#i was like. is this real life?? are u a god or something????

[teslasucks37]

making charlie cum in his pants. PLEASE I WILL KISS YOU

CW: NSFW below the cut (MDNI), Body Worship, afab!reader (use of goddess), Power imbalance maybe?, Virgin!Charlie, Implied Curvy!Reader, Premature Ejaculation (Charlie hehehe), SubToConfident!Charlie, Initiator!Reader

A/N: THIS ASK REVITALIZED ME ILY RED THANK U this is like 3k words… 😟

Artist!Charlie Slimecicle x NudeModel!Reader

Fine Art

Charlie was so fucking nervous.

He’d never been more nervous for a class in his life.

He was halfway through getting his art degree, specializing in watercolors.

But this Charcoal Sketching elective was just too good to pass up.

A single 30 minute class per week to sketch a still life, a bowl of fruit, flowers, etc.

But this week was different.

This week they were having a nude model come in.

And he didn’t have any aversion to naked art, sculptures, paintings, drawings, often they were incredible.

But a real person?

The thought made his hands sweat.

Charlie didn’t have a good track record with real people.

Sure, he could come up with a few good jokes on the spot, but beyond that he didn’t feel like he would contribute much.

People were critical, talkative, fictitious.

They could be something that they really weren’t.

Not like art.

Art was persuasive in a way that made it seem as if it could be changed, but it was really meant to be one way all along.

When he got his brush on a canvas, everything just made sense.

The water ebbed and flowed wherever it wanted, like fate.

Like he was merely a medium for reality to create, like he had no real power over what he made.

And when he walked into the room with his peers, his raised shoulders fell and relaxed.

No one was there except other students getting settled.

Easels were all circled around a platform in the middle of the room.

Charlie sat down if front of a random canvas with a relieved sigh.

He had a little more time to prepare to see a naked person.

It’s not that he was scared of nakedness, he just had never seen someone naked in person before.

He’d seen it in porn of course, but that’s not the same thing.

Yes, he was a 21 year old virgin.

Such was the burden of an art student.

Never much time for fun.

But then the professor walked in, shaking him out of his thoughts, followed by someone in a long robe.

They introduced you to the students, a stunning young model who couldn’t be much older than Charlie.

He felt his eyes linger on you for longer than they should have.

He gazed at how your hair layed perfectly around your face, framing it to accentuate every feature of your face.

His worst nightmare.

You were gorgeous.

You turned to the podium and walked toward it, giving Charlie a chance to rip his gaze away.

He heard the fabric of the robe drop out of his sight line, echoing in his head like a bomb had gone off in a stadium.

He had to look.

That was the entire point of the assignment.

Looking at you and drawing you.

So he dragged his eyes up, spotting the fronts of your shins, cause of course you’d decided to face his direction.

Then the fronts of your knees, then your thighs, then…

God, you were so fucking beautiful.

Beautiful like a marble statue, like you were carved by Chauncey Ives himself.

You were standing up right, arms crossed over your body to hold your waist, pressing your tits together softly.

Your full hips made Charlie’s brain turn to mush.

He wanted to touch them, grab them, kiss them.

The stretch marks that striped across your thighs and tits made his heart stutter.

Like they were marking just where he should lick and kiss along your skin.

His mouth was dry and watering at the same time, like his body didn’t know how to react in the pure presence of your beauty.

Then he remembered where he was, a class, where he was supposed to be drawing.

The charcoal pencil trembled in his shaking hands.

Why was he shaking so bad?

Charlie tried to focus on the art, he tried so damn hard.

But he just couldn’t get the damn lines right.

Whenever he looked at you to get your proportions he swear he could feel your eyes on him.

He sketched, then erased, then sketched again, then erased.

It was never this difficult when he was sketching fruit.

The professor clapped their hands to alert the whole class. “Alright everyone, that’s all the time we have for today. Get those sketches into me by next week. They don’t have to be finished, they just need to have something tangible.”

Fuck, had it really been the whole period already?

He’d barely gotten anything down…

Definitely nothing tangible.

He gathered his supplies and his barely progressed canvas, swearing under his breath at his own idiocy.

You hadn’t even had time to pull on your robe before you walked up to him.

He stopped in his tracks as he realized you were still naked in front of him.

“Did you finish?”

You must have seen him struggling and erasing nearly every line he drew.

“Uh… No…” He very impressively babbled out.

“Would you ever want a… Private session? So you could finish your piece?”

“Wh- Huh?” Charlie’s eyes widened at your request.

“I would hate for you to fail the assignment and miss out on valuable learning just because of time constraints.” Your eyelashes fluttered up at him.

He gulped, nodding in agreement.

Why did he say yes?

Would you think he was desperate?

Did he even really know what he was agreeing to?

It didn’t really matter, because you grabbed a sharpie from his bundle of art supplies, scribbling your number onto his arm.

However, Charlie didn’t expect you to show up at his door mere minutes after texting you.

“Do you want like a… A drink or something?” He joked nervously, opening the door of his apartment to you.

You shook your head with a light smile as you walked in. “Where do you want me?”

“Uhhh…” He trailed off as he closed the door behind you and searched his room.

He pulled his desk chair over to sit a few feet away from the large mirror that covered his closet.

“Here is… Good.” Charlie mumbled, motioning you to stand in front of the mirror.

You smiled lightly, beginning to undo the buttons of your dress.

He looked to the side, grabbing his supplies and getting situated in the chair.

“Draw me like one of your French girls.” You joked as the fabric fell to the floor and he felt his brain turn on in way it never had before.

He didn’t even have the brain power to laugh at the reference.

There was usually a buzzing in the walls, probably the piping in the old building, but he couldn’t hear it anymore.

Everything was just you, your bare body, the mirror showing him his own flushed face in the reflection, as well as the back half of you he hadn’t gotten to see in class.

People often hid their true selves for others, but you had your full self on display for him right now.

He cleared his throat, feeling a pressure in his groin restricted by his jeans.

“Can you uh, do the same pose you did earlier?” Charlie asked, his voice breaking slightly in nervousness.

You just smiled, complying with his command and crossing your arms in front of you.

He now realized he’d left the chair too close to get a perfect portrait of you, but you might take it the wrong way if he got up, so he would simply do the best with what he had.

Without a time constraint, without so many people around, he felt less stiff.

The charcoal pencils gilded across his canvas, outlining your shape roughly to start.

You stayed perfectly still for him, trained to stare at one point in your surroundings, so you stared at his face.

You watched as his eyes darted up at you, then back down at his canvas.

He had intelligent eyes behind his glasses, blue and piercing with a cognizance that most people lacked.

You’d posed in the same art classes year after year as soon as you were able to.

It was a nice way to earn money as you earned your degree.

But you’d never met someone like Charlie.

Well, you’d seen other art students get flustered over seeing a nude model.

But none as gravitating as him, magnetic, like you just had to meet him.

Like everything in you was screaming to talk to him.

He bit his lip, your eyes darting to them as he switched between wetting them with the tip of his tongue, and drawing them back into his mouth with his teeth.

You weren’t even sure how long your hungry gaze stayed on him for.

“I think… I’m done.” Charlie said hesitantly, holding his canvas out in front of him to compare it to you.

“Can I see?” You grinned, curiously moving from your position and crouching in front of him.

He pursed his lips, deciding whether or not to let you see.

Was it good enough?

What if you thought it wasn’t good?

Sketching wasn’t his specialty after all.

“Please?” Your hands raised from the dainty spot on your lap to his thighs, making his breath hitch.

Charlie’s eyes fought to stay trained on the canvas instead of the beautiful angel sitting between his knees.

But he had a nagging thought.

“Have you ever done… A private session before?” Charlie asked, almost kicking himself for doing so.

It wasn’t any of his business, but he didn’t want to be just another notch on your belt.

But he also wasn’t stupid.

You were attractive.

A model.

You could get anyone you wanted.

Why would you want him?

A fine arts major with a studio apartment who was barely scraping by…

He could name five people off the top of his head who would pay double tuition just to get where he was right now.

But his entire world-view shifted when you shook your head.

“No. Not like this…” You grinned softly at him, almost shy.

The thought of him being the only one, being special to you, while your hands were rubbing on his thighs…

Charlie felt his core tighten.

He had to hold it together.

He couldn’t cum just from your touch.

That would be so incredibly massively uncool.

Like loser degenerate virgin uncool.

Well, he supposed he was.

A virgin, not a degenerate loser.

“Pretty please can I see, Charlie?”

And in that momentary loss of focus when you said his name was when everything came crashing down.

Or crashing up.

