just be temporary so I'm putting it here. (ghost train!) a slight reset ig maybe. I just can't keep spilling my heart out #w.o the ability to move forward w it. I'm sure you understand by experiencing the rollercoaster yourself. I can't do this every weekend #I'm already in a perpetual cycle of burn out due to my everything #not that that needs explaining #I already miss voice messages. I hope we get those back w a movie night soon :/ idk how tf I would tho cuz. it's You. 😫#please don't take me as cold as work now I'm just gonna be struggling w the shift of us and how to keep myself together..#you should text me and remind me what your favorite candies are so I can bring you some chocolate for your heart..#hard to say all that like I'm assuming we're in the same sad sap boat together but fk it at this point I guess #I'm assuming you understand what I meant by saying I didn't think we were using that thing the same way. hopefully cuz #one day I hope to actually say it to you face to face once we've figured all this out. ideally. a heart can hope.. despite 😫💔#you still have to find a place for me to leave you things. text me that when you tell me about your fav candies again? today? please? :/#i/Y #😭#🙄

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lowkeyren · 2 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

alhaitham.

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

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

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

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

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

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

ACT I: WHOLEHEARTEDLY, I DETEST YOU.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(they are.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what was that about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

there’s still time till your next class.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“stubborn,” he mutters under his breath.

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

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

alhaitham.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

if anything, i think highly of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

alhaitham.

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

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

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

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

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

at this moment,

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

he feels like

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

he's in heaven.

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

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

your smile shouldn't affect me this badly.

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

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

your smile is the most beautiful sight of my day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

two strange things happened today:

1. you finally beat your sworn enemy!

2. said enemy… complimented you?

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

behind the door, alhaitham lets out a quiet breath.

“gago… nagkamali ba ako?”

stupid… did i make a mistake?

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

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

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

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

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

“i’m leaving.”

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

“you’re outnumbered.”

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

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

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

“i think alhaitham likes [name].”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kaveh pipes up, nodding eagerly.

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

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

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

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

for him, it’s a language without words.

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

and what sealed their suspicions?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...make that 110%.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

alhaitham.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"are you alright?"

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

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

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

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

your stomach twists with guilt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

misunderstand? misunderstand what, exactly?

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

“—wù huì nǐ duì wǒ yǒu gǎn jué.”

"—misunderstand that you have feelings for me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smirk.

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

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

(oh this bastard!!!!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ACT VII: THE SECRET I’VE ALWAYS KNOWN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ah well, ‘differently’ indeed.

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

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

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

how so?

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

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

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

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

“haitham.”

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

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

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

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

you tilt your head, subtly urging him to continue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“'uhibuk aydan, alhaitham.”

i love you too, alhaitham.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tighnari exhales sharply, “you’re incorrigible.”

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

…

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

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

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

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

EPILOGUE: IN EVERY LANGUAGE, I HEAR LOVE YOU.

“how long?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

do you have any idea what you’ve done?

"mas lalong umibig sakin?"

made you fall in love with me even more?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

sure, just wait till i buy the ring.

"wh—"

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

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

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

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

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ty @mitsvriii for proofreading, love u all <3

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MASTERLIST.

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