#this is all said in jest btw

[secrettastemakerland]

colin bridgerton mama's boy-ed so hard that his maneater mother in law adores him sm and probably highkey forgot that he wasn't her first son in law 😭

[lesbianfakir]

SILT VERSES SPOILERS

SAYONARA SLAYWARD NOW BRING OUT THE CRABS

[lunaetis]

YOU PPL ARE MISSING MY POINT !!!!!! *SHAKES FISTS AT* !!!!!!

[bottommarcothephoenixenjoyer]

Heavily Unmedicated AuDHD is when you oscillate between wanting to draw and/or write for like 4 different fandoms at the same time while also wanting to play 3 to 6 different games because you get hyped about each and every one of them the moment they pop into your head and just ultimately never doing anything.

[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

[darkmatilda]

𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your relationship is still very new, and you're getting ready to tell the rest of the team about it. in the meantime, you find yourselves again in another unusual hotel...where suddenly spencer starts acting very strangely?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞����𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: glasses spencer reid x newbau!female!reader, fluff, intimacy conversation, spender being adorably shy

𝐚/𝐧: 'matilda how many more times are you gonna write that one bed trope' AS MUCH AS I CAN TILL I DIE btw i wrote this fic over a pretty long period of time, had a main idea (supposedly), but in the end i'm not happy with how it turned out—kinda all over the place. anyway, enjoy

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.8k

"My five dollars"

Spencer sighed and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the slightly crumpled bill. You closed it in your hand, a triumphant smile on your face.

"Let's make bets more often, darling," you suggested.

When you used that nickname, his gaze briefly flickered over your face, as if studying whether it had been said purely in jest.

"You’re puffing up like you just invented the wheel," he said, gently shaking his head from side to side. "And just to remind you, all you did was park parallel."

"Parked parallel, indeed. And my coffee?"

He also handed you the paper cup he’d been holding while you performed those incredibly complicated car maneuvers that the bet was about. It was morning, the first day back at work. January, the first days of the new year. You had just arrived at the office parking lot in your car, after spending the night at your place. Everything around you still seemed to smell of that melancholic blend of the past mixed with the fresh scent of the coming months. And coffee, bought at the café on the way.

You took a tiny sip of the hot drink. Spencer, it seemed, hadn’t touched his even once. Both of you, consciously or not, were stretching out the moment just a little longer. And, truth be told, you could afford to. The parking lot around you was only beginning to fill with cars, suggesting the early hour. It was nice to sit there together, sharing the quiet without any discomfort.

You realized this was supposed to be your first day at work as a couple.

A warm, pleasant feeling spread through you at the sound of that word, even though you hadn’t said it out loud. It still felt a little unreal. You had grown closer during the New Year’s Eve party at your place. It was only after that shared—and not just one—kiss that a new perspective dawned on you about the past months of your relationship, revealing some undefined emotions.

"I was wondering..." Spender suddenly began, his brows furrowed slightly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

His gaze suddenly fell on his watch.

"We still have some time," you reassured him calmly. "Let me guess. You've been wondering what would happen if we crossed the DNA of a jellyfish that can reverse its life cycle with the human genome?"

A small smile flickered across his face, a touch of affection despite the rather serious expression on the rest of his face.

"That too," he admitted, nodding. Then he opened his mouth, with some visible hesitation, as if a particular question was troubling him. You shifted in the driver's seat, preparing for whatever he wanted to discuss, whatever he wanted to ask. "How...how are we supposed to act...you know, towards each other? At work?"

For a moment, your brain didn’t understand what he meant. But then, a fleeting oh escaped you as the meaning of his words sank in, and you realized that it was indeed something worth considering. Somehow, over the past few days, neither of you had brought it up. You had just gone back to work, without any reflection on the fact that none of your colleagues knew about the progress in your relationship. About how it had suddenly taken a step to a completely different level.

Spencer studied your face in silence, waiting for a response. As he looked at you, coming up with a logical solution became incredibly difficult. Before you finally said anything, you let out two half-intelligent mutters, like a fish thrown onto the surface.

"We have to tell them," you finally said, stating the obvious. "Somehow. Maybe...we can meet at my place this weekend. All of us. Or we could go out somewhere, and then tell them calmly."

"This weekend?" Spencer repeated cautiously.

It was Monday.

Suddenly, it became incredibly hard to read the expression on his face. He was facing you, his brows slightly furrowed, a look of uncertainty, almost withdrawal. The air inside your car thickened, making the silence even more palpable. He seemed almost concerned, downcast. You froze, wondering if you had really said something wrong.

"So until then," he started more quietly, "are we just supposed to hide it from them?"

“I'm not sure hide is the right word," you replied with a grimace. "I just...I meant, maybe we should wait. For a better moment, you know? Instead of walking into the office on the first Monday of the year, when half the people are still nursing hangovers, and saying hey, guess what? we hooked up!”

His expression hadn't changed, despite your pretty honest explanation.

"You don't like the idea," you stated, rather than asking. You made sure your voice sounded gentle, adjusting it to the situation. "I can see that, Spencer."

"Okay, you're right, I don't like it," he admitted with a sudden coolness, his lips tightening slightly between sentences. "Because...I don't get your reasoning. Or, maybe I just don’t know if this is really what you mean."

Slightly surprised, you shook your head.

"What else could I—"

"I don’t know if it's really about that, or maybe..." he cut off, looking into your eyes as if hoping you'd understand by now. But you didn't have the skill to read his mind, no matter how remarkable it was—it was also incredibly complex. "Or maybe...I don’t know, you just don’t take it seriously. That's why you don't want to tell anyone about it."

You gasped, finally understanding his behavior. Realizing the hidden concern.

"You’re worried I don't take us seriously?"

Spencer shrugged briefly.

"You know, if that's really the case, I'd rather know now..."

You leaned in to catch one of his hands, which had been clasped over his chest. You broke his defensive stance, pulling him toward you by his long fingers, simply holding it for a moment before speaking again. With a smile. A slightly amused smile.

"Of course, I take us seriously, you idiot," you snorted. A sense of relief washed over you. Earlier, he’d seemed genuinely worried, and you’d been expecting far worse things than the fact that your guy literally paled with anxiety over worrying you weren’t as invested in your fresh relationship as he was. Well, out of context, it sounded like a very serious concern. But the context was, you took it seriously, and you were incredibly happy he did too. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Why should we make idiots out of ourselves for the next week? Let’s just walk in like this."

You motioned toward your intertwined fingers, raising them as if they were a trophy earned through sweat and tears. Spencer followed their movement with his gaze, initially surprised, but then the corner of his mouth twitched, and he tilted his head with a quiet chuckle.

"We can do it your way," he said, taking control of your hands, clasping them with both of his. He looked relieved; your reassurance and the sincerity in your voice clearly calmed him. You smiled too, finally seeing that peace on his face. "I really don't mind waiting a few days. It might even be… interesting. One of us might not hold out and accidentally slip up."

You raised an eyebrow in a teasing manner.

"Another bet, Reid?" you clicked your tongue. You kept eye contact with him, feeling his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand. He seemed so unaffected, as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. "You already lost five bucks about…ten minutes ago. At this rate, you'll be broke within a month, and we'll have to skip that overpriced coffee downtown. Now that would be a real horror story, speaking as a citizen of the first world."

"Didn't say anything about another bet!”

"Too late," you shot back, turning his hand and taking it in a more formal handshake. "Handshakes sealed the deal."

He rolled his eyes, but a half-smile lingered on his face. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

"I think we should get going," he said reluctantly.

You sighed with the same enthusiasm. You really felt stuck to that seat, right next to him.

"You know, being late on the first day of the new year should be fully justified..."

"We really need to go."

He was right. But before either of you could move to get out of the car, he leaned forward. Gently cupping your cheek, he drew you in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to vanish—just the two of you, in that quiet, perfect stillness.

His face suddenly turned to the side, noticing something through the windshield. You frowned and looked in the same direction.

"That's Gideon," you remarked out loud, even though both of you had already spotted the silhouette of your coworker stepping out of a car that had just parked a short distance ahead. He wasn’t looking your way yet, but he could at any moment. "Quick, hide!"

Okay, you were completely honest with yourself. It wasn’t about being afraid of getting caught. After all, there was nothing strange about two coworkers arriving at work together in the same car—it was even very eco-friendly. You just liked the idea of shoving Reid under the seat. And the poor thing, so thrown off by the mock authority in your voice and the situation itself, did it without a second thought.

When Gideon finally noticed you, you cheerfully waved at him.

"Fuck," you muttered suddenly.

"What is it?" Spencer returned to his seat, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "Do you think he saw me?"

You shook your head.

"I just realized…this is your car."

*

"Okay, draw a straw."

"Morgan, how old are you?" You shook your head in disbelief, staring at the man standing across from you in the motel lobby. The place where you were spending the night this time was very tidy, with subdued colors, but, as tradition demanded, there had to be some sort of problem. You had one room for two, but one of them only had a double bed. So, you had to decide which two lucky people would share it. "Five?"

"And a half. Listen, we have to decide somehow. Let fate do it. The two who pull the shortest will sleep together. Simple as that."

Before you could say anything else, Garcia approached, weighed down by her bags. Yes, her—rarely did any case require her to be on-site, but it wasn’t completely unheard of.

"Oh, come on, Sweetie," she muttered to you, setting her luggage down and hunching slightly to catch her breath. "Let him feel like a kid again for a moment. He doesn’t get the chance often."

You sighed in resignation, but before you could pull one of the purple straws (how did he even get them?) that Morgan was holding in such a way that their lengths were hidden, you glanced around briefly. Sometimes you arrived at hotels at different times, some getting there faster, others later. Spencer and JJ had just walked in, both wearing coats to shield them from the cold January air. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him and his fogged-up glasses, which he quietly cursed under his breath—judging by the movement of his lips. However, you quickly composed yourself, returning to a neutral expression. It had only been two days since your agreement to keep the details of your relationship hidden, and so far, neither of you had slipped or forgotten to keep quiet around the others. Well, out of the two of you, you were probably struggling with it more—being a bit of a clinger, sometimes even your body would naturally gravitate towards his when standing next to him.