As soon as your lips pressed a kiss to the denim material covering his groin, he was gone.

A groan managed to escape his mouth before he managed to clamp it shut forcefully by shoving the back of his hand over his mouth.

He felt the meat of his cock twitch continuously against your face through his jeans, his eyes watering from holding back his sounds.

Your eyes turned from soft and caring, to hungry.

“Did you just cum?” You asked with a wolfish grin.

Charlie’s breath barely returned to him in time, enough for him to stutter out an incomplete response. “I- Sorry, I just- Um…”

“That’s so cute…” You mumbled, almost to yourself more-so than him as you stood up and gripped the canvas gently, tossing it onto his bed without so much as a glance.

He let go of it instantly, gasping for a moment before it landed softly on his comforter.

You barely gave him a moment to process before you were unzipping his jeans.

Charlie’s art supplies fell from his own hands, clattering onto the floor.

You peeled back the dampened fabric of the front flaps covering his groin with a sly smirk.

“Wa- Waitwait- Wait…” He pleaded, your hands halting immediately.

He didn’t want you to see his cum-covered underwear, but it was too late.

“Do you wanna stop?” You asked seriously, earning a frantic shaking of his head.

“Please… Plea- I…”

Charlie was putty in your hands, leaning forward just to be closer to you, to bathe in your presence. “Can I touch you?”

“Do you think you’ve earned it?” Your hand cupped his jaw, his hand turning to kiss your palm with reverence.

His cock twitched to life again in his boxers, making you grin. “No, but… Please?”

Your heart soared at his plea, head spinning slightly at his belief that he didn’t have the right to touch you. “Stay still, baby. You can touch me soon.”

You pulled up the hem of his shirt, pulling it off completely.

Then reaching for his soiled jeans and boxers, you pulled them off his hips.

Charlie lifted up off the chair momentarily to aid you, suddenly becoming bashful again as his cock, slick and sticky from his premature orgasm, sprang out from its confinement.

“Mmm~” You hummed in approval at his size, shape, color, everything about it was perfect.

Everything about him was perfect.

Now the two of you were on more equal footing, both naked and dripping for each other.

You were climbing on top of him in a moment, Charlie watching intently as your back turned to him.

“Please, please~” His heart was practically beating out of his chest in anticipation, your hand moving to grip his slick shaft and angle it toward your entrance.

You sank down on him, Charlie���s eyes rolling back for a moment at the wet squeeze of your walls.

He didn’t think being inside someone would feel so good.

The pressure of your body weight on him felt so intoxicating, reassuring him that this was real, that you were real.

You began to move, much to Charlie’s delight.

Fuck, you looked so fucking good bouncing on his dick with your head leaned back on his shoulder.

Your hands gripped the armrest to leverage you up and down and his hands shot to your waist to help you move.

He glanced at the mirror in front of you two, gazing at the way you’d placed your feet at the edges of the chair, spreading your legs for the both of you to see where the two of you were connected.

His cock looked perfect rocking in and out of you, like it was where he was always meant to be.

The reflection of your face captured his attention, an open mouthed smile with your eyes fluttering in pleasure as you slammed yourself down on him.

He wanted to sketch that face and keep it framed forever.

Fuck, he couldn’t believe he was thinking about art right now.

Charlie, to snap out of art mode, glanced at his own reflection, practically whimpering at what he saw.

His glasses were slightly crooked on his face, his brows upturned in a look of almost pleading pleasure.

Like he was on the verge of asking for more, or to cum.

He didn’t know which one he would enjoy more.

He looked so small underneath you, like a servant groveling at a goddess’ alter.

Because you were a goddess to him.

More beautiful than any Greek statue.

He didn’t give a damn if it was blasphemous to say it, he saw it as truth.

You deserved to be treated like a goddess.

So he pulled you closer to him, hauling the both of you up on shaky legs and pressing you against the mirror.

You gripped the edges of it steadying yourself with a giggle. “Char~”

His cock never left you, snug in your gummy walls the whole time before he thrusted experimentally.

His head fell into the back of your shoulder.

Moving inside someone was a whole different experience from someone moving around him.

He watched your thighs and tits jiggle as his hips met your ass, a shaky breath of pure awe spilling from his lips.

His arms wrapped around your torso, one hand reaching for one mound of your tits and the other reaching between your thighs to find your clit.

You whimpered as his fingers toyed with your nipple, his cock hitting deeper inside you than before in this new position.

His other fingers swept widely at the apex of your thighs, finding your clit surprisingly fast among the thrusting.

You let out a wanton moan at the touch, his thrusts becoming more unhinged, more desperate.

He was lost in worshipping your body, staring at the way it moved with him, which movements made you gasp the loudest, what made you clench around him the tightest.

If he had to pick which felt better, your pussy smothering his cock or your skin in his hands, he wasn’t sure if he could.

He was never usually one for deeply appreciating audible art, but the sounds you were making really did deserve praise.

“Oh fuck, Char- Cumming~” Your thighs clenched and trembled around his hand, your cum squirting out between you onto his floor.

Charlie watched your body clamp up and fall apart in his grip.

He thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful, but apparently he was wrong.

“You’re so perfect…” He groaned, setting his chin on your shoulder to watch the reflections of the two of you bucking into each other frantically.

The sight was apparently too much for him, as he thrusted into you harder, reaching his peak.

“I think I’m… Gonna…” He stuttered, almost too shy to say it.

“Cum, baby~” You grinned through a haze of bliss, your orgasm taking over your consciousness entirely. “Pull out and cum on me…”

With your express permission, he just couldn’t hold back any longer.

He barely pulled out in time, gasping as groaning as his cum spurting between your legs and onto the mirror, beading up and rolling down the glass. “Oops…”

You grinned at his joke, leaning back into his body affectionately.

Charlie blinked, his vision returning to him as his high dissipated. “Would you maybe… Wanna stay for dinner?”

You couldn’t help but say yes.

He pampered you the whole night, cooking an impressive meal for you considering what little he had in his fridge, pulling up a movie that you discovered the both of you liked, even handing you a large shirt of his to sleep in after the night had long been over.

You’d climbed into his bed before him, sneakily grabbing the sketch that had been haphazardly tossed onto the bed earlier.

Charlie caught you looking, but just grinned as your gaze traveled the lines he’d made of you.

He climbed under the covers next to you, looking over your shoulder at his own work and how well it captured your essence. “I almost don’t wanna give it up.”

“Well, you don’t need a 2-D copy when you have the real thing, right?” You asked with a sly grin, placing the canvas gently on his nightstand before pressing a kiss to Charlie’s cheek.

He felt his face warm at that statement, a large smile crossing his face as he pressed a kiss to your lips. “No, I guess I don’t…”

Signing up for that class had been the best damn decision he’d ever made in his life.

[kokoskingdom]

kill yourself before you become an adult and a pedophile <3 no one likes you just become a statistic

ur so weird like 😭 like you niggas are so odd telling random 15yos online to kill themselves

if you believe im so weird and that im a pedophile go ahead and report me to the police.. see what they say

Because god forbid i mess around with fiction for funsies oh no no thats terrible

and by your logic, horror fans should kill themselves before they become an adult and a murderer

now your logic sounds retarded right? cuz what sense does that make. you niggas be on about absolutely NOTHING fr 🤦🏿‍♂️🤦🏿‍♂️

fnaf fans should kill themselves before they become an adult and murder kids yeah??? yeah?????? thats your logic btw

this is the same shit as "I don't understand your reason for this and therefore I hate it and hope you die"

you see how stupid that sounds? thats what you sound like yn. 💀

pack it up buddy! you're too shy and scared to use your REAL account to send in asks, so you use the anonymous feature in order to not embarrass yourself. what are you gonna do if i turn that off, hm? what r u gonna do? shit ur pants and cry?? man up and send in an ask with your real account..

like i js know you're saying bullshit off the top of ur head. "no one likes you just become a statistic" a statistic of what..? suicide rates? 😭 you wanna be boosting teenager suicide rates?

like u sound downright idiotic tryna be in the right 😞 why r u telling real life people who have feelings to hurt themselves bcs they decided to post in their own little circle about some little drawings of fictional things that dont feel and arent real?? do u ever reread your text and take a moment to think about this bs🤦🏿‍♂️

this is deadass the equivalent of walking far and wide to find some ants and then complaining that there's ants😭😭 ur so odd

and im not even like upset over this i just wanna make sure you know what ur talking about cuz in all seriousness you could be in court if i actually killed myself 💀 u do realize this DOES count as suicide influence. that's a thing and it can get yew in troubleee.. ^_^''

anyways guys i'm working on some art right now.. it's shadowvanilla and i'm gunna TRY to make it high quality..? i've been working on ts for about 3 days now but the issue is im using magma and while its rlly good for a website it sucks for a general art program

I'd switch to like medibang or something but my laptop killed itself and i have to get it fixed so for now we are drawing on the. school chromebook 🙁💔💔

[prapaiwife]

Est recap on today's scene with earn!!

