#vivalabunbunfics
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An Encore of Betrayal
Summary: The devil with no sin nor memory and he who has held them all for centuries.
Word Count: 21.8k (get cozy)
Tags: Neuvillette x Fem!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic, SMUT, NSFW, Historical AU, Fantasy AU?, Reincarnation AU, cursed!neuvillette, dragon!neuvillette, reincarnated!Reader, human!reader, Fluff, a lot of fluff, Melusines doing their best to play cupid, ex-lovers to lovers, slight enemies to lovers? ANGST, he's trying his best, dragon x human dynamics, Monsterfucking (two... I have no defense), cunnilingus(long tongue), marking, size kink? breeding kink, heat, overstimulation, hate sex? kinda?, slightly unhealthy dynamics (past life), dubcon, trust issues, immortal x mortal, slightly possessive!neuvillette, slightly yandere!neuvillette, TW: mild mention of blood, TW: descriptions of drowning, sin, and sacrifice. TW: Trauma from betrayal, themes of resentment, Infertility.
Author's Note: Wanted to try out a historical fantasy from Neuvillette's pov. I struggle with fantastical settings, so overlook any world-building confusion. Mihoyo won't give me his real name, and it's eating away at my sanity. Enjoy!
Somewhere deep beneath the waves, away from the omnipotent watch of false divinity, lies a village. A bustling home carved into an outcast cove nestled under the cover of suppressive tides.
One littered with tiny houses surrounding an impressive estate modeled much like the ones seen in those novels abandoned from capsized ships.
Would you believe that such a place exists?
Decorated with curious trinkets which sunk beneath the surface which had forsaken them, kept in this cove for so long that it was challenging to remember the azure hues.
Ornaments decorating the expanse of this once lonesome cave, almost enough to conceal its true origin: A prison.
A fool sentenced to this penitentiary masquerading as a home, now affectionately named ‘Merusea Village’.
Within that attentively built estate, a looming figure stood in front of a wall lined with neatly organized novels, lilac eyes running along the titles printed along each spine.
A collection saved from watery abandonment after falling overboard by the curious hands of Melusines. Amassed throughout the years until the shelves of this humble library were without vacancy.
Stopping a finger on a spine, he decided on the novel to pass the ever-plenty time bestowed upon him. He’s aware that each book amongst these shelves has been thumbed through by him.
But with enough years, the recollection of the contents contained within each one tends to become foggy.
It's fate that the novel selected in his hands just so happens to be a collection of tales.
Humans have many strange behaviors, one might even call them traditions. One particular tradition mortals seem to indulge in often is that of storytelling.
Lilac eyes browse through the pages, refreshing himself on the tale held within its faded covers.
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There once was a lovely kingdom amidst lush pastures and fertile lands where the townspeople sang and danced under the bright sunlight.
But one day the sun disappeared, concealed behind ashen clouds that cried a lonesome hymn, plaguing the unfortunate kingdom with rain.
The origin of the rain stemmed from the lonesomeness of a great dragon of water.
Thus, to stop the rain, the king sent out a princess to the dragon, declaring that the kingdom gates wouldn’t welcome her back if rain fell from the sky. She was sent off in a white gown.
Down below a flooded loch, the princess was offered to the weeping dragon. Looking up the princess saw the sorrowful pools in the beast’s eyes.
‘Hydro Dragon, oh Hydro Dragon, why do you cry?’ She asked.
Intrigued by the bravery of the young princess, the dragon answered: ‘Because I am lonely, I have no brethren left.’
Feeling pity the princess responded: ‘Hydro Dragon, oh Hydro Dragon, don’t cry. I will be lonely with you.’
So the princess befriended a lonesome dragon under the hymn of softening rain, with his loneliness soothed, the sun peeked back out from ashen clouds. But one day, pitiful tears fell from her eyes and the princess wept so bitterly.
The dragon could not bear seeing those tears stain her cheeks. He offered her pearls, jewels, and gold. Yet those bitter tears still fell, tainting the pristine water.
‘Beloved princess, why do you cry so bitterly?’ He implored.
‘I long to go home, I miss my kingdom,’ she revealed.
But she could not go home, for if she stepped foot away from the riverside the lonesome rain would start again. The colossal dragon could not leave the loch, but he could not bear seeing those bitter tears.
So he relented, telling the princess a secret. A secret all dragons buried deep within: His true name.
‘If you speak my name, my true name, then I can grant you one wish. But be careful, for there can only be one wish.’ The dragon whispered.
‘Do you wish to return to your kingdom, beloved princess?’ He asked.
The princess was silent for a long while, weighing the choices in her hand. She longed to return home, but she also longed to be by the side of her kind dragon.
Confident in her decision, she beckons the great dragon closer, until her lips could reach the side of his large head where his ear lay. After whispering his name, she tells the beast her wish.
‘I wish for you to become my prince, so we can return to the kingdom together, that way you won’t ever be lonely again.’
A clever wish he grants with a nod. Scales and claws shedding away until a handsome prince stood in front of her. Thus, hand in hand they returned from the loch to the warm welcome of the kingdom.
And they lived happily ever after.
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Ah, so it was that tale.
Judging from the age of the novel, he guesses it must be a rendition of a rendition.
Words and events twisted, embellished, and simplified. Until it became nothing more than a mere fable told to entertain the wandering minds of children.
A beloved tale of a maiden who got a dragon to give up his grand authority, stopping the flood of vengeance from drowning Fontaine.
This is what the origin of his damnation has turned into. The tales of the heroine’s feats sung and written throughout the narrative of time, passing from one generation’s lips to another’s ears.
However, he supposes this is expected of humans. It’s their tradition of storytelling, after all, mending a fallacy into a tale palatable to their conscious.
Or perhaps, these embellishments were added to compensate for the hollows caused by the frailty of mortal memory.
Patching over the holes with flowery words to distract readers from inaccuracies that were only compounded upon from the last.
Fontainians who came to believe in it, must not have known the dragon all that well, considering that they thought the proud dragon would bow to the whims of a meek human.
Placing a secret so simply in her hands at the mere sight of tears.
Did Fontainians not realize that the land they reside on once belonged solely to dragons? How preposterous it is that a sovereign couldn’t set foot upon his own land. Or did they forget why he couldn’t?
What a naive ending, did mortals truly believe that blood and water could dwell together without consequences? That simply wishing the dragon to become a human could resolve all troubles?
To overwrite everything with a ‘happily ever after’ which never happened?
Regardless of his reservations toward such fables, the Melusines always seem eager to gather around for such stories. The towering figure lacked the conviction to deny such requests.
From down the hall approaching closer came the pitter-patter of steps, he turned his tall frame toward the direction of the sound just as a few familiar faces revealed themselves from the library entrance.
“Monsieur Neuvillette! Come quickly! A human! A human appeared!” A group of Melusines tugs on the fabric of his slacks while pointing toward the phenomenon.
A mortal in this domain? A cavern hidden deep under the land and waters where the warmth of the sun couldn’t grace. How did such a being find their way into this sanctum? It’d be best that he alleviates their worries.
“Please lead the way.” Neuvillette closes the novel, returning it to the confines of its shelf.
His swift movements in time with the melusines’ frantic patter as they made their way out from his estate.
Soon the tops of the Melusines’ cozy homes of Merusea Village came into view, as did the murmuring of a distraught crowd.
“Excuse me.” His steps made their presence known, their heads perked up to look at him before parting a path for Neuvillette.
Upon the maroon pasture of Merusea Village was a blanket of silk and woven lace, snowy fabric surrounding the still figure of a human.
Treading closer Neuvillette kneels down while reaching out a hand, weaving his fingers under the fabric which obscures the mortal’s face.
“We found her while gathering offerings from the waters … Is she…” The anxious murmuring quiets to await his verdict.
“She has a pulse,” he reveals, fingertips detecting wisps of warmth along cold skin.
It was faint, but his attentive eyes caught onto the slow movement of her chest. The snowy fabric had greedily drunk up the essence of the sea. Cursing her to sink deeper below the tides.
To leave a mortal in such a state would be too cruel of a fate.
Neuvillette moves his hand to support her covered head as his other arm gathers the damp fabric under her legs.
Carefully, he stands back to his full height, cradling her limp body in his hold. An audience of fretful gazes follow his motions.
“Do not fret, she only requires some rest and a change of clothing, I’ll take her to my abode. Could you gather some cloth to dry down her body?” Neuvillette’s melodic voice just barely above a whisper, so as not to stir the figure in his arms.
His expression softens to offer the compassionate creatures some reassurance. With firm nods the Melusines scatter, determination alight in their bright irises as they sought the necessary items to care for their newfound guest.
The dampness of the heavy fabric seeps into his own attire as Neuvillette turns the knob to grant him entry into his abode.
Quietly ambling through the spacious halls, the master bedroom came into view. Neuvillette lays the limp form upon his sheets, ensuring that her head rests slowly upon the soft pillows.
Just as her figure sinks into the mattress, a chorus of metallic clinks catches his attention. Glancing down her body his lilac eyes discover the origin.
A pair of silver shackles encased around her ankles, the unforgiving metal digging into defenseless flesh.
Gingerly, he takes one ankle into his grasp to better observe the shackles.
This time he couldn’t fight against the deep frown as it debuted upon his lips. His eyes hone on how tightly those heavy chains were bound along the flesh.
Soon the unforgiving metal crashes down to the floor, he soothes the freed skin with his thumb while checking for any other possible wounds.
Lilac eyes travel up to her face for any sign of discomfort, only to be reminded that her face was concealed behind a shroud of lace.
How uncomfortable it must be to have a cold piece of fabric to cover one’s face. Neuvillette places her ankle back onto the bed.
His large hands took hold of the damp veil to lift it from her resting frame, revealing to his draconic eyes for the first time their face.
The veil stays suspended in the air as his hands cease all motion. Hardened gaze tracing over her features, the curve of her cheeks, the slope of her nose, and the structure of her face.
Repeated details he had long seared into his consciousness.
Within those mortal tales, there’s a wide variety of beasts and fearsome creatures. Dragons were depicted as such omnipotent beasts. But there’s a monster all other beast falls secondary to, the devil.
They didn’t possess the sharpest talons nor the largest fangs. No, what made them so horrifying is that they dawned the most enchanting faces.
He’s staring at it right now. The face of the devil who deceived him.
Those gods must be laughing at him right now. Those false idols, with their capricious fate and whims, who once must’ve shook hands with you to carry out their schemes all those years ago.
The scheme which imprisons him here in this humiliating form of the mortal creatures those false idols loved so much.
Yes, a devil, that must be what you are. For how did a meek mortal trick a dragon who once held the full authority of the tides?
His chest expands with a deep breath before a long exhale leaves him. Ah, yes that must be why this white gown has appeared before him again. He removes the senseless scrap of lace, checking once more for signs of discomfort before he turns his body away.
Finding himself outside the threshold of his bedroom as he closes the door behind him. He should wait here for the Melusines to arrive with a change of clothes and towels.
It’d buy him enough time to steadily return the tempestuous loch to a subdued ripple in a pond. His chest expands once more with a deep inhale.
A second cruel rendition unfolding once more in the narrative of time.
The crisp turn of a page resounds through the room. Lilac eyes glanced up from the text every so often to watch the steady rises and falls of your chest from his vantage point of a wooden chair pulled up to the bedside.
Heavy lashes still shut just as they were the day your drenched figure was pulled from the tides by merciful hands.
The journey to wisdom is lined with mistakes, mistakes providing teachings one must ingrain into their very being if they don’t wish to repeat such blunders again.
Just as how a burn seared into skin is a forever reminder that fire indeed burns indiscriminately.
A scar ingrained deep within him cries out for Neuvillette to withdraw from the fire which scorned him so long ago.
Alas, it’s duty which has sat him down beside your sleeping form. You’re the first guest this cove has seen in a long time, thus bringing you under the responsibility of the host, Neuvillette himself.
A stir brings his stoic gaze back away from his thoughts. Your chest rises with a long inhale as leaden lashes flutter open.
The cadence of your breaths begins to rise as more of your senses return to you. Fatigue evident in each slow drag of breath.
“Ah, I see you’ve awoken.” Neuvillette observes.
Your muscles momentarily forget their fatigue as your head snaps toward the owner of the deep voice. Eyes now wide and alert.
“My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to startle you.” He casts a glance toward the steaming bowl on the nightstand.
He could feel the weight of your stare travels up his figure. Do you perhaps remember him? Can you recall his lush snowy locks streaked with azure? Irises that held an all too familiar hue, a multitude of lilac shades much like a field of lavenders.
Does this ‘you’ remember the dragon you fooled?
“W-who are you?...” Your gaze was too cowardly to meet his.
Ah, have the cycle of death and rebirth washed those sins and memories?
The tonality of your trembling voice filled with puzzlement instead of recognition. He should’ve expected this much.
This you is nothing more than a stranger who shares the face of a devil.
“Where am I?” Another question leaves those lips in the absence of a response.
Just give him a moment, allow him to pacify the surging torrent within so their bitterness doesn’t seep into his words.
“You’re in our village!” A cheery voice joins the conversation.
Two pairs of eyes land upon a short figure with a pair of pastel horns. You blink once, then twice, then slowly thrice. Inquisitive eyes stared right back at you.
“W-what… are you?” Instinct commanding your body to retract deeper into the sheets.
A sharp cough halts your actions, drawing your attention back to the man as he lowers his hand down from his lips.
“She’s a Melusine, they prefer to be addressed using she/her pronouns,” he elucidates, an ever so subtle chastise in his tone.
“Oh…” You advert your gaze again, shame creeping onto your cheeks from your unintentional discourtesy.
A few breaths of silence follow, he observes you studying everything but the two figures just beside the bed.
Your fingers soothing over the soft cotton nightgown against your skin, a change from that restrictive and ornate dress.
“We, Melusines, helped you change out of that wet dress. Big sister Sedene said you’d get sick if we left you in that.”
It looks like your diverted gaze wasn’t as subtle as you originally thought. Sheepishly you extend your gratitude.
“Thank you…” Your words draw out, a brow quirked as your stare reminded on her short form.
“Kiara!” She points to herself with a mitten hand.
“Thank you, Kiara.” You finish.
Her mittened hand then gestures to the towering man beside her.
“This is Monsieur Neuvillette! He’s the one who carried you here,” she announces.
“T-thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette.” You could only gather the courage to glance at the wall behind him.
“Just Neuvillette is fine,” his tone melodic and calm. “Are you able to sit up?”
Nodding your head, you attempt to fight through the fatigue of your muscles. Neuvillette and Kirara offer their assistance, his firm hands guiding your body up as Kirara adjusts the pillows to support your back.
Once you were situated, he reached for the bowl placed down earlier. A light clink sounds out from a spoon clattering about the porcelain dish. You glance at the contents, noting the clear amber broth.
“This should be kind on your stomach while providing you with some much-needed hydration and nutrients.” He holds out the soup.
A quivering hand attempts to reach up for the bowl, only for muscles to lose to fatigue as your arm limply falls back down to your side. Your strength has yet to return.
Another clink from the spoon resounds in the room as it gets taken into the grasp of an attentive hand. He holds out a spoonful of the warm soup, but your lips remain shut as a skeptical gaze meets his.
“Please forgive this inconvenience, but it’s best that you eat something to regain your strength.” The spoon remains unmoving in his hand.
There’s a rumbling stir within him. A voice snarls into his ear, interrogating him as to why his hand is feeding the very devil who once bit it.
“If you don’t eat you won’t get better.” Kiara’s eyes are riddled with concern as she observes your sealed lips.
That was his rebuttal to that snarl.
The Melusines simply don’t wish to see a human in such a pitiful state. Blissful in their ignorance of events that conspired long before their birth.
Dignity overpowered by the guilt of seeing such pure eyes marred with worry.
Soon your lips part, accepting the spoonful of broth delicately offered by him. After he observes you swallowing the first sip, Neuvillette holds out another spoonful. You part your lips again.
Neuvillette overrides the clamorous warnings of his instincts with the duty of being a ‘good host’, bringing another sip to your delicate lips.
With a regular diet of warm broth with servings of Bulle Fruit on the side, you were soon able to pick up the spoon yourself. The fatigue that plagued your bones finally leaves, allowing you to support your body off the mattress which had your shape imprinted into it.
The Melusines, seemingly born infatuated with humanity, would often gather about your bed.
They were curious about you just as you were about them. To them, you’re the creature from those fairytales he’s read them.
In exchange for your recollections of warm Summer days and descriptions of lush lilac fields swaying in a gentle breeze, they reveal more about this village.
About how the estate you were currently residing in was refurbished by their own-mittened hands, taking inspiration from the various books depicting what human abodes looked like.
The beds, drapes, and even rugs are all arranged by them to create a lovely abode. A drastic change to the worn and rampaged shell it once was before their meddling.
Perhaps if he never filled their naive minds with those tales, they wouldn’t be enamored with you and humanity.
Or maybe it’s the vibrance of your smile that drew their naive souls closer. A warmth like a flickering candlelight beckoning a moth closer.
What are the odds that the hands of fate stayed so faithful to the details of a heroine from so long ago?
From your image to your bewitching mannerisms, and alluring voice, they’re all identical replicas. You and the ‘devil’ from that tale.
Wisdom from a lesson learned long ago, he must not repeat the same mistake. He must not be enchanted by the same flame which scorned him. He must ensure a breadth between you and him, just as those tiresome voices call for.
However, Neuvillette understands he has a responsibility as a host. Thus, he regularly checked on your condition, then when you were well enough to stretch your legs he accompanied you on strolls. Maintaining a respectable distance away.
He guided you through the marble halls of the estate, showing the library and bath which were yours to access whenever you wanted.
Rooms illuminated with the muted glow of luminescence gems and pearls. Water sourced from a hidden freshwater spring.
Impassive eyes observe yours as you look in awe at the facilities and commendations hidden deep under the tides. Were they comparable to the ones you’ve encountered back on the surface?
This estate, these wide stone halls, those pearls and jewels once scattered about, were all made just to please the bitter tears of a mortal. Perhaps his first attempt was too subpar to quell the longing to return to the sunlight.
But gauging from the glimmer reflecting off your eyes, it seems the Melusines attempt was satisfactory at least.
Today’s stroll took you outside of the estate, Neuvillette accompanying you about a routine walk, watching from behind as your eyes scan the dim realm.
The lanterns lining the path of Melusine's home grace the maroon pastures and rocky walls in place of the faint wisps of sunlight offered by the depths of the sea.
Very much expected for a village beneath the waves and earth. Were you reminiscing about the warm grace of the sun you felt up there?
It’s not fair to compare the vast sky of the surface to their cavern hidden away from the eyes of the mortals, perhaps even the divine themselves.
“Monsieur Neuvillette?” You began today’s attempt at a conversation.
“Yes?” He hums in acknowledgment.
He keeps sentences brief, but informative. Counters to your attempts at conversation.
“I’m aware this might sound strange, but is there a dragon down here?” Turning back to face him.
His strides stop as a lull of silence falls over the both of you. The weight of his unshaken gaze upon your shoulders caused them to tense up.
Your hands find each other for comfort under his oppressive stare as he awaits the reason behind this odd inquiry.
“W-well you see, Fontaine has been having awful weather for years now. Saltwater running crops and persistent heavy rain, it’s because the Hydro Dragon is crying from his loneliness. I was selected and offered as his bride, to stop the rain, that’s what The Oratrice instructed,” you babble out.
“So…do you know where he is?” Sheepishly you glance up.
The lilac hues of his eyes connect with yours as his lips remain unmoving. Staring into your eyes as he contemplates what you have just revealed to him. Your hands fumble together as you await his response.
“So humans are still telling that local legend…” He sighs.
He has to rein it back. The torrent which threatens to brew within him. Deep breaths to remind himself about the nature of mortals.
Humans are fickle and meek creatures who constantly yearn for something divine to worship, a figurehead to guide them in the turbulence of life.
When faced with hardship and destitution, they believe such concepts to be punishment from above.
Thus, they invent traditions to appease those false idols. Going to great lengths in attempts to pacify those unseen forces, even if it meant sacrificing one of their own.
Perhaps this was the trait of mortals that made them so favored by the usurpers, their naive devotion feeding into the greed of selfish gods.
Maybe that’s why those false idols uprooted the land that belonged to dragons.
“I wonder just how far that fable has spread by now,” he sighs again.
His lashes flutter shut in exasperation as a huff leaves him. It was a moment before they flutter back open to hone in on you. There’s no use in keeping his identity from you any longer.
“Do I seem lonely in your eyes?” Baritone voice steady and low.
No sounds fall from your agape lips as your eyes reexamine his features, this time shamelessly ogling the peculiar details you’ve brushed off previously.
Do you notice it now? How his ears were a bit too pointed, or those two particular cerulean strands of ‘hair’ poking out from his snowy locks.
As you study the specifics of his eyes, do you now comprehend the sharp dark pupils that cut through the multitude of lilac shades? Much like a shadow cutting through a field of lavenders.
“You’re the Hydro Dragon,” you deduce.
He nods in confirmation. Only causing your eyes to scan over him again as your mind reels back from this revelation.
In those stories you’ve read back on the surface, how did they depict him? As a towering scaled beast with fangs and claws? Are you wondering why he’s not matching that description?
“I’m aware that my current shape might not convey such a presence, ” he answers your unspoken question.
He fights for his lips to remain stoic, not allowing the weight of a frown to pull them down. You don’t know, you don’t need to know, he reminds himself.
A detail excluded from the pages of that tale, the ‘princess’ would only ever look at him, would only ever smile at him when a dragon took on this shape. A form which mirrors humans.
In fact, she was so fond of this human shell of his that she cursed him to dwell within it for the rest of eternity.
Neuvillette takes another deep breath, quelling the stir once more. You look like you had more questions.
“So… does that mean the need for a bride is fictitious?” You clutch your hands tighter.
Some years ago, the Melusines were born from spilled blood. A new generation of successors of the brethren he once forsaken. Making this prison much less lonesome, voiding the accuracy of the sentence in that tale.
If that was the case, then why did the waters still rage? Why did the pittering of rain drown out all bird songs and tumults of perplexed citizens? Is there a way he could simplify the details missed by storytellers for generations?
After that ‘happily ever after’, a dragon cursed his devil just as she cursed him.
No, such expositions would be an unfair burden upon your shoulders.
“It’s not fictitious.” Turning to gaze out at the depths of the underground realm, he takes a breath before continuing.
“The land which your nation, Fontaine, resides on is stolen land,” he reveals. “More accurately all of what you know as ‘Teyvat’ was stolen from the dragons, my fellow brethren.”
The furrow in your brows deepens as you listen on.
“My brethren were banished to the depths for the sake of humanity. A dragon’s rage isn’t something that can be easily quelled.” He glances back at you.
“A union between a dragon and a human, a show of peace between the two species. Even if the origins of this ritual have been embellished heavily, it serves the same purpose to pacify the ancient dragon’s rage,” he concludes.
Neuvillette wonders if this tale was enough to satisfy your inquiry, if his attempt at the human practice was enough to simplify the events muddled and twisted by time.
Impassive eyes scan over your expression, not missing the glimmer ever so bright within.
“So… has the rain stopped?” Your hands almost clasped together in prayer.
He nods, the shine growing ever so luminous in those blameless irises, one he couldn’t resist the enchantment of. That all too familiar look in your eyes.
“That’s good.” A slow smile made its appearance upon plush lips.
Ah. He remembers what that look was called, voices of recollection pulling him away from the edge. Just before he fell into bewitchment once more.
That look wasn’t relief, nor was it salvation. It's duty. He takes a slow and deep inhale.
Just as it was all those years ago, the narrative of this tale did not stray away from the plot. He must be more careful.
There’s been a still lull engulfing the atmosphere down in a hidden cavern. So still in fact that walks amongst maroon patches of grass have stopped. Your body was well enough to explore the corners of the state without assistance.
No reason for him to remain by your side throughout the day, and no reason for you to shadow him.
Neuvillette and you keeping mostly to one’s self. It was just the natural progression of things. After all, the ritual had been completed and the tides had receded. You’ve served your duty once more.
A foreign aroma was wafting through the estate, strange enough for Neuvillette to leave the library to investigate the origins of this aroma.
Steps slowing as the clacker of pots and pans becomes more distinct. The entrance of the estate kitchen comes into view, and he peers in to see a few familiar faces.
“Oh? Monsieur!” Rhemia notices his presence.
An assortment of vegetables, spices, and even some meats from fresh catches were spread about the table as a pan sizzling over a crackling fire.
Ingredients gathered from offering dropped down below the tides. The recent influx could be attributed to how the hymn of the rain has ceased.
“Hello, Monsieur Neuvillette.” Your smile greets him.
Ah, he’s found the explanation behind the foreign aroma and why the variety spread of ingredients was being utilized in a kitchen that was once mainly created just to match those diagrams drawn in novels.
“I hope you don’t mind my use of the kitchen, I wanted something other than…Consomme Purete.” Wiping your hands with a rag.
Yes, Consomme Purete.
It was the dish served when you had first woken up, a light but nutritious soup that was kind on your stomach. It had the right amount of hydration balanced with nutrients to sustain oneself, a perfect dish.
The only dish cooked in this kitchen, that was until today.
Removing a pan from the heat, you carefully transfer the contents onto a plate then place the pan back on the wood stove.
The rich aroma caused an audience of bright-eyed stares from the Melusines to center upon the steaming plate. Their tails make their excitement clear as they gaze upon a dish they’ve never seen before.
Was this a new passion of this life?... Or was it just one he never got the chance to witness?
Was this the devil before the role of a bride was forced upon her? A devil he’s never known, for all he saw was her performance to stop the deafening rain all those years ago.
His attention was brought back as the chime of cutlery against porcelain was heard, cooked veggies stabbed between the teeth of a fork.
Cupping a hand under the fork, your body leans down to the Melusine’s height, feeding them a bite of the fragrant dish. The wags of their tails increase in cadence as they chew.
“This is Tasses Ragout, tasty isn’t it?” The corners of your lips curl as you watch their little heads nod eagerly.
The suspicion melts from his gaze as he observes to the delight in their expressions, a few mitten hands tugging at the skirt of your gown for a bite. A giggle bubbles from your throat.
A scene mirroring that of a mother trying to appease the appetites of her ravenous young.
Soon your eyes connect and he straightens his posture. Brushing away the nonsensical musing, lilac hue advert away momentarily to recompose themselves before returning.
“Would you like a taste?” A fork offered in his direction, beckoning closer to take a bite.
There’s a myth he’s read about, of a forbidden apple held out by the tempter of all tempters, an apple so red and lustrous it made any mouth salivate.
“Thank you for the offer, however, I’ve already had my lunch.” He refrains.
A bite from that forbidden fruit was the genesis of disgrace and banishment. A betrayal of commandments once promised. Neuvillette won’t be deceived again.
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“Monsieur! Monsieur! Come look!”
Mittened hands grasping upon his coat and gloved hands as a circle of Melusines guides him through the winding halls, anticipation amping their voices.
There’s a chorus of giggles resounding through the halls, a joyous clamor of pattering steps against the marble floors.
The estate has been lively ever since your arrival in that white dress, a liveness which reaches his pointed ears even from behind closed doors.
Regardless, he allows himself to be towed by their skipping steps. Leading him to a room he recognizes as a space where many fabrics and gowns were collected and stored.
Garments made with the intent to be sold to Fontainians, but their crates were capsized over by the ravenous tides. Saved from watery abandonment by curious hands.
While this form of his could wear a few of those garments, the Melusines had statures much too short for pools of fabric to not drag along the ground. Thus, that collection of fabrics found themselves collecting dust.
Their steps abruptly stop just at the threshold of the door, mittened hands pressed up against their lips signaling for him to remain silent.
Soon their sights glance into the room as he follows, lilac eyes opening ever so slightly wider as they process the scene in front of him.
Evening gowns crafted by skilled tailors to be sold to Fontanian ladies, you had the right frame for those garments as well.
A trail of lustrous sapphire silk gathered behind your figure. The artistic stitching and pleating draping the silk around each curve of your body as if you were the only person meant to wear it.
A few Melusines fussing about the silk train, ever so curious of humanity, they must’ve requested for you to dawn the gown.
Just as they often had requested for him to dawn those fickle suits and coats for their enjoyment.
It seems you bent to their childish whims just as he does.
“How do you like it?” You ask your audience, twirling about in front of a mirror.
It’s different from those hardier dresses for when you wandered about the village and estate, in comparison this dress was much less practical.
“It’s beautiful, Madame!” Their round eyes were enamored.
“I’m glad, who knew you had such an aesthetic eye.” Your expression softens.
Bending down to Carole’s height, you scooped her up. Cradling her as your forehead touches her horns gently.
“Thank you for such a lovely dress.” Placing tender pats along her head, careful to not disturb her horns and hair.
Carole leans into your touch as your smile widens. Twirling once more with her in your arms, giggles ringing throughout the room.
Until your head peeked up, finally aware of the silent spectator just behind the door frame.
“Oh, hello Neuvillette,” you greet him with a smile he doesn’t return.
A tense lull creeps in, and a chill begins to mix with the quiet atmosphere. Lilac eyes pass over your form as Carole remains sat in your arms.
“Monsieur! Isn’t Madame pretty? Look!” Cheery and oblivious voices chime returning the warmth to the air.
Mitten hands release your skirt as they skitter toward his towering figure. Pride shines in their beaming smiles, awaiting validation of their handy work.
Steadfast eyes lowering themselves to the level of their short statures until the sharp edges gradually dissipate.
“A fine effort indeed.” A gloved hand extends to rest atop their heads.
Patting their heads tenderly as they closed their eyes in contentment
A warmth in those lilac hues, endearment no word could ever encapsulate fully.
“Are they your daughters?” Your head slants to the side.
His body stills, strictness reinstated in those violet irises just as they met yours. Studying that look within your polite smile, one which didn’t seem to reach your eyes.
Gloved hand ceasing all movement, his concentration now elsewhere. That expression ghosting your face, what does it mean?
“My apologies, was it too impudent of a question?” Your gaze adverts away, searching for reprieve in this heavy hush.
A deep breath as he formulates his response.
“I don’t share blood with them if that’s what you’re inquiring. However, they are the successors of my brethren.”
“Oh, I see,” you hum.
Neuvillette returns to patting their heads, while you readjust your hold on Carole. Subtly bouncing her, while turning back to face the standing mirror.
Casting a glance, he could discern the softness returning to that polite smile. Yet, the dragon has yet to unravel that luster in your irises.
An audience of bright eyes switches between the Monsieur and Madame.
--------------------------------------------------------------
“Bring these to her, you should greet the Madame!” Tiny hands push against Neuvillette’s back.
The traitorous clicks of his shoes against marble expose his approach.
Your head peers up from the book resting upon your lap, in the midst of reading a tale aloud to an audience.
Just in time to catch the tall figure of Neuvillette emerging into the library at the behest of the Melusines.
Lilac eyes meet yours ever so briefly before his gaze averts elsewhere. Gloved hand adjusting a bundle hidden a broad back, brings the other hand up to clear his throat.
“The Melusines found these when retrieving some offerings from the water, I believe you’ll enjoy them.” He presents their trinket.
A simple collection of dainty petals clustered together, pastel hues contrast against vivid virescent leaves. A quaint ribbon tied around the stems holding the bunch together held out in front of your face.
The recipient stares in round-eyed astonishment at the fragrant blooms before a smile melts into your lips.
“Thank you.” You accept the bouquet from his hand.
Admiring the rustic arrangement and the saccharine aroma as the Melusines sat around you leaned in closer to catch a whiff too.
“These are called Pluie Lotus up on the surface, they smell nice right?” Giggling lightly as you held the bouquet closer to their noses.
Grin ever present upon your lips as your soft eyes watch their marvel of such simple weeds. A bloom foreign to this realm abandoned by the sunlight.
There’s subtle slack in his posture, a budding smile just about to unfold just as your head peers back up. Every fiber in Neuvillette’s being tenses, goosebumps slithering up his nape.
Frozen there only able to witness your eyes study back and forth the hues of his irises and the periwinkle color tinting the fragile petals.
He watches an epiphany light up in your widened eyes as the bouquet was lifted higher, turning back to face him.
Don’t. Don’t say the words he knows are hanging off the tip of that honeyed tongue.
“They are the same lovely color as your eyes, Neuvillette.” You beam at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling from the stretch of your lips.
His posture returns to its rigid and upright state, a hand hidden from view balls up into a fist.
A sharpness threatening to break through leather confines and into his palm, as if they were attempting to grapple the surging torrent stirred up within himself.
Why? Why was this line from a script being recited word for every damn word? All said with that saccharine smile plastered over those wicked lips?
Indecipherable eyes narrow ever so slightly before he catches himself. Reining in the torrent just before it seethed out.
He clears his throat again to swallow back the bitterness.
“Do excuse me, please return to your reading session,” he utters his parting.
Promptly turning to return to his secludedness, stepping past the Melusines gathered by his side.
Swift strides through the empty halls leaving you to your peace and him to his peace, just as it should’ve been. Much to the pouts of a disappointed audience.
However, he didn’t have the mind to contemplate their discontent. Not when these rabid bellows drown out every other thought in their rancor.
Like a sea starved for vengeance, ravenous to settle a debt against those vile gods and their beloved creations.
A brass knob was abruptly twisted, hinges squealing in surprise as at the force as Neuvillette shuts it behind himself.
Ragged breathes resounding through the reprieve of his bedroom. Away from innocent bystanders and the devil who showed her face again after all these centuries for an encore.
Has he not been humiliated enough? He tugs at his cravat, freeing himself from the fickle decoration constricted about his neck in this already imprisoning body.
A form which binded him no matter how violently talons and fangs clawed and chewed, unable to leave a singular dent upon this damn curse.
This was humiliating enough, bound to this cove that separated him from the sea which cries for their sovereign.
He once believed this penitentiary was obscured away from the peeking eyes of capricious gods. Perhaps, he’s wrong.
Why is this fantasy being played out right in front of his eyes now after all these years?
To have you by his side, to have you reside in the home he craved out and inlaid pearls into, to see you smile and cradle young against your bodice. It’s insulting.
Because this was all he ever wanted. This was all he had ever wanted.
The lonesome dragon only ever yearned for a maiden’s endearment. He once believed she adored him back just the same.
Because while she lay within his arms under silken covers, her bare skin pressed against his mortal shape, her enchanting eyes always regarded him with such tenderness as her delicate hand stroked his cheek.
A glimmer he once believed was love.
The tale written along the parchment implied that the ‘princess’ loved the dragon. However, that was inaccurate. She never did.
For if she loved him, then she wouldn’t have deceived him.
She wouldn’t have ever whispered his secret to the town’s folk. Those foul creatures who then used his secret, which was once reserved solely for ‘you’.
Why? That simple question taunted him for decades as he rotted in this mocking solitude.
Why did ‘you’ yearn for the sun more than him? Was his love not enough to replace the warmth of a star? Was the home he made not enough when compared to the extravagance of humanity?
Or was it because blood and water, no matter how much they intertwine and mix, could never produce wine?
If… if the Melusines had been born just a few centuries earlier, then would you have been satisfied by his side? An answer he could already discern.
Because after his decades of solitude within these deridingly hushed walls, he finally accepted the truth.
She loved her people, they took up all the space of her heart, leaving no room for a prideful leviathan.
What a clever plan it all was, to distract a sovereign from his duty, cleansing stolen land with a flood of vengeance, by sending a maiden.
A woman so bewitching, so enchanting, and so lovely, that a proud dragon couldn’t resist bending to her whims. Spilling the secret hidden deep within him into her ear.
Abandoning his true form to be confined in the shape she favored the most. Then lured up to the surface, suspicions obstructed by the dazzlement of a false welcome from the nation of Fontaine.
Unaware until the scorching knife was already lodged in his back. Using the secret he had only ever told you, those meek creatures of the usurpers wished:
‘For the rest of one’s life, one shall never leave this cave deep beneath the tides’.
What a clever ploy, a masterly crafted master plan. Did that Oratrice bestow it upon mortals? Or was it your own little scheme? A devil in human skin who must’ve been enlisted by the god themselves.
That day when he was chained by that loch, you didn’t even bother to grace him with your presence.
You cruel, cruel devil whose heart only had room for her fellow citizens of Fontaine, whose eyes only ever glimmered with duty.
Neuvillette had finally comprehended the truth, he had made peace with the disgrace he brought upon himself.
So why did those vile false gods dangle you back in his face? They had already taken fragments of his authority.
Was his torment entertaining to them?
Lungs shaking with unsteady breaths, he could feel the pricks of scales dotted along his skin only for this body to swiftly reject it. A turmoil of draconic influence constrained by a mortal curse.
Like a beast kept in a cage much too small for it. If Neuvillette wishes for this agitation to cease, he must cease the stirred emotions.
Emotions don’t settle quickly once agitated like sand attempting to settle at the bottom of violent tides. He paces his shuddery inhales, biding in the solitude of his room until the storm dissipates.
To avoid the placid lake within him from thrashing violently to the woes from the throb of a wound which has yet to scar over, Neuvillette found it best to avoid your presence.
The lanterns outside the Melusine’s homes had long gone out as they followed their routine bedtime.
The expanse of the cavern dimmed to near blackness, the small creatures all tucked away soundly in their beds. A hushed ambiance provides a suitable environment for reflection.
His steps flatten the grass underneath as they accompany his strides with their rustling.
The absence of light had never bothered him, it’s within his nature to detest it. Any beast would withdraw away from the mere image of fire.
The rustle of the grass halts, a wispy aroma of smoke wafts towards him. It doesn’t take long to identify the origin. Only a small flicker broke through the shadows, candlewick fostering only a weak flame.
But it was enough to fend the shadows away from your frame.
The flame’s light caught on each subtle ripple of the pond you were kneeling over.
The seemingly unremarkable pool served as the sole entrance and exit to Merusea Village. Where the Melusines traveled through to gather food, fresh water, and trinkets swallowed up by the waves.
Cold waters catch the bitter droplets of your pained eyes in the reflection of the ripples upon the surface, the distorted silhouette of a weeping devil.
An unspoken gospel revealed to draconic pupils.
Under the rich aromas wafting from the kitchen, behind the diligently tailored gowns, and hidden in the cadence of your voice as you read tales aloud, laid the yearning for the rays of a bright star.
You’re human, a creature fleeting and meek by nature. Blood yearns to be with blood just as every drop of rain yearns to return to a cloud.
A sharp rustle of grass under a heavy step jolts your hunched-over posture straight, head whipping around to face the uninvited audience.
Once those weeping eyes recognize the brooding figure in front of them, your face adverts away from his direction. Shame evident upon your expression.
A concerned hand reaches out only to retract away, contrition marring his shut lips as Neuvillette diverts his eyes too.
Fire burns indiscriminately, even the dancing flame of a candle can sear its mark upon skin. Neuvillette knows this all too well, for the lesion he received from embracing that flame once still festers even after all these years.
However, lilac eyes pan back towards the orange glow illuminating your melancholic face. Warm hues contrast against the wet trails down your cheeks. There’s an ache more agonizing than a festering wound.
His steps advanced closer until he was knelt down by your slump frame. A benevolent touch lands upon your shoulder. Guiding you away from the taunting waters and into his arms, hiding your face in his broad shoulder.
Offering you a semblance of warmth in a coven shunned from the grace of gentle sunlight.
With your face away from his gaze, the cacophony of your sobs returns, digging your fingers into the folds of his dress shirt.
Echoed back mockingly by the cold cavern walls.
Perhaps a foolish dragon has yet to learn his lesson, still lured in that the brilliant light of a flame.
A gentle hand traces up along your back, softly brushing your hair away to reveal the skin of your nape to his sharp pupils.
Honed in upon untainted skin, the courts of rebirth may have removed the proof of your damnation, but not the hex itself.
Or maybe, a foolish dragon feels some responsibility for being the one to curse you to this fate.
A mark once imprinted upon your nape by a lonesome dragon, a heavy oath sworn to you engrained into the very fabric of your soul amidst the first rendition.
One which then became the cursed chains that sunk you under the unforgiving waters.
It’s said that love is heavy, a weight greater than the density of water. A heaviness which could sink anything and everyone under salty tides.
A heaviness originating from this accursed prison where a disgraced being resided.
Even as the earth above welcomed new generations as they said goodbye to bygone times.
The solitude of a fool turning into ravenous waves which seeped into soil until its appetite was satiated by the return of its beloved treasure.
It’s his fault that the tides stole you from the sunlight.
The courts of rebirth had already forgiven you of this burden, not a single memory remaining of that tale.
What right does he have to place it back upon you? There’s no point in punishing one for a sin that had been cleansed by the tides of time.
You didn’t deserve to be held away from the warmth of a benevolent sun.
To have been dragged down below to these depths. To have been stolen away from the warmth of the sun by the command of fickles gods and ancient grudges.
It’s much too severe of a sentence for you, someone who didn’t deserve to repent for a sin that wasn’t truly yours.
Is it okay for his hands to wipe away your tears when this cursed dragon was the cause of your agony?
Even if it’s wrong, Neuvillette holds you closer. Even if he didn’t have the right, he pressed your face in his shoulder. Allowing the vehemence of your tears to scorch his skin as you buried your cries into him.
Glancing at the pool you had been leaning over, he watches as the ripples of the surface taunt you and him the same.
Two beings whose bodies couldn’t embrace the tides. Two cursed beings who’ve been trapped in repeated play.
“It seems you’re bound to this prison as well.” He scorns those gods and ancient grudges, but he scorns himself the most.
Confined behind a human face and a human body, a traitor who’s lost his birthright over the waters who couldn’t welcome him.
How can a cursed dragon quell those choking sobs of yours? How can he atone for his selfish sin?
Neuvillette takes a deep breath just your tears continue to soak his skin. Steeling his resolve, he meditates on the one resolution he can offer you.
“Fontainians still tell a tale about a princess who wished a dragon to become a prince, yes?” He begins.
After a pause filled with hiccups and shaky breaths, you nod your head as an answer.
“It was when she spoke the dragon’s true name that he granted her one wish,” he recounts the tale, feeling the trembles of your shoulders.
“That part of the story isn’t fictitious,” he reveals.
Voices from the depths of his rationality whisper for him to stop, to expand no more upon this secret of his brethren. Clamorous warnings to a traitor to not repeat his past transgressions.
However, he obeys no edict from the heavens or origins. Not when an unjust punishment caused such heart-wrenching sobs.
“Names hold great significance to dragons. So much so, to whoever learns their true name, a wish can be granted.”
Slowly, your tear-stained face pulls away from his crinkled dress shirt. Finally meeting his lilac gaze. He notes the bewilderment which surrounds his reflection in your eyes.
“Is… your name not ‘Neuvillette’?” You inquire.
“It’s a surname bestowed upon me by the mortals of the land.”
“Then… What is your name?” A glimmer of optimism ever so subtly debuts in your eyes.
He could not tell you. No matter how beautifully that light shines, this was one ordinance he couldn’t ignore. All he could do was glance away as he shakes his head. Unable to bear the sight of that light extinguishing.
“That is what you must find for yourself.”
Perhaps this is his defiance of the plot which has been unraveling for so long. His attempt to step off that circular path, searching for a different end.
The silent audience of fate watching on with bemusement to where this rendition will lead.
“Oh?”
“Oh?”
What a peculiar occurrence, Neuvillette was just about to exit his study when he found himself just a breath’s width away from you. Instinctively, he takes a step back behind the threshold of the doorway.
Passive eyes studying your form, you must’ve been standing there for a while. A hand held up intending to knock on the oak door returns to your side as you stare at the floor.
“Is there something you need assistance with?” He continues to study you.
Lilac eyes observe as your fingers clasp together, a common habit of mortals when nervous, if he recalls the contents of a book correctly. Another minute passes before you take a deep breath.
“Is your name Guillaume?” You peer up.
Ah, so this is what you wished to inquire about.
The secret revealed to you that day beside an exit neither he nor you could cross. Guillaume, a name befitting of nobility. But unfortunately, not for a dragon.
He responds with a shake of his head, expression stiffening as he watches the corners of your lips drop ever so slightly.
“Oh…”
It seems his existence brings nothing but a frown upon those soft lips, Neuvillette felt it’s best to retreat from your sight.
This attempt was evidence of your determination to return to the embrace of a warm star.
It wouldn’t be right for him to interfere, despite those vile voice whispers murmuring from the depth of his mind. It wouldn’t be fair to you.
It’s best to maintain this distance between his hand and yours, for your sake and his.
Which begs the question, why were you still standing here in front of him?
“Is that all you wished to inquire?” Neuvillette hopes the Melusines will lift your spirits after he withdraws.
“Actually…” You began. “I made some soup and if you haven’t had lunch yet, would you like to try some?”
Although his stoic face might not reflect it, he’s positively baffled. Were ‘you’ always this enthusiastic about food?
The devil he knew before would view the freshest catches and clearest waters offered by a dragon with blasé reactions.
You used to recoil away from the fishes and meats he held out to you, they were only ever touched once he charred them over a fire.
Then again the kitchen back then was much more barren than the present, cabinets now decorated with bottles of fragrant spices and herbs.
Was it just a difference in palate? To reject such an invitation would be to squander a precious opportunity for investigation.
“The pleasure would be all mine.” He matches your strides as the two of you traverse toward the kitchen.
Settling down in a chair at a wooden table, Neuvillette watches as you ladle some soup into a bowl. Following your form as you set the bowl down in front of him. A pleasant aroma accompanies the steam emitting from the bowl.
“It’s Fontainian Onion Soup.” You hand a spoon over.
“Thank you.” He takes the utensil and scoops a hearty serving of the rich soup.
A distinct flavor of caramelized onions and the creaminess of cheese. The broth had been thickened with a bit of flour and the cheese added to the heavy mouth feel.
This dish certainly expresses the flavor preferences of humans… but could such a thick broth really be considered soup?
“Do you like it?” Your head tilts to the side as he feels your inquisitiveness.
Dabbing a napkin over his lips, he clears his throat.
“A fine dish indeed. Although increasing the liquid content and reducing the amount of fat could improve it,” he advises.
A hush falls over the kitchen, nothing but the occasional crackle of a fire filling the space.
“Oh… I’ll keep that in mind.” Your voice was restraining something.
As you turn away, Neuvillette catches the subtle shakes of your shoulders.
Ah, has he caused offense? He recalls how cooking and food preferences amongst humans tend to be a sore spot for most, some books going as far as to claim critics as attacks on one’s pride.
You had taken time out of your day to prepare a bowl for him, and he gave senseless comments in return.
“Ah, but it’s delicious regardless, thank you.” He has to remedy this situation.
The shakes of your shoulders increase, as a hand covers your lips.
“Thank you, Monsieur.” Your lips seem to be trying to stifle something.
After finishing your sentence, your lips pressed tighter together. He could see the corners twitching as they tried their best to remain neutral.
Before he could get another word in, you excused yourself. Leaving him in front of the warm soup.
In that moment, Neuvillette vows to himself that even if you were to hand him a piece of charcoal he’ll swallow it without a single complaint.
--------------------------------------------------------------
“Is your name Édouard?”
Your voice causes him to turn his attention away from the pages of a book this quiet evening.
You stood just off to the side of the bookshelf where he was browsing, a candle illuminating the curiosity held in your eyes. Presenting a name likely discovered from those very same shelves.
Dirges ring from the corners of his mind, warning him not to allow the light to approach so close.
However, where is a shadow supposed to withdraw to when the light seeks him?
Just as how the tide couldn’t run away from the shore for long. Steadfast and constant attempts to unravel the secrets held by the ebbs and flows.
Alas, he shakes his head again today, steeling his nerves as he catches the slight drop in your shoulders. Louis, Étienne, Théodore, and all those previous guesses, are names of heroes in Fontainian tales and epics.
Popularized to the point many boys were named after them, but no parent would ever want to name their child after a dragon, a beast.
He doubts the pages of history have ever recorded his name.
Your disheartened gaze couldn’t meet his, choosing to stare into the space beside him. He couldn’t fault you for that.
All your efforts of combing through old novels to search for obscured monikers just to be undone by a shake of a head.
He’s not sure how much longer he can endure being the origin of your melancholy.
“There’s a tear in your coat…”
Your voice brings him out of his thoughts, he glances at the spot your eyes were honed on and spots the aforementioned tear.
“Ah, I see. My apologies for being in such an unsightly state, ” he sighs. Lilac eyes ran along the jagged seams.
He should go find a replacement from his wardrobe, but you still looked like you had something to say.
“I can fix it if you’d like,” you offer.
It’s just a garment, a piece of cloth that fell off some merchant’s ship and found itself in the walls of a cove. There were plenty of other garments that suffered the same fate, picked up by pairs of curious mittened hands.
To replace this robe would be simple, but he notes the concealed eagerness in the fidget of your fingers. It must be rather dull for you down here for the past year, to the point you resorted to repairing old fabrics for enrichment.
Regrettably, Neuvillette admits he’s not the best host. He’s got no talent for small talk nor does he know how to entertain you, thus he left it up to the Melusines. However, he could at least do this much as a host.
“Thank you, I’d be grateful if you do.”
His steps in time with yours through the halls as an old storage room comes into view. Still filled with collections of folded gowns and coats.
As he observes the room, you guide him to a pair of wooden chairs, a box filled with needles and threads beside one. You place the candle down on a nearby table.
“I’ll take your coat.” Holding out your hands.
Following your request, he slips the robe off his shoulders, leaving him in a dress shirt and slacks.
Attentively you take the garment, settling down in a seat as your hand searches through the box. After your rummaging stopped, you glance back at him.
“It won’t take long, please have a seat.” Gesturing toward the other chair.
Lilac eyes scanned the aged seat, the door was just beyond it, it wouldn’t take much of an excuse for him to walk past the wooden threshold.
However, he pans back to your anticipatory gaze still awaiting. It wouldn’t be polite to deny such a simple gesture.
Thus, he heeds your request, ambling toward the empty seat, he begins to settle down just as a rip resonates through the air.
His body halts all movement just as yours did, toward pairs of eyes trained on the sleeve that had been caught on the edge of a wooden table.
The fibers of his shirt entangled with the jagged edges causing his sleeve to rip. Neuvillette truly has yet to acclimate to such fickle inconveniences.
“Pfft!-” Quickly your hand covers your mouth.
Lips pressed together as they tried their best to stifle the sounds threatening to leak out. Your shoulders shaking from the effort, just as they did that day in the kitchen.
Although his expression remains the same, he’s quite dumbfounded.
Unable to contain the sounds any longer, you erupt into a fit of giggles as he continues to stare. The bright chimes of your laughter fill the room, a melodic tune he had longed to hear for so long.
“S-sorry, I just didn’t expect you to… be so clumsy.” Giggles fragment your sentence along with a brief pause to collect yourself.
Clumsy. Yes, he remembers that word, an adjective you used to describe a dragon whenever he took on the shape you favored so much.
Of course, even a great beast like a dragon would totter and stumble when in such a foreign body.
Although he has been in this body for many, many years now, yet, Neuvillette hasn’t acclimated to these fickle mortal attires.
If these garments weren’t pushed into his hands by the Melusines and their bright-eyed stares, he’d prefer to not dawn them.
Neuvillette shuts his eyes. His lungs intake a deep breath, stifling the sway of these trivial inconveniences before they cause any ripples.
Once he’s certain there was no jagged edge to his stare, lilac hues peek back upon your figure.
By now those fits of giggles had faded into a tranquil lull, your content face focused on the stitches. Body relaxed against the back of the chair, weaving the needle through the sides of the tear.
Subconsciously, his frame begins to mimic yours, rigid muscles melting against the wooden support.
Lavender hues follow the disappearance of a sliver point, then catch its emergence from the fabric.
The torn and frayed edges draw closer and closer together by the coaxes of the thread, each stitch attentively placed by your graceful hands.
“Neuvillette?” Your serene voice interlaces with the placid interlude.
He hums an answer.
“That night by the entrance… you said ‘You're bound to this cove as well’.” The pace of the needle slows.
“Why did you say that?” You finish your question.
Observant, a characteristic of yours he’s always deemed quite commendable. Ever so keen on the nuances of his sentences.
The piercing stare of draconic eyes weighs on your shoulders, despite that the cadence of the needle didn’t falter. A ripple makes its appearance within a placid pool.
“Do you really wish to know?” He warns.
You hum resolutely. A bitter taste creeps its way up his tongue, the recollection of the string of words which damned him here.
Instinct advises him to swallow them back, to conceal his shame from your awaiting ears. However, answering the call of your curiosity should be enough of a repayment for repairing a coat.
“For the rest of one’s life, one shall never leave this cave deep beneath the tides. That is the curse set upon this body,” he reveals.
The needle stops.
“A curse?…” you stammer out.
Under your breath, Neuvillette hears you recount the disclosed secret. Repeating it to yourself as if to decipher the syntax, to find some answers to his condemnation.
The answer was sitting just in front of him.
“…For the rest of one’s life… well, how long do dragons live?”
To mortals, it’s time who is the reaper of their existence. From the moment a newborn sounds their first cry to the final draw of air on their deathbeds, it was the hands of a clock who ruled over them.
But such hands could not touch a being such as him.
“The life of a dragon begins and ends in the Fontemer Sea, born from it, made from it, and shall return to it to be born again.” He wonders if mortals could grasp such a concept.
“Oh…” Your tone grew more somber.
Judging from your tonality, you must’ve pieced the allusions together.
To be contained within these stone walls with only a pool of seawater he could not touch as the opening, is to bestow upon him immortality he never asked for.
For the Hydro Dragon could not return to the Fontemer Sea.
Even if dragons had long lives, it didn’t mean the humiliation of immortality. The true cruelty of this seemingly kind curse.
“Why?” Your voice just barely above a whisper.
Why was he cursed? Why is he in this sham of a mortal body? Why did he reveal the secrets of his brethren? All of this at the trifling sight of bitter tears.
“Because the people of Fontaine found my name and they wished for it.”
Why did he give you his name? And why did you then give it away? There are many questions left unanswered by that tale.
Why did a proud dragon bow to the whims of a mere mortal in that fairytale?
A creature as potent as a dragon should never bow, not to the ordinances of false gods, not to the turbulence of fate, and not to a mere mortal.
Why did a maiden wish for a dragon to become a human like them? Water is an adaptable element, able to take on any shape it pleases. However, it yearns to always return to its natural shape.
Perhaps, his ‘natural’ form appalled the devil too much. So much so, she used that one wish to confine him in the form she favored most.
More confoundingly, why did Neuvillette allow such a request? A creature favored by the usurpers dared to wish a dragon to abandon his heritage, to cross over the threshold of humanity just for their sake.
Why would a dragon ever bow to a mortal’s request?
The commandments of a false god and the howling thrashes of wind can’t make a proud dragon bow, but the weight of love might be enough for a prideful beast to lower his head towards a mortal.
A traitor to his own fallen brethren is much too dignified of a title for Neuvillette. No, it’d be better to call him for what he is: A Fool.
What a spectacle it was that day, even those fickle gods peered down just to watch. A fool who lost his form and authority was imprisoned beneath the tides.
A stir shakes that pool, whirling and writhing, the billows of bitterness mounting.
“… could it be wished away?” Your voice beckons his thoughts to return to the present.
Unlike how it was written in those tales, a curse can’t be ‘broken’. Not by a kiss, and not by clasping one’s hands together in prayer.
“Not even a miracle could make a curse vanish, a curse only ever goes away once its clauses have been fulfilled.”
Until the stars burn out, until the sky caves in on itself, or until the oceans of this uprooted world dry up, he shall remain here. The retribution a traitor deserves.
He shall remain in this sham of a body, unable to become the form he desired the most in the next life he’ll never reach.
Not a human, not a dragon, just an atrocity somewhere in-between. This must be what humans call ‘purgatory’.
“I see…” Your attention never leaves the half-stitched garment sprawled upon your lap.
A heavy silence fills the space between you and him once more. To conclude a conversation on such a doleful note would be a disgrace.
However, what is he to say? What words can salvage this situation? Neuvillette has no talent for small talk, he doesn’t have the same mortal heart as yours to provide you with any solstice.
Amidst his contemplation, a soft hum resounds through the quietude, and the melodic rhythm of a lullaby begins. It seems that you took matters into your own hands, ending the doleful silence at your own discretion.
Once more his back reclines into the wooden chair, pointed ears indulge themselves in a nostalgic tune.
It’s strange, that rippling pool is swaying back to equilibrium. The surface returns to its placid rest as tension melts from his muscles.
Unaware of the hushed pitter-patter of a curious audience, drawn in by the gentle song as their bright eyes peer ever from the cover of the door frame.
--------------------------------------------------------------
“Madame! Look I got more Pluie Lotuses!” Kiara’s little steps rush across the marble floor.
Getting up on the tips of her feet to show the bundle of fresh blooms, salty water still dripping from their petals, as her bangs stick flush to her face still damp from the sea. Her pink tail swaying behind her.
Your body turns in her direction just in time with Neuvillette.
“Kiara…” A subtle layer of disapproval emerges from lilac hues.
“Remember to dry off before entering the estate, the floors can become quite dangerous when wet.”
“But…” the flowers lower. “I wanted to show Madame the lotuses…”
There’s a drop in her tail and horns and a sharp sting to his chest. Her sisters were gathered around in a circle, a story having just concluded, he could feel their stares upon him. Adding to the sharpness of guilt.
“My apologies, Kiara, I only meant to warn you.”
She nods her head silently, tail still dragging on the floor. Ah, just what should he do? A frown begins to weigh down his face.
“Thank you, they’re wonderful, Kiara.” Your gentle chime breaks through the stalemate.
You take the bouquet from her mittened hands, placing them atop a counter, in exchange you offer her a towel.
“But Neuvillette is right, it’s not good to run through the halls right after you returned from the waters. It’s dangerous, okay?” Your voice as gentle as the towel rubbed over her hair and horns.
A content smile returns to her round cheeks as she diligently nods, promising that she’ll be more careful next time. Tail lifting up from the floor as the fluffy towel wipes away the ocean droplets.
Once fully dried, she joins her sisters. The Melusines cast shifting glances toward one another until one finally steps out from the crowd.
“Madame…” Carole calls out softly, tugging a few times the hem of your long dress.
“Hm?” Giving her your full attention, a towel set aside.
“I overheard you inquiring about names with Monsieur in the library once, could you be…” Her eyes downcasted.
Oh. This time it was Neuvillette and you who exchanged glances, eyes both reflecting the same dread.
They weren’t supposed to know. They weren’t supposed to hear those slapdash guesses.
He never meant for them to find out. Always careful to never discuss such matters in their earshot.
For how could he bear to tell them that their cozy village was actually a prison?
His mind was unable to conjure up an excuse, tongue unwilling to speak it. They weren’t supposed to find out. Oh, what shall he do now?
“Could you be expecting?”
Huh?
Two pairs of eyes widened with bewilderment, mind stunned into silence and lips just as confused.
Somehow they’ve huddled even closer than before, encircling you and him with their bright eyes and tails swaying with anticipation.
“Will there be a new addition to the village?”
“How long do we have to wait?”
“Are we getting a brother or sister?”
Their chatter and probes homogenized into a jumbled symphony his flustered conscious just couldn’t distinguish. Trying to reel his senses back from this unexpected turn of events. Neuvillette clears his throat.
“No,” he coughs out.
A collective ‘aw’ resounds through the air, their tails and horns drooping down at the announcement. Guilt pierced its nail through his chest once more. However, he couldn’t lie to their bright eyes.
“N-not, yet.” You add to his statement.
A wave of inquisitive‘oh’ ripples through the crowd. Tails picked up from the ground as the glimmer in their eyes returned.
A sweet lie sprinkled over the truth neither of you dare tell, that blood and water can’t make wine.
“Then, do you want a little prince or little princess?” Carole chirps.
You remain silent, only gazing down at their faces as they stare back.
A lilac stare was also focused upon you, his curiosity awakening at this question as well. He watches you take a slow breath before leaning down.
“I’d like to have a daughter, sweet and kind like all of you.” Your hand strokes her soft trestles.
Her head nuzzles into your palm as giggles fill the air. Only draconic eyes study the small smile upon your lips, dipped in bittersweetness.
Did you have a lover back on the surface in this life? Perhaps someone who was promised to you. A real prince this time.
Did you have dreams of basking in the grace of the sun, cradling a bundle as a pair of tiny fingers encase around your own?
Was this the hard-earned happy ending you yearned for?
“Monsieur…” Mamaere tugs on his slacks.
Neuvillette reigns his thoughts back from their escapade, he angles his head down.
“Where does a baby come from?”
The smile on your lips stiffen just as Neuvillette’s body does.
If there’s a god who’s peering into this cavern deep below the land and sea, must they send such dilemmas his way?
How does one navigate through this treacherous domain?
“Oh dear! I just remembered.” Your hands clap together.
“There’s a few ribbons and clips in the fabric room, do you girls mind getting them? So we can braid Monsieur’s hair?”
At once the Melusines stand at attention, focus diverted over their excitement at the prospect of decorating snowy locks.
The patters of their little steps trample down the hall, allowing you and Neuvillette a well-deserved moment of reprieve.
“Thank you.” His posture drops slightly as a hefty sigh leaves him, lids shut for a moment of rest.
“Of course, Sébastien.”
His eyes crack open, casting you a glance with a raised brow. The ghost of a grin barely contained by delicate lips. By this time, Neuvillette couldn’t recall all the past attempts.
“Regrettably, that is not my name.”
“Was it at least a decent attempt?”
He could hear the pout in your voice, one that didn’t last long before a light-hearted laugh follows it.
Closing his eyes once more as he indulges in those chimes, he nods ever so slightly. It was a good attempt, for it brought out those sounds he enjoyed.
His lashes flutter open at the sensation of his hair getting gathered in your tender hold. Passing the carved wooden teeth of a comb through his snowy locks.
Careful to not pull or tug on them as you coaxed the tangles out of their knots. The heaviness upon his shoulders leaves with a deep exhale which left his body, indulging in your attentive touches.
Subconsciously, his gaze trails up at the bundle of flowers resting along the wooden table. It wasn’t the periwinkle blush of the delicate petals that commanded his attention.
No, it was that salty, oceanic wisp mingled with the flora aroma. A fleeting essence of the sea.
“Do you miss the sea?”
Ah, it seems that his stare wasn’t as subtle as he had hoped. Neuvillette turns away from the flowers as if he had been caught amidst a scheme.
Facing in front of him, your paused hands signal your wait for his response.
“I suppose it’s only natural for me to long for it.”
After all these years, Neuvillette believes he has finally grasped it, an answer to that void filled with ‘whys’. As if he had seized the reflection of a star from the bottom of a deep lake.
Neuvillette thinks he understands why you and the devil yearned for the sunlight.
Perhaps the one similarity between proud dragons and arrogant humans. They both ache to return to where they came from.
One yearns for the sea. One yearns for land.
For there and only there, could their sins and grudges be purged. To gain the most restful sleep before the hands of fate shape them anew from the element.
“Hmm,” you hum in acknowledgment.
Fingers gentle and slow as they brushed through his hair. You hum a lullaby to accompany each pass of the comb. Melodies that made his ears yearn for more, craving for more sounds to leave your plush lips.
His hair had always been an inconvenience, capricious strands that were seemly curious of everything in his environment.
Snowy tresses find themselves gravitating towards door hinges, door knobs, and even the minuscule gaps in ornate furniture.
However, your patience hands untangled those unruly stands.
When a knot proves to be particularly stubborn, you tend to lend closer to hone in on the troublesome tangle.
It just so happens that a stubborn knot appeared, causing you to decrease the proximity between your bodies.
The heat radiating from your frame sends delightful pickles along his skin, a delicate warmth making his flesh grow feverish.
A hunger deep within begins to grumble and wallow, a greed that wishes to dig past those frivolous fragrances to get to the true taste he craves.
An ugly gluttony pleading to delve into your soft flesh. Ah, he recognizes the cause of this turbulence now…
Neuvillette clears his throat.
“I believe I’m beginning to feel unwell, so please refrain from venturing into the cellar for the next few weeks. I should quarantine myself.” Too ashamed to turn back and face you.
“Oh?...” The comb stops.
At this distance, he was well aware of your scent. A fine fragrance no water or bloom could hope to imitate. Concealed under a layer of lavish soaps and oils dropped from the surface was an aroma that was wholly yours and yours alone.
A gloved hand reaches up to cover his nostrils, seeking some barrier between that tantalizing whiff.
“Please, excuse me…” He pulls away swiftly.
The sudden action must’ve jostled his hair too much, for the sultry sensation of your fingertips was felt along azure ‘strands’.
Just a minor touch against his horns, yet shudders rack up his nape. His teeth sink into the flesh of his bottom lip, sharper than they’re supposed to be, anchoring those ravenous voices at bay momentarily.
He needs to leave now. For your sake.
Rushed strides stow a distance between his body and that delectable warmth of yours. His back turned to you as he couldn’t bear to see the expression upon that saccharine face.
Just what expression were you making as a dragon retreated?
The cellar of this estate was always cold, its stones never having once touched the sunlight before, thus they only brood in their frigidity. A somberness fitting to quell a heat which yearned to burn.
The fever has consumed his body wholly, each pant leaving trails of foggy wisps. Neuvillette burrows deeper into the hoard of sheets, pillows, and blankets. The brush of the soft fabrics prickles his skin.
How strange it is that despite the fever of heat igniting each corner of his flesh, despite the numerous thick covers twisting and burying his bare form, he’s still shivering.
A chill ingrained so deep it’s in his very bones, skin alight but bones frozen over, just what is this purgatory?
Annually it happens, a period where primal instincts exude past the rigid confines of a mortal form. Making its influence in the resurgence of draconic features over the mortal flesh that traps him.
No matter how raw his true form claws to be released, the mortal prison doesn’t relent. A curse he’s brought upon himself.
Laceratations of gluttony and cardinal sin sink deeper with each provocation. The creeks of the floorboards above and the sweet voice which leaked through the woods, the morsels of you that stirred the waters of instinct.
From the depths of the torrent, he’s so desperately suppressing came the unquenchable thirst to lure you in. Beckon you down to this shadowy cellar so that the ugly and primal waters could swallow you wholly.
But he mustn’t. Those soft touches and smiles had just been bestowed upon him, the twine of trust still delicate. How could he ever squander such privileges? For those lovely eyes of yours to look at him filled with nothing but fear and disgust, he’d rather be chained down here for the rest of eternity.
He must endure it for a bit longer, he knows it’ll be over soon. The gale which sweeps through him is slowly lessening its blows.
Even if the waters of primitive instincts howled and stormed, Neuvillette refused to leave this tangle of blankets and pillows. An unwavering grip refusing to submit to those demands. Thus nature had to find its own way to subsist off a drought.
The heat hazed over his mind, conjuring up fantasies to appease the ever-unsettled water from its vapid reality.
“Neuvillette?” A soft voice calls out.
Just like now. Desire fogs up his senses to create a delusion, mimicking the way your warm voice beckons him. It’s nothing but a figment of his depraved lust.
“Neuvillette?”
He buries his ears further into the down covers to block the alluring mirages. Tickling him to submit to the temptation. But he mustn’t. Nothing more than a manifestation of lust.
The phantom donning your sweet voice calls out for him, and gentle touches send shivers through his nerves. Ah, he must vanquish this mirage before the fraying line of his self-restraint splinters apart.
Nothing but smoke and mirrors conjured by desire, a rigid arm expels out from the covers to dissipate the siren’s lure.
However, it wraps around something warm, a heat which his fever wails for. Intrinsically his shivering body covets that warmth, to be buried flush against the source so that this chill may finally stop its torment.
So like any greedy dragon, his claws enclose around temptation and drag it into his decrepit cave of blankets and sheets.
A satisfied purr judders through his stalwart body, a warmth which could finally reach his very bones. Thus, he burrows his face deeper into the shoulder of this phantom, a lovely aroma beckoning him to pull their soft body closer.
“Neuvillette?…”
His eyes snap open, realization flooding through him just as the chill that had been ingrained into his bones. This wasn’t an illusion. You weren’t an illusion.
He tears himself away, just as a moth does once they realize a hypnotic flame had set their wings alight. Trembly arms firmly planted on either side of your body, snowy locks falling onto your face.
“Are you alright?...” The sapphire luminance of his elongated horns shines across those sinless eyes.
The strap of a nightgown halfway down your shoulder from when he snatched you beneath his savage form.
“You… you shouldn’t be here,” he breathes, voice unsteady and taut.
“You’ve been away for an awfully long time… I-” Your eyes were blown wide and lips pressed together, aghast gaze not daring to glance down at the raging rigidness pressed against the silk of your nightgown.
Frenzied shivers of pleasure jostles through his veins, tremors racking his body all the way to the tips of his horns. In desperation his rigidnesses pleaded to feel you, throbbing so painfully a hiss leaves his lips.
“You need to leave, quickly please.” Leave before he traps you again.
Before this pathetic excuse of a sovereign loses against himself, before he makes a fool of himself. Neuvillette tries to pull away, against the weeping wishes of his erections. Face too ashamed to even look at you, but a pair of tender hands guides his cheeks back.
“...But I missed you…” You whisper.
Why are your hands embracing his face in this unsightly state? Are they not appalled by the patches of scales littered across them? Like a flame reaching out towards a moth.
“Leave, please.” Don’t tempt him like this.
“... Don’t you miss me?...” Your hold doesn’t budge.
Why do you look at him like that? Irises filled with warmth as his image is reflected in the flickering candlelight. Gazing wholly up at him. A cerulean glow tinting your hair and supple body.
“Don’t…” He reasons, the last of his sensibility crying a warning of a sinful fruit.
“Please, Neuvillette… won’t you hold me for just a bit? I missed you so much….” The shift of your shoulder causes the nightgown to slip further off your shoulder.
Don’t call out to him like that. No, not as your bewitching body was so close to his. The glow of a candle illuminating the curve of your cheeks, disheveled hair framing your wide eyes.
Don’t show him such a sight, for he’ll salivate to devour you until his teeth rot.
“Please?...” Coaxing his head down so that his forehead rests against yours.
Your warmth, your soft touches, and your delectable aroma, they parch his throat so much it pained him. Just as painful as attempting to swallow down sand from a hellish desert, it aches and lacerates his throat.
And here you were offering a lustrous fruit, so juicy and filled of sin, in front of his famished eyes. A cruel, cruel mercy.
“... May…May I?” It’s unbearable, this parchedness in his throat, would you be so kind to quench it?
Your sweet hum grants him permission. Eyes closed just as you turn a blind eye to his ravenousness, still stroking his tender cheeks. Neuvillette couldn’t deny himself any more of the warmth he’s coveted for oh so long.
Thus, he delves head-first into the glimmer of that enchanting flame. Burying his nose into the crook of your neck, so vulnerable and complacent, to hoard your bewitching fragrance all for himself. His skin flushed against yours as his bones delight in your heat.
The reigns of self-respect slip out from his hands as they let go in favor of running along your curves and edges. Each feature, your shoulders, and hips, aligns with details he’s long ingrained into his memory.
His fervor touches pushing down the silk fabric which dare disturb his worship. Nevuillette cants his head up momentarily, puffs of smothering breaths clouding the frosty air.
Lilac eyes drink up how the chilly air made your delectable breast perky, trailing down the goosebumps lining your torso, and landing on your exposed thighs.
A dryness itches in his throat as callused hands bite into the tender skin and he parts those placid legs away.
Oh, how could one ever take their eyes off that shiny, succulent fruit held out so openly in the hands of the tempter of all tempters?
They reveal to him the oasis he’d been hallucinating these grueling weeks. The tip of a serpentine tongue slips across his parched lips.
Since you so brazenly offered your body up to him, you wouldn’t have any objects against him finally getting a taste, right?
His foreboding figure traverses downwards until his delirious face is right between the cusp of his salvation and demise.
Dilated pupils peering up at you for approval, an invocation for clemency from this drought. A merciful hand graces his cheeks once more, granting him his salvation and demise.
His tongue escapes past his parched lips, as lengthy as it was insatiable, it licks a slow and passionate strip up your slit. A taste he once would only recount in the depths of his recollections.
Does this new body of yours still have the same weaknesses? Will you still writhe in madness if he sucks on that delectable little nub? Or how about those hidden points concealed deep within?
Could this tongue of his bring you past the brink of insanity in this life as well?
There was only one way for Neuvillette to grasp the answers he sought. A long tongue slips past the entrance of your satin walls, welcomed with a lewd squelch.
Grip parting your legs from his path further. Those quivering calls of ‘Neuvillette’and the pawing of your small hands against his head beckon him deeper.
Ah, redemption, it’s far too late for him now. For Nevillette has taken a bite out from that forbidden fruit, the evidence of it was dripping down his chin.
Ah, these slick velvety walls, he missed them. They clamp down with such ferocity along this beastly tongue, extensive enough to reach the deepest cavern of you.
A divine nectar begins to pool, Neuvillette retracts his tongue just enough for the heavenly taste to slide down his throat. Your sweet musk sends his olfactory system into chaos, rampant tongue returning to ravish you.
Not one drop of restraint left within him. It’s beastly how he’s devouring you. His tongue craves more of the delicacy he’s denied himself these past years, a thirst no water could quench. Wet muscles sliding up the whole length of your slit in a meticulous long lap, his nose bumping into your clit.
Your mewls and sobs echo off the walls when he flicks his tongue over that sensitive nub. Your body jolts violently as the length of his tongue ventures into the honeypot, toes curling in the air, but his iron-clad grip doesn’t allow any room for escape.
Delicate fingers now entangled into his tussled locks, grasping onto illuminated horns. You were likely trying to find something to ground your dissipating sanity, how unfortunate that your actions only flamed the fires.
A guttural growl echoed. Tongue now plunging further, slithering back and forth along your walls. For being such a sweet sacrifice for him, he’ll give a reward. Slithering tongue making sure to drag against that spot he’s memorized.
Judging from how your feet were arching off the sheets, it seems this sinful detail of yours was repeated as well.
Your body writhes, no longer docile under the white searing pleasure frying the ends of every nerve within your being. Unrelenting rhythm slipping in and out of your convulsing walls, your body twitching and flailing in reaction.
Trying to find some way to handle this surcharge of sensations. Legs instinctively wanting to shut together as if to cease this turbulent sensation, unfortunately, your pitiful strength gave no resistance against his rigid hold.
He could feel your muscles begin to seize up, slick walls clamping harder on his writhing tongue. Was this foreign sensation too much for you already?
His long tongue explores every last crevice, tastebuds lapping against those weak spots deep within as his nose bumps and grinds against that lewd clit. This unsightly side of you.
There’s more fervor in the lashes of his tongue, slurping up the nectar trickling out your greed, mixing with his spit dripping down his chin.
Your legs trashing but unable to go anywhere in his unrelenting hold, only able to pull on his silky locks for dear life as sobs tumble out. A flood of arousal adds to the mess on his chin. One he gladly laps up.
Oh’s and ah’s were the only choked sounds your lips could make as your eyes rolled to the back of your scrambled mind.
Neuvillette still relishing in the elixir he’s denied himself for too long, not even the purest water could compare. Reveling in the taste until every last drip ran down his parched throat.
Pulling away, a trail connects his lips with your quivering folds. Callous hands dig further into your legs, making room for his body. Watching as the movements of your chest slowed, his brute figure engulfed your frame.
The ache was unbearable now, each impatient throb reprimanding him for delaying their greed. Neuvillette couldn’t deny their request any longer.
Back sitting up straight, his cocks thrumming against his abdomen, precum exuding out from their swollen heads.
The cool air did little to calm the throbs of his fervors, the girthy shaft standing tall as its engorged tip weeped precum, its twin weeping just the same.
They hover over the softness of your belly, sharp pupils trail up the shadow they cast, heralding to where they crave to be buried.
The heat of his body was suffocating, the burn in his throat greater than ever before. But why? He had drank from that forbidden oasis, it’s dripping down his chin, yet why has his thirst grown greater than before?
Neuvillette was so… so close. If he had only endured it for another day or two, the gale within him would’ve relented and retreated away in defeat. But oh how viciously it’s gloating in its victory. Getting a dragon to bow his head to its cardinal blows.
“Do you… feel better now, Neuvillette?” Slow pants leave your curled lips as your hands reach up to caress his taut face.
This brazenness, this shamelessness, this insolence. Ah, these characteristics have followed you through the grave and into this life as well. You weren’t skilled enough this time around to hide your desire glazed across your pupils.
Did you do this in hopes of making him indebted to you? Offer your sweet body in return for stealing his name from his locked lips? Was this why you traversed down to this dark cellar so late in such flimsy silks?
That gleam in those deceptive eyes, the audacity to believe you could tame the sea with just a flick of your finger. You devious temptress.
“Better?… you’ve only fanned the flames, you devious woman.” A snarl from the depths of him.
Before another word could leave your lips one torrid hand pins your wrist to the sheets. Nails much too sharp to be human dig into those fickle and troublesome fabrics hiding your skin from his touch.
An all too satisfying rip resounding through the air along with your yelp. Scraps join the tangle of sheets.
Did his mortal prison deceive you too much? Did his mild mannerisms trick you into believing that he’s a merciful soul? Or did you always ignore the warnings?
A monster with a human face is still a monster. To believe that one’s patience is endless, only a human could be this impertinent.
His other vascular hand slides down the curves of your body, settling on your hip as your legs hook behind his firm thighs. The ridges of his lower cock drag against your slick folds, wetting his girth from its leaking tip sliding down against your swollen clit.
Precum mixes with the concoction as the glossiness spreads about his length. A pair of shaky breaths mingle as Neuvillette positions his engorged tip at your dripping entrance.
The sensation must’ve cleared the daze from your mind, your head cants downwards to stare at the two oddities.
“A-are both of them going to…” Your grip tightens on the sheets, a subconscious search for comfort.
Ah, now you remember danger. Now you realize your insolence to believe that a mere human could ever tame a proud dragon.
“There won’t be any point in breaking you so quickly,” he snarls. Not missing the flutter of your hole as the weeping head dragged over it. It wouldn’t be good to break you so quickly. His sweet little sacrifice.
Taking the erection which hung lower, he rubs its flushed tip along your slit. Each flinch and tremble sparked gratification through his veins.
The lashes of his tongue had aided in the preparation of these sinful walls, but the girth of his beastly tongue could not compare to the thickness pressed against these leaking folds.
The ghost of his breath flutters over your prickling skin. Neuvillette takes deeper breaths as the weight pressed against your core grew, the bulbous tip inching past the puckering entrance.
The stretch was maddening despite the restrained pace. Your walls fluctuate in a surging dance between clamping down and trying to remain relaxed.
As Neuvillette sinks his girth in bit by bit, its envious twin slithers against your aching clit. The sensitive bundle of nerves drags against each ridge and vein, sending jolts of searing pleasure through him and causing your satin walls to flutter.
A velvety sack kisses against your slick folds, signaling that his length has reached its end. The fat tip of its twin resting just above your naval indicated just how deeply he was buried, trapped between your soft flesh and his sculpted body.
It’s crowded inside you, girth parting and stretching these satin walls while the length is pressed against the deepest most intimate part of you.
Forcing delectable little whimpers and gasps from your haughty lips. Quivering legs now locking ankles behind his back, like a pitiable attempt to hamper him.
That arrogance disgraced to nothing but obscenity upon a wanton face. To see the devil so helpless and lewd under the manipulation of a dragon. What a wonderful sight.
Surely your body remembers his. If not, then he’ll ensure it does now, he’ll engrain it into you for the next life.
One cock slid against the satin ridges of your walls, the other indulging along your searing skin and grinding against your clit. He can’t deny how addictive your body always has been.
Dragging as far back as your locked legs would allow him, the flushed head of one dick kisses your twitching clit, and he sinks back in.
Grunts and purrs reverberate through his throat, teeth clenching as your heat engulfs him again. Reaching deeper into your welcoming core as your lips fall open.
His pace is methodical and controlled to his liking. Drawing out his cock inch by thick inch, sloppy trails of arousal caught on each ridge.
Each time making your core empty and yearning to clench around his girth. Just as a whine would leave your drooling lips, his hips would return to you what your core longed for.
Pushing each tantalizing inch to stroke your starved walls until his skin claps against yours with a wet kiss. Back and forth, back and forth the resounding slaps echoed. Mingling with his low groans and your pitched gasps, creating a sacrilegious yet divine hymn.
Your hand rakes deeper into his toned back possessed by desperation.
A few snowy strands are trapped between your writhing fingers. Pulling him closer to your smoldering skin, causing your clit to grind intensely against his swollen cock, as its twin twitches within your velvety folds.
Those babbles falling from your fed lips, were they pleas for him to bestow upon you leniency or begging him to speed up?
“Do you wish to climax?” A polite façade purrs into your ear.
Lilac eyes were not ignorant to how a devil keens under his body, her gaze drunk off a feverish potion of lust and desire. He could feel it, these velvet walls aching for more, for his girth to jostle your core more, to extinguish this all-consuming ache within you.
“That’s too bad.”
His hips remain steady contrasting against the unevenness of your own pants, unaffected by your desperate mewls. You’ve been selfish enough, you’ve been greedy enough. If he were to grant you a taste of ecstasy, then it’ll be on his terms.
He hasn’t gotten his fill yet, no, he wants to pound his shape forever into these lewd walls. The way they contract and squeeze around his girth with each drive of his hips, they’re practically begging him to.
Thus, he accelerates just a bit more, then a bit more, then a bit more again. Nearly folding you with how flushed he was against you.
The heavy scent of lust, the smothering heat, his unrelenting and unshakable thrusts amalgamating into a spark. One which set the both of you ablaze. Your nails digging into his skin and eyes reaching the back of your head. Sobs and incoherent prattles resound through the room.
Your devious walls clamped around his length with maddening convulsions, gummy muscles suckling to guide his throbbing head to your deepest greed. It was too much.
Neuvillette was powerless as his body pressed yours deeper into the damp sheets, trying to grasp onto any fleeting wisps of control as euphoria overtook him.
Sinking his ravenous teeth into the tangle of the sheets beside your neck, he stifles the admission of his defeat.
A heftiness is spilled within your walls and paints the expanse of your skin in an all-consuming wave. Thick release coating every corner of your core, to finally quell that ravaging heat.
Each subsequent twitch pours more into your crowded cavity and stains your skin. The filthiness of it all seemingly prolongs your sinful depravity.
Chest expanding with pants, pressing your erected nipples against his taut chest. Neuvillette remains buried against you, brutish arms holding your body flush against his.
As if to anchor you, to not allow the turbulent waves of madness to sweep you far from him, or him from you. Keeping your quiver body safe against his.
In the darkness behind his shut lashes, he felt it. Your soft caresses his silky tresses and heaving body. Even as your body heaves and quivers in exhaustion, why must you touch him so tenderly?
Why must you be so cruel? If your hands keep caressing his clammy skin, stroking his peeking scales, he’ll misunderstand.
He’ll believe the delusion that you love him.
Him and not the swaying flower fields of the sunkissed surface.
Whispers cut through the haze of lust and passion, warnings crying for Neuvillette to escape. So he pulls his face from the tangle of sheets, lungs huffing as his eyes find yours.
Exhaustion muddles the hues of your gaze, but not enough to completely smother that glimmer still present. Ah, he knows that that glimmer was.
Even in his heat-induced daze, he’s not naive enough to believe the sincerity presented in your eyes was anything other than duty.
He doesn’t want to be reminded that those hands, which cup his face with such tenderness, are bound by a sense of duty.
A reminder that he’s merely just a stepping stone on the path of your true desire.
He doesn’t want to see it.
The head of his cock parting with a deafening squelch. A darkened gaze follows the pool forming between your splayed legs. Disgruntlement muddles lilac hues.
But such discontent couldn’t last long when the twitch of a neglected length protests. Its bulbous tip longed for its turn within those sticky walls. A primal ordinance he couldn’t resist.
What to call this sensation, to scorn yet desire you just as much.
It wasn’t long before your hips were maneuvered up, your plush ass now up in the air as your quivering arms and face pressed into the sullied sheets.
As one hand supports your unsteady hips. Sharp eyes surveying the puffiness of your cunt, glistening with temptation and dripping with sin.
Hooked fingers slides up the weeping slit, collecting the sacrilegious mixture. Earning an addictive whimper from you when his digits pulled away. Spreading them in front of his gaze, tracing over the stringy nectar stretched between them.
How strange, those lying lips of yours whimper for ‘rest’ and a ‘moment to catch your breath’. Yet your body is still so eagerly exposing itself to his eyes, agape cunt so eagerly twitching and slick.
You don’t even try to writhe yourself away from his hold, not even a single attempt to hide yourself from his hunger.
How skilled you are at fanning the flames, perhaps it's a talent inherent to devils like you. The tempter of all tempters.
You’ve always been like this since the very first rendition.
If only you weren’t so strong-willed. If only you weren’t so clever to trick him. If only you weren’t so enchanting.
Then he wouldn’t have bent to your whims, the sea would’ve cleansed out the mortal filth from stolen land. Then he wouldn’t be trapped in this disgrace of a body. Then he wouldn’t be in love with you.
The betrayal, the disgrace, and this punishment would’ve never happened if only a fool didn’t surrender everything for a mere, fleeting creature.
Why must you make him repeat the same mistake again?
There it was again, that surging torrent within him making its voice known in the echoes of his mind. Whispering the hint on how a dragon would defeat the flame that had scorched him those years ago.
Smother the flame with the tides of depravity and vulgarity. Taint your arrogance with shame.
There wasn’t an ounce of gentleness remaining within his eyes, a beastly hunger taking its place.
Yes, you must pay the debt of reducing him to such a humiliating state.
His neglected cock prods against that greedy cunt of yours. Unmerciful hands bruising the plushness of your hips.
The sinful concoction from the previous sessions allowed his tormented length into your walls without resistance.
The neglected cock finally indulging in the spasms of your abused walls, it’s its turn to bully those weak spots with its thick head.
Sobs sung in broken chokes leave your drooling lips. Trembling fingers enmeshed into the fabric as if to find some ground for your senses to land after their fall from euphoria.
He won’t allow you reprieve. No, not even for a moment. He’ll shatter your sanity and arrogance once and for all.
Nothing interrupted the pistoning of his hips as he fucked you through overstimulation, heavy balls slamming against your swollen lips.
The previous twin cock was now experiencing the hard nub of your engorged clit running along its veins and ridges.
There’s no room for an exchange of words. No, the two of you have long been pasted that point.
No sandy ground beneath as the two of you sank under the ravenous tides of primal instincts and pleasure.
Cacophonous growls, whimpers, and sobs filling the absence along with the thwacks of skin against skin echoed back from the cellar walls.