“Why are you standing here?” Spencer asked, approaching you. “Is there a problem with the rooms?”

“Is there ever not a problem with the rooms?” you responded, laughing. “Some poor souls are going to have to share a bed,” you explained, making brief eye contact with him. You were sure only he could catch the emphasis you placed on poor souls.

Of course, you wouldn't mind ending up in the same room. It wasn't about the fact that you were together—before, you’d shared rooms and even beds, and you were used to it by now. You would've probably offered it yourself, if it weren’t for the potential suspicion and that silly bet, which was starting to lose its point in your eyes. Maybe you should’ve just told them a few days ago?

“Oh,” he said shortly, crossing his arms with a bit of stiffness. His brown bag hung from his shoulder. He held your gaze for a moment, but his expression wasn’t as amused as yours. His brows furrowed slightly as he cleared his throat. “Poor them. Who’s it going to be?”

You slightly puffed out your lips slightly, watching him with a sharp look. What was it that made him so uneasy—the fact that you might not be in the same room this time?

“We were just about to decide,” Penelope replied, glancing at her friend with a teasing smile. “Morgan’s going to show us a game he learned today in kindergarten."

 JJ couldn't help but snort.

 “Just draw a straw…!”

You couldn’t recall another moment when all of you, every single one, rolled your eyes in perfect unison. But that’s exactly what happened when Derek once again enthusiastically explained the rules, as though they weren’t already ridiculously simple. In the end, each of you reached for one of the straws he was holding.

JJ went first. She pulled hers quickly, and it was of regular length, so it was immediately clear she wasn’t one of the poor souls. She raised her hand in a mock display of triumph, earning a few amused chuckles from the group.

Your turn came next. You approached the task with a certain gravity, as though the fate of the night depended entirely on the straw you chose. You studied each one carefully, as if their lengths could somehow be deciphered from the way they were arranged.

You wouldn’t have minded drawing the shortest straw. But only on one condition. 

Morgan looked at you with mock sympathy. Your straw wasn’t even half as long as JJ’s, which seemed to settle things. Now, it was just a matter of figuring out which of the remaining two—Reid or Garcia—would end up joining you.

Spencer reached out with a calculated, deliberate motion, his eyes immediately darting to yours when his straw turned out to be...one of the longer ones.

You shot him a look of bitter disappointment before your gaze shifted to your soon-to-be roommate. Penelope didn’t seem disheartened—on the contrary, an enthusiastic smile lit up her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but you caught the fleeting shift in her expression and the subtle flicker of her eyes.

“Oh no,” she suddenly gasped, her voice filled with exaggerated horror, even though she’d just seemed perfectly content, or at least not displeased, at the idea of sharing a room with you. “No, absolutely not. There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same room with her. Do you guys even know how loud she snores?”

Lies! You wanted to yell, but stopped yourself as realization dawned. Garcia was a good actress—you had to give her that—but her flair for dramatics always bordered on overkill, making it far too easy to catch her in a lie.

“I’m not used to traveling as often as you guys are,” Penelope continued in the same over-the-top tone. “I barely get a wink of sleep in a new place when it’s quiet, let alone with someone next to me snoring like a steam engine…”

“Love you too, Pen,” you muttered dryly.

“Someone has to switch with me, please,” she concluded, clasping her fingers together in a dramatic plea and pulling off the best puppy-dog eyes you’d seen in a long time. Well, at least since the time Reid had tried to coax you into reciting one of your old, cringe-worthy high school poems—the existence of which you’d only ever confessed to him.

“JJ?” Penelope turned her hopeful gaze toward her.

“Not a chance. My straw was the longest,” JJ replied, smug and immovable.

“Don’t even think about asking me,” Morgan chimed in before anyone could so much as glance in his direction.

And so, all eyes inevitably fell on Reid.

He awkwardly scratched the back of his ear, not looking directly at you.

“Well, I always carry earplugs with me…”

“Then it’s settled!” Garcia declared, hoisting her luggage with sudden determination. One of her heavy bags was thrust into Morgan’s arms so abruptly that he staggered backward under its weight. “Sweet dreams, everyone! Don’t let the bedbugs bite, and may the sheep you count tonight be extra fluffy and adorable. Goodnight!”

Just before she fully turned to leave, she sent you a quick, knowing wink.

You shook your head in disbelief, but the faintest smile danced on your lips. You didn’t even bother questioning how she knew. Only one conclusion circled your mind. Penelope could be really impossible. Thankfully, being impossible didn’t disqualify her from also being the best friend under this vast, sprawling sky. Period.

*

"What do you think about starting a tier list for all the hotels we stay in?” you remarked as both of you crossed the threshold of the room. Your eyes immediately landed on its unexpected feature. “Or at least the weirdest ones. Like the one with walls the color of cat pee where the power went out in the middle of the night. That one’s definitely at the top..."

"I don’t really get the point of a mirror on the ceiling," Reid said after a pause, looking over his shoulder at you. He was standing a few steps away, near the bed in the glaring white room with birchwood floors. "Who wants to look at themselves while trying to fall asleep?”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was joking or not. He raised an eyebrow too, not understanding why you did that. Okay, he wasn’t joking.

"You know, the main point isn’t really to look at yourself while falling asleep," you explained, with a bit of amused pity. Your gaze also briefly lingered on the glass surface above the bed, designed to reflect the bodies of people lying in bed. You thought it was a surprising addition but weren’t planning on spending too much time on it for now. You just wanted to get your shoes off—shoes you’d been wearing since sunrise—and finally lie down on something soft. "By the way, I’m taking a shower first."

Spencer only muttered something under his breath in response. Before disappearing behind the bathroom door, you cast one last glance at him. He seemed quiet—strangely quiet. Not that you were expecting his usual chatter after a long day of work; it could weigh on anyone and leave them feeling subdued. Maybe he just needed an extra moment to unwind, and that’s where his restraint came from.

Anyway, you took a quick shower. The pressure of the hot water nearly scalded your skin, which meant you’d be spared the bitter complaints, grumbling, and dramatic resignation threats from Morgan the next day. You felt too tired to linger under the stream for long. After a few minutes, you stepped out of the shower, changed into your sleepwear, and gathered the clothes you’d worn all day from the floor.

You and Spencer passed each other in the doorway without a word.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you frowned. The bathroom door shut behind him, and some concerned question froze on your lips. For a moment, you stood still, debating whether you should ask it. But then the sound of running water reached your ears, and you figured he probably wouldn’t hear you anyway.

Instead, you decided to climb into bed, wait for him, and ask about it then. Whatever it was clearly weighed on him, and the fact that something was bothering him bothered you. Funny how that worked, right?

You spent that moment lying on your back, eyes wide open, afraid you might accidentally fall asleep if you closed them. A comfortable bed during a case—it felt like pure luxury. You were waiting for Spencer to finally emerge from the bathroom so you could curl up next to him, fall asleep to the fresh post-shower scent of him, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Just like you had spent half the day after the New Year’s party at your place—wrapped around each other, arguing over who would get up to make coffee and whether you should start cleaning up the mess from the night before.

You tucked your arm beneath your head, gazing at your fully-covered form reflected in the ceiling mirror.

“Did you find a portal to another galaxy in there or what?” you finally called out, impatient. He’d been in there way too long. And coming from you—a known lover of long, indulgent baths—that was saying something.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he finally emerged from the bathroom, wearing a gray t-shirt instead of his usual neat work attire and tie perfectly knotted at his neck. He still had his glasses on, which he might’ve forgotten to remove, judging by the way he slid into bed to your left without taking them off.

You watched him closely, rubbing at your tired eye. The shower had managed to wash away about half of the tension from Spencer’s face, but the other half stubbornly remained.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he said softly.

“I didn’t have to,” you admitted simply, watching as he carefully adjusted himself, finding the right position. The lamp on his side of the bed cast a warm glow over his skin. You were both half-sitting, you comfortably propped up against the soft pillows, and him barely leaning back against them. “But I wanted to. We really lucked out with this room, huh? Penelope is one of a kind.”

"Did you tell her about us?"

"I didn’t say a word. She's just more observant than the rest”

He nodded, agreeing with you. You thought he might say something else about it, maybe make a joke about the bet, but he didn’t. You yawned.

"You seem tired.”

“How did you figure that out, Sherlock?” you asked, your sarcasm light, without a hint of malice. “You too, by the way. Although, it’s not just that you seem tired—you are tired, at first glance. Or maybe something’s bothering you. Or maybe both. Am I right?”

He shrugged slowly.

“No, as far as I know.”

“Oh, come on,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. You pulled your knees closer to your chest, shifting into a full sitting position with slightly bent legs. You leaned forward just enough to gently take his glasses off and fold them, your fingers brushing briefly against his cheek. He didn’t look at what you were doing, his gaze fixed on your face under the soft fall of his lashes. The wonderful color of his eyes, the slight hesitation in your movements as you moved a little closer to kiss him—a fleeting, tender press of lips.

“Something’s going on, and you can tell me about it.”

“Or we could just go to sleep,” he suggested quietly. “It’s been a long day. You must be tired, I mean, you yawned a little while ago.”

You tilted your head, studying him thoughtfully. Was he really trying this hard to dodge the topic? How could you get him to open up?

“I know blackmail isn’t exactly healthy for relationships,” you started finally, turning his glasses over in your hands, “but I’m not giving these back until you tell me.”

Both corners of his mouth twitched at once.

“Oh no, what am I going to do now?” he replied with feigned concern, gently shaking his head. Then he lowered his voice.  “This is exactly what I’d say if I didn’t also have contacts with me.”

