makimakimi - Tumblr blog

makimakimi · 8 months

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scribbled hearts.

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

Kaveh finds Alhaitham furiously scrubbing his face in the bathroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there's you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scribble all over your notes.

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

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

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

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

Alhaitham shrugs. A sigh inevitably escapes your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to buy cereal.”

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're still keeping that up?”

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

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

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

“We do talk. Normally.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else would you write, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

Unknown number: eggs milk whipping cream flour

Unknown number: baking powder cocoa powder vanilla extract sugar

What was he expecting anyway?

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

Another notification lights his phone.

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

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

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

You: I'll go carry the groceries too.

Unknown number: thanks! 💖

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #al haitham #alhaitham

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makimakimi · 9 months

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Someone PLEASE make an alhaitham au or smau with this plot, im begging you to do so 😭🙏🏻

It’s an amazing idea, like, just imagine Alhaitham with this parts of the song

“And I could see you up against the wall with me”

Listen, THEY’RE TRYING TO HIDE OF SOMEONE WHO’S FOLLOWING THEM AND THEN ALHAITHAM PULLS THE READER BY THE WRIST TO A DARK ALLEY SO NOW HE HAS HIS HAND COVERING THE MOUTH OF THE READER, CHEST TO CHEST, AND HIS OTHER HAND ON THE WAIST OF OUR DEAR READER. THATS IT

“That I could see you throw your jacket on the floor, I could see you make me want you even more”

guys, his coat *winkwink*

“Passed me a note saying, "Meet me tonight" then we kiss, and you know I won't ever tell, yeah, and I could see you being my addiction. You can see me as a secret mission”

OMG, THEY HAD A FIGHT EARLIER SO ALHAITHAM WANTS TO APLOGY (in his way yk) BUT THE READER IS MAAAD AND ALHAITHAM IS FUCKING DUMB SO WHEN THEY MEET IN THE DARK NIGHT THEY START THE FIGHT ALL AGAIN (SCREAMING AND ALL THE SHI) BUTTT, SUDDENLY ALHAITHAM KISS THE READER AND YK THEY START AN ANGRY MAKE OUT SESSION 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

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makimakimi · 10 months

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。underneath the stars (looking for a sign)

synopsis. al-haitham thinks waking up beside you feels like a dream—well, until it doesn’t

— contents. pining al-haitham, honestly it’s mutual pining lol, gn! reader, implied one night stand, consumption of alcohol (both reader and al-haitham) reader is a matra, al-haitham is acting grand sage, it’s basically the “avoid my crush after i accidentally sleep with him until he corners me” trope lol, confessions, brief angst and then a happily ever after, fluff, not proof read—this was entirely written on tumblr drafts through mobile app. yeah. we raw dogged this bad boy lmaoooo

— word count. 4.1k (how did a drabble get here sobs)

— notes. if you knew. how many wips i have with him. you would be astounded :,) he’s all that matters anymore

al-haitham wakes up to a bed much softer than his, red flag number one. there’s also a weight on his chest, red flag number two. red flag number three, however, doesn’t make itself apparent until he opens his eyes and sees you.

oh. not good. you’re covered in the sheets, but you’re clearly…topless, and a quick glance at his own torso tells him he’s also not clothed. oh. double not good.

but there’s also a small voice in his head that’s cheering and patting himself on the shoulder—he’s managed to fall into the bed of the very person he’s been quietly pining over for months, what more can a guy possibly ask for?

but unfortunately, his mini celebration in his inner thoughts is disrupted when you open your eyes at the disturbance from his movement—and before he can get even one word in, you shriek. rather loudly, too—it makes him wince at the sound (he’s always had sensitive ears.)

“what are you doing here?” you gasp, “and why haven’t you got a shirt—wait. why haven’t i got a shirt on?”

“well, it seems—”

“you slept with me?” you gasp again, cutting him off as your face twists in disbelief, “while i was drunk?”

“i was drunk too,” he points out, frowning at the accusations. al-haitham is a respectable man, and more importantly, he cares about you too much to take advantage of your inebriated state like that. “it was a two way street.”

that seems to calm you for…approximately two seconds before your face twists in horror again.

“al-haitham,” you wail his name in despair, slumping onto your mattress in defeat, “this is the worst thing we could have done. do you realize that?”

oh. you regret this—the voice in his head suddenly stops cheering. it deflates, in fact.

worst thing. is this really the worst thing? al-haitham thinks you both have always gotten along rather well, and he’s always taken your slightly stuttered words and nervous chuckles as a testament to holding the same attraction he holds for you. but maybe he was too quick to assume you feel the same, and your words now feel like a boulder on his chest. they’re heavy. soul crushingly heavy, in fact—but he keeps the blank expression on his face ever so easily.

“yes, it seems a bit inappropriate for coworkers to have an entanglement,” he agrees after a moment, making you whine at his word choice.

“you don’t have to call it that,” you huff.

then, out of sheer curiosity (and absolutely nothing else), you take a quick peek from the corner of your eyes at his chest. in your defense, his shirt leaves practically little left to the imagination, and when else will you get the opportunity to see his (very impressive) chest? a peek won’t hurt.

you’re thoroughly impressed when your eyes catch his sculpted pecs. his eyes are thoroughly unimpressed when they catch your gaze.

“well, what would you like to do about our predicament?” he asks flatly.

acting uninterested is the hardest part, he realizes. here, you’re within reach for his arm to curl around you, and yet somehow, there still feels like there are miles of space between you in the sheets. it’s a bitter reality, he thinks, one that stings a bit more than he’s ever really imagined.

al-haitham has witnessed lots of rejections in his time. whether it’s at the akademiya where he is the unfortunate witness of a rejected confession, or in novels he reads of unrequited feelings. he however never thought he’d land himself in the same situation—even if he hasn’t technically confessed to you yet. but your reaction definitely feels like one, and he’s smart enough to deduce that if he did confess, you wouldn’t take too kindly to the idea.

sure, it’s a bit unprofessional for the acting grand sage to have a relationship with one of the akademiya’s top matra that he works with rather frequently, but al-haitham is only the temporary grand sage. technically, after this, he will be going back to being the scribe who makes himself scarce on a regular basis. and it’s not very unprofessional for the scribe and a matra to be romantically involved, he’d like to argue. most people meet their significant others through the akademiya in the first place—why should he be any different?

but one glance at your face tells him you’re rather unhappy with this situation. he thinks he can hear a crack where the boulder resides on his chest.