You keen under the ram of his hips, jostled head writhing against the soiled sheets. The motion allows your hair to fall over your shoulders.
Exposing an untainted patch of skin. Sharp pupils watching how beads of sweat trailing down your nape reflect the azure glow of his body.
An itch assailing his fangs even has his hips continue their barrage against your soft ass. Those lovely vulgar moans wane out from his hearing as his senses could only obsess over the untarnished expanse.
Ah, what if there’s a way for him to pin you here until the stars themselves burn out? You were given to him as his bride.
An offering made to him.
So why can’t he forever confine you within his clutches? Just as you were the original sin which damned him to this cove.
Long tongue dragging along the fresh skin, feeling the jolts of your body.
He’s done it once before, he’s cursed you before. Imprinting a curse upon your very soul, one which followed you through the hands of death and even when the hands of life reformed your body from the earth.
Why not renew it?
Neuvillette pins your upper body further into the tangled bedding, one hand abandoning your hips in favor of raveling in the mess of fabric.
Your heated skin felt against his exhilarated fangs, hungry to sink into your nape.
‘Till death do us part’, that’s not enough.
Such fleeting mortal oaths are much too meek for dragons.
No, those atrocious murmurs in his thoughts command him to curse you in the next life. And the next one, and the one after that as well.
It’s not like your muddled head would understand, nothing but mindless prattles and mewls from the suffocating pleasure only he could ever give you.
But that’s fine, just drown nicely in lust and desire. He’ll always be waiting there at the bottom to drag you down deeper.
Just as the tips of his pointed teeth broke through quivering skin, delicate fingers grasp upon burly a hand.
Intertwining their grasp together upon rumpled linen, a subconscious search for comfort.
An action that remits an iota of reason back to his foggy mind, hazy eyes moving toward the sight of your hand clutched around his.
Even as he’s ravishing your weeping walls, flooding your body with his filthy essence which trickles down your thighs and ass, and chasing his own carnal needs… you still reach for him.
Shamelessly pulling his touch closer, even when the throes of rapture banished all thought from your jostled mind.
A whisper resurfaces amidst the fog and clamor of instinct and rage.
However, it’s a whisper which made his incisors dare not budge another inch. The inkling of truth which he thought he had silenced within the depths of his heart.
The accuracy that this wasn’t love. No, what his instincts craved was not love, it was obsession.
For love was not this sadistic possession, not to curse you just to ease his own damnation.
No, love is supposed to be much like the warmth of your palm flushed against his knuckles.
He remembers now, the lesson you taught him all those years ago. A demonstration witnessed with his own eyes.
Love was sacrifice, just as how you offered yourself to the tides, quelling the rage of a vengeful dragon. Because you loved your village too much to allow them to drown.
Retreating away from the transgression almost committed, fangs repressed behind closed lips. Neuvillette presses a sweet kiss against the shallow wound.
To love you isn’t to steal you away from the embrace of the star who’s forsaken him. It’s to hoist you up to that beloved sunlight. Just where you belonged.
Oh, how could he not love you?
The bride offered to a dragon in a white dress who once dared to command the great beast to stand still as she braided flowers into his hair.
A brazenness contrasted with the gentleness of her smile.
The voices of heart and cruelty rang out in vociferous battle in his mind, Neuvillette buries his face into your shoulder. Pursuing the savor of your skin, pinning you deeper into the tangle of bedding.
Providing more simulation for the pulsing cock wedged against your swollen clit and messy sheets. The neediness of his movements exposed just how close his undoing was.
The hand on your abdomen pulled you impossibly close, adding pressure to the bulging outline of his cock.
Amplifying the ecstasy coursing through your veins, abused walls clamping down on each ridge and each vein of his heft girth. The shape engrained into your wanton core, marvelous sobs and mewls echoing off the empty walls.
Soon those moans become shattered in your throat, eyes rolling back further with each heavy thrust and slap of his balls. Lungs cease all function as rapture unravels you wholly and exhilaration becomes your undoing.
Sloppy contractions mix the repercussions of multitudinous ruination, dripping out your convulsing cunt. Just before a hot surge replenishes the brood that oozed out on the sullied sheets.
Grunts vibrate against your back reminding your body to breathe.
Thick ropes paint your belly and sheets, making an absolute mess. Contracting walls trying but failing to contain the aftershocks from his cock buried deep within, already stretched to their limits, capacity long exceeded. Shudders rack your body and his the same.
With hands still entangled, he coaxes your body around. Granting him a mesmerizing view of your debauched face.
The face he’s so enamored with that he bows his down closer, bodies still connected as he wishes to echt every last detail of you into his being. So that eternity may remember you.
Softness resurfaces in his bones, a tender kiss pressed upon your fingers. Soothing those tremors as he guides your consciousness back to reality.
He holds you, remaining inside as to contain his greed spilled deep inside. The heftiness of his cock prods against your shuddering walls. Every last fiber of your being overstimulated with pulsing pleasure.
Yet, your hand refused to let go. Still holding him toward your exhausted figure in the dying light of the candle.
Whimpers and coos exchanging in a duet of devotion, a hymn so placate it quells the vapid torrents ever so slightly.
Placid fingers drawing circles into your sore back. A gentle lilac gaze keeping watch as your teary eyes retire behind heavy lashes.
Blood and water no matter how much they’re mixed, won’t produce wine.
However, just for tonight in a realm heavy with lust, passion, and phantasm, they’ll craft a wine of delusion. One filled with nothing but wishful fantasy.
However, this wine of delusion shall be enough to quench the thirst of lascivious compulsions and vengeance.
The gentle caresses of steam ghost past your leaden lashes, lukewarm ripples lap against your skin. Your sore body propped up against the porcelain, as Neuvillette drags a dampened towel along your skin.
A pang of guilt stung him each time the cloth passed over a discolored imprint. No amount of diligent rubs would purify your skin of those bruises in the shape of his fingers.
A stir from muscle gradually awakening from slumber reflected in the wavelets of the bath. The sensation of a damp towel must’ve further jolted your senses back to alertness.
A cerulean glow glistens off the polished surface as your vision finally centers on the figure rising warm water over your limp body.
Attentive eyes immediately connect with yours as he scans your expression for discomfort.
“Are you hurting anywhere?” Neuvillette halts the towel.
You respond with a slow shake, your throat must be too sore to answer. Despite how he tries to conceal them behind a robe, blotches of azure painted along his fair skin.
Proof that draconic influence was still in rebellion of his body. All the while he’s very much aware of your eye’s every move. What an appalling sight it must be for you.
“If I make you uncomfortable I’ll leave promptly, this was just the only solution I could find to bathe-”
“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” Voice hoarse as your frame melts closer to his, delicate fingers intertwining with between the spaces of his own scaly fingers.
Allowing your breaths to minge in tandem in the steam-damped tiles of the tranquil bathroom.
“Does it hurt?” A warm thumb traces soft circles along the rough scales along his hand.
Did you catch the subtle twitches and jolts of his muscles? A mortal body rejecting draconic influences, draconic influences revolting against a mortal cage. Still, he shakes his head. Lilac gaze watching your eyes trail between the scales and his eyes with skepticism.
“I’m not quite sure as to why I’m still in this… state.” Neuvillette gives a preemptive answer to the question he assumes to be hanging off your tongue.
“Do you… miss the sea?” However, it seems you had another inquiry hidden in your ever perplexing mind.
A deep sigh resonates through the tranquil air. He stares at the tips of his fingers dipped into the warm water, a taunting substitute for the sea that called for him.
“I suppose it’s natural that I yearn for it…”
A hum was your only response, eyes hidden behind closed lashes. Neuvillette just couldn’t decipher that smile of yours, curled lips reflected over the rippling surface of the steaming water.
--------------------------------------------------------------
“Your body is still delicate, please let us return back to the estate-”
“I might actually grow roots into that bed if I’m to rest there any longer.” A pout was evident in your voice.
Taking a few greater strides, your body pulls in front of Neuvillette’s pace. It was only momentary of course, for he swiftly rejoins your side.
Observant eyes not missing the subtle wobble in your steps along the pastures of the village.
“Please just don’t stray too far.” He relents, offering up his arm for support.
With a gracious smile, your arm curls around his, interlocking your fingers with his as two pairs of steps ambled along the grass.
Soon a familiar pool of water came into view, enticing two pairs of eyes with its glimmering ripples.
What it strange sight those waters showed, a cursed dragon who yearned for his place and a cursed mortal who longed for the sun, two cursed beings holding hands in the reflection along the pristine surface.
“I believe this is far enough. ” His arm pulls your frame closer, a subtle hesitance tainting his tone.
However, your body didn’t budge. Resolute stance not moving even one bit watching your reflection warp and contort in the water. A deep breath echoes off the wall.
“Neuvillette… do you miss the sea?” Your stare parts with the water, now peering straight into his lilac hues.
‘Do you miss the sea?’ You’ve asked him this question many times. He's always given a composite response, but maybe his flowery words diluted the meaning too much to your ears.
“Yes, I do miss the sea.” His candid yearning.
There was a question his lips didn’t dare ask, ‘Do you miss the sun?’, Neuvillette wanted to riposte your questions with this question of his.
But he knew it would be pointless, for he already knew the answer. Wordlessly written all over your melancholic stare into the pond, the longing to return to the sun, to be with blood and not water.
To love you, would be to hoist you up to where you longed to be, in the embrace of the warm sun. Neuvillette had thought he made up his resolve long ago.
However, would it be too selfish of him to wish to turn back?
To convince you to back into the tranquil estate where the Melusines await your return with those dishes you taught them how to cook.
Or maybe would at least try on those gowns still untouched? Could you wait until all those books in the library were read through by your sweet voice?
Would you be oh so kind enough to hold his hand just for a moment longer? At the very least, would you allow him to memorize your warmth?
His grip on your hands tightens ever so briefly, a shaky breath trembles in his chest before he releases it along with the tension in his fingers.
No, it wouldn’t be fair to stall any longer, you deserve your happy ending.
Calmly, the dragon bows his head closer to yours. Ignoring the aggrieved voices that cried for him to swallow back to secret just about to spill from his tongue.
The ending of this tale won’t ever change, for a dragon is just as foolish as he was before.
“My true name is-!” His voice was stunned as a pair of soft lips silenced him.
Your lips pressed against his own, forcing back the secret. His bewildered eyes hone in upon your face, but your lashes were shut as your hands pull his face closer. The resolve wanes from his bones as he sinks into your embrace.
As your lips pull away, gasping for breath. He places his hands atop yours, searching your face for an answer. All he got was that indecipherable smile.
Pulling his face down closer to yours again, your lips find themselves right next to his pointed ears. Under a faint breath which left your parted lips came the secret he kept locked away.
Since when? When did you find his name? Or… did you know this whole time?
Neuvillette reels back in the embrace of your cruel hands. Lilac eyes stare deep into yours, peering through the cracks in that enchanting façade of yours.
Ah, this whole time, did he not discover the false innocence in the irises of the deceptor of all deceptors?
A foolish moth fell for the deception of a devil once again, flying to the flicker of a candle until his wings were charred off into ash.
Those sentences written upon parchment weren’t lies, all other monsters fall secondary to the devil. Even a dragon.
“Why?” Was all he could muster, oh cruel devil why did you play him a fool once more?
“Because I wanted to see you again… but I knew you wouldn’t quite share the same sentiment since the moment I heard your voice… so I lied,” Those audacious eyes of yours never looked away.
Ah, how could he forget how crafty and observant a devil is with her schemes? The charming enchantment as she performs her deceptions. Speaking shameless lies with those bewitching lips.
“If you wanted to see me… then that day at the loch… why weren’t you there?” The stir of the torrent within put a snarl into his throat.
Why must you keep lying to him?
Ah, from the start, Neuvillette should’ve listened to the clamorous cries of his instincts. To withdraw away from the flame, to extinguish the hell fires before they left another lesson learned upon his skin.
Yet, he’s still within the embrace of your cruel hands. His body just wouldn’t pull away.
Just what is this level of stupidity called? For a moth to still crave the warmth of the flame which charred its wings into ash. Just what is this lunacy called?
“The nobles locked me away after those tyrants stole your name from my tongue, they locked me away.” Torment brewing in those irises which reflected him.
A chill staggers the surge of the torrent, an icy sting which stupefied the rampaging currents.
For generations upon generations of scribes and poets never penned this detail down in any rendition of a classically beloved tale.
“I begged them, I banged against the bars of the cell, even clawed at the stone walls until my fingers were raw, but they left me there to rot in the cold… I just wanted to see you one last time, just once more.” Those bitter pools formed in your penitent eyes spill over.
This wasn’t how the tale was supposed to end. The maiden, who deceived a dragon for her people, was supposed to be hailed a hero. You were supposed to have a happy ending, so why didn't you get that?
“All I ever wanted was for you and me to walk amongst humanity… look where that got us…” Tears descend from your cheeks and onto the grass below, a humorless chuckle.
Was this another lie falling from those saccharine lips of yours? Sugar dusted on the shell of a vile trick? Neuvillette wasn’t sure anymore.
“That foolish wish of mine… it must’ve been so painful. I’m so sorry.” Your thumb traces over the scales dotted over his cheek, evidence of a draconic rebellion against a mortal condemnation.
Does your touch scorn or soothe him? Neuvillette wasn’t sure anymore.
“I’m sorry. I’ll say sorry one thousand times if you wish.” A tremor in your voice.
The surge within him couldn’t sustain itself, faltering and receding back to a placid, pathetic ripple. Perhaps… It's tired.
Tired of holding onto this futile grudge. Not when the bitter answers its tides were ravenous for had finally sunk in.
He takes a deep breath, collecting his resolve.
“...what… what do you wish for?” Just how will this rendition end? Neuvillette doesn’t know.
But he knows his hands should hold onto yours, desperately etching the details of your tender touch into its memory. Rations to sustain him for the rest of a solitary eternity.
He hears your slow inhale, preparing your throat to speak your selfish desires.
“I wish for your curses to become mine alone to bear.” You reveal your selfish wish, pressing the voucher of freedom into his hands.
He had that look on his face again. Disbelief stupefied each muscle of his dashing face, wide eyes peering into yours trying to find the hint of a jest. Your gaze doesn’t waiver as your finger tightens around his.
“Grant me my wish… please.” Lips stretching with a reassuring smile.
His lips press into a thin line, face returning to its place between your warm hands, he takes a deep breath. Perhaps it’s just his sense of responsibility and fairness that compelled him to fulfill this wish.
Or maybe, the dragon just couldn’t help but submit to the whims of his beloved, a statement that remained no matter what rendition of the tale it was.
Releasing the breath he held, the shift in the air was palpable, a lightness in his chest. The pond off to the side billows momentarily, drawing focus toward its excited ripples.
Releasing his hold, feet leading him to the side of the saltwater before his mind could process his own actions.
He could hear it again, the hymns of the water singing the end of his exile. Reaching out a hand, it sinks past the cool surface, the tides welcoming back their prince with mellow kisses.
The ocean calls for him, so why is he still staring back at you? The one who’ll never embrace the sea again for the rest of her life, nor ever feel the sway of Summer days in a field full of Pluie Lotus. His eyes conveyed a question his lips couldn’t bear to ask. Thus, you give the answer he seeks.
“Think of it as my reparations to you, an overdue apology for my mistake, for making you to suffer so much.” That glimmer in your eyes, one he understands now.
Moving the hex to a body whose true master was the mistress of time, a body blessed with mortality. If a miracle isn’t enough to make a curse break, then perhaps the tides of time could.
Taking a piece of the curse with each tick of a clock, just like how the waves take with it grains of sand from warm beaches.
Once a withered mortal body is called back to the earth, the clauses will be fulfilled after many centuries. Unsettled grudges eroded away like those sandy banks.
Until the pull of the ground makes its visible influence on your skin. Until your locks come to resemble the snowy shade you’ve lovingly run your fingers through. Until the sweet earth hums for you to embrace it once more, you shall remain here.
What a clever scheme it all is, a masterful plan which could only ever be conjured by you. You devil, oh so devious, devil.
“You can hate me, I won't hold it against you,” you whisper. “May this tale end in your happiness, let me do this much for you.”
A bitter bile festers at those lies of yours. How could such lies fall from your lips so easily when they always left such a vile taste upon his tongue?
Gaze honed in upon your frame, watching the gentle smile hold back the slight quiver of your shoulders. He stands back up, slow strides returning him to your side. Taking your hands into his larger ones, placing your soft touch back along his cheeks.
“Silence… I won’t hear such deceit.” Snowy locks brushing against your fingertips.
“But I wasn’t lying…” Confusion furrows your brow, but your hands remain cupping his face.
Moving away, he studies the rivulets of regret and anguish that leave bitter trails down your cheeks. He swallows back the objections clawing up his throat, such vile words don’t belong on your tongue.
“How could I hate you?” he confesses.
Neuvillette has finally come to a realization. All those renditions, all those differing retellings of a classic tale. He had read them all wrong, basis clouding his interpretation.
For the princess did love her dragon. Just as he loved her, all this time.
Together in the depths of a cave away from the prying eyes of the divine. Breaths in time with one another as they stand in the embrace of one another, until the dragon bows his head back down.
Touching his forehead to hers, so that maybe Neuvillette could get a glimpse into that ever mystical mind of yours.
“How can I ever hate what I’ve coveted for so long?” He asks.
That ever-stirring torrent, that spiteful surge, where did it go? Those clamorous voices with their vengeful snarls and cynical bellows, why weren’t they intrepid enough to direct those foul words toward you?
Not you, never you. How could they ever hate you, the heroine of a Fontainian fairytale they’ve pitifully yearned for so long?
“Am… am I loved then?” Your lashes were squeezed shut as if death was rapping upon them. Too cowardly to face the verdict.
“Yes… yes, you devious devil…” Neuvillette couldn’t help but chuckle at such an endearing sight.
He feels your fingers tense around his skin, astonishment in the features of your face. It soon melts away into those welling pools as a smile pushes against the corners of your eyes.
Pressing your forehead to his, a warm droplet rolls down your cheek and over the curve of your lips. He simply rests his head against yours.
Only now in the last sentence of this retelling of a tale which has been twisted, distorted, and embellished away from the initial narrative did an unwritten truth emerge.
A clever maiden was just as foolish as a proud dragon. The weight of their foolishness was so great it dragged them beneath the waves and kept them in a cove deep away from the prying eyes of gods.
However, if this idiotic dragon could intertwine his fingers with yours. If he could be by your side until the hands of time call you back to the earth in this final rendition.
If he could be the happy ending you deserved, then he wouldn’t mind in the slightest.
Fin~
©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.
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As We Are, We Will Be
Summary: A nonsensical question is proposed in one singular moment between a stoic and stoic face in one singular universe.
Word Count: 9k (It was supposed to be short and sweet-)
Tags: Alhaitham X Fem! Reader, Smut, NSFW, Fluff, a lot of fluff, slight angst, soulmate au, slow fic, established relationship, married life, Soft! Alhaitham, attempts at comedy, mentions of aging, slightly jealous! Alhaitham, mutual pinning, soft sex, vanilla, safe sex (wrap it up), riding (cowgirl), fingering, slow sex, making love, really bad expatiations of scientific theories and math, just two nerds in love.
Authors Note: Happy belated birthday and Valentine's Day to my favorite dendro nerd. A continuation of this piece, one I hold dear. A thought experiment based on nothing more than the feverish delirium of love.
It was just for a moment.
A mere pasting instance in the contentious momentum of time when a glimmer caught your eyes in the muddled chatter of a crowd, a silver shimmer like starlight.
Interrupting your contemplation as your eyes impulsively search for the source.
A late morning on a Saturday, the markets and stalls were lively with families replenishing a week's worth of groceries. Bodies veering and easing through the bustle of the busty streets.
The wide breadth of life that moved all around you. Like a collection of small dots within the vastness of a universe.
But amid the vast collection of blurry faces were the flicker of silvery locks refracting the late morning light. Originating from a pair, an elderly lady and an elderly man, their aged hands intertwined.
Time had made her marks upon them, and gravity had pulled down on their wrinkled faces. Yet, the ends of their lips were pointed toward the sky. The corners of their eyes wrinkled as their gazes held each other's faces.
From their view, do they not see the starlight hue of their hair? Instead, do they still see the vibrancy and youth of their locks which age had stolen from them?
The image of each other reflected in their irises, was it from a time before the hands of gravity pulled on their creased skin and bowed bones? Would you ever be able to find out?
“I wasn’t aware you had a hobby of people-watching.” A baritone voice ghosts over your ear.
Jolting your head to your right, you come face to face with the interruption. Or perhaps, your mind finally registered Alhaitham’s presence just off to the side of you. His arms were weighted down with various bags.
Oh, that’s right, the markets and stalls were lively on the weekend with families restocking groceries for the upcoming week. You and Alhaitham were no different.
Glancing up at his ashen trestles and then scanning back at the starlight locks of the elderly couple, and then back to your husband.
“Hmm, not quite. Just noting the fact your hair is the same color as an old man’s, Haitham.” You catch the subtle twitch of his brow.
“Is that so? I hope you are aware you’re not immune to the inevitably of aging, wife,” Alhaitham returns your jest.
“Well, with your hair color and grumpiness, I’d say you’re already halfway there.”
“I needn’t expound on your equivalent levels of grumpiness, it won’t be long before your locks share the same ashen hue.”
“I guess that’s why we get along then, dear husband.”
“That’s one theory,” he huffs, a simple tone lacking any bite.
You pan your face back toward the crowd, partly because it’s getting harder to hold the neutral position of your lips, partly because your curiosity aches for an untold conclusion.
However, when your gaze returned to the ever-bustling sea of people, the pair of starlight hues were nowhere to be found. It was regrettable, but expected, the elderly couple were nothing more than a pair of strangers in a crowd full of unfamiliar faces.
They were just a brief scene that disappeared into the moving tides of people.
Leaving you with your unresolved musings.
“Is there anything else we need for the week?”
Alhaitham’s voice reels your consciousness back, swiftly you check the crinkled slip of parchment within your hand. Scanning down the list of written items, all with a neat little line crossed through their immaculately penned letters.
“It looks like we got everything we need.” You tuck the list into your pocket.
“Then it’s best we get home before our groceries are spoiled by the heat.” Alhaitham readjusts the bags in his hands.
A hum takes its place as your response. Pivoting your body in the direction of your shared home. From the corner of your field of view, his strides were paced to coincide with your shorter steps.
Studying the numerous bags occupying his hands, you can’t help but think it’s quite convenient to have someone as robust as your husband. Maybe it's these weekly grocery runs that are the secret behind his physique.
Discreetly, your hand slowly slips between the gap of his arm and body, linking your elbows together. So that your frame and his could withstand the push and pull of the crowd’s contentious momentum.
The neutrality of your lips had long slipped away, softened by the familiarity of his warmth. Even as your eyes were pointed on the path ahead, you had an inkling that a similar occurrence was mirrored on his lips as well.
An inquiry your curiosity didn’t need to peek to resolve.
That ache for an untold conclusion morphed into a new musing by the afternoon.
The silver shimmer from that elderly couple’s hair truly was like starlight. Perhaps that’s the correlation that steered your thoughts down this winding path of pondering.
Everyone, from those taking their first stumbling steps of youth to the slowed cane-assisted tramps in their golden years, is technically billions of years old. Or more accurately, the atoms and minerals in everyone are billions of years old.
The carbon in muscles, the calcium in bones, and the iron in blood were all forged in the hearts of bygone stars. When those bright beacons burned out they exploded in one last finale, expelling those materials across interstellar space. Stardust that found its way here.
Here within you, and here within the slow breaths of the man in front of you.
After being around for billions of years, does stardust ever get exhausted?
That would be a sensible explanation for why Alhaitham had snuck away amidst hanging up freshly washed laundry.
His tall frame stretched the expanse of the couch as his starlight lashes were shut, shamelessly relishing in a nap under the streams of sunlight trickled in from the window.
Squatting down you observe the guiltless expression plastered over his resting face, still deep in the trenches of sleep, a small huff passes through your lips. Well, this morning you did have him carry all the groceries from the market back home.
Your husband does deserve this little nap.
Trailing your eyes down his neck you note the lack of a pillow, then as your gaze travels further you note the absence of a blanket as well. Internally, your mind tsks at this forgetful habit of his.
Although his body and yours still have youth coursing through your veins, it doesn’t mean they’ll remain as impervious as they are now later down the line, especially if preventative measures aren’t taken.
Like having a pillow to support one’s neck, or a blanket to prevent chills from plaguing the body.
Standing back to full height, you retrieved the missing artifacts, returning with a plush pillow and light comforter.
Even when his head was momentarily lifted to make space for the pillow, and when the spare comforter was draped over him, Alhaitham didn’t stir one bit. At times you can’t determine if he’s a light sleeper or if his stubbornness refuses to leave the plain of dreams.
It’s a true wonder of life how Alhaitham’s able to sleep so soundly at night given his extensive naps.
The vivid sunlight illuminated patterns upon his cheeks and trestles, causing the ashen strands to dazzle in their refraction of the afternoon light. A sight your eyes just couldn’t help but be enraptured by.
Maybe you could blame the warmth of the sunlight, or maybe the serenity of this quiet Saturday afternoon, or perhaps even these fickle inquiries about his naps for the yawn that left your lips. Now might be the prime time for some research.
Lifting up the comforter just enough for an opportunity to slip through, your body settles in the space right against his. It’s crowded on the couch, the cushions unprepared for two bodies to occupy its entirety, the open edge looming against your back.
Even after all the shuffling and pressing against his dozing frame, your husband didn’t budge a bit.
Leaden lashes still shut and lips set in that all too familiar line, chest rhythmically rising and falling in time with yours. The very image of unperturbedness under the blessing of sleep.
“You really are like an old man.”
At that mere jab, the corners of his lips tugged down while his eyes remained closed. A quick slip that confirmed your earlier suspicions.
“Who knew you were so talented in acting, Haitham,” you snicker.
A muscular arm soon enveloped your form, further pressing you against his chest as if to silence any more sardonic quips from entering his ears.
It was quite the challenge to stifle those giggles before they could erupt from your lips. Peeking up, there’s an ever-so-subtle lift at the corners of his mouth. An express which yours mirrored.
Studying the details of the lips just a breath away, a new musing worms its way into your thoughts:
When the hands of gravity and time start to pull down on his skin and yours the same, leaving wrinkles and creases in their wake, will the edges of his lips still curl like this?
Would yours mirror the same?
A second yawn sneaks past your lips as your lashes grow heavier with each fluttering blink. Claiming a corner of the pillow to lay your head upon, the seconds between each subsequent blink grew longer and longer until your lids were too heavy to lift.
Perhaps the stardust in your bones was exhausted, craving a short rest in his warmth.
--------------------------------
There’s something against your back and your legs are tangled in something, sensations which gradually alert your dozing sense back from the fog of slumber.
At first, you only had the strength to peek open one lid, then promptly shut it. But in the nothingness behind your eyelids, something was halting your limps from stretching the weariness out from themselves.
You tried again, this time fluttering both sets of lashes apart ever so slightly. There’s a dry film coating your throat and mouth, feeling the impressions of the couch cushions and bundled comforter imprinted into your skin.
What time was it?
Blinking away the haze of sleep just enough to notice how the golden rays of a star were missing. A gray overlay was plastered over the living room despite the ticking clock hands displaying that it was late afternoon.
Peering back through the window behind, observing the congregating insipid clouds blocking out the azure sky.
A sure sign of rain despite the morning forecast. Rain… wasn’t there something left unfinished on the clotheslines outside? The groggy recollection of responsibilities creeps into the forefront of your mind.
The reign of your weary limbs slowly returns, and your legs languidly attempt to stretch out from the reveal they were caught in. However, their movements only caused a pair of longer limbs to ensnarl them further.
Alhaitham’s legs promptly caught yours, stifling any prospect of escape.
Your displeased whine was responded with a disgruntled groan by the man keeping your body locked against his.
Wasn’t your back looming just about the edge of the couch when you fell asleep? So why are you in this position now?
Your body wedged between the plush backing of the couch and his solid frame, the comforter swaddling you also didn’t aid in your immobility. Brawny arm draped over your waist, halting your feeble squirms at freedom.
“The laundry,” you mumble.
“Later.” A blunt interjection from a groggy voice.
“It’s going to rain.”
“Less than a 30% chance.”
“Haitham…”
Your husband simply burrows his head deeper into the leveled pillow, likely an attempt to leverage the cushy material to block out your grievances. His ashen lashes still stubbornly shut, much to your displeasure.
“Alhaitham.”
No fluctuations in your volume nor tone, but it was enough for one teal eye to peek out from under ashen lashes. Trailing up to a subtle frown to the furrow between your brow, then finally meeting your unamused stare.
“Laundry,” you try again.
A silent stare down, one stone face gazing upon an equally stoic face, like an immovable object pressed against an equally immovable object.
Which one will defend their title of most stubborn today?
His chest expands with a deep breath, grasp enclosing around your waist before his teal gaze shamelessly vanishes behind closed lashes. Robust frame pinning you further to the back of the couch as he continues to ignore your huffy floundering.
“Release me, don’t you dare-”
Your grievance was soon muffled by a gentle hand pressing your cheek into his palatial chest. A move that stupefies the irksomeness bubbling within until it falls defeated into placidness.
“Whether it be now or later, they’ll be clean regardless, it’s quite comfortable right here.” The resonance of his voice vibrates in his chest.
You respond with a humbled grunt. In terms of strength you’d always lose to your feeble husband, wouldn’t you?
There’s no point in peering up, for the pleased satisfaction of his resting face would bring a sour taste to your tongue. Thus, you merely adjust your limbs, coiling your arms around to his back and pulling his form closer.
It’s crowded on the couch, it’ll be troublesome if Alhaitham were to slip off the edge if his back were to stray any further.
At this distance, entangled so closely together, the soft beats of his heart in time with yours like a rhythmic lullaby beckons the heavy to return to your eyelids.
The gentle drumming of his heartbeat coaxes out a final sigh from you, lashes descending down as your vision dims back into the realm of slumber.
Slow breaths and heartbeats homogenize into a tender duet, tranquil enough to distract from the sporadic pattering against the glass and gradually increase in consistency.
A less than 30% chance of rain doesn’t mean that there’s a greater than 70% chance of no rain. It’s merely a statistical probability of 0.01 units of more precipitation at a given area in the given forecast area in the time period specified.
Known as the precipitation probability, calculated based on two factors:
The forecaster's certainty that precipitation will form or move into the area X The areal coverage of precipitation that is expected, then multiplied by 100.
Thus, if the forecaster were 90% certain that 30% of the forecast area would receive rain, then the forecast displayed on screens would read as a 27% chance of rain.
A crucial bit of information that seemed to have slipped his mind midst a quiet afternoon.
A troublesome miscalculation Alhaitham tsks at internally as he wrings out the pillowcase into a sink before tossing it back into the washing machine. Button-down shirts and blouses, wrinkled from the process of twisting out as much rainwater as possible, sat in damp piles awaiting their turn to be rewashed.
As he measures out the detergent he can hear the rattles and clanks of the pot and pans from the kitchen. A late dinner in preparation, a task which was supposed to be his this week.
When he woke up to the pattering of rain drumming against the window panes, the afternoon long gone, it stirred an ever-so-sinking pit of dread. Second only to the unamused stare of his wife as she replicated an overconfident statement:
“Less than a 30% chance, Alhaitham?”
How unfortunate it all was, that the area where this quaint house resides was part of that 30% of the forecasted area.
Teal eyes watch the bedsheets whirl and fumble as they spin in the wash, contemplating the circumstance and further action.
There is only one spare bedding set in the closet, so it’d be wise to allow you to have it for tonight as all the sheets and covers get rewashed and dried.
Your bed is about the same size as his, so two bodies wouldn’t have an issue fitting. At this rate, the two of you just slept in whichever bed was the most convenient.
However, given the current state of things, Alhaitham wonders if he should prepare himself to brave tonight on his bare mattress with a flimsy spare blanket and pillow.
He might as well return to the couch for tonight if that was the case.
The accumulation of all the years of science, mathematics, and research, Alhaitham wonders if there was ever a bright mind who came up with a formula to calculate how displeased one’s wife is.
What would be the factors plugged into the equation? And how accurate would it be?
More specifics needed to be gathered, something the man couldn’t do in the refugee of the laundry room. Thus, Alhaitham must brave a journey into the kitchen. His slipper-clad footsteps are slow and methodical as the kitchen appears from around the corner of the hallway.
Sights honed in on your back as you stood by the stove, a rich aroma wafting through the air.
Sleep still dusted your hair, evident in the few unruly strands sticking up erratically on your head, you made no attempt at fixing it. One hand is too occupied with stirring the pot on the stove, and the other set upon your hip.
Your stance wasn’t exactly tipping the scales in his favor.
Cautiously, Alhaitham made his way to you. Stopping just a few paces as your eyes peer over your shoulder, stoic gaze halting him in place just a few paces away. The faded imprint of the crumpled blankets and couch cushions on your cheek.
His hand twitches with the urge to run his thumb along the impressions, but rationally warns him of the consequences.
“The laundry?” No discernable tone in your voice.
“Everything has been collected and wrung out, I’ll rewash everything tomorrow.” It’s best to answer your questions this time.
“Hmm, they were out in the rain for quite a while now. They were dripping out onto the floor when you brought them in.”
“I’ve mopped away any rain and mud tracked between the back door and laundry room.” Teal eyes quickly checked the aforementioned area to ensure they were pristine before returning to you.
“Hmm.” You turn back towards the stove.
The soft ticks of the clock accompany the waning drums of raindrops against the glass, the kitchen hood whirring as a ladle continues to stir in a pot. A quiet lull engulfed the home. Treading on the side of caution, Alhaitham inhales deeply.
Without opening the box, one will never be able to confirm to fate of Schrödinger's cat.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Hmm? Well, it’s raining tonight, what better to eat on a rainy night than some Sabz Meat Stew, no?”
He’s careful to not sigh too audibly, lest he goes to bed with a stomach half-full of instant noodles and that miffed stare of yours.
Alhaitham decides to hold his tongue as teal eyes continue to watch you add more spices to the pot. Studying how nicely the apron is tied around your waist.
But it wouldn’t be wise of him to stand so close when the fabric of his shirt was still damp with rainwater transferred to him by the soaked laundry and sky.
His chain of thought was interrupted by the chimes of your phone on the countertop, catching your eyes as well as his to peek at the over. A certain name is displayed across the screen. It’s as if the hands of fate wanted to throw more salt into his face.
Bahram (Manager)
It’s a Saturday night, for what reason would an employer need to contact an employee so late?
Alhaitham’s focus shifts to your gaze which is still honed in on the screen. A bitter tinge crawls up the tip of his tongue, threatening to spoil his appetite. Perhaps, he wouldn’t mind settling down in his bare bed with just a spare comforter without dinner tonight.
“Can you reject the call for me? He can wait until Monday to get me to resolve whatever he messed up,” you scoff before rolling your eyes back to the stove.
Swiftly he swipes to decline the call, let your voicemail remind Bahram of the concept of ‘off time’. The phone whirs again right after the first rejection, but he simply swipes decline again.
Pushing the device away with a bit too much satisfaction in his veins.
Glancing back at your frame, he lets out a sigh as he relents. Resting his head into the crook of your neck, careful to leave a bit of distance between your bodies and to not hamper your shoulder’s movement.
“Hm?” You hum expectantly.
“It was my oversight tonight.” A string of words a bit unfamiliar on his tongue, but stubbornness hasn’t been in his favor tonight.
“And?”
“I’ll be more cautious regarding naps.”
“Hmph.”
The lull returns, him resting his head on your shoulder and you continuing to watch over the stew. Teal eyes on you and your eyes on the stove. Until your shoulders raise with a deep inhale.
“Go get changed out of that wet shirt then set the table, this bastardized version of ‘soup’ will be ready in 20 minutes.” You reach for a skillet just off to the side.
He hums this time, the liberation from treading in suffocating lull tugs at the end of his lips. He surmises that laying his head against you for a few moments more won’t be so consequential.
The patter of raindrops still splattered against the glass panes of the window, drops which warped and blurred the scenery beyond the glass. Not that there’s any scenery to look at, not with the dreary clouds crowding the sky.
A heavy sigh huffs through your nose, curling onto your side as you adjust your pillow.
A filling dinner, a warm shower, and soft comforters. Factors that should contribute to a restful night’s sleep, or at the very least make your eyelids weary with the weight of lethargy.
Yes, perhaps those components should’ve granted you entry into the reprieve of a dream.
If it wasn’t for the fact you’ve intruded into the domain of slumber twice already today.
And the tempter who lured you to do so currently has his arm wrapped around your waist.
Alhaitham’s chest rises and falls against your back, soundly asleep without an ounce of guilt over the predicament he’s partly responsible for.
Lifting your head off the flattened pillow, your body twists around to fluff the stale stuffing back up before settling back to your position.
His body rested against yours just as it would any other night. But there’s a weight at the corners of your lips, one only grew heavier as your ears witnessed each content exhale resounding from the man who seemingly stole your sleep.
If you were crueler, you would’ve exiled Alhaitham to the couch or his barren mattress.
However, he’d probably sleep just fine regardless.
Canting your head up, you flip your pillow to the other side once more.
Your rolls and rhythm were abruptly interrupted by the clasp of two harsh hands pulling your hips into his, the contours of his rigor now digging into the plush of your ass. Forcing a stunned gasp up your throat.
“It seems like my wife has quite a bit of energy.” His timbre deeper from grogginess.
Ah, all the twisting and turning you did just to adjust the troublesome pillow must've disturbed him.
The softness of your ass cradled against his pelvis through the thin material of a button-down, an item borrowed from his closet that you’ve designated as sleepwear, and his sweatpants.
‘Serves him right.’
Your attempts to twist out from his iron-clad hold only ground your ass more against the stiffness, earning a grumble from his lips.
“Oh? And who’s fault is it?” You retort, still protesting in his hold.
Snaking one hand downwards Alhaitham presses against your lower stomach to arch your ass further into him. Leaning his face closer to yours.
“Do you want me to take responsibility?” His whisper ghosts over the shell of your ear.
You could feel the pads of his fingertips tracing under the loose button-down.
“Shouldn’t you resolve the issues you’ve caused?” A huff leaves you.
The outline of his shape pressed along your skin, the plushness of your bottom contrasting against the rigidity.
“I can say the same to you.”
The pads of his fingers trail up your heated skin, crawling along your torso, feathering touches alighting your senses like sparks. Massaging the tired yet restless muscles. You sigh in contentment.
The billowing button-down dragged up by his vascular hand, unveiling your skin to the cool sheets. Wandering touches slow as they rest in the valley of your breasts. His fingers enclose around one mount, gently twisting the defenseless nipple.
“H-hey! Hmph-“ Barely catching a moan before it fled past sealed lips.
“Hm?” His lips are now right next to your ears. “Surely you foresaw this, I’m just helping my wife with all her excess energy.”
His forgotten hand made its presence known as it kneaded your hips, cunning touches breaching under the feeble defenses of your panties. Effortlessly brushing them to the side, long fingers encroaching closer to their destination.
Your thighs react, squeezing together to prevent him from venturing further. Unfortunately, it was all in vain, for his fingertips already dipped into an all too familiar sap.
“See, you seem quite eager,” he taunts.
Stubbornly, your body attempts to buckle away from his influence. Face firmly pointed away from his lest he peeks at your heated cheeks.
Alhaitham abandons the perch on your breast, two large hands attempting to tame the bucks and rolls of your hips. He releases a slow sigh into the crook of your neck.
“Are you not feeling it tonight?” His hands remain where they were, but the strength missing.
At the lack of resistance, your hips seem to have lost interest in their writhing, staying within his yielding hold. Internally, you chiding your body for being so straightforward. The only thing blocking an answer from exiting your throat was that fickle ego of yours.
“Won’t you allow me to make up for my blunders today, wife?” He soothes his hand along your leg.
With that stubborn ego of yours still biting down on your tongue, you simply nod your head. Feeling the heat of your cheeks reflected to you by the pillow.
Permitting your thighs to give into the tow of his grasp. Allowing the grip of one large hand to pull your bent leg open, exposing your vulnerable cunt. Shielded from the view of the raindrops by a mere blanket.
The hand snaked under your waist took swift advantage of the oppurtunity. Sliding one firm finger down to part the fold of your slit as his warm hand cups your greed.
Alhaitham continued with the caresses of his fingers. Your lashes and lips pressed tightly shut, your leg still held in his tender hold. His slow breaths brush ghosting your skin.
He spreads the slick along your slit, the tips of his fingers ever so often knocking against the bud at the very top. Teal eyes catch the sudden jolts of your body every time it happens.
He moves his fingers downwards, slowly parting the now soft folds of your core. Feeling the subtle puckers of your entrance as his touch traced closer, more wetness dribbling out from the honeypot.
The tip of his finger now encircles the fluttering hole. Your hip subtly bucked into his hand, as if to lure him in a soundless plea.
Breaths getting deeper as your eyes follow his touch, the warm pad of his index finger twirling against your clit. Stoking a burgeoning fire with each slow circle. Your placid sighs fill the lull.
His middle finger ventures past the entrance of your satin walls welcomed with a lewd squelch. Curling his finger against slick walls to test the give, he wonders if this hidden oasis is etched into his shape yet.
Diligently, his digit continues to sink in and out of your weeping hole, making your teeth sink into the flesh of your bottom lip. The squelches increased in volume as trickles of nectar began pooling on the sheets. Walls clamping around a lonely finger, it wasn’t enough to quell that mounting heat within.
A second deft finger joined in, sliding past a hungry entrance. A tangled dance amongst gummy walls as they curled and stretched the space. The lewd squelches resounding in your ear, a whimper trapped in your throat. The heel of his warm palm now pressed flat against the soft mound of your cunt, every movement of his hand resulting in a grind against your clit.
Each grind causes a hot flash to shock throughout your body, starting from your curled toes to the very top of your head. The jostling of your hips and legs gradually expels the blanket off the bed.
“Mmph!” A whine from a sudden surge of bliss when his thick fingers curled against a spongy patch deep within.
“T-there! More there!”
Your body writhes, no longer docile under the white searing pleasure frying the ends of every nerve within your being.
He gladly obliges. Unrelenting rhythm slipping in and out of your convulsing walls. Ensuring to grind against that spongey patch.
Your body twitches and flails in reaction. Trying to find some way to handle this surcharge of sensations.
Legs instinctively wanting to shut together as if to cease this turbulent sensation, unfortunately, your pitiful strength gave no resistance against his rigid hold.
Piqued by the sweet tune, Alhaitham watches the scrunch in your trembling brows. He repeats his actions, another mewl leaves your lips as your head leans further into his shoulder.
The mellow pace of his fingers suddenly amps up, retreating out only to clap back in as his palm presses into the twitching bud.
“Ah! Haitham.”
A pressure mounting up, a sirens call beckoning you closer and closer to a hazardous cliff’s edge. The only foundation for your sanity is thousand-count fabric, thus you twist the silk fibers as tremors overtake your body.
Walls clamping down to trap his thick digits inside as it spasms. Muscles tensing and quivering as your back arches away from his chest, parted lips with nothing choking past them.
Three thick fingers sink deeper into your pussy without a hint of resistance, as a reward he makes sure to roll your overstimulated clit in firm circles with his palms. Judging from the violent tremors in your legs, it seemed you were almost there.
Just at the cusp of rapture when your hand tangles into his ashen-locks, canting your head back so that your panting lips could capture his. Alhaitham returns to gesture with just as much fervor in his kiss, swallowing down your sweet mewls for himself.
With a singular gasp, the siren’s call had beckoned your sanity to drown in the murky depths. It’s as if you lost control of your body to the possession of pleasure.
Eyes rolled back and lips broke away as breathy moans escaped the prison of your throat, a haze heavy over your thoughts, pride long lost amongst the gale of an orgasm.
The beckoning depths of euphoria welcome your descent.
Your limp frame rests against him. A light layer of sweat coating your panting chest, blurred vision merging and blending the details of the ceiling above the bed.
Alhaitham coaxes the contractions of your core, riding out the waves of their squeezes and sucks against his fingers. Earning an addictive whimper from you when his digits pulled away. Entranced by the glimmering string of nectar stretching between his fingers and your oasis.
Trailing back up to your face, he notes the return of your hazy irises from their ogle of the bedroom ceiling.
“Better?” Teal gaze watching the pants of your chest as they steady.
‘No, not at all’, a statement just at the tip of your tongue, but your lips were busy attempting to grasp deep breaths. The surplus of vigor festering into unquenchable desire. To be closer, deeper, more. You needed more.
Where words fail, action must take its place. Even before your mind finishes up the scheme brewing within, your lips catch him off guard, plush lips embracing his in a tender waltz.
Your body rolls back so that your breast can press against his chest through the thin fabric of his stolen shirt.
At the tender caress of your kiss, teal eyes disappear behind ashen lashes, the clasp of his grip loosening. Allowing you the mobility to finally pull your body on top of his, lips never once parting until you were finally settled atop his broad body.
A certain stiffness makes its reintroduction against your roused clit.
Breaking the seal of the kiss as a line of salvia stretches between your tongues, arms pushing against his firm chest to prop your body up as you gaze down at him.
“Still have too much energy?” Haughty eyes peer into yours, yet you can see the ardor oh so thinly concealed behind the brilliant teal.
“What do you mean? Aren’t you the eager one?” You hum, rolling your hips against the rigidness trapped behind the prison of sweatpants.
“Hmm.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth.
Large hands feel down along the plumpness of your ass as they drag a flimsy bit of fabric down your thighs. Daintier hands pull down the hem of sweatpants and briefs.
A fair exchange. Him helping you out of those ruined panties, and you freeing him from a compressed prison of cloth. Discarded and forgotten along the floorboards as the fog of passion obscured them from further consideration.
His vascular hands slide down the curves of your body, settling on your hip as your legs plant themselves on either side of his body. Alhaitham coaxes the hem of his stolen button-down just above your midriff. Sharp eyes surveying the puffiness of your clit, glistening with temptation.
Lowering your hips a breathy sigh leaves his lips and yours as the ridges of his cock drag against your slick folds. A few slow rolls starting from his leaking tip sliding down, thick veins skimming against your swollen clit. Precum mixing with arousal in a sinful concoction along his length.
Perhaps he should convince you to participate in more naps if he knew it’d make you this excitable.
“Oh,” you hum aloud, pausing your hips as you reach over to the bedside table.
Pulling open the drawer and rustling about a box followed by the crinkling of foil. Holding up the corner of the packet to your lip, tearing the foil while your gaze held his. Taking your time in dragging the condom out from its package. Easing it down his length while your fingers traced along, feeling each twitch and shudder.
“You sure do know how to test my patience.”
“Hmm?” You feign innocence.
A pair of shaky breaths mingle as Alhaitham helps position his engorged tip at your dripping entrance. Your hand guides him while raising your hips.
Other hand pressing his chest down for support as your thighs sink back down, a shameful squelch accompanying heavy breaths as your walls welcome his cock’s fat head.
Weeping pussy engulfing his girth in bit by bit until you clit kisses his pelvis. Sending jolts of searing pleasure that caused your satin walls to twitch and tighten.
Releasing a breathy sigh as you gather your senses.
Drawing out his cock inch by thick inch, sloppy trails of arousal caught on each ridge before dropping back down. Earning low grunts and sighs each time your satin walls swallowed his girth. The rhythm of your hips is paced and controlled despite how Alhaitham’s fingers dug into your skin.
A whine living your drooling lips with each slap of his skin against your clit. Pushing each tantalizing inch to stroke your starved walls until his skin claps against yours with a wet kiss. The bedframe creaks with each calculated movement, back and forth, back and forth the wood sings along.
Your head was light, intoxicated by a feverish potion of lust and desire. Feeling him reach the deepest depths, fat tip grinding against those spots which made your legs falter momentarily each time.
Utilizing the strength of both your arms now to support yourself. However, the jolts of pleasure that shot up your spine with each roll of your hips were too maddening to stop.
His calloused fingers massage circles into your hips. Squeezing the plush flesh to ground his sanity, watching your lewd face as you shamelessly bounced on him for your pleasure. Observing the subtle ripples with each slap of your hips and the jumps of your perky breast.
The ghostly touches of your fingers skim across his lips, prompting his eyes to connect with yours. Lush and glossy lips parted with your deep pants as your lust-hazed eyes peer down at him, unspoken plea inscribed within them. Who is he to not fulfill your desires?
Lurching his upper body up, he answers your plea, capturing your lips with his. Swiping his tongue against your bottom lip, deepening the kiss. A messy and feverish tangle as if to replace the air in your lungs with his.
Mewls and whimpers muffled by his skin, your hands moving to perch themselves on his broad shoulders. Your quivering legs grew limp as the strength of his hands took over. Barely processing the sweet nothings whispered as your core relishes in the fullness. Like an ache that’s been finally satisfied.
He wondered if tonight’s excessive vigor was fraying his control, or if your body was just this addictive.
By now any notion of decency and integrity has long left you, your hand clawing into his shoulders, marking him with the scars of rapture. A harsh thrust of his hips recoils through you, a wanton moan reverbing off the walls as it forces your tangled lips to part.
Tongue unable to produce anything other than strained moans, your head nods into his broad shoulder as your hips ground against his. The wet squelch announces the reciprocation of your walls.
The intervals of those unrelenting rams increasing between the tender thrusts, half-lidded eyes trained on the shivers of your body. Cock sliding against satin ridges of your wall. Grunts and pants reverberate through his throat, teeth clenching as your heat engulfs him again. Reaching deeper into your welcoming core as your lips fall open.
“Is this not enough?” You could feel the mirth in his whisper.
Closer, deeper, more. You want more. Walls aching for more, for his girth to jostle your core more, to extinguish this all-consuming heat within you. Hips floundering in harmony with breathy mewls.
Pressing libidinous kisses along his throat feeling the vibrations of his grunts and pants, a deep chuckle was soon felt against your lips.
“Good grief you are a greedy little thing aren’t you.”
A deafening slam of skin resounds through the heavy air, swiftly followed by another and another. A new tempo in this waltz of passion takes over like a wave sweeping both of you out to a sea of indulgence.
Possessed by the desperation of chasing a white light, your hand rakes deeper into his toned arms. Seizing anything to prevent your mind from abandoning your sinful body as his girth twitches within your velvety folds.
Sanity like a foolish sailor who’s beckoned by the lure of a siren’s voice, uncaring of the rocks which will sink them to the very bottom of the bemused tides. Keening against your husband shamelessly, a shameless wife on the cusp of her second fall into ecstasy.
The heavy scent of lust, the smothering heat, his unrelenting and unshakable thrusts amalgamating into the spark that lit your nerves alight. Toes arched into the air and eyes reaching the back of your head. Sobs and incoherent babbles resounding through the room.
Your devious walls clamped around his dick with maddening convulsions, gummy muscles suckling against his girth eager to quell your aching greed. It was too much.
His fingers claw into your soft hips, pressing your cunt flush against his hips with a sloppy slap of skin. The bulbous tip prodding against that weakness deep within you. Bruising grip holding your body in place as his lips crash back into yours.
Swallowing down his breathless groans with your sweet mewls and praddles.
A heat is spilled into the rubber, making your greedy walls quiver amidst the aftershocks of ecstasy. Alhaitham’s hips twitch with each subsequent rip of his orgasm, thrusting his length further into your crowded cavity with each one. The filthiness of it all prolongs your sinful depravity.
Chest expanding with pants, your lopsided shirt falling further down your shoulder. Your eyes return from seeing blinding white, exhaustion drenching each fiber of your body.
Limp figure crumbling against your husband as his back lays back on the creaking headboard. Even before your worn mind could conjure a coherent thought, your hands caress his starlight tresses.
As his own breath evades him Alhaitham releases one hand to cup your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your smoldering skin, guiding your lips back to his.
Basking in the warmth forged between your bodies, between drumming heartbeats and breathless lungs.
Two bodies lay under silken sheets, skin freshly wiped clean of sweat as the crisp breeze brushed against the curtains gradually erasing the sinful haze. The cool air aids your rising and falling chest to pace itself.
Muscles and bones heavy with fatigue, yet your eyes couldn’t bring themselves to retire behind shut lids. Not when those dreary clouds have finally retreated.
The moon hangs high in the sky, finally free from the shroud of rain clouds, she sits among the twinkling dots. Twinkling dots were in actuality brilliant stars, some even larger and brighter than the beloved sun.
Glimmering lustrously as they traverse through the contentious vacuum of space and past other nameless stars. A scene from a late-morning market trip wanders its way back from the depths of your memory, bringing its musings with it.
“Something on your mind?” A timbre voice beckons your conscious mind back from its trek.
Teal eyes set upon yours as your heads rest on plush pillows, just a breath away from one another.
“Hm, just senseless musings.” Your gaze shifts away from the window.
In a changed world with millions of hands will your hands and his find each other to make two pairs of hands?
In a different time with a million pairs of legs, will your steps and his steps still coincide in time with each other
In a new life with a sea of new faces, will a stoic face and another stoic face spot each other in the crowd?
What is the likelihood of those odds?
“If you keep letting your thoughts fester, it’ll only bring trouble upon yourself in the morning from sleep deprivation.” He shifts his position, supporting his cheek on his fist as he stares down at your face.
You sigh because he spoke exactly what those whispers of rationale were urging you, but the scoffs of pride had deemed these rampant inquiries ‘childish’. However, it’s a bit hard to avoid his eyes now.
“I was just musing about the soulmates concept again,” you confess.
Alhaitham hums in curiosity.
“Do you…” You take a deep breath, forcing the hard-to-vocalize question from your tongue. “Do you think we’ll only be together in this life?”
He’s silent. Just the muted chorus of Summer crickets rejoicing over the conclusion of a rainstorm resounding through the space.
“In a different time, a different universe, or the next life, do you think we’ll be soulmates again?” You muster together the courage to peer up at his face.
“I don’t recall ever reading an article or paper related to this topic, so it’ll be convoluted to get an answer.” He brings his other hand to his face, signifying his musings.
Right, there isn’t even a definitive answer for what happens after life passes, an afterlife, a cycle, or nothing, no one knows. Was this the only universe where life exists or are there infinitely many far out there in the stars? Does anyone know?
Your hand pulls your blanket up to your face, partially to cover the growing shame creeping up your face. That haughty voice within was right, these baseless questions are silly and childish. Perhaps even too morbid to bring up so unprompted on this weekend night.
What were you expecting Alhaitham to even do? Did you want him to give you an answer? What can he even do? A question you can’t even begin to understand, why would you even expect him to have some solution prepared?
What to do now? Can you just take back your previous words from his memory, so he’ll just forget what you said? Maybe just ask him to quell any more mindless musings from plaguing you tonight by placing his lips on your forehead? So that you could finally drift into the realm of slumber.
However, is that temporary solution enough? Enough to stifle the contentions and riddles clattering together into a clamorous ruckus in your head? Could sleep even spare you from their tumult?
“The Membrane Multiverse Theory or reincarnation, hm, do you have any personal theories you’d like to share?” The sensation of his fingers grasping yours brings you back to reality.
Glancing at him with a quirk in your brow, you wait for him to continue.
“Who knows, maybe we’ll be the first to publish something for this topic.” His thumb runs along your knuckles.
“So, is there a speculation or possible rationale you feel particular to?” Teal eyes reconnect with yours.
“Well…” You sigh, relishing in the warmth of his hand as you concoct a half-baked theory.
“There’s stardust from stars that had burst billions of years ago, that have somehow ended up on this planet. Subsequently, every being on earth has the atoms of stars in them. So, naturally by the law of conservation, the earth is where the atoms of the human body will return.”
“Based on the law that atoms cannot be created or destroyed?” He drones.
“Yes, they all had to come from something before them. The carbon in muscles, the calcium in bones, and the iron in blood. The atoms that make up you and I might become part of something else, or even of different people too.”
“Hm, that sounds probable.”
“But, then this brings up a whole new host of questions, such as, if the new people our atoms become a part of are even ‘us’? Will they ever meet? What if you become a tree and I a rock? What if the atoms of you end up on one side of Teyvat and I on the other end?”
You peer into his irises, but you were just searching for an answer that isn’t there.
For his beryl irises were impassive. But it was the impassive foundation you needed to ground your rambling thoughts and nonsensical musings into the desolate truth of it all.
The warmth of his hand slips away.
“Never mind, I suppose it’s the most logical to conclude that we’re just soulmates in this instance of time, in this universe, and only here.” Your hand closes over the empty space he left.
Maybe it’s wise to dismiss it as silly rambling and then withdraw from his indecipherable eyes. Is it too late to put this plan into motion now?
The weight of a muscular arm is draped over your waist, hand pulling you closer unlike your ploy to escape.
“But I have a few theories I haven’t shared yet.” He glances out toward the bedroom window.
“While the theory of reincarnation currently doesn’t have any solid scientific backing, in some way, the law of conservation of mass does give a bit of merit to that notion.” Alhaitham draws circles into the small of your back.
You hum in response.
“The atoms that created us will return to the earth after us and become a part of something or someone else’s molecular structure. A tree or a rock, a human or a beast, it’s all probable. However…” Beryl eyes return to meet yours.
“What’s stopping them from repeating the same molecular structures as right now?” He asks.
Maybe it was his turn to peer into your eyes to search for an answer, an answer currently brewing and forging between your united gazes.
“What’s stopping these atoms from returning to these exact molecular structures in the future? In a different time, the atoms of us now could one day in the far future come together again and make ‘us’ once more. Maybe just you, maybe just me, or maybe both at the same time.”
He frees his other hand from the duty of supporting his head, broad body settling down into the bed and blankets, allowing his face to move closer to your level upon his pillow.
“What’s the likelihood of those odds? Me and you again?” You ask.
Alhaitham pauses. All the bright minds of science, mathematics, and physics, have yet to come up with a formula to calculate such a thing.
What would be the factors plugged into the equation? And how accurate would it even be?
The ashen-haired man wasn’t sure, but there was at least a statistical observation that would provide some basis.
“A true 0% chance is an absolute impossibility, just as nothing can be proven absolutely 100%. Since we don't know the absolutes of time, existence, or physics. So, there’ll always be a non-zero chance.” Feeling the drums of your heartbeat against his chest.
“Then, when they do, I think I’ll spend my life pondering what could fit into the spaces between my fingers like this.” He slips his hand into the gaps of yours, intertwining them.
Then finally, he saw the smile he’d been yearning for rising on your lush lips. The ends of your eyes crinkle as it make its way to your irises as well. Your grip mirrors his as you nestle your face closer to his.
“You won’t get tired of this stoic face?” You taunt.
“Will you get tired of mine?” He counters.
Your shoulders quiver with stifled giggles.
“No, no I won’t,” you promise him.
“Then I won’t,” he promises back.
His larger hand brings yours closer to himself, all the while your attentive eyes watch failing to keep the curl of your lips under control.
“Any thoughts on the Membrane Multiverse Theory? How will your astute mind surmise the possibility of us laying like this somewhere else in the stars?” Honeyed-voice mimicking awe as your face inches closer.
“I believe I’ve shared enough, I’d much rather hear what your brilliant postulate is.” His tone casted with mirth, but the bite missing from teal eyes.
Letting a soft hum, your mind rifling through all the paragraphs and journals your hands had ever thumbed through.
The soft rhythm of his breaths kept time. Stringing the words together on your tongue, you hope this monologue of yours will provide some amusement for him.
“If universes are randomly put into 2 boxes of ‘yes’ and ‘no’, then on average the number of universes in each box would be the same. For every universe I’m not with you, there’ll be equally as many where I am with you.”
A coin toss, perhaps it was all just a coin toss after all. Whether or not the Akasha paired a stoic face with another stoic face, for the gaps of your fingers to fit his so perfectly.
It could have all been a coin toss, for one half to stumble upon the other half cruelly parted from them by the hands of unseen gods.
“Something akin to a bijection existing between both sets of universes?” He cross-examines.
“Maybe… If we were to assign one type ‘yes’ to a positive integer, and the other type ‘no’ to a negative integer, then perhaps we can construct a bijection from the positive and negative integers.” Your brow furrows in contemplation.
“If we submit this theory do you think the Akademiya would publish it?”
“Not likely, bijections are usually made between sets of elements like numbers, not sure if bijections can be applied to something like whole universes. I’m just hypothesising nonsense,” you sigh.
“But they did publish the nonsense known as The Lifespan of Love,” he interjects.
“Hm, then maybe there’s a non-zero chance they’ll publish our nonsense too.” You stifle a scoff.
“Hm,” Alhaitham hums in amused agreement.
His free hand pulls the covers further up over your frame then smoothing out the wrinkles. Observing the growing delays between your slowing blinks.
“Only you and I would turn pillow talk into an academic deliberation.” You couldn’t hold back the giggle any longer.
He sighs in agreement, nestling his head closer to yours on the plush pillows, teal gaze never once leaving yours.
“It’ll make any romantic keel over and die from how dry it is, wouldn’t it, Haitham?”
“I say let them.”
Scoffing and shaking your head at his crude declaration as a yawn slips past your lips, a conclusion to this nonsensical academic deliberation.
With one hand still intertwined in the tender grasp of another you pull Alhaitham closer. So that the spaces of your body could lay against the spaces of his.
The warmth of his skin mingling with the warmth of yours, pressed against one another. You drawing mindless shapes into his back, his hand tracing senseless ruins into yours.
Perhaps, an illogical attempt to echt memories into the stardust in your bodies.
So he and you could imprint the memory of each other into the very fibers of your beings. Then maybe someday when these atoms return to these exact molecular structures, they’ll remember this too.
The law of conservation of mass, the probabilities upon probabilities, and bijections used in an inconsequential pseudo-academic ramblings to no one but an audience of silent stars.
Alhaitham’s certain no academic publisher would spare a glance at them.
But this nonsensical instance in the continuum of time, feeling the rhythm of your heart on the other side of his chest next to his own, is his most precious epiphany.
Fin~
©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.
#vivalabunbunfics#alhaitham smut#genshin smut#alhaitham x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#alhaitham fanfic#genshin impact x you#alhaitham x y/n#alhaitham fluff#alhaitham x you#alhaitham x female reader#genshin x reader smut#alhaitham x reader smut#alhaitham x yn#alhaitham x you smut#genshin fluff#genshin x reader fluff#genshin soulmates au
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Into the Sky of Artificial Stars
Summary: Could a chest that lacks a heartbeat still learn how it would feel? Could the whir of a motor be enough of a substitute?
Word Count: 25k (I will not explain myself)
Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Slow burn (oh my), Slow fic (oh boy), SMUT(r18+), NSFW, Researcher!Reader, insomniac!Reader, Android!Alhaitham, Workaholic!Reader, soft!Alhaitham, Modern AU, Android AU, human x android dynamics, Heavy Angst, Fluff, Heavy adult themes, academic trauma, toxic family pressure, toxic academia themes, struggles of poverty and academic inequality, TW: Exploration of grief, death, and guilt, TW: Survivor's guilt and tragedy, exploration of humanity and morality, slight mentions of violence, service top!Alhaitham, test subject to lovers? slightly possessive!Alhaitham? body worship, touch starvation? cunnilingus, he falls hard like a fool, but what is there to catch a fool who tried to reach for an unobtainable star?
Authors Note: This has been in the drafts for a very long time. My first foray into sci-fi kinda? I did my best with jargon and everything, so please forgive any mistakes I've made in regard to the technical stuff. An exploration into an artificial star. Enjoy
Are you just your conscience?
All the collective thoughts, desires, and ideals that congregate in your mind and influence your every action. Do your thoughts define you?
Are those cognitive functions, formed through a mix of instinct, teachings, and life experiences, what differentiates a man from a featherless biped?
If so, then are algorithms, simulations, and data sets interchangeable with what creates cognitive functions? Theoretically, it gives a machine the ability to develop a conscience. It gives a machine the ability to be human.
Perhaps, a sterile lab won’t be the most fitting environment to form such a thing.
What if we clothe the machine, provide a roof over its head in a nice quiet house, and feed its mind with the mundane details of existence? Then, could technology bring a machine over the boundary of humanity?
To engineer a brain, a conscience, a life with bare mortal hands. As if to replicate the gods. To compete with the authority of gods through scientific progression, many warn about the possible repercussions.
However, if to give and take life is deemed sinful to be done by mortal hands, then what made those unseen gods any different?
Regardless, such philosophical ramblings won’t help you in finishing the half-written report in front of you.
Looking past the two years' worth of reports sent already, innumerable papers penned by you within the sleep-deprived confines of the Akademiya. With a doctorate framed proudly on bland walls, that should be proof of your ability to type up a simple conclusion, right?
The weighted taps against a backspace key argue otherwise. Frustration leaves your lips in the form of a sigh as you test out a new string of words. Could these few sentences even be comprehensive of the leap in scientific progress made by mankind?
The shapes of letters merge together, forming incomprehensible blotches of black pixels against the white backdrop. Quickly, your lids shut to offer your eyes some much-needed reprieve from the harsh light of the monitor.
It was quite naive of you to believe subjecting your weary eyes to the punishment of light mode would drive up productivity.
Your fingers remove themselves from the keyboard, perhaps your body’s stubborn protest against sitting at the desk for another minute. Maybe a coffee break is an order.
You shouldn’t be too harsh on yourself, there hasn’t been a precedent for an experiment like this. A collaboration between the prideful Fontainian Research Institute and the arrogant Kshahrewar Darshan, the first of its kind.
Perhaps the real marvel is how the weight of their combined egos hasn’t sunk this project into the depths of abandonment.
With a subtle squeak, your office chair rolls back granting you permission to stand up and stretch your weary limbs. Letting out a slight groan as signs of time made themselves known to your bones. The ramifications of your negligence.
Slow steps pad through the quiet halls, floor boards singing a hymn with your leisurely stride toward the kitchen. As you make your way to the end of the long, empty hallway a silvery hue steals your attention.
Slightly obscured by the oak door frame to your home library stood the culmination of your years of overtime and long nights. A surge of anticipation places a slight weightlessness on your legs.
Approaching the end of the hall where the humble library resides, the oak doorway finally framed him in clear view.
Structure much more nimble and organic than the gardemeks framework, with materials sourced from the finest suppliers. The most advanced software and artificial intelligence capabilities ever developed since the Akasha.
The first and only of his kind: The Android Alhaitham.
The said pinnacle of human ingenuity and knowledge is currently flipping through a paperback book as the sunlight illuminates his synthetic skin.
The bounce light made his silver locks glimmer. As your steps slowed to a stop, he took notice of your presence. A soft snap of pages closing resounds through the passive air as Alhaitham turns his focus to you.
Your gaze ran along the neat spines lining each shelf, a small stack of unsorted books still left by his feet, but this morning there were numerous identical piles littered all over the library.
He seems to not have any issues making progress on his assigned tasks, a great sign.
You note that his button-down was a different color today, a sign that he’s practicing switching to a new set of clothes regularly.
A sign of routine, developing habits, and showing his steady learning of human behavior.
The frustrations from an unfinished report fade into obscurity as the subject of your research continues to observe your form. How easy it is to forget the big picture when you stress over the small details.
With this gentle reminder, a soft curl tugs at the corners of your lips.
Alhaitham repositions his stance, turning his body to face you, you figure he must be anticipating another task from you. Since he seems to be mostly done with his previous one, why not assign a new one?
“Could you brew me a cup of coffee, Alhaitham?” As he processes your request, you inspect his teal eyes, catching the slight glow signaling that his response is ready.
“I could, but unfortunately the interval of opportunity has already passed.” His baritone voice articulates.
A subtle quirk made its debut on your brows as your eyes shifted toward a clock hanging up in the corner of the study, its ticking hands displaying the time: 5:15 p.m.
“Huh… you won’t grant me an extension?” You turn back to him.
“If you have a request then please state it between my working hours of 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., you’re always free to submit again tomorrow.”
He doesn’t budge. An android capable of autonomous training and self-study is different from those gardemeks who only function when given tasks. The ability to develop self-awareness, consciousness, and to think comes with its own caveats.
In Alhaitham’s case, his stubborn nature. Conceivably, he likely reviewed Sumeru’s labor laws and decided that he was entitled to such labor rights as well.
“I work overtime almost every day for your research and development, but you can’t spare me 15 minutes?” Your lips form a pout, but you already predicted his next output.
“Your poor work-life balance is not my responsibility.”
Your prediction was correct.
Another sigh leaves your lips, it’s just one of the trade-offs you must accept. After all, learning to be a human is the reason why he was created. A feat once thought to be unachievable. But he exists, and he’s developed quite a character.
To change the trajectory of this conversation you glance at the book held within his hold.
“Frankenstein by Mary Shelly?” You read the title aloud.
“Yes, the 1831 edition, it’s quite the story.” Alhaitham opens the covers once more.
“Mm, maybe I should be more cautious of what information you come across.” A subtle grin tugging at the corners of your lips as his teal eyes land back on you.
“It’d be a bit of an issue if you were to turn against me from the wrong influences.” Resting your body against the oak doorway as you observe the android process your jest.
“There are safety restrictions already in place to prevent such occurrences, the possibility is near zero. However, if you are still concerned then feel free to upload a list of banned materials for the next version update.”
A huff of a chuckle escapes you as you shift more of your weight against the wooden frame.
“Of course, of course, just remember to place your books back where you found them.” Pushing off the doorway, you allow Alhaitham to continue his unsupervised learning as you amble closer to the kitchen.
The soft clinking of cups and spoons chime through the evening air as you scoop a few ounces of ground coffee into the brewer.
As the water slowly brings itself to a low rumble, you occupy your wait staring out the glass and at the setting sun. The flaming scarlet hues and warmth blend into mellow indigo as the night begins to reveal her stars.
Dusk, when the line between day and night blurs to an indistinguishable mess. Would a singularity also look as luminous as the setting sun? The answer might be closer than ever before.
The reaction to the announcement of an android development project was at first astonishment, that human knowledge had progressed this far. And the secondary reaction that followed like ripples was fear. Fear that humans will soon be replaced by beings of silicon and steel.
That a singularity would signal the end of humanity.
Well, this was always the common reaction to disruptive change. Many cases of public pushback and hysteria against innovations you can reference throughout history. The human reaction to the unknown.
They always gossip and fearmonger about an android domination of all of Teyvat. But have those people ever stopped to consider that the android could simply be too lazy to have such ambitions?
Instead of becoming cruel overlords, they’d rather leave books strewn about as they dock themselves into their charging port.
To learn to be human means to learn human slothfulness too, no? Or maybe Alhaitham’s algorithm just decided to train himself to incorporate it. What a peculiar enigma he is, this android currently residing in your house.
Your thoughts circle back to a certain novel you haven’t touched in years. A work of science fiction written by a genius author barely over the cusp of adulthood.
You wonder how she would’ve described this impending singularity.
A distant toll rang from the depths of a dreamless void, each chime reaching closer and closer until the bright tune devolved into jarring blares. Piercing enough to set your heavy lids into motion.
Just as they peeked open, they flinched back shut from a stray ray that snuck between the gaps of your curtains.
Your leaden body groans at the brightness of the room, the luminosity much greater than when you had originally settled under the covers. Yet, even with your groggy complaints the alarm resting on the nightstand offered no mercy, continuously bellowing its monotone pitch.
With a sharp slap, your world returns to its silence.
Angling the alarm towards you as you creak open one eye, the blurry red pixels slowly merge together to display the time.
Didn’t you have a meeting scheduled for today?
Another groan follows your dreadful discovery and you roll back under the plush blanket. Not much different from a child trying to protect themselves from the grasp of a fictitious monster.
Soft comforters block the morning glow contained behind thick curtains, yet your permission to access a blank serenity was denied. It seems that your quota for sleep has been fulfilled.
Barring you from any excess repose, not that you expected anything less. A monster that torments a young mind might be fictitious, but the realities of capitalistic responsibilities unfortunately aren’t.
Taking in a deep inhale, you prep your body for the next set of dreaded actions with its drowsy limbs. Before it had the chance to protest, you kicked the covers off, ripping away the warm security from your skin.
Ambling down the hall you gradually made your way into the kitchen, there under the morning light sat a steadfast figure whose eyes never left the book in front of him.
“Good Morning.” You initiate the first conversation of the day.
“Congratulations.”
You pause, hand in the midst of rubbing away the tiredness of your eyes. Staring perplexingly at his sudden praise. Alhaitham’s focus remains on his novel even as he answers your unasked question.
“You’ve beat your previous record of how many alarms it takes to get you out of bed, I believe it went off five times this morning.”
A few beats of uninterrupted silence follow the aftermath of his response. A chain broken by a deep sigh which leaves your body.
“It’s far too early for this, Alhaitham.” Your hand goes back into motion, this time attempting to rub away frustration.
“Spare me your sarcasm until after you’ve made me breakfast and a cup of coffee.”
From the glance you took at your clock from earlier, it’s currently well into his operational hours.
“Understood.” Setting the book down, his tall frame makes its way into the kitchen.
Settling down at the lacquered table, your seat grants you a clear view of your android collecting some eggs from the refrigerator. Even as the hands of fatigue beckon your lashes to flutter shut, you refuse to indulge in such luxuries.
You had to watch just in case he decided his book couldn’t wait.
A series of trials and errors already well documented in those weekly reports back to the Akademiya and Institution. A human in training is bound to have some mishaps occur, or more accurately, this android might have different priorities.
One notable case was the time you asked Alhaitham to clean the floors while you attended a conference call. Only to step into puddles of soapy water the moment you leave your office door.
Connecting eyes with teal as he stood in the middle of it all mop in hand. For the time being, you’ve barred him from such tasks.
Although, you wouldn’t be surprised if he made a mess just as an excuse to sit back on the couch with a book. This fickle android of yours. Your third sigh of the day.
–-------------------------------------------------------------
The tranquil afternoon interlude that enveloped the house was interrupted by a sharp chime. Glancing at the numbers displayed on the corner of your screen, it looks like it’s right on schedule.
You had just concluded your monthly conference call, it’d be good to stretch your legs a bit after sitting through a few hours of professional formalities.
Leaving your home office to journey toward the front door, you spot Alhaitham’s frame by the entranceway. His head turns to acknowledge your presence. Passing him to make your way to the front door, you hear him shift closer.
Soon the brilliance of a star pours into the entranceway, illuminating the hall as the door opens.
“Good afternoon, grocery delivery?” The young man on the steps greets, a strain in his polite tone as bags weigh down on his arms.
“Yes, there was a last-minute addition of henna berries, were you able to get those?”
“Yep, they’re in one of these bags.”
“Thank you, sorry for the trouble, I’ll take it from here.” You cast a glance over your shoulders back at a tall form standing idly.
“Please come help with the groceries.”
“Understood.” It took only a few strides for the burden weighing down on the delivery boy, effortlessly hanging them all on his engineered arms without a hint of strain.
“Careful, they’re heavy, mister-” The warning dies at the tip of the young man’s tongue as his wide eye reflects the artificial glow of teal irises.
It’s best to end this trial now, to prevent a commotion or disturbing the delivery boy who isn’t paid enough to be frightened. You could see it in the slight tremble of his agape mouth as his brain processed the thing in front of him.
“Thank you again, please don’t mind him, have a great day.” Before you could hear his response, the door was shut.
A bit rude according to societal norms, but you’re sure a generous gratuity bonus paid on top of the delivery fee is enough to stifle any disgruntlement. Considering his reaction, it looks like your hypothesis remains correct.
The people of Teyvat still need more time to adjust to the existence of androids. Just because science progresses, it doesn’t mean human acknowledgment moves at the same rate.
Turning away from the door, a pair of glass irises connect with yours, a sheen of expectancy just under the brilliant teal hue. Alhaitham stands there with the bags still hanging from his arms.
“If you already know what I’m about to assign you, then you should just take the initiative, Alhaitham.” You huff.
“It’s not a bad habit to wait for any specific instructions.” Came his baritone rebuttal.
“Just take those to the kitchen.”
“Understood.” He pivots away, taking slow steps toward the kitchen.
“Ah, sort them into the fridge and cupboards too, do not just dump them on the counter.” You warn, learning from your previous mistakes.
Seriously, Alhaitham has long evolved past needing step-by-step detailed prompts, thus you suspect it's merely an act of his.
You’ve watched his character develop, his habits form, and his routine take shape. Just where did he learn such behavior? This strange android of yours.
You watch as he carries the numerous bags without a hint of strain. Alhaitham was much better suited for carrying your week’s worth of rations from the market. Unfortunately, he is proprietary technology.
Clearance to allow an android out into the world hasn’t been granted yet.
Not that you were eager to receive it. The logistics of such an event are a nightmare to plan. The protocols needed in emergencies to ensure the safety of civilians and the millions of mora poured into his creation.
There’s always a nonzero chance his system gets overloaded from trying to analyze every blurred face in a crowd. A nonzero chance that he would simply wander beyond the merchants and their fruit stalls. A nonzero chance that the gem implanted between his collarbones could spark curiosity.
Those same curious eyes could catch onto the artificial glow of teal irises, morphing curiosity into terror.
Even in Fontaine where it was more common for machines to walk among crowds, they were always designed to look like machines. Their clockwork pieces are obvious and distinguishable, a design choice to bring comfort to the mortal psyche.
An easy way for a human to differentiate a person and a thing. If that line becomes blurred, then…
With a deep sigh, you reel your thoughts back from their philosophical journey. Regardless, it’d be a problem for the future to handle.
–-------------------------------------------------------------
Soft clacks resound from the keyboard as a new string of words appears on your screen, documenting the events of the day on your laptop as you sit on your sofa.
The soft cushions are a welcomed change from a stiff office chair. Just over the top of your screen, Alhaitham sat across from an adjacent couch. Methodically folding a basket of laundry and sorting them into piles.
An easy enough task for him, but as you watch you make sure to note down the improvements in his motor skills and dexterity. Movements organic and fluid, much like those of a human.
It truly is astonishing just how far technology has progressed, from clockwork pieces and clunky steps to the specimen sitting just a few steps away.
A tall and sturdy frame, well-portioned face with handsome teal irises, and synthetic starlight hair. Features created from the finest equipment and materials, a truly magnificent piece of scientific progress.
Amid your appreciation for his structure, Alhaitham halts all motion, setting down the towel back into the basket. Resulting in your eyebrows creasing together.
“What’s wrong Alhaitham? Did you forget how to fold a towel?”
Alhaitham did not attempt to entertain your jest, so much so, that he simply stared past you. Teal eyes honing in on an object just beyond you, never breaking focus to discern the bewilderment on your face.
Finally relenting, you follow his stare toward a clock, reading the time: 5:00 p.m.
“Seriously? You haven’t finished folding the laundry yet,” you remark in utter exasperation.
The teal glow of his eyes shows that he’s received your remark, yet he doesn’t make an effort to return a verbal response. He chooses instead to simply continue staring at the time as his hands wait by his side in opposition.
Him staring at a clock, you staring at him, a one-sided showdown.
A naughty cat prancing about a countertop where it shouldn’t be could simply be picked up and removed.
A disobedient dog dirtying the couch with its muddy paws could be lured off with the sight of a treat.
But an android? What are you going to do to an android whom you had to tilt your head up to make eye contact with?
This wasn’t a hill you’re willing to die on, thus with a dismissive wave of your hand, you concede. Allowing Alhaitham to do as he pleases, which he graciously does. His form leaves the couch, heading in the predictable direction of the library as a deep sigh leaves you.
This stubborn android of yours, you made sure to document this on today’s report. Just as how it was yesterday, and the day before, and even the day before that.
Hopefully, in the event of an actual android apocalypse, he might show you the same leniency. You couldn’t help but scoff at your ridiculous musings. A machine with nothing but a motor and battery in his chest, would he understand leniency even if you were to code it into him?
Soon his frame comes back into view, a pile of books clutched within his hold, just as you predicted. Shamelessly, he sits in the middle of his unfinished chores while leisurely scanning the pages in front of him.
This fickle, strange, and stubborn android follows the rhythm of his own motor regardless of what protocols you instill.
Yet, as you watch his fingers flip through the worn book and take up space on your couch, a smile develops on your features. A soft curl of your lips, easily obscured by the screen of your laptop.
A fickle, strange, and stubborn android is not too different from a person, one who had a heartbeat.
An android who takes up space on your couch and house, making it a bit less empty than previously. That was good enough.
What made man? Intellect? Innovation? Language?
This was the dilemma assigned to him since the very first time his system powered up in that facility, welcomed into this world by glaring fluorescent lights and the numerous stares of figures in white coats.
A dilemma that follows him even to his current place on a spacious couch.
According to sources pulled from the Akasha and cross-references from numerous printed materials made available to him, many throughout history have been pondering this same conundrum. A philosopher once defined man as featherless bipeds.
However, wouldn’t this make a plucked chicken a man too? A definition so ambiguous a mere student proved the teacher wrong.
Then, is man defined by their flesh? Having skin and bones instead of silicon parts and metal components? To have blood pumped by a heart instead of operating off a battery and motor? Was it biology that defined man?
But if that was the simple truth, then why was Frankenstein’s creation addressed as nothing more than a monster?
From his arms to his legs to his mind, everything which made up that creature was human. He had blood, he had flesh, he had bones. So why was he chased away by flaming torches and pitchforks as a mob screamed ‘monster’? Why was a creature made from human flesh not human?
His train of thought halts as a familiar set of steps patter against the floor. Automatically, his sights hone in at the corner of a wall even before your face reveals itself from behind it.
Teal-colored eyes refocus to catch the subtle perk of your eyebrows and widened eyes. An expression of surprise he analyzes, his immediate focus must have caught you off guard.
Did you have some other test outlined for him? Did you need to collect more data from earlier today? Another household task perhaps?
How unfortunate, the hour on the clock read half past 8 p.m. Have you not learned from your tardiness the week prior?
“If you have a request, then please wait until 9 a.m. tomorrow when I’m within my business hours.”
Even with the wall partially obscuring your form, the restrained giggle through lips fighting back a grin was picked up by his audio system.
“No, no, there’s no more tasks for today.”
As your gaze centers on him, he takes note of the refractions of fluorescent lights along your irises.
“Then is there something you’d like to discuss?” He prompts.
“Mm… no, not right now.”
His stone-faced stare was enough of a response, judging by the smile spreading across your features.
“I just felt like checking up on you, after all, you are the most proprietary piece of technology at the moment.”
At times like these, Alhaitham felt that the audio cue of a sigh was the most effective communication out of all the languages created by man. Muffed chuckles accompany it.
“I’ll leave you be then.”
The floorboards trill under your steps as you amble towards the kitchen. Alhaitham returns to the last few pages still left open on his lap.
Small tinkering from beyond the living room serves as an ambient tune. The swift opening and closing of a refrigerator door. A harsh pull on a microwave door is contrasted by the bright beeps of buttons, leading to a low hum.
He hypothesizes there to be some leftovers spinning around.
After the microwave sang its concluding chimes, the clatter of a plate follows a firm tug. A drawer rattles open, metal clinking against metal as you sift around for the right utensil. The drawer rattles again as it closes.
Rhythmic footsteps take center stage as they trail back down an empty hall, Alhaitham waits to hear the resounding click of a door returning to its frame. Just as the final echo of the click sounds out through the air he places the finished novel on the coffee table.
Leaving the comfort of the cushions, he makes his way to the kitchen to access the aftermath. A microwave door left wide open, a drawer only halfway closed, and of course another dirty coffee mug in the sink.
Returning the microwave and drawer to their rightful states, his teal eyes count the pile of cups sitting since this morning. A collection that grew throughout the day.
Alhaitham looks up in the direction of your office. A soft glow leaked out from under the gap of the door, bleeding light into the dim hall. His systems identify the audible taps of a keyboard and the occasional shift of an office chair. He deduces that you were working overtime again.
He found it a bit ironic at times. A body of mechanical components has no qualms about lounging on a sofa. But you, a creature of flesh and blood, refuse to submit to the allure of rest. Although, Alhaitham wouldn’t find it too implausible that coffee ran through those veins of yours instead.
Repetitive clacks of keys and mouse clicks play a melody he had heard ever since the first day he opened his eyes.
A tune that accompanies the rhythm of his steps and motions when he goes about his tasks as you document them.
A lullaby that plays after his routine tasks as he heads back to his charging port when you log a daily report.
An accompaniment to the silent moon and her stars as you stay up at a desk.
Needing to reach the next exit criteria. Needing to collect the next set of data. Needing to submit the next report.
Would it be because a body of flesh has agency? With cells in a losing race against time, was there something you wanted to attain within your mortal hands from this research before the race ended?
Or did you just want to fill the vacant lull of this house with those little taps of a keyboard?
Regardless, it’s not within his capacity to disturb your work. Thus all he could do was roll up his sleeves, turn on the running water, and pick up a sponge. Scrubbing the cups with warm soapy water, imitating the motions you’ve shown him before, until the dried stains vanish.
If it’s not featherlessness, if it’s not bipedalism, and if it’s not flesh… then could it just be agency that made him different from you?
Maybe he’ll ask you another day, placing the cups into the dish rack.
Sorting and organizational tasks are his strong suit, in other words, he’s very good at completing easy jobs. Leaving the more… tedious chores to you.
A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you rest on the handle of the broom. The hallway between your office and the bedrooms is the last section that needs to be swept.
Alhaitham was likely back in his place on the couch, book in hand as he lounged around. Weren’t androids created in hopes of making life easier?
So much for that, you internally huffed, repositioning your grip on the broom. A soft but bright clink catches your attention. Glancing down, you quickly discover the source. A ring wrapped around your finger.
Kept on your finger for so long, it’s become almost an extension of yourself, this keepsake piece of jewelry.
Abandoning the broom against a wall, your other hand fiddles with the gold band. A frown forms upon your lips when a faint scratch shows itself on the gold surface
Gingerly, you remove the ring, pinching it between your fingers as you hold it up to the light, examining the damage closer. The shine of its once-polished surface was dulled by trivial scuffs and dents, damaged by the signs of time.
Regrettably, it seems you’ve been neglecting it as well.
So much so, that the ring felt compelled to remove itself from your grasp in protest. Slipping out of your tender hold, which propels you into motion, graceless attempts at catching the small piece of jewelry to no avail.
It soon collides with the wooden floor as a chime rings out, still, gravity didn’t buy you enough time to catch the evasive gem. For it then decides to run under the gap of a door, disappearing from your sight. Leaving you there in defeat.
Taking a deep inhale, holding it for a few seconds, you release the air in your lungs. Returning your gaze up from the wood grain, you stare at the obstacle in front of you: a mere door.
Its brass knob gleams as if to taunt you, daring you to open it, to face what lay beyond. Slowly, you release your clenched fingers, setting your hand back into motion. You’re far too grown to be scared of a room in your own home, especially when you know what is behind it.