"Sometimes I just want to…ugh."

"Violence isn't too healthy for relationships either."

"Just like not opening up. Remember what we talked about a few days ago in the car? You were worried I don't take you seriously. How else am I supposed to prove I'm serious if I don’t ask what’s wrong when I can tell something’s off?"

Your explanation sounded a bit jumbled, but he had to get the general idea. The reference to that specific conversation and his own words seemed to hit a sensitive spot.

"I didn’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything to me," he quickly corrected, swallowing hard. His chest fell, and the sigh felt like surrender. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to worry about it. It's nothing serious. I’m just tired...and a little stressed."

"Stressed?" you repeated, surprised. "You're stressed? But about what?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"Just... about this," he said vaguely, his gaze shifting from you to your reflection in the glass ceiling. "Us, I mean."

"What do you mean?" you asked quietly, still confused, gently shaking your head. "We've shared rooms before, so if it’s about that, I really don’t get it."

"Yeah, but never like this. In a room with a king-sized bed and a huge mirror right above us," he explained, his voice tinged with embarrassment, clearly wishing he could just stop talking. "Okay, I know this sounds dumb, I know it does, but I don’t know why it’s messing with my head like this. I just...I kinda thought maybe you'd want to..."

"Spencer," you interrupted, saving him from going any further. You saw a flicker of relief in his eyes. You weren’t sure what emotion was bubbling up inside you now—whether it was still confusion or just pure amusement. "You were worried I’d want to have sex with you?” 

You didn’t even need to wait for his answer to know you’d hit the nail on the head. Considering how your relationship had grown out of friendship, slowly evolving over time and shared experiences instead of a sudden burst of passion, you weren’t surprised you hadn’t yet taken that step together. It was something special in its own way—there had never been any pressure, and you hadn’t expected that he might feel the exact opposite.

So when you finally figured out what had been bothering him all this time, you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine.

"You were right, you know. It does sound kind of dumb," you said, unable to keep the smile from your face. His expression remained unreadable, his posture betraying a hint of anticipation as he waited for the rest of your reaction. "But also…I don’t know, kind of adorable? But seriously, Spencer, we don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready."

"It’s not that I don’t want to at all," he clarified quickly, almost too firmly. "I mean...it’d be our first time. Together. That’s what I mean. And I guess I just didn’t expect it to...happen tonight, here, of all places."

"I didn’t either," you admitted truthfully, the smile still lingering on your face. Unlike him, you didn’t feel even a hint of embarrassment. "I figured we’d just go to sleep, especially since we both already admitted we’re exhausted."

"Fair point," he mumbled.

"Honestly, this has to be the biggest example of overthinking I’ve ever seen anyone put themselves through, Spencer," you teased lightly, shaking your head.

For a moment, he stayed silent, but it felt like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding.

“You’re gonna have to get used to that,” he admitted finally, his voice soft. But then, you caught the faint glimmer of a smile tugging at his lips.

He even started to laugh, a quiet chuckle filled with a sort of amused self-awareness. Meanwhile, you leaned out of the bed to place his glasses on the nightstand on your side. If he wanted them in the morning, he’d have no choice but to reach right over you.

“But just for the record,” he began after a moment, as you reached for the edge of the blanket that had slipped off you earlier, pulling it back up to wrap around yourself. Your head was only inches from the pillow now. You gave him a questioning nod. He, too, was getting ready to lie down, finally looking genuinely relaxed. “How pathetic do you think that was, on a scale from one to ten?”

You just rolled your eyes, not even dignifying the question with an answer.

“In the interest of science,” he pressed, “one to ten?”

“Pathetic enough that you’ll need to redeem yourself a little in my eyes,” you sighed dramatically. “Go on, I’m waiting for your ideas.”

“I think I might have a few,” he replied with a soft chuckle.

You prolonged the kiss, savoring the deep sense of comfort it brought you. The two of you lay face to face, and you gently brushed a few still-damp strands of hair from Spencer's forehead, though they stubbornly fell back into place. Eventually, you gave up with a soft sigh against his lips. Spencer kept his eyes closed, lost in a quiet bliss, even as you pulled back just slightly, leaving only an inch of space between you.

"Can I turn off the light now?" you asked, as always. The question had become a tradition since you'd learned about his complicated relationship with darkness.

He hummed in agreement, nodding faintly. Leaning over him, you reached for the bedside lamp on his side. The room was instantly bathed in darkness, your reflections in the mirror above fading into obscurity.

You didn’t fully return to your original spot. Instead, you shifted closer, resting your head comfortably against his chest. The hotel pillows were unbelievably plush, you had to admit, but that night, you chose this over anything else.

"You’re not asleep," he noted gently after about fifteen minutes. He cleared his throat. "During sleep, a person’s breathing becomes slower and more regular. You know, if you’re uncomfortable here, you don’t have to…"

"I’m listening to your heartbeat," it slipped out of you. Though it was true, you hadn’t planned on admitting it out loud. "Nothing sinister, just to be clear. I’m not planning to rip it out of your chest or anything like that. It just works for me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like those videos that imitate the sound of a crackling fireplace. Pretty calming."

"My heartbeat reminds you of the sound of a fireplace?" he said, a glint of confusion in his softly hoarse voice.

You sighed, in the darkness, he couldn’t see the faint smile painting itself on your face, pressed against his chest.

"Sweet dreams, silly."

tag list: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling @cynbx @penelopegarciaismygf @awordsmith

[jamilelucato]

Unlikely - Emmett Cullen

Summary: Edward Cullen discovers a surprising secret when he inadvertently tunes into the thoughts of a fellow student, [y/n] [y/l/n], revealing her crush on none other than his brother, Emmett. As their unexpected connection unfolds, both face the complexities of love and the challenges of their supernatural existence.

Pairing: [y/n] [y/l/n] x Emmett Cullen

Universe: Twilight

Author's Note: So, I have had this in store for a while, waiting for the right time to post it. I feel like Emmett deserves I do it. Btw, I can't promise a part 2 or something like that. For an unknown reason, it's been hard for me to write characters kissing and stuff. But get them flirting below.

Info: Emmett here is supposedly enroled in the same year as Edward and Bella, because I wanted to keep him in school whereas I wanted Rosalie gone. Love Rosalie, though. I'm telling you this because it's not canon, so... there you go.

### Edward was the first to notice, of course.

He wasn't paying much attention until this girl's thoughts popped louder than the rest of the cafeteria.

Edward already had so much trouble — keeping tabs on Bella Swan — that his most minor concern was the other students at Forks High School.

But her thoughts were loud and clear. I can't believe it! I… I am crushing on him! Gods, embarrassing…

Edward Cullen frowned. He was always around teenagers, and more often than not, they'd find themselves in love. Why was this random girl's mental voice so loud and clear, then?

He's never paid attention to me before. He just borrowed me a pen. Get a grip on yourself, [y/n]! The girl's mind shouted, reprehending herself.

"What is it, Edward?" Bella asked, calling back his attention to her. Edward was curious about the other students, but no one in the world came before Bella Swan to him.

"Someone's called my attention," Edward answered, letting Bella grasp his hand.

"Good or bad?" she asked.

"A student," Edward answered, unsure yet if listening to the random girl's thoughts so clearly was a bad sign. "She's found herself crushing on someone."

Bella looked puzzled. "Oh, well. It happens to all of us," she jested but still looked worried. "Any idea why her voice is louder?"

Even after all those many months apart, Bella quickly understood Edward's gift. But the loud voice had disappeared.

"It was [y/n] [y/l/n]. But I don't know who she's crushing on that can be so bad…" Edward let his sentence trail off, looking around the cafeteria for the human.

Emmett's face lit up, and he chimed in. "[y/n]? I talked to her today in Biology class. She's my lab partner."

Bella moved her neck to face Emmett better. "I did not know that."

Emmett shrugged. "I mean, it's not like we interact. She's been my partner for a while in that class, but you know…" he didn't finish his sentence, embarrassed to tell Bella what he really thought. But Edward read it all in Emmett's mind: but I don't usually bother with humans.

Edward pressed his lips together, reacting to his brother's thought. He also didn't want to tell Bella that he agreed.

"But what was it about [y/n], anyway? Is she in danger?" Emmett asked, not showing his concern. To Bella, it all seemed like curiosity. But to Edward, well, he saw Emmett's thoughts trailing off.

"No, not at all," Edward nodded. "I don't think I've tuned to her thoughts before, that's all. It was just so loud a minute ago."

"Ah," Emmett let out. What was she saying? I know you won't tell me, but you sure as hell told Bella.

"What I said is what I heard," Edward affirmed, answering Emmett's mind. 

"So she has a crush, good for her!" Emmett said, raising his tone just a bit but enough for Bella to notice. 

Before Edward could intrude on his brother's reaction, Emmett left.

***

Emmett sat at his seat, tensed. Being a vampire and all, he had no need for breathing, definitely no need for oxygen. But it was a habit to do so, to get a grasp of scent and also to act more "human". However, that day, he felt like he was hyperventilating.

So Edward had heard [y/n] had a crush on someone. No big deal. Was she one of the funniest girls he ever met? Yes. Did she have such a crooked smile that made her more beautiful? Yes. Did she seem to always understand him, even when he barely spoke to her? Yes. But that meant nothing and would stay meaning nothing, for she was a human, and he was a vampire. 

Emmett concluded it would have been better if Edward had not mentioned any of [y/n]'s thoughts. In fact, since Edward was always so focused on Bella, Emmett thought [y/n] would stay out of his radar. Goddammit.

"Hey, Emm," [y/n] said, catching Emmett by surprise as she sat beside him.

[y/n] was in many other classes Emmett was enrolled in, but Biology was the only course they actively sat together. Well, one time in English class, Emmett was left out of group partners, and [y/n] politely and unexpectedly asked him to join her group. But that had been one time.