“i think you should leave,” you mumble, chewing nervously on your lip, “and don’t say anything about this to anyone. especially not cyno.”

“noted,” he says blandly. you turn away, letting him have the privacy to rise out of bed and dress—which he does as slowly as possible, just to drag out the feeling of being in your bedroom for just a while longer—before he says clears his throat. “i’ll be seeing you,” he says.

“sure,” you nod awkwardly, “see you at uh…see you at work.”

with that, he walks out of your bedroom, and sees himself out. as soon as you hear the front door shut, you turn and scream into your pillow—the same pillow that happened to be under al-haitham’s head for the entire night, the same pillow that smells like his shampoo.

you think for a moment how you can never wash this pillow case again—and then, when you realize just what you’ve thought, you scream again.

you might just be entirely screwed.

—————

“and where have you been?” kaveh is waiting in the kitchen as soon as al-haitham enters.

great.

kaveh has a talent for making himself available to chatter away into al-haitham’s ear on the most stressful of days. whether it’s to greet him with complaints about having no help with cleaning after a long day of work, or to bang on his office door and demand an explanation for rejected funds as he does paperwork, or to ask where he’s been after he’s been wounded rather harshly by the one person he’s ever felt romantically inclined for, kaveh is always there at the worst possible timing.

leave it to kaveh to sour his mood more.

“i don’t see how it’s any of your business,” al-haitham mutters, grabbing the glass of water on the table and chugging it to help with the slight hangover he nurses—it’s evidently not his best morning in more ways than one.

“hey, that’s my glass,” kaveh scolds, “get your own.”

“it’s actually my glass. from my grandmothers set,” al-haitham corrects his roommate, “and i pay the water bills. so it’s my water too.”

“you—” kaveh shakes with frustration. it would pull a bit of an amused grin on al-hairham’s face if he wasn’t in the worst mood possible. “nevermind,” kaveh huffs, crossing his arms, “where were you—wait, is that a hickey?”

“no,” al-haitham says instantly, pulling his cloak higher to cover his neck—but kaveh beats him to it, reaching over and inspecting his skin. he seems to light up as soon as he realizes it is, in fact, a hickey on al-haitham’s neck.

“it is a hickey,” he grins gleefully, gasping in sheer disbelief that al-haitham seems to have some sort of life outside of work and home, “this can’t be. did you pay someone to get into bed with you—”

“just because some of us can afford such services doesn’t mean we indulge in them,” al-haitham grumbles, which earns an offended gasp from the blonde, “and i’m not obligated to tell you where, or with who for that matter, i was—”

“was it a certain matra?” kaveh grins knowingly, cutting him off.

the mere mention of you must make his face fall—which is new, because al-haitham has always been good at hiding his emotions on his face. but kaveh seems to have realized he’s overstepped, because his smile fades just as quickly as it comes.

“it doesn’t matter,” al-haitham mutters, “it was a mistake.”

“a mistake? but you’ve been pathetically pining for months, anyone with eyes can see—”

“i’ll be going to work now,” al-haitham cuts kaveh off, “make sure you pay this months rent on time.”

with that, he turns, making his way to his room to shower and then be off to the akademiya—where he equal parts hopes he doesn’t see you, and equal parts hopes he runs into you just to catch a glimpse of you again.

—————

you haven’t seen al-haitham is six days—correction: you’ve avoided al-haitham for six days. admittedly, it’s becoming increasingly difficult seeing as he is the acting grand sage, and you do need him to approve of your reports from recent investigations—but then you remember how six days ago, in the darkly lit corner of the street on your way home, you both kissed.

(and yes, it was a drunken mistake—neither you nor al-haitham value public displays of inappropriate affection between coworkers, but that doesn’t erase what happened.)

perhaps it would be easy to laugh it off as an impulsive action the both of you took while being under the influence, but then you both stumbled into your house. and then your bed. and then a kiss turned into more…and then next thing you knew, you’ve been awakened to a very unclothed (but still very handsome) al-haitham next to you in the mattress.

you should be mature and face him—people can sleep with people and not let it mean anything, proper adults would simply brush over this and never look back. but al-haitham is a bit of a difficult scenario.

he’s handsome—painfully so, with those sculpted muscles and those soft strands of hair that fall perfectly over his face. but more than he is easy on the eyes, he’s a charming individual. at least to you—you think the majority of the akademiya would have to disagree.

but al-haitham is kind, he greets you properly, holds doors open for you, and he often notices when you’re tired just by looking at you before giving you extensions on reports. he’s caring, you can tell because he’s helped people more than once, and while he claims it’s for the sake of his own convenience so he can avoid extra trouble, you know that he doesn’t have the heart to turn away from those that need him. more importantly, al-haitham is disciplined—it’s something all matra such as yourself can appreciate.

he seeks out knowledge in the most moral of methods, he never crosses limits or abuses power even when he holds the ability to, and he never takes advantage of the authority he may hold over others.

he’s wonderful, you can’t help but think—and admittedly, his hands also have very attractive veins that make you sweat a little. but that’s not the important part, of course. the important part is how perfect his character is, if you take the moment to understand it. and you like to think you understand it—much more than most at the akademiya.

except romancing the akademiya’s grand sage isn’t the best look for a matra—especially if you want to climb up the ranks soon. you don’t want rumors spread to undermine your hard work…or worse, be accused by the general mahamatra of taking your position as the grand sage’s lover to your advantage for work gains.

cyno is a strict individual—you’d hate to get on his bad side. and just as you think about how awful it would be if he got the wrong impression, he walks right up to you.

with that serious look on his face—why does he always have that serious look on his face?

“grand sage al-haitham requests you in his office,” he says. you don’t detect any suspicion in his voice, and it seems like a perfectly normal statement, but that’s the thing about cyno. he’s too good at not letting his movements be read, too good at cornering caged animals before dragging them by the ankles out in the open, exposed and vulnerable.

you gulp. “did he say why?” you ask, “i’m a bit busy.”

“no,” cyno shakes his head—and then he looks at you oddly, “you don’t seem busy.”

“well….this report won’t write itself,” you chuckle nervously, which only makes his brows furrow in confusion.