⁃Suddenly met my ex-boyfriend, the person who “used to be” my whole life. If you ask why I’m not angry and still talk to Earn, the answer is because I’m Po. I’m too good. It is so good that I can overlook the bad times and depressions of many years because I was dumped. Even though I did so much for Earn, I still see the good in the bad. I choose to think that if I hadn’t been dumped that day, I wouldn’t have met Them. I wouldn’t have become a director. But I didn’t think about the thought that if I hadn’t been dumped that day, I would have been able to do Earnchop with Earn smoothly like I had planned. I still thanked her for doing that that day. But in reality, from another perspective… the problem that was once big is that it always gets smaller as time passes. Therefore, it’s not strange that I moved on and don’t hold a grudge against Earn (because our lives are so short).

⁃The phrase “We’ve all grown up, right?” for Earn and Po might relate to the relationship of many people (from Po’s perspective only, not Earn’s perspective). It gives a feeling that when time passes, we see that in the past, we were too focused on a lot of things. And then as time passes, We looked at ourselves from another perspective and talked about our experiences. It may not be the same, but for me, it's like these days when I'm working and I get to meet my friends from high school and we talk about our school moments. We talk about our childhood. It's so happy.

⁃But Earn is an unlucky person. He was the same as he was before. It's a shame that Phi Po took 3 years to get to know Earn's true nature. He still had the nerve to come back and ask to use his name as credit to enhance the company's image, even though he didn't really see the value in it. In real life, sometimes God wants to test us by throwing these people into our lives.

And that's the thing I know. Some were annoyed that po forgave him too easily or even gave him the time of day! but when you look at it from a wider lens, and again some really don't care which is your opinion, but for some they see it as life is short why waste time holding grudges. Because for some they don't want the question weighing on them aboyt why me? They don't wanna regret saying i didn't get my closure or wondering will they ever get an answer like po did today. He got the answer and that's that earn didn't change and that's not po problem to care anymore. But he can say that he was able to stand up to him and tell him how he's so much better. Without him, he knows what he deserves cause of what that relationship taught him, and that's all that matters. in life, ppl come and go in seasons, but u learn something, and it's like, as if God is really testing u to see that people will show you who they are eventually it's up to us to remove ourselves from them.

[cicerfics]

#no it makes sense and literallyyy#the man has no sense of normal people boundaries due to the way his life has lifed#so like. normal people boundaries might as well be 'fuck off and stay out' signs to him#which he is professionally trained to disregard sure but like#just cuz he might physically trespass for funsies doesn't mean he *nests* there#the man is sooo shelter dog coded he is so wild bird coded like#if you want it and like it then it's free real estate it#the thing is he's a working dog who professionally has no designated family or home but also he wants one so bad#there's like. a heart of a concept floating in my head but I can't quite grasp it rn...#wait okay it's like. belay whatever I said before about boundaries or walls or whatever#the man has no sense of normal people boundaries so his idea is like#well if you don't come over then it means you don't want to be here#he has no real working concept of like. 'actually most ppl wait to be invited in cuz you know. politeness.'#like. the man is a 00 and before that he was a military man he was in the navy#personal boundaries whomst is that#if they wanted to be here they would be. ergo if they're not then they don't want to be#to dive into the 'well but he still doesn't like when ppl take liberties about his person'- and yea I think that's true and reconcilable#it's like. the difference between you coming into his yard & playing in it. vs trying to like. stake ownership in it#and ig in this metaphor his yard has no fences but also he doesn't realize normal ppl boundaries is like. yeah but no fences doesn't mean#go freely without concern of the owner. cuz normal ppl conventions is you wait to be invited#but due to the way his life has gone. no fences is like. 'yea that's open area.' etc#does *this* make sense lol#if u wanna show up & plant a garden then that's coolio. if you want to be like well I own this garden now so I can do what I want then No. (@halfbaked00q)

Ahhh, yessss.

Okay, I remember a while back you said something along the lines of, Bond doesn't like being asked personal questions and won't answer them, because he feels that if you want and deserve this information, you will find out The Way God Intended (i.e. violating his personal privacy by investigating him, lol).

And I agree with that! I think Bond also feels that if someone wants his company, they will express it The Way God Intended (i.e. by just showing up where he is, or perhaps even breaking into his home).

And of course he wouldn't tolerate this from everyone, or even from most people, but if he likes and trusts someone and wants to be friends with them, this is kinda the effort he expects! It's what he needs. That is how he knows that he has Made a Frend. :)

He knows Q is his Frend because when he shows up in Q-branch, Q makes him sit down and chatters at him and peremptorily adjusts Bond's tie-clip-camera-microphone. Then he tells Bond that he's hacked into Bond's medical records and Bond is overdue for a dental cleaning, so get on that, please, 007, I realize you're getting on in years, but I think you're a bit young for dentures yet, so we can't afford to have your teeth falling out, can we!

Just friendship things!!

@miri-tiazan and I also have a running Thing about Q visiting Bond's flat and being like...no, absolutely not, this is not a habitable space for an adult man. We are going to fix this immediately.

So yes, I think Bond would actually enjoy it if Q invited himself over to upgrade Bond's security system, and then Bond comes home one day to find Q just...there.

Except Q barely even managed to finish the security system because he was so busy staring in horror at his surroundings.

There is a TV propped on a cardboard box. There are pictures on the floor, because nobody bothered to put them up on the walls. There are boxes full of stuff that are not unpacked because there is no furniture except a sad couch with no throw pillows.

And Q just kind of looks around and then looks at Bond like...bestie. 💖 no. 💖

And the next thing Bond knows, Q is off in a hurry, and then he returns an hour later with a toolbox and equipment for picture-hanging and a hand-crocheted afghan and a furniture catalog, and Bond is instructed to make up a shopping list while Q hangs the pictures and television, and then they'll go shopping for Proper Furnishings.

And Bond is surprised, but then he's actually pleased because! A Frend! :) He knows he made a Frend because Q helped himself to Bond's home and is now fixing it up whether Bond likes it or not!

Like, to continue the garden metaphor, Q has basically showed up with a rake and a lawnmower and a bag of manure, and he's telling Bond to get moving because they're going to tidy the lawn and then fertilize the flowerbeds together. Group project!

And of course, of course Bond intends to be difficult and grumpy and performatively uncooperative about this, but that is a game! And clearly Q is willing to play the game with him! So really, this is like Q showing up on Bond's lawn with a ball, asking him if he wants to come out and play! :) FRENDS. :)

My brain is oatmeal today, so I don't even know if this will make sense, but...

I really do think Bond adores it when Q lectures him, nags him, bosses him around, and just generally oversteps his boundaries re: a 'normal' quartermaster-agent relationship.

I think Bond would love it if Q butted in and started trying to run Bond's personal life, manage Bond's finances, or pester Bond about his routine medical/dental care.

I think people observing this dynamic from the outside would expect Bond to hate it and resist it with all his might. They'd expect him to make Q's life a living hell for even attempting this.

But I think that, while Bond would definitely be Performatively Uncooperative about the whole thing, he'd actually be quietly ecstatic every time Q did this. He'd lap up the attention and come back for more! He'd try to find new ways to bring various (dysfunctional) parts of his life to Q's attention, just so Q could start bossing him around and trying to tell him what to do about this part of his life, too!

Something something, old dog who desperately wants to belong to somebody.

Old dog who needs a handler issuing orders, whether or not he even plans on obeying.

Old dog who is tired sometimes just wants to know that someone else is going to take care of him and make sure his needs are provided for, and that he doesn't have to roam the streets on his own forever if he doesn't want to.

[fairysvgar]

[💕] — just did 2 word sprints (15 minutes each) for NaNoWriMo, wrote nearly 1000 words total !! i'm feeling pretty accomplished rn, even if it's not a lot, its a good start !! i wish everyone who is participating this year good luck 💗

[thats-how-i-like-it]

hi, here's a little vijinx - another love (tom odell) edit (feat. caitvi)

[evocatiio]

if chibnall was the one writing this season you lot would be talking VERY differently

[atopvisenyashill]

do love how this is an asoiaf blog but i did not put either show in my top 10 this is the world we live in

[gingerbreadmonsters]

its so important to me that you know how much ive already cried over this wip and its literally only been two days

[intertexts]

unrebloggable because id krill myself if this started getting notes but a brief summary of my thoughts on the matter !!! also kind of obviously this is just irt headcanon & such. obviously the most hated "fandom activism" or whatever is frequently just folks pointing out the stereotypes or shitty choices textually in the media & saying "hey maybe think critically about this for more than two seconds" & often receives backlash from people who r incapable of holding multiple ideas in their head at once!!