He wouldn't admit it to his siblings, but [y/n] had caught him off guard. Emmett had been so distracted thinking about her that her scent passed unnoticed when she was finally there.

"Hi, [y/n]!" he replied, quickly cleaning his throat after noticing his "hi" had sounded a bit too high-pitched. He wished he had a nickname for [y/n] as she had, with time, shortened his name after the forced proximity. He had tried out some possibilities in his mind, but he was a man of his time, and just calling her by her first name and not simply "miss" was too much for his little mind.

"It's snowing today," she prompted, shifting her eyes from his face to the window nearby.

"I noticed," Emmett nodded.

"Do you plan to snow-fight your siblings?" she asked shyly after becoming embarrassed by his gruff reply.

Emmett's face lit up just a bit, and he hoped it was invisible for [y/n]'s human eyes. She's trying to make small talk, he concluded, smiling internally.

"You've noticed I do that, huh," he playfully leaned his head.

[y/n] smiled. "Last year, I saw you trying to hit Alice. She was quick though," she said, moving her shoulders as if to shrug, but not quite. "I just hope you don't plan to have your fight in the cafeteria again."

Emmett's eyebrows were eager to shoot up, but he controlled them just in time. So [y/n] had noticed him and his siblings since the year before. Of course, she had known Emmett since their first high school year — or should he say her first high school year? — and of course, one thing or another, she was bound to catch up about the Cullens. But to have detected him launching Alice a snowball... and to remember it, that was something.

"Be careful then," Emmett joked. "I can't make any promises."

"Oh, please," [y/n] rolled her eyes, shifting the way she sat so she could look to the front of the classroom. She continued without facing Emmett, "As if you would ever hit on me... I mean, on me! No! I mean, hit me! With a snowball."

Her face was so red Emmett thought her head was going to explode. Did humans' heads do that? Did they explode?

[y/n] saw he looked concerned, but she misinterpreted it. Emmett had barely noticed her slip in language use.

"I don't mean you would hit on me at all," she kept shaking her head as if to erase her language mistake. "Not that it matters; both are something you would never do," she whispered now, more to herself than to the boy, but being a vampire, he heard it all. "Forget it, Emmett. I'm so sorry."

Emmett was instantly calmer, but not because he was glad she apologised — why was she apologising again? — but because the redness was slowly disappearing from [y/n]'s face, which definitely meant she was not gonna explode, he felt very relieved, which surprised him. When Edward had mentioned, the year before, how easily humans could die, Emmett had thought his brother was being absurd. But he was worried about this human girl beside him for some reason.

He planned to ask [y/n] if she was indeed all right, but the professor walked in, and all the chances he had to do so seemed to disappear.

***

[y/n] could not, for her life, tell what Mr. Banner was going on and on about. Was it about cells? About nature? She was utterly unfocused, even though her eyes were fixed on the weird teacher. Well, actually, she would fix her gaze at anything and anyone, if that was enough, to avoid looking to her left and eyeing Emmett Cullen.

All her mind could do was blame herself. She had known Emmett since the Cullens came to the town; there was no reason for fuss. The family was undoubtedly the most beautiful of all. All of them could be models, including Dr. Carlisle, whom she met when she unintentionally had to stitch a bruise. Since entering high school and having known them, her gaze was fatally met with Emmett's.

It was not as if he had reacted in any other way, if not with boredom. She grew discouraged after each "incident" but continued to spy on the Cullen family. However, whenever Rosalie and Edward caught her staring, [y/n] felt uneasy and quickly averted her gaze. She knew there was no point in admiring Emmett Cullen when he already had Rosalie Hale by his side. So, who was [y/n] compared to the stunning blonde goddess?

[y/n] was extremely surprised when she witnessed the Cullens' return to Forks.

Seeing Bella Swan go through a "mourning process," [y/n] felt understood because she had felt the same way, although on a much smaller scale. However, she would never have confessed it or let it show. Who was she to miss the Cullens?

She never expected Edward Cullen or Emmett to come back, but one day, there they were. [y/n] arrived late one day and had not noticed the extra car in the parking lot. When it was time for biology class, [y/n] was caught off guard to see that she had a new (old) partner already sitting at the table they were supposed to share.

Letting herself dive into this thread of thought, [y/n] was sure that it was not at that moment, when he returned, that she saw herself surrendered to Emmett. Yes, she had gotten more loose and relaxed when she noticed that Rosalie had not accompanied her siblings or Jasper Hale because they had graduated. But Edward's gaze still haunted her. Something told her that the whole family moved by the boy's fault (even if the rumours said that Dr Carlisle had accepted a better job), so [y/n] was afraid that Edward would make his family move again.

After secretly paying attention, she was surprised to detect that Bella was also afraid of them disappearing again.

Before Biology class ended, [y/n]'s mind replayed a specific, very recent memory. The day before, she was about to write something down when her pen started failing. She thought she wasn't reacting noticeably, but somehow Emmett glimpsed her sudden need.

"Do you want a pen of mine to borrow?" he asked, already holding the thing out to her grasp.

[y/n] raised her eyes from her notebook to meet his golden gaze.

"Oh, thank you," she smiled, borrowing the pen.

Emmett had said nothing more and returned his gaze to Mr Banner. [y/n] thought she ought to do the same and rushed to write down the rest of the speech.

When the class had ended, [y/n] turned to Emmett before he could head out. "Here you go, Emm," she smiled at him, trying her hardest to look polite. "Thank you."

The nickname must have gotten him off guard — even though [y/n] was sure she had called him so before — because his golden eyes widened.

"You can keep it," he said, not a hint of hesitation, even though his expression seemed hesitant.

"Oh," [y/n] gasped. "Thanks again, then," she smiled with her cheeks high, feeling they were reddening.

It was then he surprised her: Emmett smiled.

She did not see it coming at all. [y/n] had talked to the boy before. They had even joked around — when Mr Benner said something sex-related, the duo was really juvenile for that topic, and they would always let a little chuckle out — but that smile was different. It was wide, genuine. Emmett showed all his beautiful white teeth at her, and she was mesmerised by the whole view. He had dimples.

Emmett Cullen had dimples!

[y/n] remembered stumbling in her words, trying to find something to say because she wanted Emmett to keep smiling. But he simply nodded at her and got up, leaving the classroom before [y/n] could form a coherent thought.

She spent the whole day revisiting the memory of his smile and dimples. She was frozen in that Biology class; it was as if she never left. In her mind, she kept the conversation going. She knew he was a clown — she liked him best of all the Cullens for it — and so perhaps, she could have prompted a joke, such as "Do you think we're so poor compared to you, rich Cullens, that I need a pen as a gift?" It could've been funny; maybe he would've kept smiling. Perhaps he would laugh but really laugh and not hold back as usual.

But, in the end, she said nothing, just like today.

When Mr Banner announced they were free, [y/n] instantly turned her gaze to Emmett.

"Oh, sorry there, Emm," she swallowed hard, trying to keep her brave facade as she spoke to him. "It seems there's no longer snow for your fight."

He shrugged, and a light of playfulness hit his face. "No problem there. I can just punch Edward straight up."

She wasn't sure if it had been his innocent way of speaking or if it had been the mention of just the right brother, but [y/n] cracked up in one of her loudest laughs yet. The students who hadn't already run out of the classroom all turned to stare at her.

Emmett seemed to get in a shocked state. He wasn't expecting that reaction.

"I'm sorry," [y/n] said, trying to catch her breath. It was not easy; she still wanted to laugh. "I... I don't know why that was so funny."

"Maybe because Edward has a very punchable face," Emmett suggested, letting go of his restraints and following [y/n] in chuckles.

"I'm sure you've done that many times," [y/n] raised a brow, instigating him to go on.

"Unfortunately," Emmett tilted, "no, I have not."

"Oh," [y/n] did not see that answer coming, "too much of a good brother?"

Emmett snorted a laugh. "Definitely not that. I just never seem to catch him," Emmett knew why that was so, whereas [y/n] would never have a clue: Edward read his mind any time Emmett tried to catch the sibling by surprise with punches or simply trying to give a scare.

As much as [y/n] wanted to continue the conversation, she had the next class to go to. She sighed lowly, but Emmett heard it right away, and he couldn't help smiling at her silly human reaction to leaving.

[y/n] stared at his smile like a child watching Santa come down from the chimney.

"Dimples," she thought aloud, not realising it until it was too late. Hoping Emmett didn't notice, she averted her eyes and started gathering her books, but the Cullen had heard it all too well.

He remained silent, though, allowing her heartbeat to stead again. When she was already up, probably about to nod him goodbye, he said, "You have dimples too."

***

Red is definitely her colour. How have I never noticed before? Besides that cute turtle neck she was wearing, when the red flushed her cheeks, that was...

The image totally got Edward by surprise. He was walking out of one of his classes when, passing the hallway, a mind ahead called his attention to a particular image. Then, the voice! The oh-so-familiar, very annoying mental voice of none other than Emmett Cullen.

In seconds, Edward was beside his sibling. "What was that?"

Shit! Emmett's face was as embarrassed as his mental voice. The sibling quickly started singing some random annoying pop song to pull Edward out of his mind, but it was too late.

"Why were you thinking of [y/n] like that?" Edward asked.

"Like what?" Emmett replied, but Edward's question worked, making Emmett revisit his thoughts, and [y/n]'s face popped up again, with Edward getting a complete view.

The old-school vampire was suddenly repulsed and stepped slightly to the side.

You are the one in my mind! Emmett accused him in thought.

"Not because I want to, believe me!" Edward exclaimed, returning to his spot next to Emmett. "Brother, I better hope you know what you're doing."

"I'm not doing anything," Emmett said defensively.

Edward raised a brow, wishing Emmett could read his thoughts and see how foolish in love Emmett had thought about [y/n].

"Stay out of my business," Emmett nudged his brother. I can't find anyone pretty anymore? 