“wasn’t that due two days ago?”

fuck.

“yes….but al-haitham gave me an extension.”

“he seems to give you a lot of those,” cyno points out, unimpressed.

well, that’s great, you think. surely, there is no other matra as good at losing composure and making things more obvious for themselves than you.

“i haven’t been feeling well,” you say quickly—which isn’t the worst excuse, seeing as you’ve hardly shown your face at the akademiya for the last few days.

cyno seems to buy it too, because he nods in understanding before giving you a concerned look. “you shouldn’t push yourself, you know,” he lectures, “being sick snot fun.” you blink, and he looks thoroughly amused with himself. “get it? because when you’re sick, you might have a runny nose? snot? and—”

“right,” you nod, “i’ll be seeing the grand sage now. i wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

at least you know cyno has not made any….inappropriate assumptions if he’s making jokes, as painful as they might be. you’re not sure if you’d rather face al-haitham or continue to listen to the general mahamatra’s interesting sense of humor, but the closer you get to the grand sage’s office, the more you want to turn back and find cyno again.

but you’re an adult, and adults do adult things sometimes, and sometimes they’re not the most ideal, but the only way to handle such situations is the adult way—to be mature and not let things get in the way of being professional. easy enough.

at least, you hope.

—————

“you called for me, grand sage?”

ouch. al-haitham has now been reduced to grand sage, not just al-haitham. he looks at you for a moment, and he tries—really, he does—to seem unbothered, but his brows crinkle before he can stop them.

“i did, yes,” he says, looking at you.

you look lovely—which, you always do, even when you’re nervous. he can tell you are because you have that habit of chewing on your lip when you’re nervous, and he hates that he makes you anxious enough to do that right now.

al-haitham has always hated the gap between him and everyone else—not because he enjoys being close to others, but because it’s burdensome to always seem like a pretentious asshole. being interpreted as one over the years has left him quite numb to what other people think….but that’s not the case with you, unfortunately. he wonders if you’ve ever thought he was an asshole, or if you’ve ever felt that he acts like he’s better than you are. he hopes you’ve never talked to him and thought he’s condescending like kaveh insists he is—he hopes you find value in his honesty and find him insightful.

he thinks you might have at one point, if the way carrying conversation with you is so easy is of any proof. it feels natural, talking to you. your voice is smooth, especially when it reads over mission reports to him in his office. your laugh is even smoother, though—it’s soft, and honeyed, it sounds like something he’s been missing his whole life.

everything about you feels like something he’s been missing his whole life, like he was born to be with you by his side, and he’s been empty without you all along.

you clear your throat, handing him papers as you pull him from his thoughts and say, “here is the report for that last investigation,” you say quietly, “i apologize for the untimeliness. it won’t happen again—”

“that’s not why i called you,” he cuts you off.

al-haitham is a straightforward man. he’s watched many confessions, and he’s read about many confessions, and he’s even thought about how his own confessions might go should he ever find someone he finds interest in.

but this isn’t interest. al-haitham is not interested in you—he needs you. to call this a confession might be incorrect, he thinks for a moment, because this almost feels like he’s about to plead for you to give him a chance.

“oh,” your voice is small.

you think you have an inkling of an idea of what he’ll bring up, and you contemplate running out of his office and begging cyno to tell you a few more of his jokes….or a few dozen….maybe a few hundred to be safe.

“we should talk about that night—”

“well, there’s not much to talk about,” you say simply, “you and i are consenting adults, and we happened to be heavily under the influence, which caused a lapse in judgement. it’s a bit unprofessional, sure, but as long as neither of us say anything, and as long as we manage to keep a professional atmosphere between the two of us, there shouldn’t be any—”

he cuts off your (rehearsed in the bathroom mirror many times) speech as he clears his throat. “i….” the words are caught in his throat.

for a lifetime of straightforward honesty and blunt words, it seems like now of all times he can’t seem to speak.

“you…?” you motion for him to continue.

“i enjoyed it.”

you sputter. his eyes widen as he stumbles over his words when he realizes what he’s really said.

“grand sage,” you gasp, “i think that’s hardly appropriate for—”

“n-no, i meant i enjoyed you,” he says quickly, making you furrow your brows.

“and what does that mean? because—”

“i enjoyed being with you,” he croaks. it’s a good thing kaveh isn’t here to witness this, because as a self proclaimed expert at love (which al-haitham would have to disagree), kaveh would have an absolute ball watching this. “i don’t….i would prefer if we didn’t pretend nothing happened,” he mumbles, “if you feel the same, that is.”

everything about al-haitham is hopeful. from the way his eyes watch your every movement as they stare at you, to the way he clutches the pen in his hand tightly in anticipation of your response, he’s hopeful. you can tell.

you can tell he’s hopeful you’ll say yes, that he’s hopeful you’ll say you feel the same way as him, that he’s hopeful he’ll see you again in a setting that’s not just for work and mission reports and investigation details.

he’s hopeful you’ll say yes to his pleading eyes and fill that empty spot beside him that’s been empty for far too long.

and it feels like swallowing lead when you sigh heavily and watch the hope crumble.

“al-haitham,” you mumble, “this wouldn’t be very wise, you know?”

“and why’s that?” the hurt in his face is almost tangible.

he’s not foreign to rejections, he’s witnessed them his whole life. he watched that haravatat scholar that declined the amurta one outside of class that one year. he read about that main character that found self respect and declined the toxic love interest in that novel he read last summer. he’s declined his own fair share of confessions by random scholars that stare a bit too long at his chest and arms for his liking.

but for some reason, he never imagined it to feel like this. like being with your for one second longer might just burn his skin, but being away from you might leave him cold and numb. al-haitham thinks that if you walked out that door, you might just take every bit of warmth he’s ever known from him—but sitting in front of you, in front of your sorrowed expression and sympathetic eyes….it might be too much heat for him to handle.

“well, you’re the grand sage, and i’m a matra—”

“acting grand sage,” he corrects, “it’s temporary. i’ll be back to being the akademiya’s scribe in a short bit.”

“but people talk,” you insist, “and i’ve worked hard to be a respectable matra, and i wouldn’t want anyone to think i’ve slept my way to the top. plus, the general mahamatra is technically my boss, and he’s very strict—”

“the general mahamatra and i drink at taverns together quite often,” he says pointedly, “he’s well aware of how i feel.”