[tasakesi]

also the pandemic wasnt a “simple window to what we could be without capitalism”. IF U THINK THAT YOU WERE INCREDIBLY PRIVILEGED AND YOUR EXPERIENCES WEREN'T UNIVERAL

[b4kuch1n]

tdov was like a week ago already but I just wanna say when I came over to vacation slash help my sworn brother move flat he told me, "ever since you said you wanted to get top surgery I've been thinking about it. it's straight up number two on my bucket list"

[daggery]

inej ghafa

[ursaspecter]

🐺 moon-moon4w00 Follow

Friendly reminder that asking your lycan partner to turn you is incredibly insensitive! Seriously can we retire this trope already? Not only is it just offensive, but no one would ever actually choose this life! Lycanthropy is a curse. Full stop.

🐾 superhowllock69 Follow

Ok user "moon-moon" as if that original meme wasn't created to mock pack nomenclature 🙄

Anyway I'm not gonna touch that internalized lycanphobia with a ten foot pole. Being turned by your partner is something that can be incredibly intimate as long as both parties are consenting and the one being turned is 100% sure they want it. Literally the only downside to transforming once a month is the pain, but midol works just fine. No one with these "lycanthropy bad" takes ever wants to discuss the legitimate positives that come with this "curse" lmao.

🐺 moon-moon4w00 Follow

I'm literally reclaiming moon moon but go off I guess. Anyways turning your partner is absolutely disgusting and morally reprehensible and anyone who does it should be muzzled permanently.

🌜 impawssible Follow

lmao my wife literally saved my life when she turned me but i guess she should be muzzled huh? we run through the woods hunting deer together and can each haul in groceries in one trip now, but nooo she's obviously a danger to society because she cares enough about me to help me when insurance wouldn't cover my medicine

also it was confirmed that the creator of that meme literally makes and sells silver bullets so if you still wanna use moon moon for yourself that certainly is a choice. source: (X)

🦴 pupperoni Follow

I love that instead of naming the more common benefits of lycanthropy, you mentioned that you and your wife can carry all the groceries in one trip. I think that's definitely a positive that gets overlooked far too often and I commend you for speaking your truth, sir

🌜 impawssible Follow

lol thanks but I'm a woman 😅

🦴 pupperoni Follow

🦇 count-fuckula Follow

Plus werewolf blood tastes way better and is as filling as 10 humans 👍

🐺 moon-moon4w00 Follow

Oh my GOD you vampblr freaks will just flock to anything. It clearly says "vamps DNI" in my bio!

🐾 superhowllock Follow

lmaoooo of course you're a vampire exclusionist

🌕 daddy-fenris Follow

wasn't OP the same guy who said fursuits were offensive to lycanthropes and doxxed a werewolf fursuiter?

🐺 moon-moon4w00 Follow

They ARE offensive and harmful to this community and I'm tired of pretending they're not. They perpetuate harmful depictions of what a humanoid wolf is actually like.

🌜 impawssible Follow

me when I dox someone for making candy colored animal costumes that look nothing like what a real werewolf does

🦴 pupperoni Follow

K

🌕 daddy-fenris Follow

U

[gothamphantomgoat]

[scarameownya]

tags ran out so im continuing it here JAJSJSDJJD

on a second thought i should have tagged this as nsfw before the tags ran out 💀

#GRANDMA LOST HER SON AND DAUGHTER IN LAW... STOP IT STOP I DONT WANNA GET EMOTIONAL JAIL JAIL FOR YOU

#"grandma filled the roles so well even if his heart bled, not too much blood spilled out" thats its im stealing your brain this is actually insane writing and wording IM IN LOVE

#NO NO NOT HIM REGRETTING NOT BEING TO HELP HER AS A CHILD NOBONONOON

#AND HER DEATH HELLO ?!?!?! ok and ik u didnt intended for it to be but id like to think him brushing off people's remarks

#are somewhat in a way him grieving cause hes knows all of it and in a way because he knows his child self could not reciprocate all of it

#DO NOT TORTURE ME MORE WITH HIM READING HIS PARENTS LETTER AND FUCKING CRYING RIV I WILL KILL YOU HELLO IM ?!?@?@?@?#?@#*×*

#ALSO AUAGAHAHAHA I LOVE THEIR BANTER SO MUCH OMFGGGGGGGG THE FACT THAT HE HAS SOMEONE TO SHARE AND CALL A HOME WITH AUGAHSHSHD

#als his thought process during the smut scene... :[[ poor lil brain boy.. he's literally so happy at how you are so perfect for him

#and just how whole you made him feel... wahhh :"[[[[ riv should get her device taken away signing a petition rn //lh

#THE LETTER AT THE END ?!?!?! OMFG HAITHAM YOU CHEESY ASS //POS ALL POS HES JUST SO ?!?!?! SO ?!?@@??!

#seeing haitham this gentle is insane omfg riv i love love LOVE your version of him so much-- lowkey got me blushing at it like-- STOP

#ALL IN ALL HELLO ?!?!?! THIS IS INCREDIBLE IM LITERALLY SO HOOKED IN EVERY WORDS AND THEYRE ALL SO WELL WRITTEN

#eating your brain i need that nutrients PLS I JUST ?!?!?! I JUST LOVE THIS SO MUCH OMFG UAHSUAHDHSDHDHFHDH

#what if i die for just liking this too much-- IM SORRY BUT JUST ?!?!? EVERYTHING FLOW SO SMOOTHLY AND AND ITS SO NATURAL AND I JUST LOVE SEEING IT PLAYED OUT FROM START TO FINISH

#whens the wedding this should be at 28 ill be waiting //lh

like a lotus in spring, you are mine to bloom — ft. alhaitham

synopsis: at twenty one, you’re just a girl he meets as he trains for the role of scribe. at twenty four, you’ve become everything he loves in this world. after three years of knowing you and nearly two and a half decades of life, alhaitham finally realizes why his father left letters for his mother instead of just saying the words outloud

❤︎ word count: 7.7k words — we find ourselves here in the same old situation again, i see LOL pls give it a chance though!! plssss

❤︎ before you read: female reader ; 18+ content — not suitable for minors ; not proof read ; strangers to friends to lovers ; mutual pining but not at the same time for a bit (he falls first <3) ; jealous alhaitham ; hinted drunk sex ; getting together + love confessions ; alhaitham character story spoilers + references to his grandmother and parents ; semi-clothed unprotected sex ; no prep ; some nipple play ; creampie ; the cringiest love letter at the end LOL

❤︎ comments: guys every time i write alhaitham it’s so corny and cheesy but . he is my fav genshin guy of all time i deserve to be allowed this okay

TWENTY ONE. 

You’re still a student when you first meet Alhaitham. (Not a student for much longer, but a student all the same. With a little luck on your side and good graces from your darshan’s sage on your thesis, you’re expected to graduate in just a few short months.)

You don’t have the best first meet. In fact, your impression of Alhaitham starts off entirely on the wrong foot. 

He’s newly graduated, just freshly rewarded a degree for his (impressive) efforts, and is now well on his way to training for the role of scribe—you heard he was offered far more prestigious roles, but for some reason, a genius like him settled for a role like that. You try not to judge. People have their passions, after all, and if that’s what he wants to do, well…who are you to make comments? (But amongst a school that only houses the brilliant, Alhaitham is, very undoubtedly, a standout. It’s hard to stand out in a school filled with only the best minds, but he manages to do so with ease. Sometimes, you’re almost jealous. You can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t aim a little higher than he does.)

He trains in the house of Daena. His first order of training is to fact-check ordinance drafts using books so he can better get the hang of drafting them himself in the future. You’re also in the House of Daena to find the last book for your thesis—after weeks of begging, you’re finally granted access to the restricted section to find it. 

And you do. Except your palm meets warm skin instead of the cold leather cover of a book. You pause, glancing up as sharp, teal eyes meet your gaze, staring at you expectantly as if you should be the one letting go. But you need this book. It’s the final research element to finish your thesis, and you’d like to be done with it. End of story. No matter how devastatingly handsome the man (because he is handsome, you’ll admit at least that much), you will not be handing over the last, final key to your academic freedom.