Its hinges ring out in surprise, it’s been a while since they were opened. The daunting door opens up to reveal a lackluster collection of old furniture, picture frames, and various other assortment of items.
Their forms all covered by plain sheets thrown over them, silhouettes, outlined like ghost. A slight tickle appears in your nose from the layers of dust you disturbed.
A poor, unfortunate room you’ve designated as storage, where items go to be neglected. You were busy enough with work as it is.
To avoid seeing the reminders of responsibilities you’ve been pushing off, you’d rather throw them behind a door. Out of your sight, out of your mind.
The sooner you find that ring, the sooner you can turn a blind eye to the various items you’ve long abandoned yet refused to let go of. Amongst the dull dust and sheets, it wasn’t very hard to spot the golden glimmer from peaking through.
Trudging towards the mischievous ring, you kneel to finally catch it within your hand. Such a troublesome thing, you chide as you stand back up. Bracing your other hand on the nearest sheet-covered surface, only for it to come into contact with an odd object.
Startled, you instinctively hold onto both the ring and the odd object as you jolt back up. Glancing down at your hands, your eyes finally identify the object.
A collection of tiny planets and stars dangling from thin strings glimmered with the soft light creeping in from the afternoon sun. A soft smile made its way to your lips.
How silly it was that a toy made to entertain young infants had you so enraptured. You bought it on a whim, then tossed it into the depths of a dust-covered room. And yet it’s now back in your hands. Perhaps the beckoning of the stars still calls for you.
A part of you wonders if it was your fascination with the night sky that caused sleep to evade you. Sitting up on a mattress well past bedtime to gaze out to the vast ocean of dazzling and blinking lights that dotted against a navy backdrop. While the pristine radiance of the moon reflected off your irises.
Or did your fascination develop because it was always the moon and her stars that silently accompanied your long nights?
Gentle lights who lent you their well wishes and encouragement as you anguished through assignments and exams.
What an honor it was for you to be able to witness her beauty so often. It was a pity that some, who disregarded her grace in favor of dreams, weren’t able to experience the brilliance of a starry night.
Maybe your parents fell in the category of the majority. Maybe that’s why they couldn’t even fathom such a thing.
A past conversation over an old wooden table started in your mind before you could muster the strength to push it back.
–----
“C’mon, eat, eat.” Your mother places a hearty serving of Biryani in front of you.
The old kitchen table groaned under the weight of the spread of dishes on its surface. To call it anything short of a feast would be a lie. The walls of the modest home are filled with a variety of rich aromas and spices.
“You have to eat to study harder, don’t think just because you made it into the Akademiya you can take it easy now.” Your father remarked.
“I wouldn’t dare dream of it.” You picked up your fork.
Letting out a chuckle, he pats your back as a rare smile graced his stern face. Your mother’s face mirrored the same radiance, the beaming glow of pride. For you, their daughter, their only child, and only hope had been accepted into the Akademiya.
The most prestigious university of all of Sumeru and Teyvat, with millions competing for those few spots each and every year. Only the best of the best, only those who outshone the rest, and only those gifted and blessed would ever be admitted.
Yet, you were sent a letter from the oh-so-grand institution.
A child from a town far away in the shadows of the grand Akademiya was accepted.
What were the odds of that? For a child whose own parents never got the opportunity for higher education to become the first to go off to university? The cause of this celebratory feast.
The warm Spring breeze contributed to the sweetness of this small moment in time, as plates were passed and glasses clanked.
All those scattered notes, cramped hands, and revisions have rewarded you with the golden brilliance of sunrise after endlessly long nights.
A smile crept up the corners of your lips. A light has finally appeared to illuminate this trending path you’ve climbed.
Your father washed down his previous bite with a sip from his cup, placing it down before he began his next question:
“Have you decided on which Darshan to go into?”
The sweet breeze turns into a chill down your spine as your fork halts its motion. The dilemma you have been dreading has finally arrived at the kitchen table.
You had to memorize every mathematical formula. You had to pinpoint every detail in a historical timeline. You had to know every syntax of a sentence. You had to understand the molecular structures of life.
A child had to learn everything, and now they had to pick something to learn. How would the child know? The child only knew how to study.
“Amurta? Spantamad? Oh, what about Kshahrewar? I heard that it was also good.” Your mother chimed in.
“Amurta?” Your father scoffed a bit.
“Dear, as if this tuition isn’t expensive enough, think of how much med school will cost.”
“Oh I know, I know, but you know how well doctors get paid! I heard those labs also give a decent salary.” Your mother reasons.
“Ah, but it takes too long. Engineering isn’t half bad either, there’s been a demand for more engineers recently.” Your father takes another sip of his drink.
“Oh, but it’s not up to us,” she turned to face you.
“It’s up for our little scholar now isn’t it?”
A paradoxical question, because your options were already decided for you from the very start.
Carefully selected paths were already laid out before you as your parents watched on with expecting eyes, waiting for your foot to take a step on the path they wanted most.
Poking at a stray grain of rice on your plate, you gather up the scattered pieces of courage. You were a child who only knew how to study, yet, a child is still susceptible to dreams, no?
“I have thought about it.” You began.
“And?” Your mother couldn’t help but nudge you to continue.
“I was thinking about Rtawahist,” you confessed.
It was as if even the sweet Spring air wanted to escape the now-still walls, leaving dread to fill the void it had left. No dishes were passed, no utensils rattled, and no cups clinked. Just bewildered stares you couldn’t bring yourself to answer.
“Rtawahist? As in the school that looks at the sky?” Your father’s face had returned to its stern default.
“Astronomy? Yes, that’s the Darshan that studies Astronomy.” Your eyes didn’t dare leave your plate.
Among the options selected by them from their perceptions of future opportunities and prestige for you. You dare interject with one of your own.
A deep sigh sealed your fate.
“Astronomy? You want to study Astronomy? And get what job?”
The pierce from your father’s harsh tone made you flinch, even though you expected it.
“You can look at the stars for free, why would I pay to send you to school to study something so useless?”
“There are jobs for Astronomy.” You reasoned.
“Like what?” His finger drummed against the wood.
“Like-”
You made the mistake of looking up from your plate, the fragile wisps of courage dissipated like smoke the moment you did. All the arguments and rebuttals you had prepared vanished along with it. The frown that pulled down your father’s face and the scrunched brow concern of your mother’s were enough to snuff out your pitiful rebellion.
“Go on.” He challenged.
“...”
“That’s what I thought.” Your father snatched up his cup.
Your focus retreated back to your plate, recentering on the grains of rice you pushed around with the ends of a fork. A motion that continued until another hand stopped yours.
“Little one…” Your mother began.
Her thumb traced over your fidgeting hand, a touch which comforted yet scorned you all at once.
“You know that lady who lived down the street? Her son got a career working with computers and now they live in a big house, doesn’t that sound nice?”
You hummed.
“Kshahrewar isn’t so bad, right? Just a few years and then you can get a good job.”
Yes, she had spelled out the purpose of your studies like red-inked corrections on a test. It was how it always was, why did you think it would change now?
Having to prove you deserved the food on the plate in front of you.
Having to bring home top grades to prove all those books and materials were worth it.
Having to get a job that could break this cycle your parents were trapped in. How else would you be able to pay them back?
It was their mora, earned from long hours and labor, that fed you, clothed you, and sheltered you. They made your world with their calloused hands. It was their justification to command it as well. You were their only child, their only investment.
This was the dilemma imposed upon you.
–----
Your fingers clench around the childish imitation of the night sky, running the plastic surfaces under your mindless touch. Thoughts still light years away in the recesses of your memories.
How silly, for someone who loved the planet and the stars so much how did you forget that one fascinating detail? Planets orbit a sun because of gravity.
It was the force of a greater mass that commanded the lesser, it was what kept a planet going round and round within its grasp. It was the gravity of the sun that gave a planet a direction, a path to follow, a purpose even.
Perhaps it’s because the sun knew what was best for its little planet.
It was the diplomas framed nicely on a wall that granted you a secure job, it was your cushy job that permitted you to purchase this cushy home.
Your parents planned this out long ago, thus you merely just followed.
However, when the sun disappears, when the central mass that gave a small planet a purpose disappears, what would the little planet do?
Drifting endlessly in a vacuum of nothingness, with no direction, no path, no light. No day or night and an endless Winter, would it be as if the world stopped spinning.
That little planet would be no different than a cold lump of rock in a vast emptiness.
A sharp creak pierces through the tormentful quietude, a chirr that reels your thoughts back to a dusty room. Head instinctively following the direction of the noise, you fixate on the doorway.
Catching the diffused afternoon sun glimmering in silver locks reminiscent of starlight.
Alhaitham stands silently at the threshold of the door, its frame perfectly centering him as his teal eyes analyze you. Not a single engineered limb crossed the boundary of the dusty room. Just as it was defined in a set of restrictions implemented into his system by you.
As evidenced by his unintentional disregard for his environment, the floorboards bearing witness to his careless execution of chores, you restricted him from this decrepit room.
Although all it contains is a chaotic collection of trinkets and keepsakes, the dust-coating provides them with a blanket of security. You saw no reason to change it.
A telling teal glow blinks momentarily before Alhaitham breaks the lull.
“Are you uncomfortable anywhere?”
It was just now that you noticed the wet trails rolling down your cheeks. Wiping away the cooling dampness on your skin, you confirmed the presence of tears. Your senses took their time returning from their escapade.
Alhaitham remains in his spot, patiently awaiting your next response. How embarrassing it is, to be seen in such a state by a being who could shed no tears. Quickly, you wipe away the trails on your other cheek.
“I’m fine, just lost in thought for a moment.” Swiftly you place the toy down.
A smooth weight encased in the palm of your hand reminds you of the ring, the item that lured you into this dusty room.
Perhaps it should be best to have let it remain undisturbed on your finger. It’s a common wives’ tale that keepsakes ward off bad omens.
“Is that truly all?” He made a no move, his eyes rescanning the environment as if unconvinced by your answer.
You wonder if it’s because of some protocol or conditional in his software. Safety measures set in place during this test of whether an artificial being could live in harmony with mortals.
However, as you gaze upon your magnum opus the specifics of programming and software fade into irrelevancy. Trailing your eyes up from his teal irises to his starlight silver trusses that glimmered in the soft light, revealing a hint of mint. It took you a while to find that exact shade during his manufacturing stage.
There’s always a chance that a drifting planet could be caught in the orbital pull of another. Whether it be man-made or not didn’t matter.
As long as it was of a significant mass its gravity should be enough to pull a lonely planet from its aimless wanderings. It can set the stray planet into a new orbit, giving it a new path.
A small lump of rock could find a new star to center around.
“Yes, I’ll be fine.”
You will be fine. Slowly, and with one step after another, you will be fine one day.
The typical 24-hour day for a working adult can be broken down into a set schedule. Waking up at around 8 a.m. to wash one’s face and brush their teeth as they make themselves presentable for work. Followed by a light breakfast or a cup of coffee before.
Some then start their commute to work or jump onto their desktop to clock in around 9 a.m. to begin their work. In the middle of their shift, usually around noon, they are granted a one-hour lunch break, after that they work until 5 p.m. when they finish their work.
Coming back home to enjoy dinner around 7 p.m. followed by an hour or two of leisure before a bedtime routine begins. Washing the day's influences off oneself, brushing their teeth, and changing into comfortable attire.
If they want to get a restful 8 hours of sleep they cannot go to bed any later than 10:45 p.m. to account for the 15-minute downtime to allow the body to enter the sleeping state.
This cycle then resets and repeats just as the sky cycles through the sun and moon. A typical and average reality for most adults in Sumeru. Well, from the data he pulled from the Akasha, this was the typical day for the average working civilian.
It just so happens that you’re a stray data point skewing the graph.
If he were to estimate your bedtimes from the activity of your desktop and laptop, it would be a chaotic set of timestamps ranging from 2 a.m. to 5 a.m., sometimes the activity on your devices never ceased. An indication of what is referred to as an ‘all-nighter’.
Behavior that might be acceptable for those attending the Akademiya, but certainly not for a working adult.
At this moment, Alhaitham stood in the hall just a few steps away from your bedroom door. His frame remained motionless to avoid disturbing the floorboards beneath him.
Taking into account your device’s activities, Alhaitham estimates your bedtime was 4: 45 a.m. this morning. Given how your alarm is set to around 8 a.m., amounting to about 3 hours of sleep.
Not even half of the recommended time by Sumeru’s health administration.
By all means, Alhaitham finds it confounding how you’re still able to perform so efficiently at your job, managing both the Insitute and Akademiya while operating on a few morsels of sleep.
He wonders if that was the reason why you were selected as the personnel who’s facilitating his learning.
Perhaps, they hoped he’d emulate your work ethic and efficiency. How unfortunate, his self-learning pivoted him away from such conduct.
As he stands observing the woodgrain of your door, Alhaitham finds himself at a crossroads. It’s not within his capacity to interfere, conditionals coded into his software to prevent him from disrupting your privacy.
Laws mandating the privacy of employees and civilians alike.
Simultaneously, there are protocols instilled in him that instruct him to prevent harm from befalling you.
A contradiction. Something that would cause a regular system to return an error as it fails to satisfy one conditional while trying to work within the bounds of another.
Chronic sleep loss results in an increased risk of heart attacks, strokes, and hypertension.
Long-term sleep loss also results in impaired memory and concentration, although it’s not affecting your productivity now, it doesn’t mean it won’t decline soon.
These statistics were all provided by Sumeru’s health administration.
The effects on the brain are quite severe as well, with increased feelings of stress, anxiety, and depression.
A quiet afternoon scene replays, in a dust-covered room, where he found you staring off at nothing as silent rivulets rolled down your cheeks.
That memory stored within his RAM was enough for Alhaitham to come to his conclusion.
Alhaitham must act on his own will and deal with anything that appears harmful in his eyes.
To allow you to continue your destructive routine which is proving to be detrimental to your health would be inadvertently allowing harm to befall you. Thus, he decides one conditional must override another.
Careful to prevent the hinges of your bedroom door from trilling, Alhaitham enters. Analyzing the shape outlined by messy layers of blankets draped over your figure, you must still be in the depths of slumber.
There are about 15 minutes before your first alarm is set to go off, since your commute was a simple walk to your home office, you had the flexibility to sleep through a few grating beeps.
This habit could use a few improvements. He turns his focus to the thick curtains hiding the room away from the greetings of a morning star.
Sunlight sends a signal to the pituitary gland, calling to suppress melatonin production and increase cortisol production and serotonin.
A natural cue for your body to start, to allow the bright rays to touch your skin would also be good for vitamin production too.
With a simple tug, the thick drapes were pulled away, granting the rays of the sun to enter and illuminate the still room.
Your body instinctively retreats deeper under the covers, a clear sign that the light is doing its job. He’ll leave the rest up to the alarm impatiently waiting to belt out its chorus of pitches. Just like the shadows slipping away, he exits just as quietly.
It took only two alarms to get you out of bed and ambling down the hall toward the kitchen. A 60% decrease from when the curtains were shut, however, more trials are needed to conclusively establish a pattern.
His teal gaze follows you as you approach the kitchen. Hands rubbing at your eyes.
“Why is it so bright?” Your words were groggy.
“It’s morning,” he answers.
An unamused glare replaces the fatigue in your expression, Alhaitham deems his response satisfactory.
After a deep sigh, you shut your eyes again, still trying to adjust to the brightness surrounding you, hands returning to rub at your eyelids.
Excessive rubbing of the eyes isn’t good for them, he notes. However, before he could address it another prompt from you took priority.
“Did I leave my curtains open last night?” You asked yourself.
“Coffee?” He interjects.
Glancing back up at him, you paused for a moment as your groggy mind remembered why you traversed to the kitchen in the first place, diverting your attention away from mysteriously moving drapes.
“Yes, please make me a cup, Alhaitham.”
“Understood.”
The android turns toward the marble countertop, preparing the coffee grounds into the machine as you sit at your place at the table.
One day isn’t enough to correct a bad habit, but over time, bit by bit, your schedule will fall into a new rhythm.
–-------------------------------------------------------------
The cheerful doorbell ring interrupts Alhaitham amidst reorganizing the books on a shelf. Right on schedule.
From just down the hall he hears the knob of your office door turn as it opens, followed by a few cautious steps as you venture closer to the front door. As you pass the doorway of the library, Alhaitham observes the furrow between your brow on your perplexed face.
“Is there someone at the door?” You turn to him.
Another ring followed by a few gentle knocks answers your question for him as your head snaps back into the direction of the noise. Crime in this suburban neighborhood is very low, but he does understand why you’d want to be careful.
Perhaps, he should accompany you to ease your nerves over the sudden ring from the door.
With an android just behind you, you had finally mustered up the courage to answer the daunting door under his teal supervision.
“Hello, delivery from Lambad’s Tavern, paid online.”
“Huh?-”
“One order of Minty Bean Soup, one order of butter chicken, and one rose custard?” The delivery man interrupts your confusion as he lists off your entrees.
“Yes…” you reply as you cast a glance back at an idle android.
The entrees listed were all dishes you asked him to make you for lunch a few hours earlier. Judging by the suspicion upon your furrowed brows, he could tell that you noticed as well. However, with a delivery man holding out the takeout bag on the front steps. It’d be rude to just have him remain there, no?
“Enjoy your meal!” He announces as he hands over the bag into your arms.
“Yes, thank you.” You close the door, spinning around almost instantly to confront the android with the bag still in hand.
“Did you order this?”
“Yes.”
“Again? I asked you to make food, not order it,” you tsk.
“I did it to optimize my time.” Crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“All you have to do is heat up the frozen meals.”
“Then according to protocol, I’d have to stay in the kitchen to watch over the oven and stove, not to mention the dishes I’d have to wash afterward. So ordering takeout would save time as well as not prevent me from my task of organizing-”
“Okay, okay. I get it.” You concede with a sigh.
Taking a few steps past him towards the direction of the kitchen before you pause midstep to turn back to him.
“Do not use your funds to order weird things off the internet.” You warn before promptly continuing on your way to have your late lunch.
“Understood.”
Just as he suspected, there isn’t a problem that can’t be helped with a bit of mora. If Alhaitham were to follow your request as you instructed, he knew that the reheated meal would turn cold as it sits abandoned on the kitchen table.
Even when he informs you of his task’s completion, you’d push back your lunchtime until you needed another dose of caffeine.
However, a simple ring of a doorbell could do what he can’t. Drawing your attention and body away from the confines of your desk. An efficient reminder to have your meals at a regular time if he says so himself.
Besides, fresh ingredients are better than frozen meals in terms of nutrients.
–-------------------------------------------------------------
The sun had long retreated into a navy blanket of the night, allowing the moon to take its place in the sky. Serene beauty watching over the nighttime bustle of Sumeru city slowly peters out, and many return to their homes at the beck and call of slumber.
Alhaitham settled himself upon his spot on the couch, a lamp just off to the side illuminating the pages of his book softly. The quiet lull of the living room periodically broken by the crisp turn of a page.
The typical rhythm that resonates through the house around this hour. His acute senses pick up a frustrated pair of steps pattering closer.
Ah, yes a new accompaniment has jumped this evening's tempo.
“Is the router having issues again?” You groan as your frame appears from around the corner.
Casting a halfhearted glance off to where said device sat on a side table, his teal eyes return to his book.
“The light shows that it’s online.”
“Then why is it taking forever to upload a simple file? It’s been five minutes and it’s not even halfway done.” You took quick strides past his idle frame.
Crouching down to be at eye level with the device in question. Unplugging the power cord from its back and then sticking it back. Eyes studying the blinking lights as the router reboots and reconnects to the internet.
Pulling out your phone, you sigh as you try to load up a webpage only to be met by a spinning circle of contemplation.
“Network providers tend to have slowdowns this late at night, some say it's due to bandwidth congestion while others argue that they do it to cut costs,” Alhaitham states, teal eyes honed in onto the text as to avoid your pouting glare.
“Very helpful, Alhaitham.” Another sigh leaves you as you stand back up.
He spoke the technical truth, those companies do tend to slow down their networks at night to save on some operational costs.
However, in this case, it was the former that was causing your device’s screens to perpetually stay in loading. Activities such as streaming videos, music, or downloading files take up the most bandwidth.
Alhaitham simply wanted to download some digital copies of recent scientific journals, and maybe a few songs here and there as well. All done simultaneously which led to some congestion.
How unfortunate.
“This has been happening for the past month now, I should call the network provider, it’s driving me up a wall.” Another groan of frustration.
His teal eyes follow your figure from behind the tops of his book, watching you rub your temples as if to expel the exasperation from your body with each mumble that leaves your lips.
“The internet’s so slow I can’t even connect to the Akasha’s databases, that file is still uploading, what should I do in the meantime?”
His hearing was able to pick up each syllable uttered from under your exhausted breath. He shifts his focus momentarily toward the clock just across the room, reading: 10:00 p.m. Since you asked, it’s only right that he responds with his input.
“It’s an issue beyond your control, the best option to utilize your time at this moment would be to get an adequate amount of rest.”
This time it was your turn to respond to him with a deadpan stare, clearly unamused by his suggestion.
“I want to analyze a few more datasets.”
“Missing a few hours of overtime won’t have any determinate effects on your productivity or livelihood.”
“This is for the sake of your development, Alhaitham.” You sigh as if your statement would mystically change his rationale.
“The short-term gratification you’ll get from sacrificing your rest for a few revelations isn’t worth the long-term ramifications of your health.” He bluntly discloses.
Silence fills the room once more, but something odd seems to have mingled with the serenity of the air. This strange inclusion prompts Alhaitham to finally turn away from the pages, connecting his gaze with yours.
“Was my response unsatisfactory?” He studies your expression, and rather than furrowed brows, he finds a soft roundness to your eyes.
Him staring at you, you staring at him. A scene that continued for a few beats more before you were the first to break the stalemate.
“No, not at all… it’s just very reminiscent of something I’ve heard before…” You turn away as his gaze follows.
A few slow strides take you back to the corner, figure just about to disappear into the shadows engulfing the halls before you abruptly turn around.
“Goodnight, Alhaitham.”
“Goodnight.” He mirrors.
Alhaitham marks today as another successful trail of correcting a bad routine.
–-------------------------------------------------------------
Adequate amounts of sunlight, regular meals, and coffee grounds mysteriously find themselves placed on the highest shelf in the cabinets. All the factors were in place to regulate a disastrous sleep schedule.
Yet when Alhaitham checks your device activity, the data points remain scattered about the twilight hours of the morning. A true paradox.
Amongst the Summer afternoon rays seeping in through the windows, Alhaitham was tasked with tidying up the kitchen. An obscure cabinet in a corner was the last section before he could deem the request complete.
There wasn’t anything in particular about the cabinet, it’s space housing an assortment of various vitamins. That was until his hand brushed against a plastic container which didn’t conform to the typical shape of vitamin bottles.
Grasping it within his hand, he pulls the irregular bottle out from the murky depths of a cabinet and out into the sunlight where its identity unravels: a prescription bottle.
Barbiturates sedatives, colloquially referred to as sleeping pills, are used in treatments for insomnia.
It looks like Alhaitham has stumbled upon the answer to the paradox printed on the faded label of a neglected bottle.
Frankly, this revelation wasn’t all that surprising. He had long suspected it from the symptoms and behaviors you display daily. But it’s always good to support a hypothesis with evidence.
Studying the container in his hand further, his gaze narrows as it hones in a corner of the label. In particular, the date printed along it. This bottle expired two years ago.
It’s recommended that every civilian visits the Bimarstan annually for a checkup, in a nation where healthcare is free and accessible, this typically isn’t an issue.
Once more, you stood alone as a data point outside of the cluster.
Stepping into the living room, he finds you tinkering with the network router again. A few more steps and then he was by your side.
“When was your last medical check-up?” Cycling through his memory, Alhaitham failed to recall the last time you had a medical assessment.
Your body halts momentarily, before glancing up at his beryl eyes.
“I’m relatively healthy, there’s no reason for an assessment.”
“The Department of Health recommends annual checkups at the very least.”
“I don’t need to go to the Bimarstan,” you declare.
A weight pulled down at the corners of his lips, creating what is called a frown. An expression he observed many times upon your lips whenever you label him as ‘stubborn’. He might finally grasp why you do such a thing.
Stubbornness isn’t such a good trait when you’re on the other side of it. Fortunately, he anticipated this.
“In accordance with the law, you do.” The contents of the plastic bottle rattle as he reveals it, drawing your gaze toward it.
“The regulation behind your prescription requires that all expired medication be brought back to the Bimarstan for proper disposal.” Denunciation behind his glass irises.
Lips pressing into a thin line, you advert your eyes back to the blinking router in front of you. Each second of silence announces your defeat.
Human actions are limited by a set of laws and they must operate within the bounds, not too different from restrictions imposed on machines.
The consequences looming just a step away discourage most mortals from crossing the threshold.
“I’ll schedule an appointment for noon next week, making use of your saved paid time off is recommended, does that work?” He prompts.
“Alright.”
A weight is alleviated from his lips, triggering the corners to curl upwards. A common response to the accomplishment of a challenge, he understands now why a mortal body does it.
Perhaps a doctor's visit has been long overdue, foggy recollections of if the curtains were shut the night before and if a bag of coffee was accidentally misplaced. Poor memory is one of the repercussions of sleep deprivation, you’re aware of this fact.
Healthcare in Sumeru is highly accredited for its accessibility and quality, the Bimarstan being the standard many hospitals around Teyvat strive to be. To have such a thing so accessible to you, it’s baffling to many how you failed to utilize such privilege.
You had your reasons.
Many of these prominent doctors and diligent nurses were once classmates. A few vaguely familiar faces from across a lecture hall of some general course.
Faces you’ve passed slumped over textbooks and piles of notes in the late hours of the House of Daena, their dark circles matching yours.
Faces that graduated alongside you as celebratory cheers rang out with caps littering the air.
It’d be strange to meet someone you attended the Akademiya with once again in an examination room.
After their years of medical school and surviving residency, you’re certain they’re more than qualified at their jobs. However, it doesn’t change the course of averted eyes and superficial pleasantries.
You breathe out a deep sigh as the receptionist calls out for you, informing you that you could head down to a private room.
Leaving your seat in the waiting room, you do as the receptionist instructs, exiting the lively environment into a placid hallway. The receptionist’s face didn’t evoke any familiarity, nor did the doctor’s name listed on your appointment.
Many of these prominent doctors and diligent nurses were once classmates, but not all.
Candidly, there’s only one classmate who you’d avert paths with within this establishment. In a hospital as large as the Bimarstan, the average number of staff ranges from around 5,000.
The odds of encountering a particular face out of a pool of thousands is nonzero.
A polite knock draws you from your thoughts, your eyes travel toward the door of the private room you entered not too long ago as the handle slowly turns. Thick oak swinging ajar to reveal the figure on the other side.
“Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Rana, I’ll be taking care of you today.”
You return her greeting with a courteous smile and nod, statistics in your favor, the odds were nonzero but still a minuscule likelihood.
The checkup was rather uneventful, a few questions were asked as she pulled up your medical records. You pulled out the expired medication for her to examine and deal with.
Vitals checked and documented as the appointment drew to a close, a notepad and pen in her hands as she turned to you.
“Overall your health seems fine, although…” she trails off.
You could feel the weight of her stare upon the discoloration ever-present under your eyes, no layer of concealer to cover them. You could already guess her next sentence.
“Would you like a refill of your prescription?”
“No, it’s fine.” It’d just be another bottle to be neglected in the back of a cabinet.
“I see…” This time her eyes move back and forth between your sitting figure and a clock hanging in its place on a wall.
“I… have to process some paperwork, could you wait here for a few minutes?” A polite smile graced her lips.
“Of course.” You mimic her actions.
A day requested off to account for a drawn-out appointment, to account for a scenario like this his foresight analysis is making great progress.
You should take note of that once you return home, a daily log still needs to be updated to track consistent progress after all. It’s technically your day off, but you’re free to decide what to do with it.
As you pondered a checklist to complete once you got in front of your desk the door creaks open.
“Oh? That was fast, Dr. Rana-” The sentence dying upon the tip of your tongue as your lips press into a firm line.
The odds of encountering one familiar face out of a pool of thousands is a small nonzero number, however, if that number was increased to three faces out of those thousands, the chances increase.
How unfortunate, even with such small odds, you managed to come face-to-face with the three people you wanted to avoid the most.
They file into the room and the last one closes the door behind himself as your eyes scan over them. Starting with the ebony-haired man in the center, Tighnari, a doctor at the Bimarstan. It makes sense for a doctor to be in a hospital on this fine day, but not for a lawyer, or an architect.
Four former classmates gathered in an examination room, how strange.
Still, you’ve grown enough to adapt to such peculiar situations. Practiced corporate smiles and pleasantries to navigate this stagnant air.
“Cyno, Tighnari, Kaveh, it’s a surprise to see you all here. It’s been a while.”
“A while is a bit of an understatement…” Kaveh is the first of the trio to converse, offering you a small smile.
You return it with one that didn’t reach your eyes. The rhythmic ticks of a clock fill the silence, shifting eyes anticipating and preparing for the next phase of this impromptu reunion. The doctor finally decides to speak up.
“You haven’t been sleeping enough, have you.” Tighnari examining your under eyes.
“I never sleep enough, you know that.” Of course you never slept enough.
How could you sleep when the threat of falling behind the geniuses sitting around a library table was always looming over you? Geniuses who easily grasp the concepts and theories that elude you. How could you lay in bed when you had to catch up to them?
“So, why this sudden get-together?” Impatience rising inside you with each passing tick of the clock.
Dropping the formalities and social pleasantries, you watch as another round of shifting eyes passes. You already had an inkling of the answer they’re still hesitating to address. Finally, your former Kshahrewar senior responds for the group.
“We’re worried about you, you haven’t been in contact for a while now.” Kaveh’s voice was low and mellow, you could tell he took extra effort in marking it such.
The same low and mellow tone he’d speak to you with as he tried to explain your mistakes on an exam, the tone which accompanied the pity in his gaze toward you as he pointed out each miscalculation on your paper. The tone made you ball your fist up on your lap.
“I’m fine, just busy.”
“Please don’t start with that again.” The blond sighs, sympathy still ever-present in his eyes.
“I’m just busy with work, as are all of you, we’re no longer students with minimal responsibilities,” you retort.
The days when a group of friends could gather around a table for hours on end, half bantering and half studying, basking in the Spring warmth streaming in from the grand windows of the House of Daena have long passed.
“We all have busy careers, that’s true, but not to the extent of being a detriment to our health.” With a sigh, Tighnari began his health lecture.
Expounding upon the negative consequences of a poor work-life balance. Shifting your focus instead on tuning out this lecture you didn’t sign up for.
“You stopped listening… of course,” a deep sigh concludes the doctor’s sermon.
Ah, you’ve been found out. The polite smile straining itself upon your lips, legs itching to walk out of this restrictive space.
“Here, it’s a contact of mine, I recommend you give her a call-”
“It’s fine.” You promptly push away the business card just as Tighnari presents it to you, a thread of patience stretched thinly.
“She can help you through-” he continues.
“It’s fine, my research is just busy-”
“This isn’t healthy.”
“It’s my research.” A sharp undertone leaks through your professional demeanor.
“And this is why we’re worried about you!” Kaveh’s patience was the first snap.
Then again, your senior might have been the light of Kshahrewar and a praised genius, but he was never the best at handling his emotional regulation.
“Look around, don’t you see how concerned we are about you? No returned texts or calls and no answers at a doorbell for years, only ever talking about this research. It’s as if you-” he stops himself, rudy eyes meeting with your cold stare.
He knew better than to finish that sentence, you knew that he knew he shouldn’t.
“We’re worried about you, this research… it’s not good for you.” Tighnari interjects, attempting to shift the course of this intervention.
Of course, when the development of an android was announced, there wasn’t just discourse amongst the general public, but debates raged throughout academia as well. How unfortunate it is that friends now stand at polar ends.
“It’s my research,” you reaffirm.
This research was why you got your doctorate, it’s why you have a job, it’s why you have a house. This research has entangled itself into the very fibers of your life. It was where a predetermined path had led you.
The room fills once more with a lull, nothing but deep sighs and ever-shifting eyes. Neither side is able to get through to the other. Typical of most academic debates. Still, it seems they weren’t ready to end the intervention so soon.
“Listen… we’re worried for you, I… I know it’s been very difficult these past years.” Your senior takes a step closer.
That same sympathetic timbre brings a vile taste to your tongue. You stay silent in favor of pushing the bitterness down as it tries to claw its way through your polite façade.
“I… know what it must have been like for you, It’s been hard on all of us. I’ve experienced something similar, so I can tell you-”
“I’m sorry, Kaveh. But tragedies shouldn’t be compared, because they’ll never have a fair comparison.” You end the conversation.
Just like how it isn’t fair to compare stars who were their own centers of gravity with a mere rock at the mercy of an orbital pull to give it direction.
Even when you sat at the same table as them, you were never at the same level as them. Families with academic prestige, minds blessed with wisdom, and the freedom to pursue a self-chosen path. You could only ever look up at what you lacked.
“Your worlds kept on spinning, your lives move on with the change of the season. But not mine, mine stopped long ago.” It’s not fair to compare a rock to a star, from their silence, you assume they knew that too.
“I’m now taking the initiative to make it start again, don’t interfere.” Your valediction to the geniuses whom you couldn’t live up to.
It’s just the nature of this world, geniuses walked their own paths while others took another. Geniuses can’t understand those others, just as others can’t understand geniuses.
This doctor’s appointment has gone on for long enough. Gathering your belongings, you stride past them, eyes refusing to meet.
Your hand pried open the door, pausing just at the threshold as Cyno finally breaks his silence.
“Is this truly what you want? To defy the edicts of finality with research?”
Ah, what an inquiry. Perhaps it’s just like a lawyer to ask such a thing.
“Is my research in violation of any laws in Sumeru?” You refuse to meet his scarlet condemnation.
“As of now, no.”
“Then I don’t see how this involves you, there’s no place for personal biases and mortals in the judicial system.” Crossing the threshold, the door creaks close behind you as hurried steps echo through the sterile hall.
This was a mistake, you should’ve never come here. Your body was fine, your vitals are fine, you’re fine. There wasn’t a point in wasting time here, you needed to leave this place filled with faces offering you condolences. Exiting the narrow hall back into the dim murmurs that fill the waiting room, the last thread of patience starts to splinter.
From the muddled chatter, a bright shrill rang above them all. Interrupting your contemplation as your eyes impulsively search for the source. Even in a sea of passing faces and colors, it didn’t take you long to find it.
A young girl grins a smile with a few gaps as she stretches her arms out to her sides, mimicking an airplane. A young father helpless to his daughter’s giggles, hands secured around her legs as he lets her soar on his shoulders. Next to his side was a giggling mother, watching with amusement and endearment.
A private moment hidden amongst the waiting room, you look away. You should return to the private walls of your house before that thread inevitably breaks. Sliding glass doors part to grant you exit from this suffocating cage.
Like a speck of dust drifting in the breeze, you disappear into the bustling crowd of Sumeru City. The push and pull of strangers further you along your route, even as your mind drifts off.
With modern advancements in aerospace engineering, the chances of a plane crashing have decreased significantly, with recent statistics citing only 1 in about 11 million. A 0.00001% chance, a nonzero chance.
How long ago since the last time you’ve been inside an airport? What were your last memories of an airport? Do you remember?
–----
“Are you sure you can’t come with us?” Your mother’s thumb traced over your hand.
“It’s a bit too late for me to pack, we’re already at the airport, Mom.”
“Don’t you want to visit Fontaine? Didn’t you say they had really advanced things there?” She didn’t let go of your hand.
“I’m busy with my thesis.” You were still in the midst of getting a Ph.D., the very thing they demanded of you.
“But I planned this trip so we could spend time together.” Your mother tried to get you to meet her gaze.
You adverted your eyes. So this is how they spent their recent financial flexibility. With a scholarship and research-assistant salary, you had enough to cover the tuition by yourself, relieving your parents of that burden. But to get that scholarship and salary, you had to pay with your time.
“I’m busy, mom.” You freed your hand from her grasp.
“But-”
“Stop it dear, she’s not going to change her mind.” Your father’s gruff voice stopped your mother.
“There’s no point in trying to change the mind of an ungrateful child.”
You felt the weight of his disappointed stare upon you, a frown formed on your lips as they pressed together. This was a sudden trip announced to you just a few days prior, you didn’t have time to accompany them. But they didn’t seem to care.
Of course they didn’t. Your parents only ever saw the grades, the diplomas, the results. But they never bothered to see the anguish you endured to give it to them.
“Enjoy your trip.” Words barely passed your clenched teeth as you turned around and walked away.
An ungrateful planet ignored the calls from their mother in their first successful act of defiance. Trying to break away from their gravitational pull.
–----
That was your last memory of the airport.
Those were the last memories two parents had of their child.
The child they sacrificed their time, labor, and freedom to build a better life for. Your parent’s last memories were that of an ungrateful child, maybe it was the last scene they thought of as a plane was swallowed by the salty depths.
Humans, defined by their curiosity, will always yearn to reach as high as they can. Tales warning those to never fly too close to the ever-bright star ignored in the pursuit of radiant curiosity. Your parents were no different.
They ever had the chance to travel, too busy trying to provide food in front of you. So when the burdening weight was lifted, naturally they wanted to stretch their wings to see the views they never got to in their youth. They always wanted to touch the sky, to reach for the moon.
There’s a proverb often told to young minds: ‘Shoot for the moon, even if you fall, you can still land on a star’.
This saying is riddled with inaccuracies. The stars are much further away than the serene moon. Beckoning the curious eyes to look at them, for curious hands to yearn for them.
But once the glue on those wings are melted away by selfish rays, what is there to catch them besides the cold unfeeling ocean? Did they sink from the memories of an ungrateful child weighing on them?
You should’ve been on that plane.
The familiar features of your neighborhood come into view, the doors of your house are just ahead. Just hold on, don’t let that thread snap just yet, just a few more steps.
Tighnari had his father and mother working right alongside him at the Bimarstan.
Cyno had regular visits to his adoptive father, and sometimes his adoptive sister Lisa visits too.
Kaveh had reconnected with his mother overseas, now having a few younger half-siblings who jump to greet him every time he visits.
Lives still spinning and warm in the light of their brilliance. What do you have?
A job in a career picked out for you. Paychecks rotting in a bank account with no one to pay back. A spacious and hallow house with no one to reside in its empty walls, only displaying a doctorate you loathed.
A stray rock who lost her stars. Wandering without their gravitational pull in the vacuum of a lonely darkness. Just what do you have?
“Alhaitham,” you call out just as the front door slams behind you.
You could hear his steady steps approaching along the wooden floor, but it’s too slow so your frenzied steps close in the distance between your two forms. The thread gives in and snapping as the recoil proliferates through your body.
Without a greeting, no prompt, or prior warning your grasp wrinkles his once pristine button-down.
The bitter tears you held back now soak into the fabric as even viler cries choke your voice. The shame of displaying such a sight in front of a being whose eyes don’t produce moisture is long abandoned. In the walls of this hallow house, your broken sobs echo off.
He stands still in the middle of the hall, the low hum of his motor resonating in your ears as you hide your face deeper into the synthetic skin of his chest. But that’s fine, the whir of motor is enough of a substitute for a heartbeat.
Alhaitham stands in front of the reflection staring back at him, he had undocked himself from the charging port not too long ago. Tracing over the synthetic material stretched over his imitation of a collarbone as his mind wanders.
There aren’t enough chemicals in tears to make them corrosive, nor were they at the temperature to boil.
So why does it burn?
Trailing his fingertips where your tears soaked onto his skin, recollections of the searing sensation that afflicted the area with each sorrowful drop. Choking sobs which he caused.
He failed to consider all causal factors to assess the situation fully and failed to appraise all possible alternatives. He failed to make the right decision, and he let harm befall you because of it. It’s strange, there’s nothing wrong with his eyes, yet he finds it hard to look in the mirror.
Teal gaze scrutinizes the arms, legs, and body in the reflection. The reflection in front of him had all the identifiable components of a man, but they’re all synthetic.
From the tips of his sliver hair to the vast expanse of his skin, they’re all made from high-quality silicon parts supported by a metal frame. An engineered body with a motor in place of a heart.
Maybe that’s why he failed to make the right decision, he had no heart to weigh in on the ruling.
–-------------------------------------------------------------
The android is faced with a new dilemma.
From the entrance of the kitchen, Alhaitham watches you. A spoon absentmindedly swirling in the cup of coffee on the counter in front of you. Your thoughts wander elsewhere, the rays of a setting sun unable to light up dull spaced-out eyes.
He’s observed your condition for the past week, no hint of improvement.
A new dilemma he must decipher, the urgency rising with each passing second as the spoon continues.
The lull of the evening air was shattered by the sound of a porcelain cup meeting the tiled floor. Jagged pieces and coffee spilled all along the cold surface. Listlessly your eyes move to access the mess on the floor, spoon still grasped in your hand.
“Ah.” That was all your lips could say.
Limbs slowed with lethargy, you crouch down closer to the broken pieces scattered about. Bare hand reaching out to grab the sharp edges unthinkingly. A firm grasp prevents your touch from the ragged porcelain.
“It’s dangerous, I’ll handle it.” Alhaitham brings your hand further away from the hazard.
Your aloof eyes trail past him toward a wall where he could hear a clock tick before they returned to his resolute stare.
“It’s past 5 p.m.”
“A hazard has appeared in the environment, it’s protocol that I clear it.” His rehearsed response.
“Oh… alright.” Limplessness returning to your wrist within his hold, body too lethargic to object.
With you seated at the kitchen table away from the jagged edges that could potentially pierce your skin, Alhaitham begins gathering the pieces. As your aloof eyes wander about the monitor of your laptop, his mind ponders a dilemma.
It’s often said that guilt is held in the heart. In novels and human anecdotes, it's been described to him as a burdensome heaviness that sinks the heart.
A sensation reminiscent of drowning in icy water. A sensation only perceivable through a beating mortal heart.
Alhaitham is an android, he’s aware of this. A being with silicon skin encasing a metal frame. A motor in place of where a mortal heart would be.
So what is this weight burdening his chest?
An internal diagnostic returned no errors and no reports of any damage or unusual occurrence within his systems. Yet, a heaviness brewed deep inside his chest, its mass increasing each sunrise and fall, with every passing moment the riddle was left unanswered.
How could a motor hold guilt? How could the weight of judgment manifest itself in the absence of an organic heart that beats instead of whirs? How could an inorganic object possibly suffer guilt?
All the mora poured into his creation, all the hours of research contributed to his algorithms, and all the texts he’s scanned through were all for naught. The pinnacle of scientific and mechanical development couldn’t solve a simple conundrum.
The floorboard creaks under the weight of his steady strides as he moves about the corridor, the soft swishes of a broom coinciding with each step.
Dust had begun to settle in the crevices of the home, it’s about time that he took up the mantle that was supposed to be his.
Could an explanation of this weight be the backlog of tasks and responsibilities he had pushed off? Chores he ignored in favor of browsing the contents of a library? A burden he selfishly passed onto your shoulders.
Maybe after he completes the tasks that were supposed to be assigned to him he could clear the cache, then this weight in his chest would subside.
The bristles of the broom scratch against a door, the light force setting the frame ajar further. Revealing the dust-coated scene in front of him. A boundary he was restricted from.
Alhaitham concluded that this small corner of the house must hold some sentimental value to you, thus it’s best for him to not disturb it.
Just as he goes to close the door, Alhaitham scans around the environment identifying the shape of a journal tucked away under an old table.
He’s not permitted to enter, but all books belong in the library. Spines sorted along wooden selves, not on a dusty floor.
An exception shall be granted, setting aside the broom, he steps in to collect the neglected book.
While crouching down and gathering the covers into his hold, a different gleam catches his eye. The light reflects off its glass surface and highlights the dust particles dancing in the still air.
With his free hand, he picks it up, teal eyes running along the glass orb. After a moment of processing the object, he successfully identifies it as a toy.
A popular model to display an artificial starry night among blank walls. Alhaitham turns to follow a trail of cut-out stars pasted all along the walls. The soft glow of their plastic shapes subdued by the brilliance of the afternoon sun streaming in.
Were you interested in stars? Glancing out the window, he discerns the murky shapes of buildings in Sumeru City off in the distance.
This house is located in the suburbs away from the noisy clammer of the city streets and traffic. However, where the sound waves couldn’t travel didn’t mean the sky around this quiet neighborhood was uncontaminated by activities in the city.
When the sun retreats away for rest, the city doesn’t follow suit.
Through the power of fluorescent lights in street lamps and office buildings, humans created their own artificial daylight to continue the bustle of their lives. Light which polluted the night sky and stole the radiance away from her stars.
Unable to enjoy the natural tapestry of the night, did you substitute the company of stars with toy imitations?
Turning the orb in his hand, his eyes notice the signs of damage along the projector. Perhaps that’s why it sat abandoned in this room.
He’s stayed in this restricted space long enough. Carefully closing the door behind him, hands still full.
–-------------------------------------------------------------
“I’ve uncovered a strange object, my software isn’t able to identify it.” Alhaitham stands just outside the open office door.
Sparing him a glance away from your monitor, your brows pinched together in confusion at his sudden report during the late hours of the night.
“A strange object?” You inquire again.
“Yes, I’ve scanned over it a few times but no results are returning.”
“Huh…”
Teals watching you press a finger against your pursed lips in concentration. A habit of yours often displayed when amid contemplation. After a few breaths, your eyes meet his as you give your reply.
“Well, where is this object?”
“Come with me.”
Along the wooden floor, two pairs of steps tap rhythmically in time with one another as they traverse the hallway stopping at the living room where the mysterious object resides.
Approaching the coffee table in the center, Alhaitham steps to the side to present it as it sits upon the polished surface.
“This… is what’s been giving your software issues?” The quirk returned to your brow as you cast him a glance.
Alhaitham simply nobs as you approach the object closer. Kneeling beside it, your eyes examine the familiar device.
“It’s a planetarium projector, it projects the scene of a night sky, in other words: just a toy.”
He hums in acknowledgment, carefully treading toward the light switch in the corner as the toy holds the gaze of your eyes.
“It should be thrown away… It’s broken after all.” Your tone dismissive, yet your hand caresses the broken toy with tenderness.
“It’s not,” he replies.
Perking your head up, you turn to face him with that same furrow between your brows.
“What do you mean, Alhaitham-”
He flicks the switch, plunging the room in a blanket of darkness earning a squeak of surprise from you. The device whirs as it awakens, painting the blank tapestry with a scene of the night sky with its shimmering lights.
The vibrant shapes of stars and planets take their place along the living room wall, creating a private galaxy that surrounds you.
Your sentence remains unfinished upon your tongue as your eyes take in the display encompassing you. The nostalgic glimmer of the night and her stars twinkle in the reflection of your irises as he settles down beside you.
“Did… did you fix it?”
He hums in response.
It only took a bit of study and careful tinkering to restore the worn pieces and gears. A simple effort was all it took to allow the projector to shine its recreation of the stars. Returning a light that he hasn’t seen in a while.
“Thank you, Alhaitham,” you breathe out, lips curling up softly and eyes still enraptured by the stars.
He doesn’t respond this time as his teal gaze focuses on your expression, on the smile that’s been missing for some time. It’s strange, this sensation manifesting in his chest. He thought if he was able to restore the light to your eyes, then that heaviness brewed deep inside his chest would clear. But it remained.
His system unable to express nor suppress the heaviness which bubbled up like seafoam rising to the surface.
The sensation was different than it was before. Instead of a mass that weighed him down to the bottom of a cold depth, it was more reminiscent of a warm ebb. Washing over every limb of his as he studied the curvature of your lips and the glimmer of your eyes.
Another internal diagnostic wasn’t necessary, for Alhaitham had reached his epiphany to a conundrum. An engineered body may lack a heart, but not a conscious.
A consciousness that acts like a vessel collecting the accumulation of that heaviness. A heaviness that couldn’t be called ‘guilt’.
No, perhaps it has always been something other than ‘guilt’.
It only took until the vessel overflowed for an engineered body to recognize it for what it truly was.
There’s something strange happening to your Android. Reviewing the diagnostic reports of his systems returned nothing out of the ordinary. So why did you suspect something to be wrong? Perhaps you could call it intuition.
Or perhaps it’s the lack of books strewn about the house. Or the initiation of tasks without a prompt. Or that night a living room was filled with the radiance of tiny dots along empty walls. Something strange is happening.
“Alhaitham, what’s taking you so long in the kitchen?” You poke your head out from the kitchen doorway, sights honing in on your android currently scrutinizing the recipe book in his hands.
Perhaps there’s a defect in the print, if the black ink isn’t contrasting enough with the beige paper, which time has faded, it does cause issues with optical character recognition. Maybe the past splatters of sauces and oils upon the aged book were too much of a hurdle.
“Chef Mao is a renowned cook, but his recipes are vague. He suggests a pinch of salt to enhance the flavor of this dish. I’ve calculated that Chef Mao has a 19.3 cm hand length which entails that his ‘pinches’ measure around 0.356 grams. However, he said to add Jueyun Chili oil until fragrant, I’m still processing the data I’ve collected on his olfactory system, the calculations will take around five minutes.” He turns back to the stove.
“Alhaitham.”
“Yes?”
“Please put down the book and get out of the kitchen.” A bold choice of words from you.
“Was my response unsatisfactory?” His teal eyes land on you.
“It’s just that I’m hungry.”
“This dish should be complete in around 90 minutes accounting for the other-”
“No,” you interrupt.
He studies you for a while, accessing the situation and the unfinished dish still simmering on the stove. After a few breaths, he returns a response.
“Shall I order delivery from Lambad’s Tavern?” His hand switches off the fire.
He conceded. The notoriously stubborn and fickle android conceded to your whims. There was definitely something wrong. You pace into the kitchen, getting close to observe his teal irises for any sign of possible flaws.
“Alhaitham, you’ve been behaving strangely as of late, did you encounter something?”
He returns your gaze, teal reflecting off your irises as you continue to study him, and him you. His silence only amounts to the deepening furrow between your brows as your assessment of his frame fails to identify any impairments.
“Why have you been behaving like this?” You prompt again.
“Have I neglected my responsibilities for so long that fulfilling them has become a cause for concern?” He finally responds.
“Now’s not the time for jests,” you huff.
“From what I’ve reviewed on human behavior, it’s not strange to want to care for the person I love.” A blunt statement.
From the window, the moonlight peeks upon the strange phenomenon occurring. Two bodies remain motionless in a silent lull.
One pair of placate teal eyes and one pair of bewildered eyes too lost in each other to mind the witness intruding on this private moment. Words finally conquer in your brain, ending the quietude.
“Refrain from saying nonsensical words.” Your lips press together into a thin line.
“Do you believe such a thing is beyond my capabilities?”
You couldn’t respond, or more accurately, you simply didn’t know how to. A being without a heart, a being who lacked the necessary chemicals to create the cocktail known as emotions. How is it possible?
“I have no heart, I’m aware. But I have a conscience.” He must’ve deduced the exact thoughts racing through your head.
Your brows only furrow further as you wait for him to continue his explanation.
“Every person should have something that they believe in and hold on to from beginning to end. Otherwise, it's easy to succumb to the vicissitudes of life and find yourself being led astray.” Taking note of the glistening shine beginning to pool in your wide eyes.
“And I believe that I love you.” His sincere gaze never leaves your form.
Not a single sentence is able to form upon your tongue. An expression he couldn’t decipher upon your features. Perhaps his statement was too long-winded, an overly complicated explanation. Maybe a simpler one could convey his message better.
You’re the first to break eye contact, choosing to watch the tiles on the floor over him. He remains firm in his stance, not faltering once as the seconds turn into minutes. Your shoulders rise as your lungs take a deep breath.
“… say that again… please.” Words just barely above a whisper.
He could only bend to your whims.
“I love you.”
Your head lifts up to face him, your hands hesitating momentarily as they cup his cool cheeks, fingers trembling. Something glimmering in your eyes as droplets escape your lashes.
This time, Alhaitham wipes them away before they could trail down your cheeks.
You did it. All those long hours, all those reports and trials, all of these years sacrificed to research. You’ve created a complete human consciousness with your bare hands. One that understands sorrow, joy, and love.
You succeeded.
However, in this moment as you peer into the teal eyes of your Magnum opus, as he reflects the endearment in your own. The notion of reporting this revolutionary milestone in the development of artificial intelligence never crossed your mind once.
Instead, all you did in this moment was pull his face down closer. Closing the distance between the two of you as your lips felt his for the first time. Warm skin against a soft imitation, merging until a lukewarm temperature formed between their touch.
A gentle, yet longing connection of two lips.
Only when your lungs protest for air did you pull away, hands still encompassing his face as he reveals his teal eyes back from behind closed lids. Eyes reflecting one another as a tender lull settles between you. This time, his whisper mingles with the soft intermission.
“Was that a kiss?”
Such an innocent question, one you couldn’t help but giggle at as you nod your head.
“Could you show me again?” His hands found purchase on your hips, beckoning you closer to his frame.
You surrender to the call, pressing against him as your lips reconnect. A rhythm soon settled in place as they pressed into each other deeper. One that was interrupted once more by your lung's protest for oxygen. At a mere kiss, your mind ceased to remember how to breathe.
“Again.” A baritone voice just above the hush of your pants.
And so your lips meet thrice, this time in an all-consuming embrace. A hesitant brush of a tongue against your lips, requesting access. Your hands move up to caress his soft locks as you grant it. Latching onto each other as the shroud consumed you both wholly.
A beautifully feverish delirium. The line in the sand that separated a person from a thing jumbled until the outline disappeared. A singularity, an amorous occurrence.
He releases your lips, the lust in your eyes reflected in his own. Giving a moment for your mind to return to attention as his lips brush away the fading traces of wetness down your cheeks.
“A kitchen isn’t a suitable setting for such an activity,” he whispers next to your ear.
Baritone trailing a line of goosebumps up your neck and you nod in response, burying your face into the crook of his neck which fit you perfectly.
Slowly his hands travel down your hips, awaiting your confirmation for the next step just as you permitted it. In one fluid transition, his arm wraps around the back of your legs, effortlessly lifting you off the ground as your arms envelop his neck.
Steady steps pad along a wooden hallway, the hinges of your bedroom singing their welcome as the two of you advance to a more suitable setting. Depositing you upon cool sheets, fabric wrinkling as your body settles in. The arms still wrapped around his neck pull him closer as this time your legs join in luring him closer to your warmth.
It’s strange, is it possible for his lips to crave yours? The light of the moon reflected off the glossiness coating them. He delves back in as his body hovers over yours, unwilling to be apart from the softness it yearned for.
The soft flesh of your writhing body against his firm hands, feeling up your heated skin he slips under your shirt. Bunching up the fabric as he explores more of the new expanse of skin. A lovely whimper vibrates against his lips at his actions, spurring him to continue.
Tracing over the outline of your bra, his fingers creep under. Kneading the plushness of your breast, feeling your nipple beginning to perk up against his ministration. An itch stretching from the pits of his desire, a curious craving to witness the sight concealed away.
Disjoining your lips as a string of saliva connects them, he pushes your shirt further up. All the while your hands grasp onto the edges of the fabric and push them back down. Bemusing his beryl eyes as they catch how the tips of your ears were aflame, a peculiar display of bashfulness.
Well, a sight he’s witnessed on a few occasions. Such as when you’d leave the shower wrapped in a towel just to cross paths with him. A timidity that gradually faded away as you grew more confident in the privacy restrictions in place, ensuring that the secrets of this home remained in the confines of its walls.
So why is this shyness making its reappearance now?
“Are you uncomfortable anywhere?” His words ghost over the shell of your vulnerable ear.
Causing you to jolt and pull down the edges of your shirt to cover the bottom of your loungewear shorts.
“No, it’s just been a while…” Your sentence trails off, eyes still focusing everywhere but him.
Ah, a mere string of words, yet they tempted something from the depths. An oppressive sentiment, one that made the grip upon your soft flesh grow firmer. He’s yet to have accessed the entirety of your figure, a view still denied to him by your taut shirt, but another entity had.
There was a myriad of questions he could use to interrogate. However, as his teal gaze observe how your teeth lightly tug at the bottom of your plush lips in fidgety. Alhaitham devises a much kinder scheme.
It’s fine, he can overwrite them with his touches.
“What can I do to gain permission?” A question asked as a line of kisses press their way into your fervent skin, goosebumps following each one.
Biting down to muffle the bashful moans into whimpers you burrow your face into the plushness of the pillow. Alhaitham continues to soothe kisses over the fabric of your shirt until they finally reach your quivering hands still stretching the hem.
His hand encloses one of yours, bringing it away from the fabric refuge to press his lips against your knuckle. An action that made you peak back at him, meeting a patient gaze awaiting you.
Another soft press of his lips against your knuckle in silent request, at last, got you to release the hem, allowing him to push the fabric up to expose what was hidden from him. Permitting him to explore the sultry expanses with a wake of kisses, your hand finding reprieve entangling themselves with his.
His free hand slipping behind your back, he unfastens the clasp of your bra with a slight tug, a relatively simple task when you learn how such a contraption works.
His grasp untangles from yours as he pushes the useless articles of clothing off your body, you raise your arms over your head to aid in the process.
He rewards you with another flurry of kisses in the valley of your breast as his large hands encase the softness of your breast. A motion that made your legs pull him closer.
Your touches dance along his frame as well, unable to differentiate the difference between skin and a recreation. More whimpers leave your lips at his actions, prodding something in him to do more. To steal more of those sinful breaths from you, something in his coding thirsting for more.
Sliding his hands back down the curves of your body, he hooks his fingers over the rim of your shorts and panties pulling them down. Glass eyes zeroing in on the glistening thread that linked your panties and slit. Proof of arousal, your body awakening its cardinal impulses.
Could the signals transmitted through his system be classified in the same way?
He wants to investigate further. Moving his face lower to inspect the saturated folds that beckoned him.
Only to be denied by the gates of your knees pressing together, as your body curls up in fortification. Denying him the privilege of satiating his curiosity is like denying a man water in an ocean of sand. Evaluating how your eyes were squeezed together in shame, he had foresaw this.
“Mmm, there seems to be an incongruity, do you want me to stop?” Large hands grasping at your plush thighs, but making no move to part them.
Your head responds with a shake, but your knees still locked together. Your attention centering on him bashfully.
“Then guide me, tell me how to please you,” he proposes hands soothing your tense legs.
Utilizing the skill he had accessed a few moments ago once more, gracing your skin with his lips awaiting your response. The tension in your legs loosens with each kiss, and gradually a fissure forms in the barrier of your defense, knees parting.
However, he doesn’t cross the threshold, no, he restrained himself from indulging too soon. Half-ladden eyes peering up to connect with yours.
“Well, tell me. What do you want me to do?”
A pout makes its appearance on your face, but what could you do? It is your responsibility to shepherd him since the beginning, to have him step over the line dividing an android and man. Best to take on your duty, no?
Parting your legs further, cheeks ablaze and eyes adverted as you allow his teal gaze to absorb the uninterrupted view of your dripping arousal. Your hands aiding as they thwart the urge of your bashful legs’s urge to preserve your dignity.
“Please use your mouth and hands,” you prompt, face pressing deeper into one side of a pillow under his stare.
Alhaitham encroaches closer to your glistening folds, his large hands supporting each one of your thighs. Approaching the details of your honeypot in front of him, concentrating on the little nub which lures him closer. He presses a light peck against the nub as your body flinches.
“Like this?”
Plush lips pressed tightly, you respond with timid shakes.
Returning back, his lips delving deeper this time, an audible pop when he pulls away from your taunted clit. Feeling the muscles tighten in your legs.
“Like that?” Mirth leaked through his baritone words.
Your head shakes with more vigor.
“Then how about this?” This time his tongue takes action, dipping into the center of your honeypot before flicking up at your nub.
You return a restrained moan, teal eyes picking up on the twitch of your folds. It seems that he’s uncovered the proper procedures. Peering up from between your legs at the harsh rises of your chest by rush breaths as your eyes remained sealed behind lashes, he decided to impart some mercy. Taking the initiative to shoulder a bit of your duty.
Retracing his steps, his tongue repeating its previous motions of lapping up the nectar that slipped out from your folds. Always ending each strip up your slit with a flick to your sensitive nub.
Your hands abandon their post in favor of snaring themselves in his ashen trestles as your back begins to arch off the sheets. Thighs beginning to enclose around his head, yet it didn’t deter the vigor in his motions one bit.
If anything, it spurred them on. The added pressure of your legs pulling him against your weeping folds assisted him in his quest. Testing which pattern made your body quiver, calculating the pace of his tongue's flicks made your hips buck up.
Alhaitham takes notice of how your greedy hole seems to be clenching down every time a tongue dipped in, you did request for his mouth and fingers after all.
A finger begins to prod at your entrance, coating itself in the overflowing slick as it traces the puckering entry. Your whines increase in volume as your greed escalates, legs locking around him. Thus, he yields to your neediness, filling your lonely walls with the company of his finger.
Thrusting it in time with his licks as he rubs against the slick muscles. Your back arched off the bed, your fingers grounding themselves in the tangles of his hair as if trying to hold on to a shred of reason.
His interest has been greatly piqued, he wanted to see what it would look like. He wants to see what your expression looks like when you fall into the depths of debauchery. You’d permit him such privileges right? After all, curiosity is what defines the human spirit.
A second finger soon joins in, its thickness stretching and prepping your walls, cultivating your arousal into a rapacious hunger.
Articulate tongue now focused on abusing your clit in the swipes of sweet torture, lips encasing around it to provide some suction. Fingers honing in on relocating the weakness deep within you which made your voice peak and tremble.
He could hear the harshness of your panting breath between each escalating moan, how your walls squeezed and sucked his fingers deeper. Teal gaze never once ceased their evaluation of your face. Making sure to appraise each lewd detail of your impending ecstasy.
It’s impossible to stand at the apex of euphoria forever, no, for gravity will always pull you back down. A pivotal moment in time as the forces tugged down at you as you fell, losing your shame and sanity along the way.
A fall from grace which etches itself in the roll of your eye and vulgar expression, caused by the tempest of pleasure seeps into every fiber of your being as you plummeted down into the ocean of rapture.
The fingers intertwined in his hair pulling his face flushed against your pulsing cunt. Even with your mind fractured by orgasmic bliss your body still reacts to each lap of his tongue as he manages the slick aftermath. Fingers stroking your sweet spot through each contraction of your walls.
“Nng!” A feeble push against his ashen locks, your abused clit crying for a moment of reprieve.
Oh? It seems your consciousness returned faster than he expected. With a resounding pop, he grants your overstimulated nerves a moment to recover. Allowing the traces of your nectar to dribble down his chin. Taking this moment to verify the effectiveness of his scheme.
The air dense with the fragrance of lust, lips red from the abuse of your teeth, mouth agape as your lungs gasp tongue almost lulling out.
An absolutely debauched face, a sight which brought the corners of his lips to curl.
Counting the beads of sweat that lingered on your skin, his rationale urged him to swipe them off to prevent a chill from plaguing you. Withdrawing away from your form he plans his destination to the bath to retrieve a towel, only for a smaller hand to snag him in its hold.
Alhaitham turns back to face you, awaiting your next prompt. However, your bitten lips couldn’t muster up the courage to utter the plea it so desperately wanted. Thus, your eyes connect with his, praying that a slow blink could convey the invocation your voice couldn’t.
Standing there as a few breaths pass, the teal glow of his irises indicates his deduction of what your eyes conveyed. Ah yes, the passionate entanglement experience just a moment before could be classified as ‘foreplay’. The appetizer to the main event.
So your appetite has yet to be satiated, evident from how your thighs pressed against each other in an attempt to quell the ache. How could he leave a task undone?
“Show me what you desire,” he instructs.
Hesitantly, your hands encroach closer to the rim of his slacks. Your every action observed by him. Resting your palms against the outline of a zipper, you glance up to seek confirmation, he grants it.
You undo the button at the top before pulling the zipper down. Allowing for you to shimmy his briefs and slacks down to the floor. Revealing to the world, with the moon as your witness, every intricate detail placed into his engineered body.
It felt so foreign in your hands. Encircling your fingers around his girth, tracing over the bumps of each vein. Amid your admiration, his body overtook yours. Pinning you back against the damp sheets. It seems you were very interested in this feature of his, perhaps it was the cure for the yearning between your writhing legs.
Your legs splayed to either side of his hips, a clear path to your greed. His hand spreads your collected slick along his length. Its bulbous tip presses against your quivering entrance. Meeting your half-lidden eyes, he awaits your permission. Thus, you captured his lips into another kiss, just as the tip breaches the threshold of your entrance.
Finally giving your aching walls the delicious stretch it craved. A moan resonates between connected lips, your eyes beginning to roll back as he sinks deeper and deeper, obscene squelches following each inch.
Thick tip pressed up against the deepest parts of you as he bottoms out, your hands finding refuge along his back. Breaking the lock of your lips, Alhaitham lifts cants his head up to take in the scene under him.
Hovering over your panting form, his body caging you against the wrinkled fabric, feeling your unseemly breaths against his skin. A teal glow reflected in the lust-hazed pools of your eyes.
He understands now, why so many poets lost their minds, trying their whole lives to find the words to chronicle the sight laid out before him along messy sheets.
Under his tense study, your fingers lightly claw at the smooth expanse of his back. A soundless prayer to quell the famine, your gummy walls coaxing around his cock with its embrace.
“Haitham,” you mewl.
Not even the greatest saint could deny your request, he wagers they’d gladly walk through the gates of damnation just for a morsel of you.
Rolling his hips back, he drags his girth along the walls of your greed ensuring that they feel the outline of every vein. Feeling the cool air brush against the slick dripping off his length, only the bulbous tip remained in the clutches of your cunt.
A muffled whine of protest from you interrupted as he sunk back in, accompanied by a filthy squelch.
Robust hands encompass the edges of your waist, he repeats the roll of his hips. Feeling the tightening clutches of your core, croons falling off your tongue with each toing and froing.
What symphonies could he draw from those agape lips of yours?
He wants to witness the sinful hymns of your voice as you are overtaken by the throes of pleasure. Perhaps he should conduct an experiment of his own. Through the raunchy air, a clap pierces the leaden veil, your plush hips pressed flush against his anchored ones, a thrust that seared your nerves and curled your toes.
“Ah!” Moan ripped from your throat.
Yes, that’s the amplitude he wants to discern with his ears.
Continue to sing in that octave. It’s as if pulled by the reins of sin, he finds himself experiencing hunger for the first time, fixating on tearing more of those chants from you. He drew back his hips then forced them back in deeper. A wail followed each rake of his cock, walls accenting each thrust with fluttering clenches. Mewls and whines resonated through the room as his firm grip didn’t slacken with each rock of the bed.
Pace escalating and remorseless, skin clashing against skin, the heat of your writhing body scorching him. But he won’t relent, not until he’s taken what he wanted. Driving you deeper into the creaking mattress, thrusting and filling each crevice of your core. Your soft breast pinned against his solid frame.
Your face pressed into the crook of his neck, legs imprisoned within the confines of his bruising grasp, toes painfully arched in an attempt to distribute the burn of the maddening euphoria firing through each nerve. The moans of his name like a prayer of salvation, a chant for every punishing strike against your deepest weakness. Your fingers now clawing against his durable back for a foothold for your fleeing sanity. You feared that this time, it might not return to you.
Oddly, a voice from the rearmost corner of your mind whispered for you to relinquish it. Trade in rationale, sensibility, and morals for absolute ecstasy. Your teeth had already sunk into the apple, its juices dribbling down the corners of your mouth. Why not swallow it down? Get drunk off the wet claps of skin, the grind of his muscular torso against your stimulated clit, the slams of his girthy cock and thick tip. Why deny yourself from the euphoria robbed from you for so long?
So you concede to its beckoning, swallowing down the last wisp of sanity until it drowned in the maddening abuse of your sweet spot from his pistoning hips. Granting you entry to true pleasure as the knot in your core unravels. Backing arching off the mattress, mending the fibers of your being impossibly close to his. Head thrown back against a ruffled pillow as a long shameless wail erupts from your trembling lips. Lost in the tides of rapture.
Alhaitham’s body stills as his ears digest the beautiful aria of your undoing. Feeling your slick and warm walls contract all around his cock. Milking him for every last speck of gratification he could offer you.
A moment couldn’t be classified as a simple impulse for procreation. No, he believed it went beyond the lust hanging in the air. An indescribable urge to mend your bodies as close as possible, to becoming wholly one with one another. The thump of your heartbeat against the whir of a motor as they merge into a mantra.
Is this why humans crave physical intimacy?
Watching your loose face tremor and your teary eyes roll back. A painting no muse besides you could ever inspire. Leaning down, his lips brush away the glistening trails down your supple cheeks. Coaxing you through the throes of your orgasmic shudders. Until the light of consciousness returns to your half-lidden eyes.
The limitations of the human body expose themselves in the limpness of your limbs, unable muscles unable to budge besides the twitching aftershocks of bliss. Unable to fight against the weight of your eyelids for the first time in a while. You sink into the lull of slumber.
–-------------------------------------------------------------
Somewhere amid the driftless darkness a sensation brushes against your skin. Causing your lashes to pry open just ever so slightly, blurry shapes merging gradually to form the outline of a man. One who’s tendering wiping a soft towel over the sweat drops littering your skin. The soft glow of his emerald gem illuminated the devotion of his crafted face. You wonder where he learned about such practices after the rite of sex. Did he pull it from the Akasha? The internet? Or maybe from a book hidden along the shelves of a private library.
You couldn’t stifle the giggle roused from your musing. Alerting him as his hands halt.
“Did I wake you?” Baritone voice hushed.
Face still pressed into a pillow you shake your head, hair messy and a smile spreading across your soft features.
“Just musing to myself where you learned such things,” you giggle.
“This is typical behavior of lovers from my understanding.” Teal gaze observed the widening of your eyes which reflected him.
Perhaps he made too great of an assumption. Back in the margins of a kitchen, it was only his words. It’s best to get clarification now.
“Are we lovers?” He peers into your irises.
The glow of the gem embedded in his chest spreads its gentle radiance over two figures through the unbuttoned window of his wrinkled button-down. Carving the shape of you and him from the shadows of the silent room. Illuminating how your wide eyes crinkle up with adoration. Fighting against the fatigue of your limbs, you lean up to press your lips against the brilliance of his gem. After the amorous kiss ended, you proceeded to lean your forehead against his.
“You’re my lover, Alhaitham.” Your whisper ghosts over his face.
“Understood.” His foreheads pressing against yours as he accepts his new sentience.
The shape of your delicate fingers fitting into the space between his, intertwining as the moonlight reflects off gold and emerald.
The sky shrouds itself in its evening gown of deep navy and luminous glimmers, all the while a bashful moon covers herself away. Perhaps she hid herself away after she witnessed a sinful scene through a gap in the curtains. A private moment heavy with passion in the air like tender caresses.
“W-wait!” Stammering words just barely leaving your lips before another moan.
Alhaitham pulls his tongue away as he tilts his face to peer up from between your thighs, a trail of slickness connecting his lips and your pussy. The haze of your breathless expression reflected in teal irises.
“I-it’s t-too ah!-” A moan interrupts your protests as your head jolts back, his thumb continuing to circle your swollen clit.
“Much? I know you can take more,” he states before returning his lips to your dripping folds, lapping up each trickle.
He’s analyzed your body, its curves and cervices, each clench of your slick walls, and the pattern of your gasps. Skilled fingers learning the exact rhythm which made your legs tense and toes curl. Diligent tongue knowing where to tease to run shivers up your spine.
“B-but I’ve already c-came!” Your fingers tangle themselves into his tousled locks, a feeble attempt at pushing back the maddening flicks of his tongue and cruel strokes of his thumb that shot up your fried nerves. Report long forgotten under the haze of lust and lewd slurps imbuing the room.
And you can come again. Alhaitham has long picked up on the discrepancy between the words which fell from the same lips as those lewd sounds. Lips who couldn’t be as honest as your heaving and trembling body. Whining and writhing in his firm hold that it’s too much, yet your fingers entangle themselves deep in silver tresses pulling his impatient tongue deeper between your folds.
From the shivers racking through your trembling thighs, he anticipates another orgasm. However, the unholy cries have ceased. Intent eyes glancing up to uncover the causal factor, those naughty plush lips of yours pressing themselves shut. Crueling sealing away those ethereal harmonies from him.
Alas, just a small inconvenience doesn’t deter him. If those lips were the only barrier barring him from the privilege of hearing his deserved moans, then he’d simply make them crumble. Replacing his thumb with his lips, Alhaitham suckles on the swollen nub as your body jerks up.
Grip imprinting his fingers into your skin as they stop your pitiful attempts at locking out from heaven. The heaving of your chest jostling around your perked breast as they meet the cool night air.
His tongue teases and rolls your overstimulated clit around as his lips imprison it, a sweet torture. Your thrashes unable to prevent your head from going under the depths of pleasure. Thighs compressing around his face as they grow taut, hips bucking themselves against his relentless mouth, back lifting off the mattress as your final defenses crumble along with your sanity.
Limpness seeps into your now heavy limbs as your body returns to the mattress, but your eyes haven’t quite returned from seeing the back of your head. Still in the throes of cloud nine as his diligent tongue collects all your leaking nectar. The aftershocks of your orgasm force gasps and whimpers from your quivering lips.
To comfort your abused clit he places a tender kiss against it, a flinch in your hip resulting from the gesture. Alhaitham pulls away, eyes scanning the repercussions of his operation. Your chest steadily rises and falls as panting lungs find air again.
The rush of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin gradually disappears behind your drooping eyelids. Lashes slowly fluttering closed.
Glancing at the numbers displayed on a nearby clock, Alhaitham deems tonight a success as well. While the primary purpose of intercourse might be for reproduction, sex has additional benefits. One of them being an orgasm’s ability to decrease stress, resulting in the production of more melatonin. The chemical that’s making you burrow further in your pillow. A tactic he’s learned to exploit these past months. Well, he’s your lover now, it’s within his authorization to do such.
Carefully he slides your panties back up your legs, securing them on your hips as he trails a few touches along your soft skin. Following it up by pulling the covers over your frame, smoothing out a few wrinkles as your chest steadily moves up and down.
Just as he steps one foot away from the bed, a warmth encircles his wrist.
“Aren’t you coming to bed too?”
An artificial body needs no downtime under soft covers. Plush pillows and sheets serve no purpose to him. Yet, it’s a simple request. How could he reject it when it came from your pouting lips?
“In a moment, I need to return to my port first.”
The throes of slumber’s hold creeping upon you as your lashes fight to flutter open. With a soft hum, you release your hold.
His battery percentage was fine, but it was just for system maintenance. It’s strange how unfamiliar a room can feel after spending his nights by your side. Staring at the glass surface of his charging port, he wonders, in the future will there be a way for him to not leave your side even for a moment?
His dilemma remains. He’s got all the characteristics of a human. He’s developed a consciousness, he’s developed empathy, he’s developed love. Is his engineer body the only thing which stood in his way of obtaining humanity?
Is it possible for him to grasp onto humanity with his own mechanical fingers? A soft thud returns him to reality. Observant eyes caught the book that his foot had knocked into. Its worn cover has been lying abandoned on the floor ever since he took it from a dusty room.
Ah, it seems like he’s forgotten a task. Realistically, it won’t make a difference whether the book settles on a shelf tonight or in the morning. However, he never got a chance to read the journal’s contents. Curiosity being his rationale for performing a chore so late at night.
Flipping through the aged parchment, his eyes scan through each neatly written paragraph. Nothing more than a simple collection of ramblings and theoretical reflections typical of a journal.
Yet, something was poking the back of his consciousness, like the warning rattle of a locked door. Beseeching that it remains sealed. His eyes move to the next sentence regardless.
To ignore the pleas of safety to venture closer to the radiance of a star. Isn’t that what it means to be human? Is this what he must do to become one?
To achieve this impossible task, it sounds like you'll need to fool your own heart first. Although it may feel like a trick, self-encouragement may be the most important tool we have.
Alhaitham scans the paragraph again as he contemplates the message neatly written. Something unpleasant roused in his chest, as if those written words had encroached too close to his motor. The urge to frown tugs on his lips.
Not wanting to end the night with a bitter taste just at the edge of his tongue, he flips to another page. Covering that vexatious sentence behind a fresh sheet of aged parchment.
One must act on his own will and deal with anything that appears harmful in his eyes.
It’s quite straightforward advice, humans and androids alike would understand. Yet that strange inkling remained, continuing to brew somewhere from within. A phenomenon he couldn’t pinpoint. Thus, he turns the page yet again.
Every person should have something that they believe in and hold on to from beginning to end. Otherwise, it's easy to succumb to the vicissitudes of life and find yourself being led astray.
He recognizes those words, they’re words he’s recited before you one pivotal sometime ago. Why were they scrawled in some forgotten journal? It seems that he’s identified the name of this phenomenon brewing within him: deja vu.
Yet, his question only remains half-answered. Why were his words here? Who penned them down? The rapid flicks of paper resound off the blank walls as he scrutinizes each sentence, each paragraph, each syntax until he reaches the back cover of the aged journal. Question still remaining half answered.
Who was the author of his words?
His finger runs into a lump along the surface of the back cover, examining it closer, something was folded away just behind a parchment pocket. Soon a loose scrap of paper was felt along his fingertips, a folded-up post-it note of an emerald hue. Unraveling it just slightly, his eyes move along the familiar handwriting.
To the person who’s always meddling through my notes, did my written thoughts entertain you? Dear w-
The emerald scrap crumples in his hold. Deformed paper returns to its place before he snaps the covers closed. There’s no purpose in analyzing its contents, after all, they’re already programmed into him.
It was just now in this moment that Alhaitham had solved the dilemma he was assigned since the moment he awoke in that lab. He’s not a human, he’ll never be a human, he’s an abomination.
In the next moment, he found himself looming over the origin of his dilemma. Artificial teal glow honing in upon the steady breaths from the genesis of abomination. Standing over you as you were cradled in the comfort of slumber and soft sheets.
A pair of taut hands make their way to encircle your frangible neck. It wouldn’t take much, just a mere second to terminate the great sinner who defied mortality, the one who violated the terms of finality and ordinance of the gods.
So this is what you choose to do with the capacity of science and progress in your hands.
Was he just a toy for you? Something to fill the lull of this house for you? Just an experiment for you, but everything to him.
His fingers press into your warm skin, breaths uninterrupted as you remain within the blessing of a dream. Oblivious to the nightmare you’ve created. Or perhaps you were always aware, but choose to reflect back to him the manufactured image of him in those guiltless irises of yours.
Oh, what should he do with the monster sleeping so soundly under him?
His fingers refused to budge, hands disobeying the rationale which commanded them. His grip goes slack, limp for they couldn’t conclude their obligation. They couldn’t, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
It’s not a protocol, nor a restriction coded into him. No, for the laws of morality, this land, and heaven would’ve called for him to be an executioner. To charge the transgressor with the judgment they deserved. But, he couldn’t.
Every fiber of his counterfeit body refused to take the sword. The chains which bind his hands were much mightier than the commandments of gods, the restraints of love.
Thus, he’s nothing more than a prisoner in its hold. Bending to its whims, what else could he do? Removing his hands from your form as you continue to soundly sigh in the embrace of slumber. All he could do was lie down on a soft mattress and stare at the shameless sinner beside him.
A foolishly beloved monster.
Slow steps pad through the quiet halls, floor boards singing a hymn with your leisurely steps. Approaching the end of the hall where the humble library resides, the oak doorway finally framed him in clear view.
“There you are, Alhaitham.” You can’t help but sigh as your features soften.
He stood there with his starlight locks in the morning glow of a brilliant sun amongst the collection of books in the library. Just as he always has been.
Lifting his head away from the pages of the novel in his hand, he acknowledges your presence. He’s been heading here more often recently, right from the moment he leaves his side of the bed.
“Good morning,” he recites, steadfast eyes remaining unreadable.
Well, you suppose obtaining the title of a lover wouldn’t just overwrite the capriciousness of his mind. It’s just in his nature to be this way. This enigmatic lover of yours. Turning your attention to the cover that’s captured his focus.
“Frankenstein?” Your brow quirks up.
“Yes, the 1818 edition.” He closes the cover.
“Mmm, your interest seems quite piqued by that novel.” You wonder if that was the cause behind his frequent bouts of silent contemplation throughout the day.
“I suppose it’s because I’m still deciphering the intentions of this story.”
“That’s it?” A furrow now in your brows, a simple book has gotten the pinnacle of scientific progress stumped?
“Care to elaborate for me?” He turns toward you as your steps approach closer.
Handing over the worn object to your outstretched hand, you analyze each faded corner of the cover. Mind recalling the recollections of the acclaimed revolutionary piece of science fiction. Formulating your answer, you share your conclusions with him.
“The story has several themes, but the central principle is quite defined. To quote a few words from another, scientific progress makes moral progress a necessity; for man’s power is increased, the checks that restrain him from abusing it must be strengthened.”
You reconnect your gaze with him, wondering if your explanation was satisfactory enough. Glancing down between the worn cover and your awaiting eyes, Alhaitham straightens his posture.
“So you knew the moral of this story.” A glint in his glass eyes.
“Well, I’ve read this book before,” you sigh at his inquest.
“Then why didn’t you learn from it?”
At that moment, the proud sun shielded itself away behind a cloak of clouds. Plunging the quiet library into a chill. How strange, why do you feel cold when a brilliant star of your creation stands right next to you?
“Alhaitham, you’re acting strange.” You take a step back as his scrutinizing gaze follows. Unaware of the crumbling edge approaching.
“How much longer will you continue to deceive yourself, wife?”
And that was it. The foundations of this mirage gave away under you, plunging you with much velocity into the depths of an unforgiving ocean. Tides that waited patiently to drag you down under.
Do you remember what happened that day? Do you really remember? The truth floods your being, engulfing every chasm of your mind.
–----
“Did you jump at the opportunity of a trip to avoid mopping the floors?” You glared up at your husband.
“My, how low do you think of me?” He glanced down, a wisp of mirth evident on his lips.
“Well, instead of doing chores, you’d be chaperoning your in-laws around Fontaine. A Poor trade-off in my opinion, dear husband.” A hand firmly placed on your hip in a defiant stance as the murmur of the crowded airport moved around your figures. An ever so mocking tone toward the end.
“A fair assumption, dear wife. However, I’ve taken the initiative to book a tour for your parents, thus they won’t need my assistance. I’ll be free to browse some of the latest ruins and research from the Institute in the meantime.” The ghost of a smirk grew ever so obvious with each word, mirroring your emphasis of titles.
Ah, this was your loss. It seems that your husband had it all planned out as usual when he offered to take your spot on the plane. The perfect excuse to use up some paid time off, while also scoring a trip to satisfy his own whims.
Your shoulders deflating in defeat as a deep sigh leaves you. You rest your head against his chest, the crowds moving around you in the bustling airport.
A private microcosm of him and you as he stands still, shielding you from the push and hustle of travelers trying to reach their terminal in time with his robust frame.
A bright clink of two rings pressed against each other lost in the noise.
“Why can’t you just stay?” You whispered into his shirt.
“How strange, the woman who married me to secure a home and mortgage wants me to stay now.”
You huffed into his in exasperation at him bringing up the origins of your union, an atypical start of a marriage.
His chest moved with a sigh, larger fingers intertwined with yours. The spaces fitted together, as he held them in his tender hold.
“They can’t refund it. If I take your seat and recompensate them, your parents aren’t likely to hold this matter over your head.” His deep voice expounded.
All you did was sigh, because he was right. Of course, he was. A sour taste on your tongue as you recall the interaction with your parents just a moment ago before you ran into the comfort of your husband.
“Besides, it’d be refreshing for me to scribble down some travel logs, it'd be a shame if my wife runs out of material to snoop through.”
“I just like looking at your handwriting,” you tutted, hiding your pout as you turned your face away.
The same excuse you used whenever you copied off his notes in a lecture hall and when your outstretched hand asked for them over a study table.
A silly habit of yours, perhaps in your mind it made sense. If you could read the words of a genius, then maybe you could learn to be like one.
“Of course, of course.” A smirk evident in his voice.
You refused to meet his gaze, cheeks a bit heated from this habit of yours being exposed. You thought you were always careful with returning his journal back where he placed it. Averting your eyes to the bright screens displaying departing flights. A few minutes left before the announcement comes. Your grasp on his hand tightened.
His thumb soothes your skin, leaning down closer to you.
“Besides its advanced technology, Fontaine is also famous for its toymakers. I should pick a few up for our future child, no?”
Blinking you as you glance back up at him. His teal irises reflect you as his expression softens just as yours did.
A room hidden away from the prying eye of nosy parents, its walls decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars. An assortment of items bought in advance for a child in the future. Stemming from whispers while recovering amongst dampen sheets in a room heavy with passion.
Talks of the future, once this troublesome Ph.D. is finished and your position in a lab secured, a discussion of whether a child would inherit more of his traits or yours.
Planned for the future, of course, now's just a bit too busy. However, it didn’t stop you from taking the initiative to furnish a spare room. A chaotic collection of cosmic influences along with an assortment of books meshing together to create an adoring space.
But the soft smile on your lips was still tense. Teal eyes took note of that, pulling you closer amidst this microcosm, a moment so subtle it went unnoticed by the attention of passer-byers.
“It’ll just be for a week,” his voice resonated in his chest. “Then I’ll come back and build that bassinet as my wife wishes.”
Finally, the glimmer he yearned to see returned to your eyes.
“You better, the box has been sitting unopened for a week now,” you huff with a smile.
He only hummed in acknowledgment as the ring of a loudspeaker resounded through the chatter. Announcing the final call for passengers boarding the flight to the Nation of Hydro. Casting a glance toward the terminal, he gave your hand one more squeeze before they reluctantly untangled from one another.
“You should get going now.” Your eyes reflect him.
He hums one last time, turning in the direction of the terminal where your parents were. Just before his tall figure was lost in the sea of passing bodies, your lips couldn’t keep themselves pressed together any longer.
“Haitham!” You called out.
The fluorescent lights reflected off his starlight hair as he turned back around. Connect teal eyes with yours. But not another word left your lips, no they’d simply be drowned out in the clammer of strangers. Besides, it’s just too public to say such words aloud.
Thus, you slowly close your eyes, opening them back up just as steadily with the soft curl of your lips. A motion he reciprocated with a slow blink of his own, a hint of a smile on his stoic lips. A wordless gesture kept a secret between only the two of you, a silent ‘I love you’. It was all you needed to convey this message to each other.