“you told cyno?” you gasp, shooting him a sharp look, “i asked you specifically not to—”

“he’s known of my feelings before that night,” he assures, “evidently i’m not very subtle.”

“well,” you hum, biting back a smile, “no, you aren’t.”

he raises a brow, tilting his head in confusion. “you’ve known?”

“al-haitham,” you chuckle, eyeing him fondly. something about the way your smile is so bright makes him clutch his pen tighter. “you aren’t the most social, you know. but you always have something to say to me.”

“that doesn’t always mean anything,” he mumbles, blush rising to the tips of his ears.

he’s endearing this way, you decide—when he’s flustered and almost pouting and flushed a bright shade of pink. you think for a second that maybe, if you kiss him for a bit in the comforts of his office, no one will ever have to know.

“but it does, doesn’t it?” you tease.

“and if you’ve indulged it all this time, am i safe to assume it means something to you too?” he asks, raising a brow.

you should say no. sleeping with the grand sage and kissing him in his office and maybe even going on dates and possibly holding hands is hardly a good look—but the scribe….well, maybe the scribe is a different story.

“ask me again when you’re the akademiya’s scribe,” you say, biting back a smile, “perhaps my answer will be different then.”

“i see,” he nods, biting back a smile of his own, “i suppose the grand sage isn’t everyone’s type, huh?”

“no,” you chuckle, “i suppose not. but the scribe….well, he’s rather charming.” you walk up to him, lean down and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth as you mumble, “i don’t mind waiting for the scribe.”

“well, lucky for you, you won’t have to wait too long,” he hums.

he watches you leave his office—and then he decides that when he clocks out at five pm sharp later, he’ll go straight home, tell kaveh that he is, in fact capable in the field of romance, and demand this month’s rent.

—————

BONUS:

“haitham, we’re out of eggs,” you pout, poking your head out of the fridge, “will you bring some on the way home today?”

“we would have eggs if kaveh didn’t use all of mine,” al-haitham grumbles, glaring at the blonde who gasps in offense.

“and you help yourself to my beer, don’t you? i deserve a few eggs,” kaveh huffs.

“well, make sure you pay this month’s rent on time. we’re going to buy some more furniture for our room.”

this time, kaveh turns to you in disbelief—you find it amusing how he seems to still find it improbable that anyone would like to spend longer than five minutes with al-haitham, let alone share a bedroom.

“are you really sure you want to do this? what could you possibly see in him? he’s the most aggravating individual i’ve ever had the pleasure of talking to,” kaveh eyes you in concern as you walk over and press a soft kiss to al-haitham’s forehead, earning himself an unimpressed glare from the scribe and making you giggle.

“he is a bit aggravating,” you agree with a teasing glint, pinching al-haitham’s cheek as he scoffs, “but i think he’s just nice to me because i sleep with him.”

“that’s gross,” kaveh wrinkles his nose, “you had better not be doing anything i can hear from my room—that would be traumatic. although, it must be more traumatic for you,” he says with sympathy.

“if you don’t like it, you can simply move out,” al-haitham, shrugs, wrapping an arm around your waist. as much as you love your boyfriend—and you love him quite a bit, you can’t help but mourn the fact that constant bickering will now become a staple in your daily routine.

“are you threatening me?” kaveh gasps before he turns to you with his finger pointing to al-haitham, “do you see? this is your future, i hope you know that. he’s much more unpleasant to live with, i’m warning you in advance—don’t say i didn’t try.”

“well, i’m sure he’ll be on his best behavior for me,” you grin, eyeing al-haitham playfully as your fingers weave into his hair, “otherwise, i’ll have to come sleep in your room when i’m mad at him.”

you think, for the first time ever, kaveh and al-haitham seem to agree on something as they both share a look of dread at your words.

pov: you write 3.8k words of build up for a plot just so you can right the bonus scene 😭

no bc literally i meant to write this as a drabble just so i could write the bonus scene bc i thought of it and giggled but then the plot just kept going and now we’re at 4.1k words like w h a t

#alhaitham x reader #so fucking cute #i need him so bad

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makimakimi · 10 months

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Leon's beauty marks $&!;#*+=*#{[[~£!¥’ god im so fucking in love with him. I genuinely blush so hard when I remember his freckles and moles, like omg I want to kiss each and every one of them

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makimakimi · 1 year

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Guys I want to be fucked by Leon and fuck him too but, could you little whores stop writing just nsfw about him?? I want ANGST, I wanna be so fucking sad that the tears just roll down my face without even noticing. I WANT TO BE HEARTBROKEN, I WANT LEON BREAKING MY HEART IN THOUSANDS PIECES AND THEN JUST PATCH IT UP BECAUSE HE LOVES ME AND HE’S JUST AFRAID (sorry) (I’m delusional)

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makimakimi · 1 year

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“人間最強 v.s ウイルス最強…” ↳バイオハザード RESIDENT EVIL : D E A T H I S L A N D ( 7.7.2023 )

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makimakimi · 1 year

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Someone can draw alhaitham’s back??? Like, just for science. I need to check something for my chemistry project and totally involves his slutty, naked and sweaty back 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

#genshin impact #genshin fluff #al haitham #alhaitham #genshin fanart #genshin alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham smut #genshin x you #genshin headcanons #genshin kaveh #genshin au #genshin smut #genshin cyno #genshin fanfic #sub genshin impact #kavetham #haikaveh #cynotham

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makimakimi · 1 year

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"Hanging with you? Not healthy--"

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makimakimi · 1 year

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Uh??? How?