“Um, excuse me,” you say politely, “I was kind of reaching for that.”

“As was I,” he says, staring at you with a bored, almost uncaring expression. Your eyes narrow. “Now, if you’d please kindly take your hand off of mine.”

“I believe it should be you taking your hand off of mine,” you correct, huffing as you add stubbornly, “I reached for it first.”

He blinks at you, bland and a little irritated, as he points out, “Your hand is on top of mine, which means I reached the book first.”

Well.

Maybe if you were feeling particularly patient, you’d be inclined to admit that, yes, he does have a point. But stubbornness, combined with pure exhaustion, has you at your wit's end, and if you have to play the role of a difficult student, then so be it. You’re pretty sure you need it more, and you’re probably a much speedier reader anyway. You’ll have it done and returned in no time.

This guy, on the other hand…he doesn’t look too bright. You’re not willing to take your chances and let him walk off with a book that you might never see again.

“I started reaching for it first,” you scowl, “you just sped up your hand once you saw me. I should get it.”

“Unlikely,” he scoffs, “I didn’t even see you. Although,” he gives you a once over with his eyes, making you feel uncomfortably seen under his judging gaze, “I suppose you were a bit easy to miss.”

You gape at him. “Just what does that mean?”

“It means,” he smirks, taking the opportunity to grab the book as you stand in shock, “that I got here first.”

“Hey!” You glare at him, seeing red for a moment. What a perfectly good waste of a perfectly handsome face—and such an awful attitude coupled with his ridiculously smug grin couldn’t make for a worse combination. But, before you can even say anything, the book is being pressed back into your hands.

“You seem like you want it more than I do, though,” he hums, “I suppose I can let you have it. It’s a bit outdated for this ordinance, anyway.” With that, he saunters off. You push down the soft flutter in your heart for a moment and force yourself to hope you’ll never see him again. (Faintly, you hope your wishes don’t come true—but you refuse to admit it to yourself.)

Unfortunately (and fortunately at the same time) for you, you do see him again. Many, many times, in fact. When he works in the House of Daena as often as he does, and you like to spend all your free time there to study if you can, you’re both bound to run into each other often. Very often. 

And sometimes, it’s quite literally running into him. 

“Oof,” you hiss, staggering backward and hitting your head against the bookshelf behind you as you bump into a sturdy figure. You drop the books in your hand, blinking before reaching to rub your read as you start to apologize. “Sorry, I didn’t see you—oh. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” he says, looking mildly entertained. Alhaitham is everywhere. Everywhere. You can’t escape him if you try, and now, you can’t even avoid him in your own personal space. “Although, I think I should be the one apologizing this time. I was too busy reading to pay attention. This section is usually empty at this time.”

“How often are you in here to know what section is empty at what time?” You raise a brow. 

“Too often to be considered good for my well-being,” he says dryly, sighing in misery. You crack a smile at that. Oddly enough, so does he—you don’t think you’ve ever heard someone say they’ve seen Alhaitham smile. It must be a rare sight that only you, and perhaps a very few others, can say they’ve witnessed. “I was just about to take a break to buy a coffee—I’ll bring one back for you, too, to make up for the cranial damage I’ve supplied.”

“A most wonderful idea,” you perk up instantly, “I love when I get to drain the wallet of a man.”

He gives you an amused look at that. And somehow, bringing you a coffee along with his own during his breaks is a habit that seems to stick for a long, long while after that. 

────────────────────────

TWENTY TWO.

Alhaitham’s feelings are hurt. Not a lot of words tend to do that—he’s been blessed with thick skin and an unbothered attitude to a fault, sometimes. But something about today, for some odd reason, hurts his feelings. 

Your words to the waiter who took your order keep ringing in his head. 

Oh goodness, no, we are definitely not dating!

Most people mistake you and Alhaitham for a pair of lovers rather than a pair of friends. It’s just the way things go when a man and a woman are seen together for extended periods of time over and over. It doesn’t help that Alhaitham doesn’t really have any friends. He had one before you, but…well, things are complicated now. Far too complicated to think about it more than necessary. He has you, and that’s enough. But the matter still stands that most people tend to assume that something blossoms between the two of you that isn’t just friendly. 

He was starting to think it was true himself, too. He knows it’s true from his end, at least. But you say those words with such a sure, definitive tone that it almost sounds like you’re offended by the notion of being seen as his girlfriend. And sure, he would be disappointed—he’s no liar—if you didn’t feel romantically for him, but he’d understand. It’s not something you can help. But you brush off the idea like it’s an anomaly of sorts in the universe for someone like you and someone like Alhaitham to be a couple. It hurts his feelings. More than it should. 

(He knows deep down, in the depths of his heart, that you don’t mean it that way. You never would. But irrationality is but one of many feelings that bloom when it comes to romance.)

Alhaitham knows from a young age he’s different than most kids his age. This fact doesn’t change as he gets older. He’s brighter than most of his peers—which is certainly saying something because Sumeru is a nation filled with enough sharp minds, it’s as though brilliance were the average trait. People don’t typically like Alhaitham (which is fine by him, he doesn’t like most of them, either. They mostly don’t meet his standards). The kids don’t play with him in the parks that Grandmother would leave him at while she shopped around at the market, and they don’t sit with him on his one and only day at the Akademiya when he is but an elementary scholar. It never bothered him. He preferred reading under the trees and self-learning at home, anyway. When he’s older and enrolled in the Akademiya full-time, they don’t prefer to partner with him for projects for any other reason than simply being guaranteed a good grade, and they don’t spare him a glance when they all converse in groups outside of class. He never cared for freeloaders, anyway—he only trusts himself for projects, and he is at the Akademiya to learn, not make friends. 

It’s not until he meets Kaveh does he consider the idea that friendships are meaningful enough to spare some effort into. But the end result of that only solidifies that he is best when in solitude. 

But then he meets you. Some part of Alhaitham knows very early on that you would never be just a friend to him. If it was friendship that he craved, he would have looked for it elsewhere before running into you. Something about you from the very beginning makes him yearn for things much deeper than that. Things that remind him of his parents. 

Friendship is fleeting. People at the Akademiya go their separate ways and meet new people. They fall out and have arguments. They grow up and grow apart and become different. But love blooms like the Kalpalata lotuses on a vine, timeless as time itself. It starts and never ends, one root stemming into more and more vines until they never stop growing.

Alhaitham has fallen in love with you. Logic tells him it’s only a recent development, but his heart has known this outcome would be brought about for a long, long time. And, in all truthfulness, your words have hurt his feelings. 

And yet, he still loves you through it. He thinks that even if you crushed his feelings with a cold, indifferent smile, he would still love you through it. 

A hand waves in front of his face, pulling him from his thoughts as you take a sip from your coffee. Puspa Cafe is not as busy at this hour, most people are in the middle of a work day, but Alhaitham is allowed to pick his lunch hour, and yours happens to be earlier than most.

“Sorry, I just have to ask—are…are you upset?” you ask gently, making him pause. 

Yes.

“No,” he says simply, “why would I be?”

“You seem upset.”

“I’m not.”

“You were fine up until…I don’t know, a few minutes ago. Is something on your mind?”

You know him so well, he thinks. How could you not see how perfect the two of you are together?

“I’m simply concerned about your sugar intake is all,” he eyes the cold, iced drink in your hands with more syrups than he deems necessary. You always have a penchant for choosing the sweetest drink off the menu, and Alhaitham will never understand how your teeth don’t rot.

“Well, that’s very funny,” you roll your eyes, “because I was just thinking about how low on vitamin D you must be—do you ever leave your study to see the sun?”

He spares you a soft chuckle at that, shaking his head before taking a sip of his own coffee—hot and black and with two spoons of sugar. Simple, like how he prefers. You make a face at his drink as he sets it down. 

“Have you ever thought about what you look for in a partner?” he asks suddenly, making you blink in shock for a moment. He flinches at his own forwardness just a tad. 

“Umm, I suppose a little here and there…why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he shrugs, “just curious what your type was, that’s all. You’re painfully single, so I figured your taste was rather distinct.”

“Rude,” you scoff, rolling your eyes enough that he thinks it’s safe to assume you’re not suspicious. “Are you here just to poke fun at my choices today?”

Alhaitham should not be asking you this. Not when the answer so clearly is going to hurt his already very bruised feelings. Of course, your type won’t be him. And, of course, he is going to mourn your answer the second you give it, which is his own fault considering he’s the one who asked. (He has to wonder, for a moment, if this constitutes as an undiscovered hidden kink of his and whether or not he really just gets off on some unnecessary pain. Why else would he willingly subject himself to this?)