"After having Rosalie, I highly doubt you'd think that of a human," Edward answered Emmett's unspoken question.

"Rosalie and I... we're not a couple. We have our fun; that's all," Emmett said. "Besides, we haven't had fun in decades; you know that."

Edward knew because he had read their sex-deprived thoughts before. Still, he had thought Emmett was evolving, for he had stopped picturing Rosalie in a… needy way. But now, it seemed it had a different reason why.

Suddenly, another piece fell into place.

"She has fallen for you," Edward gasped in such a whisper only vampire hearing could catch it.

What? Emmett's mind shouted. "Don't be silly," he said aloud.

"It was definitely you [y/n] mentioned having a crush on yesterday," Edward continued his theory, forcing them both to stop walking and stay in the middle of the hallway. "That's probably why she caught my attention; she must have exclaimed your name! In thought," he added, although it was apparent.

"Are you sure about this?" Emmett asked, out of habit mostly, for he knew that no amount of hoping could make Edward wrong, not when he had a sibling so powerful.

Emmett's mind was racing as he tried to process it all. It was the first time Edward had trouble keeping up with him. Emmett was generally slower, even mentally, than Edward, but that was not the case now as he tried to understand everything about [y/n]. Edward caught up to some images — [y/n] blushing, [y/n] making a joke and laughing alone, and then the terrifying one. It was similar to the ones Edward had regarding Bella, too: [y/n] with eyes so red and skin so pale that there was no denying her heart no longer beat.

But when Edward returned his gaze to his taller brother, Emmett was not sad at the view, not half as much as Edward was when he thought of Bella as a vampire.

"Stop it," Edward begged, noticing Emmett's mind went on; he had started enduring the idea of Bella talking to [y/n] about what it was like to love a monster.

Emmett shook his head, bringing himself back to reality. "Sorry, man. It's just that...I never thought someone like her would fall for me."

Edward's worries shifted topics. "Why would you say that?" Edward had felt like that; he still felt like that with Bella, always thinking of himself as a killer and not deserving of love. But Emmett was most comfortable being a vampire out of all his family members. So, his brother had never thought to see him doubting himself.

Emmett's thoughts were faster than his tongue. Not even Rosalie fell for me, not really, and she was the one that found me, and she's our... species. [y/n] is a human girl with a life ahead of her, a full one at that; I don't see how she'd fallen for me. "Are you sure it's love?" Emmett asked out loud.

"Well, she thought it was a crush," Edward replied, returning to his own memories of [y/n]. But he didn't dwell on them for long. Edward was still trying to process Emmett's confession about Rosalie. He had always seen Emmett as cheerful, never realising that his brother might also feel unloved. They had more in common than Edward had ever thought.

Emmett sighed, and even before Edward could say anything — advice or a comforting word — Emmett lowered his head. "I know, Edward. I understand the risks."

Edward frowned. He couldn't believe Emmett immediately concluded that Edward would be mad at him. Of course, there were risks, not just because the girl involved was human. Even if Emmett didn't think Rosalie loved him (and Edward, being a mind reader and all, agreed), she would also cause some trouble. 

But who was Edward to judge his brother's choices regarding a human?

"Look, if you decide to pursue this relationship, I'll support you."

Emmett smiled, surprised but yet feeling grateful for his brother's support. Thank you, he thought, and Edward nodded.

Edward thought love was a powerful emotion, and he couldn't blame Emmett for feeling like he did. However, he hoped that Emmett would make the right decision, whatever that may be.

[magebastard]

murmuring brook, curving about you

wc: 2123

rating: g

ship: lucanis dellamorte x loua ‘rook’ mercar

notes: pre relationship! early game! picks up immediately where the cutscene leaves off after the ‘get coffee with illario’ quest! the rating is g though this IS the ‘lucanis is not experienced’ conversation. nothing rlly inappropriate happens they’re just a couple anxious emotionally constipated clowns. this is soooo self indulgent btw. i think abt them in early game and i cannot stop thinking ‘wow. they are friends’

“Ready to head back to the Lighthouse?” Perhaps it is selfish—they rest so little. Rook wants to stay. Wants them both to stay tucked in this cafe where the blight and the war haven’t yet spread their ruin.

She has not seen him so at ease, so loose, even toiling away as he’s wont to in their dim kitchenette. Lucanis swills his coffee, a soft smile still on his lips.

“Almost.” Quietly, like a secret between them.

Loua tries not to look overly pleased.

It’s been close to a week at this point, since he’s joined them. She didn’t know him before his imprisonment, she couldn’t attest to whether or not it changed him. She cannot miss the man he was before and she’s grateful for it. She is so tired of missing. All they have is the capable assassin he seems to be now. One who, apparently, makes a fine pasta dinner and expertly crafts a shopping list. ‘Abomination’ isn’t even the first word Loua would use to describe him. It’s rather far down on the list.

“Well then,” she began. “I would love to ask you about knitting. I can sew alright, but I can barely accomplish a garter stitch.”

He quirks a brow. “I had a feeling I might be mocked for this.”

“What? What is there to mock? I asked for your help.”

“It is a domestic hobby—“

“I like that you knit.”

“And knit-wear isn’t very practical for the warmer climate—“

“Lucanis!” Loua is beaming at him when he finally pauses. He drums his fingers on the table. A few patrons are watching them, now. Coy smiles on their faces that he pointedly ignores.

“Again; I like that you knit. It is practical. And you said it yourself—it’s just another sort of dexterity training.”

“Forgive me. I’m used to employing logic to silence Illario and his jests.” He says it so breezily. The words are sharp but the intent is jocular, so familiar, even as Illario has fled them and cannot interject. Just like brothers, Loua supposes.

“There’s nothing to forgive. I imagine it’s also nice to have a focus beyond the work. And I like that you’re discerning about coffee. It implies particularity.”

It isn’t only that she’s convivial—it’s that she’s so genuine about it. There is an assertive sincerity to her prodding. She and Bellara are alike in that way. The gentle methods with which they pry are new to him. Lucanis is used to the perfunctory. The cold, calloused inquiry. From marks, from crows, from captors. He’s used to maneuvering through conversations—not having them.

But she’s made an assessment about him. Something simple enough. Benign, maybe. Or does she mean to tell him that he’s being observed? Noticed? Is she marking his weakness?

Though…

Smells like pipe-smoke. Coffee. Burnt clothes and lightning. No blood under her nails, or dry at the corners of her lips. She won’t hurt you.

Yes, he is starting to suspect as much.

“Before all of this, I lived a very comfortable life. I was in a stronger position to be particular.”

It delights him that she snorts—unrefined and comfortable. Maybe he should feel admonished or teased but it’s nice. It’s as if they’re friends.

“You don’t need to be ‘comfortable’—cough, filthy rich—to have impeccable taste in coffee. I’ll have you know; there’s a stand in Midtown, just a hair outside of Dock Town, with a dark roast that makes my heart sing. Andoral’s Breath has stiff competition out there.” Loua punctuates her lecture with a hearty sip. It is good coffee. Made better by the full moon, and the company.

“Truly? You’re sipping—guzzling, more like—Andoral’s Breath right now and you think there is a single roast that compares?”

“Guzzling!” She grins and he hesitates. This is nice. It’s as if he’s getting enough air to fill his lungs, finally, for the first time since his capture. And he’s smiling back honestly. When had that happened?

“Well, you’re not luxuriating in it as someone who is particular might.” Lucanis is joking. Spite thuds like a wind-torn rudder in his skull but his remarks are astonishingly temperate.

“Alright. We’ll get another cup each and I’ll take my time, then.” She reasons. It’s a calm, factorial resolve. Is it Spite that preens or something softer in his chest? We’ll just spend more time together, she might have said. Is he getting this right—is she enjoying this, too?

“Fine. And later, when we have a moment, I’ll have to see this coffee stand. A stand! Vaya, not a cafe or a proper shop? What of the atmosphere—can you even stop to enjoy a drink that way?”

Lucanis leans forward in his seat. He hopes to mirror her, goading and inviting. This, at least, is familiar to him. The dance of it.

“It’s a stand in a park, thank you very much. There’s a fountain and real grass and a pond. The mage lights are white after sunset. And little. Like stars.” Loua holds her conviction tightly. She doesn’t relish getting gooey and sentimental when they’ve reached such a jovial place. But something melts within her as she describes this quiet, personal thing.

To his credit, Lucanis seems to take the odd moment in stride. His smile does something saccharine and Loua will refuse to think about this for the days and weeks to come.

She shakes it off, tamps the homesick reverence out of her voice.

“And the dark roast is called King’s Cup.” Her hands are meticulous, even gesturing errantly. Mages. He would roll his eyes if he weren’t so captivated.

“Bitter and spiced—like a welcome home,” Loua pinches her fingers together, as if capturing the meaning with her hands could convey its verity. She wants to meet his passion for fine coffee, wants them to bond as she has with their gathered outfit so far.

“Ah, see, you are mocking me.” And he’s still smiling and it’s like they’re both in on this joke.

“No! I’m serious!” She laughs and laughs. “If I had to describe such a feeling, it would be like coming home. The kissing—first, goodbye or otherwise, I’m not entirely sure.” A new busker has set up near the counter, plucking away some slow melody. She wants to sway to it, feeling light enough to dance.

“Though some might say no kiss is sweeter than that of a welcome home, no?” Lucanis is messing with her and quietly Loua wishes they could have met in a time of peace. She could do this all the time with him, she decides. Sitting, laughing, ribbing. Flirting, surely, in some weird way.

“Some might—but not you? You assassin types love the heady, tragic stuff.” Ease up, you oaf. Don’t push, don’t nudge, don’t ruin this.

Though again, the sea air and gentle chords pull something loose between them. Lucanis does not respond with annoyance or discomfort. He’s still smiling at her.