#thanks #i guess

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makimakimi · 1 year

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Me, waiting for the love of my life (my favorite writer) to return home (hasn't updated in months) from the war (school)

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makimakimi · 1 year

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God how I love when in alhaitham's fanfics he says "habibti". writers keep doing that, it's the most cutest thing you can write about this man

#genshin impact #alhaitham #genshin fluff #genshin alhaitham #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham x reader #al haitam x reader #al haitham #genshin x you #genshin fanart #genshin smut

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makimakimi · 1 year

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Ok so hear me out, i was watching The Big Bang Theory and dude you can’t tell me that these two aren’t like Sheldon and Leonard

#genshin impact #alhaitham #haikavetham #kavetham #the big bang theory #genshin fluff #genshin fanfic #genshin alhaitham #kaveh my beloved #kaveh #kaveh imagines #genshin kaveh

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makimakimi · 1 year

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fracture v

ran x reader

ran x reader w bonten sprankled in

summary: old friends become enemies. ran shows a bit more of his hand. so does mikey.

cw - drugs, smut, guns, murder, praise, degradation, dub!con, reader is a sex worker w a sick brother. ran likes you!!! likes you a lot!! too much probably, probably far too much. a/n extra long because i made you wait.

minors dni

“Listen,” he says, “Kakucho said this shit to me once, that the only things in life that matter are the things that bring you happiness. I like the girl, so I’m keeping the girl.” A small spark burns in your chest as he speaks. “I like Mcallan 25 so I drink Mcallan 25. I like my Bentley, I like my penthouse, I like workin’ hard but not too hard. You overcomplicate things,” he wrinkles his nose at the very idea of it. “You,” he says, “Get stuck between duty and happiness, and expectation, which, is a fuckin’ minefield considering our line of work.” Ran shrugs. “Me, I just go with the flow.” The car slows to a stop. “I gotta go have dinner with a beautiful woman and talk a bit about drugs over the best bolognese in the city. Try not to get your panties in an existential twist, maybe try finding some of that bratty pussy you like so much.”

“Ugh.” Rindou groans. “Call me when you’re done.”

“I won’t.” Ran grins, reaching for the door. “But you can call me. You can always call me.” Years flash in Rindou’s eyes, Izana, Juvie, their last halcyon days in Roppongi.

“I know,” Rindou says. “I know I can.”

Ran hangs up and sighs before wrapping an arm around you, and rubbing your shoulder. He presses his lips together before speaking.

“This could get rough.” He says quietly and then brightens. “Big day for you, though, huh?” You nod, nuzzling closer to him. “It won’t be like this all the time,” he explains, “But we’ll need to sort out this mess.”

“I’m so sorry,” you look up at him, “I’m so sorry about your friend.” A muscle in Ran’s jaw tightens, and he nods.

“I’m alright, sweetheart.” He looks over at Yuuta, “Didja bring it?” Yuuta nods, palming him a box wrapped in white paper. “For you.” Ran grins, and you open it carefully, lifting the object out of tissue paper with reverence. It’s a purple leather holster, so dark it’s nearly black, with a short buckle, clearly meant to be worn around your thigh, and tucked inside is a tiny, adorable silver gun. “It’s a 4.25 Lilliput pistol.” He explains, “And I want you to have it everywhere we go.” You nod.

“Yes, sir,” you run your fingers over the leather seam, and look up at him, eyes wide, “Thank you.” He shoots you a wolfish smile.

“You don’t use it without my permission.” He says, and his stern tone flies you back to one of your teachers, nearly ten years ago. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You repeat. Yuuta looks away, fidgeting as Ran pulls you closer.

___

“Heard you were in a bit of trouble,” Rodrigo Alfizi shakes Ran’s hand, standing up from his chair at the restaurant. He’s tall but still shorter than Ran, and his dark eyes sparkle in the candlelight of the private dining room. It’s luxe, with soft white tablecloths, adorned with votive candles and lush greenery. The hostess ushered you back here without asking any questions and Ran only drops your hand when Rodrigo offers his.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle.” Ran pulls out a chair for you, and you sit, delicately dressed in an outfit he chose, hands folded in your lap. “This is my assistant.” Rodrigo nods, reaching a hand out to you. You look to Ran, who nods, and you take it. Rodrigo brings it to his lips and then releases it quickly.

“I’m afraid my wife was feeling under the weather.” He says, and you see Ran cock his head just the slightest degree.

“Sorry to hear that.” The two men sit at the table and Ran glances at the menu and answers before the waitress opens her mouth. “We’ll have the Chateau Mouton red blend, and start with the carpaccio.”

“Yes sir,” she stammers and then looks to Rodrigo, who shrugs.

“I’ll stick to a negroni,” he smiles, “And the eggplant crostini.” She nods and disappears, and when the door closes he leans forward, leaning on the table. “So, Mr. Haitani,” he says, “I hear I owe you my condolences.” Ran shrugs.

“Thank you.” He says, and it strikes you how he doesn’t engage in his usual banter, eyes flicking to the closed door. “I wanted to talk to you about the docks.” The other man raises his bushy eyebrows.

“Yes, you’ve told me that there’s a chance you’d take your business to Sakusa.” Rodrigo leans back in his chair. “I have to say, disappointing to hear, given, of course, our long relationship.” Ran nods.

“I don’t wanna do it, buddy, but you’re forcing my hand here. We’ve had three shipments lost in the last few months, that’s more than 150K of product.” The waitress comes, holding a bottle of dark red wine. They pause their conversation as she opens it in front of you both, Ran tastes it and then nods to her, she fills both of your glasses and leaves again.

“Surely,” Rodrigo says, and you hear it now, an edge to his tone. “Surely you’re not willing to throw away years of friendship over a few lost boxes.” Ran shrugs.

“S’not me, Rodrigo, it’s Koko.” Ran takes a sip of his wine, and you notice that Rodrigo waits to speak until Ran sets the glass back on the table. Ran wipes his mouth delicately, taking his time, measuring the power he still held. “Of course, I’d like to keep you on, but I can’t justify the losses at this point.” There’s another silence, and you feel Ran relax a little.

“I think I may have a solution,” Rodrigo says, just as the waitress comes in with his cocktail. “I may be able to track a few of those boxes down.” Ran hums, leaning forward and drumming his fingers on the table. “And I could offer you something more valuable, as, let’s say, a token of gratitude.” He brings the cocktail to his lips and Ran hums, it’s a deep, grumbling sound.

“Whatcha thinkin’,” He says, and you’re struck by how fluid his speech patterns are, how he can go from high falutin and prissy to talking low and dangerous.

“About that trouble you’ve been having.” Rodrigo says, “I might know something.” Ran sighs, taking another sip of his wine. You bring your glass to your lips and have to stop yourself from reacting. It’s the strangest thing, deep and sweet and rich, grounded in bitterness. Ran notices in his peripherals and rests a hand on your bare thigh. “I heard you had a regrettable loss.” Ran nods.