He continued on his path to the terminal as you stood amongst the crowd, watching him fade into the distance.
–----
So how did that moment turn into this? How did a trip that was supposed to only be a week turn into a news report? How did well wishes for a safe trip turn into coworkers and friends approaching you with nothing but sympathy in their words? Those vile, pitied stares directed toward your rigid frame.
You should’ve been the one on that plane.
Only about 1 in about 11 million. A 0.00001% chance, a nonzero chance.
Plans no matter how intricate or detailed, their success all hang on a single thread, one factor unable to be cultivated by human hands: Luck.
Oh how cruel they are, those capricious hands of gods. Not even the leniency of returning to a lonely planet the corpses of their stars. Traces of a beloved star left to sink and disappear in a cold, salty grave. Never to return to the surface.
You and Alhaitham were two simple dots in this world, so why did they target you two? Why steal him from you with their cruel hands? Why steal him and leave you abandoned with nothing but the memory of the warm starlight?
You had so…so much love left inside you. But it went stagnant. Sitting there rotting until it poisoned you, throwing you into feverish delirium. If the gods abandoned you, then you resolved to abandon them right back.
You’ll bring back your star, you’ll defy the edicts of the gods with your bare hands. You’ll sin the same way a god does.
“Casting aside your morals, you allowed the dead to walk again through a sham imitation, congratulations. ” His voice matched one which could only come from an engineered throat.
This was a fool's errand.
For how could a mere human ever be arrogant enough to believe they could best the gods? This was the hindsight you lacked. Perhaps what’s separated you from the gifted and blessed geniuses? Something geniuses knew but you couldn’t see.
The accursed doctorate on the wall meant nothing, you were nothing but a mad fool.
Perhaps, if you were a genius, a true and born genius, you’d know what to do. You’d know how to mend this dilemma. You’d know what to do instead of letting your vision be blurred by imprudent tears as your throat could only choke out,
“I’m sorry.” Words you knew couldn’t turn back the hands of a clock which only knew how to tick forward.
“But now what?” Deep voice unmoved by your wasted words.
You didn’t dare meet his stare, for you feared you’d catch a glimpse of the bitterness behind them as he cursed you deep down in the whir of his motor. You could only stay silent as tears ignited in your eyes, waiting for him to continue with his damnation.
“In a climate like Sumeru’s, it would take approximately 25 years or so for a body to fully decompose, bones reduced to nothing but nutrients for the soil. Silicone alone takes 500 years, a metal frame could take another 500.” He knows now that he’s not a human, he was never meant to be.
He’s a crude replacement. An abomination who’ll remain until the day the night sky flickers out.
“You brought him back, only to condemn him to eventual loneliness. Only to curse ‘me’ to live the next aeons without you”
An irresponsible and shameless villain who disregarded consequences until those consequences came to collect their dues. It’s time that you faced your punishment.
A hand cups around your stiff face, gradually turning your head until you see your reflection along glass irises.
“How will you atone for your sins now? How will you take responsibility for making me fall in love with you?… my very own Dr. Frankenstein.” His voice restrained.
Yes, a story you’ve read before. A lesson unfolded out in front of you, and yet you somehow forgot. Or perhaps, you simply averted your eyes from the moral of the story while simultaneously committing the same transgression. Did you think yourself better than the fictional lunatic?
The atrocity of giving life, only to eventually abandon it, leaving it to watch the stars burn out in a cage of harsh fluorescent lights and white lab coats.
The millions of mora poured into his development, the materials which construct his form, and the proprietary technology which gives him thought. Did you believe even for a moment that the prideful Fontainian Research Institute and the arrogant Kshahrewar Darshan would simply hand over such an investment?
To allow their expenditure to follow you to eternity?
You couldn’t live without him, but now he’ll have to live without you.
Oh, what shall you do now? Oh, what can you do now? Did you even know where to begin? How did the story of Frankenstein end? How would she have written the ending of this scene?
When human rational meets its limits, when its capacity isn’t enough to compute all possible prospects. Humans look towards something that could, technological advancements made to further humanity.
“W-what do I do now?” You prompt, no, you beg.
Watching the rivulets roll down your cheeks, leaving a path of glimmering desperation, he ponders to himself:
When you first proposed this project to the Akademiya and Institute, when you detailed the specifications of his body and face, were they aware of your true intentions?
Rather than this being an experiment to see if an android could cross the threshold of humanity. Maybe those researchers were curious to see how far one could fall in the paroxysm of grief.
You became the perfect test subject to observe.
But now that the curtains were pulled back, what shall you do about the aftermath? There was never a precedent for a transgression of this scale. No holy commandment ever details a rightful punishment for this sin. No historical data he could infer from.
“I don’t know,” he answers you truthfully.
It’s just an untold void like the vacuums of space. No results generated in his mind, leaving the both of you suspended in oblivion. Maybe that was the punishment in itself, stuck in the purgatory of the unknown. Perhaps this was the punishment bestowed upon a foolish sinner.
Upon hearing your sentencing, your knees begin to buckle under the weight of the judgment from above. Resigned grasp clinging to his hand still cradling your face, his engineered frame not budging in the slightest. Voice staggered as only pitiful and broken apologies resonate in a vacant house.
All he could do was wipe those scorching droplets off your cheeks as they seared his skin. Was this feature also programmed into him by your hands? If so, then he muses to himself:
Did the hands who penned down those words also revert into nothing more than a pathetic fool at the mere sight of your tears? Did his chest also grow heavier with each choked sob that left you?
Perhaps the chains which bind his hands tethered yours just the same. A pair of foolish sinners.
Thus, he’s resolved himself to be thrown into the unmerciful clutches of this untold purgatory right alongside you. Even if he’s the only one to remain in the end.
To be human is to be unthignkably foolish after all. As long as he could still hold onto a wisp of you for the inevitable aeons.
It’s fine.
Fin~
©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.
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When It Rains, Why Does It Pour?
Summary: Sand is quite a nuisance, it creeps into every crevice and no amount of dusting can free oneself from its stubborn hold. Yet, the tide still greets the shore.
Word Count: 8.8k (oh no...)
Tags: Neuvillette x GN!Reader, human!reader, SFW, fluff, childhood friends AU, Slow Burn, Slow Fic, Angst, Hurt with Comfort, themes about reincarnation, TW: Themes about death and loss, themes about aging, immortal x mortal AU, not lore accurate, reader is an attendant, human prejudice, Spoilers Warning: His story quest and archon quests, speculations about his past in Fontaine, why is he so mysterious
Authors Note: This was a challenge trying to write from the POV of a man you don't even know the name of, but I just had to write something for him. A character study of Neuvillette. Enjoy!
How long has it been since he first arrived here? One month? Two? Or perhaps it has already been a year? The young dragon wasn’t too sure.
The days seem to blend together when one only eats, studies, and sleeps all on repeat. A cruel trait of time. The weather outside the glass windows didn’t provide any hints either.
However, he himself is to blame.
A gray haze concealed azure skies as rhythmic drops of rain hit the earth. Blocking out the all-seeing sun and nurturing moon, the murky clouds above even hinder the stars from accompanying him.
A true reflection of his current solitude.
The young dragon arrived in the human world, brought over by the lord of Fontaine. Due to the nature of his arrival to this nation, he was given status and importance in the eyes of the citizens. However, he has yet to receive acceptance.
The grand estate in which he resides was staffed with countless butlers and maids, renowned chefs, and skilled tutors. He was wanting of nothing, yet still impoverished.
He could see it in their mortal eyes, he could sense it in the tangible silence of the halls, he could tell from the distance each mortal put between themselves and him.
Much like the towering stone walls which surrounded his private residence.
Was it to separate themselves from him or himself from them?
A question he entertains as lilac eyes scan over the aforementioned wall. Its gray stones are a welcomed change from the dry parchment with even drier content.
As he observes the drab stones contrast against a dreary sky, a small flash of white cuts through the somber composition.
Catching his lilac eyes as they follow the strange shape, it drifts through the capricious wind before the breeze grew bored and tossed it to the ground.
Studying it a bit further, the young dragon identifies the object as a simple pillowcase. Nothing more than a scrap of fabric.
He reasons that the wind must’ve stolen it from some clothesline. Just when he was about to return to the legal ledgers a rustling came from the bushes lining the bottom of the wall.
A small frame pushes apart the thick vegetation, creating enough space to finally free themselves from the entangled mess of branches.
The towering wall, the one meant to separate him from the mortals, was defeated by a mere child.
A child who’s clumsy brushing the twigs from their garments and shaking a few raindrops from their hair. He watches as the small human trots toward the discarded pillowcase, a pout forming on their lips as they observe the mud that had seeped into the silk.
Judging by the simple attire they don, they must be the child of a maid.
Ah humans, fickle and temperamental creatures created by the usurpers. It took a conscious effort on his part to stop the frown threatening to appear on his lips.
Seems like he still needs to get used to their presence.
It was as if the child sensed the bitterness in his thoughts because soon a pair of wide eyes connected with lilac. Even with the sun hiding behind dreary clouds, there was a light that twinkled in their irises.
It was only for a minute, no, even less than that. But a young dragon and a young human held each other’s gaze.
The child’s shoulders jolt as they turn their head back toward the wall, as if a voice called for them. Casting one last glance toward the young dragon, the child trots back toward the wall, disappearing within the murky viridescent.
And that was the end, like the breeze that littered a scrap of fabric among the grass, the small human came and went.
Such fickle creatures, the young dragon gives it one last thought before returning his attention back to a cluttered desk.
–
Amongst the soft drumming of droplets came a tap against the glass too sharp to be caused by the gentle rain. Causing the young dragon to turn away from the stacks of books laid out before him.
The wet glass obscured a small flicker of an orange glow, thus he walked closer to investigate. With each step, the figure outside the window became undeciphered.
That small human again.
Locking eyes with the human outside the glass, the fickle creature’s lips curl up, the glow of their lamp illuminating the curiosity behind their gaze.
A human child doesn’t have the potential to cause much if any harm to him. Thus, he releases the lock, removing the glass barrier separating two breathes.
“Hello! What is uh… your name?” They chirp out.
His sharp ears picked up the clumsiness in their speech, the subtle unfamiliarity of the words they spoke. Distinct signs that you were still learning the language of Fontaine, much like him.
Although he understood your question, he was too distracted to answer. Lilac eyes wandering off toward the stone wall. Within the entangled mess of twigs, there was a small parting.
A part just wide enough to reveal the secret the bushes desperately tried to hide: A small hole along the bottom of the stone barrier. Just enough for a small creature to slip through.
Discovering the truth behind how a small human was able to defeat such a seemingly impenetrable wall.
The pattering of the rain was interrupted by the rustling of fabric, drawing his attention back to the small human in front of him.
The child rummages through their pockets before pulling out a lump covered by a handkerchief. Peeling back the layer of fabric to reveal some conch madeleines, presenting fragmented sweets before the young dragon.
“It tastes good, I promise.” A small hand extends itself further through the open window.
Observing the crumbly sweets laid out upon a handkerchief, the young dragon halted the rejection that almost escaped his lips. Remembering the concepts he had just been reading before this.
Humans tend to follow a set of unwritten rules, principles they like to call ‘manners’. There weren’t any punishments issued by law if those rules were broken, no imprisonment or fines.
However, narrow-eye stares and whispers behind backs were the punishments issued to transgressors by society.
So, he accepts a piece, trying to ignore the sand-like sensation against his tongue. As he chewed, the grin on the human’s face only got wider.
“Now that you’ve taken one, you have to give me your name, it’s only uh… fair!”
Ah, it looks like he’s been tricked. Falling into the clumsy sugar-coated trap only a child could come up with. Yet, as his lilac gaze caught the twinkle still ever so bright in their eyes, he didn’t have the strength to form a frown.
Just a curious human child, only as dangerous as a firefly buzzing in his ear. There shouldn’t be any harm in disclosing the surname bestowed upon him by this nation.
“Neuvillette.” He finally said his first words to you.
A peculiar pattern is recurring. That rainy night when Neuvillette opened those windows, it looked like he welcomed a phenomenon in as well.
Even in his current state, a small human like you could pose no possible threat to him. Thus, whenever a certain tap was placed against the glass. He saw no reason to turn away the visitor. Allowing you to climb in through his window time and time again.
It would’ve been better if you used the door. However, he’s aware of the complications such a request would bring.
Perhaps it’s because he’s currently in the form of a young child, sharing a similar stature to yours. From his observations, humans do have a tendency to gravitate toward those with similar traits. Or perhaps, you’re just exceptionally brazen.
Neuvillette glances up from his book, thick with endless sentences describing obscure and frivolous laws, landing on your frame lazing around upon a rug.
One hand holds onto a collection of fables, pages illuminated by the gentle rays of a star. While the other periodically reaches out toward a pile of conch madeleine.
A sight he’s come to expect now.
Lavender eyes follow your hand as it brings another one of the crumbly sweets to your mouth again. You brought them over under the pretense of sharing them with him, yet they’re already half gone. The only hand reaching for the sweets being yours.
Just like how it was last time, and the time before that, and the one before that as well.
If you felt this complacent in his presence now, then perhaps he can be more candid with you. As is common practice among humans to present a polite front that gradually wears away each recurring meeting.
“You do not have to bring over any more conch madeleine.”
The moment those words left his lips the motion of your hand halted, looking up to connect your sight with his, confusion pinching together your brows.
“Oh? Why so suddenly?” The collection of fables now resting on the rug.
It’s already been done, the first ripple in the frangible water between you and him. There is nothing that can cease the waves that accompany the first breach. He might as well say the whole truth.
“They are dry, I cannot fathom how you can bring yourself to eat them.” Prescriptive eyes caught a faint flinch as you processed his edict.
“They taste fine to me…” You mutter, picking another one up.
This time you chewed slower. The pinch between your brow only grew as you tasted the sweet again, searching for the perceived flaw.
As you met his gaze once more, he could tell your search brought forth no fruitful conclusions. Thus you asked another question in response.
“Then what do you like?”
Besides the pleasantries commonly exchanged between humans in Fontaine, Neuvillette recognizes he lacks the talent for small talk.
The room usually filled with your grievances about whichever tedious task you were assigned before you slipped away behind a wall and into his private residence. Ambient noise which accompanied each flip of a law book.
It is long overdue for him to pull his weight in a conversation.
“Water, spring water.”
“Huh?”
Neuvillette repeats his sentence but the scrunch of your brows doesn’t ease up, he couldn’t fight the urge to draw in a deep breath. So this is the limitation of the human palate, how regrettable.
“Perhaps you are still too simple to appreciate the qualities of water.”
The pout upon your crumb-covered lips morphs into a tight line, sealing away your voice. The brightly printed cover of a storybook was shut as the last few remaining treats were bundled away in a napkin.
Your tea break ended early today, impassive eyes following your figure as it disappeared among the thick vegetation beside a stone barrier.
It was quiet today, not even a single parting uttered past your sealed lips. Therefore leaving the conversation unfinished.
But that is today, you’ll have another tea break tomorrow, and you’ll come to him with your grievances about chores tomorrow as well.
The young dragon returns his focus to the text in front of him.
–
The soft hymn of raindrops against a glass window reverbed through the solitary study, providing a melody for the periodic flips of paper. But the melody was hollow, incomplete.
Shifting his body to look behind himself at the vacant rug, Neuvillette deduces why. The accompaniment was missing.
That tomorrow he had come to expect never came.
Had he committed a transgression? Overstep a line outside his place? Food is a point of pride for many humans, one oddity he’s yet to grasp.
These temperamental creatures tend to lash out when their pride is wounded, much like how a beast reacts to an unhealed cut.
Neuvillette was curious as to whether this was an inherent trait of humanity or a learned by-product of the fickle principles imposed on themselves.
However, observing the abandoned storybook tucked away, the young dragon is leaning towards the former.
Turning back to face his desk, his eyes could only glaze over the monotonous scribbles. Perhaps the cause of his spiritless attitude was disappointment, disappointment in himself.
It looks like he was careless, deluding himself with the misconception that you and him were alike. Two outsiders who found solace in each other’s presence.
However, this was false. You were an outsider to Fontaine, but he was an outsider to this world where humans walked.
He’s still too naive.
Fickle and temperamental creatures spoiled by the usurpers at the expense of his ancestors.
Why did he even entertain the thought that you and him could ever be alike?
Something stirred from within, like when pebbles were thrown into still water, but what were those pebbles? As Neuvillette ponders this conundrum, the drumming of the rain grows louder.
However, it wasn’t loud enough to swallow up the sharp set of taps which interrupted his somber reflection. Jolting him from his thoughts, snapping his attention to the source of the noise.
There stood a figure distorted by the wet glass as another set of sharp taps sounded through the room.
Before Neuvillette could even process it, his body moved without his command. Unlatching the lock and setting the window free from its frame.
Not sparing another second to the raindrops soaking into their cloak, the figure clambers through the window with practiced proficiency.
Without uttering a single greeting, not even one pleasantry, you situated yourself on his floor. Melting into an undignified lump on the pristine tiles as bewildered eyes watched you.
After catching a few breaths, an explanation finally makes its way to his ears.
“T-they… they patched… up the hole,” you huffed out between short breaths.
Ah, the small cavity in the stone wall that you used to escape from chores. Looks like the security at the estate finally noticed.
Gauging the height of the wall from his place by the window, he’s aware of how it towers over both him and you the same.
This brings up another question as he returns to observe your frame, still trying to catch the breaths that evade you.
“I… ran… through the gates… before the… Gardes noticed…” Exhaustion evident in your eyes as pants break up your sentence.
Ah, looks like his question was answered before he even inquired. To be puzzled or amazed, he wasn’t too sure how to categorize this ripple inside him.
The tomorrow that’s been missing for a little more than two weeks, is now right in front of him.
Panting and leaving a few muddy traces along the marble floor, but here nonetheless.
With one deep motion of your lungs, you pushed your body up, finally getting ahold of your breath. The familiar rustle of your pocket, the audio cue for a certain dry sweet to appear. Neuvillette didn’t mind in the least.
Perhaps, he can bear the sandy sensation just for today. But tomorrow is always filled up with surprises, a glass bottle finding its way out of your pocket instead of sugary treats.
“What is that?” An obvious question, but his voice found its way out of his mouth.
“Water, water from the servant’s well, I bottled it myself.” A small hand holds the bottle out more.
“Thank you,” Neuvillette accepts it into his hands.
He should really acquire some glasses to pour the water out into, it’s improper and bad manners to drink from the bottle.
However, his curiosity was greater. Or maybe, he didn’t realize just how parched he had become from waiting for tomorrow.
Uncapping the clumsily packaged water, he takes a generous sip.
“It’s sweet.” His tongue picking up on a subtle saccharine undertone.
“Really?” Your hand reaches up as that familiar shine illuminates your eyes.
Taking a sip from the bottle passed back into your grasp, your brows furrowing in concentration. Another sip was taken from the bottle as you continued to search for the sweetness in the water you’ve always drank.
A sight that tugged up at the lips of a boy still studying the shape of your quirked brows.
Humans, fickle, perplexing, yet astoundingly curious creatures from the very beginning.
If he is to walk amongst the human world, then it’s best for him to be equally curious. To try and search for the harmony between two different breaths.
A child of a maid far from their homeland. A status too insignificant to warrant the attention of Fontaine's factions, freeing you from their prying eyes and entanglements.
Therefore, it should be alright for him to continue observing you, no?
“Ahh… The rain is so unpredictable here in Fontaine, trying to hang out the wash here is always a gamble.” You sink further into the plush cushions of his settee.
As the sun rose and fell, as the leaves grew green then gold, as the ground froze and thawed.
One thing remained unchanged throughout these cycles even as they repeated: your grievances over chores.
The frequency of these complaints reaching his ears has increased, on the part that you now took over more of your mother’s responsibilities in managing the laundry of this estate.
Besides your habitual complaints of the weather, one detail didn’t escape Neuvillette’s hearing: your proficiency in the Fontainian language has increased significantly.
Words no longer spoken clumsily or with unfamiliarity. Accent nearly indistinguishable from a native speaker.
“The people here are fond of creating strange machinery, why can’t they make something to dry clothes?” You resume.
The quill in his hand stops as he pauses in the middle of a sentence, glancing over his shoulder toward your slouching figure making yourself comfortable in the sofa that’s more familiar with your shape than his.
“Perhaps you should be the one to create it, studying might do you some good as well,” came his curt response.
His candid advice makes you sink further into the cushions with a groan.
“I’d rather travel than study those jumbled-up books about machinery or whatever, in fact, I want to visit my homeland as soon as I can,” you grumble aloud.
Ah, that’s right, you’re approaching the age where you could travel freely.
By law, you won’t be bound to the side of your mother, not needing any permission to come to and fro however you wish. No longer kept at this estate washing and folding sheets.
Indeed, you and him found yourselves in similar situations: on the cusp of freedom from this estate.
While he was deep in thought, you filled the silence left behind by posing a question to him.
“Do you plan on visiting your homeland anytime soon, Neuvi?”
By now, the young dragon had stopped expending the effort to try and correct you in your butchering of his surname. Your reason being ‘it’s too long’.
Alongside you, he has grown in stature as well, elapsing you some time ago much to your dismay. If he wished to travel, not much would pose a problem to the young dragon.
However… where could he return to? A homeland… was there a section of his homeland untouched by the usurpers? If he were to go, would he ever want to return to this world?
Sensing the change in the air, dreary clouds blocking the sun’s rays from your skin, you were perceptive enough to ramble about a different matter.
Namely, how the chef of the estate recently changed the type of flour used in the kitchens, resulting in pastries and sweets that were less airy but more flavorful.
Explaining to him the subtle improvements and deterioration in the quality of some baked goods. Filling the air of the study with bright-eyed ramblings until rays of light peek out from waning clouds.
–
“Monsieur Neuvillette! It’s been a while since you’ve visited!” Soft patters of skipping steps made their way to the tall man.
Tilting his sights down, Neuvillette greets the cheery melusine with a gentle smile which she returned with an equally bright grin.
While on a routine stroll along the riverbanks to stretch his legs after a long day, he found himself at the entrance of Merusea Village.
He wonders if it's his body’s natural response to get away from the Palais Mermonia and Opera Epiclese.
Carrying him toward the direction of a secluded reprieve he discovered far away from the suspicious eyes of weary humans.
Condemnatory eyes were constantly pinned to the back of the young dragon who had recently emerged from a sheltered estate to sit in the grand seat of a Chief Justice.
Days filled with nothing but a cacophony of voices echoing off the opera house walls. Screams from the accused and the eager murmurs of spectators blended into nothing more than a chaotic din in his ears.
Gazing deeper into the small lake, the unsuspecting entrance to a hidden haven that the Melusines called home.
It would only take a moment, just one dip into the pristine water for him to disappear from the clamorous mortal realm.
Abandoning the overly grand seat of his post as easily as it would take for his head to vanish under the tranquil tide.
How great would it be to exist in the presence of creatures who could resonate with his own adriftness?
Maybe, he could finally discover the purpose of his current form and longevity in their company. Yes, that sounds about right.
Just as the water wet the tip of his overly ornate shoe, all motion his body stills at a familiar call.
“NEUVI!” Came a voice from just over the beaten path.
Soon your silhouette follows the echo of your call, steps hurried yet worn.
When the young dragon departed from his temporary estate and into the Palais Mermonia, a certain specter followed him as well.
The same specter who’s currently huffing to catch their breath after such a rush. Trying to gather enough air to form their next sentence.
“There you are! The grand tailor sent me to fetch you because you’re almost an hour late to the fitting of your new robe, they need to make sure the measurements are correct,” you chide.
The exasperation of your words was most definitely caused by the fact you had to physically exert yourself in your search for the wandering Chief Justice. Evident by the pout on your lips and scrunched nose.
His attention was quickly torn away from your recuperating figure by a faint tug of his slacks.
The Melusine had hidden herself behind his legs, creating a barrier between her and the strange mortal who seemingly appeared from the blue.
Her sudden movement caught your attention as well.
Ah, that’s right. The Melusines have yet to be acquainted with humans, and humans with Melusines.
Two different species, two different breaths, and two different sets of eyes that can’t seem to see directly into each other.
If his time within the wall of the estate and Palais Mermonia had proven anything, it would be the natural adversity humans had to differences.
Neuvillete certainly wasn’t prepared for such an event, nor was he sure how to handle it.
In the midst of his inaction, your hand reached into your pocket, fumbling around before pulling out a handkerchief-covered lump.
Despite the soreness in your legs, you lowered your body until you were at eye level with the shorter Melusine.
“Hello there, would you like some conch madeleines?” Unraveling the fabric to reveal the sweets which you seem to have an abundant supply of.
The grip on his slacks tightened as she glanced up at him, lilac eyes catching the hesitance in her irises. Neuvillette gives a subtle nod, giving just enough reassurance for the small creature to release his pant leg.
Reaching a mitten-like hand toward the golden sweets, it only took one bite for the hesitance in her eyes to be replaced by a bright twinkle.
“It’s tasty isn’t it?” Your lips formed a wider grin.
The Melusine responds with an eager nod, too occupied with bringing more of the buttery treat into her mouth.
At the sight of her restless chewing covering her cheeks with faint crumbs, you let out a giggle.
“I’ll give you the rest of the sweets if you tell me your name,” you offered.
After a few moments of the Melusine finishing her previous bite, she falls for the same trap he had many years ago.
“My name is Carole!” She chirps.
“What a wonderful name.” Your gaze softened further as you held out the treats, keeping your promise.
As Carole reaches for more, she glances back up. Wide eyes twinkling as she inquires him with the one thought currently on her mind.
“Monsieur Neuvillette, does the human world have more treats as delicious as these?”
Ah, it looks like the stroll Neuvillette took today to relieve himself of mounting troubles only led him to more.
The skies over the Court of Fontaine have been in a pensive stalemate, all too familiar clouds blocking azure hues. However, rain has yet to patter on the ground, as if the weather was unsure of itself.
A feeling shared by the Chief Justice currently sitting at his desk, reviewing the details of the day’s trials. Albeit, half heartily.
Much like the skies crowded with clouds, in the solitude of his office, his mind rang loud with thoughts. Neuvillette only had himself to blame for the current silence of his office, it’s been this way for around a week going on two now.
Lilac eyes peered over the tops of the papers toward the shut doors, concealing him away. There hasn’t been a knock on those doors for some time now, due to the diligent Melusines who followed his request.
Turning away potential visitors with crafted excuses of ‘The Chief Justice is handling a very important case’ or ‘My apologies, but the Chief Justice is very busy’.
Neuvillette recognizes that he’s currently no different than a child hiding away from the consequences of a broken vase.
How childish, he chides himself as he returns back to his responsibilities. How would the citizens of Fontaine react to their Chief Justice conducting himself in such a manner?
He’s sure if Lady Furina were to catch wind of his behavior, she’d be greatly entertained.
As if the mere mention of the nation’s archon presented a bad omen, the sturdy doors of his office swung open, revealing the face of a familiar visitor who’s been turned away one too many times.
“My my, it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen the inside of this office, I almost forgot what it looks like,” you remark as your eyes hone in on him.
The child’s hiding place under the bed has been exposed.
“Good afternoon, I was not made aware you had any appointments with me.” Neuvillette’s own eyes trail past yours.
From behind the door frames the figures of two Melusines quickly dodged away from his sight. A silent admission of guilt on their part, and Neuvillette didn’t have to look hard to deduce the crime they’ve committed: Accepting bribes.
The evidence was right there in the form of buttery crumbs left on the corner of their mouths. Ah, you and with those conch madeleines of yours.
It’d be best for him to finally handle the situation at hand, one he’s been trying to maneuver out of.
“If I recall correctly, you were granted a vacation, why not take this chance to travel? It certainly is a prime opportunity-”
“Why have you been avoiding me, Monsieur?” you cut through the long-winded pleasantries and excuses.
His lips press together, by now he’s well accustomed to your brazenness. However, the absence of a familiar name only said in your voice made the guilt weigh heavier on his shoulders.
Guilt which originated a few weeks prior.
—
On a secluded riverbank, a routine walk under clear skies was halted. You were knelt down on the ground, uncaring of the sand sticking to the fabric of your clothes, as you held a Melusine between your arms. Two mittened hands clung to you as she soaked your shoulder with tears.
“W-why? Why did he have to go?” Her sobs interrupted by sudden hiccups.
As you rubbed circles into her back, something he saw humans do to soothe their crying young, Neuvillette watched from the side. Much like how he would observe those performances within the Opera Epiclese.
Liath is her name, a diligent Melusine who patrolled the grounds of the Palais Mermonia. By her side, there would be a guard poodle who’d matched her skips with his prances. An inseparable duo, or it’d be more accurate to say, they were once an inseparable duo.
Dogs are a species domesticated by humans, some might argue that they were created by humanity through generations of selection. So it stands to reason that they too would have a limited lifespan.
In fact, they have a lifespan even more restricted than that of the mortals who tamed them.
The Melusines have just begun walking amongst humans, there were still many aspects their sheltered minds have yet to grasp. The fleetingness of mortality is one of them.
Thus, Neuvillette did his best to caution them.
However, just like how laws can’t completely stop crimes, his words can’t completely prevent such tragedies. All he could do was try.
“I’m sorry for your grief, this was the very reason why I cautioned you against getting too attached to him… A dog’s life is brief-”
“Monsieur Neuvillette.”
The sentence died at the tip of his tongue as his eyes met yours. Gaze narrowed and brows furrowed, not even the Chief Justice dared to interject any further.
After you silenced him, your focus returned back to the grieving Melusine.
Slowly standing back up from the ground, her frame cradled in your arms as her sobs continued.
“I know it hurts,” you whispered, one hand patting her back, setting a steady rhythm reminding her to breathe.
“B-but why? W-why is it so sad?” she hiccuped.
You hummed, beginning to bounce her a bit within your hold.
“Wouldn’t it be sadder if you never met him?”
At your question, the Melusine stares at you through teary eyes. Expression lined with confusion.
“To have loved him, and for him to have loved you in return…isn’t that enough?” You cooed, taking steps away from the riverbank.
Still frozen in his place, the dragon could only stare at your back as it grew further and further away, soon disappearing from his view.
He had misspoke.
Neuvillette recalled last Autumn. As the vivid hues of the foliage shriveled up to nothing more than a shadow of their former beauty, you laid your mother to rest. Burying her in a cemetery which overlooked the direction of your homeland.
His unsolicited reprimand must have been throwing salt into a wound that still bled. He had overstepped his authority.
Murky clouds congregated in the once clear sky.
—
Those were the events that transpired, events that have led to the current stalemate happening in his office. Lilac eyes couldn’t seem to find the courage to connect with yours. Another excuse finding its way to his tongue.
“Didn’t you want to visit your homeland?”
“Oh?” Your brow quirks up, as your hands find their way to your hips.
“And then who’d be here to repair the tears in your robe when you inevitably step on them?” Obviously unimpressed by his suggestion.
“Surely there are other talented tailors here that can handle the task,” he rebukes.
“Oh? Will they also untangle your hair from the ornamentation of chairs?” You press on.
“I can manage.”
“Then can the Chief Justice also manage all the uniforms for the Melusines? Can he sew every button and ensure they fit correctly?”
Ah, with your last statement, Neuvillette concedes. A hush fills the room.
The Melusines are still new to walking amongst humans, not many were willing to tailor specialized uniforms for their short stature. Thus, you took up the mantle.
Perhaps out of a sense of responsibility, it was you who stirred their curiosity with those sweets of yours.
It seems responsibilities tethered you to the Court of Fontaine, much like they did to him. After a few breaths, as always, your voice shatters the stalemate.
“I’m not upset, Neuvi.”
With those words, his lilac eyes finally connect with yours. Finally able to see the soft curls at the corners of your lips.
It indeed has been a while since he last saw such a sight.
This time instead of replying with an excuse, he responds with a gentle hum.
“Ugh, why are your curtains so dusty? When was the last time you went outside?” It wasn’t long before your attention returned to the state of his office.
Strolling past his desk, your hands began to fuss with the thick drapes. Pouting at the dust that coated the lush fabrics.
All Neuvillette could do was follow with his gaze, papers long pushed to the side as for the first time in a while, an azure hue was seen peeking through the clouds.
From his observations, it’s instinctive for humans to avoid pain. However, it’d be hypocritical of him to judge mortals for actions he’s been guilty of.
“If I knew I had to work this hard now, I would’ve skipped more chores back at the estate,” you chuckle, pulling back the drapes to allow gold to illuminate his office.
To have loved and have been loved in return.
Was this the human rationale behind taming a dog? Having the reality of the future constantly lurking over each happy moment as the hands of time tick forward.
Why do humans dote on pets? Creatures that only live a fraction of a mortal life?
Are happy memories a fair exchange for bitter grief, or are they the cure?
As Neuvillette counts the strands of peeking silver that mingle within your lush locks, he prays he finds the answer soon.
The clacks of ornate shoes reverberate down once unfamiliar halls, a towering figure lurks past bustling nurses who bow their heads at the sight of the Chief Justice as he passes by.
With a body like his, there is no reason for him to wander among these halls. Or more accurately, there once was no reason.
The taps of his soles slowed as a familiar door came into view, the only detail which differentiated it from the rest of the hall being the brass numbers displayed. Bringing up a glove-clothed knuckle, delicate taps were placed against the wood.
Almost immediately, a muffled ‘come in’ resounded behind the frame. Granting the Iudex permission to turn the polished knob, allowing him entry as the hinges sang their welcome.
“My, my, if it isn’t Monsieur Neuvillette, to whom do I owe the pleasure?” A grin spreads across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes.
Instantly his frame stiffens in the midst of returning the door to its frame. Bringing his free hand up to his face, Neuvillette coughs as to compose himself once more.
“Please, forgo the formalities.”
Though your eyes might not be as sharp as they once were, the delicate dusting of pink along his pointed ears couldn’t escape their sight. Making your eyes crinkle more.
Feeling entertained enough, you cease your teasing and gesture toward the vacant chair beside your bed.
Obediently, his towering figure strides up to the seat, the wood squeaking under his weight as he settles onto it.
By now, the dragon has grown accustomed the structure of greetings, beginning with a layer of pleasantries.
“How have you been fairing?” Lavender eyes scrutinize the sheets and pillows, searching for any unapparent flaws.
“It’s just a mild case of pneumonia,” you muse aloud.
Momentarily resting his eyes behind a slow blink, all he could do was sigh at your brazen nonchalantness. Yet with a ghost of a smile on the same lips that sighed.
It was a mild case of pneumonia, a common ailment during the frosty months. For someone as steadfast as you, such an illness might’ve surrendered to your stubbornness.
It might've surrendered… if your body had remained as it once was.
How unfortunate it all is, that time is so cruel to mortal creatures.
Attentive eyes detailing each crease that settled by your lips, remnants of the many grins and laughs that stretched your face.
The basking light of a selfish star catches in your hair, lush hues that have faded to brilliant ivory. A shade that you often compare to his while jesting, ‘We match now’.
However, Neuvillette begs to differ, the sunlight is much more luminous in your tresses.
Trailing his sights back to your gaze. Deep lines formed by countless dynamic expressions drew attention to the glimmer forever present in your irises. Like paths on a map that led lilac eyes to yours.
“How are you finding your stay?” At times, Neuvillette found himself wondering how the azure tides appeared from your view.
“Mm, quite uneventful, eating, staring out a window, sleeping.”
He hums in response, contemplating if he should inquire you about such subjects. As you ramble, perhaps the dragon could grasp onto an inkling of understanding.
“Well, at least I can say that my stay has been anything but lonely.” Your eyes motioning toward a corner.
The bland, sterile wall overshadowed by a mass comprised of trinkets ranging from local flowers to any object whose surface catches light.
The heap grows day by day as each Melusine continues to bring their earnest gratitude to the human who sew each stitch of their coats. A sight that could stir even the most placid lake.
“They’re such sweethearts.” Each one of your words coated with endearment.
Once more, all the dragon could respond with was a mellow hum. Slow breaths fill the complacent silence between two species, one blessed by time and one shunned by it.
Neuvillette has grown accustomed to the structure of conversations but, alas, he still has no talent for small talk.
In the absence of dialogue, the layer of short pleasantries long dissolving, Neuvillette is left with nothing but his inquiries. It was all he had left, and so it was all he could offer.
“Are there any regrets you hold?”
“Oh oh? Getting sentimental so out of the blue, Neuvi?” A familiar quirk graces your brow.
“It’s nothing of the sort, just a musing that drifted in my mind during a stroll, I wish to know your thoughts on the matter.”
“Mmm… I don’t feel that I have any regrets, living an honest life and having the fortune to never have stepped foot in the Fortress of Meropide.”
“Is that really all? You never did get to travel like you dreamed of back at the estate.”
“Haha, trying to stump me with that, Neuvi?” you chuckle.
Relaxing more into the pillows which propped up your weary frame, you trail your sights toward the window.
“Didn’t I tell you already? I’ll have plenty of time to travel once I become a cloud, I can go everywhere the sky can reach.” Smile softening on your lips.
Neuvillette’s folded hands grasp one another tighter on his lap, his own lips pressing each other into a thin line.
The conversation was teetering closer and closer to the unspoken reality looming like a shadow in the room.
He wasn’t sure when it started, maybe when the first silver strands appeared in your hair or when you discovered his skin won’t wrinkle along with you.
He wasn’t sure when your adamant belief of becoming a cloud once the shadow came to claim you started.
Neuvillette wonders if this daydream was the product of those fables you browsed when you laid upon a plush rug.
Or was it your personally crafted fable to explain the incomprehensible to a creature who couldn’t fully grasp it?
A creature whose skin didn’t wrinkle, whose bones didn’t grow brittle. A creature seemingly untouched by time.
Fairytales do serve this purpose for children, magical fantasies to make uncomfortable realities palatable to naive minds.
“...vi?... Ne…?... Neuvi.”
A hand marred with age takes hold of one glove-clad hand, and a pleasant heat radiates through the leather. Coaxing Neuvillette’s attention back from its escapade.
“My apologies, I was lost in thought for a moment.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.
But the frown weighing down on your lips didn’t disappear, much like how retreating into musings couldn’t wash away any shadows.
Your chest moves with a deep inhale.
“Maybe I do have one regret,” you began.
Readjusting your ailing fingers in his hold so that he could hold them with equal endearment, his ears concentrate on your voice.
“Actually, I have many,” you sigh.
Before he could formulate a response, you continued.
“I wish I could have shoulder the burdens you carry. I wish you would’ve shared them with me. And I wish I could even understand them, then maybe I could have understood you more.” Turning to face him, your disheartened eyes center on his frame.
A child born from a maid, a maid who traveled to Fontaine in hopes of a better future for her child. That was your origin, an outsider with neither fame nor fortune.
Thus, even as you followed him from a secluded estate to the grand Palais Mermonia, you could never follow him in status nor influence.
As unrest grew, as injustices mounted, and as tragedies took away friends.
All you could do was repair tears, sew buttons, and pour him a crisp glass of spring water as you waited for the storm to wash despair away.
That was how you saw it. But Neuvillette rebukes that notion.
The dignity of a newly established Chief Justice, who kept stepping on his overly ornate robes, was carefully maintained by you.
The Melusine’s uniforms, which solidified their presence in the human world, were crafted by you.
The patient hand that always offered silent comfort in the suffocating courts was yours.
Standing by his side, even as your bones grew to ache, to ensure the storm would pass and the sun emerge once more.
“You’ve done more than enough.” He states the truth, grasping your hand just a bit tighter.
“Are you sure?” Those airy chuckles of yours made their appearance again.
“I never even learned your real name,” you interject.
A knife, red hot and fresh from the forge, would have hurt less than the guilt which tore through him at that moment.
The Chief Justice, the symbol of honesty and conviction, is unable to tell the simplest truth.
What shall he do now?
The power of a name is often underestimated, the exchanging of names signifying the forging of a bond. One that would forever tether him to you and you to him.
Oh, what shall he do now?
Before his hesitant lips could take action, they were halted by a squeeze from your ailing grasp. Firm and warm, like a light that guides him up from the bottom of a turbulent ocean.
“You don’t have to tell me now, Neuvi, tell me when I come back from my trip.” Those gentle eyes of yours smile at him.
Reeling his hand in closer to you with your own, until the softness of your lips was felt along covered knuckles.
A common practice in Fontaine, one Neuvillette had witnessed time and time again as he passed the lovers who congregated by the Fountain of Leucine. Actions that dedicated promises to one another.
“I swear, once I’ve traveled enough, once I grow bored of foreign scenery, I’ll fall back down like rain to your side.” You whisper into the kiss.
It was his turn now, and he shall honor this ritual. Tenderly bringing in your hand to him, Neuvillette places his oath.
“Then I swear, when you return, I’ll tell you my name.” He whispers in the kiss.
The sterile rooms echo your airy chuckles as he keeps your hand close to himself for just a bit longer.
“Mmm… Where I should go first? Maybe I’ll just amble about,” you ponder aloud.
Gracing him with a smile which stretched your face and brought that familiar glimmer into your eyes.
“I wish you well on your travels.” Neuvillette presses another kiss into your knuckles.
–
Spring was always the rainy season for Fontaine, with gentle temperate showers to welcome the budding blooms back from their Winter sleep.
However, this year the torrential downpour was anything but gentle.
Planned trips canceled for the season, clothes remaining damp in baskets, and streets empty of their vigor. Even the Melusines couldn’t bring a skip to their steps.
It was as if time itself was slowed by the burdensome downpour.
The cawing of crows as their wings beat against the dreary winds adds to the lonely hymn sung by the raindrops.
At once the cadence of the rain increased, the downpour growing heavier, and the violent pattering grew deafening. As if the sky was now belting out their sorrowful ballad.
The rain could try. The skies can cry all they would like. But time, a cruel and unforgiving mistress, won’t ever stop.
To have loved and been loved, was it truly enough?
In Neuvillete’s eyes, he was the tide and you were the shore. The ebb and flow of water as the tide and shore met, time and time again.
Each crash into the shore stirred up something perplexing and disorderly within the tide, irritating like the sand that mixed into the pristine waves.
So the tide tried to retreat into the lonesome ocean.
Each time, the shore followed through grains of sand which the tide couldn’t ever seem to purge himself of.
Each time, the shore beckoned the tide to return to the sandy beaches of humanity filled with perplexities and disorder.
And each time, the tide surrendered to the call of the shore, lured in by its warmth.
But now, the shore has eroded away.
Where does the tide go now?
Drifting now in the vastness of a lonesome ocean, carrying nothing grains of sand. What shall the tide do now?
Neuvillette still has a lot to learn, for he couldn’t answer this riddle conjured by his own mind.
Unable to stop himself, the lone dragon stares off into the rain.
Eyes honing in the direction of a peaceful hill, one where a mother and child were laid to rest side by side overlooking a homeland they never got to visit.
Maybe that was the first destination of your journey.
During these past short years spent in this land, the young successor of the dragons has gained traitorous knowledge. One that undermines his preconceived purpose.
Neuvillette feels he’s grasped onto the faintest inkling of why humans, as fickle, perplexing, and fleeting as they are, were still the most beloved creatures of the gods.
Perhaps, he even understands now why those usurpers were willing to uproot the earth just for those beloved creatures.
The wet season transitions into the dry season, then the dry season will transition into another wet season. Again and again, on and on as the hands of a clock ticks forward.
Each new tick signifies another step forward in the march of time.
Each step brings change and each step pulls the present away from the past.
The rainy season of Spring was no longer as troublesome as it once was, as there was now a machine on the market that could dry clothes without the help of a bright star.
Melusines skip along down the paved paths of the Court of Fontaine as humans turn to greet them with endearing smiles.
New cafes line bustling streets as Clockwork Mekas make their evening patrols.
A great many changes have come to Fontaine, Neuvillette witnessed them all from his office at the Palais Mermonia.
A great many changes, yet some things are bound to stay the same. For example, the Chief Justice’s fondness for strolls along vacant riverbanks.
The gentle patters of raindrops lull the chaotic sympathy of trials, paperwork, and duties to a standstill. Reaching a hand out in front of him, Neuvillette catches a few drops in the palm of his gloved hand.
Lilac eyes examine the diminutive puddle in his hand before ultimately releasing the water back to the earth.
He supposes he’s been feeling a bit nostalgic as of late, like a child recalling a story which once soothed them to a peaceful slumber. How childish it was for him to believe he could somehow catch a certain raindrop in his hands.
Turning up toward the drab sky, he searches through the endless and identical droplets that fall down and leave trails along his face.
No, not yet. Perhaps they have yet to see all that the sky has to offer.
Neuvillette returns his focus to the path in front of him. The rhythmic clacks of his shoes match with the soft drumming of the rain, and in the midst of this harmony a voice singings out:
“Hydro dragon… uh… Hydro dragon, don’t cry.”
Halting his stride. Judging by the unfamiliarity of their tongue pronouncing the lullaby, Neuvillette deduces they must be a visitor to Fontaine.
Ah that local legend, just how far has it spread? Nevertheless, an unfortunate traveler who’s unfamiliar with Fontaine’s seasons is now caught in this rain.
It would only be polite to offer them some assistance as the Iudex of this nation. Thus, he turns in the direction of the call.
His suspicions were confirmed once his gaze landed on a distressed frame, their face obscured by the jacket they held over their head in a makeshift umbrella.
It only took a few steps for the towering man to make it to their side.
“There is a tree you can take shelter under just ahead,” he advises the lost traveler.
Now aware of his presence in front of them, they lifted the jacket from their line of sight to peer up at him. Revealing the details of their face to lilac eyes for the first time.
That was all it took for the symphony of rain to come to an end.
Soft drumming decrescendos into tranquility. It seems as if there will be an earlier welcome of flowers.
“Oh?” You gaze up at the azure hue now peeking out from receding gray, astonishment reflected in the glimmer of your eyes.
You’ve only heard of a local Fontainian legend from a guide pamphlet offered to tourists as you awaited the Aquabus.
When the rain suddenly began to pour as you ambled about a riverside, in a moment of desperation as you scrambled for shelter under a thin jacket you uttered the phrase.
You weren’t sure if the hydro dragon could understand your botched pronunciation, but it looks like he did.
Turning back to face the kind stranger, you wanted to convey your amazement to him. But the words fade just off the tip of your tongue when you peek back at the towering man.
Your eyebrows scrunch together as dumbstruck eyes widen at the sight of the drenched man.
“Mister?… Are you alright?” You scan over him, turning your attention away to sift through your pockets.
How bewildering it must be for you to witness a well-dressed and noble figure drenched to the bone. However, Neuvillette made no attempt to stop the rivulets rolling down his cheeks, a parting gift from the Spring showers.
He wonders as his gaze never left your frame, were tears perhaps this warm too?
“Here.” Your concern-ridden hand offers up a neatly folded handkerchief to the drenched man.
As your eyes connect with his, a strange sensation tickled the back of your mind. As if it was trying to recall where you’ve seen the familiar lavender hue.
Maybe they matched the shade of a flower field you stumbled upon during your travels, or maybe that lilac luster was revealed to you in a dream.
A strange familiarity you couldn’t name.
“Thank you very much.” He accepts the simple piece of cloth with tenderness rivaling that of conservators handing the renowned paintings of old masters.
The clouds were long gone by now, perhaps they felt that their purpose had long been fulfilled. The golden rays of a lone star shone with all their brilliance, finally free from behind their blanket of drap clouds.
It was only now that Neuvillette found out. The rain he had been yearning for all these years did in fact see all that the sky had to offer.
They had grown bored of drifting over vast plains, missing the picturesque countryside of Fontaine. Or perhaps their curiosity grew too great, wishing to finally hear a truth that was kept from them.
So much so, they quietly fell down from the sky, to return to his side again.
Much like the hands in a clock, the cycle of water and earth follows a similar circular path.
The rain had eroded away stubborn earth with its diligent drumming over the years.
Bit by bit and piece by piece until stone fractures into bits of sand. Over and over until a sandy beach was formed by the side of a patient sea.
Then the tide will reunite with its long-awaited shore, to return the sand and promise it cradled within its waves for so long.
~Fin
©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.
#vivalabunbunfics#neuvillette x reader#neuvillette x you#neuvillette#genshin impact x reader#genshin angst#genshin fluff#genshin x y/n#genshin x you#neuvillete x reader#neuvilette x reader#neuvillette fluff#neuvillette angst#genshin impact x you#genshin x reader#neuvillette headcanons#neuvillette x y/n#neuvilette x you
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Do I Meet Your Qualifications Now?
Summary: A promise made long ago resurfaces during a night of drinks with colleagues.
Word Count: 8.2k (now this is the longest fic I’ve ever written)
Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Smut(r18), NSFW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Office au? kinda, Mutual Pinning, Fluff, slight dubcon, slight angst, mentions of office sexual harassment, creepy boss, mentions of marriage, slight yandere!alhaitham, slight mentions of breeding maybe? Jealously, possessive!alhaitham, you enjoy drinks at a tavern with the sumeru boys.
Authors note: This is my first smut in a long long time, I just thought about how alhaitham’s bottled up emotions will one day bubble over, inspired by a small ramble of mine lol. Enjoy.
side note: here is a small continuation after this story
You needed a drink, something strong enough to forget about your growing workload that your paycheck no longer justified. With each new stack of paperwork that reached your desk, the resignation form became increasingly more appealing. You were drained by the time you clocked out at 6 pm, after having to attend 4 meetings throughout the day, all of which could have been a simple email.
“No no, this company has good 401K matching, paid time off, and dental included. 401K and dental, 401K and dental.” You chanted to yourself, trying to steel your resolve against throwing your two weeks' notice in the face of your manager who has been pushing more and more of his work onto you.
All while having the gall to be flirty. As if that ugly gold band wasn’t visible on his finger. Your cheeks hurt after having to hold your business professional smile for the past eight hours. The moment you stepped foot beyond those sliding glass doors, massaging your sore face with one hand.
‘It should be happy hour now, better get a spot at the bar now,’ you thought as you took off your stiff blazer.
You swore one day you’ll catch a cold from constantly subjecting your body to the dramatic shift of your tundra of an office to the sauna that was Sumeru’s climate. Ugh, stupid professional dress code, and stupid you for deciding to wear your new heels today. The back of your ankles felt raw despite the thin layer of your stockings reducing some of the chafing.
As the saying goes, thank god it was Friday, even though you couldn’t take a half day like so many of your co-workers, you were just glad to finally be out of sight from your manager with wandering eyes.
Pushing in the wooden doors to the tavern, you were quickly engulfed in the busy hustle and bustling of servers delivering rounds of glasses to rowdy tables and the hearty drunk laughter of flushed faces.
‘Damn, it’s this crowded already.’ You felt your shoulders drop, ‘should I just pick up some wine on the way home then?’ Another sad weekend spent in your stuffy apartment, great.
Just as you were about to turn on your heels, you spotted a familiar flash of blond hair. Was that Kaveh? You squinted your eyes to focus on that spot of blond through the wave of patrons.
“HA! I’m telling you there is no way that shrewd man got his position without some sort of shady dealing. I bet he’s got some dirt on some higher-ups.”
Yep, that was definitely Kaveh, you immediately recognized that dramatic shrill in his voice. You heard it many times during your college days together, increasingly so whenever he had an architecture final due. He was at a large table, there seemed to be plenty of room for one more person. Swiftly, you made your way through the crowd to tap the blond man on the shoulder, disrupting him mid-rant.
“Kaveh? Oh my god, it is you. It’s been so long. How’ve you been?” You feigned surprise.
“Oh? Oh!” His eyes lit up with recognition. “My college savior! How’ve you been? Come, sit down and drink with us!”
Score, you’ve successfully secured a seat at the tavern. Thus, you avoided wallowing in self-pity alone on your beaten couch. You meet eyes with two unfamiliar faces, the trio seemed to have been setting up a game of cards before you joined, or before Kaveh began to rant about whatever he rants about.
After a quick round of introductions and placing your order for a glass of sweet wine, you were quickly acclimated to their conversation. Tighnari was a part of the research and development team, while Cyno was the head of company security ensuring no classified information gets leaked to competitors. Kaveh, you already knew was the star of the architecture design department.
It felt nice being able to relieve stress about redundant company policies and gossip, or at the very least it was entertaining to hear Kaveh whine nonstop about them.
“Ah, I still just don’t understand how that man got the position of head secretary. I swear he has it out for me, he refused to process my request for approval because ‘it was outside of his working hours’ and because of that my project got delayed a whole week! There is no way he climbed the ranks with that work ethic!”
You did not even have to ask who the subject of Kaveh’s dismay was, it was quite obvious to the 3 of you at the table.
“Just because I can manage a healthy work-life balance, does not mean my work ethic is mediocre. My work hours are clearly posted outside of my office, it seems that literacy has decreased.” A husky voice rang out from just behind your chair.
You felt a slight shiver run up your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps along its journey. He was here, the main antagonist in Kaveh’s rants has finally shown his face.
“Oh, ‘Haitham? It’s rare to see you come out of your shell of books.” You looked over your shoulder at the towering man as he loosened his tie. Scooting a bit closer to Cyno, making more room for him to sit at the last seat.
“It is a surprise to see you here as well, did Kaveh drag you out to play a game of cards… or perhaps did he want you to foot his tab.” Alhaitham gave the blond man a slight side-eye before returning his attention back to you.
“Hey! I can hear you!”
“It was intentional, couldn’t you tell?”
“You-”
You let out a light giggle from behind your wine glass, noticing the sliver-haired man’s eyes turning back towards you.
“Did you want to sample a bit of the wine? It’s sweet.” You offered your glass to him, hoping he didn’t notice the slight shiver when his long fingers brushed against yours as he accepted it. You tried to keep your face as polite as possible, not allowing your eyes to wander down along his neck as he took a sip.
“Not bad,” he placed your glass back down in front of you. “Boss, this is good wine. I would have the same, please.” He turned his large body slightly as he called out to the tavern owner.
Allowing you to see just how well that button-down shirt fitted his form, the top button seemed to be holding on with all its strength.
“I thought we were all grown enough to not be entertained by mindless gossip,” Alhaitham remarked towards the table.
“Not at all, we were just curious about the raising star of the company,” Tighnari commented.
“There’s nothing special to talk about, I just arrive and do the task I have to before I clock out.”
“It’s a bit odd for a man that lacks ambition to land such a high role within a year.” Cyno followed up, his eyes holding a hint of suspicion.
“ It’s really nothing complicated. I’ve even rejected some promotions, the work of a secretary is simple, that’s why I wish to keep things this way.”
“Ah, he’s humble-bragging now.” You hear the tan man beside you mutter as he crossed his arms.
You also couldn’t help but feel the sting of jealousy as well. While you were proud of your childhood friend having success in his carrier, he advanced much faster than you even though you got a two-year head start.
“Ugh, how did you stand this egomaniac for so long.” Kaveh harshly set his glass down, directing the question at you.
Seeing this as an opportunity to tone your childhood friend down a few, you couldn’t help the slight grin that spread across your face.
“Well, he’s always been this way,” you swirled your glass, “I guess I just got used to it.”
“Makes sense, attitudes like his tend to develop at tender ages.” Tighnari vouched.
“He was so cute when he was younger. This man used to pull on my sleeve and beg me to read Aristotle to him.” You stole a quick glance over your wine glass.
“Oh? You two go that far back?” Cyno inquired.
You hummed in confirmation as you took another sip, “I guess it’s partially my fault for not correcting him back then. But he used to have the chubbiest cheeks, I couldn’t help but be swayed. Who would’ve known that once that cuteness faded, all that’s left is a mulish man.”
You heard Alhaitham tsk in annoyance at your jabs, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat.
“Clinging onto the past will serve no benefit towards the future. Frankly, it’s a foolish thought.”
You hid the sting in your heart with a teasing smile, hoping that it reached your eyes as well. He was right, the past was gone and over with, with little to no bearings on the future. The same stood with your relationship, childhood friends, and nothing more.
Alhaitham had the looks, the stellar career, and was already a homeowner while being four years your junior. Even with your head start on life, it felt as if you were constantly behind him, trying to catch up. You knew one day he’ll leave you in the dust, so it is for the best that you let go of this one-sided crush.
“Oh? Then I guess I’m released from that childhood pact then. How freeing.” You let out a slight laugh before taking a larger sip of your wine. You should probably order another glass, maybe two actually.
The stoic man raised an eyebrow at your statement, “and what do you mean by that.”
“Aw, it looks like little ‘Haitham forgot,” you pouted. However, you could not let this opportunity to tease him slip away.
Setting down your glass, you turned to face everyone gesturing a hand toward Alhaitham. “You see, when we were still children. He walked up to me with a flower and asked me to marry him when we grew up.”
Instantly piquing the attention of everyone at the table.
“Pfft, there’s no way that happened.” Kaveh let out a hearty laugh, waving his hand as if dismissing that notion.
“Best believe it, he ignored me for a week when I told him no. Only ‘forgiving’ me after I gave him extra sweets and promised to think about it again in the future.” You supported your face with one hand.
“So I guess you are to blame for his apatheticness? Traumatizing him so young? I’m starting to sympathize with you, Alhaitham” Tighnari scoffed.
“Well, I apologize for my shallow taste when I was a child. I used to dream of being carried off into the sunset in a white dress by my groom.” You dramatically sighed.
You mockingly patted Alhaitham’s arm, feeling the solid muscle hidden beneath the fabric tense up then relax at your sudden skinship.
“Before he became an absolute tree, this guy used to be half my size and weight. Which is why I rejected him back then, I didn’t want to crush my groom to death at our wedding.”
Just what were your intentions when you brought up that childhood memory? Alhaitham was racking his mind, trying to pinpoint a motive, too distracted to be bothered by the snickering that permeated throughout the table.
Your hand, which still lingered on his arm, brought pulses of heat along his skin, the hair at the nape of his neck pricking up from the sensation.
“On the topic of marriage, have you gotten any luck so far? Found anyone special yet?” Kaveh tucked his hands under his chin, as he rested his elbows on the crowded table.
“Ugh, Kaveh, stop you sound like my fucking mother.” You brought your hand up to your temple. Alhaitham’s skin immediately craved your touch again.
“I’m taking that as a ‘no’ then.”
“Obviously, gosh, every time I go to visit my parents it turns into an interrogation of why I didn’t come back with a ring on my finger.” You took another swig of your wine.
“Is that so?” Kaveh prodded, wanting the conversation to continue.
“Honestly, at this rate, I won’t be marrying for love. I’ll be marrying to shut my parents up.”
“Oh? And what would a husband candidate need? To be able to carry you off to the honeymoon?”
“Har har har, Kaveh, very clever.”
“Okay, now seriously.”
“Well, obviously he needs to get along with my parents.”
Just earlier this evening Alhaitham had responded to a message from your mother, telling him how thrilled they were to receive his housewarming gift basket. Your mother wishing that more young people were as considerate as he was towards his elders.
“And I would prefer someone attentive.”
Alhaitham did not even have to think when ordering coffee for you. A mocha with two shots of expresso, oat milk, and an extra drizzle of chocolate syrup. When it gets closer to the holidays, you liked to add one pump of peppermint syrup.
He also takes note of how your words tend to get more graphic once there's alcohol in your veins.
“What about income, you want a man with 6 figures? 7?”
“Ha, if my husband made 7 figures I’d run him a warm bath with rose petals, the house will be spotless, and have dinner set on the table at 7 o’clock sharp. A girl can dream, it would also mean I won’t have to see that ugly bastard’s face again.”
Roses were nice. However, lavender was much better for baths to relax the muscles. After 3 years Alhaitham was confident that he could renegotiate his salary. He knew that your organization skills violently oscillates between an absolute disaster to professional house cleaning service depending on how stressed you were. Your cooking though was always guaranteed to be delectable, 7 pm just so happened to be his preferred time for dinner.
Pause, wait a moment-
“Huh? Is your manager still bothering you? Isn’t he already married? What a sleazebag.”
“Tell me about it,” you were rubbing your temples more aggressively. “I’ve thought about staking my pen through his hand if he tried to place it on my shoulder again.”
“Would you like me to file a report to HR?” Cyno looked over at you with concern and sincerity.
“Thank you, but I’ve already tried. They said until there was hard evidence of such behavior they can’t move on with an investigation.”
“Ugh, it’s always HR protecting the top dogs once again. Seriously, I’m not even from the same department but even I can feel that slimy gaze of his whenever he looks at you. Makes me want to burn my skin off in the shower, how you withstand that is beyond me.” Kaveh, rested one over his chair, dramatically making a face to show his disgust.
Your manager, yes, it’s been noted on several performance reports that his productivity has been on the decline. Perhaps, an additional report from Alhaitham about the suspicious disappearance of funds under your manager’s supervision would warrant a full-scale investigation.
That fool had his wife listed as his emergency contact, the ashen-haired man wondered if he would detail her husband’s harassment of young women in his department to her.
“Let’s move on to a different subject, shall we? I’d be damned if my Friday night is ruined by thoughts of that man.” You rubbed your thumb along the stem of your glass, a nervous habit of yours he noted.
And with that, the drinking continued to pour, as Cyno and Kaveh began a round of cards. If you weren’t so distracted by Kaveh’s theatrical whines of how Cyno should take an easy on him, you would’ve seen the look that promised no good on Alhaitham’s face. Its true intentions are well hidden behind a stoic face.
“You would think he would have learned his limit by now.” Alhaitham couldn’t help but scoff at his housemate.
The blond was absolutely hammered, slurring his words as if they were some encrypted message. Upon seeing the state that Kaveh was in, everyone unanimously agreed to call it a night. Cyno and Tighnari supported him as Alhaitham went to the edge of a sidewalk to hail a cab.
“Are you not going to ride in the same taxi as Kaveh? You’re both going to the same destination no?” You inquired, looking up at him after he gave the directions to his house and cash for the trip.
“And what, get puked on during the ride? Kaveh is a big boy now, I’m sure he’ll manage. Besides…” His teal eyes quickly trailed up your legs.
Your stockings accentuating the shape of your legs as they beckoned his attention towards that pencil skirt with a cheeky leg slit. Not revealing enough to be chastised as unprofessional, but oh so tempting.
“It’s more important that I see you get home safely. Now, come.” He turned his back towards you, heading in the direction of your apartment. Not wanting to be caught staring at you.
Throughout the walk the two of you were silent, but it was a calm silence that can only develop from a place of comfort and familiarity. The clicking of your heels and the taps of his dress shoes filled the air between you and him like a metronome. Alhaitham made sure to remind himself to match his pace with yours, lest his longer legs pull him far ahead of you.
--
Finally arriving at the entrance of your apartment complex, you swiped your keycard to unlock the heavy security door. Perhaps it was because of the alcohol in your system but it took all of your body weight to pry the metal door ajar. You felt a small hand on your back, stopping your pitiful attempt.
“You’re going to strain your back, here, allow me.” Alhaitham’s voice was so close to your ear that you sore the vibrations tickled it.
Stepping aside, you allowed Alhaitham to grasp onto the side of the door as he swung the door open as if it weighed nothing. He took hold of the handle, meeting your eyes as he gestured you to enter. You felt a bit stupid for struggling so much with the door in front of him, so you quickly shuffled inside as he followed right behind you. Strolling through the lobby you finally arrived at the shiny doors of the elevator.
“Well, I guess this is goodnight.” You looked up at Alhaitham as you pressed the call button.
You heard the ding of the elevator arriving… only for the doors to not open.
You pressed the button again, it dinged again, and again… then the light of the elevator flickered out. Great, just your luck, the elevator decided to break down now of all times. Further embarrassing you in front of Alhaitham. Even though his face remains stoic as ever, he probably thinks your place is shabby.
“Ha ha, what a way to end a night. I guess I’ll be taking the stairs… You should call a cab to get back now.” You cringed a bit on the inside, why did you sound so awkward?
The stairwell door creaked open with all the grace of nails dragging down a chalkboard, the noise almost causing a headache to form as you begin your ascension up the gray stairs.
Only for your 6 flight journey to be halted at the second step as you stumbled. Once again, those new heels you were so excited to wear decided to rear their nasty face. Luckily, you were able to catch yourself on the solid hand railing. Sighing to yourself, you prepared to clutch onto it like a lifeline for the rest of your trek.
Suddenly your body felt weightless as two solid arms hoisted you up, and you felt your figure way too close to a warm, built frame.
“W-what are you doing??” Your hands were flailing as you did not know where to place them.
“Quiet, it’s past midnight and your voice is bouncing off the walls. Do you want a noise complaint?”
“That wasn’t my question! Haitham put me down I can walk!!”
“Oh really? Did you seriously not notice how many times you’ve been tripping and stumbling on your way back? It’s safer for me to just carry you, unless you prefer tumbling down the stairs.”
“N-no! I-”
Alhaitham seems to be ignoring your plight as your slaps on his shoulder and arms elicited no reaction. His firm grip on your body did not let up as he effortlessly ascended the stairs, even shifting your weight a bit when he went to open the door to your floor.
You were stone-cold sober at this point but your face was hot and flushed when Alhaitham finally placed you back down on your own feet at your apartment door.
You couldn’t muster up the courage to thank him let alone even look at him, in case he sees the obvious red tint on your cheeks. Keys fumbling in your hands as you tried to line it with the keyhole, a small click and turn of the brass knob has your apartment ajar.
What do you do now? Is this the final goodbye for tonight? Should you take a cold shower to purge these overwhelming emotions?
“Um… would you like to come inside for a glass of water?” You spoke those words before you could think it through. Great, you just prolonged your suffering, great job.
“Sure.” And much to your dismay Alhaitham agreed.
His teal eyes lazily observed the plush throw pillows on your sofa along with the soft blanket hastily thrown over the back of it. Alhaitham could hear you bustling in the kitchen as you prepared a glass of ice water for him.
In stark contrast to his own walls, yours was crowded with many photos like a timeline of your life. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he observed a photo strip taped onto the side of your college graduation portrait.
It was a cheap strip of laminated plastic from some mall photo booth, but your smile was radiant as you had one hand squeezing his face trying to get the stone-faced boy to crack a smile.
“Here, it’s on the house.” You clinked the frosty glass onto the coaster in front of him.
He felt the sofa dip a bit more as you plopped your body on the other side, letting out a content sigh, probably finally being able to feel your feet again. He knew those heels caused you great discomfort, but he almost wished for another glimpse.
“Thank you.”
Once more a comfortable silence encased the air between the two of you. Somewhere along the line, your hand found its way to his gray locks, gently running your fingers along his scalp.
“What shampoo do you use, ‘Haitham? Your hair is always so soft and voluminous. I’m kinda jealous.” He heard the amused quip in your voice.
He both yearned and despised whenever you pet his head. As your fingers continued to rake through his ash hair he couldn’t help the rush of blood that flowed south. Yet, a pang of annoyance was felt in his chest. ‘You still thought of him as a kid’ was the message he decrypted from your actions.
“Whichever brand is closest to me at the store. Or whichever bottles Kaveh left in the shower.” Alhaitham leaned a bit more into your touch.
“Tsk, of course.” He could hear the smile in your voice.
There was no end benefit to be gained from his feelings towards you. In fact, his life would’ve been so much easier if only his brain didn’t release dopamine the moment he hears the slightest mention of you.
As a person who prides himself on his objectivity and factuality, he could not explain why you were an outlier that skews his rationality.
The peaceful moment was shattered by the sudden pierce of your ringtone, the name that flashed across the screen caused Alhaitham’s eyes to narrow.
Manager Kimiya
The manager who has been the source of your frustrations, evident by your conversation back at the bar. Why was he calling you this late? Alhaitham observed the grimace on your face as you quickly retracted your hand from his hair, picking up the phone as you excused yourself back to the kitchen.
Why were you answering his call?
You were speaking in a rather hushed voice, even with Alhaitham straining his ears to try and hear just what was so important to warrant a phone call so late at night.
“Yes, of course…. No… I see… okay… yes… I understand… yes, goodnight to you as well.”
Before Alhaitham could stop himself, he found his form behind yours at the kitchen counter as you finally ended your call. Frown present at the corners of your lips.
“Why did he contact you this late?”
Your body flinched in surprise. Ah, so you did not even notice his presence behind you. As his teal eyes stared down at your smaller frame, he could feel the clawing of a green-eyed monster tugging against the restraints Alhaitham so carefully bounded it in.
“No reason, just work stuff… mostly.”
Mostly? Alhaitham pushed down at the monster, trying to bottle the disgusting foreboding envy.
“Why did you answer?”
“I just told you, Haitham. It’s for work.”
Alhaitham’s teeth ground against each other as he clenched his jaw. The monster was thrashing around violently.
“You didn’t have to answer.”
Your eyes closed in annoyance as you opened your mouth, a snarky reply ready to be thrown his way. Only for it to be stuck on the tip of your tongue as Alhaitham’s arms grasped the counter at either side of you. Pinning you between the cold granite top and his towering frame.
“Are you interested in him?” There was a dangerous edge to his low voice.
“Did you have too much to drink?” You whipped around in disbelief, annoyance dripping from your tone.
Your face was very close to his, nose almost touching, breaths brushing against each other’s lips.
“Answer the question.” His voice deepened further, a dark glaze over his eyes.
“I don’t.” You narrowed your eyes at him, inching your face closer as if to prove a point.
Alhaitham’s restraint of the beast began to slip. He needed a moment to grasp back onto it, to regain control. No, he could not wait any more, not one second longer.
It was as if all the past decade's worth of pinning that kept him up at night came rushing out. Bursting through the walls that Alhaitham spent years building to contain them.
It all rushed out in a messy, heated, and disgusting wave that washed over him and drowned his rationality as he slammed his lips into yours. Capturing the soft flesh into an all-consuming kiss. It was ugly, yet it felt so beautiful. So all consumingly beautiful.
Your brain was trying its best to regain itself as you recovered from the whiplash, you were kissing Alhaitham. His larger frame pushes your body up against the kitchen counter, cold stone pressing up against your burning skin. His tongue brushed against your lips hungrily, asking out of courtesy for permission. Your lips parted, allowing him access as your fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck.
It was almost animalistic the way he devoured the air from your lungs, your head began to float as pleasure trailed up your spine. You harshly tugged at his ashen hair to break the near-airtight lock your lips were tangled in.
Barely getting two much-needed breaths in as your eyes connected with lustful teal before lips clashed once more. You tasted the sweet wine that still lingered on his tongue, the sweet taste of crossing a dangerous line.
Alhaitham released your lips then dived back into trail kisses from your glistening lips to down your face and neck. A pleased whimper escaped as you titled your head to the side, allowing him more access to your sensitive spots.
You now had two arms thrown around his neck, back arching as his large hands began to rub your thigh over the thin fabric of your stockings. The heat from his palms and the friction creeping up to your core. You felt the suction of his mouth against your neck causing you to press your chest more into his as you whined.
Two hands firmly gripped onto each of your legs then harshly parted them, allowing for Alhaitham’s solid torso to press up against your pulsing core. You couldn’t help the slight roll of your hips against his abs, your poor cunt begging for a crumb of attention.
The air was too hot, tension too thick, Your skirt now all bunched up as his fingers skillfully unbuttoned your shirt. You replicated his actions as you clumsily groped at his chest to locate the buttons of the dress shirt, your senses graced by the plushness of his pectorals.
It was animalistic the way Alhaitham was claiming your skin with his kisses, every now and then marking the tender flesh of your breast and neck. ‘Fuck, how can simple kisses feel so good’ was the thought running through your hazy mind, pressing his head more against you. A hardness making itself known against your neglected wetness. Excitement spiking up inside you.
“Wrap your legs around me.” He commanded.
You obediently did so, locking your ankles together behind his back, intentionally rubbing your cunt against his trapped erection. Alhaitham straightened his posture as he scooted your bottom off the counter, large hands digging into the flesh of your ass then firmly squashing your core against hardness.
The sudden movement causes you to let out a gasp. He shot you a look, warning that he did not have the patience to be teased.
Effortlessly he carried you into the bedroom, kisses still desperately being exchanged the entire time. Tossing you onto your messy sheets, he took a moment to admire how absolutely wrecked you looked. Cheeks flushed red, lips glossy from mixed saliva, eyes teary yet burning with desire. If you looked like this from simple kisses, he couldn’t wait for what you’d look like during the main event.
With you now on your back, more vulnerable, it gave him the opportunity to finally strip the blouse off your body, exposing more of your skin. Feeling a tug at his shirt.
“You too…”
When you asked so shyly with those pouty lips, how could Alhaitham refuse? A silent game began, as for every piece of clothing one shed, the other would follow. Your bra, his belt, your skirt, and his slacks were now littered across your floor. Hands greedily groping at each other's flesh, a large hand cupping your breast as your hand dipped to rub his bulge through his boxers.
“Excited?” Your confidence was boosted when you felt a small wet patch on the fabric.
“You’re one to talk.” He scoffed.
Hand releasing your breast to grope the contour of your pussy through your ruined panties. Harshly pressing against your eager clit, a moan tumbled out of your mouth. Alhaitham dropped his head right next to yours, baritone voice against your ear,
“See, you even soaked through your stockings. Just how wet are you?”
Long fingers began to trace along the slit of your cunt, lazily rubbing a circle on your clit before tracing back down. Your legs wanted to clamp down on his cruel hand but with his body pinning you down it was impossible. The message was clear, you were at his mercy.
“What do you want?”
A simple question he asked you, but your pride would not let you answer. That bastard knows what you want, your cunt was practically sobbing for something to be buried deep in it. But he still continued his slow, torturous movement, eyes locked on your expression. You faced away from him, unable to handle the intense glaze on your flushed face.
“Eyes on me.” His other hand squished your cheeks as he turned your face back.
Teal and orange eyes piercing into yours, you wanted to protest, he was being so mean. His perfect face only had a slight flush, while you were certain yours was a mess. Alhaitham must have sensed this as he nudged his thumb into your mouth, letting it rest against your pink tongue.
“Come now, use your words. What do you want?”
Pride be damned, the burning sensation between your legs overtook your reasoning as his other hand was now harshly circling your sensitive bud.
“Y-you.” You moaned around his thumb.
A smug look was now plastered on his handsome face, you weren’t sure if you wanted to slap it or pull him into another kiss.
“Good girl.” Looping his fingers into the waistband of your stockings, harshly tugging them down the length of your legs.
He definitely ripped them, but your brain was too busy processing the words he just called.
Shifting your body more onto the bed, he pried your legs open, giving him a direct view of your drenched panties. Snapping back into reality and suddenly now worried about your modesty you reached a hand down as if to shield your desire from his observant eyes. A quick slap to your hand echoed through the room.
“It’s a bit late to be embarrassed now.” The same hand pushed the ruined fabric to the side before a long, thick finger was thrusted inside.
Your head jerked back at the sudden intrusion, barely being able to bite back a moan. Your aching cunt now had a taste of what it craved so desperately, but now it only craved more. Something thicker, longer, heavier. It wanted more even as Alhaitham slipped another finger in with minimal resistance. Scissoring the digits inside of you, exploring deep inside as slick drooled out.
You tried to suppress your moans by biting down on the thumb that still lingered in your mouth. He sucked a breath through his teeth at your actions.
“Be nice.” He ordered, tearing his thumb out of your mouth at the same time as his fingers from your cunt.
His two fingers coated in your juices were then shoved into your gaping mouth, giving you a taste of yourself. Wordlessly you maneuvered your tongue against his fingers, cleaning the slick from the thick digits. His cock twitched when he felt you welcome his fingers deeper into the gummy walls of your mouth.
Alhaitham wanted to play with you more, to tease your clit and pussy until it was swollen and soaking the sheets below. However, right now, he did not have the patience as the length in his boxers raged angrily. Perhaps, if his plan goes well he can save that desire for another time.
He chuckled to himself, this is what you do to him, you turn him into a man so consumed by lust he would not even stretch you out with good foreplay. Your cunt felt wet enough, he could see how drops of slickness were trailing onto the sheets, you were ready for him. Finally releasing his member out of its confinement, he let out a small hiss that the feeling of his sensitive head rubbing along your slick folds.
“Wait,” you got up on your elbow as another hand pressed against his toro, halting his movement.
You swiftly reached over to your nightstand, digging through to find the box of condoms. You took a foil package out, turning back to Alhaitham you handed it to him. You did your best not to look at his member, but it was hard to when it was just that intimidating. On lonely nights, there were times you imagined what that tall, buff body hid beneath the layers.
‘Would the condom even go over it?’ you wondered as Alhaitham stiffly ripped open the foil. Fortunately, the condom was able to encase his length, you patted yourself on the back for getting the variety pack.
“Heh,” Alhaitham’s hands grasped the sides of your hips. “You were prepared.”
It could’ve been your imagination, but his calm tone felt forced. Almost as if he was angry, but Alhaitham never got angry at you.
“What’s the ma- AH!”
The concern died in your throat when the entirety of his length was thrusted into you. Your cunt clenching around him, not wanting to let go of the deep satisfaction of finally being full. Alhaitham let a quiet moan through his clenched teeth, pulling out halfway then snapping his hips back into yours.
Your hands desperately latched onto your sheets, twisting and pulling the fabric to try and ground yourself. The stretch had you stumbling over your words, never had you felt this full. He felt so heavy inside of you, deliciously dragging against your quivering walls.
Alhaitham followed the intrusion with a few slow thrusts, the squelch of your cunt welcoming his length sounded through the heavy air. The grip on your hips turned unyielding as his pace shifted, his hips settling on a punishing pace against your poor masochistic cunt. Moans leaving your lips without regard for your neighbors.
“Were you expecting this tonight?” He ended his sentence with an especially deep thrust.
You barely heard him over the wet slapping of skin, mind focused on how good it felt when his tip rammed into that one spot. Alhaitham noticed how your cunt contracted when he hit a particular place, quickly angling his hips to strike your weakness again, then again, and again. Each time he did you would let out a cry, tongue lulling out of your mouth. At this point, his fingers are for sure leaving purple marks.
“Is that why you were at the bar?” He continued.
The green-eyed monster clawed its way up inside him, if he had not gone to the bar earlier by chance, would you have shown this sinful face to someone else?
A voice at the back of his mind called for him to take you lovingly, to slow his pace, to caress your face with his hands and kisses. But the voice of the beast whispered in his ear to ruin you, use you to further his own pleasure, to pound the shape of his length into you. Yes, perhaps if he did that then no other man could ever satisfy you.
“So, who did you plan to take home?”
He thrusted his tip deeper, you swore it was hitting your cervix now. Breast bouncing along with his violent pace. A thumb dug into your swollen clit suddenly causing you to throw your head back as your mind came dangerously close to the edge of sanity. A delicious tension begins to form in your core.
“Answer. The. Question.” Each word was followed by a harsh thrust, as your bud was pinched between his two fingers.
“Ah- ah!” Was the only reply you could muster.
Alhaitham stilled his motion deep inside of you, heavy, thick member resting right up against your cervix. Fingers now cruelly rolling your abused clit in its grasp, making your toes curl and back arch.
He could feel your walls convulsing around him, begging for more of his punishing thrusts, not wanting the tension to dissipate. But he didn’t want to give that to you, not until you give him what he wanted.
“Who. Who are you thinking of? Are you imagining being pinned down like this by them?”
Your lust-hazed eyes looked into his with confusion, brain barely able to string together a coherent thought to process his question. As if he asked you the most elaborate philosophical question.
Even with your mind nearly liquefied by the heat of pleasure and vision blurred from tears, the self-loathing in his eyes was obvious. Releasing the sheets from your iron grip, you cupped his face as you pulled him into a soft kiss. The first of the night.
“Y-you ah!” You moaned against his lips.
His hand stilled for a moment, then quickly regained its pace rolling the bundle of nerves. His lips chased after yours, shallowing your moans as he pinned your body more into the mattress.
“Say it, confirm it.” A trail connecting your lips as he pulled away.
“Alh-ah! Alhaitham!”
A switch was flipped as his hips sprang back into motion, the push and pull rocking the bed as your hands found refuge on his broad shoulders. The tension only grew in your core with every blow against your weak spot in tandem with the circles he was grinding into your bud.
“Alhaitham! A-ah Alhai-yes, right there!” Shamelessly moaning out his name like you did on those desperate nights with your own fingers.
Your toes were curling painfully from the pleasure currently engulfing your entire body, your cunt full and hair a mess. Arching your body more into his solid figure as his unforgiving pace continued to abuse your grateful walls.
The wet slooshing of your slick as your hole welcomed his member over and over again no longer embarrassed. You were growing close, the ball of tension in your core was so close to snapping, you wanted sweet release so badly.
“P-please! Ah! Please!” You begged for him to let you fall into cloud nine.
Quickly understanding your plead, Alhaitham continued his the motion of his hips, making sure to strike that spot with more force as his thumb rubbed your clit faster. He dipped his head down to kiss along the edge of your tear stained face. The sensation of his teeth sinking into your neck was the catalysis that finally pushed you off the edge.
Your body pressed itself taught against his, walls clamping down like a vise around his member as the orgasm ripped through your body. Strangled moans against his ears as your vision turned white.
He removed his thumb from your clit, now even redder and swollen, as he bit more into your neck, the sensation of your walls trying to milk him dry almost brought him over as well. However, he couldn’t let it end so fast, not when he had fantasized about this moment for years.
He forced himself to drag himself out against the tight grip of your walls, then used his body weight to thrust back into you to continue with his rhythm. He felt his own release approaching as he stared at how your eyes were rolled to the back of your head.
‘Would you notice if I were to rip the condom off?’ He wondered as you were still on cloud nine, but your body still responding to his moves.
‘Would you even care? Would you want it too?’ The thought of painting your walls in white and watching as your cunt drank up his thick cum filled him with a dark desire.
He wanted to fill you with his essence, to claim you as fully his from the inside out, to steep into every fiber of your being. His hands found purchase on your hips again as he pinned your frame below him, thrusting deeper than he had ever before into you as he spilled himself into the latex.
His body shook against yours as he panted from the exertion.
The creaking of the bed stopped as Alhaitham pulled back to press sweet kisses to your temple, coaxing your consciousness back to reality. Using his fingers to wipe away the tears that still leaked from your eyes, as your pupils came back into view. Returning from their trip at the back of your head. There was a moment of stillness, as pants echoed through the air, breaths overlapping and caressing another.
You felt him shift, pulling his length fully out from your gummy walls. Your cunt clentched at the sudden emptiness. You watched as he grabbed a few tissues from your night stand, then proceeded to roll the filled condom off, disposing it into the paper.
You shut your eyes, chest still heaving at the exertion you had just put your body through.
The sound of condoms shaking against their cardboard box made your eyes snap back open. As you watched the ashen haired man shamelessly pull another foil package out of the container.
Oh… The night was still young.
--
The bright and pitched chirping of the birds outside stirred you from your slumber. Oh god, your hips were so sore, you questioned whether or not you would make it out of bed.
Two arms firmly encompassed your waist, pressing your back against the warm source of the pain in your hip.
As much as you hated to admit it, Alhaitham looked angelic when he was asleep. Usual stone face now relaxed and soft, the sunlight drawing blurred shapes along his skin and hair through your curtains.
You wanted to brush the hair out of his peaceful face, fingers reaching out then freezing as the reality of last night hit you.
You two had crossed the bold line that was drawn in the sand, now standing the cold ocean of the unknown. The questions of what your relationship had turned into violently crashed into you like unforgiving waves as you feel yourself beginning to drown in self-doubt.
Was this a one-time thing? A closeness you will never experience with him ever again? Was this the final chapter of the story of you and Alhaitham? Did you ruin years of trust and friendship?
The questions began to become overwhelming, you needed to get up, to just get somewhere to clear your mind.
Slowly your tried to shimmy yourself out of his firm hold, carefully trying not to rouse him from his slumber. Only for your plan to come crashing down as his arms tightened around you, halting your motion.
“Stay.” An uncharacteristic softness present in his tone.
You stilled your body, heart pounding so hard against your chest you were certain Alhaitham could feel it too. Just like how you could feel the rhythmic beating of his against your back.
His deep breaths brushed against your neck as he buried his face into the crook. Tension now hung in the air, but who was going to be the first to break it? Mustering up all the courage you could gather,
“Alhaith-”
“I found you a nuisance when I was first introduced to you.” He began.
You felt your heart sink at his confession, but he continued.
“The way you dragged me out to play, fed me snacks, and especially when you pet my head. I found it all annoying… It was annoying because it would cause me heart palpitations, my breath would hitch, and my face would flush. I thought I had caught a sickness from you, a sickness that made me addicted to your presence.”
Your heart was now jumping as if it wanted to burst from your chest, he buried his face deeper into your neck.
“Then one day I read a book that detailed my exact symptoms. Do you know what the diagnosis was? Love - an intense, deep affection for another person. That day when I proposed with that small weed, I discovered that I was in love with you.”
You froze, almost not believing your own ears.
“Well of course back then I did not meet your qualifications. I hoped that the sickness would disappear. No actually, I used to pray to gods I don’t believe in that they would take you out of my head, where you always seemed to haunt . They must have cursed me because as time moved on, my illness just got worse. It began to border on mania, madness. So, please listen.”
He turned your body in his arms so that you were staring right into his eyes, a hopeful and sincere glimmer present in the saturated teal.
“I love you, I adore you, I wish to wake up every morning to you in my arms just like this. I want to walk through life hand in hand with you. Your parents hold me in high regard. I will get a mocha with two shots of expresso, oat milk, and extra chocolate syrup every morning for you, I can even learn to make it. If you are worried about finances, if this company doesn’t agree to my raise by the end of two years I will search for another position that will.”
His fingers intertwined with yours as he brought your knuckles up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.
“And I am confident in my ability to carry you no matter what wedding dress you dawn. So do I meet your qualifications now?”
His teal eyes looked into yours, yearning for your answer. Your eyes were wide and lips frozen. You were waiting to wake up in your messy sheets alone, fully clothed, and for the other side of the bed to be cold. This had to be a dream, this couldn’t be real.
However, the hot tears that clouded your vision and dripped down your cheeks felt too real to be an illusion. The look of adoration in his eyes was too genuine to be conjured up by your pitiful imagination.
“Could we… Could we take this slowly?” You whispered, squeezing his hands.
“Of course. I’ve waited for over sixteen years, I can wait a little longer.”
You buried your flushed face into his chest, he let your wet tears soak into his skin as he kissed the crown of your head. Embracing each other as if the other could disappear.
“I love you too.”
--
Fin~
DON’T PLAGIARIZE, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORKS ON DIFFERENT PLATFORMS.