“We assassin types aren’t often given a choice in that. It’s why I prefer the romance in novels. Much more range.” He’s still joking with her. Loua should take this and his tone and his quips and grasp them tightly. Move on. And yet…

When had she ever left well enough alone?

“More range than your own romances?” Perhaps if she keeps smiling, he won’t recoil at her clumsy attempt to know him. Perhaps he won’t care that the hapless leader of this crew throws her good sense away in a conversation when she carries even a mote of curiosity. Perhaps, hopefully, he will simply say ‘that’s not your business’ and they can move on—never to speak of this again.

Ah, but they were doing so well.

For a moment, to Loua’s horror, his face does betray discomfort.

Then, to her surprise, something relents and he unspools further still.

“I, personally, have none to speak of. No time, you see.” His head bobs from side to side as he contemplates explaining further. “No time, and not much vested interest, in truth. Mine is a solitary work. I don’t seek out things that are fleeting, and from there, my options are—well. It has not been a priority for me.” It shocks him that he isn’t entirely embarrassed to tell her this. Once, Lucanis believed it would shame him to be so comfortably isolated. At some point, perhaps even before the Ossuary, he must have come to accept the inexorable nature of his desires.

It helps, he supposes, that Loua only nods along. “I understand that. Between you and I; I would have benefited a lot from your foresight,” she offers in turn.

“Oh?”

“Well,” she pauses to take a sip. Stalling. “I certainly never thought to pursue anything fleeting. That doesn’t stop them from fleeting anyways.”

“Ah. My apologies—“

“No—I mean. Kaffas, that sounded bitter. Things just happen. It’s life, yeah?” Creators, maybe we should have gone back to the Lighthouse.

Lucanis nods. “Sure. Still, the heart and mind are often at odds, even as time passes. I’m sorry all the same.” And she supposes he knows a thing or two about hearts and minds. The grief and loss.

“Thank you. The novels are more fun, anyway.”

“You think?”

“Of course. Impossible trysts, impossible battles, love conquering all? What’s more fun than that?”

The lights are beginning to dim around the cafe, giving way to the strange ambience of midnight. Her fumbling notwithstanding, there is a molasses ease to leaning back and tilting her head at him. They’re just people, doing what people have always done; holding out something heart-soft and vulnerable for someone else to take.

Lucanis swallows around the sudden hard ache in his throat. Spite has conjured the sound of a cat, scratching a hard wooden door in his mind.

“Is that what you want, then? Swords and combat? Love to be the answer to stopping the mighty elvhen gods?”

She snorts again. “It could be,” she says. “But no. Not the swords and combat part. At least, not forever. I’m a Shadow Dragon—the swords are probably inevitable for a while yet. But someday—I don’t know. Maybe a house by some water. Coffee every day. A family. The happily ever after stuff.”

He tips his cup in a slight ‘cheers’. “That’s wise. I don’t imagine the tragic, heady stuff has much of a shelf life.”

Loua tips her cup back at him. “And you?”

“What about me? I can hardly make an informed decision about this.”

She points a finger. “I’m only guessing here, myself. If not romance, then what’s happily ever after? You said you haven’t had much of an opportunity to choose for yourself, so imagine it. The world is wide open for you. We finish the evanuris, then what?”

“You’re especially optimistic this evening.”

“I’m always optimistic. It’s my best and worst quality. Go on.”

Lucanis takes a moment, chewing it over. There is a kind of comfort that comes with never having to decide these things. His life has been a ruthless straight line. Pushing onward, never stalling to question or process. Mourning only in the dark. There has never been another way.

His eyes stay fixed on hers, dark and bright like sunlit woods. Loua lounges in her seat. She’s smiling at him, encouraging as ever. Free of the loneliness that dogs him. Perhaps there has always been another way.

“A family would be nice, I think. Death is my purview and it’s a demanding employer, but if I could—if there were something else.” He swallows, tries not to stutter. “If I could even begin to consider something else, yes. A house, a family. Perhaps we’d all knit. Something peaceful.”

The song the busker plays has gone impossibly sweet. Loua knows without knowing that the fool is staring directly at their table and she tries not to pay any mind beyond that. She tries not to give them too much ammunition in the way that she cannot control her face around this man.

Is he blushing? Loua wonders. Am I blushing? Of course I am, look at him.

The crowd around the bar must have died down. The barista on shift strolls up, practically giddy to deliver them a refill and collect their empty mugs. Loua wrenches her gaze away to nod and thank them. Pointedly ignoring the glee and mischief.

This place…

Lucanis seems to gather himself after a long beat.

“Though, as I’ve said, who’s to know what I really want? My own body is housing a demon and the world as we know it may end. ‘Something peaceful’ becomes a loftier goal by the hour.”

Her brows furrow at his dismissal. Loua could argue, but goodness, when was the last time she fought for anything that had nothing to do with her cause. Had she ever truly planned on settling down one day? Had she ever planned on leaving Tevinter when it still had use for her?

There’s comfort in having a purpose, she supposes. Though very suddenly it all seems so heavy to bear. Is it so ridiculous to think they all might rest once the evanuris are defeated? Is it so greedy to want to pursue the purpose of finding peace?

Is it so bizarre that she wants that for him?

For all of them, of course.

What am I doing?

Loua taps the lip of his mug with her own.

“To something peaceful,” she says. Lucanis huffs a quiet laugh.

“Something peaceful for us both.”

[meirimerens]

Because you mentioned Daniil‘s mama, does she ever meet artemy? What does she think of him? Does she ever find out about him and daniil being together or does daniil even come out to her? <3

she's at the wedding❤️ not said in jest btw she is.

I've mentioned it a few times in my #dankovsky lore and/or #yeva nazarovna dankovskaya tags (latter one including images of yeva interacting with burakh. Need to remake them but they're here and real still) dankovsky has been out to his mother since he was 15 after he realized age 11. for a while he didn't say anything because at age 12 like who cares but later it became that he kinda needed to say something lest he gets asked over and over about a fiancée so he preferred to readjust his mother's priorities before it became annoying. she's taken it better than his father, for this stuff I'll send you to the tags mentioned above because rewriting that in full kinda tires me a bit so you can read it [here] or [here].

she loves her grandkids because she was all on his ass with "you can still adopt right 🥺" even as he hadn't gotten a companion in his entire life. she's particularly fond of murky because murky looks Just Like Him For Real and is sad that she dislikes bangles and jewelry because yeva had kept all her jewelry for a future wife of her son's, then when that became obvious that That'd Be A No Ma'am for a future adopted daughter of his.

But Before That she has to kinda Meet Burakh indeed. after coming back to the city after his Hell on Earth countryside trip, dankovsky starts visiting more often from a feeling of "damn [scratches head] like is kinda precious and I should hang out with my mom before she's gone" and it becomes more and more obvious to her he has someone because he's like. Brighter psychologically. Less like the annoying stuck-up he's been. Mentions needing to travel back to the steppe often with a fondness that's not Colleagues-Only Related. so she starts "so is there someone👀 there is someone riiiight👀" and eventually he admits it. she's so excited to meet the guy (his dad a bit less because while he had made peace with him being gay [cf lore tag] he didn't really make it with dankovsky Having A Companion). Eventually yeva manages to convince her son to convince burakh to visit. and he does. a bit awkward. she thinks her son has good taste. both parents are quite in awe at the guy their son managed to bag because they're quite a bit smaller than him. yeva thinks it's so fun because she can ask him to fetch things on the shelves but dankovsky senior A Bit Less until burakh asks about the beetles collection and they get to bond by senior Proudly Discussing his and his son's collection. she reads his palms and is like I See👀 A Long And Prosperous Marriage 👀 [they hadn't even discussed that before]. Eventually burakh invites the dankovskies to ToG where yeva, who's a rather modest orthodox christian woman, is Vaguely Struck by the herb brides [cf this thing 2021 art jumpscare] but she respects the tapestry of the cultures of the world so she eventually just goes "what strong and athletic women🙏 I used to dance when I was younger um NOT LIKE THIS PERSONALLY but I did. But my knee… you know" And indeed eventually they are at the wedding. Love wins.

[boooweirdo]

Be my first

Pairing: Young Stanford Pines x Female Reader

Description: after a fight with an unexpected gremlin and meeting an interesting man with six finger hands, it had let down to quiet night with a small chat on the rooftop.

Warnings: none! :)

Word count: 1007

A/N: helllooooo! Yes i know…I’ve been gone again. Luckily I have been still writing through classes this semester. I know this isn’t Alastor (which btw yes I have something for him waiting) but I couldn’t help write Stanford pines one. I’ve been big Gravity falls fan since I was nine and I had always had crush on the nerdy man LMAO. Anyway I hope you guys enjoy this. it’s a little bit of scrap writing but I try to to make the best out of it!

Important note!: yes I know that Stanley wasn’t there at gravity falls when Ford was doing his research but I couldn’t help with the small sweet idea.

——————————————————————————

“What are you doing up here?”

The voice startled me. Causing me to slip a little before hitting my head on top of the roof of the shack. I somehow found my balance again and turn my head to Stanford behind me.

“Ford?”

“Sorry for scaring you! I just wonder where you were,” He climbed over the edge of the roof and sat by me cautiously, not wanting to get a concussion.

“No, no,” I sigh and grin rubbing my eyes to wake me up. It was almost four in the morning and thoughts were taking a toll on me.

With the day of chasing monsters that I always thought were only created by fictional authors who were bored with reality, were somehow real this whole time.

I knew coming up here in this small town I would eventually be hit with the strange occurrences. Although I assume it is with occasional old people, not meeting a huge gremlin.

“How’s your hands? He didn’t rough you up too hard, right?”

Ford’s eyes were taking a look on my scraped hands that had only brown scabs on some by the healing.

“I’m actually okay, surprisingly.”

“Surprisingly? If anyone was in your position they would’ve died of a heart attack just by looking at that thing.”