“Knew Shion a long time. The service is on Thursday if you’d like to make an appearance.”

“Of course,” Rodrigo says and he clears his throat before continuing. “I’ve got a lead for you, about the Silver Dragons.” You stiffen next to Ran and he feels it but squeezes your thigh tightly. “You were thinking about Daito Yagami, weren’t you?” Ran’s face remains impassive. “And I assume Mikey might have been wondering if a certain Osanai had any living relatives, and I wonder if Kakucho even remembers Honda Amaya.” Ran withdraws his hand from you. “You’ve been in the game a long time,” Rodrigo says, and you swear the room drops two degrees in temperature. You watch Ran’s hand fly to the waistband of his pants. “You’ve all left a trail of bodies in your wake, and you thought the day would never come where you’d have to answer to that?” He leans forward, but Ran doesn’t back down. “All men must answer for their sins.”

“Is this the part where you monologue and feel self-righteous?” Ran says, hand flicking the safety off on his gun and you swallow nervously, mentally calculating how fast you could run, how far away Isami and Yuuta were outside. “Because I’ll skip to the part where I put a bullet in your head.” Rodrigo balks, and Ran puts the gun on the table, eyes narrowed. “You wanna fuck me over, Rodrigo Alfizi?” Ran says. “Go ahead.”

“Easy,” Rodrigo purrs attempting to regain his composure, “Easy, Haitani. You know I’m not dirty, or you wouldn’t have shown up here. I’m just providing you with,” he trails off, thinking, you can see the flicker of the votives in his dark eyes, “Information.” Ran doesn’t frown, but the slight downturn of one corner of his mouth is enough. He squeezes your thigh and stands.

“I won’t be played with.” His tone is short and clipped. “Come on.” You stand, pushing your chair in.

“Wait,” Rodrigo sputters, “You don’t-”

“Did you consider,” Ran says, whirling around, one hand on your wrist, “That we came here because we knew you were dirty?” There’s a silence, you can hear the clang of pots and pans in the kitchen nearby. “And I was offering you one last chance?”

“I’m not-” Rodrigo starts, but Ran doesn’t let him speak.

“Did you consider?” Ran says, tone frigid, “That I’m a dangerous fucking man, Rodrigo Alfizzi?”

“Of course I did,” Rodrigo’s eyes narrowed, “Which is why I’d never cross you.” Ran doesn’t move. “I’ll, I can give up my contact.” He says, shoulders slumping a little. “If you won’t go to Sakusa.”

“We’re already going to Sakusa,” Ran snaps, “You lost 150K of product, even if it was a genuine mistake which,” Ran shakes his head, “You’re far too smart to think I buy that bullshit. You’ve been skimming off the top for years, but this time you took it too far, so we’re going to Sakusa.” A vein in Rodrigo’s forehead pulses. “Give me your contact and I won’t have my men kill your fucking family.” He drops your hand and takes a back towards the table. Rodrigo looks frozen, your own hands are trembling in a way you hope isn’t visible. “I know where your wife gets her nails done,” Ran says, eyes narrowed, “I know which window in your apartment your son sleeps underneath. You’ll give me the contacts.” A bead of sweat rolls down Rodrigo’s face. “Coulda played nice,” Ran coos, which is somehow more terrifying than his anger. “Coulda had a nice dinner, but you decided to push me. Was that smart?” Ran takes another step forward, Rodrigo is looking anywhere but at him. “I said, was that fucking smart?” He darts around the table when Rodrigo doesn’t respond and the other man speaks quickly.

“No, sir.” Rodrigo manages, and Ran breaks into a wide smile, drawing his weapon and whipping it across the man's face, blood spurting into the white tablecloth.

“What was that?” Ran repeats, still sounding like a teacher reprimanding a child.

“I said,” Rodrigo doesn’t look up, his voice small and broken, “No sir.”

“This isn’t fucking amateur hour.” Rans's eyes darken. “There is one fucking way you walk outta here with a heartbeat, and it’s if you give up who you’re working with.” Rodrigo is sweating, you can see it glistening on his cheeks in the candlelight. Your heart thrums in your chest. “I just wanted to have one normal night out with my girl,” Ran sighs. “Sorry, sweetheart, that daddy’s friends don’t have any manners.”

“That’s alright.” You chirp, you’re settling into a strange cool calm as if you’re far away from your body. Ran can handle this. Ran can handle anything. You know he can. “I can go outside and get Isami and Yuuta?” You offer.

“Nah,” Ran shrugs, smiling widely, lips pulled back over sharp teeth, and he shoots the gun, the silencer doing little to help with the immediate popping sound, the bullet entering Rodrigo’s shoulder, blood spatters on the tablecloth. “We got what, three minutes before your men get here?” Ran says, as Rodrigo swears violently, “‘Cept, are they coming? Because,” he shoots him again, this time in the thigh, blood staining the man's white shirt, “Maybe I got to ‘em first.”

“Fuck you,” Rodrigo spits some blood on the floor, “I’m not saying shit.” Ran sighs deeply, cocking the gun again. “You’re all fucked,” he spits again, “Bonten is over, you just don’t realize it yet.”

“Do I look over ?” Ran snarls, and in one short movement, he shoves the table over, wine staining the white carpet, glasses shattering. “I’m not fucking around,” he moves so quickly you’re not entirely sure you even saw him go, but when you blink he’s got the barrel of his gun pressed to Rodrigo’s forehead. “150K of missing product and you think I came here without backup? Without suspicion?”

“You-” Rodrigo is struggling to breathe at this point, frozen, his eyes flick to you, “You brought your-”

“She can handle herself,” Ran says, and his tone cuts like a knife. “Don’t you even fuckin’ look at her, you goddamn coward. Jesus Christ,” he presses the barrel harder, “Tell me. You’re gonna tell me right fucking now.” You hear movement, a crash in the hallway, but Ran ignores it. “Tell me who’s coming for us,” the noises get louder, and you hear Yuuta shout. Ran leans forward, “You think I won’t kill you,” he hisses, “You think I would hesitate to get your brains all over this pretty white room, but I don’t give a shit .” There’s another moment, and you hear Rodrigo choke out a sob, you stand up as he says,

“It’s, it’s not just,” the tears fall from his eyes, “Please, don’t fucking shoot me, Haitani, I, if I give them up they’ll-”

“I will sleep so fucking well tonight,” Ran says, ice cold, fully calm. “I don’t care what happens to you.”