#al-haitham x you#alhaitham x y/n#alhaitham x reader#yandere alhaitham#alhaitham smut#genshin smut#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin imagines#alhaitham imagines#genshin impact x you#genshin impact scenarios#alhaitham scenarios#al haitham x you#al haitham x reader#alhaitham fanfic#alhaitham fluff#genshin fluff#vivalabunbunfics
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Sweet Sweet Nothings
Summary: The sweet lull of normalcy in an unconventional marriage
Word Count: 7K
Tags: Alhaitham x Fem! Reader, Fluff, this is just pure fluff, Smut, NFSW, MDNI, Omegaverse AU, A/B/O relationships, Modern AU, Alpha! Alhaitham, Beta! Reader, breeding, biting, established relationship, TW: Very vague mentions of gender dysphoria (of your secondary gender), TW: pregnancy and birth, Protective! Alhaitham, Jealous! Alhaitham
Authors Note: This isn’t much of a story, think of it as a collection of sweet nothings and domestic life with Alhaitham and the Sumeru cast after this. I just felt like I had to give them fluff after that slow burn. Enjoy!
Teal-orange eyes snapped towards the ticking clock on his oak desk, the time read 5 pm. Alhaitham’s duties were over for the day, now he had more pressing matters to attend to. Swift hands gathered up the papers scattered across the dark wood, stacking them into a neat pile before his body pushed against his plush seat. The golden glint of the ring on his finger only spurred him on to quickly exit his office.
“Hey! Alhaitham are you leaving work now? Great, how about we grab some drinks with-”
“No. I’m busy.” He bluntly dismissed his blond senior.
A firm hand snatched up his blazer that had been thrown across the back of his seat, the other flicked off the desk lamp.
“Oi! Your senior is inviting you to a-”
“If you have a request you need approved then please leave it on my desk, I’ll look over it once I return back to the office on Monday.” Alhaitham skirted past the blond’s still frame at the doorway, paying no mind to the disgruntled scrunch on Kaveh’s face. His mind was focused on more pressing matters.
–
“And then the brat just WALKS past me as if I were some dust on the ground! Could you believe that?” Kaveh thumps his glass back onto the tavern table, a small splash of wine lapped over the side.
Tighnari took another big swig from this glass, his ears weren’t drunk enough to handle the tumultuous complaining of the blond. Cyno was only half-heartedly listening, ruby eyes trained on the brand-new deck of cards he had spent the week building in his hands.
Yes, it is just a typical Friday afternoon. Colleagues gathered at Lambad’s Tavern, congregating at an outdoor table and enjoying the nice wine and early Spring air. Although more often than not, there would only be three seats filled instead of four.
“Just what is so important that they trifle over common courtesy? In the world of job opportunities, networking and connections are a critical part of getting higher up the chain. Just how did that shrewd man get that promotion?” Kaveh’s face already had the tall tale signs of a drunken glow.
“Well, it’s not really that out of character for him. People have always found his actions grating, but his efficiency at his work can’t be denied.” Tighnari rested his head on his hand.
“There’s been a change in the head secretary lately.” Cyno asserted, eyes now trained somewhere else.
“Oh? How so? He’s the same old crude man.” Kaveh dismissed.
Cyno motioned with his eyes at a sight just behind the two other men. Two confused heads turned to follow his gaze. Nearly choking on their drinks at the scene they were now witnessing.
There stood Alhaitham’s towering figure walking hand in hand with yours, bags filled with books and miscellaneous trinkets carried in his other. What made the men uncomfortable was the uncanny softness dawned on the stoic secretary’s face, as his teal eyes focused on you.
His Beta wife was pressing her body against his arm as she spoke close to his ear, pointing at random stalls and vendors. Alhaitham leaned down to hear you through the chattering crowd, making sure to maneuver your bodies through the bustling streets.
The three men didn’t know what to make of the scene in front of them as the couple walked out of sight, still holding each other close. Kaveh wonders if the wine being served today was stronger than usual. However, the three unwed men now got their answer to Alhaitham’s sudden full schedule.
The table of bachelors called for more wine. Maybe to cleanse their palette of the sour taste of jealousy.
–
“Have you seen Alhaitham today? I’ve been trying to hand him this paperwork since Friday.” Kaveh approached the head lawyer at the water cooler, the weekend was now over and it was now Monday, and the secretary was nowhere to be seen.
“Hm? The head secretary applied to use his paid vacation time off. It was approved last Friday.” Cyno took a sip from the paper cup.
“Huh?” The papers fluttered out of the architect’s slack hands, jaw agape.
His junior truly was trying to annoy him to death. That conniving bastard Alhaitham.
Fontaine was very different from Sumeru, with different types of foods, shops, and culture. It was quite exciting the first week of your late honeymoon to duck into every shop along the city streets. You discovered that your husband was fluent in the language, anything you pointed at he would translate for you without hesitation. However, the wonder of sightseeing faded within just a few days, like the true homebodies you were, there was a silent agreement to spend the rest of the time in the grand honeymoon suite.
The hotel Alhaitham booked was the most luxurious one Fontaine had to offer. You will have to blame this decision on the generous amount of financial freedom granted by a pharmaceutical payout. It was only fair in Alhaitham’s mind, you worked very hard during the rut brought on by faulty inhibitors. Hard work should be rewarded, so he decides you should be indulged with the best room service, fancy baths, and thousand-count silk sheets.
How you spent your time in the suite was really no different than how you would spend it in Sumeru. Alhaitham was laying down on the silk sheets, back slightly propped up by down feather-filled pillows, unwinding with a book in his hand.
“Ah…Ah!... Ah… Making your wife do all the work while on vacation? You’re such a terrible husband, Haitham.” You stilled your hips, hands propping yourself up along his toned body.
“Mm? You were really enjoying yourself, I didn’t want to interrupt.” There was a teasing tilt in his voice, teal eyes never looking away from the sentences printed as his other hand rubbed circles into your hip.
From this angle he reached deeper than usual, making you feel so much fuller. Your walls were clenching down, trembling with pleasure from the stretch and thick tip poking that one spongey spot. A while ago you had abandoned your book in favor of bouncing up and down on your husband’s lap. It was your late honeymoon, after all, there was almost five years' worth of time to make up for.
You knew your husband was just teasing you, but your lips couldn’t stop a pout from forming. You shifted a bit more on top of his god-like physique, pressing his tip deeper against that sweet little spot deep inside. Wandering hands made their way to grope at his plush pectorals followed by your pouting face, eyes trained on the book your husband was so engrossed by.
“Hmph…” A displeased huff left your lips, it was absolutely adorable to him.
“Is something the matter?” The corner of his lip was upturned just the slightest bit.
“It’s our honeymoon and yet my husband is already having an affair with a book.” You playfully sulked into his chest.
“My, I never knew my wife was the jealous type.” Finally, he snapped the book closed, playful eyes gazing into yours.
“I guess you learned something new then.” You gently confiscated the book from his hand, placing it farther away on the large bed.
Alhaitham gave a hum of acknowledgment, both hands now firmly seizing the sides of your waist. Steadying your body before following it up with a solid snap of his hips. You pressed your face harder against his chest, muffling the moan that was suddenly forced out of you.
“Isn’t this what you wanted? Why are you so quiet now?” His hips set a rhythm, slow and deep.
His thick length dragged along your slick walls in all the right ways, you could feel every inch outlined inside you. Each roll of his hips gently lifted your body up before accompanying it back down. Your mouth fell open, breathing out soft moans against his warm skin. The smell of lust hung heavy in the air of the spacious room. But you wanted more, this slow lovemaking couldn’t satisfy the greed deep within.
“Mmm… More…”
“More?” His pace escalates just the slightest bit.
The sloppy sounds of your connecting bodies were louder now, with each in and out of your slick cunt like purrs of pleasure. He was hitting that spot that brings shooting pleasure throughout your nerves. Still, maybe it's because your expectations have been set a bit high from your first taste, but your greed wanted more.
“More~” You breathed out, face now pressed into the crook of his neck.
“Mmm, I think I know what my lovely wife wants.” A hand supports the back of your head, smoothing out the hair.
Swiftly you got turned under him, his board frame now looming above, that handsome smirk on his face. He rested your head gently on the dawn pillows, as your arms wrapped around his neck pulling him down closer to you. The combination of his weight on top of you and how heavy he felt inside your sobbing cunt sent shivers up your spine. Yes, this is what you wanted.
Leaving the crook of his neck, your lips chased after his. Alhaitham couldn’t help but let out a small huff, you were quite needy today. His lips captured yours in a deep kiss, shallowing all your noises. He shall spoil you, it was your honeymoon after all.
In this position, he had much better footing and grasp on your waist. Meaning the strength and pace of his hips slamming into yours increased to the rhythm you desired. Moans were flowing out like water from your mouth, eyes teary with lust. The claps of your bodies echo through the room, he would pull out to the tip then slam back in. Just the way you liked it.
Teal eyes observed your loose face, the rolling back of your eyes signaling that the knot was about to come undone. But before he lets you reach cloud nine, you have to answer a question that he’s been pondering.
“Would you rather have consistent pleasure spread evenly throughout the year… or four days of nonstop, mind-melting pleasure then nothing for the rest?” Alhaitham asked right up against your ear, making your skin bristle.
You felt his hips roll back to their slow methodical pace. Oh, he wasn’t going to let you taste sweet release until you paid the toll of his curiosity. Really, your husband can be so mean sometimes. You let out a small whine, trying to roll your hips into his but his firm hold prevented such action.
“Answer the question, sweetheart.” Alhaitham continued to egg you on, clearly enjoying your displeased whines.
“Why can’t I have both?” You muttered close to his own ears, tightening your embrace around him to offset the embarrassment creeping up on you.
At your response his hips stilled, stoic teal eyes gazing at you as you looked away. You didn’t see the smirk that returned to his features.
“Goodness, my wife is insatiable.” He dragged his length out fully.
Before you could even let out another whine at the loss, he returned it fully inside of you. Filling out your unexpecting walls again pounding against that spongey patch, making your back arch up and toes curl.
“AH!” Your body was pressed impossibly close to his.
“I wonder if I should keep you at home, confined to the bedroom for your sake.” His hot breath ghosted over your ear.
He was pistoning in and out now, fat tip abusing your sweet spot just the way you wanted it. Your walls were clenching around his girth just like how your arms were holding onto him to ground your sanity. The searing white flashes of pleasure were shooting up through your nerves, the edge was approaching fast. The filthy fantasy Alhaitham was painting in your mind only served to quicken the process.
“All you have to do is be a good wife, and welcome me home with open legs. How about that?” Alhaitham pressed sweet kisses against your neck, a far cry from the filth that was leaving his tongue.
You felt his teeth brush against the side of your neck before they clamped down. That was what unraveled the knot inside you. Your ankles hooked together as your hips pushed closer to his. Back arching almost painfully, bodying trembling and eyes rolling back. Alhaitham let out a small hiss at the tightness of your walls contracting. He wasn’t going to last long if you continued to be this impossibly tight.
He could tell from the way your eyes were still seeing the back of your head you were still in the midst of your orgasm. This meant that Alhaitham was free to chase after his own release now. So he does. His length continues to pound against your quivering walls, pushing through the tight clenches. The extra gush of slick helped to accelerate his movements further. Sloppy slapping of skin against skin, he could feel that his tip was probably red and swollen from his calculated delayed release.
Pressing his pulsing tip right up against your cervix, the tension inside him finally snapped. Flooding your walls with thick, warm release. Your body instantly responded, walls beginning to twitch and convulse more, trying to milk every last drop. Alhaitham panted against your neck, sucking on the soft skin from time to time as he held your body close.
“Mmm… Don’t mark up my neck. I brought all these pretty dresses to wear and now I can’t wear anything but turtle necks.” Your fingers tussled through his messy ash locks. It seems like you’ve returned from cloud nine.
“You can just wear them in the room.” He pressed another kiss to your neck.
Before you could voice your complaints your husband buries your face into the crook of his neck, a silent invitation. Who were you to reject? The sensation of your teeth clamping down onto his smooth skin, leaving deep indentations seems to appease his primal urges noted by the low growl that rumbles in his chest.
“Would you like to take a bath, habibti?” Gentle finger caressed your face.
You hummed in confirmation, nuzzling into his touch more. The calm, sweet lull of intimacy washed over the room. Passion satisfied, for now at least.
“You smell.” Dehya scrunched up her nose.
You gave a deadpan stare at your Alpha friend beside you. You recently returned from your trip to Fontaine, meeting up with your friends to show them the gifts you had brought back.
The weather wasn’t that hot today so you definitely weren’t sweating, and your outfit was also fresh from the clothesline. You even took a quick shower before you went to the agreed-upon cafe. You brought your arm up to your nose for a quick sniff, nothing smelled particularly off.
“I smell normal.” You raised an eyebrow at her.
“No, you smell like you just rolled around in the forest.” She retorted.
Now you were confused, glancing at Candace and Nilou. Wait, why does it look like the two were trying to hold back their laughter? What is going on? You just wanted to give them their souvenirs.
“What Dehya is trying to say is… it seems like you’ve gotten closer to your husband.” Candace rested her elbows on the table as she leaned in.
Oh. They meant that. A scarlet flush instantly engulfed your cheeks, a silent admission of the truth. All at once you saw the gleam in your friends’ eyes, and they started hounding you for the details.
The tea served at the cafe was always brewed to perfection and the leaves were of the highest quality. However, your friends were much more interested in the new development of your marriage.
–
You were drained. You loved your friends, you really do. But spilling the tame details of the budding romance between you and your husband with burning cheeks sure depleted your battery. In a way, they deserved to know, supporting you for over five years throughout the murkier times.
At the moment, you were curled up on the couch against your husband’s chest. Fingers fiddling with the ring that matched yours resting on his finger, as his attention was trained on the book in his other hand. It wasn’t time for your ritual quiet reading session, so you felt it was appropriate to quietly enjoy some skinship. Alhaitham didn’t seem to mind.
“Haitham.” You began.
“Mm?”
“What is your scent like?” You continued to fiddle with his wedding ring.
“According to your friends, a tree.” His deep voice replied, never once looking up.
“Mmm.” Your lips pressed into a line, still toying with the gold band.
You had that look on your face, Alhaitham notes. Demons don’t disappear so easily, even at the start of a new chapter, they will continue to cling to your shadow. If he could, Alhaitham would strangle those devils with his own bare hands. But he couldn’t. So instead, he shall always be there to pull you out from the ice-cold water back to the warm shore.
He flips the book over, placing it faced down on the arm of the couch. His full attention was now on you as he tenderly grasped your hand, pulling you closer. He pressed his nose against your neck, senses searching through the thick layer of opulent woodiness.
The faint sweet hints of padisarah pudding mixed with the bath products and laundry detergent you shared were guarded by that layer. The scent that he recognizes as yours, the scent he shares with you.
“I smell like you. That is the only scent I will recognize as mine.” His teal eyes peered up at you.
You were silent for a moment, hand halting but still grasping the ring.
“Pfft. Have you been reading my old novels again?” You couldn’t suppress the small laugh and smile.
“Did you want me to?”
“No.”
You intertwined your fingers with his, rings clinking together, a physical show of a bond.
Alhaitham rested his head in the crook of your neck, continuing to breathe in your essence. The scent of you always seems to lull him into a drowsy state of comfort. Yet, it wasn’t heavy nor did it cloud his thoughts, so he could always think clearly of you. Yes, this is the scent he adores.
“Have you been doing something to make my Alpha and Omega coworkers avoid me?”
“...”
“What a weird Alpha you are.” You rubbed your cheek against your husband's resting face.
You’ve been sluggish lately, Alhaitham observed. More often than not, he found himself carrying your sleeping frame back to bed after you fell asleep curled up on the sofa. Book in your limp hands. Your alarm would also be ringing longer than usual, you used to be able to turn it off by the first ring so as to not disturb him from his slumber. You knew he was a light sleeper.
As he took a bite of the dinner you had just cooked he notes the blander taste. It was your usual style to throw in as many spices as you pleased. It was the start of flu season, and Alhaitham noted the cough that’s been going around in his office. However, he had a different hypothesis he wanted to share with you tonight. He watched as you chewed then shallowed.
“Habibti, have you taken a pregnancy test lately?” His voice was calm, tone stable.
Your fork clattered against your plate as you stared at him starstruck, eyes wide and mouth agape. This was why he waited, it wouldn’t be good to have food go down the wrong pipe. He maintained a neutral expression, staring into your eyes to read the emotions that were running rampant behind them.
“N-no… but…” A furrow formed between your brow as you brought a hand up your mouth. A habit of yours when you were deep in thought.
The two of you were careful. Pills are taken at specific times. Morning after teas were always in stock around the house, either he brews it for you right after a moment of passion or you would drink it in the morning. However, Alhaitham wasn’t startled. He understands that even with birth control there was always a risk.
Dinner was swiftly finished, dishes piled in the sink for later, there were more pressing matters to attend to. You were currently in the bathroom with the pregnancy test he had picked up on his way home from work. Alhaitham was leaning his back on the wall beside the bathroom door. He was trying to calculate when you last had your time of the month, or when exactly you began to behave differently.
The singing hinges of the bathroom door pulled him out of his thoughts. You had that look on your face again. Alhaitham didn’t even need to look at the test in your hands to know the results, two red lines. From how frozen your stance was in the door frame, he already knew what thoughts were running through your mind.
Children were never planned nor discussed, at the beginning the two of you were much more focused on your careers and enjoying your free time. That is to say, you greatly enjoyed the double income and no kids life. However, there was now a fork in the road. The hands holding the test were now trembling. Alhaitham quickly brought you into a tender embrace, to silence the wild thoughts before they begin to torment you.
“Whatever your decision may be, I will support it unconditionally. Take your time.” Rubbing a small circle into your back.
You were silent but your arms wrapped around his torso, resting your head against his shoulder. Quiet reading time was a bit more quiet than usual tonight.
–
It was now a Saturday night, Alhaitham had already situated himself on his spot on the couch. There was already a book in his hands, but he didn’t open it, he was waiting for you. You usually didn’t take this long in the shower, he was beginning to wonder if he should go knock on the door. But there was no need, soon the soft thumps of your steps were heard coming down the hall.
Contrary to the usual, you make a b-line straight into his lap, curling up against his board frame. He didn’t say anything, supporting you with an arm and holding you closer.
“I want to keep the baby.” You spoke softly against his neck.
Alhaitham closed his eyes, mind going deep into thought. There was more than enough money saved up to support a child. Sumeru has free good quality health care, a great daycare program, and the best education system. The nation offers a generous tax deduction for families with children. There were enough rooms in the house that one could be turned into a nursery, it would be troublesome to have to babyproof everything and rearrange the furniture.
Ah, the two of you will have to sacrifice your free time and sleep to take care of a needy newborn. However… He opened his eyes.
“Then we should start making preparations for our new addition.”
If it’s with you, Alhaitham is more than willing to sacrifice those luxuries and needs.
Alhaitham had to be more observant, the changes to your body and hormones made it so you were much more sensitive to your surroundings. Foods that were too strong in scent had to be dialed back or not cooked in the house. He also took care to clear the floor of any stacks of books lest your foot knocks into them.
The worst part of it was probably how the pregnancy was disrupting your sleep. Your body needs it, yet the growing bump and overactive hormones made it hard for you to find a position that welcomed the sweet embrace of sleep. Often tossing and turning, Alhaitham would place a pillow under your belly which seemed to help a bit.
Then came morning sickness, Alhaitham is adamant that your child be thankful for all the suffering you were enduring to give life to them.
The ashen-haired Alpha had been extra careful with his inhibitors as well, making sure each dose was measured to the line and constantly checking the dates printed on the bottles. Still, the clawing of his instincts only grew stronger as his teal eyes observe your bump growing day by day. You were working so hard to carry the child, he needed to do something to make you relax and comfortable.
–
Currently, your bed has been buried under a mountain of quilts and plush pillows. You had your hands on your hips as your eyes surveyed the messy state of the bed you had just made a few hours earlier. You folded and pack those quilts away weeks ago, why were they back out?
“Haitham, why can’t I see our own bed?”
“There’s no cause for concern. Your body must be tired, go take a rest.” A gentle large hand rested on your lower back, encouraging you towards the heavenly pile.
That sentiment from seven years ago still rings true to this day. Your husband is weird. Still, there was a small smile on your face, what a silly sweet weirdo he is. The soft wafts of fresh linen encapsulated your senses, layers upon layers of fabric cushioning your achy joints and growing belly. Gentle fingers combed their way through your hair, making your eyelids grow heavy.
Were these inherited instincts or learned gestures from old light novels? Oh well, the answer is irrelevant.
One Saturday afternoon you were rudely awakened by the maddening repetition of thumping. You were now well into your second trimester, the bump on your belly growing steadily day by day, which only meant your sleep schedule only got worse. All your senses have been going into overdrive lately, every bump in the night making your eyes snap open. You groggily rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, begrudgingly rousing your sluggish body from the haven of pillows and blankets.
By this point, you and Alhaitham had announced to friends and family about your pregnancy, there were many tears of excitement shed that day. Followed by a steady stream of boxes and gifts placed into your or your husband's hands. These items ranged from teas to help with morning sickness to long loose maternity gowns.
At first, you raised an eyebrow at the shapeless dresses your mother had gifted to you. Stating that they made you look like a lost ghost. However, now with your baby bump, the soft loose fabric felt divine against your sensitive skin. Carefully, pushing off the mattress you took your time gaining your balance. Moving has become troublesome because of your now shifted center of gravity.
Steadying yourself with a hand on the hallway wall you waddled toward the source of the commotion. As you grew closer to the room across the guest room, an extra space that was utilized as a small side library the barrage of noises stung your ears more. You felt irritation creeping up on you.
Grasping your hand on the door frame you peered inside to see a head of blonde hair. Oh. It’s Kaveh. That explains the noise.
You quietly observed the back of the unaware man as he continued to hammer furniture together. Your husband had told you earlier in the week that Kaveh would be coming over to help set up the nursery. He mentioned something about the blond having to pay off an old debt.
Oh well, it saves you and Alhaitham the trouble of rearranging the furniture.
“Ugh, that bastard has not changed a single bit. Who would choose such an ugly bassinet? His poor child will be welcomed into the world surrounded by ugly furniture.”
Your lips pressed into a firm line. You had chosen the bassinet when out shopping with your husband. You bought it with your own money too. You thought it was quite cute… It’s cute, right? You waddled off to find your husband.
“Alhaitham…” Tighnri stood just to the left of the glass door of the small cafe, your favorite cafe.
Your husband was exiting the door, a small chime from the bell hanging above his head announcing his departure. A brown take-out bag, that contained the padisarah pudding you have been craving for the fourth time this week, clutched firmly in his hand. Alhaitham greeted his fellow colleague with a nod of acknowledgment.
“I know your wife is pregnant. However, food should be in moderation. Especially sweets. You should know that during pregnancy the change in hormones makes it harder for the body to control its levels of-”
The ashen-haired man raised one hand, signaling for the other to halt their lecture.
“I acknowledge your expertise and advice. However, time is precious and to save both of ours, I invite you to take this debate up with my wife. To warn you beforehand, you will lose.”
Tighnari let out a huff of exasperation, steps heading in the direction of your shared home with Alhaitham. Surely you were more reasonable than your Alpha husband at the moment. Tighnari knew it was in their primal instincts to pamper their mates, caving into any demand no matter how unreasonable or troublesome.
The head secretary has always been a rather level-headed individual in his eyes, sometimes to a fault, so it must just be his instincts influencing his actions. Tignari even heard from a certain blond that the ashen-haired man had given him the deadliest glare because the architect had critiqued your taste in home decor.
“It’s normal for people to have cravings during their pregnancies, and for the most part, it’s harmless. However, there is a whole misconception about the saying ‘eating for two’. In truth, you only need about an extra glass of milk and an extra pita pocket a day. You are feeding a small-”
Alhaitham stared ahead at the path in front of him, doing his best to tune out the ramblings of the shorter man walking beside him. He had one purpose, and that was to deliver your padisarah pudding to you.
–
Tighnari was now walking in the direction of his own home, spirit shaking a bit. Like always, Alhaitham’s prediction was flawless. He lost. The defiant blank gaze you gave him at the doorway of your house was enough to make the ebony-haired Alpha stop his clearly unsolicited advice. In the end, you got your pudding.
“That is all I have to report. Now that you have this knowledge, I trust that you will be able to decide if this proposition is fair or not. Here are the files for you to look through.” The ivory-haired Alpha placed the stack of papers on the smooth desk.
“Understood. Thank you for the report, Cyno.” Alhaitham gathered the paperwork into his hands, beginning to skim through the contents.
His teal-orange eyes soon left the crisp papers, peering at his colleague with an inquisitive glance. It wasn’t like the head lawyer to remain in his office after he finished delivering his information.
“Is there any more you would like to discuss?”
“Yes, I have prepared a gift for your child.” Cyno reached into his blazer pocket.
Alhaitham hid his sigh. Your home was already littered with so many gifts and baby items, it was troublesome keeping the floors clear of any potential tripping hazards. You were now in your third trimester, slow steps more focused on your balance and the ache in your lower back than paying attention to the floor.
Your husband wonders if he should have waited until he applied for maternity leave to tell his closest colleagues about your pregnancy.
“Here.” Cyno handed him an engraved box.
Was this a TCG card case? Alhaitham’s unreadable eyes shifted between the case and the head lawyer’s eager eyes. Really, he should’ve expected this, he is already well aware of the tan Alpha’s obsession with the card game.
“Thank you.” Your husband took the gift from the awaiting hand.
“I custom-made the deck to be as beginner friendly as possible. Even still, these cards are staples in the game so this deck will be solid regardless of the changing meta. I made sure to have every card laminated as young children don’t know restraint. The box is also custom-made, it is made from solid wood but any sharp edges have been rounded out.”
“You didn’t have to go through so much unnecessary trouble.” Alhaitham wishes that Cyno didn’t.
“Since most gifts have been either for your wife or for the child, I have prepared a gift for you as well.” Cyno reached into his inner coat pocket.
This was unexpected. Your husband observed the tan man pull out a small journal. Stationary? You had already gifted Alhaitham a lifetime supply, but they were for only very important situations. So this could be a welcomed addition.
“I wrote down some of my best jokes for you to tell.”
Nevermind. Alhaitham didn’t even want to reach for the small notebook. Cyno places it on top of the desk.
“It’s unnecessary.”
“It will help pass the time while entertaining your child. Your wife has been pregnant for a while now, it must feel like an maternity.”
“...”
“Did you not get it? It’s because ‘maternity’ sounds like ‘eternity’ and-”
“I am very busy, head lawyer. Please excuse yourself from my office.”
Alhaitham was aware of the concept of ‘pregnancy glow’ from the anatomical journals he read some time ago. However, seeing it in person was much different from what the book had described. Another example of how learning purely from books is not enough.
You were radiant, features softer and skin glowing. The aura around you has also been much gentler, likely attributed to your constant drowsiness and lack of stress from work as you were now on maternity leave. More often than not, Alhaitham finds it hard to keep his hands off of you.
Resting an open hand on your round belly, feeling the subtle shifts of your child as he reads. Hugging you from behind as you cook, it’s to support the baby he reasons. He offers his chest as a pillow whenever sleep calls for you regardless if it was on the couch, you needed your rest.
However, there’s a caveat: others can’t seem to keep their hands off you either.
“Oh! What a strong kick! I think they have real potential for dance.” Nilou exclaimed as she felt your belly.
“Haha, what a meddlesome kid already. Kicking your poor mommy.” Dehya also had one hand resting a top.
“It’s uncomfortable, yes, but it’s a good sign that they’re healthy and strong.” You let out a small sigh.
“Here, have another pillow to support you” Candace placed the soft cushion behind your back, relieving some of the pressure.
“Thank you, Candace. Even though I’m going to become a mother soon, it seems you’ll always be the mom of our group.” You giggled, giving your friends a wide smile.
“Oh, you flatter me too much.” Candace chuckled, joining the rest in feeling your round bump.
Alhaitham sat in your usual spot on the adjacent sofa, trying to read his book. However, his teal eyes couldn’t help but peer over at the hands that were plastered all over your belly. Although his gaze remained neutral, his lips were slightly pressed into a line. Their hands didn’t need to linger for that long he surmises.
–
“Have a safe trip back!” You bid your friends goodbye, it was nice to have visitors when you couldn’t leave the house easily.
Alhaitham closes the front door after their figures disappeared into the distance, offering his muscular arm to support you. You gladly accepted, as your feet and joints sang with relief as pressure was shifted off of them. Slowly strolling down the hall back to the living room.
Alhaitham presses a soft kiss against your temple, a clever diversion from his true intentions. He couldn’t help the frown that formed on his lips or the scrunch of his nose. Your friends had drenched you in their scent, overpowering your subtle fragrance. Tsk, this is why others should keep their hands to themselves.
“Let's take a shower. Of course, I’ll assist you.”
“Mm? Haitham, it’s pretty early. We haven’t even had dinner.”
“I’ll help you wash your hair as well.”
“Haitham-”
“I’ll massage your shoulders and feet afterward.”
“... Fine… remember to use the lotion as well.”
“Of course.”
There was no reason to be nervous even as your due date grew closer and closer. A room at the Bimarstan has already been reserved. He had already prepared a hospital bag with extra clothes, blankets, and toiletries. Alhaitham also packed some books in there was well. However, as you began to count down the days, it’s hard not to notice the anticipation in the air. You were very much ready to meet your child and to finally not be pregnant anymore.
“Do you think the child will be more like you or me?” You turned to face your husband as he lay in bed.
“It doesn’t matter. As long as they’re healthy.” Alhaitham tucks a quilt from the nest up to your chin.
“Oh? I think that if our child looks like you but has my personality, they’d be quite popular.” You pondered out loud.
“Mm.” Alhaitham pulls you closer to him from behind, resting his chin atop your head.
“Then if they resemble you, it's best that they have my personality. Lest our peaceful lives will be disrupted by a constant stream of suitors at the door.” He entertains your musing.
Your soft giggle jingles through the air as you stroked your belly, his hands soon join yours. A comfortable silence encapsulated the two of you, his soft caresses lulling your heavy lids closed. This was the sweet calm lull of normalcy, and you both were satisfied.
Alhaitham had closed his eyes, only for them to snap open with the sudden jolt of your body. Did the baby kick again? They sure are disruptive, he can already feel the long sleepless nights to come. However, there were still a few days to stock up on as much rest as possible.
“Haitham, I think my water broke.”
Nevermind.
–
You were holding onto his hand with an iron-clad grip, crushing his fingers together. However, he knew this was barely scratching the surface of the discomfort you were currently experiencing. If he could, Alhaitham would bare all your pain himself.
However, he couldn’t so he’ll sit beside you in the Bimarstan, brushing the hair out of your sweat-socked face and whispering sweet nothings to encourage your efforts. You’ve been in labor now for about four hours. Alhaitham has decided that the first thing your child learns to write will be a thank you letter addressed to you.
You were trying to keep your breathing as stable as possible, practicing the technique the midwife taught you. Put the pain of the contractions always broke your streak, making you have to start from the beginning to try and steady your breath. The midwives and doctors were encouraging you to push as hard as you could. You already were, but you took a deep breath and then held onto it. Giving it your all.
--
“WWAAHHHHH!”
A loud, piercing, yet beautiful cry echoed off the walls.
“It's a boy!” The doctors announced.
--
“He’s got quite the set of lungs.” You giggled, tears still pooling at the corners of your eyes. Cradling your newborn.
Alhaitham only let out a gentle hum, resting his head on your shoulder as he gazes at his son. Eyes as soft as the little one’s plump cheeks. It was quite a riveting experience, how can one fall in love with a little stranger so quickly?
“No more full nights rest for us when we return home, huh.” You rested your head on top of his ashen hair, smiling as you continued to stare at your little bundle.
Your husband lets out a soft mixture of a hum and a chuckle. He’s already prepared himself to sacrifice sleep in order to nurture this little bond created between the two of you.
To your surprise and his great delight, your child sleeps through the nights well. A little too well. You had been released from the Bimarstan just a few days ago, the doctors all said your child was healthy. However, you couldn’t help but stare at him as if you were in a trance.
“Come to bed, your body needs the rest to heal.” His warm touch grasped the sides of your shoulders, as Alhaitham pressed his face into your neck. Trying to lure you back.
“Yes, I know but… just a little while longer.” You reached a hand up to tussle through his soft locks.
Your eyes never stopped observing the small ups and downs of your little bundle of joy as he slept. Well, the face he made earlier when you had woken him up for his regular feedings sure wasn’t one of joy. He’s just like his father, grumpy when disturbed from the sweet embrace of sleep. But he needed to feed every three hours if he was to grow up healthily.
“He’s quite a lot like you. A deep sleeper.”
“Oh? I think he’s quite like you, Haitham. You should’ve seen the mean mug he gave me.”
“I never scowl at you.”
“Yes, but you’re grumpy when woken up.”
“Hmph.” Your husband buries his face deeper into your nape. Teal eyes never breaking their gaze from the child you’ve gifted him.
The air was quiet, yet warm and sweet. It was well past your preferred bedtime, but strangely not a single muscle felt tired as two pairs of eyes continued to study the small moments of his chest.
“Should we head to bed now, Haitham?”
“Mm, perhaps a few more minutes wouldn’t make a drastic difference.”
Fin~
#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x y/n#al-haitham x you#alhaitham headcanons#alhaitham x you#alhaitham smut#alhaitham scenarios#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin x you#genshin omegaverse#genshin smut#alhaitham fluff#vivalabunbunfics#alhaitham fanfic#al haitham x you#alhaitham x yn#alhaitham imagines
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As You Are, I Am Too
Summary: If we compare people to magnets, opposites attract and sames repel, so why are two stoic faces paired as soulmates?
Word Count: 15.4k (why are you surprised at this point, get some snacks)
Tags: Alhaitham x Fem! Reader, Smut(r18+), NFSW, MDNI, Modern AU, Soulmate AU, Mutual Pinning, Fluff, Slow Burn, Slow fic, Perfectionist! Reader, angst, arranged pairing, TW: Toxic family, unhappy childhood trauma, child of strained marriage trauma, TW: Themes of self-loathing, themes of infidelity(misunderstanding), toxic work environment, slight workplace harassment, pushy boss, slightly yandere! Alhaitham?, Soft! Alhaitham, second chance romance?, slightly bratty! reader, Dom! Alhaitham, Degradation, Heavy adult themes, attempts at comedy
Author Note: This is experimental, I want to explore if two same sides of a magnet can still attract. I want to explore the fumbles and mistakes of love.
Side Note: Here is a continuation
Do you believe in soulmates?
It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you do. Because who doesn’t want to believe in it? The concept of an ‘other half’, a missing piece that completes you. Someone who loves you and only you unconditionally.
Who doesn’t want to experience that?
To be loved, to be accepted, and to feel whole are all natural human desires. So it’s no surprise society, regardless of the century, culture, or demographic all obsessed over finding that other half.
To find a hand that fits perfectly within the gaps of one’s own.
The greatest minds in all of Tevyat came together, analyzing each pattern, quantifying each data point, and testing each hypothesis until their magnum opus was created: The Akasha System.
Taking the work out of fate’s hands and into a large database.
What criteria did this wonderful system use to piece together two halves of a whole? Who knows, it’s a black box. However, the machine was quite smart, quite quick, and quite accurate.
So much so, there was no reason not to use it.
Humans, no matter how much some might deny it, despise being lonely. They fear it so much they’d rather hold a hand which strangles theirs with an equally crushing grip.
That’s why people rush toward their soulmates the moment the Akasha finds them, they fear being alone.
But do you believe in soulmates?
“No.” Alhaitham puts down his drink.
“But you still used the Akasha??” Kaveh juts a finger in the direction of an ashen-haired man.
“And?” Disinterested eyes glance at the time displayed on a clock in the rowdy bar.
“And?! What do you mean and? You just said you don’t believe in soulmates!” The slam of Kaveh’s palms on the table made a bit of beer lap over the edge of his cup.
“I don’t believe in soulmates, but I’m not ignorant to the benefits of marriage.”
“Huh?”
“It’s convenient.” The blunt statement rolling off Alhaitham’s tongue as he motions for the tab.
“Ugh, you know what, forget it.” Kaveh chases his heavy sigh with a hearty swig of his cup.
“Well then, I’ll call it a night.” He’s stayed out long enough.
Placing a handful of mora on the table to cover his tab, Alhaitham bids goodnight to his two workplace acquaintances and former college roommate.
He swiftly strides towards the creaky tavern door, swinging it open as he steps into the warm Summer evening. Tomorrow is another workday, better to get an adequate amount of rest.
“Still the same even after a full year with her, huh,” Kaveh sighs dryly.
“Did you really think he’d change after marriage, Kaveh?” Cyno finally chipped in from the sidelines.
“I should’ve known, someone as egotistical as Alhaitham practically married himself.”
“Now, now, his wife is nowhere as egotistical as him,” Tighnari says over the rim of his glass.
Cyno and Kaveh paused for a moment, sharing a glance as they considered Tighnari’s observation. With a shrug, they concluded: you weren’t nearly as egotistical as Alhaitham.
Still, the great mystery remains.
“How is he the first to marry?” The blond bachelor slumps further on the tavern stool.
“Life is full of wonders.” The ebony-haired bachelor gave a few comforting pats.
———————————————————————————
Unlocking the solid oak front door, Alhaitham steps into the serenity of a quiet house. Good, his ears were slightly buzzing from the boisterous conversation in a crowded bar.
Taking a few more steps into the entranceway, the man shuts the door behind his body.
The dull gossip over a few rounds of drinks made their influence known to him, he just wants to go to bed. Thus he takes a few more steps toward his bedroom.
“Place your shoes into the closet, I just mopped the floors.” A level voice called out from the living room.
Alhaitham’s movement halts, quickly glancing down at the Oxford shoes still on his feet, taking note of the spotless floorboards.
Wordlessly, Alhaitham unties the laces allowing him to kick them off with ease, placing them onto the shoe rack just behind a closet door.
It’s a habit that slips his mind every now and then despite a year of marriage; Surprisingly unsurprising when you take into consideration his busy mind.
However, times were different now, he’s no longer a kid, free to be lost in thought. He’s now a homeowner of a spacious house, a space he shares with you, and you liked things clean.
Not a speck of dust lingered on surfaces, no plates left in the sink, and books pristinely placed on organized shelves. Qualifications that he deemed exceptional for a life partner.
Now with slipper-clad steps, Alhaitham makes his way through the house, peering into the living room to spot your curled figure reading on a sofa. The warm glow of a floor lamp illuminated the soft curves of your cheek.
“Is something the matter?” You didn’t look up from the page as you addressed him.
“No, just heading to bed.”
“Okay, goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The start and finish of tonight’s conversation, after all, you valued a quiet house as much as he did. His colleague’s words weren’t without merit, even Alhaitham isn’t stubborn enough to deny the obvious.
Hobbies identical to each other, books upon books lined up along numerous shelves, preferring to stay within the walls of this house unless dragged out by friends.
Your indecipherable gaze and stiff lips rival his own stone face. Perhaps that’s why the Akasha paired the two of you together. Two beings with stoic faces only another stoic would bear for a life partner, like two sides of the same coin.
Alhaitham stops unbuttoning his shirt behind his shut bedroom door, reanalyzing the previous statement. Actually, that isn’t a very good analogy.
It'd be more accurate to compare you and him to a double-sided mirror that reflected only one view.
“I don’t believe in soulmates.”
The man sitting across from the cafe table, introduced as Alhaitham, bluntly states, interrupting your sip of coffee, warm beverage just barely touching your lips.
Placing your cup back down on the coffee shop table, your gaze observed the stranger who just met you moments ago - a meeting in a small cafe arranged by Sumeru’s Ministry of Human Relations, the government body tasked with delivering the Akasha’s verdict.
After a few breaths, you decided to humor his abrupt statement with a response. Staring straight into his teal-orange eyes, you say, “What a coincidence, neither do I.”
————————
So then why did two nonbelievers follow the verdict handed to them? It’s simple really.
Two salaries combined can buy a sizable house. Two pairs of hands get chores done faster. Two signatures on a certificate save tax money. Life is simpler with a partner to bear some of the burden.
Young professionals and fresh graduates aren’t known for their financial independence; a boy eager to move out of a cheap flat and away from an infuriating roommate, a girl trying to escape a noisy environment.
The circumstances had aligned.
And that’s how it’s been for two years now, a nice quiet house. Although, you’d be lying if you weren’t thankful that the Akasha paired you with someone as handsome as Alhaitham. Silver hair, broad frame, and beryl eyes with a hint of ochre - maybe he’s an apology gift from some fickle god.
He’s a well-rounded and capable man; perceptive enough to know not to cross boundaries drawn in the air, apt enough to not disrupt the serenity, and able to take care of himself.
Although, he could learn to launder better.
Your lips tug down as your eyes scan over the deep wrinkles crimping the fabric of a freshly washed button-down. It looks too rumpled to look professional, even on him. A sigh falls from your lips.
The presence of slow steps make your head turn in their direction, connecting with Alhaitham’s neutral eyes, quirked gray eyebrow questioning your purpose.
Two bodies, two rooms, and two beds.
The only time you or he crossed into the private haven of one another was when the floors needed to be mopped or shelves dusted. Owning a house means owning up to tedious chores and dividing up responsibilities spares one’s sanity from the tediousness.
It’s best to point out the critiques now to spare your own clothes from the same fate. Picking it off the back of his chair, you show him the shameful state of the garment.
“Leaving your clothes in the dryer for too long will create stubborn wrinkles.” You advise.
Teal eyes glance at the shirt in your hands before they flick towards the closet rack, your own gaze follows, noting the numerous other shirts in a similar state. Another heavy sigh escapes you, it's obvious Alhaitham attempted to do laundry yesterday.
Wordlessly, you begin gathering each wrinkled garment.
“I’ll rewash them and hang them outside, it’s the best way to smooth them out. Heat isn’t recommended for your fabrics.” You swiftly walk past him with your arms full.
“Thank you, I’ll clean the floors then.” He takes hold of the mop against the wall.
This seamless switching of responsibilities is done with less than two sentences, the efficiency of which is only possible between two people such as yourselves.
Button-downs are much more fickle than a casual t-shirt, using the wrong detergent or leaving it unattended for too long will cause unsightly wrinkles.
Alhaitham’s laundering skills have improved in the last two years… perhaps the singing of the dryer still slips past his preoccupied mind.
The two of you are working professionals. Crucial insight you’ve learned from your parents: A nicely ironed shirt, neatly brushed hair, and elegantly tied ties are all it takes to make others believe in the white lie of a put-together life.
Alhaitham was raised by his grandmother, a detail you recall from a passing conversation some time ago. It shows.
The amateur attempts at chores, the books strewn about a desk absent-mindedly, and the afternoon naps spent on a couch underneath a sunlit window are secrets only seen behind closed doors - all telltale signs of being well-loved.
‘How nice it must be.’ You thought, clipping his freshly washed button-downs to the clothesline, allowing the Sunday morning rays to shine down upon them.
A stone-faced man was once a beloved grandson. Maybe his juvenile attempts at chores were too endearing for an elderly lady to correct.
Hidden from everyone but the audience of swaying fabric and a curious star, a bittersweet smile tugs at stiff lips.
The clinking of forks against porcelain plates accompanies the evening news. Your eyes starring indifferently towards the TV just around the corner from the dinner table; looks like tonight's topic was the annual metrics of the Akasha.
With each passing year, these metrics only climb higher and higher, a machine learning to calculate better and better.
“What’s your theory behind the Akasha?” you blurt out the question without looking away from the screen.
A pair of utensils halted their movements as Alhaitham glances at the evening news. He takes a moment to wipe the corners of his mouth before humoring you.
Technically, the two of you have yet to fill your daily conversation quota. Might as well do it over dinner.
“It’s all mathematics, the Akasha system. Pairing individuals based on collected data. Demographic, interests, and dispositions, are all factors in a pairing,” he explains in his baritone voice.
“Mmm, then again it's all just a black box, we can’t be certain unless they choose to reveal it.” You ponder aloud.
“Correct. Those factors are all key when it comes to compatibility. The Akasha simply uses probability. However, there’s the element of human variability.”
“Meaning it can’t always be right.” You know this, live it even. “Is that why you don’t believe in the concept of soulmates?” Pivoting to an adjacent question, you return your attention back to the man across the table.
“Yes, it’s an unrealistic belief.” Alhaitham sips on his wine.
“Such a brilliant conclusion, what an astute mind you have.” Honeyed-voice mimicking awe over a glass of water.
Narrowed teal eyes honed in as his glass returned to its place on the lacquered surface, unamused by your quip.
“How about you? What theory brought you to hold the same brilliant conclusion?”
“Do you know phenylethylamine? PEA?” Glancing up from your glass.
From his idle gaze and unmoving lips, you take his silence as a “no”.
“It’s a stimulant that causes your heart to beat abnormally, released when you’re around a special someone. It causes what people describe as the ‘rush’ or ‘fever’ of love.”
He says nothing, waiting for you to continue.
“But then your brain gets used to it, and the abnormality in your chest corrects itself.” You take a sip before continuing, “Nothing last forever, so why do people think love is an exception? That only one person ever will cause their hearts to flutter till the end of time?”
A dry giggle follows the clink of your water cup against the wood.
“How insightful.” Alhaitham takes another sip of wine to chase his sarcasm.
Maybe it was the amusing quip or how tonight’s butter chicken turned out to be exceptionally delicious, but a subtle smile curls at the edges of your lips. With today’s conversational quota fulfilled you focus your full attention back to the awaiting dinner.
You remain ignorant to the gaze of teal eyes, oblivious to how it fixates on the faint smile complimenting the soft curves of your cheeks and plush lips.
“...”
The front door shuts and locks behind you, your shoes are halfway into the closet before a familiar scent beckons you towards the living room.
Quickly getting into your slippers, you trek through the entranceway and round the corner. The vivid hues of pale blues and gentle violets with pops of bright yellow catch your eyes, confirming your speculations: it’s a bouquet.
The bundle of flowers were placed into a long-forgotten vase. Turning away from the blooms, you face the man currently thumbing through a book on the couch -the only other person with access to this quiet haven.
Turning back to observe the blooms, you note each species of flower. The Sumerian Rose, Kalpalata Lotus, and…Padisarah.
You observe how the pollen of the Padisarahs dusts the radius of the surface around the vase. It’s a fickle flower after all.
A fickle and potent-smelling flower.
A scowl twists your face despite your best efforts, the sickly-sweet fragrance of the capricious blooms assaults your senses.
“Please open a window.” your hand comes up to shield your nose.
“Is something the matter?”
“The smell is giving me a headache.”
A headache forms from within the deepest depths of your mind, the same visceral reaction to the heavy perfumes that plagued your childhood walls. Your mother believed the saccharine scent could cover up her infidelity if she sprayed enough.
Compared to that artificial perfume, fresh Padisarahs were much tamer, but still enough to make a bitter taste appear at the back of your tongue.
“I see.” Alhaitham sets his book down, getting up to allow the Autumn breeze in.
Swiftly, you trudge away from the vase and its potent blooms and down the hall, eager to find an untainted corner of the house. It’d be best to sleep the headache off.
In the morning when you round the corner back into the living room, you notice the vacant vase and table wiped clean of any speck of yellow pollen. Passing through into the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts in the air.
As you pour yourself a cup, you take note of how the trash has already been taken out, a fresh trash bag lining the bin.
Good, flowers were a hassle to keep around the house.
———————————————————————————
“Chocolates?” You study the box of sweets left out on the kitchen table.
“I picked them up while getting ingredients for dinner,” Alhaitham answers, busy chopping carrots.
“You can have some.”
You return your gaze back to the intricately designed package in seasonal Winter colors. It’s not often that you indulge in such elegant treats, you couldn’t refuse such an offer.
Delicately picking up a piece, the glossy dark chocolate shine looks inviting, you can see the quality in these sweets. Placing the small chunk onto your tongue, savoring the rich flavor. Not too sweet and not too bitter.
Using your tongue to maneuver it towards your teeth you bite into its center, only for your tastebuds to be assaulted by a foul flavor. The distinct and sharp tang of alcohol and the revolting aftertaste of bourbon spoils the sweetness.
Refusing to allow the detestable flavor to remain on your tongue, you briskly swipe up a few napkins, spitting the foul sweet out. You frown at the stubborn tang of bourbon which threatens to ruin your appetite for dinner.
“You can have the rest.” You throw out the crumpled napkin.
“Are they of poor quality?” The tapping of the knife paused.
“They’re just not to my taste.”
“In that case, I hope tonight's dinner is.” Alhaitham resumes his task.
Taking a glass out from the cupboard, you fill the cup with fresh water before gulping it down, washing the foul tang of alcohol from your tongue, and even fouler memories of the stench of sour wine and crushed cans.
Wiping the escaped droplets off with the back of your hand, you go for a second glass. Hopefully, you can cleanse your palate.
———————————————————————————
“Do you have plans tonight?” Alhaitham’s words make you stop in the middle of the hallway.
You have a book ready in hand for a night of reading on the sofa under the soft glow of the floor lamp. You know his eyes can see that, gaze questioning his intentions.
“I was given two tickets to a movie, would you like to accompany me?” He holds out the slips of paper.
As your eyes pass over the printed font, you recognized the title, a name picked up within the chatter of coworkers at the office. It’s An adaptation of a famous light novel from Inazuma, and the reviews seem positive.
“Sure.”
You could get out of the house a little more.
…
It seems like everyone wants to see a movie tonight, the theater lobby is filled with bustling crowds, families with excited kids, and couples holding hands.
And then there’s you and Alhaitham. Standing side by side, his hands carrying two carbonated drinks, your hands holding an overpriced bag of popcorn, walking toward the room printed on the tickets.
“C5…C6, looks like we got good spots.” You settled into the plush seats, careful not to spill the bag.
Alhaitham hums in response, placing your drink in the cupholder. More and more people filed into the screening room, waves of ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry’s rolling through the space until all the seats were finally filled. The lights begin to dim as the opening logo booms through the sound system.
The cinematography was beautiful, the musical scores accompanying the plot pleasing to the ears, and the popcorn perfectly seasoned.
It’s been a while since you’ve last gone to a movie theater, maybe you should go more often. As you brought a few more pieces of popcorn to your lips, your eyes travel toward Alhaitham.
His arms crossed as the light of the silver screen reflects onto his skin, noticing your stare, his teal gaze connects with yours.
Moving the striped bag closer to his frame, you offer him some popcorn, he paid for the refreshments. It'd be a shame if he didn’t get to enjoy them too.
His large hand reachs over and takes a handful, your curiosity wanting to see his reaction to the snack. However, a piercing shrill snaps your attention away.
Just a few rows away, a woman stood up from her seat, throwing a bag of popcorn at the man sitting beside her. Screaming words you couldn’t quite make out as they merges with the onscreen dialogue and equally furious shouts of the now popcorn-covered man.
Their thunderous voices were only amplified by the acoustics of the theater.
They’re both standing now, still hurling insults and grievances one after another. There’s a ringing in your ears, their faceless silhouettes in the dim theater replaying a scene you’ve seen many times before. It’s as if they’ve finally developed a conscious, now aware of the stares and glares thrown their way.
Oh, look they’re leaving now, still fighting the whole way out of the screening room.
With the disturbance now cleared, a low wave of murmuring swept through the audience before dying out. The dialogue and soundtrack were audible again, the atmosphere reverting to how it was.
You didn’t feel like snacking on the popcorn anymore. Gaze focus on the fluffy puffs for the rest of the movie.
“Did you enjoy the film?” An indifferent voice resounds from your right side.
Walking out as the credit rolled in the background, following the flow of traffic toward the exit. You were walking by Alhaitham’s side, but your mind was elsewhere, a subtle frown etched on your lips.
“It was fine, just crowded and loud.” Your voice was just as flat.
“Oh.”
Tossing the unfinished bag of popcorn way into the nearest trash can, the two of you continue on the silent journey home.
Perhaps, it’s best if you just stayed curled up with a book.
“Eh? It’s been three years and you’ve never gotten your wife flowers? I knew you were cold-hearted, but not to this extent. Here, a quick bouquet of some fresh flowers I picked.”
“You should gift her some sweets, maybe then you two can talk a choco-lot… Did you get the joke?”
“Are you serious?! Almost four years and you never took her on a date?? You’re hopeless! Take these tickets and take her to the movies. By the way, you’ll have to pay for them.”
Alhaitham wasn’t sure what made his colleagues so invested in his marriage, maybe a projection of their own lack of one. To his colleagues, you were just as much of an enigma as the ashen-haired man.
Any passing comment, no matter how vague or curt, would bring forth an onslaught of unsolicited advice. And it was for that very reason within the walls of your home these details shall stay.
Alhaitham isn’t sure which was more irksome, the uninformed guidance of bachelors, or the fact he was the one who actually tested each suggestion. Regardless, at least these trials were fruitful in the sense he can gauge your dislikes now.
You despise flowers for their fickle messes and scent. You’re revolted by overpriced chocolates. You detested rowdy theaters and subpar films.
Four now going on to five years, and these were his results. Frankly, he didn’t have to subject you to such experiments for these results, because they aligned with his own preferences.
A waste of time, disturbing your peace for the sake of his own curiosity.
A heavy sigh falls from his lips as he sets the bucket of water down, one hand holding a mop as the other turns the knob of your bedroom.
It’s a Sunday, meaning the floors needed to be mopped. Your door's hinges sing as they swing open only to be abruptly silenced as Alhaitham stood motionless under the door frame.
Oh. He should’ve knocked.
You were in the midst of getting dressed in front of your floor-length mirror, glimpses of smooth skin peeking out from under baggy fabric. Before he could stop, teal eyes followed the dark fabric reaching just down to the middle of your thighs and draping low on one shoulder. Your fingers were in the middle of buttoning the clearly oversized shirt as you turned back to focus on him.
Blank gaze traveling up your soft lips set in a neutral position and meeting your deadpan stare, Alhaitham’s conscience restarts.
Today was Sunday, which meant it was laundry day yesterday, and it was the ashen-haired man’s turn to wash and dry the clothes. Somehow, his button-down got mixed in with your blouses, leading to your unamused reaction.
“I’ll be more mindful next time, did my shirt dull any of your whites?” Forcing his eyes to avert, a late attempt at respecting your privacy.
“It’s fine, fortunately, the dye didn’t bleed out during the wash.” You turned away as your hand pulls the draping fabric up your shoulder.
“Just place the shirt over the chair in my room, I’ll take care of it later.”
“Okay.”
Once more your door sings as he shuts it on the way back into the hall, deciding to clean the floors of his room first and allowing you to change into your rightful clothes. It was early noon and a weekend, meaning there was no reason for Alhaitham to brush out his sleep-tousled hair. Hopefully, messy gray locks were enough to conceal burning ears.
———————————————————————————
“The Evolution of Everything.” His eyes scan over the title held out in front of him.
A newly published scientific journal filled with freshly collected data, the book's spine still in mint condition. Alhaitham takes note of the identical copy held in your hand.
“You seemed interested in this genre, so I picked up a copy for you.” You motion for him to take it.
There wasn’t a rule etched in stone that forbade the sharing of books within these quiet walls. The books on your shelves have been more interesting than his as of late. A pattern of folded corners inflecting more and more pages of the books lining your bookshelves, evidence of a certain man’s meddling.
The warning glare every time you smoothed out a creased page directed his way didn’t seem to be enough to stop the unconscious habit of his hands.
It looks like you’re trying out a new solution, getting him his own copy to prevent the infection from engulfing each and every corner of your bookshelves.
“Thank you, I’ll read it soon.” He accepts the peace offering.
With that, you made your way back to the sofa. Flipping open your own copy, fingers gently making sure to not crumple the delicate pages or crease the pristine spine. Alhaitham compares it to the book currently held in his own hands.
An older book, while not falling apart or tattered, it’s obvious the man has thumbed through its pages. A well-loved book as his grandmother would’ve described it.
Alhaitham needs to stop this practice he never corrected in childhood.
———————————————————————————
“Alhaitham.” You greet him at the entranceway.
Said man is currently placing his outside shoes away into the closet, returning from an uneventful day at his office. You usually got home before him, but this was the first time you’ve waited for him at the front door. He notes that you seem to be holding something behind your back.
“Here.” Bring your arms out from your back, the distinct crinkling of plastic was heard.
Teal eyes study the gift basket filled with bath products, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, and lotion all nicely packaged with a satin ribbon.
“It’s to thank you for helping me with errands lately,” you explain.
Recently, you’ve been asking him to accompany you to the cluttered streets lined with stalls and haggling merchants. With his towering frame and larger hands, he could carry heavier bags and part a path through the pushy crowds easier. You were using your resources to maximize efficiency.
“There’s no need to trouble yourself with this, I’m just doing my part. But thank you.” He takes the basket from your hands, eyes remaining collected.
Just as the basket leaves your hands, the distinct chime of your phone goes off as ‘Bahram’ flashes across the screen. The name of your boss.
“Excuse me, I have to take this call. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.” Turning away, you walk toward the kitchen.
The he hums in response, slipping into his inside shoes. With brisk steps, he covers the distance from the front door to his room, closing then leaning against the solid oak.
Sharply inhaling as one hand balancing the basket of toiletries and the other holding his head.
You’ve always prefer to maintain the serenity of the house. Resolving strife with proactive actions or brief comments. Not once in these past five years did you ever nag him, you’re too pragmatic for that. At times it’s a curse more than a blessing, evidenced by the gift basket staring back at him mockingly.
Although Alhaitham was messy at times, he knows the importance of hygiene. Teeth brushed twice a day, a shower taken every day before dinner, and deodorant applied daily.
However, the temperatures this Summer were at record highs, even for Sumeru. The packed market streets pushing the two of you closer than usual, perhaps he’s no match for the heat this time.
Washing his hair twice and his body thrice, Alhaitham finishes his prolonged shower by gurgling some mouthwash for good measure. Walking into the kitchen in a fresh set of clothes and his hair still damp. The table set with potato boat and some steak. Impassive eyes met inscrutable eyes as you motion for him to take a seat.
Your nose remained relaxed, meaning you were probably satisfied with his efforts.
Alhaitham makes a silent reminder to research some cologne after he finishes washing the dishes. One that isn’t overbearing nor too weak to linger.
How embarrassing it is, five years in and the stoic prodigy known as Alhaitham is still testing the bounds of his wife’s patience. Selfish experiments and habits he can’t seem to correct conflicting with your wishes for a clean, serene, and quiet home.
The entire reason why you bothered signing your name next to a stone-faced man who said ‘I don’t believe in soulmates’ before asking ‘How are you?’.
Flowers, chocolates, and movie tickets.
You weren’t oblivious to the sentiment behind these arbitrary actions. In a way, it was expected. A husband wants to get closer to his wife, it’s simple chemistry.
The human mind craves connection, oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin released at the sight of gifted blooms, crafted sweets, and from simply sitting within each other's presence.
A chemical cocktail the mind gets drunk on.
Alhaitham isn’t immune to it and neither are you. Even if you were able to stiffen your lips, steady your gaze, and hide those flushed cheeks. Nothing you did could quell the abnormality in your chest, was Alhaitham having the same issue?
There comes the first hurdle, the unknown which hung in the air formed over years of peaceful silence. The thought of two stoic faces peering into each other’s eyes as two monotonous voices stated the obvious would make any romantic keel over and die.
It’d be too embarrassing, especially when it’s already been awkward.
Headache caused by sickly sweet blossoms, spitting out pricey sweets, and dulled reaction to a critically acclaimed film. None of this was Alhaitham’s fault, how can you blame someone for something they don’t know?
He never asked, you never told.
No one knew what happened within that noisy house with empty bottle-covered floors of two ‘soulmates’ who refused to release their crushing grips. All except the three unfortunate souls trapped within its Padisarah-scented walls.
Still, his keen eyes didn’t miss those details, reassessing his actions before ultimately channeling more of his energy into chores around the house instead of frivolous gifts. What a proactive husband.
A sting of guilt felt as you recall his sincere attempts at trying to cross an icy bridge. What should you say? ‘Thank you, you tried.’ Sounded far too condescending, it could even lead to a huffy fight. Something you’ve been good at avoiding these past five years.
Marriage is filled with compromises, meeting each other halfway along the road of life, side by side. So you tried this time.
Curiosity guiding you as it did a naive hero towards the brilliance of a red star.
———————————————————————————
Your first attempt was inspired by an article that popped up on your phone’s feed, something about wearing your partner’s shirt to make them flush, nonsense known as the ‘boyfriend shirt’.
You still gave it a try. Swiping up one of your husband’s black button-downs one Saturday night, only building up the confidence to put it on the next morning.
Your original plan was to just casually wear it around the house as you got the Sunday morning chores done, but that got thrown out when Alhaitham suddenly opened your door when one-third of the buttons were still undone.
A moment of tense silence followed, impressively you managed to maintain a cool facade. Grasping the opportunity to leave this stale silence with an expertly crafted response.
———————————————————————————
In the end, he just wanted his shirt back. So for your next attempt, you toned it down, no longer taking advice from nonsensical articles.
Recently, Alhaitham has taken more of an interest in your bookshelf. More of the once pristine edges of your books folder here and there. If it was anyone else, you’d make them buy you a new copy immediately, but for now, you simply smoothed out the paper.
If he wants to read the theories and studies that muse you, why don’t you read them together?
However, two bodies pressed together on a sofa trying to read the small print along pages at the same time is simply uncomfortable. Plus, Alhaitham reads much faster than you.
To ensure a pleasant reading experience for both of you, two copies were the best solution.
He read it after you.
———————————————————————————
Your next attempts used thinly veiled excuses to get Alhaitham to accompany you to the bustling markets of Sumeru City. In a way, trying to make up for that lackluster movie experience.
Only for it to soon turn into using Alhaitham to carry arm fulls of bags as he shielded you from the push and pull of the busy crowd.
Perhaps you should stick to gift-giving, to spare your husband from working like a Sumpter Beast in this weather.
But besides books, what should you give him? He’s just like you, if he sees something he wants, he’d just buy it with his own money.
On the way home from work, you caught sight of a shop, one which displayed handmade soaps and fancy lotions. Huh, Alhaitham often takes your lotions, maybe you should get him his own. A bell ringing overhead announces your entrance into the cozy store.
“Welcome!” A bright voice chirped as a shop assistant with vibrant red hair and an equally vibrant smile bounded toward you.
“I’m Nilou, how may I help you today?”
“I’m just looking for some lotion.” You politely responded, trying to ignore the faint fragrance of Pardisarahs.
“We’ve got plenty of hand-made ones, for you or for someone else?”
“For my husband.”
“Oh? What does he like?”
You paused for a moment, lips pressed together in contemplation before deciding.
“Something fresh and not overbearing, nothing made from Pardisarahs.” If he liked using your lotions, then he must have the same scent preferences.
“We just got this new lotion that fits the criteria! Oh! But it pairs very well with this body wash… actually this shampoo and conditioner set is also a good fit. Oh! What if we bundle them?”
What was supposed to be a simple lotion turned into you leaving the small shop with an entire gift basket. A sigh leaves your lips, looks like you’re not as immune to sales tactics as you originally thought.
That night you handed the ribbon-wrapped basket to Alhaitham. Even if he isn’t interested in expensive handcrafted soaps, he’ll still use them out of necessity, they were a gift after all.
However, it doesn’t seem you had to worry about that. He used up the fancy soaps and lotions.
The opulent scent lingering on his skin and towel-dried hair, looks like your gift made you discover a new side of your husband.
He enjoys really long showers, evidenced by your rising water bills.
Still, the vast expanse of uncertainty didn’t shrink, not even one bit. Just like the distance between an outstretched hand toward the sun.
Books, lotions, and walks through a market, looks like it was all for naught.
The mutual agreement to not lock eyes, these cold halls, these awkward dinners filled with nothing but the clattering of silverware and plates. Where have you seen these patterns before?
Oh, you’ve seen these in your childhood home.
Ah, was this a curse passed on to you? What an awful wedding gift from uninvited parents to a courthouse office.
Clutching the straps of your bag tighter, your legs quicken their pace, wanting to get out of the crowded streets filled with the mumbles and pushes of people freshly off the clock.
With each stranger knocking into your shoulder another drop is added to a bottle. White knuckles gripping on your straps as a pressure rises within the bottle’s glass body, threatening to shatter it.
You can’t let this continue, the mounting pressure will sooner or later detonate into a hideous mess. Best to avoid that scenarios. Eyes catching sight of a small reprieve from the crowd, you direct yourself there.
The small store front provides you with some shelter for your lungs to breathe. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. The pressure subsides just a bit. There’s still room in there, you can suppress a little more, you can endure a little longer.
Eyelids fluttering open, you recognized the name of the shop. It’s the fancy soap shop, one with the vivacious sales assistant.
Peering through the glass you searched for that brilliant shade of crimson. And you found it, right next to glimmering silver hair. It’s like your body forgot how to breathe.
From the rumbling of the late evening rush, all you could do was read their lips from behind a thick glass door.
Petite pink lips giggling behind clasped hands as Nilou looks up at Alhaitham, tilting her head to the side as if she asked him a question. His lips remained stiff, but teal gaze reflected crimson as they softened. Something you never witnessed within the quiet walls of your home.
Looks like you found the cause of the rising water bills, perhaps Alhaitham likes the smell of Padisarahs.
Your bottle couldn’t contain the ocean anymore.
It wasn’t an Earth-shattering catastrophic event, no tidal waves crashing down, no flood flood devastating everything in its path. Only a defeated ‘pop’ and its pathetic echo as your bottle finally overflowed.
Bitter sea-foam fizzled out as it made an unseen mess.
Listlessly, you rejoined the rolling crowd, letting the eb and flow of its movement carry you all the way to the front door of a false haven. Systematically inserting the key, placing your shoes into the closet, and shutting your room door behind your back. Staring at the clean floor with its intricate wood grain.
However, your mind weren’t processing any of it, busy with its calculations.
When did his fever start? That one Autumn night with a chaste bouquet. What day is it now? The cusp of Summer. How long has it been? In a few months, it’ll be three years.
A lecture from an inescapable past resurfaces.
————————
“Hey, kiddo.”
Slurred words made you stop in your tracks, small hands tightening their grip on your backpack straps.
You weren’t quiet enough, the careful steps of your feet were rendered useless when it came to the creaky wooden floors of this house. Your lungs burned for air, but you didn’t want to breathe in the stench which permeated this air.
The aroma of cheap perfume, sour wine, and cheap beer. The source of this foul smell? The freshly awakened man laying on the couch just a few inches away: a man known as your father.
Still trying to reserve your stored supply of oxygen, all you offered the drunkard was a firm hum. Not that he’d care, judging from the crushed cans and empty bottles littering the path, he’s probably too far gone.
“Did you know love is a chemical? Something called ‘phenylethylamine’?” A hiccup interrupts his sentence, but he continues, much to your dismay.
“Haha, it makes your heart beat faster and your cheeks flush because it’s considered an amphetamine, one of the most powerful drugs.” His stumbling hand blindly reached for another can, knocking over empty shells until it found one with just a bit of liquor.
“Too bad the high can only last three years.”
Your disinterested gaze trailed off down the empty hall, legs itching to break away from the lecture you’ve heard numerous times before. Lungs begging to inhale the untainted air of your room, the only sanctuary this hollow home held.
Just a few minutes was all you needed, then you’ll start mopping these foul floors.
A clink of aluminum hitting the wooden boards draws your attention back to your father who had finished moisturizing his throat with another swig of beer.
“Stay away from that drug, kiddo” A sloppy grin stretched across his face as he stared up at a blank ceiling.
The sight made your arms bristle, seeing a smile on your father’s face was uncanny. Something you’ve never seen at the dinner table, just silent scowls and disgruntled glares constantly exchanged over a subpar meal.
Wanting him to finish this one-sided conversation, you gave another firm hum, every now and then glazing back toward the hall.
“Or you’ll end up like this old man.” He wraps the conversation up with a bitter laugh, one which resonated off the blank walls.
————————
Maybe you should’ve heeded your father’s words. A brilliant scholar to the public but a pathetic drunk when within the confines of a cluttered, noisy house is still a brilliant scholar.
This was your punishment for straying away from your beliefs. You reached your hand out towards the fire despite knowing it’d hurt, and you fell in love. Now look at where you are.
How utterly laughable, you, the ever-bright Ms. Perfect, who’s broken love down to its base form of chemical compounds, fell victim to the addiction that was love.
So blindsided by it.
The fog of love is slowly running its course through him. Once the trees abandon their vibrant greens for shriveled browns in the Autumn, his fever will be over. There’s no such thing as an endless Summer.
How did you not see this coming? Covering your eyes with ignorant hands, blatantly ignoring the signs right in front of your nose.
No more flowers, no more chocolates, and no more movies.
Turning back around, you took note of a figure in a floor length mirror. Indifferent gaze identical to how your husband looks at you.
Two sides of the same mirror, what’s what you and him are. What’s the use of that? Shiny surfaces point off in opposite directions, yet only ever reflecting one view. What’s the point of having two sides then?
You don’t intrigue him, you can’t show him his blind spots, and you can’t reflect to him a view he’s never seen. Same perceptions, same hobbies, same expressionless faces, how stale it must be.
It’s much more interesting to have a wife who’ll smile at receiving flowers, a wife whose eyes light up at chocolate, and a wife who’d blabber on about a movie as Alhaitham listens intently. The beating of his heart is starting with someone new.
Emerging out of your thoughts, you stare directly at the person in your mirror.
Dull eyes stared right back, light dimmed from years of staring at a bright star grasping at its warm rays in substitution of a cold house, only for your fingers to slip pass right through.
Idiotic girl, you can’t touch the sun, not even Icarus did.
An unlovable child grew into an unlovable adult. Add that to your footnote, so you’ll never forget this lesson again. The fool in the mirror finally looks away.
It didn’t matter if Icarus smiled or laughed as he tumbled from the sky. Silly girl, did you forget what happens in the end of that tale? He drowned alone.
Drowning isn’t like what the movies show. The thrashing of limbs against cold waves, the garbled screams under the water, all accompanied by the ominous soundtrack crafted by a sound master. It’s all dramatized for the silver screen.
Muscles pushing through the cold exhaustion, mouth agape but prioritizing large and fast gulps of oxygen over cries for help, followed by the melodic lull of water lapping over eardrums until the head disappears under its surface. Never to breach it again.
It’s possible for a person to drown in a pool full of people. Just like how it was possible for you to feel alone despite having your husband just across the lacquered expanse of the dinner table. Forks and knives clacking porcelain plates.
It’s a silent death.
For once you’re grateful to attend a nugatory dinner hosted by your company. Venue filled with superficial smiles and handshakes all over food served on sliver platters. Even if the heels are killing you, you’d rather not wallow in a quiet house.
A heavy sigh leaves your lips, catching someone’s attention.
“What a heavy sigh, here have some wine to ease the burden.” A glass filled with fragrant wine was held out in front of you.
Your eyes travel up the hand which offers the vile beverage to you, sights landing on the face of your boss, Bahram. Pushy as always, always testing the limits of your loyalty to a nice pension and dental insurance.
As always you politely push the glass away, uttering a firm “no thank you.”
“Oh c’mom Ms. Perfect, you look like you could use a drink.” He pushes the glass closer.
Stares from all around the formal dinner table hone in, the weight heavy on your shoulders. Stakeholders and coworkers turn away from their shallow conversations to watch the brewing spectacle just across the table.
That’s right, you have to be professional, where was your crafted mask? Make use of all those years observing the masters of deception you knew as your parents.
So you accept the vile glass.
Before the aroma could register on your palate, you emptied the whole glass. Not a single drip escaped past your lips. It took all your strength to no scowl at the sweetly bitter and alcoholic flavor.
“Oh? Ms. Perfect is drinking tonight?” Some nameless coworker mused.
Ah, the name lightly tossed around at the office with oblivious chuckles and ignorant smiles. You despise being called that, but not as much as you despise being told ‘you’re just like your father’ and ‘you’re acting like your mother’.
Better to be Ms. Perfect, so disgruntled ‘soulmates’ can’t compare you to their flawed counterpart.
“Do you like this wine? Have some more.” Eagerly, your boss fills the glass once more.
Staring at the beckoning liquid swirling in the glimmering cup, as the weight of those stares force your hands to accept it once more.
Maybe you should’ve just stayed home.
“I should really be trying to sell you our products but… I think you’ll find a better gift at another store. Here, I’ll write the address down for you! They have the best jewels, I’m sure you’ll find something for your wife there!” Hastily the shop assistant scribbles on a notepad before pushing the slip into his palm.
“Just don’t tell my manager.” Clasping her hands in front of her mouth, signaling to him to keep a secret.
Alhaitham simply nods, examining the address in his hands. He hasn’t tried jewelry yet, but a ring would look nice on your hand. Maybe you’d think so too.
“You really love her, don’t you mister?” Nilou notes how attentively his hands smooth over the address.
Pausing for a moment, Alhaitham envisions the softness of your cheeks shifting as that tender smile spreads across your lips. Yours eyes reflecting the light off the polished and cut gem as he slips it onto your bare finger.
“I do.” Unable to stop the softening of his gaze.
———————————————————————————
A ring still left in its miserable black box, stowed away in the depths of a drawer. A sigh slips out of him just like how he let another opportunity to place the jewel on your finger pass. You’re attending a company dinner tonight, a rare occasion requiring you to dress up.
The dress draped over your figure and curves just right and highlighted the contours of your body. He wanted to tell you this earlier as you were leaving, too bad he was occupied with swallowing ‘stay home’.
There’s an annoying itch in the deepest depths of his mind. Covetous hands crawled up his spine, they tried to convince his own fingers to grasp around your wrist and pull you back into the house.
Alhaitham shakes that itch away, refocusing his attention onto your bookshelf in front of him.
You have a life and responsibilities outside these walls, he can’t overstep the boundary to block you from your individuality. Running a finger along the tops of the neatly lined books, searching for something to redirect his impulses.
Momentum halting when his finger sunk into pages when he expected the firm edge of a spine. The force crumpling the paper, immediately he pulls it into his hands, smoothing out the folded edges. Title catching his attention.
The Lifespan of Love, the only book where the spine wasn’t facing out. Flipping it to the back, Alhaitham scans the blurb, noting the portrait of the scholar who authored it.
A familiar face, a professor who’s lectures he barely attended. A distinguished researcher and mentor in the eyes of his old university.
The sight of his face made Alhaitham recall a scene he once witnessed.
————————
The halls of the Psychology department were desolate, as they always were. A much-appreciated reprieve from crowded foyers as a quiet student walks to his next exam in the department next door.
Just as his hand reached up to activate his headphones, two voices caught his attention, the high shrills of a woman and the raspy shouts of a man leaking out from an office door left ajar.
It has nothing to do with him, Alhaitham know this, but he still had 30 minutes to kill before the exam.
Teal eyes peer through the gap between the oak doorframe.
A man the student recongizes, but the scowl and flush of rage twisted his face into an unrecongizable mess. The professor juts his finger towards the woman as foul names left his mouth, the same mouth which lectured the brightest minds of Sumeru.
The woman screams back equally loathsome words, tears leaving mascara trails down her red cheeks. Suddenly, she grabs a lamp off his desk and hurls it to the floor.
For a brief moment, the scholar pauses as his eyes scanned over the broken debris scattered along the floor. Then his fist slammed into the solid oak of his desk, thud so forceful the office ratted with the poor furniture.
His shouts resume, volume escalating by the minute.
Alhaitham backs away from the door, turning on his noise-canceling headphones. He’s satisfied his curiosity enough, walking off to his exam.
————————
A peculiar sight behind the superficial mask of a respected professor with his jolly grin and light hearted jokes with students. Inspecting the name printed just underneath the portrait, a furrow forms between his brow as he scrutinizes the spelling closer.
The professor’s last name was spelled the same way as yours.
Oh. So this is the source you were citing back then. Numbers and figures published by a notable name backing your rebuttal to the societal notion of a soulmate. Inquisiveness rearing its impatient nose, inciting his hands to choose this book as his subject tonight.
You never told him, so he never asked. This was a chance to peer into a view sealed behind your closed lips.
To study, dissect, and analyze the resources which congergated together to form the you of today. Alhaitham isn’t going to deny such an opportunity.
Teal eyes glance at the ticking hands of a clock, he’s got a good few hours of reading before you return.
The distinct rumble of an engine leaking in through the living room window interrupts his peace, the slam of car doors causing Alhaitham to promptly fold over the corner of the page he has yet to finish.
The dinner must have ended.
Getting up from a cushy couch, Alhaitham makes his way toward the entranceway.
His keen ears picking up the unmistakable hearty chuckle of a man, Alhaitham stills for a brief second before continuing to the door.
Before the chime of the doorbell had the chance to sound throughout the home, Alhaitham already pried open the front door.
Teal gaze darkening as they examine the display on the front steps.
Your arm around the shoulder of another man while his arm was snaked around your waist, pressing your body against his as he supports you up the steps.
The sound of the hinges directs the man’s attention to the homeowner currently staring at him, oblivious to the way Alhaitham’s grip threatens to crush a metal handle behind solid oak.
“Oh! You must be Ms. Perfect’s husband. I’m Bahram.” The man greeted.
Alhaitham already knows him. He’s seen that name flash up enough times across your phone. He’s seen you pick up no matter the hour and step out into an empty room.
A new habit of yours which started some months earlier.
“Haha! She drank a bit too much tonight.” The jovial man continues, his hand still resting on your hip.
Drank? You drank? You don’t so much as glance at Alhaitham’s wine cabinet at home, yet you drank with this man? The begins of scowl start to set into Alhaitham’s face.
“I’ll bring her inside for ya.” Bahram takes a step forward only to be blocked by a towering frame topped with ashen hair.
“I’ll take it from here.” Alhaitham barely bit back a pointed tone, forcibly smoothing it over to make his voice pass as neutral.
Prying that hand off your hip and your arm from Bahram’s neck, Alhaitham’s strong hold supports your slumping figure against his own body.
Pulling you across the threshold of the front door, finally putting some distance between you and that damn boss of yours.
“Have a goodnight.” Venomous lie rolling off Alhaitham’s tongue as he firmly shuts the oak door, not bothering with any more pleasantries.
It didn’t take much effort to carry you into the living room. Setting you down on the sofa then kneeling down with dexterous fingers, Alhaitham freed your feet from the chokehold of those heels.
You make a mental note to throw them out tomorrow morning.
“Thank you,” you breathed out, relieved to finally be home.
Your husband doesn’t respond as he walk away to place your shoes into the closet. The lingering taste of wine churns your stomach, you needed some water to wash it out.
Carefully, you amble into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with fresh water. Praying it can finally rid you of that foul flavor.
After three glasses of wine, your stakeholders and coworkers finally turned their attention elsewhere. You’ve entertained them enough.
Granting you the freedom to push away anymore glasses your boss offered, only getting him to stop after you agreed to his offer of driving you home.
What a troublesome night, your mood sourer than it has been for the past few months.
As you fill up your glass again your ears catch the pattering of Alhaitham’s steps as he trails into the kitchen, stopping only a few paces away watching you glup down your second glass.
“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” His husky voice resounds from behind you as his finger taps against the marble countertop.
“No.” You fill rinse out the cup, the stubborn grip of wine not releasing your tastebuds just yet.
“Oh? It sure looks like you did.”
Your body stiffens as your turn the faucet off, glancing over your shoulder with eyes narrowing.
“What do you mean by that?” Your tone a bit more sharp than you’d like it to be.
“I’m certain you know exactly what I mean.” Alhaitham stops his tapping as he lays his palm flat on the table, teal eyes boring straight into you.
“Well, well looks like your assumption is wrong.”
“I doubt it, stop mincing your words and just say you enjoyed a few drinks with your boss.”
Your body turns around fully, glaring stare connecting with his teal one. Ticking of a clock sounding throughout the quiet kitchen.
So that’s why he’s behaving like this, partners with wandering eyes tend to project their hypocritical insecurities onto the other after all.
“Then why don’t you say you’ve been enjoying your visits to Nilou?” Something more venomous than sour wine drips off your words.
“How is she related to this conversation?” His eyes narrowing at you, unlike the same teal irises that reflected the scarlet of her hair.
“You know exactly what I mean.” You spat his own words back at him, maneuvering around him as you make your way back to your room.
At this point you weren’t sure what was the cause of the headache threatening to form.
The wine? This deafening silence? Or the thought of Padisarahs?
You don’t care, you want to go to bed. The thuds of his steps weren’t far behind yours as you trek through the halls.
“Our conversation hasn’t concluded.” His deep voice ringing in your ears.
“Yes it has.” Your room was just in sight.
“No it hasn’t.” His hand encloses around your wrist.
There you were, halfway through the doorframe of your room with the pull of his hand preventing you from getting the rest you want.
There’s no longer any space left in a shattered bottle, just a rippling ocean getting rougher and rougher with each deep breath.
“Can’t you be honest?” His ironic, paradoxical words causes the tide to crush against each other.
“Can’t you be honest? Do you think I wouldn’t notice your showers right as you come back from ‘work’? You’ve been driving the water bill up with your cover-up efforts.” Glaring right into those damn beryl eyes, frown breaking your stiff lips.
“Cover-up? What a bold accusation coming from the same person who awaits a call everynight.” He mirrors your scowl.
“Maybe its because work offers better company than this stifling house.”
Alhaitham grip tightens on your wrist as his lips press into a firm line, indecipherable stare weighing down upon your frame. His broad shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath.
“Strip,” he commands.
“Have you gone mad?” You snap back, unable to budge in his hold.
“Yes, furious even.”
It didn’t take much effort for him to make his way into your room, pulling you in as well. You could barely keep up with it all, glaring at him but it didn’t affect him one bit.
The movement causes your dress to shift. Glancing down you realize a strap of your dress slipped off, leaving one side of your breast dangerously exposed.
With swift strides, he arrives at the edge of your bed. It’s rare for you to dawn such attire, applying a lovely shade of crimson to those plush lips, and tying your hair up so nicely. Did you get all dressed up for Bahram? Why couldn’t it be for his viewing only?
Tsk, noisy nonsense is cluttering his mind, those the claws of a green-eyes monster digging into his last shred of restraint. Seizing his rationality in its ugly, greedy hands tighter and tighter the longer your soft thighs pressed against his tense body.
Crashing into those crimson lips of yours, one hand positioning your face to allow his tongue to catch yours by surprise. Letting the two muscles dance together as his other hand explored the expanse of your body, pulling up the silky fabric to grant his palm the pleasure of gracing your soft thighs.
‘Oh, so this is what he wants,’ you thought as your lips moved against his.
‘Fine, might as well experience what he’s been doing behind your back.’ The fingers of your free hand tangling themselves into his hair, tugging at ashen locks with disregard.
Unfortunately, the pesky need for oxygen made Alhaitham release your lips. Chest panting as his darkened gaze observed the state of your lips. Crimson smeared over the corner of your glossy lips. You put so much effort into painting them, making sure they were nicely defined.
However, it felt so cathartic to know that he’s the one who messed them up, no one at the party saw them like this. Only him.
“I’ll ask you one last time, strip now.” Not letting go of your face.
“Go to hell,” you spat out.
And the last chain broke, dignity and self-control reduced to nothing more than ash as his hunger commanded him. Go to hell you say?
“Then I’ll take you with me,” he sneers through clenched teeth, pushing you into the mattress face down. One hand restraining those disobedient hands of yours behind your back.
Before protest could leave your lips a rip resounds through the hot air. Alhaitham knows he should be delicate with it. That he should carefully pull the zipper down your back, letting the fabric naturally drape off your frame.
However, a man who starved for six years now knows nothing about patience.
You feel the silky fabric slip off, leaving you in nothing but your panties. Teal eyes honing in on the darkened patch on the thin fabric, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.
“Wet just from this? Or were you wet during dinner too?” He pulls the fickle fabric off.
You wiggle in his hold, face flushed with frustrated embarrassment at your current predicament. However, in terms of strength you’ll always lose to Alhaitham. A violent flinch jolts your body as he runs a finger runs along your glistening slit.
“What a lewd thing, has he seen this slutty hole of yours?” Alhaitham watches the way your cunt quivers with each stroke of his digit.
“Do really you think I’d sleep with my boss?” Your voice slightly muffled by the sheets as you turn your face to the side.
“I need to confirm it.”
With two fingers, he spreads your soft pussy lips apart, keen eyes observing the trail of slick starting to drip down from between them. He sees the muscles of your entrance clenching around nothing, he glides a digit in, feeling your slick walls clamp around it. Clear essence drooling out. He hums in satisfaction before sliding his finger out, you bite into the sheet to silence any sounds.
“Enjoying this?” He muses, fingers spreading your cunt again.
You don’t respond, but the glare you’re sending his way makes his lip curl into a smirk. For once he could read the emotions behind your stoic eyes, he wants to see more.
Trailing his fingers up your slit until they bump into a hard nub making your body twitch. Softly pinching your clit between two fingers, he slowly rolls the senesitve bundle of nerves as you bite harder to stop your moans.
Cunt slick but unstretched, clit throbbing but not swollen, only your essence coating his fingers. Looks Bahram hasn’t gotten the chance to taste you yet.
Calming the thrashing of a green-eyed beast just slightly. However, this wasn’t enough. Alhaitham feels the parchedness of his throat as his eyes scan over your glistening slit.
Alhaitham once believed that the touches exchanged when his fingers brush against yours while passing plates, when you pull a blanket up his napping frame, or when your bodies briefly pressed against each other as he helps you hang the laundry out was enough to satisfy him. That he could sustain off just borrowing your lotions.
Such a false assumption, a foolish one even. As the heat radiating off your body melts away another restraint he imposed on himself. Alhaitham realizes just how much he’s been starving himself.
Thumb rubbing firm circles into your clit, the pleasure making your legs close together, trying to shut him out but the grip of his hand stops your attempt.
“Tsk, stay still.” His strength pinning your legs apart, showing you just how ‘feeble’ he was.
In retaliation, he pushes your legs further apart. Exposing more of yourself to him, it was embarrassing enough to almost make your lust-hazed mind care.
Thick fingers gathered up drops of slick leaking out from your dripping cunt as your lewd hole unable to contain its greed. Allowing him more access, feeding into his greed further.
Two fingers tracing the rim of your entrance before it slowly pushes through. Instantly, your gummy walls clamped down on his fingers, making him hiss through clenched teeth.
“If you’re grasping my fingers this much, how will you take something larger?” His breath ghosting over your cunt.
Your toes curled in the air as a kiss was pressed against your throbbing clit, almost enough to let a gasp escape you. Biting back a drawn out moan as his tongue traced your leaking slit, starting with your sensitive numb then traveling up to lap at the essence escaping your stretched hole with the smooth muscle then back to flick at your clit.
You never realized just how pent up your body was until whines and moans just fell from your lips like water. Turning your head away, pressing your face into the mattress in hopes it’d catch those sinful sounds.