“Okay maybe I was a little scared seeing that thing and it’s weird—beady eyes.”

“Trust me there’s a whole lot more just beady eyes around this town,” jested Ford.

I let out a “pfft” sound and raised an eyebrow out of amusement. “What, are there like gnomes living in the forest too?”

Ford stared at me for a second and then narrow his eyes.

“Wait, how did you know there was gnomes here?”

“There’s gnomes too?!”

Ford and I stared at each other for another couple moments until we both started laughing.

We laughed for a solid moment and soon it started hurting our lungs for not breathing enough. It started to calm down and the both of us sat there stargazing for a moment.

“I just can’t believe it,” I said, almost out of breath. “So many creatures, beings or any animal just exist right out there. Waiting to be discovered or heard. Just so much to look after! It’s like even though you could’ve spent years here exploring you’re always gonna find something here to love. All of the old and new together.”

Stanford still had eyes on the sky, though I can feel him glancing from the inner corners to see me.

“Trust me I’ve been only here for two months and I’m still adjusting to all the weirdness here…but it’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“Amazing? Stanford, I’m jealous of you!” I exclaimed with a smile.

“Jealous?” He repeated.

“Yeah, you get to experience this everyday. Most people are out there with the most mundane and boring office job,” I scoffed. “You, Stanford Pines, don’t even know it.”

His glasses reflected a bright light for a second. Ford cackled and shook his head, with a wide smile. A smile that made me copy it without any try but a single pull on the inside of my chest.

“I suppose I just never thought I would hear someone say that to me.”

“Well, I’m honored to be the first.”

“First, huh.”

Ford twitched for a second and seemed stiff. Even without touching each other I knew there was something that caught him between each deep breath.

I see his six finger hand reach something inside of his tan trench coat. Slipping out a red journal. A trace hand written on with number two.

My curiosity caught me on the net, from there I analyzed the unique journal in his hand. With a small monocular peeking out the corners of the page.

The journal was small yet so big that seem had pages filled with something.

The little something being something I shouldn’t know.

“My six finger hands have always been the lead of my life ever since I could remember. Whether it meant me getting relentlessly bullied for my weird anomaly or it had made me the odd one out everywhere I go.”

The trace six finger hand on the book had stars bouncing off from gold color. Almost mesmerizing for anyone to take a peek.

Ford continues. “I thought I would never find a spot where my hands would seem normal, yet I realize now that after these years of pain, it was here. Meaning my anomaly isn't the only anomaly here.”

His hand out for reach and there it was in between us. Ford seems to be lost for a second until he peers to my hand on my lap.

Raising my hand and taking it near his, he carefully took it. With his fingers brushing the back of my palm and making sure my hand was flat. Placing the journal on my palm.

12 fingers secure on both of my hands.

“In fact,” Ford begans, “I think it would be much of honor if you were the first to read my journal.”

For a moment I felt my heart beat out of its chest but the small stars bounce back to me and the journal. Making it all too real for it to just be dream.

His hands pull away and felt with empty space without warmth, but a warm smile had arrive to my face.

“You really mean it?” I asked.

“I mean it.”

His hands left between the warmth of me and him. It felt empty, but my excitement withdraw me back to the journal in hand.

With lit eyes.

“Ford, the movie is about to play! You better come down!”

“We have burnt popcorn and candy, jellybeans to be exact!”

We both laughed catching the talking from Fiddlford and Stanley.

Stanford carefully got back up and hand out his hand for me.

No words were spoke expect my hand accepting his and both crawling to the attic window.

“We definitely talking about the book once the two fall asleep right?”

“Oh yeah, we will.”

[sunfyre-targaryen]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON S2E8

i finally managed to rewatch the episode and here is again my personal opinion about it.

essos: again they want the stepstones, those damned rocks. the stepstones are like the harrenhal of the sea: everybody wants it, but nobody manages to keep it for a long time without dying painfully.

sharako lohar is really cool. kinda looks like daario naharis (the first one).

aemond burning sharp point because he was angry about rhaenyra's new dragonriders. sir, you have too many problems.

my poor king aegon. he asking himself what was the point of all of this now that rhaenyra managed to have more dragons to her side. and larys wanting to help him is kinda heartwarming but also creepy as fuck at the same time.

rhaena starving and dehydrating herself for a dragon instead of taking care of the future of house targaryen. as i said previously, this obsession reminds me of little aemond (before he became a completely menace to society).

jace beefing with ulf. he is angry with the dragonseeds and he wants to prove them that they are not like every trueborn targaryens. well, ulf jests too much about it in my opinion. seeing hugh and ulf going out of the room together, foreshadowing iykyk.

rhaenyra and corlys. he sees what she cannot, just like rhaenys, he's a good hand of the queen. when they mentioned dreamfyre, my heart melts because she's one of my favourite dragons. finally, corlys saying that his ship's name is "the queen who never was" and then we see the boleyn which pictures rhaenys holding the crown...such an heartbreaking moment.

daemon and ser alfred. daemon has already decided to let the crown go and follow rhaenyra as we understand it from his last vision when he didn't take the crown from his brother. i adored how he looks at ser alfred since we all know how he hates traitors and the details of ser alfred hearing "traitor" whispered was perfect. let us all appreciate again ser simon "no treason on my watch" strong.

alicent and helaena. it's heartbreaking. she really loves her daughter and now that alicent does not have power anymore, she fears for her life. i loved the scenes we had between alicent and helaena a lot.

AEMOND HOW FUCKING DARE YOU. your sister is an innocent and plus she is still the queen, as your mother kindly reminded you. i have to say, dear alicent, that you should have behaved like this with him before he became a fucking problem to everyone. i loved that when he looks again at helaena, alicent raises her voice to him "NOT LIKE THIS"

ser criston cole, i despise alicent for saving your life that night. "she is my beacon", it reminds of the hightower's sigil, i adore this detail. i fucking love gwayne. "then resist it", ser gwayne slaytower, the man you are. last but not least, dear ser crispy you should have imagined that a war with dragons would have been a thousand times worse than the wars you saw in your life.

jacaerys targaryen, the pout of the realm. btw, baela and jace the supreme couple of westeros.

rhaenyra at dinner with the dragonseeds. addam answering to ulf that there will be a time to show who of them is really a coward (iykyk). addam of hull, the man you are. i adored the fact that rhaenyra chooses him to go with her to harrenhal.

daemon's vision. i adored it. bloodraven, the white walkers, the death of dragons and daemon's death which also represent the loss of power of house targaryen and then the red comet and daenerys, the rebirth of house targaryen. AND HELAENA.

i hope that in season 3 we'll have a further explanation of helaena's powers and what she can do, because in that scene it's clear that she entered the vision somehow. infact, we also see her kinda smiling after it. (again, foreshadowing: she's standing on a balcony, iykyk).

helaena and aemond. he still tries to convince her to go to war with dreamfyre. she answering back at him that she knows everything and that she saw everything, she does not speak in riddles anymore, she's clear as fuck, and those words hurt aemond like a knife. "aegon will be king again. he's yet to see victory [...] and you'll be dead". and when he threatens her, she says that it wouldn't change anything. he is scared now, he knows how it will end and everything he has done for glory will only bring him into the void.

rhaenyra and daemon at harrenhal. i'm glad to hear them speak in high valyrian to each other once again, kinda missed it. daemon's speech was just amazing and pure perfection.

alyn is angry as fuck and he has all the rights to be it. when he said to corlys that he remembers them now only after the death of his children was like a slap in the face for corlys. the best part was alyn saying that if he survives this war, he will continue to live his life as it was before.

mysaria and rhaenyra. "and who pays the price?" and mysaria looking at the dragons.

alicent and rhaenyra. probably my favourite scene. alicent wearing a light blue dress as she used to do when she and rhaenyra were close friends. we can see that now they inverted their roles: alicent who tries to get close to rhaenyra while rhaenyra is cold towards her, as it was after alicent wore the green dress the first time. another detail that i appreciated is when alicent says "i lost my way", another reminder to her house since their motto is "we light the way", now she is lost and alone, she feels like a nobody, she cannot count on her house and family anymore. when rhaenyra says "still, you defend him" OF COURSE SHE IS, despite everything aegon is her son, her first son. THIS IS NOT BOOK ALICENT, as i said previously, i understand this development but i would have liked to see a bit more of book alicent. rhaenyra: "a son for son", what about what helaena have endured? did we forget about jaehaerys?. rhaenyra: "history will paint you a villan. cold queen [...]", alicent: "let them think what they must. i have at last myself [...]", i loved this. they still love and care for each other somehow, when alicent asked rhaenyra to go with her it reminded me of young rhaenyra telling young alicent that she wanted to fly with her on dragonback, see the great wonders across the narrow sea and eat only cake.

seeing everybody getting ready for what they must do kinda makes me feel anxious for season 3 even if i know what happens.

TESSARION. GLAD TO SEE YOU, MY DEAR.

i am not ready for the battle of the gullet and for tumbleton. but at the same time i cannot wait to see the battle above the gods' eye.

finally rhaena found sheepstealer.

otto in a cage, this is larys' hand FOR SURE.

aegon fleeing from KL. cannot wait to see him in season 3. he's yet to see victory.

THE FINAL SOUNDTRACK ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL, AMAZING.

the end: alicent is free. rhaenyra holds all the weight of history on her shoulders.

now we have to wait two years for the most brutal part of the story.

if you want to share your thoughts or talk about it, send a raven! 💌

[forbidding-souda]

Mod Souda!~ I have never requested fic before, this is entirely new territory so please forgive me if I misstep. ^_^; Could I please request HC's regarding Korekiyo x autistic S/O? I tried finding similar in the master list, alas I could not which is completely on me if I wasn't thorough enough.