“I, it’s not just Yagami,” He says, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, “It’s, it’s all of them-” The doors burst open and you let out a gasp of pain as Yuuta plucks you up off the ground and throws you over his shoulder.

“We gotta go,” He says, and Ran sighs. “Car’s out back.”

“Fine.” Ran shoots Rodrigo one more time, in the opposite shoulder and this time the man yells. Yuuta turns on his heels and in the hallway you watch Isami’s hand collide with a man’s face, his blood flecking the white walls of the restaurant, and nonsensically your mind flies to the thousand-dollar bottle of wine that was now pooling on the carpet. The three of you leave quickly out the back, Isami following, you leap into the car and the tires squeal as Isami drives off. Yuuta hands you immediately to Ran, who fumbles with his Juul, angrily taking a puff, and yanking you half into his lap.

“Fuckin’ liked that restaurant.” He grumbles, annoyed. He tosses the Juul in a cupholder as the car speeds through the city. His phone rings in his pocket. He answers without a greeting.

“Alfizzi’s fuckin’ dirty, have Koko officially move us to Sakusa.”

“Shit,” you hear Rindou’s voice on the other end of the phone. “What the hell happened?” Ran digs his fingers into your hip.

“Weirdest fuckin’ thing, he essentially confessed,” Ran says, shaking his head, “Dangled information in front of me like I wouldn’t shoot him in his own goddamn restaurant for crossing me.” He rolls his eyes.

“You shot him in his own-”

“We got out already.” Ran says quickly, “I’ll lay low for a bit but he’s not stupid enough to go to the cops,” he holds you tightly, “You at the offices?”

“Yeah,” Rin says, “Hold on, Mikey and Sanzu are still here.” You hear some muffled movement on the end and the click of the phone being put on speaker. “Alfizzi crossed us,” Rindou explains, bursting into the room where Mikey and Sanzu are working, or more accurately, Mikey is clicking through emails and Sanzu is napping on the couch.

“Oh shit?” Sanzu rubs his eyes.

“Ran got out,” Rindou explains, “But he said Alfizzi’s in bed with the Silver Dragons.” You tug Ran’s sleeve in the limo, having something to tell him, but he brushes you off.

“Yeah,” Ran jumps in, “He brought up uh,” Ran hesitates, and you see an emotion you’re unfamiliar with cross his face. “He brought up Osanai. And Honda Amaya, and uh, Yagami of course.”

“Haitani,” You can picture Mikey frowning. “Did you have to make a scene?” Ran rolls his eyes in the car, squeezing you affectionately.

“In this case, I actually minimized the damage boss,” He shrugs, taking another puff of his Juul, “My fault for not just putting a bullet in his head the second I thought he’d turned on us a few months ago.”

“I didn’t know you were capable of restraint,” Mikey says dryly, and Ran laughs, you look down at the red spots on your dress, unsure if they’re blood or wine.

“I’ve got a girl to come home to now,” Ran quips, “I’m a changed man.” You hear a rush of static on the other end of the phone. “You want me to come by?”

“No.” Mikey stares out the window. “No, go to bed. We can talk tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ran says, and Mikey hangs up. Ran turns his attention back to you, tugging your soft body into his lap protectively. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs. “But you weren’t afraid there, were you?” You look up at him, twisting in his arms to meet his cool gaze.

“No, sir.” You whisper.

“Why’s that?” He says, hand settling on your hip, as always he touches you with little regard for the other men in the car. You think about your answer, before taking his free hand in both of yours, and bringing it to your chest like a child might hold a security blanket.

“As long as you’re here,” you hold his gaze, “I know I don’t have to be afraid.” Surprise breaks over him for a moment before it melts into a smirk and he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“That’s my girl.” His hand slips from your waist to push your skirt up, and your breath hitches in your throat, was he about to touch you in front of his men, did he want- your thoughts are cut off when you realize he’s touching the gun strapped to your thigh. “Safety’s still on.”

“You said to ask permission before using it.” You answer, feeling Yuuta’s eyes on your back.

“I did.” He shrugs, withdrawing his hand. “Just surprised you listened, since you grabbed Rin’s gun.” A thought bubbles to the surface of your mind, but you don’t speak it. Ran reads the hesitation on your face. “You can say it, sweetheart.”

“I, I don’t belong to Rindou.” You say softly, so quietly it’s almost lost in the hum of the engine. Ran chuckles darkly.

“No. No, you don’t.”

_________

The next few days are calmer, you don’t have any missions or any work at all. You tail Ran at the office, doing your best to be invisible. He doesn’t let you stray far, he keeps you close whenever possible, tucking you against his chest when Sanzu’s eyes linger on your body, when Kokonoi scowls in your general direction. You spend the nights in his bed, and that’s where you are when you can sense his mind drifting far away from you. You scoot up on his chest, twisting your body in a way you haven’t been able to since you met him for the first time, feeling only a morsel of the previous pain that would have accompanied such a movement.

“I,” He starts, rubbing circles in your back. “I like having you here.” You hum softly, holding onto him tightly. “Sit up for me.” He pats his thighs and you straddle him obediently, “Pretty girl,” he coos, reaching up and cupping your face, and you nuzzle against his hand affectionately.

“I like being here.” You whisper, and he pulls you down, crushing you against his chest, “Thank you.” He hums.

“You feeling better?” He asks, and you nod. “Good ‘cause uh, Mikey’s insisting you learn how to fight.” You stiffen against him, eyes wide. “Yeah, it’s par for the course. I know you’re a good shot,” he pats your back, “But uh, I don’t like it. I got overruled.”

“Oh.” You whisper.

“Rin’s gonna be real gentle with you,” Ran grumbles, “Or I’m gonna kick his fuckin’ ass.”

He shakes his head. You realize this is an admission of sorts, that he seems more present after sharing it. That worries your physical safety was enough to keep him awake.

“You want me to get you a pill,” you offer, and he nods, kissing your cheek.

“You take one too.” You reach into his nightstand and brush past his loaded Glock, taking

two purple pills, placing one of them in Ran’s mouth, and the other on your own tongue. He pulls you down again, and rolls half on top of you, burying his face in your neck.