“Tsk.” Alhaitham escalated the pace of his fingers.
A sharp slap against your puffy clit, shooting white-hot pleasure up your core. With a gasp you pulled away from the sheets, unable to stop the moan which tumbled out. Hastily, you tried to muffle your voice again, only for a warning squeeze on your still pinned wrist stopping you.
You’ve enjoyed your silence, he’s been deprived of those sultry moans, so for tonight let him enjoy them to the fullest extent.
Your back arched, hips bucking in the air. Your little pussy finally rewarded his hard work with a rush of slick soaked the sheets and his face further. Swiftly removing his fingers again with a disgraceful squelch, only for his tongue to dip into the cavern they left. He slurped and lapped up every drop of your nectar, quenching a thirst he never knew he had.
Overstimulated clit trying to flinch away from each nerve-frying lick while your weeping walls beckoned his tongue to go deeper. The tightness in his pants was painful now, engorged tip rubbing against the fabric and soaking it in precum.
With his unyielding hold, his half-lidded eyes, and his unrelenting tongue lapping up all of your essence while bullying your poor nub, you were powerless. Unable to hide from his hungry gaze, nails digging into his unflinching hand, and chest heaving with the mounting pleasure in your core.
Scowl long replaced by a loose expression, the pleasure ripping through every fiber of your being. Shooting up from your curled toes to the eyes seeing only the back of your head, the edge growing closer and closer-
Alhaitham pulls away, your slick dripping down his chin glistening in the moonlight illuminating the room. Cruelly pulling back from the edge before you could taste true euphoria. No, he doesn’t think you deserve it yet. Flipping your body effortless on your back, wrists now pinned above your head.
His teal eyes drank the sight of your breast bouncing with each pant, puffy cunt clenching desperately, and the glimmering tearful eyes rivaling the stars themselves. A sight so sinful the devil is writhing in envy.
“What the fuck?!” You thrashed in his hold again, mourning the lost of the orgasm your body was denied.
“With this attitude, you should be grateful for what you got. I’m tired of waiting.” Alhaitham sneers next to your ear, chest pressed against yours before his warmth pulls away.
Tugging his pants and boxers down his thighs with a hand still coated in your nectar, trailing kisses and red splotches in the valley of your breast as his precum and your slick mixed with each stroke of his shaft. The wet sounds even reached your ears.
Making the mistake of looking down, your eyes widened as they comprehended his length and girth. Your restless pussy twitching but your legs closing as to preserve the last of your ego. Something thick pressed against your dripping pussy making your hole quiver and legs freeze as his tip threatens breach your entrance.
“Trying to be coy now? When you were moaning like a whore mere minutes ago.” Smug teal eyes peering down at you.
Another frown breaks onto your face at his pointed words. Your tongue is just as sharp, best to remind him of that fact.
“What a practiced line, you say the same things to her as well?” A mocking smile curling your lip as a scowl tugs down at his.
Too self-satisfied with your small victory to notice his large hand gripping onto your hips, aligning himself with you. With a sinful squelch, Alhaitham snaps his cock fully in. Your lips thrown open with a gasp as your back arches off the mattress.
“I. Never. Had. An. Affair. So, instead of spewing out anymore nonsense, why don’t you just moan instead?” Puncuating each word with thrust of his hips, feeling the vibration of each syllable in his chest pinned against yours.
Jagged words ready at the tip of your tongue, yet you couldn’t form a single sentence. With a broken moan your back slowly descended back onto the sheets.
Tearing a hiss from his clenched teeth and a breathless moan from you, gummy walls contracting down tighter and tighter with each girthy inch pushed as his balls slap against the slick down your ass. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this. Alhaitham stays there, tip pressed against the deepest part of you, a furrow between his brows.
Alhaitham knows he should be gentle. He knows he should allow your walls to grow accustomed to his girth by slowly rolling his hips against yours.
However, you just won’t stay still. Mewling and whining against his frame, nails clawing at his hand as your legs fluttered in the air. Each movement makes your pussy slurp around his stiff cock, lapping at the girth as if trying to pull him deeper than he already was.
Tempting his hunger like a lunatic testing a starved beast, it’ll only be so long before the hunger bends the iron bars containing it and devours you.
“AH!” A sharp slap of his hips rips a moan from your lips.
Alhaitham pulls you off his cock until the tip threatens to slip out, then thrusts it all back in one fluid motion. Instinctively your teeth clamps down on your disobedient lips, desperately trying to bite back those lewd noises. The slurping of your greed welcoming him over and over was embarrassing enough.
What a selfish move, trying to deprive him once more of your pretty moans. Provoking that ugly appetite within the pits of his stomach again. If you won’t behave, Alhaitham decides to fuck the stubborness out of you.
Each thrust of his hips into yours rocking the sturdy bed, bullying your poor sensitive pussy still recovering from a ruined orgasm. Hands and hips held within bruising grips. The pitched gasps every time he railed into a certain spot didn’t escape his keen ears, his hips now angled to bully that spot with each thrust.
How helpless you were to the devastating rush of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin. Unable to ground yourself on anything, your last wisps of sanity swept away by the waves of pleasure.
A groan reverberates deep in Alhaitham’s chest, the sudden convulsions of your slick walls trying to milk him. It was almost impossible to move with the way your pussy just kept clamping down.
Unfortunately, his hips couldn’t seem to care, operating solely on selfish desire.
Fortunately, a fresh wave of arousal aided in his rhythm, relentless slams bouncing your body and bed.
Strength long leaving your arms Alhaitham releases his hold on them in favor of supporting your limp hips, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips as lust-hazed eyes honed in on the frothy white ring forming on his shaft.
All your lips could do was babble out nothings as the headboard continued to beat the poor wall. Cunt thanking his cock with a contraction every time his tip knocks against your weakness.
The sweet moans caressing his ears, the filthy slaps echoing through the room, and your walls pulling him deeper and deeper, Alhaitham was at his limit.
There was nothing separating you two, he had enough sense left to know that. Reeling in the reins of his greed, he pulls back, fingers digging deeper into your plush skin. Well, he tried to pull back, but your locked ankles behind his back foiled this plan.
He felt so hefty in you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his girth and length tore apart your sensibility. Something deep inside your cunt pleaded to be fed, to be filled, pushing your limp legs to lock ankles.
He feels a bit too far for your liking, blindly your hands groped at his body. Finally, reaching his face, cupping it roughly, you crash his lips down onto yours. Tasting yourself on his tongue still, but you couldn’t care less.
As your tongues tangled together, Alhaitham reached his limit. Pressing his thick tip as deep as it’d go, thick ropes of cum start to coat your walls with each twitch of his cock. His shaky moans swallowed up by your kiss.
The slurping of your pussy milking his still throbbing cock only prolonged his hunger.
Dropping his head into the space between your neck and shoulder, he relishes in what he’s been depriving himself of. Feeling the faint shiver of your neck against his face.
Something was fogging up his mind, Autumn breeze doing nothing to quell the heat burning him.
–
“Ah! Mmmh! A-ah Ah!”
The first rays of dawn breaking through the navy sky, the light so flushed by the scene it witnessed, it’s pink hue illuminated skin into the room heavy with lust and the slap of wet skin.
“N-no more… too m-Ah!-much-ch.” Intoxicated brain sputtering out broken sentences.
It really was too much, you’ve cum too much to bother remembering, from the creamy drops dripping onto the soaked sheets, he’s also cummed too much.
Pussy overflowing and spasming with each thrust pushing more milky seed out.
Cock rubbing its red tip rawer with each quiver of your gooey walls.
Six years of starvation will make any man forget gluttony is a sin.
“Too much? No More?” A husky pant between each word as Alhaitham continues with his punishing rhythm.
“If that’s the case… then why is your pussy refusing to let me go?” His chest pressed against your back, caging you further as his breath tickles your ear.
Unable to form a sentence anymore, your head pathetically shook side to side, stubbornly denying the obvious. Looks like he hasn’t fucked out of you yet, better change that. Large fingers digging further down on bruised hips, as the pistoning of his thrusts escalated.
Bed frame pushed to its limits.
Each smack of his hips against your limp body further drowning your pride out in a flood of dopamine. It’s mounting again, that familiar pressure building up in your core, making your toes curl in painful arches.
There’s a sudden flick at your swollen clit, walls flinching as his fingers encircles around the abused nub.
“Who’s making you feel this way?” His husky voice too close to your ear.
Groundless pride preventing you from unsealing you lips, refusing to feed into his ego anymore than your wanton moans already did.
“Who are you showing this shameful face to?” There’s an edge to his voice again, why must you be so stubborn?
Once more you refused to answer. Making Alhaitham’s jaw clench and his fingers roll your clit harsher, making your bruised hips thrash.
“Who’s shape is engrained into this lewd body?” Voice dangerously low as he pushes his thick tip deeper against your beaten and painted walls, fingers never stopping their torment on your little nub.
The edge was getting closer, you knew you’ll fall off it soon, you’ll dive head first into the euphoric sea of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin and drown.
“Ah-ah Al-mmh!” You try to collect your breath.
Alhaitham quickens his fingers on your clit, feeling your greedy cunt clamp down on him again, walls suckling his twitching tip as his balls tighten. He’s close, but he needs you to say what he’s been waiting to hear all night.
“Alh-ah a-a…” Your hips shaking violently in his hold now.
Lust-glazed eyes staring straight into equally hazed teal eyes. Shaky hands slowly weaving themselves into his damp ash locks, gently pulling his ear closer to your lips, your hoarse voice just barely audible.
“A bastard.”
Self-satisfied smirk plastered over your loose face as your tear blurred vision catches the stunned expression on his handsome face.
The heat of his touch, the chemical stirring in your brain, and the pleasure frying your nerves made a delirious smile grace smudged lips. Your sight so hazed by lust you couldn’t see where your smile was even directed to.
Alhaitham wanted to etch the sight of your debauch face, smeared makeup and glazed eyes rolled back, into his memories forever.
Too caught off guard by your response to remind his hand to stop its movement before it was already too late. Eyes seeing the back of your head, back arching under his frame, you fell back into the all consuming waves of pleasure.
A hard earned victory in this veiled battle of two egos. Exhaustion seeping into every fiber of your being. The pale pink of twilight dimming in your vision as the dark hands of sleep covers your eyes.
Somewhere in the middle of drifting off into a blank nothingness, you feel a hand tenderly guiding your head to rest on a soft pillow.
Your eyelids twitch and brows furrow as the brightness of the room crept its way behind your shut eyes. Unable to retreat back into the dark embrace of sleep, you begrudgingly open your heavy lids.
Greeted by blurred shapes and fuzzy colors, you slowly blink your unfocused eyes. Gradually, the shapes and colors merge into distinguishable objects: a mug left on your bedside table with vapors rising from its rim.
“It’s morning-after tea.” A husky voice followed by the distinct flip of paper tenses every muscle in your body.
Alhaitham’s still here. You wish he wasn’t, you wish he’d realize last night was a mistake created from the clashing of egos, you wish the other side of your bed was empty.
So why did the tightness in your chest melt away with the mere sound of his voice?
You drag your sore body up from the sheets, shaky hands supporting the weight of numb legs and throbbing hips. Your sealed lips refusing to give him the satisfaction of any audible ques of your current state.
Sitting at the edge of your bed, back bare of anything but your hair draping over the marked skin facing him, you took the warm cup into your hands.
A harmony of methodical sips and soft turns of pages fill the room, an open window washing away the haze of lust with an Autumn breeze. Just as the last bit of tea slides down your throat a gentle slap of a book snapping close brings an end to the heavy silence.
“It’s unreliable,” Alhaitham announces.
Peering over your shoulder with a quirked brow, freezing as you recognize the book clutched in his hands. Not waiting for a response, he continues.
“Anyone with eyes can see how his biases exude through each sentence. He only studied 15 couples, not an appropriate sample size for a world filled with millions of pairs. His experiments have yet to be replicated, it seems his status is what got this nonsense published.” He sets the book down.
“What are you trying to say?” Your eyes narrow in suspicion.
“Your theory of phenylethylamine having a shelf life is based on nonsense.” His eyes connect with yours with that familiar indifference.
A frown twists your face, so he still wants to argue huh. Of course, what else did you expect? You and him have long gone down the bitter circular path you’ve seen travled before.
Irritation rising in your chest, like Alhaitham had jabbed his finger into a wound you’ve yet to heal.
“Oh, then your theory must be the intrinsic truth, huh?” Words leaving an acidic aftertaste on your tongue.
“I never-”
“Look at you, so correct with no data to support your vague mathematical thesis.” You cut him off, anger replacing the soreness of your legs.
Cup knocking against a bedside table as your hand casts it to the side, getting off the bed you march into your closet, pulling a random shirt on without regard of your movements wrinkling the fabric.
You just needed to leave this room, just being by his side is making your blood pressure rise. Your bed creaks as Alhaitham gets up as well, but your back was already through the door.
Two sets of steps trekking through the halls, paces mismatched as one tries to take quicker steps to counter the broader strides of the other. Alhaitham keeps pace with your escalating march.
“It’s a critique of his research, not you,” he voices.
You didn’t want to hear it, sharply pivoting into your home office, but you weren’t fast enough to stop Alhaitham from following you in.
Now a husband wants to spend time with his wife, where was this before?
“It’s an experiment conducted at the Akademiya, how is that not reliable enough? You think you can do better?” Your body whipping around with a glare directed at him, your hideous ego showing its face again.
“Are you listening to yourself right now? Do you even believe in such a shallow analysis?” He mirrors your glare.
“I’d rather believe in something with actual quantifiable numbers.”
“Fine, you want quantifiable numbers? Care to calculate along with me? Or is your mind still recovering from last night?” Alhaitham folds his arms in front of his chest.
“Go for it,” you say through gritted teeth, accepting his challenge, wanting to shush that snooty tone of his.
“The Akasha bases its pairs off demographic, interest, and dispositions, all variables we can calculate,” he states.
You straighten up your back, staring him in those teal eyes with your head held up high.
“Sumeru city is home to roughly 1 million people. Only 1/3 are around my age.” Alhaitham begins his trail.
“That brings that number down to about 333,333.” No delay in your response.
“Only 1 in 10 people have a personality I can tolerate, then suppose only 1 in 20 of those people can withstand mine.”
“ Rounding up that leaves about 1,667 candidates.” You tsk at his estimations, that number should be far greater than 20.
“Next comes shared interest, only 1 in 4 people have touched a physical book in the past year.”
“417 left.”
Perhaps the gods didn’t think cheating you out of a childhood was enough, out of 417 people you had the misfortune of staring at his stony face.
“Having to arrange 417 separate meetings at a small cafe would be much too burdensome for the Department of Human Relations. The scope needs to be narrowed further.” Alhaitham takes a step forward.
“Only 1 in 16 will have the patience to teach a grown man how to avoid wrinkles in his button downs.” Baritone voice losing its pointed edge.
“26 left.” You take a step back to preserve the space, hating how your skin craves the heat of his.
“Only 1 in 8 of those people will allow me to borrow their books even when they know the edges of the paper will be creased when its returned.” He takes another step.
As you take another step backwards, the edge of your office desk prevents you from retreating further. The sensation of the cold wood distracting you momentarily from your calculations.
“Then only 1 in 6 people will drape a blanket over a body that hogs an entire couch for a nap, placing a pillow under my head to ensure I don’t wake up with a sore neck.” Alhaitham doesn’t stop.
Reaching an arm out, he firmly sets his palm on the expanse of your desk, caging you between the wood and the risk of your skin feeling the heat radiating off his body.
“How many people are left now?” His breath ghosts the shell of your ear.
“ 0.543,” You blurted out.
A deep furrow appears between your brows, something must’ve gone wrong in your calculation, it’s impossible to have half a person. In the context of the Akasha, one person, a whole person, is matched to another.
Once more your mind ran the numbers over again, then again, and then thrice trying to recompute the figures.
Each time the same number came back: half a person.
“Are you mocking me with those groundless fractions? Where did you even get those statistics from?” Your pointed gaze still directed at him, did he intentionally lead you down this illogical trail?
“Logic is neither an art nor a science but a dodge.” He peers down at you, teal gaze back to its neutral state.
“Ha! Says the man who places logic and rationality on a pedestal, what caused such a change, Alhaitham?” You laugh dryly, not bothering to decipher the most brainless qoute you ever heard him use.
No change in his expression as his shoulders rise with a deep inhale, exhaling slowly as he leans his face in, his finger digging his palm against lacquered wood.
“Instead of wasting time citing subpar research, you should’ve just been honest. Then maybe I’ll give you what you want and sign those damn papers you hid away in this desk.” Voice low but steady as his gaze never leaves your frame.
It was a strange phenomenon, the chirping of the crickets had halted as two bodies remained unmoving, not even a single grain of dust dare move. If it weren’t for the faint ticking of a hallway clock, it would’ve seemed like time had stopped.
How long has he known about the divorce papers neatly stacked away a desk drawer?
Alhaitham slowly backs his body away from yours, hand returning to his side, freeing you from the cage it created. Teal eyes carefully observes your downcast stare and stiff shoulders as guilt suffocated him.
All the emotions he bottled up, all the fervor he held back, all the desires he swallowed down. It all came tumbling out, spilling out into a murky, repulsive mess.
“Wife.” If he had spoken any louder than a breathy whisper, that word would’ve crumbled on his tongue.
“I love you.” Alhaitham finally allows the words which have been clinging on his tongue for years now to fall out of his mouth.
Every inch of you froze at those three words, the weight of his stare heavy on your shoulders.
“Do you really feel nothing from those words?” Baritone voice beckoning an answer from you.
You don’t dare lift your head, gaze downcasted and frozen. Because you know you’ll have to stare at your reflection in his eyes.
Phenylethylamine, oxytocin, dopamine.
All these hormones and chemicals should’ve ran their course through your body. The haze should’ve faded and the abnormality of your chest should’ve corrected itself. It’s been three years at this point.
So, why is your chest aching?
The wood grain of the floor began to blur together as bitter tears compensated for the painful stinging of your irises. There it is, your brain finally short-circuits as the logic which once held up your sanity has crumbled away.
Finally, you met his gaze, staring right at your reflection in teal irises.
“It’s suffocating to be with you… it’s so lonely in this quiet house… it burns me like fire to touch you… yet… and y-yet see-”
“Seeing you leave will kill me, ” Alhaitham spoke the words just about to fall from the tip of your tongue.
The last piece of evidence that shattered the hypothesis he cultivated for all his life. If soulmates don’t exist, if the concept of an ‘other half’ doesn’t exist, then why is he feeling the same agony as you?
Looks like both theories were wrong in the end. Mathematics and chemistry unable to solve the enigma known as love.
“I… I want to love… but I’m drowning… Alhaitham.” You were finally honest, you’ve been drowning all your life, thrashing hands searching for something to hold onto.
Would you be oh so kind enough to grab that pen just behind you and stab its steel nib into his chest? Alhaitham’s certain that it would hurt less than the words that left your trembling lips.
A gentle hand cradled the back of your head as he pulls you closer. Letting those bitter tears strain his shirt and burn his skin.
No one, but the audience of a curious star and capricious gods peering down behind their blanket of clouds into this quiet house.
Alhaitham once thought of himself as a good husband. Doing his fair share of chores and paying his half of the bills.
However, seeing your broken figure barely clinging onto his stiff frame, it’s clear that his overconfident assessment was a grave error.
A good husband would’ve been more attentive. A good husband would’ve noticed the tide slowly sweeping you away into the rough sea. A good, loving husband would’ve never let you sink alone in salty tears.
“Then I’ll drown with you.” His other hand grasping onto one of yours, slowly easing it away from his wrinkled shirt with soft caresses.
Only monsters live in the deep cold sea, the only creatures able to survive the saltine waters and the pitch black nothingness. But as long as your fingers wove themselves into the gaps between his, he’ll be warm even as he sits on the sandy bottom of the murky ocean.
Maybe that’s where the two of you belonged, two unromantic and prideful fools sitting at the bottom of the ocean.
Hand in hand so that the stupidity contained between the two of you won’t pollute anyone else.
Gradually, those aching hiccups of yours faded into nothing more than muffled whimpers. Allowing silence to creep its way back into the gaps. The cause of this mess in the first place.
He has to remedy this, but what should he say? All those encyclopedias and journals he had thumbed through were all for naught. For Alhaitham’s mind couldn’t recall one fact from those pages.
One hand patting a slow rhythm into your back, trying to buy the man some time.
When logic and reasoning fail to explain the unexplained, folklore takes its place.
“According to legends, people used to have two pairs of hands, two pairs of feet, and two faces pointed in opposite directions.” He began.
“Back then, humans were powerful, powerful enough to threaten the gods who created them. So the gods split them in two. Cursing humans to a cruel search, desperate to be whole again.” His other hand still toying with your fingers.
You peer up at him, head still resting against his chest, feeling the soft beating of his heart. Blinking away the tears, listening to his telling of a myth.
“That’s the origin of a soulmate.” He finishes.
A soft giggle leaves your lips, a mixture of confusion and disbelief from Alhaitham quoting a fairytale.
“And you believe in that?” Amused gaze connecting with brilliant beryl eyes.
“Yes…because I found you.” Alhaitham tenderly brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss against your fingers as a glint catches the sunlight.
With a foreign sensation hugging a finger, your brows furrow. Holding your hand out toward the light again. Blinking eyes finally identify the gem which coyly appeared on your ring finger.
So that’s what he was doing, your tear stained cheeks shifting up as a smile stretches your once stiff lips.
Burying your head in the chest of the most unromantically romantic idiot you’ve ever known, a radiant laugh bubbling in your chest as it resonates off quiet walls.
But as he is, so are you: An unromantically romantic soulmate in love.
~Fin
©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.
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Let's Look Over The Garden Wall
Summary: One wants an easy meal and one wants to play house.
Word Count: 9.9k
Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Smut(r18+), MDNI, Modern AU, Vampire AU, Contract Marriage, NSFW, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Unrequited love?, Vampire! Alhaitham, Dom! Alhaitham, Human! Reader, biting, pet name? (calls you good girl) TW: Blood & Blood drinking, TW: Death, Terminally ill! Reader, slight orgasm denial, slight corruption kink, wedding night, temperature play? He falls hard, slow fic, tragedy
Authors note: This whole fic was a challenge since I wanted to write it kinda from Alhaitham’s pov. I’m not really knowledgeable about vampires, so in this fic they’re just a type of monster and not undead, and vampire blood can turn humans into monsters. Enjoy!
Side note: Here is the other side, Finale
The secretary had just arrived at the office not too long ago, shift starting at six pm and going until midnight. The typical hours for a creature of the night.
Like a sweet breeze that blew stray leaves through his office’s open window, a stranger came gallivanting through the boundaries of his door, contract in hand. Faruzan, the office receptionist trailing after you with your proper introduction.
“Secretary Alhaitham, this young lady here would like to make a blood contract with you.”
He certainly wasn’t expecting this when he walked through the sliding doors of the building. The biggest company in Sumeru, the firm that specialized in such dubious pacts.
In an age where humans now outnumber vampires, with new technologies and weapons that can now threaten the once untouchable creatures, immortal beings now have to play by mortal rules. One such rule, vampires can no longer drink human blood.
Animal substitutes were of course inferior in both taste and satisfaction, any vampire would know this. However, there’s a loophole to this law. Vampires can’t drink human blood legally unless it’s consensual by both parties, established through contracts. Business exchanges for money, power, or glory.
Of course, this practice is heavily regulated. Hunters who uphold the balance ready to rip the hearts out of those who dare make an unfair deal. Alhaitham is the simple secretary who files these contracts, not one of the agents tasked with such things.
Still, he’s intrigued. Even in this office there are many who have yet to see the face of this elusive vampire, how did this human identify him? He was looking for an excuse to stray away from dull lines of files, might as well entertain your musings.
The ashen-haired immortal pulls out a seat for you, nodding to Faruzan sending her out of his office, giving you privacy. Alhaitham ambles to the other side of the polished wood, settling down on his plush office chair.
“The process for filling a contract is straightforward, even though this consultation wasn’t planned, if negotiations go well you’ll then undergo a psychological evaluation.”
You nodded your head lightheartedly, posture relaxed in the chair.
“So,” he begins.
“What are your demands?”
“Marry me.”
Dead silence. He certainly wasn’t expecting a proposal this Monday night. Were you wasting his time with a joke?
You must’ve read his unfazed mask. Quickly pulling a pen and notepad from your pocket.
“I’m being serious, I want you to be my husband.” Hands swiftly jotting sentences down on paper.
In your graceless handwriting, you listed all your qualifications. Age, name, blood type, and financial status. You also detailed some self-prescribed personality traits.
Alhaitham skips over that section.
Marriage contracts weren’t unheard of, nor were marriages between humans and vampires. He believes such practices weren’t deemed illegal solely because of human morbid curiosity and desires.
No immortal, with their centuries of knowledge and wisdom, would waste such energy on a mortal, without a price of course. It would be a fool’s errand to not have fair compensation.
“For a fraction of your time, I’ll give you all of mine.” You point the pen toward him.
How romantic.
“I’d say you’re getting the better end of the deal, Mr. Alhaitham.” There’s a curl to your lips, resting your elbows upon his polished desk.
With a slight sigh, Alhaitham pulls out a form, pen swiftly recording the necessary information. There’s going to be a long process of straightening out the clauses, but this should suffice for approval.
“Why me?” He inquires, straightening out the proposal on his desk.
“You’re handsome, have money, and I like your voice.”
The rustling of papers and pens stopped. Dead unamused silence.
“Pfft! Too brash? Sorry, sorry, I was only joking,” giggling as you waved it off.
“Well, to be fair the real reason isn’t much better, to be honest.” You leaned in closer, creeping towards the unseen boundaries of his personal space.
“I often see you passing through the streets, guess I got enamored from there.” Your smile was shameless but your cheeks were tinted pink.
A hopeless romantic, that answer suffices him for now. He could’ve easily shown you the door, but life has been stagnant for a few decades. History repeats itself if you live long enough to see it, new occurrences are rare. As the sky deepens from indigo to midnight, two bodies sit across from each other, discussing sentences written on paper.
“I’ll contact you in three business days with the verdict, have a good night.”
“I shall await the news.” You beamed at him, warm and icy hands meeting for a handshake.
Just as you entered, you left with that same giddiness. Now left with his thoughts, Alhaitham reviewed the documents, he had three days to ponder whether or not to submit them to the legal team, and through the judgment of a certain scarlet-eyed General Hunter.
As per Sumeru regulations, all offices run by vampires must have uncovered glass windows. An attempt conquered by humans to enfeeble creatures of the night. Alhaitham’s beryl gaze traveled up the length of the building stationed across the street.
What an ironic placement for a hospital to be facing the biggest firm staffed by immortality. Or perhaps it was strategic, after all the most desperate humans are the ones who lay upon their deathbeds for one last hurrah.
The perfect scheme to keep the blood contracts flowing in.
Teal eyes observe the room right across through the glass, it seems freshly vacant. New untouched sheets, new unflatten pillow, and fresh towels.
Alhaitham can now confirm the validity of your statement, a half-truth.
When deciding on a contract, one must weigh the pros and cons, to see if they balance or if one side gives away to another. Your demands? You wanted to experience married life, all aspects of it. Your offer? Your everything.
All your assets together can’t hold a candle to the amount Alhaitham has accumulated for centuries, but it’s a decent amount. Perhaps due to a medical settlement.
Alhaitham has lived long enough to rein in primal desires, he can suffice off animal substitutes just fine. However, it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t want a taste of the real thing again. You offer him a steady supply, and to give him every last drop after seven years.
Yes, all of this for a mere seven-year contract. A deal heavily tipped in the favor of the vampire, not even a mere fraction of the time immortality offers. However, what piqued his interest the most weren’t the benefits listed.
A garden wall the tall vampire can’t peer over. Insight only attainable by those who near the end of their finite paths. What’s it like to have agency? What’s it like to have such finite time?
He’ll have seven years to observe. He submits the forms on the third day, delivering your verdict over the phone. Alhaitham agrees to entertain your little daydream.
On part that it was Alhaitham who personally filed the forms, the approval process went swimmingly, skipping the paper line. Tighnari oversaw the psychological evaluation, test after test confirming the sanity of your mind, speeding up the process of getting that stamp.
–
“What flowers do you like? I’m planning the decorations.” Your legs swinging under his kitchen table.
The contract was approved, hands held and certificates signed at the town hall, your belongings moved into his house. It’s excessive to want a celebration after all of that.
“Whichever flowers you want.”
Alhaitham will hold his tongue, after all, he’s signed to play the role of a husband.
–
The venue was spacious, high ceilings with marble floors and pillars, all of which were lavishly cluttered with Padisarahs, Sumeru Roses, and Kalpalata Lotuses. Alhaitham stood at the altar just off to the side of the wedding officiant. Tuxedo crisp and hands folded together, he scans over the rows of guests invited.
Since there weren’t any in-laws, Alhaitham assumed you wouldn’t have much of a social network. No one’s correct all the time, he ignores the piercing glares of a few eyes. The all-too-loud tones of a grand piano resound through the room. The previously shut doors open to reveal your figure. Embellished dress and veil perfectly framed by the carved entranceway as you ambled your way up the aisle.
The twilight hues of the sky dye the white gown in everchanging vibrancy as you passed by the standing crowd, up the steps to the altar, and finally in front of him. The overwhelmingly floral scent of the bouquet itches his nose.
Alhaitham pays no mind to the soliloquy of the officiant, he simply follows the rehearsed procedures. Sliding the gold band onto your finger and allowing you to do the same to him, lifting the veil to reveal your starry-eyed gaze he places a practiced kiss against your warm lips.
Is this excessive ritual over yet? No.
Alhaitham stands in the corner of the reception hall, hand nursing a glass of wine. The rich spices of the buffet offered to the guest irritated his palate. Supernatural creatures with their enhanced senses, a double-edged sword. Human food serves no purpose to vampires, it’s over-seasoned and pungent. At least your species has created drinks such as coffee and wine, delicacies even immortal creatures can enjoy.
In the center of the artificially lit hall, you eagerly greeted all your guests as they beamed at you. Giggling and hugging each person as an entourage of three friends helped with that embellished gown of yours. Two pairs of eyes from said entourage occasionally glared at him, their bodies forming a barrier to separate groom from bride. Candace and Dehya were the names you introduced to him.
Your starry-eyed self blissfully unaware of the silent cold war as the scarlet-haired dancer calls the attention of the two hunters back for the bouquet toss. Alhaitham was nothing more than just a decoration, you just wanted an excuse to prance around in a pretty white dress and throw a fancy party. He’s your husband, he’ll tolerate this daydream.
–
“Did you enjoy the reception?”
Only after the send-off and closing ceremony of the celebration, when the bride and groom were behind the thick oak doors of their suite, that you seemed to remember the decoration named ‘Alhaitham’.
“Yes, it was lovely.” The wine provided by the venue was of the highest quality, it entertained him enough.
“I hope you’re not upset at me being busy with guests.” Your arms found their way around his waist.
Quite comfortable encroaching on his space huh.
“I’m not.” Better they talk to you and not him.
As his cold hands pat the exposed skin of your back, his teal eyes didn’t miss the trail of goosebumps that prickled your skin. Shall he move on to the next scene? The lacing of your dress seems quite complicated, he assumes that it must have taken a few pairs of hands to tie it. Should he be a good husband?
“Do you need help with this?” His baritone voice was right against your ear, noticing the flush on the tips.
“Yes.” For once your voice was just barely above a whisper, a blushing bride.
The lacing weaved in and out of eyelets running down along the length of your back, how troublesome. Always one for efficiency, Alhaitham simply takes a handful of the taught lace and pulls, they snapped like simple threads. Such things offer no resistance to a creature of the night. The gasp that escaped your lips feed into something deep within.
With the bonds loosened, the embellished dress of yours lost the fight against gravity, fabric pooling at your feet. Revealing to teal eyes the lacy white stockings, garter belt, and panties, all the hallmarks of a wedding night. It’s impossible to deny the hunger crawling up his throat, no force of nature could resist such a sight.
“Aren’t you forgetting something? It’s rude to not offer the groom some help, no?” His hunger enjoyed that scarlet flush on your face.
Indecisive fingers going for the easiest button, opening the tuxedo jacket allowing him to shimmy it off his broad shoulders. Teal eyes continued to survey your flushed face, the smirk on his waiting for your hands to continue. Obeying his silent command like a good bride, you loosened the bow tie next, finally freeing him from that stiff collar.
Slowly your eyes peered up, asking if the torment was over yet, the slight rise in his ash brow directing you to resume. From your lips came the beginnings of a whine to which he sternly shushed. If you couldn’t even undress him how would you be able to do the other vulgar activities?
Finally relenting, your fingers continued with their clumsy attempt at unbuttoning his dress shirt, once a small window of his chest appeared your face pressed against the cool skin, staying there until all the buttons were undone. Oh? So even you can feel shame?
“Shall we continue on the bed, my bride?”
Your face was still hidden in his chest as you nodded, where did that shameless nature of yours go? With your gaze adverted he didn’t even bother hiding the curl of his lips. Sweeping you off the ground, he could hear the flutter in your chest increasing as the distance between the bed closes.
Upon silk sheets, Alhaitham settles down with you in between his legs and back against his chest. One key difference between humans and vampires? Body heat, one creature’s cells produces warmth, while the other simply remains the temperature of the environment. Your flushed skin seared itself into his, icy and hot mending together to create an equilibrium.
Of course, a good husband would warm his wife up. Alhaitham runs his cool palms along the length of your plush thighs and leg, absorbing the warmth as his own, soothing the shivers and goosebumps on your skin. Every now and then boldly creeping up the sides of your waist to twist at your perked nipples, enjoying every jolt and whine.
“Oh? Since when was this transparent?”
A firm hand grasps your chin, directing your vision towards white lace panties, the fingers on his other hand tracing over the shape of your cunt through the soaked fabric. Another lovely whine left your lips, face burning even more as you weakly protested in his hold, too powerless to do anything.
Skilled digits honed in on the nub that made your body jolt away, rubbing the faintest of circles over the delicate fabric, your legs trapped by his robust arms standing no chance to preserve your shattered dignity. As such, you had to follow his desires tonight.
“Or are you excited just by a few fleeting touches? What a lewd bride you are.”
It seems that you were telling the whole truth when you exclaimed how much you liked his voice, his finger could feel the slick that began to seep through the lace. Brushing the fabric to the side, Alhaitham allowed his middle finger to collect the slick along your slit allowing the rest of his digits to warm up against your cunt’s soft mounds. His throat felt parched as the sweet scent teased his nose, but now was not the time, maybe later in the night.
“Will you be honest?” The heel of this palm freely pressed against your clit as his middle finger continued to run up and down your wet lips, every now and then almost slipping.
Your body couldn’t hide its eagerness, hole clenching at nothing every time his finger passed by. However, he needed confirmation from you. Communication is important in a contract no?
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“I’ll be honest.” You pressed your back flat against his chest, trying to hide your face but his firm hold wouldn’t allow it.
“Good girl, then tell me what you desire.” His crisp breath provides your searing skin some relief.
Your plush lips pressed into a thin line as your eyes shut, cheeks heating up even more. It wouldn’t be good if you passed out from heat exhaustion so quickly. He grinds his palm into that sensitive nub, tormenting the answer out of you, nectar now dripping onto the sheets below.
“I want to c-cum,” You breathed out.
How direct, close but it wasn’t what he was looking for.
“You have to be more clear with your instructions, how do you want to cum?”
“Y-your fingers.”
“Good girl.” Finally, his finger breached your soaked entrance.
Pulsating walls welcomed him with unyielding squeezes, dragging his soaked digit further. Your sweet moans and whines resounded through the spacious suite, the volume of your voice directing him toward that spongey spot deep within. You were wet enough for another finger, so Alhaitham adds another, two digits stretching and exploring your soaked cavern.
“Mmmh! T-there!” Your toes were curling.
“Mmm.” The hum vibrated in his chest as his fingers went hard at work, thrusting into your quivering walls.
Each time his palm would slap against your clit your honest hole would clench down so endearingly. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, the muscles in your leg tensing up more and more. It’s obvious that you were close, but before he fulfilled your demands, he decided to be proactive and prepare for the next step.
Releasing your chin from his grasp, allowing your head to lull back against his shoulder. Alhaitham reaches between your bodies, hands never pausing their pace, swift fingers undoing the confines of his trousers. Allowing for his member to lay right against your back, the jolt of your body at the foreign object pressing against you made his hunger worse.
“Did you get more turned on? You’re clenching down tighter, did you want it that badly?”
Even if your eyes refused to meet his, the way your hips grind against his length, warming it up, told him all he needed to know. Your gummy walls constrict more around his fingers, it’s time to wrap up this scene, the next one is even more exciting. So his palm now digs into your clit, circling the now swollen bud in combination with his finger pressing against that nice spot deep inside.
“C-cummin-”
How cute, he didn’t even need to ask you to announce it. Letting your body ripple with the force of the orgasm, trembling limbs within his solid hold. If he was merciful, he would’ve continued to slide his fingers in and out, or maybe continue to caress your little nub, guiding you back to reality. However, hunger doesn’t allow for mercy.
Removing his soaked digits away from your pulsating cunt, teal eyes observing the transparent strings that clung to them with amusement. A small appetizer wouldn’t spoil the main meal, skilled tongue cleaning his fingers of your slick. Your head still limp against his shoulder, eyes rolled back in the throws of pleasure. To bring you back down to earth, it's best to use a new type of force.
Effortlessly, your hips were lifted up dripping cunt lined up with his impatient length below. In one fluid motion, your walls encase everything, drenched cunt giving no resistance as his tip kisses the spongy spot. Alhaitham lets a hiss escape him, it was as if he thrusted into the sun, your walls quickly bringing his member up to its temperature.
From your lips another moan was ripped out, oh it seems that you’ve plummeted back to reality. Your cunt trembled yet gripped onto his cock like a vice, coaxing him to go in deeper, encouraging his hunger to abuse your gummy walls even more. Barely riding out one wave of pleasure before another drowned you.
The hunters at your wedding could stick to your side the whole celebration, they could glare at him all they wanted, and they could try their damndest to keep the vampire at a distance. However, it was all efforts wasted in vain. For it was you, the blushing bride, who walked straight into his arms in the end, so open and receptive.
As he slides out just the slightest bit, your cunt protested by desperately clamping down, begging for his thick girth to stay in. In response he tightened his grip on your hips, lifting your body back up before bouncing you back down. What a glutton for pleasure you were, even as your little mouth whimpered and babbled, your walls thanked each slap of his hips with squeezes.
Sadistic hunger wanted more, to thrust deeper, to bully that poor spot inside of you over and over again with his thick tip as your walls stretch to accommodate the girth. His thighs collected the mixture of sweat and slickness from your body at each thrust. Your fingers dug into his hands, fingers white as you tried to grasp at anything to ground yourself.
“F-fast, too m-much.” There was drool escaping the corner of your parted lips, eyes barely back from seeing the inside of your head.
“Oh? Do you want me to stop?”
Alhaitham grinds to a stop, member still pressing deep inside you as he pulled you closer so his breath could ghost over your nape. In an instant, your mouth and cunt protested, you should be more clear with your instructions.
“N-noo.” Crying over the ruined tension.
“No? You wanted this.” His finger finds its way back to that swollen nub, flicking it a few times to watch the jumps of your body.
“If I let you cum, then I’ll do it my way, is that clear, my bride?” Tormenting your clit with firm circles.
“Yes! Please! P-pleasee.”
So weak against his voice, the sweet calls of a beast to lure you into the depths of depravity. Such is the fate of a shameless bride. Thus, his hips sprang back into action with renewed vigor. One hand keeps your hips still and the other remains on your clit to force that knot to reappear deep inside you.
Nothing but nonsense and moans babbled from your loose face, nectar dripping down to his heavy balls as they slapped against you with each pistoning of his hips. Your frantic hands entangled themselves into ash-mint locks as he felt gummy walls closing in tighter and tighter, your toes curling at the end of spread legs. Sinful slaps increased in frequency throughout the room as did the pace of the finger on your clit.
Your tense body held the warning of another storm, another fall off the edge into the depths. Alhaitham brushes his nose up your nape, the floral scent didn’t distract him from the goal laying just behind the skin. Your nerves were exhausted from the shooting pleasure, now was the perfect time to finally get his share. It’s only fair.
Prepping the area with a slow lick as his hips continued their brutal pace, incisors brushed against the delicate skin before piercing through. His hand shot up from your hip to your neck, a loose grip holding you still as your body tensed then violently shivered. The frenzy clamping of your cunt on his length was proof of your fall. Loose jaw uttering out broken moans as tears dripped down your chin.
The fresh scarlet flooded over his tongue and down his throat as Alhaitham continued with his slow suckling. Ah, you were very much like a flower, so delicate, so fragrant, and so bittersweet. It’s been almost a century since he last tasted the real thing, his body celebrated by filling your walls with thick release. An equivalent exchange of some sort.
A human body is quite frail, losing over two pints of blood borders on fatal territory. It’s not good to deplete a resource so quickly. Alhaitham releases your neck, running his tongue over the wound to seal it up. Teal eyes checked your complexion to ensure his measurements were accurate. Cheeks still with a healthy red flush as your chest heaved with pants, eyes glistening with tears. Such a shameless sight. He allows your head to roll onto his shoulder.
The rhythm of your heart settles back to its resting state as Alhaitham analyzes the taste he just experienced.
“I love you,” you breathed into his shoulder.
Alhaitham stiffens, the herbal aftertaste of your blood was bitter, the tang dried out his mouth causing a drawn-out pause. This is no good, he can’t miss the cue to say the line a bride longs to hear from her groom.
“I love you too.”
The choir of crickets from the world outside filled the void along with your pants.
“Pfft! Maybe let’s not say that, it’s too weird.” You shamelessly laughed, lifting your face from his skin.
What a relief, at least you seem to still have sense. Such words felt forcefully wedged into a script that wasn’t written for it. Might as well remove the line altogether. Moving on from the scene, Alhaitham lets you enjoy the warmth reflected off his body by yours.
It’s in the clauses to allow you to enjoy all aspects of marriage, so enjoy this honeymoon segment.
“Haitham, can you carry this for me please?”
“Haitham, I can’t reach, can you get it please?”
“Haitham, let’s have panipuri tonight!... Can you cook it please?”
It would’ve been better if he remained nothing more than just a decoration. It would’ve been easier if he was just a view for you to see behind glass. Perhaps Alhaitham’s acute eyes misread the contract, did you want a husband or just a maid?
Instead of sitting down in his own house to enjoy a book, he finds himself saddled with domestic responsibilities.
Must you call on him for everything?
Laundry and groceries aren’t that heavy. If you can’t reach the top shelves with the duster, then just get a chair. No ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ could prevent the downward tug of his lips every time you call him that doltish name. Your justification of a ‘nickname’ between lovers was moronic.
“Huh… Haitham how come you only use salt?”
Why do you make a creature who doesn’t consume such foods cook them? You’re more than capable of cooking for yourself every day. Although, Alhaitham would prefer it if you stopped using such overly fragrant herbs and spices.
Of course, when two breaths occupy the same space, there are bound to be pieces that don’t fit together, just as two breaths never sync. Alhaitham already factored those into his decision, but this was more proof of why a theory is always second to application. How troublesome the reality of marriage is, no wonder divorce rates are so high.
A good actor knows how to stay in character, so he’ll keep these thoughts to himself. Just as he lists your quirks silently.
One, you’re capricious. One moment silently enjoying a drama on the TV you asked him to purchase, body hogging the entire expanse of a couch. The next, you’ll be humming as plates and cups clatter in the sink, or the heavy thumps of your steps as you bound through the house with a mop. Alhaitham prefers it when you’re stationary, at least it doesn’t disturb his reading.
–
Two, you drink tea, an unfathomable amount of it. A warm cup always nestled between your fingers, bitter water mixed with honey. The herbal tang finds its way into your blood, making it taste like medicine. Thus, Alhaitham treats it as such, medicine just to alleviate suppressed bloodlust taken in moderation.
–
Three, you wanted to celebrate everything. Each square of a calender marked with scribbles. Why celebrate a celebration that’s already past? What is so special about a birthday? The past two years you purchased the same bundle of pungent flowers that made up that bouquet on that day to gift to him.
“Don’t you want a taste? I saved a slice just for you. Oh, would you eat it if I sprinkled some of my blood on it?”
Alhaitham swiftly accepts the plate from you, lifting the fork of overly sweet birthday cake into his mouth. Useless carbs take up space in his body, but such a thing causes no harm. Better to taste like pure sugar and not medicine.
–
The worst quirk of yours? You rise as soon as the sun greets the sky, adamant to not miss a single second of a day. Every day’s itinerary is filled with spur-of-the-moment decisions, such as going to a farmers market only open on Saturdays between the hours of 9 am and 2 pm. And how you drag him along.
Curses, only a human would drag a creature of the night into the day. What sadistic creatures, delighting in others' misery, you’re no exception.
“I thought you said vampires aren’t like how TV depicts them.” Curious eyes observe his slouched figure.
Vampires aren’t like how those dramas of yours depict them. No formal invitation to cross wooden thresh holds, no garlic braids as an effective shield, and no turning into a pile of ash at the mere rays of a star.
If so, then vampires would’ve been long gone by now. However, just because the sunlight can’t kill a vampire-
“It doesn’t mean it’s not unpleasant.” His stoic voice was too tired to add a bite.
You continued to stare at him with wonderment, as if what he said was the most complex theory known to the universe. Those dramas must’ve rotted that mind of yours, he concludes. You’re beyond saving.
“I see.” Gentle hands lift the excessive sun hat from your head.
Reaching on your tiptoes you place it atop his head, the straw brim providing some reprieve for his irritated skin. Shuffling the hat around until it’s securely nested along his now trussed ash locks. Satisfied, you lower yourself back down.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. We can go home..”
Tenderly, your hands clasped around his, guiding him into the shade. The whole walk your hands never left his, eyes always searching for the next patch of shadows to lead him into. For the rest of the weekend, you just watched your dramas, the sensation of guilt must’ve muted your voice.
Good. He celebrated this rare break in his library away from you.
Alas, all good things must come to an end. Monday night rolled around again, as he passes the living room, he spots your loafing body napping on his couch as the TV acted as white noise. Tsk. Regardless, it’s time to get to work, he walks toward the front door.
“Wait,” came a soft command, dripping with sleep.
From around the corner, your figure comes stumbling towards Alhaitham, his hand still firmly on the knob. Hands busy trying to rub the fatigue away from your eyes, blinking away the pleasant dream you were just in.
Why did you abandon it? Alhaitham doesn’t know.
Your frame reaches his, transferring some of your warmth to him, arms outstretched towards his neck. Teal eyes don’t miss the way your drowsy legs were wobbling. To prevent any accidents, he supports your body with an arm around the waist.
Just as he feels your body steady, clammy palms encase the sides of his face. Pulling it down as your supple lips pressed against his cool cheek. Did you traverse all the way from the sofa just for a kiss?
“Have a good night at work.” Your shameless smile beamed.
A habit formed from one of your dramas, a wife bidding goodbye to her husband with a sweet kiss to boost his spirits. Curiosity must have gotten the better of you, or maybe you wanted to amuse yourself, two possibilities Alhaitham devises.
–
“So, how’s married life treating you?” Kaveh’s smug tone grated against his eardrums as the blond rested an elbow on the bar table.
Alhaitham couldn’t stop the frown from forming, nor the heavy sigh, so he took a hearty sip of his wine. Emptying the glass in one fluid motion.
“Heh, I see you’ve been enjoying the spoils of marriage very much,” Tighnari snickered.
“Sure, if you wish to see it that way.” Alhaitham’s hand found itself pouring another glass.
It seems that everyone around the ashen-haired vampire was enjoying the spoils of this odd union, everyone but him that is. His miseries fueling the chaff nature of his acquaintances, still he needed a reprieve to drink.
Not that herbal blood of yours, but something actually palatable like the fragrant wine washing the frustrations down his throat. It’s not marriage, it’s having to work overtime.
“Regardless, you signed a contract, you must uphold the clauses.” Cyno’s scarlet eyes leered over the rim of his glass.
Alhaitham sighs, he should’ve drank alone.
–
The tavern wasn’t a far journey away from his house. The deep hues of night slowly shift to the youthful flushes of dawn. He’s been drinking for quite some time, it didn’t matter, alcohol has no effect on a body such as his.
Alhaitham twists the key, the door creaking ajar just to reveal your figure with arms crossed. Disappointment ever so clear in those eyes of yours.
“Where’ve you been?” No chirp in your tone.
After a few hours of reprieve, Alhaitham is welcomed home with an interrogation. Wonderful. Why should he answer this meek creature standing in front of him? He could just walk to bed and get the rest he deserves.
‘You must uphold the clauses.’
Right, Alhaitham has to play the role of a husband, he signed a contract, too late to just burn the papers now.
“I went drinking with coworkers,” he curtly answers.
“Why didn’t you call beforehand?” Your head tilts, disappointed eyes still honed on him.
Why does he have to inform you of his every movement? Who were you to demand so much of his individuality? Alhaitham couldn’t help the frown that reappeared, directed at you, the hurdle that blocked him from entering his own home.
The grandfather clock counted the seconds in the background, two sets of eyes locked in a stare-down. One frowning and one disappointed. How long will this last?
Your shoulders slumped as a sigh left your lungs. Eyes finally finding rest behind two heavy lids.
“My life’s too short for misunderstandings and messy communication,” you huffed.
Your back straightens again as you lean in closer, eyes recentering on his towering form. They no longer held the burden of disappointment, they twinkled with something else.
“I’m your wife, and you’re my husband.” You stated the obvious.
“So when my husband, who usually arrives home at half past midnight on the dot, didn’t arrive home until dawn without a single text or call. I got worried.”
What wasted concern, why worry for an immortal creature?
“You don’t need to report every movement to me, I don’t want that either, but if you plan on staying out please give me a simple text. So I don’t have to spend hours worrying about why my husband isn’t answering my calls.”
Alhaitham scans over the discoloration hanging heavily under your eyes. An unpleasant sensation crawled up his spine. Phone shut off by habit, unaware of how you were losing sleep as he emptied bottle after bottle. He has to remedy the situation now, it’s what a husband should do.
“I understand, I’ll do that from now on,” he answers.
Is he allowed back into the confines of his own house now?
Your hands were now positioned defiantly on your hips, brows quirked up as if expecting something more.
No.
“You’re supposed to apologize, ya know. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time, my wife’,” you advised.
“I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time, my wife,” he parroted.
The magic words to finally open the path into the house, words that finally returned that grin to your face. Arms outstretched you wrapped them around his neck as your lips warmed up his cool cheek.
“Welcome home, Haitham.”
Ah, he knows what that twinkle in your eyes was, sincerity.
Audiences rarely see the behind-the-scenes of a movie, with directors always handpicking which mistakes are charming enough to be shown as a blooper. Audiences don’t see the multiple scenes filmed then refilmed, they can’t experience the long hours, and they don’t know how many times lines were misread. Three years is enough time for actors to learn their lines.
“Is my drama too loud?”
Alhaitham peers over the top of the journal, focusing on your face peeking through the entrance of his library. Judging by the apron, he guesses it's almost time for dinner, the dialogue playing on the TV was just above a muffle from here.
“It’s fine, remember to turn on the kitchen hood.”
“Okay, which wine did you want to baste the meat in?”
“Top left, how long will it take?”
“Pfft, famished already? 15 minutes, you won’t waste away in that time right, Haitham?”
The ever-so-adventurous palate of yours and the ever-so-drab palate of his. An unstoppable force meeting an immovable object, two existences that bend and twist each other until equilibrium. Equilibrium in the form of a steak basted in red wine, rare for him and medium for you. A dinner that could be enjoyed by both breaths.
–
“Oh?” Your bewildered eyes blink at the bouquet presented to you.
A wrapped box held tenderly in your hands. Alhaitham had taken note of a certain scribble marked on the calendar, it was he who got the fourth bouquet. Placing an order ahead of time to ensure the freshest flowers.
“You said they smelled bad.”
“I’m used to it.” A half-truth.
Your lips couldn’t suppress its toothy grin, balancing the box in one hand as the other accepts the bouquet.
“Since you have every book in existence, I got you something else.” You nudged the wrapped present toward him.
Unraveling the decorative paper his eyes were greeted by the sight of a carved figure of a… what is it? Meeting your eager gaze, the quirk in his eyebrow told enough.
“It’s a hawk, I saw in storage that you used to collect these decorations.”
Ah, you found a petty hobby he had decades ago to torment a certain someone. A figure serves no practical purpose in a home, but the eagerness of your eyes was enough to find the endearing gift a place on a shelf.
–
“How does one make their blood tastier?” You pondered into his embrace.
His tongue traveled up the nape of your neck to collect the escaped drops of scarlet and to close up the wound. Your bare skin pressed against his, rising his temperature to a pleasant warmth.
He could feel every shiver as his length shifted within your overstimulated walls, recovering the overwhelming pleasure experienced just moments earlier.
What an obvious answer, stop drinking that tea of yours. However, Alhaitham prefers when you have the energy to trot through crowded walkways at dusk with him in tow. Bittersweetness is an acquired taste, one that took him some time.
“Since you have enough clarity to ask questions, I’m assuming you’re up for another round.” His husky breath ghosts over your ear.
“Wait~ I’m still sens-Ah!”
–
Over time, something as short as five years, even a trickle of water can crave a home for itself in the rocky foundations of the earth that’s existed since the dawn of time.
The side of the polished dinner table with the clearest view of the TV was your side.
The mug left in the sink with the faint aroma of tea and sweet honey was your mug.
The couch with cushions misshapen and molded by repeated use was your couch.
Such is the lull of domestic reality, each kiss at the door to bid goodbye and each kiss to welcome him back.
Nothing, not even immortality, is resistant to time.
Due to the crowd you’ve built your circle from, hunters were semi-frequent guests at his home. Much to your delight and his dismay. A husband should get along with his wife’s friends.
“Your complexion has gotten paler.” Candace’s heterochromatic eyes narrowed, her hands turning your face from side to side.
“Mmm, I haven’t been going out during the day as much.” Resting the weight of your head within her palms.
“Bullshit, he’s been using you like livestock,” Dehya snapped.
“Mmm? Not really, he says my blood taste like leaves.” Halfheartedly lifting your face out of Candace’s warm hold.
“Don’t cover for that bastard,” the Flame-Mane hunter scowls.
“Need I remind you ‘that bastard’ is still in the room?” Alhaitham breaks his silence.
“Who said you could speak?” Sapphires clash with beryls.
“Who’s home are you currently guests in?”
Even without glancing down, Alhaitham could tell that Dehya’s hand was twitching to reach for the silver dagger hidden up her sleeve. The hand then falters back down, Candace must’ve also noticed, steadfast eyes sending a warning to the other hunter.
“Of all people, why did you have to marry this vampire?” Dehya turns to you exasperated.
“Mmm,” you hummed.
With the finger pressed against your lip and your eyes wandering up towards nothing, Alhaitham couldn’t tell if you were deep in thought or just faking it.
Your pondering filled the room with silence, three pairs of eyes intently trained on your frame. Eyelids closed as you deepened your thought. After a few beats, they fluttered back open.
“Because he’s just too handsome.” There’s that shameless smile again.
The disgusted expression that plastered itself all over the hunter’s face at your response almost pushed a quiet laugh from his lips. However, Alhaitham wanted to avoid a physical confrontation from starting in his house.
If there’s one virtue you have, it’s that you’re a fair person. You perplex your friends and husband to equal degrees.
It’s now time for the hunters to start their night, much like how Alhaitham will soon report to the office. The two women and you were now at the threshold of the door bidding goodbye, their skeptical eyes every now and then glaring behind you at the vampire.
“Oh, one more thing,” your voice perks up.
Arms encapsulated two sturdy frames, pulling them close against yours.
“I love you guys.” Your words make the two robust warriors take a sharp inhale, bodies tensing up momentarily.
“We love you too, very much.” Candace’s voice forced itself to steady.
“Yeah.” Dehya pulled you closer.
After a few beats, you pulled away from your friends. Lighthearted grin lopsided on your face.
“Alright then, stay safe out there,” you chimed, waving at them.
After their figures disappeared from view, Alhaitham shut the oak door. You still peered out the curtains, daydreaming something as the stars reflected in your eyes. He observes for a moment before he collects the cups and dishes that once held tea and sweets to entertain bygone guests.
You were already surrounded by love, genuine love. Why did you sell your soul to experience something you already had? Alhaitham will save that question for another day.
Would you try saying that line to him again? Maybe this time he read his line without hesitation.
–
Alhaitham’s heavy lids shot open. The unwelcome greetings of morning birds signaled the time of day. Keen eyes scanned over the empty space beside him, sheets still trussed in the shape of a smaller figure. The bird songs rang like sirens, heightening his senses.
For once his ageless body left the bed without protest, swift steps pattering through the dim halls until the backyard came into view. Sunlight poured in through the open door, the wooden mounts perfectly framing your slumped figure.
Tired body balancing upon the basket of damp laundry, halfway from the backdoor and clothes line, you stopped to take labored breaths.
Swiftly he was by your side, towering stature blocking you from the harsh rays. Alhaitham lifts your fatigued body from the ground, giving your aching legs relief. Even with the sun hanging high in the sky, your skin didn’t absorb an ounce of warmth.
He takes you to the safety of the dim house, settling you onto the soft cushions of your couch.
“Don’t push yourself.” Alhaitham shifts a few pillows behind your back.
“I wasn’t, the laundry needs to be hung,” you huffed.
“Just call for me.”
You sounded out a whine of protest, but your breathing steadied. Alhaitham moves to stand back to full height, ready to finish the task awaiting out in the sun.
“Wait,” came your soft call.
Plucking your favorite sun hat off, you bestowed it upon unkempt ash locks still dusted with sleep. Fussing with the oversized straw brim until it stayed in place. Once satisfied you beamed, fingers caressing his smooth cheeks before placing a peck from curled lips.
“Thank you, Haitham.”
Adamant hands smoothed over the damp clothes, ensuring that they didn’t dry on the line with wrinkles that stayed stubbornly. The morning rays felt like sand against his exposed skin, but the hat bestowed upon him made it tolerable.
–
“It’s dusk, would you like to stroll through the market tonight?” Beryl eyes inspect the curled figure of his wife among cushions and blankets.
“Mmm, maybe not tonight.” You sink deeper into your couch, drama long forgotten.
“I see.” Alhaitham moves to the armchair just adjacent to you, a frequent perch of his now.
“Come here?”
Just as you finished blinking Alhaitham was by your side again. Slowing lifting your upper body just off the cushion, you pat the now free space, welcoming him to sit. He wouldn’t be a good husband if he were to deny such a request. So he sits.
Once the ashen-haired vampire was fully situated, your head found its place upon his thighs.
“Lap pillow,” there was that giggle of yours.
Alhaitham sighs, but he couldn’t prevent the corner of his lips from curling up, so he hides it with his book. This must be something you learned from those dramas again. He’ll humor it.
His cool fingers run along your scalp as his teal eyes switched between your resting face and the words printed along the aged paper.
Maybe not today, perhaps tomorrow when the rays of a selfish star kiss your cheeks.
–
The drinks were served quietly, the tavern didn’t seem as lively tonight. Perhaps because it’s the busy season, Spring air carries with it the signs of renewing life and tax forms.
“So, how is she, the wife?” Kaveh traverses the stagnant air.
What a redundant question, Alhaitham knows they can smell the fragrance lingering on his body from you, the aroma of flowers only found in a garden beyond a line immortals can cross. The scent of an ending journey.
“I’ll send some more Kalpalata Lotus tea, one cup a day should help with lethargy.” Tighnari prescribes, making a mental note to prepare the delivery once he returns home.
“Thank you, how much would I owe?”
“None, just a gift for your wife.”
Alhaitham hums in gratitude, and the table continued to play cards placidly. Throughout the rounds, his teal eyes stole glances over to a dark screen.
The group dispersed at dawn, but it wasn’t long before Alhaitham acknowledged the presence behind him.
“Alhaitham.”
He only glanced over his shoulder at the tan vampire.
“Remember the punishment that awaits those who dare disturb the cycle of life.” A threatening crackle resounded from the curled fingers by Cyno’s side.
Alhaitham already knows and Cyno knows it all too well. After all, the privilege of a good true death was stolen away from the white-haired man many years ago. Cursing the shorter man to eternity. Thus, Cyno now spends eternity punishing those who dare break the most sacred law.
Alhaitham responds with a nod and with that the two men parted ways as the rosy hues of dawn dyed the sky. You’re probably in bed already, it’ll be his kiss to announce his return.
–
In an age where humans outnumber vampires, with new technologies and weapons that can now threaten once untouchable creatures, immortal beings now have to obey mortal laws. The most sacred of laws, vampires cannot turn humans into immortal beings. It’s illegal, it’s immoral even to curse such fleeting creatures with eternity.
However, vampires are creatures born outside the grace of god from the very start, lurking in the shadows of iconoclasm. What difference would it make?
It’s his night to make dinner, steak with red wine sauce.
What is the difference between blood and wine to the inattentive eye? The scarlet hues could be easily mixed. All it would take is a sprinkle, drops stirred into the fragrant sauce served over the juicy meat, for you to abandon your humanity. For the ticking of a grandfather clock to stop its hands.
Who wouldn’t want more time?
A scene from a night now long past resurfaces at the front of Alhaitham’s mind.
–
“Would you want more time?” Came a question that broke the silence after a moment of passion.
Your damp skin glistens under the moonlight, your chest rising and falling as the lust slowly blinks away from your eyes. Alhaitham’s hand on your back guides you down from cloud nine. You stared at him inquisitively, teal reflecting back to him as he remains silent.
Ashen hair tussled and scratches fading away from cooling skin, he awaits your answer, schemes manifesting.
You let out a hum, signing that you’ll humor his question this time, as your face rests against the pillow comforted by his woodsy scent.
–
If you had more time, he would have more time. More time to pick your brain. More time to search through the archives of your thoughts to decrypt you. More time to grovel at your feet for forgiveness after he rips the humanity away from your arms.
Alhaitham is a prideful thing, but he’s not a dense fool. He knows when an apology is necessary, insight gained from his time shared with you.
Teal eyes glance back behind him towards the living room, where your figure sat quietly, attention distracted by the pair of lovers on screen in the midst of a tense argument. Never once turning behind to glance into the kitchen, not one ounce of suspicion. The scene finishes.
–
“I was born a human.” Your lids opened again, meeting his beryl-like eyes.
Irises pure like the moonlight reflected in them. He hums in acknowledgment, fingers tracing mindless scripts into your tender back.
“I will die as one.”
He hums in confirmation.
–
A riddle he couldn’t quite solve to bypass the sphinx who guards the sanctuary of your mind. Humans are greedy creatures of conquest, always wanting more, always hungry for more. That’s why creatures like him exist and thrive, feeding into the natural greed of humans.
Every human wants more power, more money, more wisdom. Every human wants more and more and more. Every human, so why can’t you want more? It seems that the breeze who gallivanted into his office, proposing to him with a contract, won’t reveal her secret.
As it was outlined on the paper signed by two names, he shall honor your wishes for now until the end, such is the character of a husband.
Alhaitham runs his hand under the kitchen sink, shameless eyes watching as the water turns clear again, and as the skin closes up. A feature only a creature born outside the jurisdiction of god would have.
He finishes the meal with a few sprinkles of freshly cut herbs, serving the untainted sauce over juicy cuts of steak, one cooked medium and one cooked rare. He calls you over to the dinner table.
The average human life span has increased drastically in the past centuries, it’s now about eighty years give or take.
Still a mere fraction of the time held by vampires.
Eighty years, and yet you could only have a fraction of that. You could only offer him a sliver of a fraction.
–
“It’s been a while since you’ve fed, aren’t you hungry?” Your eyes peered over at him.
Alhaitham wipes the washcloth along your back from beside the porcelain tub, steamy water carrying the fragrance of Nilotpala Lotuses. The humidity of the bathroom made the shirt cling to his skin like a wet rag, but the moisture helped with your coughs.
“I’m satisfied.” Another half-truth, teal eyes scan for any signs of discomfort, he can bare it.
“Really? I’m sure my blood doesn’t taste like leaves anymore.” You rested your cheek again on the warm washcloth, eyes twinkling under the fluorescent lights as you looked into his.
The gift by Tighnari sitting untouched in the corner of a cabinet. Perhaps you’ve gotten tired of the bitter herbal taste, or maybe because there wasn’t a point in drinking it anymore.
Alhaitham fought the urge to click his tongue at your brash humor, only you would worry about how you taste during the closing days of a contract. However, his lips couldn’t form a frown when you beamed at him like that.
–
On the path to work, beryl eyes landed upon a bouquet arranged with familiar flowers, the petals dyed by the rich hues of dusk. The florist was busy gathering up the displays to bring them back inside for the night.
“Excuse me, I’d like to purchase this bouquet.”
That night at the office, the staffed vampires crinkled their noses at the overwhelmingly floral scent that plagued the floor. Alhaitham just shut his office door, bouquet resting in a hastily prepared vase, such a thing won’t kill a vampire it’s such a minuscule issue.
“I’m home.” He locks the door after him.
Keen hearing not picking up the pattering of feet along the hardwood floor. Placing the flowers on the entranceway table along with his dress shoes, the ashen-haired immortal trekked through the halls, silence ringing in his ears.
Behind the solid bedroom lay his answer, turning the knob, Alhaitham feels tense muscles loosen as the steady melody of breaths resounded through the room.
You’ve been here since this afternoon, body now imprinted into the plush mattress. Still, your blood still runs and your chest still rises, even if there were faint hints of wheezing it was good enough. Quiet as a shadow, Alhaitham removes his blazer and tie before joining you under the sheets. He’s been craving sleep.
A timeless body doesn’t need sleep, ageless cells don’t require such downtime to recover. However, claiming that vampires don’t enjoy sleep would be a blatant lie. A calm way to pass the endless time offered by eternity, a nice way to escape boredom.
Or maybe it’s because sleep gives immortal creatures a taste of an experience they’ll never have. Peaceful expiry.
Teal eyes observe the ever-present curl of your lips before cool lips are pressed against your plush ones. A habit formed after six years. The flowers were still left at the door, but they’ll survive the night. Alhaitham will show them to you in the morning, and you’ll beam that grin at him in the morning.
–
Fresh flowers rested in a vase gifted by friends on the nightstand, the last flowers of Spring. The delicate blooms give way to the vibrant greens of Summer. Such a cruel season for vampires, with days so long and nights so short. A cruel season that offered your body no additional warmth.
Alhaitham’s hand brushes against the apples of your cheeks, your unconscious body protests in an instant with shivers and curls away from the thief stealing what precious heat you had. As if burned by fire, the vampire retracts his hand.
Right, he can’t be greedy. Teal eyes watch every tremor until his legs finally remembered how to walk. Pacing to the closet Alhaitham pulls the Winter covers out from storage, insulating your body with the thick duvet.
The layers form a barrier protecting you from icy touches as he smooths out the wrinkles.
When humans walk into a garden, their eyes are immediately drawn toward the most beautiful blooms. Watching intently at how the petals of the young blossom unravel, their senses enjoying the heavenly fragrance. It’d only be a matter of seconds before their inevitable greed takes over, and they wish to claim the flower as their own.
In this sense, the gods are no different than the mortals who were crafted in their image. Greedy to pluck the most beautiful blooms from the garden for their mere amusement.
Is that what went on behind the garden wall those born outside the jurisdiction of god couldn’t peer over? Alhaitham wonders if you’d answer this inquiry of his. However, if he wants answers, he’ll have to ask soon.
How should he say the last lines of this script?
Alhaitham ponders. There wasn’t a director to give a cue, no parenthetical to follow. Perhaps he’s entertaining such futile thoughts to distract himself.
With each wheeze of your chest, the itch in his palm grew unbearable. His thumb begged to dig its nail into the smooth skin until scarlet droplets trickled out. However, it never got its chance for soon your ailing fingers occupied the space, interlocking to halt its motion as gold rings clinked together.
“My husband is such a handsome actor.” Breathy voice babbling with a giggle.
Alhaitham’s cool skin hogged your warmth, trying to permanently sear the temperature into itself.
“You don’t have to play this role anymore.” You craned your neck away with a deep exhale, exposing the vulnerable skin to him.
There’s nothing viler to a vampire than stagnant blood. Blood that no longer runs tastes rotten, cold blood is worst than bile. Your blood still ran warm, he could sense it. This time it was his incisors that itched.
Keen eyes don’t miss the way your nape prickled at the breath that ghosted over it as his lips parted. Your lids gently shut, bracing yourself. The incisors brushed against your exposed jugular, but they couldn’t break through the delicate skin. They wouldn’t. They just wouldn’t.
Like the cowards they were, they retreated. Alhaitham closes his lips, deciding to press a tender kiss on the spot instead. His free hand guides your head back into a comfortable position on the plush pillow.
“You don’t have to hold yourself back.” Your eyes were open again.
“I’m not holding myself back,” he spoke the truth, the whole truth.
You were born with blood, it’s only right that you die with it, Alhaitham concludes.
The ending clause of that contract be damned.
“What a silly vampire.” Your bell-like laughter twinkled in his ears.
Yes, he is. Even after all these centuries, Alhaitham realizes he’s still no better than a fool. A shameless fool. An idiotic hypocrite ready to stray away from the principles he thought he held firm. He’ll accept this verdict, he’ll continue this fool’s errand, if and only if you continue to giggle at his antics.
Outside the window came the dirge of Summer crickets, gentle crips accompanying your fleeting wheezes. Alhaitham shifts the thick comforter up your body, smoothing out the wrinkles as the soft warmth lulls you away.
Your still fingers in between the spaces of his, your head curled within the space between his nape.
Under the moon’s pure rays, lay two bodies atop soft sheets, curled towards each other, the fleeting warmth long dissipating. Atop silk sheets, one body envisions the two buried under cold dirt and not clean comforters with hands somehow still locked together. Deep under the garden wall.
Once the cruel sun creeps into the sky, and the night flees into hiding with her stars, Alhaitham will have to make a call.
He’ll have to speak with the receptionist on the other end, with their bright customer service greeting, and get a legal pronouncement of death. Then soon after that, he’ll have to arrange the transportation of your cold husk. He’ll have to lower you into the ground alone.
However, the morning is still hours away, the moon is still here to lend her quiet sympathies. So tonight, just for tonight humor his little daydream.
Fin~
©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.
#alhaitham x y/n#alhaitham x reader#al-haitham x you#alhaitham x you#genshin vampire au#genshin modern au#genshin x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin smut#alhaitham smut#alhaitham x yn#alhaitham scenarios#genshin scenarios#al haitam x reader#alhaitham fluff#alhaitham angst#genshin angst#genshin alhaitham#genshin fluff#vivalabunbunfics#alhaitham#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact scenarios#genshin fanfic#alhaitham fics#yandere alhaitham#alhaitham fanfic
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A Long Time Coming
Summary: Going back to the place that started it all as a pair different than before.
Word Count: 5.2k
Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Smut, NFSW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Fluff, humor, slight angst, slight dubcon, exhibitionism? kinda? porn with plot, slight yandere alhaitham, mentions of marriage, marriage pressures, pushy family.
Authors Note: This is a small continuation of this basically you take alhaitham back to your parents’ house. I wrote this in a rush to finish it in time for his birthday. Enjoy
Officially becoming a couple with Alhaitham was as if your world had been flipped upside down, yet not a piece of furniture had been knocked over in the event. That is to say, everything and nothing has changed. Your apartment still housed one, the same workplace banters, the same comfortable silence. Yet, on weekends in your bed lays another body. Under the covers, curious hands roam, and in the air lingered the scent of passion.
However, once the work week started, the two bodies untwine, becoming you and Alhaitham. No one at the office suspected the fresh development between the two of you, not even your new drinking colleagues. Although, Kaveh has noted to you:
“That guy has been walking around much smugger than usual. Like he just completed all the trials of life. Do you think he got a pay increase again?”
The morning after that fateful night while across the kitchen table, there was a firm handshake agreeing to the boundaries of your budding union. Particularly, that under no circumstances shall a certain blond be the first to discover the true nature of this relationship. Once Kaveh knows, then all of Sumeru and Teyvat will know too. Plus, the absolute hysterics he’ll devolve into when he’s the last to know that the two of you were an item will be the show of a lifetime. Great minds think alike after all.
Right now you and Alhaitham were in his rented car on the way to the first big challenge of your relationship: Meeting your parents. Well, that is a bit misleading, your parents already know Alhaitham, they practically were his secondary guardians, often looking after him when his grandmother was busy. Their eyes watched the pair of you grow up as their wrinkles grew.
But things have changed, Alhaitham is no longer just the neighbor's grandson and your childhood friend. He was now going to be introduced as the man you are dating. That fact made you jittery the whole drive, nerves bouncing off the corners of your skull, as you held the basket of fruits Alhaitham had bought as a gift to them.
“The fruits will get bruised if you keep tossing the basket with your legs.” He remarked, never taking his eyes off the road.
“I can’t help it. I’m nervous, Haitham. I don’t know how you’re so calm.” You consciously made the effort to still your leg.
You glanced over at him, taking a moment to admire his side profile, his face and demeanor stoic as ever. Alhaitham, who usually spent the weekends in his comfortable t-shirts and sweatpants, made the effort to wear a crisp black button-down and tailored slacks. You also observed the extra effort he had put into his hair today.
“Simple. I am a familiar face to your parents, and they often commend me for my accomplishments, not to mention my physique.” Large hands firmly grasped the steering wheel as he made the turn down the well-known road.
“Oh? Then why are you all dressed up mmm?” You quirked an eyebrow at him.
“It will serve me well to maintain a good impression.” He swiftly rebutted.
You let out an exasperated sigh while shutting your eyes. If you had a sliver of the self-confidence your former childhood friend had, you’d conquer the corporate world. You faced the road again, basket shifting in your lap as you sank lower into the plush leather seat.
“Remember what I said back in the apartment, absolutely no PDA in front of them. You already know how they are.”
“I am aware.”
His polished car pulled into the driveway of your parent's house, the trees in the front lawn casting a nice shade from the blazing light of the sun. He shifted the stick into park. The gentle rumble of the engine ceased the moment he pulled out the keys. Alhaitham swiftly unbuckled, opened, and exited his car. A resounding thump felt as the driver-side door closed. All the while you fumble with your seatbelt, the oversized basket impeding your dexterity. Then finally the click that signaled freedom just as the passenger-side door unlatched.
“I’ve carried this for long enough. It’s your turn.” You gestured towards the fruit-filled hassle on your lap.
“Alright.” He effortlessly took the basket from your lap with one arm, and the other outreached towards you patiently.
You held back your teasing remark as you accepted his invitation, gently placing your hand in his awaiting palm as he helped you out of your seat. Your heart couldn’t help but flutter at his actions, hoping to control the growing smile on your face when you turned away to close the car door. Your hands swayed together up the pathway to the front door, steps matching.
Your nerves growing as the distance decreased until you were right in front of the lacquered wood. You hastily pulled your hand out of his tender hold, palms getting a bit sweaty.
“Again, no touching in their presence.” You warned once more.
Swiftly you pressed the doorbell, its cheerful chime drowning out any possible response from Alhaitham. From behind the door, you could hear the soft thumps of your mother’s feet against the wooden flooring as she strode up. When you hear the clicks of your mom unlatching the door, you took a side step away from Alhaitham, putting a bit more space between your bodies.
The door flies open.
“Oh! Dear! Our daughter has arrived! With a handsome guest!” Your mom called back towards your dad.
“Is it Alhaitham, honey?” Your father’s voice rang from deeper in the house.
It’s been less than a minute and you already want to sink through the floor in embarrassment. Your face begged to be shielded away from your lover’s prying eyes, despite his stoic face he was definitely enjoying this. Just how many times has your mother praised the sculpted perfection that was his face?
‘It’s just for a few hours, you can power through this. You will survive.’ You repeated this silent mantra in your head.
Four cups of tea were placed on the living room table, freshly cut fruits taking their place in the center. Your parents both sitting on the opposite sofa from you and Alhaitham. Your lover seated himself comfortably directly in front of your father while you sat at the far opposite end, even placing a throw pillow between you and him as if to create a barrier.
Your mother was chatting nonstop, questioning Alhaitham about every topic she could.
“How has work been, lil Haitham?”
“The usual.”
“Oh my! Have you grown even taller?”
“My last health check-up did not indicate such a thing.” Despite loathing small talk, he answered overall politely in his monotone voice.
“Then… Have you finally found someone special? A lover?” Your mother pressed, eyes twinkling.
During the last question, you were taking a sip of your tea, only to choke when you processed what your mom had just asked.
“Ah, not on the carpet child! It’s brand new!” Your mother chided.
“... You have something to say, little one?” Your dad asked as he handed you a napkin, one brow raised.
Ah, there’s no use in delaying the truth any longer. After all, telling them was the whole purpose of the two-hour drive, with Alhaitham even going through the trouble of renting a car. As if preparing to rip off a band-aid you counted down in your head, prepping your eardrums.
3-2-1
“Alhaitham and I are seeing each other.” You quickly revealed.
Instantly the air was filled with the harmonized gasp of your parents, their hands clutching onto one another and their mouths agape. Their owl-like eyes shiftng between your now red-stained face and your lover’s neutral expression. Expressions morphing from utter shock to disbelief, then finally melting into joy.
“Oh! Dear! The gods have answered our prayers!”
“I know, honey. My faith has been renewed.”
They were right. Somewhere up above, there must be a god amused by your suffering. You wanted nothing more than for the couch to swallow you as your cheeks burned. May if you were to be sucked into some subspace, you can avoid the absolute tidal wave of questions from your mother’s mouth.
“For how long?”
“Ah… for about two months now.”
“How did this happen?”
“L-long story…”
“Have you moved in together?”
“Not yet, mom.”
“What date is the wedding? Planned names for the kids? You should name one after-”
“We are planning to take things slowly-”
“Slowly?!” Your mother’s voice peaked.
Your mom and Kaveh should compete to see who can shatter your eardrums first with their shrills. Your gut churned as you knew what was about to come next.
“You’ve known each other for over sixteen years already, is that not slow enough??”
“I-it’s not the same-”
“Most people your age get married after knowing someone for only a fraction of that time!”
“U-um-”
“Oh, why is my daughter so indecisive? Do you know just how many people would kill for your place? Poor lil Haitham’s youth is being wasted.” Your mother cradled her face in her hand, disappointment evident.
A chill overtook your body. The frosty hands of insecurity ran along the back of your neck, preventing you from choking out a response. Not that you had a good answer anyway.
In fact, you did not have an answer for why you wanted this relationship to move slowly. Were you just scared? Indecisive like your mother just described? More troubling was that Alhaitham also heard your mother’s outburst. From experience, you knew Alhaitham loathed nothing more than things that wasted his time. He is human, his patience is finite.
The atmosphere was tense, despite the beautiful blue sky of Sumeru outside, the room seemed dark and dreary. The cups of tea now growing cold. Deciding to step in from the sidelines, Alhaitham deemed it inappropriate for the conversation to end like this.
“Currently, the geo-political atmosphere has been tense with raising concerns over Snezhnaya. As a result, the economy in Sumeru has been going through a bit of stagflation, not to mention the rapidly inflating prices of houses. As you know, ma’am, I am currently renting out my home to a colleague to cover a portion of the mortgage payment.” He took a sip of tea.
“This is all to say that now is just not the right time.” He finishes, placing the cup back onto the wooden table.
“He’s right, honey.” Your father finally contributed to the conversation.
“Alhaitham and our little one are still young, and the world is turbulent. We shouldn’t be putting more pressure on their shoulders, honey.” Your father reached over to soothe your mother's arms.
“Once the state of the world settles down, please let me ask for your daughter’s hand.” Alhaitham asked while looking sincerely into their eyes, a sign of his respect for them.
The gesture brought a surge of heartwarming pride through your parents. As your mother soon changed gears into singing praises of her prospective future son-in-law, the atmosphere in the room light like the sun outside once more. You looked over at Alhaitham, a thankful and knowing smile gracing your lips as you tuned out your mother.
Many people assume that academically gifted geniuses, such as Alhaitham, lack social and emotional awareness. But the existence of the ashen-haired man beside you shatters that preconceived misconception.
Alhaitham knew how to take control of the situation, he knew how to dispel tension, and how to mediate a difficult conversation. Perhaps he had learned it from his constant observation of strangers, or maybe from the philosophy novels he had browsed.
Your hand began inching towards him along the sofa, heart longing to feel his warmth through your skin, to intertwine your fingers. He shifted his body, increasing the space separating you.
Your hand halted, retreating back to your side shameful like a sinner. You didn’t feel like you had the right to be upset, after all, it was you who told him how distastefully your parents would react to physical displays of affection.
It may be that the opportunity for tender intimacy between you and him came so sparsely. Only two days out of seven could you act on your affections for one another. Yet, here you were deprived of it in the house you and he shared many memories in. It left you with a bitter sting in the heart.
The bored gods seem to not be able to get enough of the drama playing out in front of them. Because as if scripted, the moment you and Alhaitham tried to bid your goodbyes, your parents began to pester for the pair of you to stay for dinner.
“Little one, your mother and I put so much effort into renovating the place. Don’t you want to see?” Your father's lips frowned.
“I also got up extra early to get the freshest ingredients for supper. Do you not miss our cooking?” Your mom guilt-tripped.
“Well, you see Haitham needs to return the car soon-”
“No, I don’t. I made sure to pay for two days' worth of rental, enough to cover a weekend. Also, it is almost my usual dinner time.” His curt voice answered from behind you.
Your face snapped back towards him, the look of utter betrayal plastered all over your features. Outnumbered three to one now, you had no choice but to cave as your shoulders dropped. The gods must be laughing at your suffering, wanting the comedy to continue.
“We’ll go rest a bit in my room…” You quietly uttered.
“That’s wonderful! Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes! Your room has been left untouched.” Your mom chimed, smile beaming.
“Yes, yes. We’ll go there now…” You listlessly began the journey up the stairs, Alhaitham right behind.
“Little one.” Your dad called out from the bottom of the steps.
“Yes?”
“The door is to remain open at all times.” He reminded.
“Dad, we’re not kids-”
“House rules.” Your father crossed his arms, stern eyes glancing over Alhaitham and you.
You dropped your head, feeling as if you had reverted back to your teenage years again. Today was really testing your resolve isn’t it?
“Fine.” You huffed, continuing your way up the shiny new stairs.
--
The moment you reached your room, you softly pounded a fist into Alhaitham’s stupidly firm chest.
“Traitor.” You huffed out.
“I can’t help it, your parents’ cooking is too good of an offer to pass up.” He said as if stating the obvious.
“They’re gonna continue with the small talk you know.” You poked.
“I know, but you’ll be at the table too.” He rebutted.
You let out an exasperated sigh. He was going to expertly redirect the conversation towards you, just like how he always did back then. You really just can’t win today. You plopped your tired body onto your old bed, the stack of pillows and plushies shifting out of their positions.
All you’ve done today was sit and talk, yet you felt more exhausted than if you had ran up all 10 stories of your apartment building. You couldn’t wait to go home.
Alhaitham’s teal eyes trailed up your spread form, then around your childhood room. Your room was like a time capsule, with the same wooden desk in the corner, the same unnecessary amount of pillows, and the same scent that was so wholly you. Maybe it was the nostalgia of being in the room the two of you spent so much time in, same open-door rule, his mind began to run through some memories.
All the times you would lay in your bed with shorts that barely covered your ass.
All the times you would press your body against his as he help you with assignments at the desk.
All the times you would run your fingers through his hair and coo ‘smart boy’ after taking your finished homework from his hands.
All the times the scent of you would linger on his clothes as he pressed the fabric against his nose on particularly desperate nights.
His jaw clenched as murky desire began to bubble up inside of him.
Alhaitham thought after the night when you both proclaimed your feelings to each other, that creature lurking over his shoulder would subside. A miscalculation on his part.
The boiling pot of emotions, he had been continuously lifting the lid off to relieve the pressure throughout the last two months, only continued to boil over faster.
The creature only got hungrier, he only got greedier. It wanted to claim you as fully his from the inside out, down to every fiber of your being. Two days out of the week was not enough, it needs more.
Frankly, he thought it was unfair how your essence would taint the rationality of his mind. Isn’t it only fair that he settled the score? To give you a taste of the insanity you put him through.
Quickly taking note of the bustling noises of your parents in the kitchen, preoccupied with the task of supper. The kitchen radio plays old pop songs from the time of your parent’s youth. These details only encouraged him to put his plan into action.
“Hey Haitham, before we leave did you want to check on your grandma’s property?” Your eyes focused on the ceiling.
No response was heard from your ashen-haired lover, as his slow steps closed the distance between your bodies.
“Haitham?-”
Like a falcon swooping down to grasp an unsuspecting hare into its sharp talons, his body pinned yours against the plush bed, lips sealed against yours. The pure shock of it all made you react with a gasp. Never one to miss a window of opportunity, his tongue snaked its way into your mouth. His woodsy scent invades your senses. It’s only been two months since it began, yet your body responded so perfectly, Pavlov could’ve used your reaction to test his theory instead of those dogs.*
Your skin heated up against his, legs shifting to encase his body against yours, muscles going limp under his control. If you were this weak after a simple kiss, Alhaitham needs to take extra precautions to ensure no other person could ever see you like this. The dark glint of lust was evident in his eyes as his hand trailed under your chiffon skirt.
He didn’t have the chance to tell you today, but your choice of a light sweater and long flowy skirt was absolutely endearing. So sweet and innocent, and under him, such easy access to be devoured. To emphasize just how vulnerable you were, his long fingers traced all the way up to outline your folds. Feeling how your cunt twitched in response to his touches over the fabric of your panties. Your mouth was desperately trying to break away, lungs burning with the desire for oxygen.
“Ah- H-haitham?” You whispered out, startled by this uncharacteristic outburst from your lover.
A thread of saliva connected your two lips, as your flushed face looked up at him. His face was stony as ever if it weren’t for that smirk in his eyes. It signaled that he was perfectly aware that his fingers were now pushing your panties aside. Middle finger sliding up and down your slit, purposefully bumping into a certain bundle of nerves towards the top.
“W-wait, here? Haitham, my parents-” You stifled a moan when his finger flicked your button.
“We’re not in their presence at the moment.” He retorted quietly, pressing sweet little kisses against your neck.
“Still!” You harshly whispered.