But, he’s caught off guard when you shrug and simply say, “I suppose someone who’s intelligent. I’d appreciate some good discussions. And…and maybe someone who’s kind, y’know? I would be rather sad if they were mean,” you pretend to sniffle dramatically.

“That’s…that’s it?” He tilts his head in equal parts shock and equal parts confusion. 

“What did you expect me to look for in a partner?” You snort, “A three-story mansion? A rock-solid, chiseled chest to lay on?” 

“Well, no,” he rolls his eyes, “Maybe something a bit less generic to narrow down your pool, I suppose, but if that’s your bar, so be it. There are far too many men who are intelligent and kind, you know.”

“Yes, but none of them show me any signs of interest,” you pout, “I must be undesirable or something.”

I desire you, he wants to say. He can’t quite find the courage to get the words out, though—and as if the universe has it completely out for him, the same waiter from earlier who is responsible for asking you the question that kills Alhaitham’s mood for the day comes back with the bill. And something else, too. 

Something that kills his mood for the week. 

His jaw clenches a tad when you flush at the note scribbled on a napkin for you, eyeing your flustered reaction while you read over the words: I get off at eight if you’d like to find me. You stare for a moment before you murmur, “Well, look at that. A sign of interest—it must be the Dendro Archon’s divine power.”

“The Divine have no say over who you fall for,” he insists.

“You don’t know that,” you hum thoughtfully, “The God of Wisdom knows her people better than anyone else, you know. I’d like to think she knows when love is bound for two people.”

You fold the napkin carefully and keep it in your pocket, and Alhaitham fishes out his mora pouch with stiff fingers. He leaves a very shoddy tip on the table before he exits after you. 

────────────────────────

TWENTY THREE.

You wake up in his bed. 

It’s a foggy memory, but you know you fucked Alhaitham after more sips of wine than you can count and one flirty comment too many. It happened in a blur last night, and you can’t say you’re surprised that it finally happened at all. Alhaitham is a man just like any other, and mingling pleasure with friendship is a normal thing to do. Falling under him on his mattress is not something you never had daydreams of—but the truth of the matter is that your daydreams don’t just stop with the bed.

They end with a toothbrush beside his in the bathroom. A mug next to his in the kitchen. Your shoes kicked off along with his at the entrance of a home. Your laughter and his bouncing off of the walls. A ring, maybe. One on your hand and one on his. 

In your imagination, it starts with pleasure, but it ends with love.

Falling in love with Alhaitham is a peaceful ordeal. He’s dependable and inherently kind. Strong and impressively capable. Intelligent and objectively handsome. You’d bring him home to your mother and father, and they’d thank Lord Kusanali for smiling down upon their humble little family and their darling little daughter by sending such a divine man your way. 

You don’t think you can pinpoint when exactly it is you started to love this boy, but you know loving him became as simple as breathing. You never thought about it. Never learned to do it. Never questioned it, even. You inhale the scent of his spicy, woody cologne and exhale the warm breath of your affections stored in your lungs. He lives somewhere nestled so deep in your ribcage that you think you’d have to crack each of them one after the other before you could pry him out.

You love Alhaitham. You think you know everything there is to know about loving him. You think you’d do it right—better than anyone else. 

He only drinks his coffee when it’s piping hot, and his wine can never be one degree less than iced. He has dry hands, but he hates the feeling of lotion. He doesn’t like raw onions but he doesn’t mind them cooked. When the sun is in his eyes, he’s in a foul mood, but he enjoys napping under the warm rays, much like a cat. He laughs surprisingly boyishly from his belly if you manage to deliver a dry yet clever enough joke, and he clears his throat and gets a bit shy once he’s realized he’s let it out. He twirls his pen in his hand when he’s bored, and he only uses the kind with gel ink because they write smoother. 

You love Alhaitham. For you, it’s always been him. 

When you wake up to his bare, warm body next to yours, breathing peacefully with an arm thrown over your waist, you can’t help but selfishly wish he’d stay asleep all day. Just for a day. Just for the amount of time you get in between the sun’s departure and the moon’s arrival. Just so you can watch him exist in this moment where it’s you, him, and the liminal space between friends and lovers. Just so you can admire how beautiful he is without worrying about his eyes opening and the inevitable conversation of what you’re both doing is brought up. 

People (like Kaveh, or Dehya, or Tighnari, or…anyone) tend to insist that Alhaitham loves you. It’s obvious, they say, just as obvious as your love for him. You never believe it. It’s not because he’s bad at love or because you’re bad for him. You think he’d make a good lover—contrary to popular belief, you don’t think Alhaitham is uninterested in intimacy or affection. And you think you’d make a good girlfriend—unlike other people, you understand him and like what you see. 

But he doesn’t love you. That much is a fact you’ve long accepted. It’s not because you’re bad for him or because he’s incapable of feeling—but rather, it’s just that bitter, soul-crushing reality that you can’t help who you love and who you don’t. Alhaitham doesn’t love you—it’s not something either of you can really change. Because if he did, he’d waste no time. He’d get to the heart of the matter and quit dancing around the issue. 

It’s just the kind of guy that he is. 

So, because this is your first and likely last time seeing him this way, you slowly reach over and brush a few strands of messy, unruly bedhead from his forehead before cupping his cheek in your hand. His skin is soft and warm under your palm, much more delicate to the touch than you anticipated from how chiseled his features are. Your thumb gently brushes along the slant of his cheekbone, eyes softening at how he lets out a puff of air as he sleeps. 

“Morning,” he says hoarsely, eyes still closed and making you jolt in surprise. He lets out a quiet, sleepy chuckle that would make you melt if not for the way your heart still pounds from the shock. 

“You’re awake?”

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding before finally cracking an eye open. “For a while now.”

“Why pretend to sleep then, you creep?” You scoff, glaring at him as he sits up slightly and glances at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. No part of him seems to be shocked about you being nude in his bed. Or the fact that you’re even in his bed at all, nude or not. 

“You’re the creep if we’re being technical here. It’s undoubtedly a little on the creepy side to study someone with such careful touches while they sleep.”

“That’s your main concern…?” You stare at him—and for lack of better words, you’re dumbfounded. You and Alhaitham have been friends for two years and counting. You’ve never once crossed the line or even toed at it to step beyond the border of anything more. And, yet, here you are. In his bed. Completely nude. He was lying there and felt your delicate touch along his skin, felt you act like a lover and not a friend on a quiet, intimate morning when in fact, you both should be shamefully avoiding each other’s eyes in a moment that’s anything but intimate as you leave. 

He makes no move to ask you to leave or even question why you’re still here. You make no move to really leave—it’s not like you want to. 

“What should my main concern be, then?” he looks at you expectantly, like he really doesn’t know.

“Oh, I don’t know, Alhaitham—shouldn’t you be a little more panicked by the idea that I’ve trespassed into your bed and seen you…bare?”

“Well, to be fair, you didn’t trespass. I let you in—and also, to be fair, I saw the same for you, too, so we’re even.”

“You’re oddly calm about this,” you hiss. “This doesn’t bother you even a little? That things might change?”

He looks at you funny—like you’ve just told him a joke that hardly makes sense but makes him want to laugh anyway. “You’re too brilliant to be this dense,” he murmurs. “Maybe I’m quite open to the idea of change.”

You take offense to the first part enough to completely miss the second part of his statement. 

“I am not dense,” you huff, “I’m incredibly bright. I’ll have to send you my thesis sometime.”

“No need,” he responds through a low hum. He pulls you closer, flush against his chest. Bare skin on skin. Intimate skin, at that. You shiver for a moment as his warm, large hand wanders lower and lower before stopping just at the small of your back, rubbing slow circles at the dimple where your spine ends. “I’ve read it plenty of times. It was very insightful.”

“Well, in that case, you should know not to insult my intelligence—”

“If you don’t notice my affection for you, I’m afraid you might not be as observant as I initially thought.”

You pause. Your heart flutters. Then it feels like it decays. Your eyes widen a fraction. Then they feel like they need to be squeezed shut for fear of tears. You feel your fingers twitch to reach for him. And yet they stiffen in distrust. 

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you whisper. Because you don’t.

You really fucking don’t. You thought you knew. His feelings and how to read them. His thoughts and how his mind works. Every little quirk of his and how he approaches every damn thing in this world. You thought you knew.

Now you feel like you don’t know much of anything, especially not what he means right in this moment. 