“Hate it when they look at you.” He mutters. “I fuckin’ hate it. You’re so goddamn lucky we didn’t meet while you were working, I’d have killed everyone else scheduled to see you that day.” You shiver, and he ignores it.

“Daddy,” you whisper, and fuck, your soft little voice in the darkness drives him insane. “I, I wouldn’t want you to hurt anyone on my behalf, and I know it’s not my choice and you’ll do what you want, I know.” He nods, half opening his eyes to look down at you. “But I don’t, if it’s ever up to me, I don’t want you to.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “Okay, baby.” He squeezes you. “Okay.”

____

“I,” you swallow, even though he’s shorter than Ran, Rindou towers over you, eyes narrowed and impatient. “Are you sure this is necessary?” He nods, a single tendril of purple hair flopping from his headband onto his forehead as he crouches into a fighting stance. You’re at a gym that Bonten owns, and you’d assumed you’d be able to stretch, maybe run on a treadmill, but Rindou had immediately ferried you right to a back room with a mat on the ground.

“You need to learn how to fight for your own good.” He says. “If you’re not gonna listen to me when I tell you to run,” you bite back your response, that he didn’t in fact, tell you to run. “If you’re gonna be reckless you gotta learn to handle shit.” You nod. Your hair is tied away from your face, and for the first time in days, you can stand without pain.

“O-okay, am I, am I standing right?” You ask, and he softens a little, moving to correct your stance. His hands only briefly brush your hips. Sanzu and Mikey are in the corner, Mikey’s stretching and Sanzu’s curling a barbell, but you feel like you have their attention.

“So if I swing at you,” Rindou says, “What are you going to do?” You press your lips together.

“Um, duck?”

“Sure.” He nods. “Let’s try it.” He swings a fist at you slowly, and you drop down underneath his hand before your heart breaks into a sprint and instinct overrides you. You spring up, pushing off the ground and punching Rindou under the chin with a hard uppercut. He looks at you, shocked, for just a second, before the life leaves his eyes and he crumples to the floor.

“Oh god!” You cry out, and immediately Sanzu and Mikey are at your side, Mikey pulls you backward and Sanzu kneels and presses his fingers to the side of Rindou’s neck. “Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just instinct took over, I-” Sanzu cuts you off with a high-pitched cackle.

“Have you ever been in a fight,” Mikey says, turning to you, his grip on your arm iron. He watches you swallow and fidget.

“I, I, my dad went to jail and it was, it was in the news I, people, um, they tried to, tried to say things to my brother about it, they'd um, they’d find me at recess but it’s been years, I, god Rindou I’m so sorry,” Rindou struggles to a seated position. “Sorry, sorry, sorry-” Sanzu snorts.

“Nah,” He grins, his scars rippling around his mouth. “Nah, C’mon, get up Rin.”

“Fuck off.” Rindou snarls, pushing to his feet. “I was going easy on you.”

“I, I know,” you stammer, “I’m, I’m sure, I’m sorry, I-”

“Stop apologizing.” Mikey snaps, and your mouth shuts. “Like this.” Mikey adjusts your stance. “Rindou, back off.”

“I can-” Rindou starts and Mikey scowls. Rindou matches his expression but flashes his palms and steps away.

“You won’t be able to hit me,” Mikey says quietly. “Let’s try this.” He moves in front of you on the mat, and sees your hands shaking. “You won’t, you won’t be able to.” You nod, still unsure. You take a deep breath, and Rindou and Sanzu watch, equally trepidatious.

“Ran’s gonna blow his lid if anyone lays a hand on her,” Rindou mutters. “Even if it’s Mikey.”

“He didn’t say shit to me,” Sanzu says, smirking, and Rindou’s fist clenches in his pocket. “Course, how could he? And he won’t say shit to Mikey either.” Rindou rubs his sore jaw. “Because he knows his place, and you do too.” Rindou doesn’t respond, watching the way you square your hips, leaning onto your heels.

“Hit me,” Mikey says quietly. “Go ahead.” You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, and instinct overtakes you once more, you reach one hand out like lightning, and for a millisecond Mikey’s not sure if he’ll be able to block it, for a fraction of a breath he wonders if he’ll let you hit him, wonders if he wants to feel the pain you could cause him before he knocks your hand away effortlessly. Your jaw sets, you knew it, knew you couldn’t be that good. “Interesting.” He says softly, glancing at Sanzu across the room, and you see the scarred man break into a wide smile, blue eyes practically glowing in the shadow of his brow. “Again,” Mikey says, and the two of you square up, sparring for the better part of an hour, before your chest is heaving and your thighs start to ache. He seems unphased, if you didn’t know better you’d swear the corners of his mouth turn up in almost, amusement. Rindou takes his phone out.

Rindou: your bitch packs a punch

Ran: not my sweet little baby

Rindou: your sweet little baby practically dislocated my jaw Ran: LMFAO NO FUCKEN WAY

Ran: god thats hot

Rindou: yeah well you know who else thinks its hot? Mikey.

Ran: ….

Rindou: they’ve been sparring for almost an hour, she looks like she’s about to collapse.

Ran: well fucking say something she’s still recovering Ran: or should I come down there, if you can’t handle it? Rindou: I can! I can handle it. It’s not about what I can handle.

Ran: if Mikey wants her he’ll take her and then lose her like he loses his keys. She’ll be back in my bed in a week, I’m not concerned.

Ran: she knows what’s good for her.

Rindou: She asked me on the way over here when she can see her brother

Ran: shit yeah

Ran: I wanna take her but Mikey doesn’t want any of us leaving town.

Rindou: can you send her with Isami and Yuuta?

Ran: yeah if I wanted them both dead lmfao i could do that

Ran: she’ll wait. I’ve got a surprise for her, anyway. She’s gonna be tired yeah?

Rindou: If she doesn’t sleep the whole way home I’ll be shocked.

Ran: that’s a good girl.

While everyone showers up, Sanzu takes out his phone, standing in just a white fluffy towel in the mens locker room. Sanzu: yo hakkai

unknown number: what the hell do you want

unknown number: I thought I told you if I ever saw you again you'd be dead.

sanzu: I need a favor

unknown number: fuck straight off

sanzu: better turn that frown upside down

sanzu: unless you want everyone to know what I know.

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