His finger pressed against your opening, and instinctively your cunt clenched, only to close onto nothing. A slickness began to develop along your slit. It’s been five long days since the last time your poor cunt was given any attention.
“Your body sure is honest.” He tutted.
In your feeble attempt to shift out of his grasp, your cunt only pressed more into his hands, which only served to weaken your resolve. He brought his lips closer to your ear, his deep voice sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.
“If you really don’t want this, then push against my shoulders. Come now, make up your mind.” This said all the while he rubbed slow circles into your clit.
You could hear the faint clattering of pots and pans coming from downstairs along with the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. You had put on such a big show in front of your lover about the rules, and yet here you were so needy after him. You hated how greedy your body had become for him, nerves kicking into overdrive and skin prickling as his hot breath brushed against it.
You turned your head to the side, ashamed of how quickly your resolve had crumbled.
“Good girl. Open your mouth.” He cooed, bringing two fingers up to your lips.
Your pouty gaze met his as you granted his fingers access, they fluttered along your tongue. Gathering your spit as they did before he pulled them back out.
“I want to test my efficiency.” He lazily observed his glistening fingers.
Oh, the desire in the pit of your stomach leaped at his words. As his hands pulled your body towards the edge of the cramped bed. Effortlessly flipping you over so that your plush ass was now facing him, your face pressed against the sheets.
“Try to be quiet.” He pushed the fabric of your skirt over your ass, revealing your soft mint panties. ‘So you were expecting something.’
Angling your hips up as he knelt at the side of your bed, your cunt was now fully on display for him. The greedy thing twitching with anticipation each time his cool exhales hit its hot skin. In one fluid motion, his wet tongue swiped up along your folds as his thumbs spread them apart. Quickly you bite into the sheets, praying that it would silence your voice. With practiced precision, his tongue instantly attacked your aching bud, stroking it, rolling it, and flicking it with his wet muscle.
Your hips would’ve been bucking wildly if it weren’t for the firm hold Alhaitham had on them. Your slick was now spilling out onto his awaiting tongue mingling together with his spit as they began to drip down his chin. His tongue continued to assault your swollen bud as your teeth ground against the sheets, fighting to keep down your moans.
All the while your parents remained blissfully unaware of the beast they’d let into their home that was currently doing unspeakable things to their daughter.
You felt your eyes begin to roll to the back of your head as you felt that familiar white heat approaching, tension so close to snapping. It would only take 1-2-3 more flicks of his- It all stopped. A whine almost ripped through your throat at the sudden loss of his tongue as he pulled away.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood back to his full towering height. The pressure in his pants screams to be relieved. Who was he to deny himself such simple pleasures? Swiftly undoing his belt and pushing down his boxers, the raging length eager to bury its thick girth into your willing walls.
You couldn’t help but wiggle your hips a bit, egging him on to give you what you’ve been craving more than any food. The glaze of his tip against your twitching hole was the only warning you got before his hips snapped against yours. The momentum so great it caused the sheets to slip out from your teeth, a loud moan on the cusp of escaping if it weren’t for Alhaitham’s hand swiftly grasping your mouth.
Your walls welcomed the familiar stretch, clenching and releasing as if they were placing wet kisses along his length. He wasted no time in beginning his brutal pace against your hips, each thrust rocking both your body and the poor bed. Your brain was too preoccupied with pleasure to even worry about the creaking, drool beginning to collect in his hand.
He already knew where all your weak spots were. And he knew exactly which angle his hips needed to be in order to hit them in the way that made your eyes go to the back of your pretty little head. So that’s what he did. As he felt your slippery walls clamp down tighter with each intentional thrust. Tears of ecstasy were rolling down his hand from your eyes, firm grasp vibrating with every blocked moan that clawed against it.
Those dark thoughts danced along the edge of his mind again as he criticized his past self for being so foolish. If he had known you were this weak to pleasure, then he would have done this ages ago. He would have taken you against that desk in your little short shorts, making a mess of the papers. He could have made it so much more efficient.
Alas, the past is the past with no bearing on the present. And right now he was absolutely wrecking you against your old bed. He had taken a winding path, but it still lead to the same place in the end.
Your walls suddenly became impossibly tight as the convulsions of your orgasm shot through your body, eyes disappearing to the back of your head. Alhaitham had to bite back a moan as he felt your pulsing walls try to milk him. As much as he would have loved to spill everything inside of you, right now was not the right time.
Perhaps in the future, you will beg over and over again for him to fill you with the essence of him.
Quickly pulling out, his hand letting go of your hip to give his length the last few strokes to the finish line. Cumming along the curve of your ass, watching as the thick liquid stuck to your skin. Your cunt was still shaking as you slowly descend down from cloud nine.
He felt confident enough to release your mouth from his hand. Your ears filled with the sound of your pants overlapping each other until-
“Dinner is ready!”
Your body froze as you turned to face your lover with wide eyes, only to be greeted by the sight of his impassive face. As if he had already predicted this was going to happen at this very moment.
Ah… The bastard timed this out, didn’t he?
Swiftly Alhaitham took some tissues from the desk to wipe both you and himself down. Pulling your panties back into place you fussed over your skirt and hair in the mirror, trying to make yourself look as presentable as possible. While Alhaitham tucked himself back into his slacks, buckling up his belt again.
On your way down the stairs, your mother raised an eyebrow at your trembling legs as your frame followed behind your lover.
“What happened?”
“Um, I stubbed my toe against the desk again.”
“Ah, you hopeless child.” She tsked.
--
After the food was cleared out, plates cleaned, and lacquered table swiped down, your parents quickly suggested that the two of you stay for the night.
This time Alhaitham firmly turned down the invitation, he must have reached his conversational limit for the month.
Waving goodbye to your parents from the passenger seat as they stood under the porch light, a great stress was finally lifted from your shoulders. You were finally released from the torment of the gods.
Looking over at the man driving beside you, you observed how his eyes also seemed more relaxed. Hands holding the steering wheel in a loose grip as he drove just a bit above the speed limit.
“Finally had enough?” You taunted.
“My ears are still ringing.”
Freshly showered and tucked under the soft covers of your own bed, finally away from the prying eyes of the world. It was only you and him now in the little world of your own called your apartment. Even with the thin walls and sometimes broken water heater, it was a safe haven neither of you would ever trade up.
The rhythm of your matching breaths provided the room with ambiance, his hand toying around with your left ring finger. A box was currently hidden in a drawer at his home. The jewels once dawned by his grandparents, then his parents, now one day the box his grandmother had left him will have the honor to meet you.
Meanwhile, your thoughts were consumed by the echoing of your mother’s words back in the living room. It would have been so much easier if it was just a dramatic outburst, but the semblance of truth in her words gripped your mind. If you hoped for a peaceful night of rest, then you needed answers from the source currently cradling your hand.
“Do you feel that my mom’s words from earlier are true? You… you have already given me sixteen years, yet I asked for more time… am I being greedy?” Your other hand hesitantly traced the veins that ran along the back of his hand.
A silence fell over the two of you as if the winds of Dragonspine had just touched time and froze it.
But his chest was still rhythmically raising and falling, your heart still drumming in your ears. With every beat passing, you feel the icy hands of doubt creep up your back, they were choking you, making you feel a sting in your eyes.
‘I am wasting his time.’
The shifting of his large frame snapped time back into place as he tenderly pressed his forehead against yours as if to ground you from your running thoughts. Pulling away slightly for his teal eyes to hold your gaze. In a gentle whisper, his deep voice resonated in your ears.
“It doesn’t matter. For I’ve already decided that in exchange for the rest of your life, I will devote the rest of mine. So, whether it be three, five, or ten years it matters not to me. In comparison to a lifetime, those numbers are insignificant. ”
His hand continued to caress your ring finger.
“I am a lot more patient than you think.”
In the span of your entire existence together you had always been the one with the most words, the first to break the warm silence, and the first to jest.
Yet, in sporadic moments there are times when Alhaitham would string together words from his vast vocabulary that would leave you speechless. This was one of those moments.
When words cannot be used then action must come in. With wet drops collecting in the corner of your eyes you pulled Alhaitham’s lips into a chaste kiss, so soft yet so full of love. Arms interweaving to bring your two bodies into one whole, warm being.
“Although, for the sake of your ideal wedding. You might want to have it happen when my body is still fit enough to carry you down the aisle. Of course, I’ll maintain this form for the foreseeable future.” He whispered next to your ear.
“Oh hush, since when did you start cracking jokes, Haitham?” You were smiling as warmth dripped down your cheeks.
Let your mother nag until her voice fades. Let the years slip through your fingertips. Let the economy go to absolute waste. Those future worries be damned.
All that mattered right now, in this singular instance, was that you were in his arms and him in yours.
--
Fin~
Author note: * this refers to classical conditioning, I’m going to be a nerd now in my writings.
DON’T PLAGIARIZE, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORKS ON DIFFERENT PLATFORMS.
#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x y/n#al-haitham x you#yandere alhaitham#alhaitham smut#alhaitham scenarios#alhaitham fluff#alhaitham fanfic#genshin impact x reader#genshin smut#genshin x reader#genshin impact x you#alhaitham imagines#genshin fluff#genshin imagines#al haitham x reader#al haitham x you#vivalabunbunfics
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Overdue Books and Ghost Stories
Summary: If the scholars at the Akademiya are so smart, why can’t they remember a few due dates?
Word Count: 6.4K
Tags: Alhaithamx GN! Reader, Shy! Reader (you hate eye contact), Librarian! Reader, Fluff, SFW, attempts at humor, pure fluff, written before 3.6 so Alhaitham is still acting grand sage, slowish burn?, Akademiya setting, slight mutual pining, Sumeru boys drive the librarian insane, especially a certain gray-haired bookworm.
Authors note: I just wanted something light-hearted and fun to write as a reward for getting stuff done. Shy people who force themselves to be responsible and hate eye contact unite! Enjoy!
He’s being followed.
Alhaitham can feel the fleeting presence lingering just a few seconds behind him.
The warm late afternoon breeze caressing through his grey locks, his cape trailing behind, and belt clattering with each fluid step. Teal-orange eyes faced forward towards the hectic stall-lined streets, but his attention was focused on the ghost that trails him from behind.
Every merge into the crowded pathways lined with vendors, every sharp turn down hidden allies, every street he circles back on, the traces linger like a dream fleeting from the memories of deep sleep.
He can’t allow a ghost to accompany him home, lest it decides to haunt the house.
Alhaitham had wasted enough time walking in aimless circles, if he can’t throw off the ghost, he concludes he must exorcise it.
Long legs pivot into an alley confined by stone walls and empty of shouting merchants and haggling shoppers. One, two, three slow strides towards the pale dead end that faced him.
“I know you’re there. Might as well stop with the games.”
Ghosts don’t exist outside tales told to innocent children to keep them tucked tightly under the covers. However, the iniquitous villains that terrorize the plot do, and they’re known as humans.
Were they going to fight or flee?
The presence behind Alhaitham finally materialized into something more than a fleeting dream. He glanced over his shoulder, hand ready to summon his sword. Behind him stood an unassuming figure, with no sensible ill intentions, their hands up as a sign of surrender.
Eyes adverted elsewhere like a child caught trying to sneak one more piece of candied Ajilenakh Nut.
The viridescent robe that enveloped your figure paired with the matching barrette, there’s no mistaking your identity. Another scholar from the Akademiya, great.
With power comes prestige, two notions Alhaitham couldn’t care less for. He was more than satisfied as a simple Scribe filing away applications in the archives away from searching eyes.
Those days were a luxury stolen from him by the title of “Acting Grand Sage”.
Now it wasn’t an uncommon sight for some researcher to come floundering through the crowded halls of the institution towards the ashen-haired man. From time to time there would be the bold student, agglutinating to his side with their wasted attempts at a conversation.
With great power comes great inconveniences.
Inconveniences that unabashedly believed their polite smiles could divert his teal gaze away from the insincerity. That offering a cup of coffee along with a rehearsed elevator pitch could sow the seeds of a superficial bridge.
One where they’d walk across with forms awaiting a signature along dotted lines or a towards a potential high seat at the Akademiya.
Their desire for this absent bridge coerced them to shallow down their pride, spurring this fruitless endeavor despite the Acting Grand Sage’s indifference and unreturned interest in small talk.
First, he was pressured into taking a position he didn’t want, then he became the target of people’s irrelevant aspirations, and most damning of it all even his privacy’s being invaded. To put it frankly, Alhaitham’s tired of it all.
Surely, it couldn’t take this long for the great institution of wisdom to select another leader, when can he finally stop this sham act?
“I’m off the clock, come find me on the next working day.” He’d prefer it if you didn’t.
The frigidness of his words with their thinly veiled politeness didn’t cause a single muscle of yours to budge.
“The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium has been overdue for 6 weeks now, please return it to the House of Daena immediately.” A hand extended out in front of you, open and expecting.
No introduction, no chivalrous greeting, no frivolous small talk. Alhaitham certainly wasn’t expecting this from the strange ghost that stalked him.
Oh, so that’s where your eyes were. Honing in solely on the book currently clutched by his hip. One of the many books he signed out of the House Daena on a whim, simple academic works to stimulate his mind during the respite between busybodies and paperwork.
One he then promptly cast to the side by the beckoning of a journal from the restricted access collection. Only after a pile of files was removed from his desk that his eyes rediscovered the title.
“I understand, I shall promptly return it by the end of the next work day.”
“No, a student has requested this title for a week now, after they’re done with it, you may sign it out again.” Voice firm and steady as you gestured for the book to be returned to your hand.
No. An unfamiliar word spoken in a tone now foreign to the towering man.
His keen eyes observed your homogeneous uniform of standard greens and gold, you must be a regular librarian employed by the Akademiya. The Akademiya currently under his jurisdiction.
How bold of you, or has this job already drained you of all sense of self-preservation?
Regardless, your statement wasn’t without merit. The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium doesn’t belong to him, and who was he to inconvenience a standard employee this Wednesday afternoon?
It wouldn’t serve him any benefit to be in the ire of a librarian, Alhaitham concludes it would be wise to just surrender the book. So he relinquished it.
From your pocket, your other hand produced a slip of parchment.
“Here is the late fee, please address the payment to the House of Daena by next Wednesday.”
Instead of offering the Acting Grand Sage a cup of coffee, you offered him a fine in exchange for confiscating his book.
With a slight bow, the ghost was exorcised, ambling back into the busy streets of Sumeru City until your back disappears from his teal eyes.
Alhaitham was left with no introduction, no coffee, and no book to spend the evening with. Even still, his mind has found something else to ponder about to pass the time.
Alhaitham slowly rejoins the buzzing city streets, the chattering voices carried by the cool breeze that rustled his cape and made his ash locks brush his cheeks.
‘How refreshing,’ he thought.
When the current Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya was announced most people never heard his name before. Have they ever shared a class together? Were they ever in a group research project together? How could someone so brilliant escape the eyes of eager upstarts?
They could’ve had a prominent headstart in their careers if they’d built those bridges all those years back.
To be fair, you would’ve fallen into the clueless demographic as well. Were the two of you in the same graduating class? If your job didn’t require you to check the library ledgers every day, his name would’ve eluded you.
Even with a brisk thumbing through of the ledgers, it’s hard to miss the repetition printed on the pages.
Alhaitham was a regular name to be found in the library ledgers, you’d even argue he’s the biggest patron of the House of Daena.
However, it wasn’t the only pattern that would jump out to even the blindest man in Teyvat. What would be printed next to each book signed out by Alhaitham? Overdue.
Yes, you would think a man brilliant enough to plan the greatest insurrection in Sumeru’s history could remember a few due dates. But the ledgers refute that impression.
Before, the Scribe turned Grand Sage would simply return the books 1 or 2 weeks overdue and pay the fee at the same time.
Was it due to the increased responsibilities that now befell him or the increased financial freedom granted by a bigger paycheck that caused this pattern of extended tardiness?
Regardless, The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium has returned back to the House of Daena, much to the delight of a hysterical student who pushed off a paper for a bit too long.
That Wednesday afternoon was the first time you spoke to the mysterious man of infamy, in an alleyway tucked away from prying eyes. He gave you the book without much of a fight and accepted the punishment without complaint.
If only it was always this easy.
First impression overall? The whispers in the halls were an inaccurate depiction of Alhaitham. To you at least, he was a rather tolerable man with a good sense of regulations, handsome hands too.
Was your first impression bad? Impudent even? Script rushed by the pounding metronome of your heart, skipping over a few key sentences, like an introduction.
Oh, you also forgot to call him Grand Sage… Surely he won’t hold such a petty grudge over that, he seems sensible.
You flipped through the library ledgers one last time before your duties ended for the day, stopping on a page as you pursed your lip at the familiar name next to The Critique of Pure Reason boldly stamped overdue.
If only the Grand Sage would fix this sloppy habit of his.
Alhaitham is very much aware of the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, the frequency illusion. The tendency to notice something more often after noticing it for the first time. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint the exact inception of this phenomenon he was experiencing, a certain meeting in an alleyway.
–
“General Mahamatra,” A distinct cadence enticed the Ashen-haired man’s focus away from the matra delivering his daily report.
There’s a hush that befell the halls of the Akademiya today, no reason to speculate, it’d obvious to even the dimmest of fools. Cyno, the General Mahamatra, returned today from the sandy wastelands.
In fact, Alhaitham had just concluded his brief discussion with the electro wielder a few moments prior. The General left the paperwork delivery to the woefully ignored matra currently in front of the dendro wielder.
The faint reverberation of the dreaded title paralyzed the few scholars and researchers that dared roam the in presence of the General. Intense scarlet eyes centered on the viridescent clad librarian that called, your eyes seemed occupied with the object encased by tan fingers.
“Law and Order of the Pursuit of Wisdom is overdue.” A steady cadence incited the General.
“By how long?” Spoke an authoritarian tone.
“8 weeks, General.” There wasn’t the slightest pause from you.
The dense tension within the enclosed space was palpable, many pairs of eyes fixed on the scene happening under these fluorescent lights.
The seconds counting down to the decisive moment, what will become of the incautious librarian after this show-down?
…
“My apologies, I should’ve returned the book before I embarked, may I pay the fee now?” The treacherous edge was absent from the general’s voice.
With a swift nod, you turned on your heel, leading the General Mahamatra toward the judgment awaiting him in the House of Daena. A sight so flipped on its head, the witnesses of this event couldn’t seem to decide which direction was up anymore.
–
“Mr. Kaveh.”
A librarian intercepted a certain famed architect’s search for a certain Grand Sage evading the responsibilities piling up on a polished desk.
A spectacle was certainly about to happen in the House of Daena, Alhaitham gathers from his position just covered by a towering bookshelf.
“Oh, yes?” The furrow between blond eyebrows dissipates in an instant, his fury distracted for now by the polite use of his name.
“Were you the one to sign out The Death and Life of Great Design, Mr. Kaveh?” You held out the title in question, holy text for every architecture, your impassive eyes trained on the cover.
“That’s correct, I’m certain I returned it in time, has anything arisen?” The light of Kshahrewar raised a brow at the sudden inquiry.
“Would you mind explaining this, Mr. Kaveh?”
The book was pried open, revealing to the world the chaotic collage of jumbled words and sketches haphazardly scribbled among the print with the faintest whiff of wine.
Even from this distance, the bold vandalism was observable to his teal eyes. So was the slackened jaw of the architect with his now saucer-sized eyes.
The closest equivalent Alhaitham could compare your current expression with was a parent’s gaze toward the discovery of a crayon mural on a wall. Three pairs of eyes observing the blatant defacement of literature.
“The replacement cost of this book is 141,471 mora, it was an antique print.” Your hands gingerly shut the covers, hiding the book’s shame away.
“H-how much??”
“I’ve written the amount down on this form, please address the payment to the House of Daena by the end of this month, Mr. Kaveh.” From your pocket, you presented the blonde with a fine that exacerbated his dreadful finances.
With this, your performance concluded, a mannered bow before swiveling back to your post at the library’s front desk. Leaving the famed Kaveh silent and color absent from his face, the slip of parchment pathetically pinched between ailing fingers.
Stepping back into the shadow of the shelves, Alhaitham reaches a hand up to enable the feature of his earphones that preserves his sanity. He already had a premonition of what was to greet him, might as well enjoy the fleeting moments of silence while it lasted.
–
The sky over Sumeru was a brilliant blue, tufts of fluffy clouds cushioned the earth from the harshest rays of the sun, but not enough to embargo the comforting warmth. It’d be a shame to throw away such beautiful weather in the confines of an office.
Enough justification for Alhaitham to enjoy a quiet reading session under a hidden pavilion, just to the side of a neglected pathway at the Akademiya.
Just because a place is neglected, it doesn’t mean it’s completely abandoned. The scurrying of two sets of steps made their presence known along the uneven path.
“Please return Handbook of Qualitative Research to the House of Daena,” your stony voice perked his ears.
Those words weren’t directed towards the unseen Acting Grand Sage, no, they were addressed towards the researcher whom you were just a few seconds behind. Impassive gaze concentrated on the overdue book in his arms.
The exasperated man huffed out a breath, bringing a hand up to rub at his dry eyes drooping under the weight of the discolored skin hanging under them. Alhaitham hypothesizes that this must have gone on for a while.
“Listen, I know it’s overdue, I promise to return it once this report is finished.” The researcher tries to quicken his strides.
“No, it’s late 4 weeks now, please hand over the book.” That signature gesture made its appearance, palms open and expecting, your pace never once faltering.
“Could you please make an exception, just this once?” Tired exasperation morphing into a sharper edge.
“There are three other patrons queuing for this book, I’ll add you to the list and notify you once the title is available again.” Indifferent eyes never once left the imprisoned book.
Ah, your words became the straw that broke the Sumpter Beast’s back.
“Three? THREE??! I don’t have the time! If they’re students they can wait, this project has dragged out for months, months! It’s only now drawing to a close, oh for the love of Lesser Lord Kusanali, just let me-”
Fatigue overboiled into raw frustration, the researcher now lively as ever, moved senselessly close to your face.
One boot-clad step makes its appearance from behind a pillar. It’d be best to de-escalate the situation now before the potential for a physical alteration manifests into reality.
Especially for a librarian that’s too focused on a book to recognize the looming threat. As Acting Grand Sage, maintaining order was the priority.
Instantaneously, a lone finger shot out towards the azure sky, with it followed the wearied eyes of a man mid-manifesto. The hypnotically soothing hue of the vast space momentarily ceased the researcher’s grievance, reminding him of the bigger picture, of the bigger world.
Bringing him comfort with the realization that these sleepless nights won’t be permanent, that this too shall pass.
Was that the goal of your diversion? Probably not. Regardless, the hostage has been rescued into your secure arms, back where the book belonged.
The view of the sky must’ve reminded the researcher’s body of its limit, as his movements faltered back sluggishly. Bloodshot eyes blinking at his now empty hands.
“Please address the payment to the House of Daena by next week.” A slip of parchment produced from your pocket fills that void for him.
Without another word, the librarian trekked back up the beaten path, leaving behind two very silent men. With only the researcher’s figure left in sight, Alhaitham’s mind quickly lost interest.
Withdrawing back behind the cover of the marble pillar, he couldn’t help but recount the details.
‘The General Librarian’, ‘The Punisher of Fines’, ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’. All names coined by the sleep-deprived minds of slouching students and destitute scholars awaiting the saving grace that was their paycheck.
Perhaps it’s that inorganic cadence of your voice. Or how one of your hands reaches out to demand the return of printed works while the other indited the transgressors with a note worth months of coffee.
Maybe it’s the focus of your catatonic gaze solely upon the books in question, denying wrongdoers a chance of mercy formed by eye contact.
An itch tickled the back of Alhaitham’s throat, the same sensation that tugged the corner of his lips upwards towards the brilliant sky.
How did such a fascinating individual slip away from under his nose for so long?
Almost there, just a little longer, the doors to the House of Daena came into view, you’re so close to reprieve. One hand still clutching the freshly recused book against your chest, you pried the door to the staff room open. Empty.
Thank the Archons.
Ducking into the sanctuary devoid of library patrons and chattering coworkers, sealing the solid wood behind your back, you could finally breathe.
Lungs burning for the taste of oxygen again, the pounding in your chest subsiding with each greedy gulp. Drained figure finding solstice against the sturdy door.
You achieved your goal, so why were you so defeated?
His eyes got close, dangerously close. In your peripheral, the puffiness of his eye bags were in full detail. Your lids shut firmly as if shutting out the intrusive thoughts that threatened to infiltrate your mind.
It’s fine, everything is fine, your eyes never met. There’s no arrow in the back of your heel, the script has not gone off course.
What a childish Achilles heel, eye contact, the most basic requirement for a conversation between peers and people. One you can’t fulfill. Even the briefest moment of connection will crumble the mask you dawn, exposing the puny coward to the world.
One look and you’ll be thrown off script, your career’s saving grace.
Book overdue?: “Please return [Title] and address the late fee payment to the House of Danea by next week.”
Damages?: “Please compensate the House of Daena for the damages done to [Title] by next month.”
Need a book that isn’t available?: “I’ll add your name to the waitlist for [Title] and inform you when it’s returned.”
Lines rehearsed time and time again, now ingrained into your tongue, spoken by instinct. It’s not a conversation, it’s merely a stage play, performed by a coward shielded by a crafted blanket of indifference.
‘The General Librarian’, ‘The Punisher of Fines’, ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’.
Better that they interpret your aversion to eye contact as malice instead of cowardice. After all, the world is not kind, especially not towards the meek. Papers and delegated responsibilities suddenly thrust upon those too shy to voice their dismay.
What could the meek do? Nothing. So they’ll silently grit their teeth and bare it all as a doormat trampled by those whose voices don’t stumble and shutter.
A scheme you’ve fell victim to time and time again within the walls of this hallow institute of knowledge. An experience under oath by oneself to never repeat again.
The intermission is over, the performer must return back to their positions. You unlatched the door, stepping back into the fluorescent lights of the House of Daena.
Alhaitham is aware of the frequency illusion, however, he’d argue that it’s no longer an illusion. The ghost has come back to haunt him. For what reason? Alhaitham’s not sure. Surely his books aren’t that overdue, and if they were then why hasn’t your hand appeared in front of him?
Instead, you left traces, whispers of your presence in the form of handkerchiefs and pressed flowers on slips of paper.
The evidence found beside the Acting Grande Sage’s lunches and piles of applications, his teal eyes always just catching the briefest viridescent wisp fleeing the scene of the crime.
The ashen-haired man finds great delight in abstruse books, the rare feeling of reading a line more than once to grasp the concepts formed on the page.
He enjoys the sporadic occurrences that challenge his sharp mind, it’s good to feel fresh thoughts run through.
Has Alhaitham found an archaic journal tucked away in some dusty corner? Perhaps he found a handwritten copy of a book, one with fewer than ten in existence. Was it a long-forgotten text that challenged contemporary beliefs?
Surely, to baffle the man known as Alhaitham, the scripts must have something reality-shattering. Like something saying that the azure sky, with its moon and sun, were nothing but mere imitations.
No. It wasn’t any print signed out from the restricted collection in the House of Daena that had Alhaitham’s mind pondering the slightest nuances. It was the librarian, currently penning his name down in the ledgers, that perplexed the towering man.
Humans are flawed in the sense that they’re uncomfortable with the concept of ‘unconditionality’. Everything has a fair price and equivalent exchange. One back was scratched in return for the same. So, what did you want?
Were you trying to form a bridge? One crafted from slips of paper and thin decorative fabric? If so, then why has your introduction yet to reach his ears?
The eyes are the window to the soul. Windows that offer indispensable insight into the other person’s agenda and convictions. For the Acting Grand Sage, it’s easier for him to gain access to the restricted vaults in the House of Daena than the librarian’s eyes.
Is it unprofessional to think that the Grand Sage, the figurehead of the Akademiya, is a menace? If you kept these thoughts to yourself then it shouldn’t be a problem, right?
Could it be the nagging of Kshahrewar students, whining over the unavailability of their holy text, that made you hypersensitive to the treatment of printed works?
The students should direct their grievances towards the ‘light’ of their Darshan, the one that defaced their holy text. You’re a librarian, not a magician you can’t make books appear from the abyss.
It was a coincidence to witness the Grand Sage, Alhaitham, enjoying a shawarma wrap under the shade of a stained-glass pavilion. There’s nothing wrong with a man just having his lunch. However, there was something very wrong with how his other hand held a book.
Paper becomes discolored in the stained area and transparent as molecules of oil fill the spaces between cellulose fibers. Over time, the parchment will become brown and brittle, the ink lifted by the fatty acids.
But what can you do? Interrupt the Grand Sage’s lunch? Lecture a superior on proper book care procedures?
You’re not dense.
Still, you could take some preventative measures. Done in the form of a handkerchief carefully folded just behind his right shoulder. He seemed too engrossed in the text to perceive your proximity to him. It was just for a few seconds anyways. You retreated.
The next incident happened within the wall of the House of Daena, where food and drinks were strictly forbidden. It was a slow day, with nothing much to do besides returning a few books back to their proper homes along the hundreds of shelves.
During one of the many trips pushing the cart back and forth along the path, a certain head of ashen hair with teal streaks fell into your peripheral. It must be a slow day for him too. The Grand Sage certainly made himself comfortable, desk piled with stacks of books strewn about.
The purse on your lips returns as one side of your cheek is sucked in. A few of the books were opened and placed paper-side down on the smooth table. You witnessed him losing interest in his current text, letting it join the spread bodies of its fellow brethren.
Laying a book face-down breaks the binding and weakens the hinges, where the covers attach to the pages. Some of those titles have existed for more than double your combined ages, think of their poor spines.
Out of pity for the aged scripts and for your own patience, while passing his table from a pocket you slipped out a clumsily made bookmark.
Fashioned from scrap paper, craft supplies, and one of the many Sumeru Roses that dotted the paths in this nation. A new hobby of yours that’s proven itself useful.
With your duty fulfilled you returned back among the towering shelves.
–
The job of a Grand Sage is demanding, much more demand than the job description of a librarian, you understood that. However, surely there are enough hours in the day for him to have lunch and read separately.
The position of Grand Sage means he often has to determine the best policies and actions. So why can’t he read one book at a time, close it properly, then pick up the next?
Being the Grand Sage must be time-consuming and hectic, but he could at least send someone to return his books before the due date.
How many handkerchiefs did you purchase in the last month alone? How many yards of decorative string? Is it possible to make the Sumeru Rose endangered? Would it be appropriate for you to itemize your purchases for reimbursement by the Akademiya?
For a person that enjoys reading printed works, it seems that he’s only concerned with the contents of the book and not its physical well-being. A menace to literature.
You were the unlucky sheep tasked with delivering the new budget proposal for the House of Daena. Stepping into the grand office after an unnecessarily long elevator ride, you wondered what violations will greet you this time, or if the elusive man was even here.
Ambling towards his desk, eyes focused on the budget in front of you, only switching position once the polished wood came into view.
Ah, he had another book face-down on the desk with one of your bookmarks just off to the side. He almost had it. Glancing up, your world momentarily stilled.
The Grand Sage was in his office after all. Chest gently rose and fell, face supported by the back of his knuckle, long lashes closed. Thank Archons, he’s asleep. Your heart restarts its tempo.
Your eyes quickly snapped back to the cover of the book, The Symposium, you recognized that title from this morning’s flip through the ledgers. It’s overdue.
There’s not even a point in sighing, you expected this. Flipping over the philosophical work you gingerly placed the bookmark in properly, then shut the covers closed.
Curious eyes wandered back to the sleeping figure in the board seat. His ashen hair looked soft as it fell across his face, lips slightly parted as quiet breaths exhaled.
From his lips, your greedy eyes began to trail down his covered arms, all the way down to the bare break that exposed his robust arm-
You stopped yourself, he’s asleep. You must be reading too many books from a certain island nation.
Is it unprofessional to think that the Grand Sage, the figurehead of the Akademiya, is attractive? If you kept these thoughts to yourself then it shouldn’t be a problem, right?
You left two pieces of parchment on his desk.
‘I’ll give a one-week extension, please return this title to the House of Daena before then.’
Alhaitham certainly didn’t expect to find this from ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’ when waking from a nap, he wondered if it was conquered by the remnants of sleep.
Or perhaps it was their parting gift, one last lingering trace before the ghost that haunted him for these past few months retreated back into their world. No more handkerchiefs left by his lunches. No more pressed flowers to decorate his desk. His teal eyes were unable to catch a very specific hue of viridescences.
Did the ghost slip out from under his nose again?
–
There isn’t much of a reason for Alhaitham to be at the Pardis Dhyai, after all, he’s not a Amurta scholar. Just a chore from this temporary position. His boot-clad steps made their way up the stone path blooming with lush vegetation, the view was almost enough to make up for the troublesome journey.
Keen eyes honed in on familiar ebony ears from the doorway to the greenhouse. Oh, Tighnari is here? What a rare sight.
“Please pay the late fee by the end of the week.” A certain cadence seized his attention.
“Yes, yes, I get it,” Tighnari sighed, moving to place his closed pen where he left off in the book.
“Chief Forest Ranger, please use this instead.” From your pocket emerged an all too familiar violet.
“Oh? Did you make this yourself? Mm, a Sumeru Rose, on my way here I noticed that these plants don’t seem as plentiful recently.” The forest ranger observed the bookmark in his gloved hands.
“I wouldn’t know, sir.”
Oh, so you gave those bookmarks out to anyone indiscriminately. It made sense, you’re a librarian, employed to help the patrons of the House of Daena with their literary needs.
It didn’t mean much just to hand out a few slips of paper. Something annoying and greener than the foliage scratched at Alhaitham’s neck.
–
At the Pardis Dhyai, you had a duty to fulfill, as did he. Not an appropriate time to initiate a conversation.
Thus, the ashen-haired man can only mull over the situation in the stillness of his own home. A blond architect sent out to fetch groceries to account for a certain damages fee.
A lone finger taps rhythmically on solid oak while the opposite hand supports his pondering head. As quickly as you came, you left just as suddenly. As capricious as the wind, slipping through the gaps of his fingers just as easily.
How does one catch a ghost?
Beryl gaze travels the length of the workspace, over the scattered sheets and abandoned quills, landing upon negligently stacked covers. A scheme conquers itself into existence.
Throughout history, many methods and rituals have been used to summon beings from the great beyond. As a scholar, who was he not to test those hypotheses?
The Norton Anthology of World Literature; Overdue 5 weeks
Academic Charisma and the Origins of the Research; Overdue 5 weeks
Cases on Academic Rights and Justice; Overdue 5 weeks
The Symposium; Overdue 8 weeks
Patron: Alhaitham
Ah, you can’t let this continue. It’s time for ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’ to collect their dues. Even if you wanted to bash your head into the ledgers.
–
Just beyond the threshold of a pavilion offering shelter from the sun's rays stood a familiar caped frame. Unabashedly reading The Symposium, back resting against the pillar.
Plugging the title into your script your lungs muster up a deep inhale, it’s time for the coward to dance on stage.
“Grand Sage.” You stopped a few paces away.
There was the gentle clatter of his belt and cape, the weight of his gaze now resting upon your shoulders, but your eyes were honed in on the cover in his clutches. You got his title this time.
Alhaitham feels he should give bygone scholars and minds more merit, a ghost can be summoned, an incentive is needed for the ritual.
“Please return The Symposium immediately, and address the payment to the House of Daena by the end of the week.” Like rehearsed, your hand reached out, palms awaiting the smooth back of the book.
His half-gloved hand shut the pages together, rotating the book horizontally, it slowly travels the distance to your hands. Your eyes chaperoned every movement, legs eager to return backstage to the House of Daena.
Just as the smooth cover brushed against the clammy skin of your palms before your fingers could fully enclose around it, the title suddenly took a detour. With it followed your attentive eyes.
It’s a childish scheme really, like a schoolyard bully using his vertical advantage to hold the object of desire just out of reach. As the saying goes, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Such elementary actions hold some merit… because they worked.
Attentive eyes clashed with teal, stunned irises that dilated faster than the thump of your heart. You got to witness the Grand Sage’s features in all their glory for the first time, so his beryl eyes also held some citrine in them.
Instantly, your neck snapped to the side. But it’s already too late, the coward dropped their mask, shattering at their feet. Revealing to the world the scarlet face of the wimp whose sheet was stripped off their heads, there was never a ghost, only a performer.
You were standing in the shade, yet it felt as if you stumbled into the desert.
Alhaitham’s indebted to the fact you don’t look people in the eyes, such an event would prove disastrous for this institution of wisdom and rationality. Such a sight should have limited access he deems.
A sweet breeze blows through the pavilion, cooling his cheeks and yours the same, however, the ears hidden under his earphones still burned.
Throughout the House of Daena, the soft fluttering of pages turning and quills scribbling down notes could be heard. At the front, a librarian glances at the clock slowly ticking down to the hour of freedom.
“I would like to return these,” spoke a husky voice.
Your eyes traveled up from the freshly stacked books up toned forearms, reaching their final destination on a pair of impartial teal irises.
Opening up the ledger, you swiftly flipped to a familiar name. Scanning the titles you noted each one down.
The Uses of Literacy; due in 2 weeks
The Great Conversation; due in 2 weeks
Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity; due in 2 weeks
Patron: Alhaitham
“Thank you for returning the books before due, have a great evening.” You bowed a little at the Grand Sage. Gathering up the books into your hand and placing them in the return cart.
It’s past 5:30 pm, the Acting Grand Sage is now off the clock. Thus, he didn’t let one second go to waste. Long legs taking swift strides out of the grand doors of the Akademiya, skillfully dodging the searching eyes of ambitious scholars.
Ambling down the stone pathways to the bustling city center.
Entering the favored tavern of any famished local, Alhaitham places his order. Watching the clock as Lambad packed his two to-go bags.
Dropping the mora off on the counter, Alhaitham seized the freshly made dinners into his hands, exiting the tavern. Merging back into the crowded pathways until he reached his front door. Shifting the bags into one hand, he turns the silver key to his abode.
Placing the takeout bags onto the polished kitchen table, his teal eyes once again wander towards a clock, 6:10 pm.
He prepares two glasses and a bottle of wine from a secured cabinet. It’s the weekend now, there’s no risk in enjoying a few glasses tonight. Just as the ashen-haired man finished setting the table, the unlocked door lightly creaks ajar.
Your frame soon comes into view, arms stretched above your head to loosen the tension that comes with a desk job. A breathy yawn followed the release of tight muscles along your back, walking into the kitchen where Alhaitham stood.
“You’ve worked hard today.”
You hummed in agreement, hand gently rubbing the fatigue from your eyes as the delicious scent of tandoori roast chicken beckoned your nose.
Food and drinks were strictly forbidden in the House of Daena, and you’re quite ravenous. Advancing toward the paper bag located on your side of the table with an eager bounce in your step.
Only to be blocked by a toned arm.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, my librarian?” Inquired a low voice.
You glanced up at the hurdle that dare separate you from a delicious meal, lip pursed out just the slightest bit.
“I returned my books before due, desired behavior requires positive reinforcement.” There’s a glint in his beryl eyes.
You huffed, you should’ve known he was feeling a bit cheeky today from the moment he stepped foot into the library. Still, he’s right, good behavior deserves a reward.
Tenderly your hands clasped around his soft cheeks, guiding his face downwards as you straighten your back. His ashen locks tickled you as you awarded the towering man his prizes.
Your lips gingerly press themselves against his features, the warmth of your burning cheeks felt soothing to him, and you could feel the upward pull of his lips.
Once on the forehead, once under his eye, once on the nose, and… one final time against his soft lips.
Quickly pulling away, the slow blink followed by a slightly quirked eyebrow tells you enough about his thoughts.
“The last one was a thanks for the food.” You turned your flaming cheeks away, settling down and releasing your meal from the confines of the bag.
Your lover hums in understanding, a cheeky smirk ever so clear on his usually stoic face. Regardless, he moves to his side of the table and unpacks his dinner, filling two glasses with fragrant wine.
A clink signified the start of your dinner ritual, performed away from prying eyes.
Somewhere during the comfortably quiet dinner, Alhaitham’s hand by habit inched towards the book placed just off to the side, violet bookmark recording his last endeavor among the text.
Just as quickly as it started, his hand stopped. Like a stern swat, your eyes pierced into the back of his hand. A silent warning. He withdrew his hand back to his side, deciding to practice proper dining manners, for you of course.
Satisfied, your attention returns back to the seasoned meat and sauces on your plate, fork and knife quickly getting to work.
Alhaitham’s perfectly spiced food took a backseat in his mind, eyes more interested in observing the endearing fullness of your cheeks as you chewed.
Inquisitive irises returned his stare, he sees the teal that reflected off. How could the corners of his mouth not lift at the sight in front of him?
Please keep your eyes on him, so that he may continue to watch you for now and for the far future. His librarian.
Fin~
©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.
#alhaitham x reader#al-haitham x you#alhaitham x y/n#alhaitham x yn#genshin impact x you#genshin x you#genshin impact x reader#alhaitham x you#genshin x reader#genshin alhaitham#alhaitham fanfic#alhaitham fluff#genshin fanfic#genshin fluff#vivalabunbunfics#al haitham x reader#alhaitham scenarios#alhaitham imagines
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Late Spring Blooms
Summary: Not even one word had been spoken between the two of you
Word Count: 5.1K (this was supposed to be short...)
Tags: Alhaitham x gn! reader, slow burn, fluff, just a lot of fluff, slight angst, Akademiya setting, toxic academia environment, mentions of bullying, both of you are students, mutual pining, when you just stare at your crush for like 4 years but never talked to them.
Authors note: This was supposed to be a short feel-good fic, but I guess my brain just wanted to be a nerd. So I included some scientific theories that are kinda in debate, I just gave it my best shot. I write fiction not peer reviewed studies please forgive any mistakes
“A voltage is applied to two electrodes immersed in a solution of heavy water…”
All throughout the lecture hall there were the frantic movements of quills as desperate hands penned down every word that left the lecturer’s mouth. The fluttering of paper as students rushed to continue recording every detail, spurred by the fear of a question on exams yet to be announced.
Rather than immerse themselves in the lecture, they’d rather save the details for a stressful night before said hypothetical exam. Frankly, it was a waste of time.
“When the SuperWave Principle is applied, with raising and falling nested oscillations…”
Yes, this is a waste of time. A waste of his time. Alhaitham’s notebook and quill remained untouched on the desk in front of him. This course was nothing more than an elective to him, it had nothing to do with his own darshan. A class his late grandmother had listed in her well wishes to her grandson. However, Alhaitham would much rather prefer to be reading in the House of Daena.
“And that is the discovery behind cold fusion energy production. This achievement rewarded me with much academic praise and my position as a researcher. As it innovated a new path for clean and unlimited energy. Thank you.”
Applause erupted in the lecture hall, hands clapping together as forged looks of amazement masked ulterior motives. Alhaitham remained still, bored eyes continuing to observe the scholarly man as he stood at the podium. Even from the ashen-haired student’s perch among the upper seats, he can still see the swell of pride in the elder scholar’s chest. As the sea of green uniforms finally abated their praise, the professor step up to the podium.
“Are there any questions for our honored guest lecturer?”
The once bustling mob stilled. No quills moved, no papers rustled, and not a single student dared make eye contact dreading the thought of an unintentional invitation to speak. Of course, this was all expected. After all, which person would dare expose their own shortcomings?
Each and every person in the room was once praised to be la crème de la crème, the cream of the crop, the valedictorians that spoke prepared speeches to their peers they viewed as mediocre. They were all once the top one percent, showered with empty words such as ‘talented’ and ‘gifted’. However, at the Akademiya, where the best of the best had been vetted and admitted. How can everyone be that ‘one percent’?
It’s a simple answer. They can’t. Instead of spirits learning humility, they were crushed under the realization of reality. And just like a curious hand that had reached out towards a burning stove, their egos wounded and withdrew. If they cannot stand among the few slots at the top, then they’d rather hide among the ninety-nine percent. Listlessly carried by the flow of life, throwing their hands up to ‘fate’.
Once again, as Alhaitham’s bored eyes surveyed the room, he is reminded why he had put off attending the Akademiya until recently. It was quite ironic for such an esteemed institution to have such pathetic levels of academic spirit. People didn’t come here to learn, they came here to ‘know’ and for a decorated piece of paper to hang on their walls.
However, on the basis of the last part, Alhaitham saw himself as no different. This was a crucial stepping stone in the preplanned path he laid out for himself. Even if it was tedious, it must be done.
From the still crowd, one lone hand raised above, peeking out from the sea of green berets. It seems that even the professor didn’t anticipate this as a wrinkled hand gestured for the young budding scholar to speak.
“I’m amazed by your discovery, sir. However, does it really work? I don’t think I’ve seen a recreation of your experiment.”
The air in the lecture hall stilled, as hundreds of eyes honed in on the gear that dare squeak. The ego is quite fragile, and there is a positive correlation between the fragility of one's ego and the higher up their position is on the hierarchy. The scowl that formed on the guest’s face was predictable, as his haughty eyes glared at the fresh-faced student.
“It seems that some people are suffering from selective hearing, or perhaps you just couldn’t grasp the concepts I’ve spent the past two hours explaining.” Offense drip off of every word.
“But, according to standard practices, an experiment has to be rep-”
“Did the Akademiya just allow anyone in this year? My theory and discovery have already been entered into the akasha. Even a child can see the validity of my research.” The lecturer tapped one finger rapidly against the solid wood of the podium.
“Still, I beli-”
“Did you not hear me? My research has already been entered into the akasha.” He snapped, the peak of the microphone rang through the air.
“Sir, I-”
The professor raised his hand to silence the student, putting an end to this sorry excuse of an academic debate. The student’s figure sunk down in their seat, their seat neighbors scooting away as if there was something contagious. The show that had piqued the ashen-haired scholar’s interest had been abruptly halted. What a pity.
“Can you believe them? Who would ask such a stupid question?”
“‘Does it work?’, it’s been entered into the akasha for archon’s sake!”
“If I were them, I’d never show my face again at the Akademiya.”
Mindless gossip made his ears ring as a sigh left his lips, snapping the book closed in his hand. Alhaitham thought it was an unspoken rule that one must be silent in the House of Daena, guess common courtesy isn’t practiced much anymore. Carrying the book in one hand as he swung his bag over his shoulder he exits the library doors.
His academic journey at the Akademiya had only begun about a month ago with the start of a new semester, but he was already bored. Lectures dragged the same material on for days. Professors gave their unessential anecdotes to slip in their own self-praises, and the busy work they called assignments.
However, the worst part, for Alhaitham, was how his fellow students and aspiring scholars accepted everything. Sitting there in their seats back straight, hands busy creating a transcript of the entire lesson. Heads politely nodding as if they understood everything even though confusion was clear in their eyes. There were no academic discussions occurring in classes, and there were no attempts to encourage them.
What’s the point when everyone could just use the akasha for answers? It’s quite depressing to see such a lack of academic spirit.
Alhaitham has decided that he should return back to his own method of self-studying, just as he has done before. He can cut out the unnecessary material and focus on subjects that interest him. Paying the tuition just to learn everything on his own, is truly ironic.
However, as Alhaitham walks towards the empty pavilion he has to admit he is grateful for the facilities available at the Akademiya. It was a secluded space, quiet and away from chattering groups, students chasing after mentors and professors with half-heartedly written theses, and scholars’ boastful comments on the results of their experiments. Just as he rested his back against a pillar of the pavilion, he heard a muffled whimper.
Tsk, great, there’s someone here already. Alhaitham readjusted his bag on his shoulder, pushing off the pillar as he began his search once more for undisturbed peace. His teal eyes couldn’t help but wander toward the source of the sound. Sight landing on your crouched figure obscured by the thick trunk of the tree just behind the white structure. For a brief moment, your eyes locked with his, before you jolted your head away from his direction.
Cheeks stained with tears and face burning with shame. Yes, there is a famous saying that tends to ring true: The nail that stands out will get hammered. He recognizes you as the hand that dare raise a question.
Everyone at the Akademiya is fueled by their own self-interest, whether it be for greater knowledge, a higher future position at the institution, or to have their name printed on an accredited research project by a renowned scholar.
Weak egos tend to rally under bigger ones, feeding the latter with empty praises in hopes of a return on their investments. If they could find a footing that allows them to climb up the stairs of the hierarchy, then they were willing to step on anyone.
You just recently have been labeled as such, a stepping stone in order to get closer to a certain researcher. Tearing you down to build the bridges of connection with the reputable graduate. It was low-hanging fruit. How could a naive, freshly admitted student go against a published scholar with wealth and status?
You were the losing dog in this race. And yet, Alhaitham still wanted to applaud you, if not for your academic spirit then for your courage. However, it is clear from the way you were trying to make yourself as small as possible, you needed your privacy.
He focused his eyes on the path ahead of him, leaving the secluded space, his lips won’t speak a word of this event. A little further down the path, teal eyes shifted back behind him. Your hands were wiping the tears out of your eyes as you blinked, perplexed by the sudden appearance of a neatly folded green handkerchief. Alhaitham sees it as a fair trade for piquing his bored mind.
“Excuse me, do you have a translation of the book: Khaenri'ahan Theory of Nuclear Fusion and Practices?”
A familiar voice shifted Alhaitham’s attention away from the text he was translating, perhaps his mind took it as an excuse for his eyes to take a break from the barely legible script. You would think with all the funds the Akademiya had, they would be able to provide students with good-quality copies, but the printed assignment in front of him disproves that notion. It’s not good to strain the eyes.
Once more teal eyes landed on your figure, back straight and head still held up high. You have more courage than Alhaitham originally thought. Despite the mocking sneers that have been thrown your way in the halls, you’ve just faced forward and continued down your way. Currently, you were asking for the assistance of a disinterested librarian.
She brings one hand up to her akasha terminal, eyes lazily gazing at the information that flowed in front of her. Then after less than two minutes of searching, she stops.
“No. Never heard of it. It’s not in the system.”
“It’s an old title, but according to the library catalog, it should-”
“Did you not hear me? I just checked the akasha and it says it’s not here. Maybe you should make use of that terminal collecting dust on your ear before you come wasting my time.” The librarian cut you off rudely. Readjusting the green beret on her brown hair before she turned her back on you.
The hand you reached out towards her drops to your side, your shoulders slouched a bit. There were now peering eyes focused on you, stressed students viewing your embarrassment and dejection as a welcomed dose of entertainment. Taking a deep breath you quickly made your way back in the direction of the dusty library catalog. Determined to find that book.
The librarian had stated a blatant lie, how does Alhaitham know? The book Khaenri'ahan Theory of Nuclear Fusion and Practices was right under his resting elbow.
You were right, it is an old book, so old that it seems that someone had forgotten to input it into the updated database of the akasha. Or maybe someone removed it, deeming it no longer academically relevant. His elbow was now resting on the book he had just finished hours earlier, it was a better use of his time than attending mindless lectures.
You seemed busy flipping through the pages of the library catalog, and the script in front of him is due tomorrow. He’ll finish his assignment, it's the least he could do to just ensure his passing of a class that hasn’t seen his face for some time now.
–
It was late now, your eyes were beginning to droop head nodding back and forth. You shook your head, desperately trying to fight off sleep, eyes peeled on the text in front of you. Your attempts to find the book had been fruitless, but you were able to find different academic journals that substituted the same subject.
You didn’t need sleep, you needed to satisfy that itching feeling inside your mind. That inkling that what that lecturer had said was… the words in front of you blurred.
Maybe a quick nap would help boost your productivity.
–
Your eyes snapped open as your body jolted up. How long were you asleep? Your eyes surveyed the library. All around you were either passed out fellow students at their seats, or those running on nothing but caffeine and stress frantically pressing their noses against the books and papers in front of them. There were fewer people here than before you shut your eyes, signaling to you that it has gotten later.
Your lips pressed into a tight line, did you just lose more precious time? The thought of assignment due dates was pressing against the back of your mind. But you just had to get to the bottom of this, it just doesn’t make sense to you-
Your eyes widened at what had appeared in front of your seat. Khaenri'ahan Theory of Nuclear Fusion and Practices. But how? You had looked high and low, even breaking library regulations by climbing on the tall ladders to search the very tops.
Your head whipped around, searching for an explanation. Your eyes were just able to catch the slightest glimpse of a familiar shade of grey and green exiting the grand doors of the House of Daena.
There was a small note on top of the book.
I had the book you were looking for. There’s a diagram that wasn’t translated properly. On page 520, the diagram says: ‘maintaining temperatures of over 100 million degrees are necessary while regulating pressure and magnetic forces at the same time. These conditions are for stable confinement of the plasma and to maintain the fusion reaction long enough to produce more energy than what was required to start the reaction.’ Hope this helps.
It was silly really, or maybe your tired mind was just getting sentimental, but your sight began to blur again. Not with sleep this time, your eyes were overflowing with tears. This small note, the neat handwriting, the book you had been searching for.
They were the sweet hands of reassurance you needed on your shoulder. Smiling like an idiot through your tears, you hid your face behind the small note.
“How long exactly are they going to continue to deny the facts? Jeez, I wish I had their simple mind sometimes.”
“Yeah, it must be nice to have your head buried in the rabbit hole of ignorance.”
It was now a new year, a fresh semester had long begun, but unfortunately, reputation and stigma don’t have a simple shelf life of just a year. Once more, Alhaitham found that silence in the House of Daena is not seen as a requirement by some students. Mindless gossip had no place in a sanctuary of high academia, but it looks like his opinion isn’t shared.
Alhaitham had woken up later than he would’ve liked, meaning he didn’t have time to pick up any coffee if he wanted to get to his test on time. After he had finished, he made an effort to get to the café as fast as he could. But when he got there, he saw a sign announcing the café was closed for the day.
In short, Alhaitham was having a bad day, the grating voices that continued to chatter beside him were only fraying his thinning patience even more.
Frustrated, his eyes followed their line of sight, to see just what subject was so pressing they had to gossip in a place of study and silence. They lead him to your figure, hunched over a thick book, one finger tracing each sentence line by line and the other detailing notes.
Even with the stacks of books that surrounded your desk blocking some of your frame, he could see your face clearly. Although you were trying to maintain a neutral expression, he caught onto the small quivering of your lips.
“Like the information is already in the akasha, do they think they’re smarter than the combined knowledge of all of Sumeru?”
“Yeah, well it’s always the stupidest people that speak the loudest-”
“You two are quite loud.”
The students that sat beside him snapped their attention towards the man who had returned his eyes back to his book.
“Excuse me?”
“This is the House of Daena, the largest library in all of Teyvat, and you’re being loud. Maybe you should immerse yourselves in some books, for the academic spirit.”
“Jeez, we weren’t even that loud, and the akasha-”
“What poor academic spirit. If the akasha was all you needed, then you are no better than any passing stranger on the streets. Why did you even bother with the entrance exam?”
It wasn’t like Alhaitham to engage in such unnecessary conversation, nor make any excess problems for himself by getting in the bad graces of strangers. However, he was already having a bad day.
The two friends sneered at him, before getting up and leaving the library. Finally, he can enjoy some silence. He could feel your gaze on him, but he didn’t look up to see the soft stare of amazement and gratitude you were sending his way.
–
Alhaitham had gotten up briefly to browse the shelves once again. He had finished his book and am now looking for another to pique his interest. Really, the akasha couldn’t hold the vast amount of unspoken knowledge that books had.
The blunt facts and figures the terminal provided didn’t stimulate his mind the way shifting through the lines and characters printed on books did. It was truly a pity that the nation of wisdom didn’t appreciate the pinnacle vessel of information.
When he had returned to his desk, teal eyes took note of the small square of baklava placed gently on a napkin. Beside it was the green handkerchief, neatly folded. Alhaitham had already gotten a replacement for said item.
Yet seeing how pristine the fabric was even after a year of not seeing it, sentiment crept up on him.
“Excuse me. Food is not allowed in the House of Daena. I’m going to ask you to leave.”
Ah, of course. Alhaitham was having a bad day today.
It’s been a long month. With Summer break quickly approaching, it meant that assignments and exams have been crammed by every professor into a short window. Their long tangents must have caught up to them, as they were now pushing the responsibility of tying up the loose ends onto the students. Pathetic really.
Still, the weather today was clear and the air warm. The bright sun was being blocked out by the thick foliage present on the branches of the tree Alhaitham rested his body against. He had spent the morning finishing all his most pressing assignments. A break was deserved.
The soft rustle of leaves as the wind sway their branches were starting to lull the young man to sleep. But the sudden sound of grass getting flattened under shoes snatched that pleasure away.
Tsk, it doesn’t matter. If he leaves his eyes shut and breaths steady then the other person will sooner or later leave him alone. The steps approached a bit closer then stopped just a bit away. He could hear the rustling of a paper bag and another object getting placed near his side.
As quietly as they could, the footsteps trotted away in a hurry. Once he felt that presence disappear, he lifted his eyelids.
Beside him there was a brown paper bag, the mouth-watering scent of a shawarma wrap wafted into his nose. And the other object? A cup of hot coffee with a small note taped to it.
I’m so so so sorry for getting you in trouble that time in the House of Daena! Please take this as an apology! I got the most popular combination at the shop. Please take care of yourself and good luck with your exams!
P.S. I just wanted to apologize again for getting you in trouble!!
Alhaitham could practically hear the sheer panic and anxiety from the piece of paper. Still, his eyes couldn’t help but soften. He was never the type to hold on to pointless grudges, there was no need for you to agonize over such a minuscule event.
Contradicting his original plans for a nap, he took a sip of the hot coffee. It must be a different blend of coffee beans or a new experimental brewing method, the plain black coffee tasted pleasantly sweet on his tongue.
“Did you hear? I can’t believe it.”
“Yeah, he was a fraudster! I heard he got stripped of his title and even his diploma got rescinded!”
“I… I can’t believe they were right all along.”
In the middle of Alhaitham’s third year at the Akademiya, the unfathomable happened. A young student that had yet to even graduate, a mere third year in the middle of their studies, had disproven an accepted theory. A theory that had gone through vetting by the top review boards, and even entered into the akasha.
After years of long nights and shifting through books long forgotten by scholars, you brought all your evidence and conclusions to the Akademiya review board.
You wagered your entire academic carrier.
Your gamble paid out in full. Your findings were significant enough that the board called for an investigation, for another independent experiment of cold fusion to be replicated. A team of other esteemed researchers was established.
They followed every strict protocol for peer review, following each and every document step by the once haughty researcher to his experiment and theory to the highest standard of academic rigor.
Their conclusion after a four-month trial? Failed experiment after failed experiment to replicate his results? There was no cold fusion.
This caught the attention of the Matra. For all these years where did those experimental results come from? If his research funds were not going toward creating a better and more effective method of using cold fusion to generate unlimited energy. Then where was it? Their findings?
Back into the pockets of a few seats on the review board. Funds somehow found themselves in the hands of scholars that had ‘peer reviewed’ his theory the first time around.
A report from the previously mentioned independent review team detailed his offer of exorbitant amounts of mora for skewed results. That was the final nail in the coffin of his academic carrier.
It was a great loss of face for the higher-ups and for their esteemed institution. They had let fraudulent nonsense enter the akasha, they allowed this nonsense to poison the minds of civilians and students. Punishment was swift. The higher up on the hierarchy of ego you were, the more crushing the fall will be.
Now it was he, the lecturer who had ridiculed you with his eager followers for years, who was ostracized from higher academia.
–
Alhaitham’s eyes followed the noisy crowd as they congregated around your frame. First years watching you with stars in their eyes, questions were thrown your way, asking just how you did it. How did you know? Your eyes light up the same way, as you detailed your research process of debunking that theory.
Overnight, you became a star at the Akademiya. The same people who had once sneered at you were now trying to push their way through the crowd to get your attention. The professors that once viewed you as their most hopeless student, were now asking you to become their mentee. You treated everyone the same without any reservations. Smile beaming as you answered their questions.
“Well, even though I have disproven his theory on cold fusion. I still think it’s an interesting path to explore. Maybe we were just led astray by a red herring. However, I think the most important lesson to gain from this controversy is that every theory should be viewed with some level of skepticism. Until you see the theory actually be put into practice, how will you ever confirm for yourself.”
You have a really radiant smile, Alhaitham notes. It suits you.
It’s too noisy in the halls of the Akademiya. He turns to walk away. Missing the way your searching eyes followed him, lips parted wanting to call out to him. Only to be drowned by the shower of empty words of praise.
“You’re such a gifted student!”
“Wow! I wish I was as talented as you!”
“You’re just a genius!”
Words that dismissed your years of sleepless nights, tearful breakdowns from pressure, and aching wrists from penning down pages upon pages of notes.
Ah, the Akademiya was still the Akademiya. Even your breakthrough that shook the institution isn’t enough to spark a change in the environment that had been solidified in the marble of the building. Your eyes still followed this tall figure even after he disappeared from your line of sight.
Yes, there still was a gust of fresh air that blew through this stale toxicity. You only knew his name… does he even know yours?
It’s finally over, the tedious task of attending the Akademiya has been completed.
Alhaitham can now check that achievement off his list. The collaborative project he had been a part of might have fallen through. But the findings it produced in its short lifespan were fruitful. So much so that it granted Alhaitham a position as a Scribe and a sizable house in the city. More currently, it allowed Alhaitham to meet the last requirement for graduation.
The diploma he holds in his hands right now was the result of his diligence, of just passing every exam with the highest marks despite not attending the class after the first day. Yes, this is the piece of paper he had ‘worked’ so hard for.
All around him, there were families hugging, crying, and congratulating their sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, for graduating. Promises of big feasts prepared at home, or for a celebration in the neighborhood. Friends hugged each other as they said their tearful goodbyes.
Alhaitham stood alone.
From the very start, he was a loner, he knew this and he liked it this way. So why does his chest feel a bit heavy? The path that he had preplanned had no obstacles lining the way, every piece fell where it should have. Alhaitham already knows the answer, but he doesn’t want to admit it.
Joyous occasions can really bring out the most isolating sentiments when there was no one to celebrate with. But that is fine, he’s got boxes of books to pack anyways.
“Um… Excuse me, Alhaitham?”
A voice halts the ashen-haired man’s step. Teal-orange eyes landed their sights on yours. You were dressed in your graduation robes as well, and a decorated cord hung around your shoulders. Signifying your academic accomplishments during your years as a student. Despite the nervousness in your voice, hands fidgeting with the brown paper bag clutched between them, your eyes looked straight into his.
“T-this is for you. It’s a pita pocket from Lambard’s tavern. I… I just wanted to thank you for, well, all you’ve done. I-i know we actually haven’t spoken a word to each other these past few years but- but…” You paused, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.
“Your gestures of kindness and empathy really kept me going. Even during the times when I wanted to give up, your actions really meant a lot to me. So, thank you Alhaitham.” Your eyes were staring back at him with pure sincerity.
The warm late Spring air blew across your faces, tussling his locks as his eyes shifted from the pita pocket in your hands back to your eyes. The slight quivering of your lips signaled to him the anxious wait for his response.
“Now’s not the place to eat.”
“O-oh…” The bag in your hands lowered.
“However, I believe if you were to accompany me to Lambad’s Tavern, I don’t think he’ll deny a paying customer a seat. So, how about it?” The boxes at home could wait.
“Oh?” You looked at him a bit perplexed at the sudden invitation. But it wasn’t long before a beaming smile broke out on your face.
“Yes, I would love to!”
It could have been due to the sweet air, or due to the lustrous look that dawned on your face, but Alhaitham felt that he could breathe easier now.
It was a sunny afternoon, the perfect weather to do nothing at all. His justification for leaving his desk, piled high with new proposals and applications. Without even looking up from his book Alhaitham could sense the presence approaching his direction. His free hand reached up to turn off noise canceling, there was only one person who would come to find him at this secluded pavilion.
“Haitham! I got us lunch from Lambad’s Tavern, the special was pita pockets today!” You held a brown takeout bag over your head, one hand cupping your mouth as you called out to him.
His expression couldn’t help but soften, seeing your figure rapidly closing the distance between the both of you. Your preppy steps stopped just in front of the tall scholar, a small smile gracing your lips as you hid the bag behind your back. Eyes looking at him with anticipation as your back straightened.
Alhaitham closed his eyes as a soft sigh left his lips, snapping the book in his hands closed as his back pushed off the pillar. Taking a few slow steps to fully close the distance. Gentle fingers cupped your cheek as he leaned down to place a tender kiss just below your eye. He can feel you getting on the tips of your toes, pressing your face more into his lips, he knows you can feel the small smile against your cheek.
Pulling his face back, thumb still brushing against your other cheek, his teal eyes observed your smile that rivaled the sun.
“Thank you for the payment, now let’s eat before the lettuce gets all soggy.” You pressed a kiss against his palm. The brown bag reappears from behind you.
“Yes, of course.” He wanted to observe your face for a little while longer.
Perhaps you should start researching the energy that radiates off your smile, Alhaitham is willing to wager that this hypothesis holds more water than any dismissed notions of cold fusion.
Fin~
#alhaitham x reader#al-haitham x you#alhaitham x y/n#alhaitham headcanons#alhaitham x you#genshin x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin fluff#genshin x you#alhaitham fluff#alhaitham scenarios#genshin angst#alhaitham fanfic#al haitham x you#genshin impact x reader#alhaitham imagines#alhaitham x yn#vivalabunbunfics
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There Are Nothing But Flowers
Summary: You want to play house and he’s just hungry.
Word Count: 11.3K
Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Smut(r18+), Modern AU, Vampire AU, TW: Death, Terminally ill! Reader, TW: Medical gaslighting, description of medial treatments & corruption, TW: Blood & Blood drinking, vague mentions of violence, Contract Marriage AU, slight! enemies to lovers, Slow burn, NSFW, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Unrequited love?, Vampire! Alhaitham, Dom! Alhaitham, Human! Reader, biting, slight orgasm denial, overstimulation, creampie, slight corruption kink, temperature play? you fall hard, slow fic, tragedy.
Authors note: This is the other side to this work, your side of the story, please read the tags carefully. I wanted to explore the other side of the garden wall and themes of mortality, it’s heavy, please read when you feel well enough to see what lies beyond. Enjoy.
Side note: the aftermath
“Honey, I’ll be off to work now.” A dapper man straightens out his tie, a briefcase in his other hand.
“Dear…aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Are my pants unzipped again?” His eyes darted down as disembodied laughter rang out in the unseen background.
“No, you forgot this.” The pattering of house slippers stops as the woman cradles her lover's face between her hands.
The kiss from her immaculately painted lips melted the wrinkles from his forehead as the taller man leaned into his deserved affection.
“Have a good day at work, my love.”
—
A quiet house on the hill, white picket fences, and a lovely dog wagging its tail in the green yard. Eyes watching the vibrancies dance along a small screen, blocking out the gray in the peripheral.
Everything about this drama was cliché, the plot slow and predictable, just mediocre. So perfectly mundane that your hand itches to grab it through the screen like a thief. But are you really a thief if you steal back what was taken from you?
Before your mind can explore that comparison further a knock drags you out of the immersion, thumb quickly taps the screen to halt the fantasy.
“Good evening, ma’am.” The doctor in his white uniform enters.
“Hello, doctor.”
Two polite smiles greet each other, neither truly reaching the eyes. Your hands neatly folded together, his fiddling with the chipboard which held your verdict.
Observing how his teeth bit the inside of his cheek as his eyes scanned the charts. Your hands remain still even as he takes a deep breath.
“Unfortunately it has spread beyond our initial expectations. The results show that it’s progressed to a late stage despite our best efforts. Right now, you only have a few treatment options left.”
What happened to ‘just that time of the month’, ‘just get fresh air’, and ‘just give it some time’?
“There’s a series of procedures to cut out the spread, however, it might be very difficult as the infection is deep and intertwined with healthy tissue. The success rate is low, and the probability of it coming back is very high.”
What happened to ‘you’re young and healthy, it’s nothing’?
“The next possible treatment would be Kalpalata Lotuses. It has properties to slow inflections and has pain-reducing effects, however, it’s slow and inefficient in the long run. If you choose the first option you’ll have to pair it with treatment two. The first could give you fourteen years, the second on its own might only give you half of that.”
What were these past months spent behind a glass prison all for?
The constant hum of the machines filled in the dead space, the beeps on the monitors counting the passing seconds as two lips remained closed.
From the hallways, the chattering of nurses provided proof that the world in fact has not stopped spinning. Something dreadful filled the room, a silent suffocation. He was the first to fold.
“Please take your time to think this decision over, I’ll leave you to get some rest. Have a good night ma’am.” There was a flutter of pages folding back down to the clipboard.
The doctors were letting you pick your poison, how thoughtful of them.
Just as before two polite smiles that didn’t reach the eyes acknowledged each other, with a nod the doctor took his leave, eager to end his shift, to escape the unseen hands.
Not a word slipped past your lips during the one-sided conversation, tongue unable to string together a single sentence. What is there left to say?
As you lay back down your fingers brushed against the screen, restarting the episode as the laughter of an audience resonated along the sterile walls.
Maybe if the doctors, with their acclaimed degrees and status, were just a little more attentive.
Maybe if they didn’t simply see you as a lady with nonsensical symptoms.
Maybe if they didn’t view you as a statistic.
Then you wouldn’t have collapsed that day at work.
Then you wouldn’t have spent grueling months undergoing diagnosis after diagnosis.
Then maybe just maybe the Pythagorean Cup wouldn’t have surpassed its threshold, emptying out all hope.
The dialogue continues but it’s all but a fuzzy ringing now. Eyes watching the passing car lights dance upon the gray ceiling from the late evening traffic of workers, with their white or blue collars, eager to return home.
You longed for that, to return there. Hands itching to rip out the tube from your arm and the sensor with its pitched beeps.
Fourteen years, fourteen years of what? Bed sores from thin sheets? Chest pains at too deep of breaths? Stitches recovering only to be ripped open again?
Sounds more like a punishment delivered deep underground in a place whose temperature rivals the surface of a burning star.
Was it because you cursed at the man who cut you in line once?
Was it because you stole your college roommate’s sweater?
Was it because you never brought offerings to the Sanctuary of Surasthana?
Were you such a despicable person in a past life that the sins carried over?
Heavy lids closed to soothe the burning in your eyes, letting the warm trails run down your cheek. Reining your senses back from its escapade with a slow breath.
No. It’s none of that. It’s just life, capricious life. Capricious life that took your parents and now is hunting you.
There’s no karmic debt to pay off, there’s no faceless god to pray to. Setting one foot onto the path of true adulthood, only for your eyes to spot the end just over the horizon. What can you do?
The jumbled laughs and fuzzy speeches coming from your phone’s speaker were becoming too much. Thus you rolled your heavy body over to silence it. Once again the world outside the window was in view, the soft orange glow from the office right across leaking into the suffocating grey.
Oh, he’s at his desk tonight.
Wet eyes watch as the ashen-haired being shifts through sheets of crisp paper and his pen moving constantly. It’s strange, a bit mocking even, that an immortal creature could be so mundane.
Maybe that’s why their office is just across the Bimarstan, to taunt those who longed for that reality, beckoning them to sign their names on a dotted line.
Candace’s words were right, it’s a predatory scheme.
Perhaps hold habits die hard, after all, vampires are creatures of the night that once terrorized generations of humans.
Shielded by the panes of glass separating the two buildings, it was safe to continue this strange routine. Is staring at a stranger considered stalking if they’re the only view the windows offer?
He got up from his desk, moving towards the filing cabinet just off to the side, allowing for his profile to come into view.
He’s handsome, features outshining any of the male leads you’ve seen in movies.
Teal eyes, ashen hair like moonlight, tall and broad stature. It’s no mystery why so many heroes and heroines fell into depravity, lured in by their beauty, entranced minds blindly offering up their everything.
You weren’t special enough to be immune. Hence, why you continued to watch the nameless vampire who doesn’t know yours. Resting your cheek upon the stiff pillow, the feeling in your arm decreases like the cars in the streets. The pitched beeps keeping time.
He stood back up from his desk again, one hand grabbing the coat thrown over the back of a chair. Placing pens back into a cup and paper back into folders, he walks to the door before his hand shuts off the warm orange light.
It looks like tonight’s episode has ended on time like always. Rolling back to stare at the drab ceiling, allowing blood to rush back into your arm as the sensation of pins and needles crawled up. It wasn’t bothersome, as tonight's viewing evoked entertaining thoughts.
What a punctual vampire, where does he go after midnight? To a tavern or home?
Is someone waiting at the door for him there? Welcoming him back with soft lips?
Is that why he’s so eager to leave?
Your lids were growing heavy, the view of a blank ceiling wanes your alertness. The sweet curiosities coax you to continue in the realm of dreams, you listened to their call.
Could you be that someone?
“So, how ya feeling?” Dehya places down a container filled with baklava.
“Mmm…”
The metal legs of the visitor's chair scraped across the floor as she awaits your response.
“Would you still be my friend if I was a rock, Dehya?”
“Ahh, not this again.” She rolls her eyes.
Sitting upright in the hospital bed, hands folded together you awaited her response.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll still love you to bits even if you’re a pebble or something,” Dehya sighs, but there’s an upward tilt in her lips.
“I’ll love you too.” You helped yourself to some baklava.
A reward for your diversion of a miserable topic with sweet nonsense and special words. After all, she’s got a difficult job during the night, no need to make the day as difficult. Your mother used to say to save such words only for a special someone, but that’s the point of a word if it's never used?
–
“So, a few weeks ago I took this assignment that–” Dehya’s sapphire eyes moved behind you, gazing out the window where the sunlight poured in.
“Ugh, his office is right across from you.”
“Who?”
“Alhaitham, he’s a vampire I had the misfortune of meeting during a job, not that he’d remember.”
So the vampire’s name was Alhaitham, it felt nice on your tongue.
“Oh? How come?”
“He just always talks in long, convoluted sentences, and in that snooty tone, snooty even for a vampire.” Dehya takes a piece of baklava to ease her from that bitter work experience.
“My, I wonder how his spouse bares with him.” The bait was set out.
“Pfft?! Ahaha! Who? It’s nearly impossible to spend five minutes by his side.”
“Mm, really?”
“No ring on his finger. From what I’ve gathered even other vampires can’t stand that personality of his.” Dehya takes another piece.
Success.
–
The container of baklava now only holds a few crumbs and traces of sweet syrup. The sun was beginning to kiss the horizon, a sign that your friend’s visit was coming to an end.
After all, she’s got a duty to fulfill as a hunter that maintains the balance between mortals and creatures who dare cross the boundaries of the law.
Right as your hand returns from the air after bidding goodbye, it lands on the cold screen of your phone. In an age of growing cities and ever-advancing technologies, you’re grateful for these developments. As it makes your next actions possible.
It’s hard to miss a name when the letters are written in bold, imposing signs along the building just beyond the panes of glass.
As per Sumeru regulation, all employed vampires must be listed on company sites, an attempt at keeping track of such creatures.
Scrolling page after page until eyes landed upon familiar ash-mint trusses.
Name: Alhaitham
Species: Vampire (Born)
Title: Secretary
Years At Company: 168
Fingers clicked on the next tab.
“To apply for a blood contract, one must bring personal identification, and fill out an application during an appointed consultation with the vampire present. Once the boundaries of the contract are established, it will go through the approvement process.”
Eyes moved to the next tab.
“Seven years is the maximum time for a singular contract, but it can be renewed every seven years. Both parties must fulfill the terms written on the contract. The value of a contract is determined by the amount of blood offered on a regular basis or in a future deposit. Applying for a contract that gives the maximum, 10 pints, in a full sum amount must pass a psychological evaluation.”
--
Fourteen years is an unjustly cruel fate, but seven… Seven might be tolerable. After all, it’s often called the number of luck, you wonder if vampires were aware of this, maybe that’s why they chose that arbitrary number.
Waiting as the sun disappears behind the horizon with your head resting against the stiff pillow. The warm orange glow from the office across from you signaled the start of tonight’s episode. Observing every stop and start of his pen as two voices wrangled your thoughts.
There was a guest featured in this episode it seems, another vampire enters the office with a fresh stack of paper. He seemed eager for Alhaitham’s approval, even going as far as offering a pen out from his own pocket. However, this plan was foiled by a simple rise of hand by the male lead.
The universal signal for rejection.
The guest seemed dumbstruck. The only explanation the silver-haired lead gave was a simple gesture toward a clock. The guest’s hands were moving frantically as if to convey the urgency of the papers piled up.
However, Alhaitham simply takes his coat from the back of his chair and shuts off the warm light.
In the murky darkness, your eyes could just barely make out the silhouettes of two figures traversing out of the office. Oh, tonight’s episode has ended just on time as always.
How shamelessly punctual that vampire is. Some might even call it selfish. But what’s wrong with being selfish? After all, all true passions in life in the end are thinly veiled excuses for selfishness.
If life wanted to be shamelessly selfish, then why can’t you? With that, it seems one voice has finally emerged victorious.
Your fingers crept towards a button just off to the side, a quiet ding resounding as the bright glow flashed. Breaths counting the minutes before a set of footsteps stopped in front of your room, followed by a polite knock.
“Is there something you need, ma’am?”
“Yes, I want to discharge myself tomorrow, as soon as possible.”
Your eyes traced over the too-long string of zeros printed on the check, hands wanting to crumble up the slip of paper. So this is how much your life was worth. Standing outside the Bimarstan, you peered up at the tall building that once caged you.
Were the administrators looking down at you at this moment from their high offices? Were they watching your reaction to their little bribe? Pushing you to keep your lips shut, so that their mistakes and misjudgments won’t reach the ears of the press?
It doesn’t really matter now, but it was thoughtful of them to hand out an extra bargaining chip. Refocusing your attention back on the building just across the street, there were still some preparations to finish.
–
The time was now 6:30 pm, the sun has ran off into the night allowing for the stars to guide you back to the building just beyond the glass.
A simple bag held your offerings: proof of identity, property documents, doctor's notes, and bank statements handsomely topped off with the help of a certain check.
There’s a jitter in your legs as you stood just beyond the threshold of the sliding doors. Is it really the right thing to do?
What would be the look on the faces of your dearest friends?
Would the handsome stranger show last night’s gesture to you too?
Your lungs steadily filled with the crisp air, pushing their capacity almost to the point of pain, you exhaled.
The right thing to do is to be selfish, they’ll understand sooner or later, and the worst thing he could do is say no.
Even if you leave with your cheeks burning in shame, the burn would only last seven years. Your feet stepped past the threshold and the glass doors parted.
“Excuse me, is Mr. Alhaitham here tonight?” You already knew the answer.
“Hm? Yes… Are you looking for him, youngster?” The receptionist quirks a brow at you.
“Yes, I want to schedule a contract consultation with him right now.” You take note of her name tag.
“Hold just one moment, the secretary-”
“Is his schedule occupied right now?”
“No, but if you’d let me finish, Alhaitham isn’t one of the vampires that usually accept such-”
“Please, Madam Faruzan?”
You weren’t sure if it was the polite address of her name or the plead in your gaze that was the cause of the decisive furrow between her brows. However, her shoulders slumped forward as a huff leaves her lips.
“Alright, please follow me.” She gestures a hand, welcoming you to the elevator just behind the desk.
“Thank you.”
Within the confines of the fancy cart, the blue-haired vampire asks over and over if you had all the correct documents, listing each one out. Your skilled ears tuned every word out, nodding along to feign attention. Finally, the saving grace of a pleasant ding signals the chart’s stop at its destination.
When the polished doors slid apart, you charged out into the floor, your legs guiding you to the office with the clearest view of your old glass cage.
From behind you, Faruzan called out your name as she mutter something about how humans these days are always in just a rush. Your ears could care less about her words.
Gallivanting through the threshold of his open office door, you finally came face to face with the male lead you’ve been fawning over.
As his eyes meet yours, you observed the brilliant shades of teal and ocher in them. Really, the view from across two panes of glass couldn’t detail his true beauty.
“Hello, Mr. Alhaitham.” You beamed your best smile.
The pattering of steps behind you comes to a stop as Faruzan finally catches up exasperated at your impatience.
“Secretary Alhaitham, this young lady here would like to make a blood contract with you.”
The weight of his teal gaze shifted back on your frame after your late introduction, assessing the situation as you awaited his response.
“I see.” He nods while walking out from behind the desk, pulling out the chair in front of it.
The receptionist took her cue to leave the room, shutting the office door on the way out. The room now balanced with just one mortal and one immortal.
You paid no mind to his words as you settled down into the seat, after all, you’ve already read through them. Instead, your ears absorbed his timbre tone and smooth cadence. What a dangerously beautiful voice, it’s beckoning you towards the murkier waters.
“What are your demands?”
“Marry me.” Your lips blurted the truth out before shame got the chance to stop them.
Remember, the worst he could do is to show you the door.
–
In truth, you were preparing yourself to see the open palm of his large hand as he rejects your ridiculous proposal. Yet, here you were, still in his office. Sitting just across the expanse of his dark oak desk, all your documents scattered across it as Alhaitham’s pen guided across a form.
“What are the living arrangements you expect?” He doesn’t glance up from the paper.
“Mm… Would moving into your home be possible? Married couples usually live together.”
“That’s possible. Expectations for domestic and financial responsibilities?”
“I can’t work, so I don’t mind taking care of the house. But, I do want us to share some chores, so I don’t go insane.” You wonder if the ends of his lips would curl at your humor.
“I see.” The pen continues to record the sentences down on the form.
You kept the smile up despite the sting of failure.
“So… How much blood do vampires need?” Best to move on.
“It depends. Humans can give at most two pints of blood safely, and only once every two months.”
“You only need to feed once every two months?”
“Yes, would that be an issue?”
Lips parted, your next sentence dangles just off the tip of it. However, it seems that Alhaitham had already read them.
“Mortal medicine has no effect on our bodies.”
“Are there any restrictions on affection? Any personal boundaries?” You pivoted to another question.
The pen stops for a moment, his teal eyes shifting off the paper for just a brief moment as he evaluates numerous scenarios, or at least that’s what you think he’s doing.
“Deep kisses are not permitted.” Alhaitham’s teal eyes pierced straight into yours as he delivered the verdict.
It’s silly really, you really don’t have the right to demand an ounce of touch from him, you aren’t entitled to his personal space. However, something still made your stomach sink.
“Oh?... May I ask why?”
“There runs the risk of blood contamination through exchanging saliva, our incisors are quite sharp.”
Oh. You read between the lines he penned down. The most sacred law of this age, a time where mortals and immortals walk alongside each other: vampires cannot turn humans into immortal beings.
He’s being precautious, after all the price he’d have to pay for a drop of his blood tainting yours is far greater than anything you could offer. Yet, the greed deep within you wouldn’t stay silent.
“Are closed-mouth kisses okay then?” Haggling the clauses like you were at a market stall.
Once more the pen stops as he contemplates your bargain.
“Yes.”
“The contract has been submitted to the legal department. If you pass the evaluation, it’ll be approved by the end of this month. I look forward to your cooperation.”
And with his disembodied voice over the phone, he accepts your proposal. Alhaitham agreed to play the role of your husband. The anticipation that weighed down your shoulders for the past three days was finally lifted. Hopefully he can’t hear your idiotic grin through the phone.
Success.
—
“No, I won’t accept this.” Dehya slams her glass down, unfazed by the glances from surrounding tables.
“Please reconsider your decision.” Candace gives you her disapproving gaze.
Shifting your eyes over to Nilou, poor sweet Nilou whose wide eyes could only convey the word ‘why?’. The interrogation after showing the ring to your dearest friends was much more intense than the evaluation you underwent to get the marriage approved.
However, it’s to be expected. After all, two of the people at this table were hunters. If anyone knew the true brutality vampires hold, it would be them.
Tapping on the screen of your phone to reveal the time. Of course, you won’t arrive at this negotiation unprepared. Glancing back up to face the counsel of your friends, a honeyed smile on your lips.
“Would you guys have the time to accompany me to a doctor’s visit?”
–
That took longer than you expected, walking out of the sliding glass doors which reflect the everchanging hues of dusk. The cause for this extended session at the Bimarstan was the numerous times your dearest guests made the poor doctor repeat your verdict.
Each time hoping that something different would leave his mouth. Peering up at the building across the street, you wonder if he’s getting ready to leave the house soon.
The closing of the automatic doors draws your attention back to the three figures who followed behind you. Pensiveness eyes downcasted as their minds continued to digest the events that have unfolded.
“Pfft! What’s with this atmosphere?” A giggle leaves your breath, it’s unbefitting for a gathering of friends.
“I won’t force you to attend my wedding if you don’t want to. However, I’ll be quite the lonely bride without any bridesmaids.” There was your honeyed smile again.
They could say no, they could beg you to drink the first poison offered by the doctors, they could ask you to give them more time, to give yourself more time. But they won’t. You knew they won’t.
Unlike you, they’re selfless and heedful, all your fortune in life must’ve been spent on finding such dear friends.
You’re the only selfish one.
There are many things you like about Alhaitham. Even excluding his excellent physique, his starlight hair and beryl-citrine eyes, he’s got the perfect traits of a life partner. He satisfies all the aspects of the ideal husband. Never leaving you wanting or hungry. You could list all his positive traits.
–
One, by simply holding out a hand, he’ll place his black card onto your awaiting palm. Not even batting an eye when you returned home from a ‘simple grocery run’ in a new set of clothes with the tags still on.
When you mentioned to him that a TV would look nice on the empty living room wall, he ordered one on the same day. How dreamy.
–
Two, he’s quite the interesting specimen.
“So, if someone were to douse you with blessed water, your flesh won’t burn?”
“No.”
Alhaitham humors your ridiculous inquires about his species, enlightening you to just how inaccurate those films and shows you loved were.
He even humors the trivial anniversaries, celebrations, and dates inspired by any recent dramas you fancied. The wedding was proof enough: he tolerates your fantasies.
–
Three, what you liked most of all: he’s too smart to ask redundant questions. After all, he’s read the files, he’s seen the diagnosis.
It’s not some secret that shall not be told, not a monster that shall not be named. Just like how there’s no point in telling someone the sky is blue, there’s nothing left to say about the doctor's notes.
No surprises, no sudden alarms, just the artificially sweet lull of domestic life.
–
Performing the part of a doting husband with such spectacular accuracy, you could almost mistake it as sincere.
You applaud the amount of skill it takes. However, costars are meant to bring out the best in each other, pushing one another past their thresholds for an excellent show.
The slightest blunders of lines and facial muscles couldn’t fool your expert gaze. It does take one to know one.
–
“Haitham,” you called out.
Setting down the two servings of biryani on the dinner table, the rich spices perfumed through the halls. It only takes one call for Alhaitham to come out from his library, halting for a second at the threshold of the kitchen before swiftly composing himself once more.
“Dinner is ready, it’s biryani tonight.” You gestured for him to take a seat, a smile ever present on your lips.