A little afterword of gratitude also for your masterful works on Korekiyo in particular, the way you HC him is beautiful. He is my ultimate comfort character and your content is poignant for me. I also wish you the absolute best on finals and in life in general! (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)♡ I hope you are faring well. Thank you for all that you do here

Shinguuji Korekiyo with Autistic S/O

I've had this blog since quarantine so I can't even remember if I've written anything like this so I'm happy to write one for you regardless or not if it's a repeat.

Hai guys I don't have my edited sprites anymore bc I deleted them awhile ago so here's normal souda. Also if this is ass then my bad

hashtag actually autistic btw for anyone reading, i think it's right to share that when I write these ofc

okay mod souda behavior here where I say random stuff before each story but I'm watching impractical jokers rn and I don't know how some people watch this because the secondhand embarrassment is insane I literaly have to look away PLZZZ. This took an hour to write because half way through I started watching impractical joker clips on youtube (while the show is playing on the tv)

-Mod Souda

♥ He isn't a stickler about your interests. A good thing about being with him is that he won't make fun of you for anything you enjoy, no matter if he enjoys it himself or not. He'll never ask you to turn a movie off or to stop talking about something. He knows more than anybody else how isolating it can feel when somebody refuses to try and tolerate other people's passions; he would never put you down.

♥ He's naturally off-putting. If you experience people considering you off-putting then don't feel alone because Shinguuji is considered off-putting as well. He brushes off the negative things people thinks when it comes to himself, but when it comes to you and the negativity you face, it's hard for him to conceal how irritated he gets.

♥ I know some people have hyperfixations of like medieval torture methods so imagine how much he'd love that.

♥ ^ You also have the chance to teach him about really niche things, that's pretty sweet.

♥ ^ But I imagine that with some topics, he's gonna try and teach you about your own hyperfixation and it's gonna get annoying.

♥ He loves ur reactions to things. He gets so gushy-gushy and poetic. He likes finding what words make you smile, which ones make you laugh and which ones make you want to roll your eyes.

You stared back at him for a few seconds. He held an intense, filling gaze. The two of you were sitting on a park bench, facing the trees and enjoying the sounds of the birds. In between the conversation, there were moments of silence. Usually, he'd break them with small, unrelated sentences, but he's been quiet. "Korekiyo," you said quietly, a bit worried to startle him. To you, he was either in deep thought or, more humorously, sleeping with his eyes open. It took you to say it louder before he turned away. "My apologies," he smiled with a tilt of his head. His hair cascaded down his shoulder. His eyes went to the green leaves dancing in the wind. "We sit here in such a beautiful place, so lively. Most people would give their life away to view a sight like this." With no response, you just stared at him more, already knowing what he was going to say. He looked at you. "I've been all around the world and so I do not wish to waste my time looking at something I've seen before. You, however, do not come close to any of the beauties our world gives to us." "You love me so much, don't you?" You gave him a smile while his yellow eyes developed a look of interest: "You say that but do not realize that jests can be true words, too."

♥ If you need your alone time, he isn't going to stop you because he likes his, too. He knows that obviously you can be infatuated with somebody while also finding comfort in solitude.

♥ ^ And with that, he also has his own boundaries when it comes to where he goes whenever he wants solitude. He likes reading his books and analyzing his artifacts, all of which takes place in his study.

♥ ^ Yeah and don't touch his stuff because he is very protective of his collections. Therefore, he'd also never mess with something you own.

♥ If you're the type of person to have stuffed animals, and especially make them talk, he isn't going to pick up on that very quickly as means of a thing people still do. He'll give a history lesson as to 'ah yes, i've learned about this form of imagination within cultures of story telling, oral adventures'.

♥ Most of the time, he'll put your comfort over his.

♥ He'll stay up with you whenever you have trouble sleeping and are fully awake at 2am, no matter the cost. He is going to make sure that you know he is always there for you. He always has things to do.

♥ If you need help falling asleep, he'll do things like sing to you and let you watch videos in bed, whatever will make you most comfortable.

♥ He got some crazy eye contact btw I just want to put that out there.

[one-and-a-half-yikes]

This thought had been in my head before, and I didn't think about making a post about it till I saw a really dumb post I disagreed with.

Once again talking about Izuku having a crush on Ochako, while acting as if Izuku is an average shounen protag like all the others. Except for one thing...

While it can be stated that Izuku did at one point have a crush on Uraraka, and I'm not gonna dispute that, many have already pointed out how Izuku very quickly gets over it the more time he spends at U.A. And all of this is true, but there's one thing I haven't seen anyone point out yet and that's that all of Izuku's moments where we see him crushing on Ochako I treated like a gag.

There's a lot of moments from the earlier parts of the series so I didn't grab them all. But I'm gonna use some to make my case here.

this is literally the first panel where we see this happen, and right off it comes across less like a crush and more like...actually I don't know how to even describe that face...

But the point is that it doesn't really seem like the face of someone who's flustered (especially because we see Izuku get flustered at multiple other points and it looks nothing like this-), and he's barely blushing at all in this. The way that this scene is made, makes it seem like you're meant to treat this in jest. "Oh a teen boy having a crush on a girl, just a boy being a boy!" Yes. A boy being a boy. A teen boy who was previously bullied and ostracized by all his peers and who's only interaction with the opposite sex would have been his mom. I can't imagine why he's having this reaction. Anyways.

Okay now Izuku is flustered...but it's because of personal space? Not the girl in front of you? Huh. Okay. This happens again btw, during the first OVA (I think), where Uraraka in her excitement at being paired up with Izuku ends up in his personal space without consideration for his boundaries.

This continues on sparsely throughout random points in the story, until they just...stop. Completely. And this interesting, because every other time regarding IzuOcha specifically focuses on Uraraka and her feelings about Izuku. And it's never treated as a joke. Whereas with Izuku, you're meant to find it funny, but never highly important, or warranting you're full attention. It's just something that I find interesting, especially when you take into consideration how this parallels KiriMina and KamiJirou, and how for both boys and their feelings toward their respective love interests their feelings are treated again, with weight.

And like I said, Uraraka's emotions are treated seriously. We're given multiple moments to see her contemplate on this stuff. But never Izuku. Why? Because he's not important, it was always gonna be one-sided thing between them, imo I don't think, even if bkdk was never meant to be a thing, that Hori ever intended for this to be a deep, meaningful relationship between these two. That it was always never gonna happen. That's my two cents tho.

Not sure how to end this off, so yeah...if anyone wants to add anything or ask if I didn't explain something well enough lemme know cause I have no idea if I did 😅

[evansbby]

This opinion is going to get me cancelled and drop-kicked out of the cevans fandom but I have to say it

Why are yall so obsessed with Chris Evan dog dodger???? Like no fr why are people so obsessed with a dog it’s just a dog and it would be different if you knew the dog but you don’t! It’s just some random celeb’s dog! I mean a lot of my friends and relatives have dogs and they are very cute but I’m not obsessed with them! So why is everyone obsessed with this random dog that they don’t even know??? Obsessing over ‘omg will we get a dodger pic in 2024!??!’ BITCH?! Who tf cares??? It is just a celeb’s dog likeeee?? Let’s be so fr here. If chris posted a new dodger video tomorrow I would not even bat an eye. Why??? BC IT IS NOT MY DOG IDGAF sorry dodger

(btw this is all said in jest like im laughing as i type it i dont mean it seriously like if yall like the dog then you do you!!!! just me personally, i dont care😭😂😂)

[nono-bunny]

I was a bit worried about hearing Zack Tyler Eisen on the podcast because I read someone quote him on saying "it's all in your head buddy" about Zutara, which??? Doesn't sound great, and after how rude Bryke were I grew to be wary of Kataang shippers on the podcast, even though Janet does a great job or keeping them in check as much as possible and Dante is fantastic at easing the tension... I just don't like being condescended to like that, y'know?

But he was actually a great guest imo! He had a lot of unique experiences from the show by virtue of his age at the time, and in general sounds like a cool guy! I kinda thought he may have left acting after like having a bad experience on ATLA or something, but he sounds like he just really found a love for cinematography which is cool and good to hear! Like, he seems to still love engaging with the show every once in a while, and like, good for him!

Anyway this "all in your head" thing does seem to be like? Much more in jest than it may seem when reading it, he was kinda just messing around with Dante, and while I STILL disagree with him because Kataang is gross... He was much more chill about it than I thought, can't really blame him for preferring Kataang when he IS Aang lol

I am... Unhappy because when looking at future episodes to check out the guests I can look forward to (some real bangers, btw!) I saw that him and one of the Bryke duo are on Crossroads of Destiny which. Is kind of infuriating that there are two Kataangers on a Zutara episode, but honestly I'm? Kinda less mad about it than I was after listening to his episode, I feel like he might actually have some interesting things to say there since he said he liked the Guru Pathik stuff so! I guess I'll wait and see how I feel about it after reaching it lol. They better acknowledge that it's a Zutara episode though or istg...

I was originally SO mad when I found out about the Crossroads of Destiny guests being anti-Zutara that I typed out a huge rage post which I obviously shelved because it was completely out of proportion and written when I was barely coherent because I was extremely sleepy, it was all kinda funny tbh I was near on delirious writing it but tbf not all of my points there were completely wrong so? This post and a possible follow up in the future will exist in its stead lol

Also!! I do kinda just wanna throw this out there: I hate Aang and Bryke, but I have never had any issue with Zack for voicing him- he did a remarkable job voicing Aang! It's just unfortunate what Bryke did to his character development, and it's interesting to me that he seems to like the Guru Pathik stuff but? If anything I'm actually really interested in his pov, probably much more than I am in hearing Bryke's extremely biased one (they lied SO much over the years about the development process, wtf!! They've proven to be so unreliable, and alongside their shit takes I truly despise hearing them talk on the podcast lol)

[blu3cl0v3rs]

not a Crystalized Morro AU just your Morble post. Some wisdom before mailing the horrors to all the tumblr artists. this is said in jest btw why would you inflict this on us

bc Morble :3