“You don’t?” He whispers, hand moving to grab your wrist and bring it to his cheek so his lips can brush along the delicate lines of your palm prints. (If he was brave, he’d tell you that his destiny and yours are written in those very lines. Maybe someday he’ll build the courage.)

“No,” you say through a shaky whisper. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you. Just like you love me.” He says it so plainly, that you almost feel like it's a dry, cruel joke. (You know him a little better than that, though, to know he’d never.)

“How do you know I love you?” you challenge just because it’s all you have left to cling to—easy, instant denial. 

He laughs. Soft. Quiet. Melodic. So fucking sweet. “I’m too smart to act dense,” Alhaitham teases. And then, for a moment, his eyes soften enough that they almost look vulnerable. “And only someone who loves me could deal with my… peculiarities. Though, I will admit, it took me quite a while to reach this conclusion. You made me work for it.”

“If you’ve known all along—” 

“Not all along,” he corrects, “like I said, it took me a while to come to this conclusion. But once I did, it was rather obvious.”

You scowl with a finger prodding into his chest, eyes misty with relief and the faintest traces of agitation, “Well, regardless, why haven’t you said something all this time? Obviously, I wasn’t as aware as you seem to be, so the least you could have done is spared me the pining and heartbreak of wondering if you’d ever look at me—”

“I wanted to make sure I could offer you a peaceful life first,” he says gently. You blink. He smiles, eyeing something in the distance—you don’t quite catch it, but you think it might be the old, worn-out stack of envelopes sitting on his desk. 

“What?”

“When you’re with me,” he whispers, leaning in so that his lips brush over yours, “I can lead a peaceful life. I wanted to make sure I could give you the same.”

“And what does that consist of?” you raise a brow. 

“Well,” he murmurs, pecking the corner of your mouth, “A stable job with a generous income, which I now have. A fixed schedule, which I have also negotiated. A proper home to house the both of us, which you are comfortably laying in. And…” he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest where his heart is beating erratically, “A rock-solid, chiseled chest to lay on, which I have dedicatedly worked to add to my physique for you.”

“Haitham!” you squeal, shoving him away with a horrified shriek as he laughs with a wide grin. You don’t even know why he still remembers that comment to poke fun at it, but you suppose that is the tragedy of falling for a prodigious scholar. His mind is sharp. And so is his memory. “Enough!”

“Okay, okay,” he grins smugly. “I want us to lead a peaceful life.”

“There’s not a lot of peace I am counting on with you.”

“I will elect to ignore that statement,” he says dryly, “But that’s why I waited this long,” he buries his face into your neck, nose pressing into the skin as he inhales, “I’m afraid I can’t wait any longer, though. Won’t you accept my frugal attempt at a serene life with you?”

“Perhaps I can make do,” you fight back a stupid grin.

He smiles into your neck. You can feel it. You can practically see it. You hope you’ll grow old with it, too. 

“Then I suppose I’m forever indebted to your graciousness, my love.”

────────────────────────

TWENTY FOUR.

When Alhaitham was eight, Grandmother told him the story of how his parents had fallen in love. It was a typical love story, he thought at the time—nothing overly special or unique. A simple, sweet bond between two people who became friends and something more along the way.

What stood out were the letters. Not very much at first, but with time, he’d realized how special they were. 

Grandmother handed him the letters with a soft, melancholy look in her eyes that made him realize he hadn’t just lost his father and mother. She had lost her son and daughter-in-law. Alhaitham felt the absence of his parents often. It was hard not to at that age—he didn’t have a father to throw a ball to or tag along with to the market. He didn’t have a mother to hum him a melody or make his favorite dish for dinner. But Grandmother filled the gaps in those places well enough that even if his heart bled, not too much blood spilled between the cracks.

But he was no son. Not a proper one for her at her age, anyway. She raised him like he was her own, but she grew older every day, and he didn’t grow fast enough to keep up. He couldn’t take care of her in her old age the way his father would have. He couldn’t do much besides bring the vegetables for her to cut or set the table while she cooked. He couldn’t offer her the mora when she went to the market or carry too many of the heavy bags while they walked home. He couldn’t let her rest in her old age too much because, regardless of how mature and bright he was for his age, Alhaitham was just a child. Her child, nonetheless—Grandmother didn’t let him forget that fact. But a child.

When she died, he arranged the funeral alone. He didn’t cry throughout the whole ordeal. Her old colleagues from way back in her Akademiya days came, as did some of his parents’ old acquaintances. No one he knew too familiarly, though—no one who really mattered when they clasped his shoulder and told him to hang in there.

She was a good woman. He knew that already.

She was very intelligent. A very obvious fact.

She was exceptionally kind. A rather unsurprising observation.

She loved very deeply. Well. That one stung—as true as it might have been.

He remembers it so vividly still. How he had walked home alone after it all. How he had taken off his tie (a very poorly tied tie, at that—Grandmother had always helped him before) and silently entered his room.

It wasn’t until he had eyed his desk that finally, it all sank in. The notes—the ones his father had so carefully written his mother while they were still just starting to fall in love, sat there as if waiting for him. He read them one by one, just like he had so many times before. He didn’t realize he’d started crying until a rivulet of his sorrow landed from his cheek to the page, staining the paper a darker shade of heartache. 

Alone. 

That’s all Alhaitham had ever been since the tender age of four. At least, that’s what people had always thought—but he’d never felt the sorrow people tended to feel for him. Not having a father and mother was okay. Hard at times, but okay. Grandmother had been everything he needed. More than what he needed, in fact. 

Grandmother was everything. And she had left him just the same way his parents had. He’d cried that night—alone in a house that was nothing more than just a house. Not a home, not a place where he could return to and look forward to it. Not a place where love was waiting for him to shelter him as soon as he came back from the cruel, outside world.

Grandmother was gone. Mother and father had left so long ago. But they all had each other—in whatever world they’d crossed to, they’d had each other. 

He remembers it all so vividly still. How he’d read his father’s words, and for the first time in all his life, he’d craved it. What his parents had. 

To my love, my soul, my heart. I am yours, always. 

He wondered that night, through teary and blurry eyes, if love like that would ever find him. If he’d one day be able to call someone his love, soul, and heart.

He thinks now, as you laugh with your head tilted forward and a tweezer in hand while sitting on his lap, that he can. 

“Hold still, you,” comes your teasing remark, “you said this would be nothing. Now look at you.”

“You’re being too harsh,” he grumbles, pouting slightly. With a smile, you bend your neck down and press a soft kiss to his jutted lips, humming before pressing an extra one to the corner of his mouth for good measure. (And yes, the grand sage—acting, you can almost hear him correct in your own head—can pout. He is rather frequent at curling those lips of his in your presence when he wants something, in fact. Or when he is teased too much. Something about you brings about a side of him that is much less stoic and far more dramatized.)

“You can just admit it hurts, you know,” you say through an amused snort.

“It won’t hurt if you just do it right.”

“I’m an expert at tweezing eyebrows,” you huff, “I do mine all the time. And I would know that it hurts.”

“It can’t be that painful,” he clicks his teeth, “just be gentle.”

“I cannot gently pull out a hair from your follicle, Haitham—I don’t know what you want me to—hey!”

He grabs the tweezers from your hand and pulls you close, hugging you tight enough that his nose digs into your skin a bit as he buries it into your neck. It’s Saturday. His first out of two days off for the week—standard scribe work weeks are nine to five on weekdays, and he very much appreciates his weekends away from the bustling, lively Akademiya nonsense. 

Saturday happens to be your day off, too. 

“Where is Kaveh?” you ask quietly, playing with the hem of his shirt. He raises a brow, eyeing the suspicious movement of your fingers.

“Working with a client in Aaru Village. He won’t be back until tomorrow evening. Why am I not enough company for you?”

“Oh, be quiet,” you roll your eyes, and this time, your hands wander under his shirt, palms slowly dragging along his chiseled, planed abdomen while he shivers slightly under your touch. “I was just asking if…”

“If…?” he urges you to continue.

You know he knows. But, for the sake of indulging his smug, teasing little game, you huff and push his shirt up to expose his chest before murmuring, “If we would be interrupted or not. I don’t fancy such awkward run-ins with your roommate.”

“Our roommate,” he corrects, “this is your home, too.”

“Yes,” you smile, brushing your palms over his pectorals, watching as he stiffens when you graze along his nipples, “I suppose it is.”

“Well, he’s not here. And he won’t be, so kiss me,” he demands through a breathy whisper. You do. You kiss him instantly—because kissing Alhaitham is what you do best. When he’s happy, sad, angry, distressed, or just plain tired, kissing him is how you know him the most. When your breaths exchange and your life force and his mingle to become one, singular unit. 