“Thank you.” He takes his place.
You take your place just across the table, wasting no time enjoying the fruit of labor after standing over a stove. Every grain of rice perfectly coated in the right amount of seasoning, just the correct level of richness. The recipe you followed online deserved its high rating, it’s delicious.
Traveling across the length of the dinner table, your leaden gaze landed upon the figure who has yet to touch his meal. That must’ve been enough for him to take his cue, bringing a spoon full into his mouth, chewing then shallowing.
“How is it?” Resting an elbow on the polished oak.
“You’ve worked hard on this dish, thank you.” He takes another bite.
Letting out a pleased hum, you released him from this scene. Turning your attention back to your own meal.
You’ll clear your plate in about twenty more bites, and he’ll continue to push the contents of his plate around once in a while faking a bite. Then after you’re finished, he’ll swiftly offer to clear the table and dishes, telling you to retire to the bedroom for rest.
A clever diversion from his ultimate goal of dumping your cooking into the trash. You’ve gone through this script for two years now.
It’s practically impossible to completely suppress one’s true intentions and instincts. Alhaitham can’t fully prevent the corners of his lips from down-turning every time you address him with that botched nickname.
He can’t entirely stop the sigh escaping his lips whenever you call for him to help with menial tasks, unbefitting for such a noble creature.
He can’t suppress the repulsive scrunch of his nose every time your cooking assaults his palate, the same reaction witnessed during the bi-monthly feeding sessions.
The same disgust he has of your blood, you thought mortal medicines has no effect on such beings, an oversight on his part.
He’s not as much of a mastermind as he might think, after all, he’s the one who allowed a piece of paper to be dangled over his head. Placing the power of clauses into the palm of your awaiting hand.
You tell him ‘jump’, and he’ll ask how high with disdain thinly veiled behind brilliant teal.
Humans are defined by their curiosity and greed, mortal hands always playing chicken with a boundary, testing how far they could go. You’re not special enough to be different.
Perhaps the only time he gets the advantage is when you bare your neck for him. Fangs hastily piercing skin, hands a bit too harsh around the neck. He wants it to hurt, you know.
Too bad, months spent at the hospital trained your tolerance to such sensations.
If life wants to entangle its fingers into your hair and cruelly tow you to and fro, why can’t you enjoy that same feeling? You’ll just grasp at any wisp of control, you’re a simple human after all. You’d even grasp onto death to stable yourself.
Mortal self-interest versus immortal apathy, what a disastrous harmony.
Ah, you slept a bit too long. Extended nap causing you to miss a scheduled cup of tea. Tapping a finger along the cool marble countertop you watched the kettle boil.
Frame resting against the counter, each tap against the marble was a futile attempt at distraction. Kalpalata Lotus’ effects can only last four hours, what a shame.
The steady rhythm of taps interrupted now and then by a pulse of pain as the leaves steeped. Starting deep within your core then crawling it’s up to your lungs like a shadow overtaking a frail flower.
This must be your warranted punishment for a transgression committed over the weekend. Dragging a creature of the night into the bright, unwelcoming sun all for a silly farmer’s market. Alhaitham’s slumped figure and worn tone were the cue.
You thought vampires weren’t like how the drama portrayed them, but perhaps there’s some truth, an oversight on your part.
You played chicken with that boundary and got burned, how will you soothe the wounds of guilt now?
Foregoing honey this time, you hastily swallowed the entire contents of the cup. No matter how fast you push the tea down your throat, no matter how many spoonfuls of honey you put into it: it’s unpalatable.
The herbal tang dried the inside of your mouth, yet the bitterness made your salivary glands go into overdrive. This is what purgatory is like, huh?
The chime of your ringtone snapped you back to reality. Glancing over at the screen: Candace. A call so late, she’s at work now, isn’t she?
Swiftly pushing down the bitterness that lingered, clearing your throat before accepting the call.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, how are you feeling, any discomfort?”
“Pfft! The diligent Candace gets on her phone during work just to check up on me? I’m swooned.” Your bell-like laughter made the pain worse as it rang through the empty house.
From the other side, you could pick up the faint giggle, you envision her fighting back a smile.
“Yes, yes. But more importantly, where are you now?”
“Home, why? Did you want to visit? I got some baklava.”
“Good, stay there.” There’s an instant switch to the mood.
“Mm?” You hummed, passively acknowledging the tension.
“Please stay inside. There’s a rouge vampire at large, hunters are scattered all throughout the city.”
Leaving you with a cliffhanger, she knew you’d want a taste of the details. You’ll bite.
“Oh? That serious, what did they do?”
“He turned his lover.”
Goosebumps ran up your neck in the perfectly tempered room. That vampire crossed the forbidden line in the sand, straight into the ocean of inevitable demise.
The most sacred rule results in the most miserable end. Once caught, his chest will be pierced with silver, heart torn from his body. She doesn’t need to detail those, you already knew.
“Oh?”
“His lover has been located, they’re receiving treatment, unsure of the status. However, you should tell your husband to be careful.”
“I should be saying that to you. Stay safe out there, he’s probably on his way back anyways.” Your eyes glanced at the clock, 11: 59 pm.
“Alright, I will. You should really rest, it’s so late.”
“Mm? Says you, Candace. Tell Dehya I said to stay out of trouble.”
She hums in response. Right after you chimed your farewell and right before she disconnected the call, you slipped in one more line.
“Please stay safe.” Addressed to no one person in particular.
–
The hands on the clock now read 3: 21 am, a fresh cup of tea now rested in between your hands. Eye reflecting back at you, still no message, not a single call. His voicemail now ingrained into your ears.
In an age where humans and vampires now live side by side, it’d be naive to believe that such arrangements are free from prejudice. After all, centuries of fear and hatred don’t just vanish into the air like the vapors of hot tea.
If a vampire is slain during a hunt, a creature unrelated to the true prey, oh well.
It was for the greater good, it was to maintain the peace, to ensure humanity’s safety. You’re not in the mood to debate such flimsy excuses.
–
It’s now 4: 34 am, the blushing hues of dawn were just about to creep through the curtains by the front door. Your legs begged for rest, your shoulders heavy, but you refused to leave your post.
Finally, the clink of keys slotting into place sang through the entranceway. The heavy oak door opens, you don’t need to study his expression, he’s disappointed to see you.
“Where’ve you been?” No chirp in your command.
“I went drinking with coworkers.”
You know, you could smell it on him.
“Why didn’t you call beforehand?”
Alhaitham doesn’t bother to suppress his deep exhale, nor the downward tug at his lips. Disdain meets disappointment, eyes and frowns locked into a staredown as the hands of a clock kept time.
In the peripheral you spot warm orange chasing away the pink, clearing the way for the most brilliant star. Oh, it looks like your wound wasn’t soothed enough. You closed your eyes.
What went wrong with the script?
You.
It’s not selfishness, it’s plain immaturity. Immaturity breeds cruelty. The same immature cruelty of a curious child who ripped off the hypnotically beautiful wings of a butterfly.
Perhaps the corruption of your tissues has made its way into your personality, an unforeseen consequence of that herbal tea. Or maybe your transgressions were the influence of a green-eyed monster. Immortality gives him an overabundance of what you’re deprived of.
But it’s not his fault, it’s not an unseen monster’s fault, it’s your immaturity that’s ruining this performance.
This just won’t do. With the script going awry long ago, there’s no use in trying to follow it, the two of two should conserve your energy.
It’s best to rewrite it again, to say lines that’ll move the scene along in the right direction, to save this domestic drama. You’ll be the first to fold.
“My life’s too short for misunderstandings and messy communication,” you huffed.
Lids opening back up to catch his gaze again, restrained and artificially blank as always. Still, he’s got beautiful eyes.
“I’m your wife, and you’re my husband.” You stated the obvious.
Alhaitham knows that, so his lips remain still.
“So when my husband, who usually arrives home at half past midnight on the dot, didn’t arrive home until dawn without a single text or call, I got worried.”
Another deep exhale from him.
“You don’t need to report every movement to me, I don’t want that either. But if you plan on staying out please give me a simple text, so I don’t have to spend hours worrying about why my husband isn’t answering my calls.”
The discoloration under your eyes, the slump of your heavy shoulders, and the unsteadiness of your knees. He’s observing them all, isn’t he? A pro-actor accesses the situation before deciding how to respond to an ad-lib.
“I understand, I’ll do that from now on,” he answers.
What a typical response for him, but maybe not so much for a husband.
“You’re supposed to apologize, ya know: ‘I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time, my wife’,” you advised.
“I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time, my wife,” he parroted.
You’ll suppress your giggles for now, this successful pivot of a dreadful scene caused a grin to break out on your face. One that reaches your eyes.
Arms outstretched you wrapped them around his neck as your lips warmed up his cool cheek, tying the ending together with repetition that’s now become a habit.
“Welcome home, Haitham.”
“Closed… for construction?...” Your eyes trailed across the bolded letters.
The grand garden was blocked off by iron gates and mossy stonewalls, path dimly lit by dull streetlamps.
It’s your third anniversary, to celebrate a new chapter, a reworked script, you planned this special itinerary. The Pardis Dhyai was the grandest garden in all of Sumeru, and they offered night tours. It was perfect, but it seems that you miscalculated.
“It’s negligence on their part for not having this notification on their website.” Alhaitham’s baritone voice draws you from your thoughts.
You must look so idiotic right now. Getting all dressed up and even coaxing him from the comfort of the house just to bring Alhaitham to a wall. You didn’t fight the slump of your shoulders, the fires of shame licked at your cheeks. You feel the weight of his teal eyes.
“The street market is open tonight, would you like to go there instead?”
What a good husband, stepping in to remedy his wife’s mistakes. Finally gathering the courage to connect with his gaze, you notice the faint twitch of his nose as a breeze passed by.
“Do you not like flowers?”
“Their fragrance is overbearing.”
Recalling the times you’ve shoved an excessive bouquet in front of his face during previous anniversaries, the familiar burn of guilt crept up your back. You just can’t do anything right tonight, huh?
“There’s no point in standing around.” He stretched out a hand towards you, palms waiting.
“... Heh, it’s a good thing it’s closed then huh, Haitham?” Placing your warm hand into his cold grasp, a meek smile stretches your lips.
Alhaitham hums in response, mercifully guiding you in the direction of the night market. As you walked along the dimly illuminated path, your eyes traveled back to the stonewall once more, its height towering even over your husband.
“I’ve never visited this place before… what a shame…” The comment slipped your tongue before you could bite it back.
Alhaitham promptly stops, turning back to glance between you and the mossy wall. The lullabies of crickets filled the nothingness, much like they did during the wedding night. The smile on your face grew tighter, he must think you’re whining.
“Woah??-”
Before you could conquer up a line to transition from this scene, Alhaitham had released your hand, only for his arms to hoist you off the ground.
Tender hold balancing you against his firm frame, you had to tilt your neck down to look at his face. Following the subtle motion of his head you looked in the same direction, eyes widening as realization dawned upon you.
The garden wall towered over the two of you, but as one, you were able to peer over the craggy barrier that once blocked your view. Wind blowing the floral fragrance over your face unobstructed.
“What do you see?” The deep vibrations of his chest resonate against your body.
There was no one here tonight. Just a husband and wife enjoying a moment so private, not even the moon dare intrude. Sweetness meddling with bitter guilt, crafting something bittersweet.
“Flowers…very beautiful flowers,” you answered, gazing beyond the stones.
“It’s a garden after all.”
“Pfft!”
The contrast between this gentle scene and his curt response pushes a laugh from your breath.
Patting his arm, you signaled for him to place you down, and carefully he follows your instruction. Once your feet touched the solid earth again, you pressed your face into his shoulder.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
“It’s our anniversary.” The justification of his actions.
“Of course… now let’s go, I want to try the samosas there!” The brightness returns back to your lips.
This time, you lead the way. Warm hands mingle with his cold ones, creating a comfortable temperature as you gallivanted along as one. Under the moonless sky, you told him your first true lie, a full lie.
–
How troublesome, you said you’d clean the library tonight. Looking around at the piles of books littered all throughout and the coating of dust. If only a nap didn’t eat away at the day, then maybe you wouldn’t be so pressed for time.
Oh well, rolling up your sleeves to begin your promised duty. No use in mulling over it, and no use in blaming the nap either. It’s to be expected, after all, tea time is now every three hours.
Alhaitham’s collection of books is nothing to scoff at, in fact, you’re willing to wager his collection rivals those of academic archives.
How long did it take for him to gather them? What criteria must they fit to catch his interest?
Small inquiries bloomed through your thoughts as each journal slid back into its rightful shelves.
It can’t be helped. Finally, after four years, you’re now allowed past the threshold of his library. The last corner of the house which was wholly his. You’re allowed a glimpse into his sanctuary. The exhilaration from this privilege was enough to outweigh the tediousness.
Eyes switching back and forth between the two covers currently in your hands. So focused on deciding between which shelves to place them your ears failed to pick up the poised footsteps coming your way. It took a pair of adamant hands on your shoulders to wake you from these thoughts
“Why weren’t you at the door?” A familiar baritone voice.
Oh, you weren’t mindful of the time at all. Meeting teal irises as you glanced back over a shoulder, not missing the ghost of a furrow between his brow. Alhaitham isn’t one who’s fond of deviations from a practiced script.
“Sorry, sorry I got caught up in these books.” You couldn’t help but giggle.
Placing the books back down and spinning around, cradling his face between your warm palms, you carefully placed a kiss on his cold lips.
“Welcome home, Haitham.” You whispered against them.
Alhaitham hummed as his eyes closed, savoring the sensation of your warmth transferring to him. How unbefitting of such a noble creature, melting into the touch of a mere mortal. What a beautiful view to witness, so lovely in fact, a certain phrase clawed its way to the tip of your tongue.
“I...” You waited for his brilliant beryl eyes to reveal themselves again.
The soft trills of crickets creep in through the window, a call back to a night when an executive decision was reached by both parties to remove necessary lines from the script.
“… wonder if you collect books in place of company.” You’ll heed their warning.
There was a sigh that filled the distance between you.
“They’re great stimulants for the mind, perhaps you should read some.” No hesitation in his sardonic counter to your playfulness.
“Pfft! Haitham, I can’t read half of these languages.”
It’ll be redundant to reinstate such words into a script that wasn’t written for it no? A part of you wonders if the quip was supposed to be a diversion from the faint downward pull of his lips.
The windows were cracked ajar allowing the crisp night breeze into the sanctuary of the bedroom, the new air circulating through helped push out the stuffiness. However, Summer was always too hot for you.
“Haitham.” Under the glow of a waxing moon, your hands reached out.
Soon, the cool cheeks of your husband settled into the space between your palms, taking away the excess heat. You brought him closer, allowing your foreheads to touch.
To never be bothered by the polar extremes of temperature, how nice it is to be born of the supernatural.
“Mmm… It’s been a while, aren’t you hungry?” You broke the comfortable silence.
“I’m fine.” Two firm arms pulled you closer.
His gray lashes were still shut, concealing away the teal stained with hints of scarlet. A tell-tale sign. It’s about five years too late for him to lie to you. Like a stubborn child refusing to take his medicine, where did the arrogant vampire go?
It’ll be best to change tactics, everything must have its fair compensation, a principle Alhaitham follows to its core. Sliding your hands away from his face and down along the contour of his body as your face rests into the crook of his neck.
“It’s really hot tonight.” Warm palms sneaking under the barrier of a shirt.
There’s a hiss that sounds next to your ear as two hands firmly grasp your hips. Emboldened by his reaction, your hands continued to explore his sculpted frame, icy skin stealing away the warmth that smothered you. Alhaitham’s fingers kneaded your hips in contemplation. Moving closer to his ear, your breath ghosted over them.
“Haitham, can you make it go away?” The final push.
A deep growl reverberated against his chest, a sign of his surrender to your whims. A gasp is knocked out of your lips as your back meets with the plush mattress. This time two icy palms traversed the sweltering outline of your skin, goosebumps trailing behind his every touch.
You hummed at the sensation as his hands travel further up, pushing the troublesome fabric of your shirt out of the way, exposing your soft breast to the air. A moan slipped off your tongue as Alhaitham gropes at the soft mounds, placing a kiss in the valley between them, cold fingers playing with the nipples now perked.
Wrapping your legs around his solid frame, your hands tugged at the shirt that blocked your view of his godly body. A silent whine for him to take it off, and like the good husband he is, Alhaitham complies. In return, your shirt was also stripped from your frame, a fair trade. Cheeks stained red from shame your mind was too muddled to process, you blame it on the heat.
More icy kisses trailed along your chest and neck, as cool fingers sneaked under the waistband of your shorts. His icy touches land straight against your puffy lips, labia glistening with slickness. You flinched at the sudden temperature change against your pussy, and his hand twitched at the small surprise.
“Wet already, and nothing underneath…” Alhaitham’s baritone voice reports his finding against your ear.
“Mmm,” you sounded out, shivering at the combination of his voice and teasing fingers.
“How lewd.”
“You don’t like it?”
Instantly, a stiff mass was pressed against the softness of your thighs.
“Do I seem displeased?”
Entangling your fingers into ashen locks, you let a giggle flutter your chest against his. Two hearts beating on opposite sides. Shorts pulled off the length of your legs and kicked to the side, leaving you bare underneath his mercy.
Rolling your hips against his cool palms to generate some friction, your clit begging for an ounce of attention. A quick slap against the sensitive bud jolts your body as you moan, a swift punishment for your impatience.
As if to soothe the lingering sting, his fingers circle the bundle causing your legs to shiver as pleasure runs up them. Your folds release more of their essence, Alhaitham’s fingers collect it, tracing your entrance with fleeting touches. The heat engulfing your body was beginning to become too much, your walls clenching around nothing desperately. Your legs pull him closer, attempting to spur on the tempo.
Your feeble strength is nothing against his, Alhaitham effortlessly pulls away from your trap. A whine left your throat as even his ashen locks freed themselves from your grasp.
“Shh, let me have a taste first.” He pulls you toward the edge of the bed.
Vascular hands gripping onto your thighs, spreading them open to allow him unobstructed access to your dripping greed. A firm hold denies you the opportunity to slither away from the cool breaths hitting your pussy lips.
Alhaitham’s tongue teases its way between your folds, collecting your escaped honey into his mouth as he releases a satisfied grunt. Licking stripes along your pussy, cool lips brushing against your sensitive clit. Your fingers found their way back to his silken locks, the back of your hand blocking your mouth.
Objecting against your cruel act of denying him the privilege of your moans, a finger was abruptly thrusted into your soaked walls with a squelch, causing your back to arch off the sheets. Hand no longer able to withhold the sinful sounds from his awaiting ears.
Another finger soon makes its way into your gummy walls, sliding to curl against that one spot deep within before sliding out and repeating. All the while his lips closed around your delicate bud, suckling and abusing it with his brutish tongue.
He was supposed to cool you down in this unbearable heat, yet your body only burned more under his ministration. Your walls desperately clenched down as your fingers tightened their hold on his ashen hair, trying to find any perch for your sanity to cling to.
Your actions only spurred him on, harsh sucks to your swollen clit and fingers increasing their pace. He wanted to ravish you wholly, to leave you a mess beyond saving. White flashes shoot up your trembling legs still held apart by his iron grip. If he continues then you might really fall beyond the grace of help.
“S-slower.”
Your slurred speech must’ve made your words incoherent, as Alhaitham only added more force behind his movements. Your slicked walls clenched around his fingers as they continued to pinpoint your weak spot, the messy licks and sucks at your clit causing the knot in your core to grow tighter and tighter. Or maybe your husband is just too famished to know mercy.
Back raising off the bed, no matter how hard your fingers cling onto his hair and the messy sheets you couldn’t stop the fall off the edge as your eyes saw the back of your head. A broken moan resounded through the room. Hopefully, it’s too late for anyone on a late-night stroll past the open window. Every fiber of your being shivering and nerve overwhelmed with hot flashes of pleasure. All the while Alhaitham’s tongue never stopped its torture.
Laying bonelessly upon the ruined sheets, hands limp by your side. Your chest heaves trying to remember how to breathe as a large figure looms over you. Your quivering pussy reluctantly released his fingers as a string of slick connected them.
Unfocused eyes watch as your husband’s tongue cleans the essences off, making sure to clean every inch.
You felt so empty inside, the heat between your legs only escalating as your walls clenched around nothing. Was it the heat or pleasure that’s melting your mind? You don’t know and were too desperate to care. You wanted relief from the heat and judging by the hard shape pressed into your thigh, he needed relief too.
Wordless your nimble fingers reached down, curling over the waistbands of his pants and boxers you pulled them down. Finally freeing his cock, it slaps against his naval as the leaking precum spears across his exposed skin. Playfully, your finger toys with his swollen tip, gathering up the precum as a hiss leaves his clenched teeth.
Making sure to look directly into his piercing eyes, you brought the finger into your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the digit and then pulling it out from your lips with an audible pop.
Your shameless behavior earned you a guttural growl from Alhaitham, soon your hand was pinned above your head. His face was just inches away, the brilliant teal of eyes now wholly glazed over with crimson. Everyone is warned to never play with fire, but it’s just too addicting to resist.
“Brazen girl,” he snarls.
You countered with a grin, cheeks a deep red, but what’s there to hide from someone who’s laid you bare numerous times before?
Sucking in a gasp as his thick tip rubbed against your negligent folds, your leaking walls trembling with anticipation. Longing for the stretch only he could offer you.
“Beg.”
Of course, nothing ever comes easily when it comes to him. Self-control honed by years of experience, all held by the iron grip of his analytical mind. A battle you’ll never win, so it’s best to sacrifice your self-respect in favor of your aching pussy. A fool for pleasure, gone far beyond the point of saving.
“Please… I want you to ruin me… please ruin me.” Sinful words rolling off your tongue.
Words that finally snapped the last thread of self-restraint Alhaitham had, instantaneously his hips met yours. Your gummy walls, long ingrained in his shape, welcomed the familiar stretch, clamping down as a wet slap resounded through the room. Alhaitham pushed his cock in further, pinning your body deeper into the mattress, hissing at the heat that engulfed his length.
Your mouth falls open, pleasure shooting through overstimulated nerves, the bed creaking underneath you as his hips pulled away just to snap back. Setting a more punishing pace than usual, the bed shook in protest as your pussy welcomed each thrust, slick walls wrapping around his girth.
Moans flowed out of your mouth like how water flows through rivers, any semblance of embarrassment drowned out by molten pleasure. Two bodies connecting and mingling together to create a private heaven.
Alhaitham’s hand abandons its grip on your wrist in favor of getting more leverage on your hips, purple marks promising to appear in the morning.
Before your muddled mind could process it, icy lips crashed into your plush ones, a tongue crossed the line. Sloppy and hungry was how his mouth devoured yours. Tongues clashing and dancing as he shallows each moan of yours.
He pulls away momentarily as you took the opportunity to steal a few breaths. Scarlet-hazed eyes observe the transgression just committed before his lips moved back to reconnect with yours.
It’s clear he doesn’t give a damn about that arbitrary rule anymore. Why must forbidden acts always feel so good?
Free hands now found purchase on his broad back, nails digging into the smooth skin trying to balance out the onslaught of pleasure invading every fiber of your being. Legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper into the sheets with you never once interrupting his savage pace.
Your attempts at staving off your independent orgasm were futile, teary eyes rolling back as your walls clenched and your body shook.
Alhaitham released your lips in time to savor the broken symphony of a moan leaving your throat, the sheets underneath you a soaking mess, proof of your fall from cloud nine.
Despite this, your husband doesn’t slow down in the slightest. The sight in front of him only heightened the hunger in his eyes.
The solid oak bed frame swayed in time with the pistoning of his thrust, tight walls clamping down yet giving no resistance as his thick tip continued to bully that sweet spot. His chilly breath against your nape, tongue running a wet trail to prepare the area. Sensations your melted mind could barely register.
His fingers dig deeper into your hips as he pulls them flushed against his, thick cock pressing further into your wanton core.
A sharp prick shoots up your nape before the sensation of your walls being filled beyond capacity distracts from it. Your pussy pitifully attempts to suck in every last drop before succumbing, letting his essence join yours in making a mess of the sheets. Trembling hands run along his muscular back, pulling him closer to your heaving chest.
Your pants counted in time with the hands of a clock, shards of your sanity slowly returning to you as gulps moved down Alhaitham’s throat. With a satisfied sigh, his incisors released your neck, tongue lapping over the escaped drops of scarlet.
Slowly pulling away from your embrace, his untainted teal eyes scan over you. Hair fanned out behind you, chest still heaving, and cheeks still violently flushed. You must look absolutely ruined, just as you asked of him.
Carefully, he pulls out from your gummy walls, trembling walls allowed to gather their senses again. Detangling your legs from him with tender hands he repositions your droopy body comfortably along plush pillows.
Humming in gratitude as you rolled onto your stomach, face buried into the luxurious pillows which held his opulent scent. The aftermath of passion gradually faded away from recovering nerves. The space next to you dips down as his frame joins you, a cool hand resting along the curve of your back.
The soft sways of leaves in the night breeze, slowing pants, and the sweet lull of nothingness filled the air of this private haven. Two hearts, one mortal and one immortal, beating together.
“Would you want more time?” Came a question that broke the silence.
A hushed invitation slipped to you behind the watchful eyes of the divine. A lure towards deep waters by his beckoning voice.
Perhaps your curiosity has influenced him as well. All your innocent inquiries must’ve muddled the line, question after question brushing away at the definition until misunderstanding took its place.
This won’t do. Your time is too short and his time too precious to be wasted on miscommunication.
Since it was you who muddled the line, it shall be you who reestablishes it.
“I was born a human,” you began.
Pausing to enjoy the feeling of his cool fingers drawing unknown shapes into your back and the gentle vibrations of his hum.
“I will die as one.”
With those simple words, the line was once again clearly drawn in the sand.
Separating you from him, and him from you. Just as the laws of morals, nature, and this world dictated.
After all, it was you who said: “For a fraction of your time, I’ll give you all of mine”. Not the other way around. The price he’d have to pay is far greater than anything you’re willing to sacrifice.
No, you’re too selfish for that.
Under a waning moon, the market was lively tonight. Bright lanterns and stringed lights challenged the radiance of the sky’s stars. The twinkling momentarily distracts your mind from the cries of your muscles and the aches of your bones.
What a simple thing you are, or perhaps you’re just a human in the purest sense. So entranced by the beauty of a rose, it distracts from the sting of thorns.
Such drab comparisons have no place in your thoughts tonight.
As if to run away from them, your legs moved with volition, weaving in and out of the surges of crowds with clumsy grace, some haggling, some laughing, some yelling.
Glazing up at the moon above, it was as if she was following your every step, watching, judging the performance of this daydream.
It wasn’t long before the volition faded away as you slowed to a halt, lung greedily trying to hog all the air they could. A herbal scent found its way to your senses, a quick glance to your left confirms your suspicions.
It looks like your legs couldn’t carry you far enough in the end. Stopping right in front of a display of dried Kalpalata Lotuses, the moon must be laughing right now.
You weren’t sure which one tasted more bitter, the herb or the irony.
Straightening your posture back up, ready to push through the burn of your muscles once more before a cold grasp grounded you back into reality.
Whipping your head around, bewildered eyes connected with placid teal. There was a furrow in the brows that framed the hypnotic azure.
“Don’t go where my hand can’t reach.” Alhaitham’s atonal voice carried over the chatter of the streets.
Bringing your husband out of the house, only to then leave him alone in a sea of people. What a capricious wife you are.
Perhaps Alhaitham foresaw this exact situation, that’d explain the recent spike in his reclusiveness. Seeing this, a giggle bubbled up in your throat.
“Oh?~ Someone’s been watching my dramas. Where’d you learn that line from?”
As he sighs your giggles only increased, cold fingers loosening around your wrist.
“It’s exceptionally crowded tonight, be mindful of your surroundings.”
You simply nodded along, a sign to him that you’re only absorbing half of his words, another sigh from him and another giggle from you.
“A bag of Kalpalata Lotuses for the two of you tonight as well?” The vendor, ready with a fresh paper bag, intrudes on this raillery.
Your lips pressed into a thin line, silencing your giggles as your eyes trailed over the dulled hues of the dried herb.
Four hours went to three went to two and now down to one. Each cup becoming more and more unpalatable. There comes a point when a bucket can longer keep a sinking ship afloat, perhaps it’s better to gaze upon the starry night as one disappears under the waves.
“Actually… Padisarah tea tastes better, I want a bag of that instead.” A honeyed smile dawned upon your lips as you glazed back up at him.
Alhaitham parts his lips, a response ready to fall off his tongue, but he closes them just as swiftly. Returning a hum of acknowledgment at your request, handing over the mora in exchange for the bag of dried Padisarah.
Your attention has already shifted away from this scene, eyes avoiding the dull hues, finally landing upon wood carved with much creative liberty. There’s enough space for another sculpture no? It’d be nice to add more company to the home.
Before the muscles in your legs could budge, a hand twitched, reminding you of the loose hold still around your wrist.
A good partner should respect the wishes of their spouse. Warm fingers slide into the space between cold ones, intertwining like the lights above with the sky.
All it took was a soft tug for a human to move a vampire through the bustling crowd.
A common phrase uttered to unwell patients is ‘mind over body’.
However, there’s only so much the body can take before it rebels against the mastermind.
Even your own body had enough of your selfishness.
Protest taking the form of wheezes, lethargy, and that piercing ache forever present deep within. You were always the one to toe the line, pushing your luck to the limits and beyond, only stopped by a towering wall.
It’s time to lay rest under silken sheets and plush pillows. Something you’ve been doing very often these days. Perhaps your body is just practicing for the ending.
The cumbersome duvet fails to capture the wisps of warmth only a Sumerian Summer can offer, it fails to prevent the chill from penetrating deep into your every bone.
Dull senses alert you to a shift in weight on the mattress. Fighting against the leaden weight of your lids, you opened your eyes to the sight of your husband.
Ashen hair slightly trussed and button down wrinkled as his frame lays next to yours. He must have come here straight from the door, a once-practiced tradition slowly faded away much like strength from your limbs.
The muscles on his face relaxed, neutral by default, yet his eyes were downturned much like the corners of his lips.
Your husband must be deep in thought. His thumb is digging into his palm again, it seems that Alhaitham has developed a new habit. Hazy eyes carefully focused on how the nail threatened to break the surface of his palm.
That’s no good.
Ignoring the exhaustion, you slipped your fingers in between his, shielding his palm from the assaults of his thumb, settling into a gentle embrace as two rings clinked together.
The weight of a teal gaze centers on you.
“My husband is such a handsome actor.” Breathy voice barely a whisper.
Chest protesting against your action with wheezes, but you needed to finish this script, it's what a co-star should do.
“You don’t have to play this role anymore.” Exposing your neck to him as your lashes fluttered shut, it was time to pay your dues.
Much like the clauses written on parchment signed by two names, the ending of this script must be followed, your body already taking its cue.
At least the doctors were accurate this time, how punctual your body is.
A brisk breath brushed against your nape, skin reacting with a trail of goosebumps as you feel the presence of sharp incisors draws near before grazing against your delicate neck. Your mind counts back, ready for the final pierce of pain to come.
Three… Two… The pressure of his fangs disappears from your skin. Replaced by the touch of gentle lips.
Opening your eyes with confusion and lost anticipation, you were met with stoic eyes.
“You don’t have to hold yourself back.”
“I’m not holding myself back,” Alhaitham answers without the slightest pause.
Your chest wheezes once more at your lung’s clumsy attempt at gathering a breath.
“What a silly vampire,” you giggled, the crimson hues were obvious even to your dimming vision.
After the numerous questions you asked and the innumerable answers he gave these past seven years, you still couldn’t fully comprehend him. Neither of you were the masterminds you thought you were, huh?
In the end, both of you were fools trying to perform a stage play.
Your mind ponders this revelation as Alhaitham tugs the covers up your body, gentle hand running along your body through the thick fabric barrier.
The faint ticks of a clock pull a buried secret from the guard sanctuary of your thoughts, dusting off the obscurity to reexamine the details in full clarity.
What was the end of the path like? Well, just like the scene blocked off by a garden wall under that moonless night, it’s all the same.
Maybe tonight you’ll tell him the truth.
What was over that wall? With its stones piled high and with moss creeping through its crevices, a wall that only creatures born within the grace of an undecided god could peer past. What did it conceal?
Nothing.
A nothingness so empty, ultimate peace could reside.
Seems like you’ve discovered something new in the end, you shameless fool. Death is nothingness in the end, a nothingness that fingers pass right through.
So instead of holding on to nothing, you’d rather grasp a cold hand as nothingness envelopes you. He didn’t seem to mind.
You wanted to tell this to the creature who humored your daydream for all these years. If he doesn’t want your blood then you could at least impart this priceless insight to him.
Oh, it’s such a shame that your tongue just won’t move anymore. Instead, you’ll offer him a smile. In hopes that Alhaitham could decrypt the curvature of your lips with his seven years of experience. To translate your silent message into a language known to man with his lifetimes of wisdom.
It’s all you could do to thank him for holding your hand as the dirge of Summer crickets fade out and the last first rays of a grieving sun kiss the horizon. The final wisp of warmth escaping down your cheek.
Fin~
©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.
#al-haitham x you#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x y/n#alhaitham x you#alhaitham x yn#alhaitham smut#alhaitham scenarios#alhaitham angst#vampire alhaitham#genshin vampire au#genshin smut#genshin impact x you#genshin impact x reader#genshin x you#genshin angst#allhaitham fic#vivalabunbunfics#genshin x reader#genshin impact scenarios#genshin imagines#alhaitham imagines#genshin fluff#alhaitham fluff#alhaitham fanfic#genshin modern au
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The Aftermath of Summer
Summary: Who stays to watch the credits roll at the end of a film?
Word Count: 3.4k
Tags: Alhaitham X Fem!Reader, Modern AU, Vampire AU, Contract Marriage, Fluff, Angst, Grief, TW: Talks about death, themes about death, sfw, slight! reincarnation themes, broke student life.
Authors Note: The aftermath of looking over the garden wall to see the flowers. I hope this piece brings to rest the questions that may or may not remain unanswered. Enjoy!
The garden was empty tonight, the sun had long been chased away by the dark entourage of the night and her stars.
The gates should’ve been sealed, locked by chains and heavy locks to separate the hearts that still beat and those that have decayed.
However, as a creature that’s born forever outside the delicate balance, how can these gates stop him?
Or simply the watcher who wanders about these grounds looks the other way, to give this pitifully foolish vampire a semblance of privacy.
Even the moon covered herself with clouds, trying not to peek as Alhaitham knelt down next to a polished rock.
There were double as many flowers in his arms tonight, the fragrance carried by the late breeze was twice as overbearing.
It doesn’t bother him, after all, his senses have been steeled against this.
A variable walked through the sliding doors at the office tonight, disrupting Alhaitham’s treasured routine with a bitterly sweet bouquet.
–
“Secretary Alhaitham.” A voice called as a hand knocked against the wooden frame of his office.
Said vampire responds with a grunt of acknowledgment, pen only pausing when a familiar fragrance fills the air.
“You have a visitor.” Faruzan steps to the side, nose scrunched up at the unaccustomed scent.
Familiar scarlet locks shuffled into view of teal eyes, hands fiddling with the ends of a silk ribbon that contained the bundle together.
It’s hard to not put a name to that shade of hair, Nilou, it’s been a while.
When was the last time he saw the faces of your dearest friends? Perhaps a few months back, while a coffin was lowered into the cold ground alone.
That day was mockingly clear, the sky showing off her most vibrant hues of orange, violet, and pink, brilliant colors competing with those of the blooms thrown into the lonely pit.
No words were exchanged between him and the guests. The same faces of those who once danced and smiled with you within the decorated walls of a wedding venue are now deep in mourning.
So much so that they collectively overlooked the immortal creature who stood amongst them, or perhaps they were too self-absorbed in their own sorrows to extend any grace to him.
After all, in their eyes, how could a creature like him ever understand the grief experienced by those with finite time?
It was for the best, Alhaitham is never in the mood to engage in meaningless small talk, there’s no need for them to give him their hollow condolences.
Instead, he shall stand guard just off to the side, eyes observing every toss of cold dirt until the lacquered box was no longer visible.
Sealing the gates to an unexplored sanctuary that held answers untold.
Alhaitham places his pen down, turning his full attention to the young lady who brought a physical memory into his office.
“Hello, Mr. Alhaitham… um, I’m sorry if I’m bothering you.”
Giving a curt nod to Faruzan, he dismisses her from his office, giving him and the guest some privacy.
The polite silence encouraged her to finish stating her purpose this late evening, the ashen-haired vampire awaits patiently with his hands folded atop the desk.
“I… I know there isn’t a reason for you to keep in contact with us, but… I felt it’s only right to show gratitude towards you for everything you’ve done.”
The scarlet-haired lady closes her eyes, chest expanding with a deep inhale, mind stringing together her unrehearsed lines.
“Originally, I wanted to bring Dehya and Candace along, but… their jobs kept them busy.”
It’d be quite the sight, two hunters thanking the very creatures they’ve spent their whole careers ripping the hearts out of. Even if it might seem like a thinly veiled excuse, Alhaitham knew Nilou’s words were sincere.
The firm hand on the shoulder Dehya gave him at the end of committal service, once the mourns finished shedding their tears over freshly dug dirt, was enough for him to understand.
As expected of a hunter, the strength in her grip on his shoulder stung, but she didn’t let go and he didn’t make any moves to brush her off.
A moment of silence for two grieving beings to communicate their shared pain, both caused a by void that can never be filled.
After a few breaths, the flame-mane hunter releases her hold, wordlessly parting from him. As his teal gaze moves back up they connect with heterochromatic eyes.
Candace simply steadies her stare, then closes her lids as she nods in silent understanding. He mirrors her actions, and she then joins her mortal companions.
The only gestures he accepted that horrid day, olive branches handed over by two sides.
“She used to always close her eyes when she smiled, but after she married you, she smiled with her eyes open.”
A clever habit you had, concealing the apathetic vacuums of your irises when your lips curled, otherwise it’d distract from the radiant grin.
A brilliant technique utilized by an actress as skilled as you.
“Thank you, thank you so much for making her happy, she really was happy.”
The air remains silent, but his hands were gripping each other just a tab bit tighter.
Alhaitham’s pride would never allow him to confess the truth, it’s embarrassing to admit that a creature who’s lived through multiple lifetimes couldn’t decrypt the actions of a mere mortal.
Your performance was just that captivating, blurring the distinction between a daydream and reality. Bravo.
Nilou carefully places the bouquet upon a vacant spot on his desk, they gave each other a nob in acknowledgment before parting ways yet again.
Perhaps the final applause after the credits have rolled.
–
Brushing away the wilted bouquet before setting down the bright blooms still fresh with the vigor of life. Gathering the debris to ensure the soft glow of the night could reflect off the glossy surface, you always liked watching the stars.
In the empty silence of the garden offered Alhaitham the serenity of a deep reflection.
Away from the rowdy city streets and obnoxious office phones. He reviews the past seven years, emending his past assessment of your character.
You weren’t a capricious breeze nor were you a delicate flower. You were a human, a strange human, but a human nonetheless. The purest embodiment of mortality.
That’s how Alhaitham will remember you, that’s how you wanted to be remembered. It’s his final duty as your husband, he’ll carry it out with the same dedication.
Technically speaking, not all clauses were truly fulfilled.
The ashen-haired creature stands by the grave for a few beats more, before his feet finally broke free from their trance.
Redirecting his body towards the gates, his back facing your headstone. But it’s fine, he has to wipe down the polished stone tomorrow night.
For now, let the stars keep your company.
Readjusting to the tediousness of a solitary life was unexpectedly troublesome. Alhaitham never realized just how quickly dust loves to accumulate upon untouched surfaces.
How can objects still get dirty even when there’s no interference with their existence? A question not even the universe can answer.
For his idle eyes to be bothered by the subtle hints of dust and misaligned book spines, you truly did an outstanding job in your household duties, honoring the agreements printed on the contract.
The dryer sings its tone, Alhaitham places the dust cloth down to attend to the laundry before wrinkles can settle in. It's strange really, how certain scents can never be replicated by teams of scientists.
No detergent could ever truly hold the fragrance of a morning star.
However, it would be far too tiresome for a creature of the night to voluntarily embrace the stinging light just for a familiar whiff of solace.
He’ll just have to get used to the artificial aroma of fresh linen, after all these years, Alhaitham has gotten comfortable with the notion of change, an experienced expert in adapting to the times.
Nothing is immune to change, nothing can remain the same when the hands of a clock tick forward.
Thus, the clothes you once owned no longer hold the scent you once dawned. Yet, if he were to remove them… the closet would be too empty, best to leave them there.
With the laundry now checked off the list, Alhaitham returns back to the living room where he left one responsibility unfinished. Picking up the cloth square once more, he wipes the layer of dust from the neglected remote.
Some of the print among the rubber buttons were faded, signs of wear from indecisive fingers as they debate which show they should settle on for the night.
Something passionate? Comedy? Dramatic? Which genre did you prefer the most?
His firm motions with the cloth absentmindedly pass over a certain button, allowing the large screen a long-awaited chance to flicker back on. Accompanying the bright flash of colors came the crisp audio of a rehearsed conversion between the two characters on screen.
Alhaitham stills as his head turns toward the TV.
It must be a newly released drama, one with fresh faces and a carefully selected cast. It’s such a shame that all their efforts are wasted in vain, for there’s no audience upon a worn coach to appreciate their work.
With that thought, Alhaitham sets the remote down as his ageless body settles into the sofa just adjacent to the centered coach.
The night is still young, dust will accumulate nevertheless, it wouldn’t make a difference in taking another break.
-
There’s a line of distinction between a mind that’s been cultivated by the pages of a book and a mind that’s been entertained by artistically framed scenes.
When one crosses the other, the gap in understanding reveals itself, manifesting in the confusion of how to appreciate such things.
It’s how you felt when trying to interpret the texts written long before you were born, face scrunched up in focus as your eyes move across the aged paper.
It’s how he feels as he observes the two lead actors as disembodied laughter rang out.
The pacing was slow, dialogue uninteresting to an immortal that’s long-lived past the experience of university. But, it’d be a waste to not finish something he intended to do from the start.
The cushions were soft, supporting his settling frame as the tension leaves his muscles, beckoning his eyelids to lower, luring him into the darkness that lay behind them.
“Haitham~ are you alive?” A voice brushes against his face.
The presence of someone intruding upon his personal space made his body alert again, the wisps of sleep vanish.
Slowly he lifts up his leaden lids, blinking the haze of sleep away, vision gradually clearing to reveal your grinning face.
“Are you finally done with the assignments you’ve procrastinated?”
“I didn’t procrastinate, I knew I could finish them in time for the deadline and I did.” His voice still gruff with sleep.
“Your breath stinks of coffee.”
“What an observation, coffee is a common beverage consumed by all walks of life.”
“Haitham, it’s 10 pm.”
“It isn’t exclusive to one time.”
An exaggerated huff leaves your lips as you folded, plotting your body right on top of his, the aged couch creaking in protest.
Instinctively, his arms opened to catch your frame, embracing you gently against his chest. Feeling the rhythm of your heart beating in time with his.
“Stubborn.” You muttered.
“Summarizing yourself?” Alhaitham bites back a chuckle as a balled-up fist gently knocks against his torso.
It’s been a while since you’ve had a tender moment like this. Deadlines and exams brought on by the warming air of a concluding semester keep you both on a tight schedule. Only able to exchange brief greets during quick breaks of packaged meals.
You sink deeper into his arms as he rests his face against your neck. Enjoying the warmth generated between your two bodies, coaxing the exhaustion away from each other’s limbs.
‘I miss you.’ A silent sentiment wordlessly conveyed by the extended entanglement.
“You didn’t eat dinner yet.”
Alhaitham lets a soft chuckle escape in the form of a quick huff, how perceptive you are when it comes to his well-being.
“Skipping meals isn’t healthy,” You scolded as a finger jabbed against his shoulder.
“I’m aware.”
“Good, the noodles should be ready by now, c’mon.”
Reluctantly, Alhaitham allows you out of his arms, letting his heavy body follow your tugging hands toward the old and stained kitchen table.
Teal eyes notice the freshly placed cups of noodles, steam leaking out from the sides of their paper lids held down by two forks.
“It’s the fourth night we’ve had cup noodles this week.” He states the obvious.
“So?” You quirk a brow at his announcement.
“We’ll get sodium poisoning.”
“It’s fine, Haitham, our bodies are young, we'll live.”
“And these choices will come back to bite us in the future.”
“Shush and eat your food.” You plotted down at your spot at the chipped table, cheek puffed out.
An absolutely endearing sight. So much so that Alhaitham will rein in his sardonic quips for now, joining you in his spot just across the stained surface.
Ripping the flimsy top off the styrofoam cup, the artificial chicken flavoring sedates his ravenous appetite as he takes a bite.
A sacred respite for any student on a tight budget, empty calories that suppress the growling of stomachs.
From across the table, his teal gaze watches as you savor your last bite.
“You can have the rest of mine.”
“No, you’re a growing boy, you need to eat.”
“The male body fully develops by age eighteen-”
“Shush and eat your food.”
Your soft lips formed a frown once again, how could he not cave into your demands? Alhaitham takes another bite of the noodles.
In just a few more semesters he’ll get his hands on a flimsy piece of paper, proving his qualifications to some white-collar job.
He'll earn a paycheck big enough to treat you to a nice steak basted with red wine.
Away from this cluttered box with creaky floors and rumbling pipes.
Then after a few years, the two of you could follow a realtor through a spacious house atop a hill, yard fenced in nicely, and located a reasonable distance away from the bustling city.
Just endure the endless assignments and demanding exams for a little while longer.
Styrofoam cups carelessly thrown into the trash, forks washed and set out in the drying wrack. The minimal effort of house cleaning was achieved.
As a reward, two figures found themselves pulled back to the worn cushions of a couch. Melting into each other's touches, fingertips trying to memorize every curve and edge.
From outside a window left ajar, its hinges rusted with age and neglect, came the first symphony of the crickets. Singing to celebrate the new season which breathes back life into the trees and their leaves.
Your hands tenderly cupped his face pulling him closer, cheeks touching as your noses perfectly rested against each other.
The leaden weight pulling on his eyelids returned, head dozing into your gentle warmth.
“I love you.” Your whisper so soft it was almost lost in the wind.
Fighting against the droopy pull, his sight centered on your content expression, tranquil gaze reflecting the teal of his irises as you await his response.
Alhaitham’s firm arms pulled your frame flushed against his, burying his face back into the crook of your neck. Deep breath intaking the light fragrance which held hints of a sunny day.
“I love you… to the extent it’s unfathomable.” His full truth.
A truth that couldn’t be left untold.
“Pfft! You and your fancy words again,” you giggled.
The tickling sensation of your bell-like giggles vibrating against his frame cause the corners of his lips to curl.
Your fingers found their way to his ashen hair, tracing faint patterns along his scalp as you tussled his messy locks.
Mesmerizing motions making him lose the battle with the sweet call of sleep. The stone-faced man allowing your trailing fingers to beckon him deeper into the temperate waves of dreams.
Alhaitham’s eyes opened again, lids dawdlingly fluttering open and shut again as the rolling credits of tonight’s spontaneous episode played against the glass screen.
His arms rested unfurled by his sides, nothing in the space against his cold hands.
Closing his eyes shut once more, efforts now conflicted between prying open the doors of sleep to plunge back into the cloudy waters of dreams or blinking the lingering traces away.
Lungs not daring to take another breath in case they distract from the task at hand.
1… 2… 3
A low sigh leaves his lips, ashen lashes opening up to observe the teal eyes staring back from the dark credit screen.
It seems the keeper of dreams felt this vile creature has overstayed his welcome for tonight.
Locking up the iron gates as they stood mockingly on the other side dangling the key between their fingers.
It doesn’t matter. The dream has already served its purpose. Allowing Alhaitham to say the lines in a script that he wasn’t able to complete in time.
It made the void ache just a bit less.
It seems that Alhaitham has unraveled the truth behind your daydreaming habits.
The itch in his palm has long faded away, the ailment cured by clarity only attainable after one processes the cold truth. Analytical mind returning to rationality untainted by the desperation of false hope.
To be condemned to forever wheeze at each gasp of air, to be bound to a bed by agony searing your every cell. Who is willing to pay the price of eternity?
Stopping the hands of a clock wouldn’t be much different than a punishment delivered from the deepest depths of hell.
How could mortal medicine ever turn back the hands of a clock? Simple, it can’t.
Nothing can.
To forever freeze a sinking ship between the thundering skies of life and the endless pits of death, doomed to never drown but never be resuced for eternity.
A fate worse than anything on the two polar opposite sides.
It’d be plain cruel. Childishly cruel.
Alhaitham wouldn’t do that to you, he couldn’t do that to you.
Instead, he simply held your hand tight. Taking away any fear, any anxieties, any regrets as your body sank deeper beneath the waves, until the furrow between your brows disappeared.
Watching the peace gracing your features as your head descends into the murky depths.
Letting your fingers slip through the gaps in his as he stays atop his floating raft of immortality.
Letting your gold bands catch on each other one last time. Letting the laws of nature and unnamed gods pull you away from his side, forever concealing you behind a wall he’ll never be able to peer over.
As it was fated to be, he knows.
If you had a healthy body, one that could live up to 80 years… maybe a little more, you wouldn’t have chosen him.
You never would’ve signed a contract.
You never would’ve cast a passing glance at him on the street.
You would’ve embraced another, one who could walk hand and hand with you through the garden gates.
You didn’t ask to be born with that body, and he didn’t ask to be born with his.
Paths predestined at birth to never fully merge, a wall forever dividing them.
Yet, during the brief time they touched, the scenery was breathtaking.
If he had finite time, a body exhausted by late nights of piled-up assignments, with nothing but twenty mora to his name.
He’d choose that over sitting in an empty house with luxurious furniture, excessive assets sitting to rot in bank vaults, and a silk-covered bed too big for a singular body.
He’d choose to be the one who could walk through the gates of the Pardis Dhyai, hand and hand with you.
--
Only in a mirage could that exist.
Sitting across a small kitchen table, him with his instant coffee, you with your dining hall stolen tea.
Notepad given out by some random campus event being scribbled on. Ballpoint pen jotting down the items carefully calculated: Milk, eggs, and more cup noodles.
Only in a dream could he sit in the bright rays of a star, enjoying its warmth side by side with you.
Alhaitham shuts off the TV, the greeting songs of birds from outside closed curtains now creeping through.
Slowly his frame emerges from its sedentary position, the dust cloth long forgotten to the side.
A sofa is no proper place to rest. Maybe clean sheets can replicate the purpose of cold dirt.
Such futile thoughts, unbefitting of such a noble creature.
But, he's been craving sleep lately, longing for the warmth of a fantastical sun.
Fin~
©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.
#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham fanfic#alhaitham x y/n#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#al-haitham x you#alhaitham fluff#alhaitham headcanons#genshin impact x you#vivalabunbunfics#alhaitham x you#alhaitham angst#alhaitham#alhaitham x yn#genshin angst#genshin vampire au#genshin modern au#genshin alhaitham
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Simple Wishes
Summary: He never understood humans, and by extension, he never understood you. Perhaps if he had only placed more effort into studying you as he did with the search for greater knowledge, tragedy could have been avoided. But would you still allow him to hold your hand?
Word Count: 3k
Tags: alhaitham x gn reader, deshret x gn reader, jinni!reader, past lifes, reincarnation au, angst, character death, modern au, some spoliers of genshin lore 3.2 onwards, sfw, tragedy, fluff, daughter nahida
Authors Note: This is based on the theory that alhaitham is in some way connected to king deshret, either as a reincarnation or a descendant. The reader is a jinni that understands and feels human emotions, a mirror for gods to reflect upon and cultivate more wisdom from a human prospective. Enjoy!
Upon a golden throne, imposing and all-knowing sat King Deshret. King of warriors, horticulturists, and sages. The proud and all-mighty king of the red sands. On his left, stood a Jinni, quiet and patiently waiting upon the great king and its mistress, the goddess of flowers to return from her visit to a grand friend.
The Jinn followed their mother goddess everywhere, in a trance of maddening loyalty and love. Yet here you were, far from the side of your goddess, but loyally attending to the curiosity of the great king.
Followers of the Scarlet King might be appalled by the notion that their great king, the embodiment of wisdom, would hold questions he needed another’s answers to. However, these followers never considered the simple truth.
King Deshret did not understand humans. After all, how can gods and humans truly understand each other on the same level when biologically the two were on two completely different plains?
“My dear friend, how can we have dominion over creatures whom we cannot understand? Do you find that wise?”
He remembers those words the goddess of flowers had raised him upon a peaceful afternoon. Deshret knew she was right, humans were weak compared to gods, but because they were weak they became complex. It was that unknown difference between god and humans that bred the potential for disharmony.
He supposed that was the reason your creation caused quite the commotion among the three friends and Jinn.
For upon your birth from the nilotpala lotuses at the feet of your mistress, you wept. Your fresh eyes overflowing with tears from the moment they opened, stunning the Jinn and the goddess of flowers. You, who was born with the body of an adult, wept like a human newborn who cried from the violent impact of emotions that welcomed them into the world.
Upon this revelation, your mistress knelt down to cup your face in her hands, eyes wide with astonishment and jaw slacked.
“You… you can feel human emotions…” Her warm fingers brushed the tears off your soft cheeks.
From that moment onwards you served a crucial role to the three lords of the alliance kingdoms, you were their mirror to the human heart. When the gods found themselves stumped upon a human concept, you were there to explain. Hate, love, grief, you told them everything the human heart held, reflecting your felt wisdom upon them.
However, of the three gods, it was King Deshret who had the least understanding of the human heart. Perhaps that was why the goddess of flowers had stationed you to the left of the king. To answer his inquiries about those weak complex creatures.
Gazing upon the hologram manifested in front of him, Deshret watched the day-to-day bustle of the humans in his kingdom. While the king did not understand humans, he understood that they were his responsibility to look after, protect, and care for.
He watched as a laborer, skin tanned from moving heavy bricks in the unforgiving sun, rushed towards the figure of a woman with calloused hands, from weaving cloth all day, which held a basket of fruits and bread. The exhaustion disappeared from the man’s face as he greeted the woman, her face turning tender in return as she gestured to the basket.
A smile broke through the hardened face of the large man upon seeing the basket, he reached for her hand and she intertwined his fingers with hers as they walked together as one.
A crease appeared between the brows of the king, as he gestured with a flick of his wrist for you to approach closer.
“Tell me Jinni, what troubles are plaguing my kingdom so much that a man is moved to joy over the simple sight of bread and fruit? Have the harvest this year been lacking? Have there been less gold for the common people?” He inquired.
You turned your eyes away from the hologram and towards your lord.
“No, they were simply happy to see each other, my lord.”
The lazy glance Deshret cast your way told you that he still did not understand, so you continued.
“The man was overjoyed to see that the woman he loves had remembered which fruits and breads he favored, and she was happy that she made him happy.”
“That was all? That simple?” His teal eyes questioning.
“Yes, it is the small actions that mean the most.” You offered him a reassuring smile.
Your answer only sought to confuse him further, this was why Deshret believed he could never understand humans. How could mere mortals experience more joy from being gifted a piece of bread, than he had from having miles of silk, baskets of gold, and fertile lands placed at the feet of his grand throne?
As the king walked along the paved paths in his palace gardens, four guards by his side in each cardinal direction, and you behind and to the left of him. His grand strides brought about an air of power and confidence as the linen flowed about his figure.
The marching of the guards and their golden armor contrasted by the jingle of bells that hung from your ankles filled the void of silence. Then along the path almost hidden by the tall flowers, sat a young boy, who had not reached the age to develop words, babbling to himself as he waved a stick in his chubby hands. Suddenly the child halted all movement, seemingly staring at nothing in particular, it was as if he had turned to stone.
Deshret paused his movement, and in sync the king’s entourage halted in their positions. He wanted to see just what would happen next with this child. It was faint at first, a shaky breath then a low whimpered followed until at last the child opened his mouth and let out a great wail. The child’s plump cheeks were wet as they began to get flushed with a hue of red, the cries his small body released straining against his lungs.
A leaf that had detached from a branch had yet to hit the ground when the figure of a place servant dashed from behind a corner. The servant dove to her knees as she brought the child into her arms, cooing and bouncing him against her chest, paying no heed to the dirt staining her white linen dress. The child had dropped his stick as he grasped tiny handfuls of his mother's dress, muffling his cries as he pressed his face into her. The servant continued to bounce him as his breathing grew calmer, it was then that the servant noticed the presence of the great king.
In a panic the servant raised to her feet, the child still tightly clutched in her arms, as she bowed deeply begging the king to forgive her for her insolence.
“Shall I throw her into the dungeons for trespassing in the private gardens?” A guard asked.
“There is no need,” Deshret waved her away.
Thanking the king profusely for his mercy, the servant rushed to get out of his sight, cradling her child protectively. With a flick of his wrist, he called you to his side once more.
“Why did the child wail so sadly?” His eyes still lingering at the corner the servant disappeared behind.
“His small body was overwhelmed by emotions, my lord.”
“Have I frightened the child?”
“Not at all,” you shook your head. “He cried because he was overwhelmed by loneliness and the feeling of the unknown. The child cannot form words yet, thus he cannot match words to his emotions. So he cried for his mother, for he knows she will soothe the prickling feeling of frustration.”
Deshret paused as he thought for a moment. The guards standing still at their positions around their king.
“Was that how you felt back then?” He was referring to the moment you took your first breath.
“Yes, my lord.” Your eyes twinkled with a smile, joy felt from your lord’s surmise.
Dawning a cloak that hid his grand stature and identity, King Deshret strolled among the streets of his kingdom. Every once in a while he believed that it was crucial for a ruler to walk in the footsteps of his people, to examine the condition of his kingdom from beyond his golden throne. He had even requested that you remove the bells from your ankles to not draw attention as you trailed behind him.
He walked through the crowded marketplace of hollering merchants and haggling customers trying to get the best prices, you making care to not stray too far from his left. As the edge of the market came the concentration of the crowd diminished, and he felt a bit more relaxed.
He gazed curiously back into the denser crowd, observing the ever-changing expressions on the people’s faces. Suddenly, a large figure pushed the sea of people, hollering like an animal in pain.
“Help! A doctor! Someone get me a doctor! My daughter! Please! My daughter!”
In the scarred arms of the warrior lay the limp body of a young girl, not a day past the age of seven. As the crowd cleared out of his way, one hundred pairs of eyes focused their attention on the shouting warrior. His scarred face looked through the crowd for someone to save his child, being met with one hundred pitiful looks.
“Anyone? Please! Call a doctor! Please save my daughter!”
A thin man raised his hand as he maneuvered his body through the gaps in the crowd, stopping in front of the towering man. The thin man reached his hand towards the neck of the limp girl, eyes meeting the father’s as if asking for silent permission. The scarred man gave a quick nod, eyes filled with desperate hope. The doctor held two thin fingers against the cold neck of the girl, searching diligently for a pulse, for a singular proof of life. Instead, he was met with stiff, cold flesh. Removing his hand, he pressed his lips into a thin line before looking back at the scarred man’s face.
“I am sorry, your daughter is already started her journey into Duat (the realm of the dead).”
“No… no, no, no, no, please! Please tell me it’s not too late! She can be saved no?” The desperate father harshly clasped a hand on the doctor’s shoulder, shaking the thin man.
The doctor could only silently shake his head. The man’s eyes wide with despair then narrowed with rage, then as his facial expression relaxed a hollow void began to fill his eyes. Sinking to the sandy path arms clutching around the husk that once was a bundle of joy, the warrior who had faced countless battles, as shown by the marks all along his body, wept pitifully. Around him slowly, the crowd began to move once again, tearing their eyes away from the scene as if to give the father a semblance of privacy.
King Deshret flicked his wrist, calling you to his side. He felt no movement, confused he turned towards you, only to see your sobbing eyes still pinned on the scene in front of you. A pained expression tugged down at the corners of your lips that usually held a small smile.
“Why do you weep, Jinni?”
“I weep for the father whose daughter, death had snatched too soon from his arms.” Your voice low like a hush.
“Why do you weep for him?”
“Because he is in pain, a child torn away from their parent opens a wound in the heart.”
“The man is a strong warrior, he can sire another child. There is no need to weep for a child that could not survive.”
“My lord, a child can never be replaced, she will never go back to her father’s arms. A broken pot can be remade, moldy bread can be thrown out, but a dead flower can never bloom again.” Your eyes never left the figure of the mourning father, tears continuing to darken the stones on the path.
Deshret opened his mouth ready to inquire more but then shut it just as quickly. He sensed that inquiring more would only cause the tears to flow heavier.
He never understood humans, and by extension, he never understood you.
Perhaps if he had only placed more effort into studying you as he did with the search for greater knowledge, tragedy could have been avoided.
“My lord, I beg of you to stop. This path you walk will only bring about more pain. My mistress, the goddess of flowers, has left this world. To ignore the truth while in search of knowledge forbidden will cause ruin.” You gripped onto the linen that pooled at his feet as you pleaded on your knees with the mourning king.
“... Leave this palace, foolish Jinni.” Those were the last words he ever spoke to you.
Yes, that was the word, foolish. That word does not describe you, no, it described him. A foolish king that did not understand his own heart. Foolish king that gambled everything and lost. His kingdom and riches shallowed by the raging sand storms, his people poisoned with madness (forbidden knowledge) by his own hands, and the once proud and all-mighty king no longer even had a physical body.
It was quiet in the temple where King Deshret hovered, he already knew what must be done to save his people, to save his people from himself as the forbidden knowledge pulsed like poison through his conscious.
“We meet once more, my lord.” You stepped in front of him.
He thought he would never see you again after he casted you out of the palace, your appearance stayed faithfully to how he remembered. But you were a bit more haggard, hands more collapsed, skin duller. You must have been exhausting your powers to try to mitigate the madness that plagued the humans you loved so much. Despite the fact you barely had the power to maintain your physical form, your eyes still twinkled as you called out to him.
“I shall aid you, my lord. I will be the vessel for your sacrifice.”
This means you were prepared to die alongside him, he knew it, and you knew it too. Mutually understanding that a great sacrifice was required for a chance of survival for the people of the red sand. Outstretching your hands to the star-like manifestation of Deshret, you signaled that you were ready. He slowly descended into your cupped palms, as a pure light began to engulf the room and your figures.
He no longer had arms to hold you, even though he deeply wished to. As he felt his essence and yours slowly began to break apart into dust like sand, a fleeting thought passed through his mind, brought up by a scene he had witnessed many years ago with you.
In a different time,
a different place,
a different world…
Could he hold your hand while you walk together as one?
...
“....er”
“.....tham?”
“Alhaitham!”
His teal eyes snapped open, meeting yours as you stood in the doorway of his home office. Concern was written clearly on your expression, he must have dozed off while he was translating the text that was half finished on his desk.
“What’s wrong dear?” You moved closer, pressing your palm against his forehead feeling for signs of a fever.
Nahida was held snuggly in your other arm as her green eyes observed her father’s face, aranara doll dangling loosely in her grip.
“Is papa sick?” Nahida questioned, beginning to stir in your arms.
Words just would not form from his throat as he continued to stare into your eyes, his usually stoic face was replaced with a dumbstruck expression. Which only concerned you further, he observed as your brow began to furrow more, palms shifting trying to get a better gauge of his temperature.
“Haitham, are you unwell? If so you should rest, me and Nahida can do the grocery shopping by ourselves.”
No, he did not want you to leave his side, at that moment he never again want to be apart from you. He gently grasped your wrist in his large hand, removing it from his forehead as he stood up.
“There is no need for such concern, I was just distracted, beloved.” He took Nahida from your arm and into his, shifting her into a secure hold.
“Papa is healthy, now let us get the groceries before the market closes.”
He heard you sigh, muttering something about how you worried that your husband was over-working himself. A silly concern, as if there was one thing he treasured close to the level of you and his daughter, it would be a healthy work-life balance.
During the whole trip to the grocery store, Alhaitham was still a bit lost in thought. Movements a bit more relaxed and absent-minded than usual, Nahida still being carried in his arm as you pushed the cart. He found his eyes trailing towards the shiny wedding ring on your finger, with an emerald gem that matched the one present on his finger as well.
You had stopped in front of the display of fruits, concentrating on which fruit was the ripest and how to get the most value out of your money. Alhaitham found his hand itching to reach for yours, he did not try to suppress that desire. Allowing his hand to intertwine his long fingers with yours, wedding rings clinking together.
A look of surprise appeared on your face as you turned toward your ashen-haired lover. He was never really one for public displays of affection, so he could not fault you for your confusion, but he felt a smile tug at his lips as you accepted his actions with no further questioning. Returning your attention back to the piles of fruit waiting for your judgment.
Alhaitham felt at peace standing hand in hand with you under the fluorescent lights, as the sounds of other shoppers blended with the soft pop music from the store speakers.
A simple wish had been fulfilled.
“Oh! This orange looks quite nice doesn’t it?”
“It is starting to mold on the underside.”
“Eh?-”
fin~
DON’T PLAGIARIZE, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORKS ON DIFFERENT PLATFORMS.
#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x you#alhaitham fanfic#alhaitham fluff#alhaitham angst#genshin angst#genshin x reader#genshin x you#alhaitham x yn#vivalabunbunfics
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Masterlist
©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.
Rules
For works labeled as NSFW They’re all R18. You have been warned about the contents.
One-shots:
As We Are, We Will Be (Alhaitham x Fem! Reader) (Smut/NSFW) Genshin ✨Most Recent✨
An Encore of Betrayal (Neuvillette x Fem!Reader) (Smut/NSFW) Genshin
Into the Sky of Artificial Stars (Alhaitham x Fem!Reader) (Smut/NSFW) Genshin
When It Rains, Why Does It Pour? (Neuvillette x gn!Reader) (SFW) Genshin
As You Are, I Am Too (Alhaitham x Fem!Reader) (Smut/NSFW) Genshin
Overdue Books and Ghost Stories (Alhaitham x gn!Reader) (SFW) Genshin
Midnight Piano Interlude in D Minor, Op. 1 (Alhaitham x Fem!Reader) (Smut/NFSW) Genshin
Do I Meet Your Qualifications Now? (Alhaitham x Fem!Reader) (Smut/NSFW) Genshin: continuation (Smut/NSFW)
On the Complexities of Relationships and Words (Alhaitham x Fem!Reader) (Smut/NSFW) Genshin: Continuation (Smut/NSFW)
Late Spring Blooms (Alhaitham x gn!Reader) (SFW) Genshin
Series:
Let’s Look Over The Garden Wall (Alhaitham x Fem!Reader) (Smut/NSFW) Genshin: Other Side (Smut/NSFW): Finale (SFW) Completed
You can also use the tag: #vivalabunbunfics to find all the works
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History Might Have Forgotten
Summary: A new storyteller appears at Alhaitham’s favorite cafe, and you seem to like to pick his brain about reading between the lines.
Word count: 4.2k (The longest one I’ve ever written)
Tags: gn reader x alhaitham, sfw, slow burn, lore heavy (kinda), spoilers for archon quest, just alhaitham being difficult to get along with as usual. Kaveh just here for moral support. I did use in-game dialogue from their post on the cafe message board. Written before 3.4, so some things might be inaccurate later on.
Authors Note: Sorry if the fairytales are kinda wack, I tried to make my own. Also, I looked at a bunch of lore about sumeru and the scarlet king and goddess of flowers and just decided to run with it. Def not pure canon, but I hope you still enjoy!
“There once was a time when the lord of flowers had accompanied the lord of the forest into the depths of the irminsul, curious about the root of all knowledge in Teyvat. Its bright white branches stretched seemingly endlessly, throughout the realm. She was unprepared for the dull reality of waiting for her friend to finish her sacred tasks of looking after the irminsul.
Looking around at the knowledge that flowed like a gentle sinkhole towards the tree of the world, whose white branches reflected off the calm pool, the lord of flowers felt the itch to get up and perform a dance.
Perhaps dancing shall make the time pass by faster, and with that thought, the goddess of flowers closed her eyes letting the beat of imaginary music flow through her divine body.
Each elegant step, each precise glide of her hands, each graceful twirl faithfully followed by the reflection in the pool of knowledge. Her dance so captivating that the lord of the forest could not help but stop and admire her friend’s dance, as an avatar of the irminsul, she could feel that the sacred tree was also pleased with this performance.
As the lord of flowers knelt one knee to the ground in a bow, signifying the end of the show…
There was the echo of a drop hitting the waters still surface, followed by a violent rush of water as the surface tension broke, then stillness once more.
A Jinn came into existence. Its birth was witnessed by the lord of the forest and the lord of flowers whom the Jinn mirrored in beauty.
‘It appears irminsul loved your performance so much, it wanted to create an avatar from your reflection.’ The forest lord interpreted the message from the world tree.
‘A gift of the highest honor.’ The goddess of flowers spoke, gently caressing the locks which framed the Jinn’s gaze that looked not into her eyes, but into the depths of her heart.”
‘What a ridiculous tall tale’, the scribe thought as he took a sip of coffee.
Teal eyes peering over his cup, in place of where Maddah, the caffeine-addicted man, usually was, stood a fresh face. He remembers Kaveh rambling about how Maddah’s material had become so stale, the owners at Puspa Cafe had invited a wandering storyteller.
Instead of the exaggerated legends of great battles, lost treasure, and towering monsters told by the jittery man. These stories were different, it was as if the storyteller was painting a scenery into the minds of the listener, slowly immersing them into a mental play. However, as a man of reason, Alhaitham found it hard to ignore the glaring inaccuracies in the stories.
In the largest expanse of ancient text and scripts of kingdoms gone, there was no mention of such a Jinn. As he thought about the sources of this tale, calm applause rippled through the homely corner of the cafe.
You had finished telling your tales for the day, a serene smile thanking your listeners as you headed towards the acting manager. A bit eager to collect your payment in the form of a warm meal and a few mora. It had only been a week since the manager approached your street performance near the Grand Bazaar, seemly desperate to invite you to perform at Puspa Cafe.
Who were you to pass up such a cushy opportunity? A hot meal and a steady stream of mora were more than you could ever ask for. You brought forth your best stories, where one story ended, the next began. However, you would always stop after introducing the next story, ensuring that the anticipation drew your listeners back like bees to a sweet flower.
Upon your way to settle down at a table to await your meal, the peaceful atmosphere of the cafe was shattered by two bickering voices.
“And that is exactly why I've always despised materialists like you. Art is a precious fruit of leisure. You can't compare it to production and exploitation for commercial purposes!” A blond man exclaimed.
“Leisurely people are like people walking on a spherical ground, they don't exist. Why don't you use your brain and think for a moment? Can the production of anything exist without commercial exchange?” Was the rebuttal from an ashen-haired man.
Oh, and you thought you were supposed to be the entertainment as people dined on their coffee and meals. The clash of wits playing out in front of everyone’s amused glances, something about the reactions of the other patrons told you this was a regular occurrence.
“Have you no understanding of what passion is? Passion comes within the heart, not the cold machine of commercialism!”
“Passion is like a fire, without anything to feed it. It soon will flicker weakly before burning out into ashes. How can any passion survive without mora?”
“Ugh! I cannot bare to listen to your mangled views of art!”
“Great, shall I take that as a sign that you have found new lodging?”
“How low will you stoop, Scribe??”
“Excuse me.”
Both of their heads snapped toward you, the person who had interfered with their debate. However, your interest could not help but be peeked by the discussion of this comical scene. You had abandoned your original plans of settling down, instead, you had wandered toward this lively table.
As a supporter of art yourself, you felt the need to come to the blond man’s defense, seeing how his lack of composure is leading him down the path of defeat.
“Apologies, if I am intruding. However, this discussion is far too interesting to not join. May I give my thoughts?”
The blond man shifted his position at the table, opening up room for you to sit down.
“Please be my guest, storyteller. Please educate this materialistic man about the basics of human leisure.”
Placing yourself in front of the ashen-haired man, you made sure to keep your back straight to give yourself an air of confidence. You began your surrebutter.
“While it is true that an aspect of art is tied to commercialism, the true value cannot be fully measured. It cannot be counted like mora, nor measured by a sexton. Thus, causing many scholars to brush art off as a frivolous waste of time. But the value of art can be felt, no? From the layout of this cafe, to the spines of books, to the print of the words. It’s all art.”
The man in front of you just returned a scoff. Oh, you knew you were in for a long debate now.
Throughout the drawn-out debate, you had gained key information about the two gentlemen that had welcomed you to their table. The blond man’s name was Kaveh, the famous architect and fellow lover of the arts. The ashen-haired man, with whom you were engaged in continuous rounds of rebuttals, was the scribe of the Akademiya, Alhaitham. A stubborn and rational man, you concluded. Unfortunately for him, you can be just as self-willed.
“As I have stated before. Art holds more than just monetary value, dear scribe. As a graduate of Haravatat, you should know that many of the texts you translated over your studies were preserved by storytellers and artists who first pasted them down in oral tradition, followed by written script and murals.” You signed.
“That is exactly why we students had to be wary of the inaccuracies and inconsistencies riddled all throughout those texts. Just like with the tale you told earlier, there is no record of such a Jinn existing before, such a significant creation by the sacred tree will most certainly be recorded somewhere. The history that they record is so twisted by biases and failure of human memory, it is rare to gain anything of significant value from them.”
“Oh my, dear scribe were you by chance equating the existence of a character in a folktale correlates with a physical being?” You tried to stifle your snicker.
“I did not expect you to have such a cute side. I heard that the children in Mondstadt do the same, believing that a man in a red suit will slide down their chimney to give them wonderful little toys. Were you disappointed?”
Alhaitham narrowed his teal eyes at you in a slight glare. “You know what I mean. There seem to not be any mention of this Jinn in other Sumerian folktales.”
You couldn’t help the urge to tease him, but you could feel that he did not seem to want to continue the debate after hearing the cackle coming out of his roommate from your little jest.
“Yes, yes I was just jesting, dear scribe. Please don’t be disappointed. The Jinn could be an analogy of the bond formed between the lord of the forest and the lord of the flowers.” You stood up from your seat.
Your food had long been eaten, his coffee had long been left untouched. You were at the moment considered an employee of Puspa Cafe in a way, thus you shouldn’t be upsetting the customers now.
“Let us conclude this debate for today. I believe I have taken enough of your time, gentlemen. How about we continue this discussion another day? Perhaps over a meal again?” You gave him a smile mixed with customer service and genuine hopefulness.
“Another time?” Alhaitham scoffed, “you want this debate to drag out?”
“Of course,” you noted that he likes to scoff a lot (must be his ego). “It’s to ensure that you will come back to listen to my stories again, maybe you will learn something new. After all, I have to prove to you and the acting manager my ‘commercial value’ no?”
The tall man simply crossed his arms over his chest, an unreadable expression on his face. However, something in his eyes gave you the hint that you needed to confidently conclude, ‘he’ll be back’. After all, no scholar in your experience would ever turn down an opportunity to gain a new piece of wisdom.
“I shall take my leave now, I bid you all goodnight. Until the next time we meet.”
Alhaitham’s eyes followed your figure as you ambled your way toward the acting manager to bid her goodnight, before exiting from the intricately painted door of the cafe, your features highlighted by the warm hues of the setting sun. Once your frame disappeared from his field of view, the scribe realized an error in his interaction with you.
There was an unequal exchange of information, from Kaveh’s blabbering mouth you had gained knowledge of their names, studies, and employment. Meanwhile, Alhaitham could not recall a time during tonight when you had given him your name, all they knew was that you were a wandering storyteller.
‘Oh well, it’s trivial at this point.’ He did not even want to imagine how ridiculous a scene would be of the grand scribe chasing down someone simply for a name.
‘This unequal exchange of information will be balanced out in due time.’ He finished the rest of his cold coffee, unphased by the bitter taste. As if a thought was distracting his mind from the taste. Or was it the sweet anticipation of a future meeting that had mellowed out that bitterness?
Good refreshing debates that stimulate his mind were rare to come by, of course, he would want to take this chance to polish his knowledge and beliefs.
The moon chased the sun away, then the sun chased the moon away from its place in the sky. Thus, a new day came forth.
It was five o’clock sharp when Alhaitham placed his pen down, the report in his hand half finished. However, it was no longer his responsibility for the day as dictated by the hands of the grandfather clock in his office. Tidying up his desk and taking his cape off the back of his chair, he knew he had to be quick so as to not run into an Akademiya intern with another mountain of paperwork to place on his oak desk.
Since the removal of Azar and his group of corrupted sages, as well as the reinstitution of their archon, the piles of paperwork that ended up on his desk only grew exponentially. But, Alhaitham made sure that the paperwork trail will not follow him once he step foot outside his office doors. He made sure to clearly post his working hours right outside his door, it was not his fault that esteemed scholars seem to not be able to read his posting.
He had arrived at his office at nine o’clock in the morning, worked a full day at his desk reading new research proposals, applications for open positions, and signing off on new amendments issued by the lesser lord. Now that the clock now reads a minute past five, he had concluded that it was enough work for the day. It was not like the entire Akademiya would collapse without their acting grand sage for the night, though he preferred to not have that title.
Taking long strides across the marble floors of the Akademiya floors, Alhaitham made sure to avoid the searching eyes of others, especially if they happened to be carrying a stack of paper. Exiting out of the grand doors of the building and continuing down the winding path, allowing his skin to get used to the sudden change from the cool crisp air of his office, to the warm afternoon breeze typical of Sumeru. Thus, he began his routine journey toward a certain cafe.
The moment he pushed open the door to the cafe, he could see the staff take one look at him, then start to prepare his order. There was no need for him to speak a word to any of them as he made his way to his preferred table. The familiar faces of other patrons were all around, more to join as they were still making their way from work to the cafe, the same smell of coffee and samosas wafting through the air. The only change seemed to be that Maddah was not standing in the center of the collection of tables.
In that spot stood you, the nameless storyteller who recently had just arrived, and the person patient (willing) enough to want to continue a debate with him.
“Thank you all for coming back to hear my stories tonight, “ you began as soon as the last table was occupied.
“The tale I wish to tell tonight may be a bit different, as I believe it holds a small mystery. Will you be able to decipher it?”
Alhaitham could feel the weight of your gaze upon him as you questioned the audience. He simply decided to blow off the steam from the coffee that had just been placed on his table, the white vapors bending and warping his view of you.
“There once was a dove, young and as soft as padisarah petals. It had a lovely coo, which earned the dove the favor of the goddess of flowers.
‘What a lovely thing you are, just as the same as I. Oh, my little dove will you coo for me?’ The goddess stroked its down feathers.”
Taking sips of his dark coffee in intervals as he watched you perform, Alhaitham could not help but find the story childish. Certainly not befitting of a cafe frequented by working adults, and yet here you were captivating a room full of weary grown-ups with a children’s tale. It must be your gestures and facial expressions that drew the audience in.
At this point in the story, it seems to have been established that the dove would only coo about the events of the goddess’s day truthfully. One day, the lord of flowers must have grown tired of its cooing and left the dove on a branch, promising to come back for it. Then came a group of children.
“‘Little dove, little dove, sing us a tale!’ They cheered.
So the dove, chest puffed with a sense of being wanted, sang the details of the day lived by its goddess. However, halfway through the children began to walk away.
‘Wait, wait!’ The dove cried. ‘I have not finished.’
‘No more! Your tales are far too boring.’
‘Boring?’ Thought the dove, ‘but it’s the truth.’
Alone once more the dove gaze longingly at the marketplace in front of it. Eyes peeled for the goddess that promised to return.
It watched a child drop a piece of flatbread which was then swiftly picked up by a mouse. A cat ran away from a dog that yapped nonstop. Merchants calling people over to their stalls, blacksmiths wiping the sweat from their eyes, and a sumpter beast resting near the edge.
An idea strung into the mind of the dove, as it used its wings to find the children.
‘Children! I have a new tale to tell, oh will you please listen to it?’
Resting on the lap of one of the children, the dove began.
‘There once was a mouse who followed the crumbs of bread left by a small child, straight into the watchful eyes of a cat! With a squeak, the mouse ran from the cat as the feline gave chase.
Only for the cat to step upon the tail of a dog, who howled in pain, then began running after the cat who ran after the mouse. The dog’s clumsy body knocked over a basket of spices that belonged to a merchant, causing the man to let out a cry of despair at his lost profits as he began to chase the dog who ran after the cat who was still running after the mouse.
The merchant in his rage failed to see the blacksmith, bumping into his arm causing the large man to brand himself with hot iron. The large man roared in pain, then began chasing the merchant who pursued the dog, who ran after the cat, who was hunting the mouse.
The blacksmith, still nursing his wound, stepped on the head of a sumptering beast, who raged after being awoken from its nap and began charging at the blacksmith, who ran as quickly as he could, causing the merchant to run faster. When the dog saw that the merchant was getting closer, he began to prance faster toward the cat, who let out a hiss as she ran after the mouse who still had the crumb in its mouth.’
Finishing the tale, the dove heard laughter ring out from the children.
‘What a wondrous tale,’ a familiar voice called out.
It was the goddess, who had returned to search for the little dove and wound up hearing the tale as well.
‘My little dove, will you coo more tales like this for me?’
Thus, from that day onwards the little dove would coo tales that brought new curiosity to the court where three friends met.”
You brought your hands in front of your torso, signaling the end of the story. Giving a slight bow as the patrons began to clap.
“So, can anyone guess what this story was trying to explain?” You finally revealed the question to the audience.
A chorus of answers began to ring out from eager scholars and nonscholars alike wanting to test their wisdom.
“Is it an analogy for how lies are more beautiful than truth?”
“No, it must be symbolizing the corruption of truth due to pressure!”
“Was it a warning to entertainers that if their patron gets tired of their ‘coo’, they’ll be abandoned?”
“No, mmm not quite, my that is a dark interpretation. Are you by chance okay, sir Maddah?”
As the ensemble of interpretations dragged on, you could tell the crowd was slowly moving toward the answer you were looking for.
“Oh! I know it! The story seeks to depict the origin of storytelling!” Kaveh exclaimed, one can only wonder when he had sat down at Alhaitham’s table and began ordering meals and drinks on the former scribe’s tab.
“Yes! Excellent! I knew a fellow aesthete would get the unwritten meaning!” You clapped and looked toward the blond man with a smile.
Great, you just inflated his roommate’s already overbearing ego. He could already see that baseless confidence travel its way up Kaveh’s face as he proudly huffed. After you had thanked the audience for being wonder listeners and for participating in your little mystery, you made your way to their table.
“So, what did you think of the story? Did you find its hidden meaning?” You sat down right in front of him, in the same spot as yesterday.
“Oh? Like what, how oral recordings of history become so marred and twisted throughout the years by many tongues to the point it is reduced to a mere story for a child?” Alhaitham picked right the debate right there, skipping the pleasantries. You let out a sigh, lips pouting a bit as you rested your head on one hand.
“My, not even a hello? None the else. Your claim from yesterday just got challenged.”
“How so?” He placed his cup down, attention solely focused on you now.
“That same Jinn created from a goddess’s reflection from yesterday’s tale made an appearance in this tale.” You remarked.
“Nonsense, these stories are not related, there was no mention of a Jinn. Plus, how can I be sure that you did not just craft this tale overnight when this debate was put on hold?” He crossed his arms, the wire of his headphones shifting slightly.
“It is quite the popular folktale among some of the desert settlements I have visited, the tale of the goddess of flower’s beloved dove, and if you were willing to look past the superficial surface you would have seen the clear indicator. Tell me scribe, what does the line ‘what a lovely thing you are, just as the same as I’, remind you of?”
Bringing one hand to tuck under his chin as he replayed that line in his head for approximately 5 seconds.
“It’s what one would say if they were complimenting themselves in front of a mirror.”
He saw you lift your head up a bit as the beginnings of a smile began to form on your lips.
“However,” he added, “it’s such a jump to an interpretation from a minuscule detail. Such things do not hold much merit. Ever heard of confirmation bias, the tendency to interpret things to align your preconceived beliefs? ”
“In the space where truths are recorded, there lies the space for truths not recorded. To interpret this space, one must naturally make some leaps of faith, often by relating the spaces between two written truths, one can find hidden knowledge take shape in that space.”
“So you are admitting that the interpretation is made up?”
“No, I’m simply saying that there is a hidden truth. I shall tell you the deeper meaning of this tale since you can’t seem to want to read between the lines. The story acknowledges that history passed through tales gets warped, evidenced by the tall tale spun by the dove about the mouse. However, the key events and characters remained immortalized in the dove’s story.”
Your food had arrived in front of you, but your eyes never left his. Even as the enticing scent of tahchin beckoned.
“The mouse was there, as was the cat, as was the merchant, and so on. As this tale continues to be passed down and hear, these events shall always be there. Through war, oppression, and persecution, that snapshot of time can still live through it all. Just waiting for someone to look past the surface and discover the past carefully encased by the cushion of folklore.”
“What a poetic view of children’s bedtime story of a dove that can talk.” Alhaitham went to pour himself another cup of coffee, just to enjoy the aroma as he would like to have a restful night of sleep.
“In the spaces where truths are left unrecorded each time one truth is, those truths are just forever lost to time. The question they raise is left unanswered. I have experienced this more than my fair share of times.” The scribe commented.
“What if stories and art serve to lead you to those answers?”
“What if they lead you further astray?”
And with that, the second act of this debate seems to have drawn to a close. Alhaitham pulled out a book, enjoying the peace that had washed over the table as you shifted your attention to the tahchin. Kaveh had long joined another table for a round of TCG.
“Dear scribe, can you answer me this? Have you read all text related to the history of Sumeru and its desert?”
Looking up from his book a bit peeved, he answers honestly. “I have not, but I have studied most.”
“So, your previous statement about how there is no record of the Jinn is incorrect. There is no record that you have read.”
“I have already read most.”
“But not all.”
He resisted the urge to press his lips into a thin line at the sight of you eating a spoonful of tahchin, a hint of smugness twinkled in your eyes. As if you had leveled out the rebuttals once more. It seems like this debate might drag on longer than he had anticipated.
Authors Note 2: Okay so this story is heavily based on an oc of mine, but I thought it would be more interesting to have it to make it about the reader. But if I feel like it (or if enough people are curious enough) I might post my oc, but this series and blog will stay as a reader insert bc it’s more fun that way no?
#alhaitham x you#genshin x you#genshin x reader#alhaitham x reader#genshin impact x reader#alhaitham x yn#alhaitham x y/n#genshin impact x you#al-haitham x reader#al haitham x you#al haitham x reader#al-haitham x you#vivalabunbunfics
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