You sigh into his mouth, letting his hands cradle your jaw and tilt your head to better meet his mouth, all while your hands still explore his upper half. He moans under your touch, cock springing to life slowly below you through his pants. You angle your hips forward, inching higher up his lap to drag your crotch along his and help the erection grow against the friction. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, hard and heavy between his legs in no time. 

“Haitham,” you breathe, feeling that familiar ache build between your own thighs. 

You kiss him like that for a bit. Messy, deep, sloppy, and so, so slow. With all the time in the world. Languid strokes of your tongue against his as he rolls his hips up from underneath you, dragging his clothed, bulging cock against your dripping cunt. The fabric separates you, rudely so, and it’s not long until you both grow tired of it. 

“Off,” you whine, tugging at his pants, “off, off, off!”

“So demanding,” he chuckles, pecking your nose sweetly before he lifts his hips, letting you slide off his sweatpants. “Satisfied?” 

“Yes,” you beam, “You always give me what I want. It’s my favorite thing about you.”

His gaze darkens at that—not for any other reason than it makes him so incredibly filled with lust when you speak to him like that. So spoiled and happy about it because it’s him. Him. You’re happy that it’s him. And he’s happy that it’s you. 

You don’t even bother undressing yourselves fully—he pulls down your own pants just enough to expose your pretty, leaking folds, and his hands wander under your shirt, where he almost short-circuits for a moment. Braless. Because you just love to drive him mad, he thinks. This much easy access to your soft, delicate breasts and the pert nipples that decorate them is enough to make him curse under his breath as his thumbs tease over them. 

“You’re a tease.”

“For simply existing?” you gasp, making him crack a small grin. 

“Yes,” he hums, “Your existence on its own teases me at all times. I’m afraid it drives me mad.”

You hum, reaching forward to gently take his hard, leaking cock into your hand and give a light, teasing squeeze. “Maybe my goal is to turn you completely into a lost cause.”

“Then,” he groans, throwing his head back against the couch cushions while he breathes harshly, “then you’re definitely succeeding. Is that what you wished to hear?”

“Yes,” you whisper, kissing his jaw, “It is, actually.”

It doesn’t take long at all before Alhaitham has tossed you back against the couch, laughing as you shriek at the sudden change of position. You glare at him, fighting back your own chorus of giggles as he moves to hover over you, kissing and biting playfully along your cheeks. 

“I love you,” he mumbles.

“Aw, so sweet,” you coo, “say that again.”

He rolls his eyes. His lips curl into the brightest grin at the same time. My love, my soul, my heart—the words are ingrained in his memory always. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” you whisper.

He leans in for a soft, slow kiss as the tip of his leaking cock slides against your folds, tapping against your clit before rubbing along your entrance. You gasp, shuddering against him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. 

“You know,” he murmurs, “I could get used to this.”

“Sex on the couch? We can do that any time—”

“A weekend with just the two of us,” he groans, dropping his head to your neck as you laugh loudly. Bright. Airy. A sound the wind carries to him in his subconscious. He hears you even when you’re not there—even when you aren’t around, he searches for you. 

“Oh,” you say playfully, “Yeah, I guess that’s nice too, isn’t it?”

“I’ll show you just how nice it’s about to be,” he hums. The tip of his thick, blunt head is pressed against your folds—you’re leaking just as much as he is. You slick, and his pre cum mix for a messy collision of arousal as he presses into you slowly, so carefully, you feel like you could break at any second with how he handles you. 

He’s patient. When Alhaitham fucks you, he’s patient enough that you feel like his other half and not his means of pleasure. Like he fucks you for you and not for himself. 

“More,” you insist, impatient as you add, “I can take it.”

“Patience is a virtue,” he clicks his teeth, “I want to take my time feeling you.”

And he does. He rolls his hips slowly. So slowly, you feel delirious. It’s a painful, gradual build-up of pleasure that has you trying to roll your hips into him to meet him halfway, a pathetic attempt when he’s on top of you to press his weight down on you to keep you in place. 

“Please, Haitham,” you whine, sweat shining across your sweet, pleasure-hazed face as he stares down at you, “Please more. I need it—need you. Need all of you.”

“You have all of me,” he groans, feeling the tight walls of your cunt squeeze around him, the squelching noise of his thick girth bullying into your folds in and out, in and out, in and out, driving him to the brink of insanity. “You’ve always had every piece of me.”

“I want more,” you hiss. 

He lets out a breathy laugh that turns into a soft moan. “If that’s what you want.”

The next thing you know, two strong, muscled arms are grabbing your thighs and bringing them around his torso to wrap around him, and his large hands grab your hips and pull, practically manhandling you deeper onto his cock. You shudder, letting out a shrill, high-pitched gasp as he intrudes further into your cunt, nudging the head of his cock against your sweetest of spots and making your body tremble. 

“Haitham,” you gasp, “Haitham, fuck—fuck, you feel so good. So deep—love when you fuck me like this.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, kissing in between your pretty little scrunched-up eyebrows, “I love fucking you like this, too. When you take me so well, squeeze so tight, and let me feel you like the good girl you are.”

His words make your folds squeeze around him, and fuck—he’s close. So fucking close, the pad of his rough, callused thumb meets your clit as he rubs circles, trying to bring you to the edge before he goes plummeting himself. 

“‘M close—almost…almost there,” you pant.

“Me too, baby,” he groans. He slams into you, skin slapping against skin and the glistening sheen of it mixing your sweat together. His mouth parts with pretty, low sounds of his pleasure, and your face twists with the devastating rush of yours. 

Once. Twice. A third time, and you fall apart as he thrusts into you and presses the tip of his thick length against the spongey spot in the back of your walls. 

“Haitham,” you gasp, legs tightening around him as your nails press crescent shapes into his back. “Fuck, I’m c-cumming…oh, Gods.”

“Good,” he gasps, and with one last roll of his desperate hips, he spills into you, too. A thick, sticky, familiar rush of heat fills your cunt, topes of cum painting you white within with every twitch of his aching cock. “Fuck—you feel so good. So perfect—you were made for me. Me.”

“You,” you whisper, breathless. 

You let him shudder over you, fingers running through his hair as he finishes releasing his load into you before he slumps his wait over your body. It’s a small couch—decorative more than functional. (All thanks to Kaveh, of course.) But you don’t particularly care when you’re under him. It feels right all the same. 

“We have the house to ourselves this weekend,” he reminds you after some time of catching your breaths. “So…so we can do this all you want.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes as you poke his forehead. “You’re obscene.”

“I’m romantic,” he corrects, “I just want to be with you and nothing else. Can’t blame a man when he’s been gifted such a beautiful sight before him.”

“And cheesy, too,” you huff. 

He smiles. My love, my soul, my heart. 

——————————

You wake up Monday morning to Alhaitham already gone—it’s rare that he’s ever up before you. He leaves the house just in time to make it to work exactly on the dot and not a moment sooner or a moment later. But, as is with any Akademiya position, there are quarterly meetings that even the scribe can’t avoid. You giggle at the image in your head of a grumpy Alhaitham carefully tiptoeing around the room as he miserably gets ready for an early morning of extra work, all while making sure he doesn’t wake you. 

You yawn, sitting up to start your morning for your own day of work ahead—but it catches your eye before you can fully rise from bed, making you pause. 

A note? No, you realize almost instantly. Not just a note—a letter. 

To my love, my soul, my heart: Kalpalata lotuses will bloom soon. I forget how beautiful the world is sometimes, and I suppose it’s because I am always distracted by your beauty alone. Will you laugh as you read this? I suppose you might because even I must admit, it is a rather cliche thing to say. I can just picture your smile now, and I am certain I will have it memorized until my last breath. It’s easy to remember it so well when it’s all I see in my dreams. Have I told you how often I see you in them? It’s difficult to think that there was once a time in Sumeru when we did not dream. It seems like sleeping beside your body is no longer enough—your presence is required even in my slumber for me to truly be at peace.  Perhaps when the lotuses bloom, we can take a trip to the deeper parts of the rainforest to catch a glimpse of a few. They say the vines are blessed by The Lord herself. I was never one to seek out the divine, but perhaps with a gift as sacred as you, I should take the time to thank Lady Kusanali for granting such brilliance to take bloom in my presence. Only, the difference is that here with you, there are no cliffs to climb or seasons to await. You are mine to bloom, always—my precious, beautiful lotus.  Forever yours,  Haitham ♡

ITS DONE. HAPPY LATE BDAY TO MY FIRST AND LONGEST LOVE. YOU MEAN EVERYTHING AND MORE TO MEEEEE