𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐧 𝐱 F!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐲

ha?

every single person who reblogs this

every

single

person

will get “doot doot” in their ask box

the 7-eleven diaries

albedo, alhaitham, childe, scaramouche, venti x gn!reader

your job isn’t the best one out there, but it’s easy and keeps you from drowning in tuition fees and rent. working at a 7-eleven on a midnight shift was supposed to be peaceful, so why is it that you constantly find yourself being bothered by weird customers? (modern au)

fluff, comedy, crack, cashier employee reader, modern au, written for fluffvember!

ALBEDO

It’s difficult not to take notice of the perpetually tired college student (much like yourself) who always comes at the latest hours to order a cup of black coffee and a can of beer. The first time you saw him order that drink was a memorable one, if only because of the way your eyes had nearly popped out of their sockets when you saw him mix the two drinks in a large, empty slurpee cup and proceed to drink it all in a matter of seconds.

Another memorable time was when he came in with only enough money to buy a bottle of water, then took a seat at a table near the counter and took out a box full of what you initially presumed were cookies. It was a traumatizing memory you look back on with a shudder as you remember the way he crunched down on it like it was a piece of biscuit instead of a motherfucking spider.

“They’re surprisingly nutritional, full of protein and fibre. It leaves a strange aftertaste, but it’s a good substitute for dinner.”

Since then, you’ve made sure to keep some food ready in the microwave for him, free of charge. He just looked so pitiful sitting by himself with dark under-eyes and greasy hair — the very image of a normal college student — that you couldn’t help yourself from taking money out of your own pocket to help a fellow comrade.

One day, he came to the store with blown pupils and a sort of dazed look in his eyes, words slurring together as he tried to explain to you how he’s finally created an edible liquid that can keep sleep at bay for at least 120 hours…with some small side-effects, but it’ll wear off with time. That’s when you found out he was a bio-chemistry student well on his way to getting a PhD at his young age.

When questioned why he drank the liquid instead of having someone else do it, his response was, “To experience it firsthand, of course. The basis of research is accuracy and precision, how could I be remiss as to leave such an important experiment to someone who could, in their ignorance, fail to mention an important detail that their mind might have labeled as useless.”

You’re not quite sure how he’s still alive by this point.

But his weirdness aside, you resolve to take care of him in your own way, from a fellow tired college student to another. You remind him to get some sleep, steering him away from eating spiders and encouraging him to eat more meat.

“But I am eating meat?”

“Albedo, that’s a spider.”

“And are you saying that spiders do not possess meat?”

“Oh, for the love of—just eat the goddamn sandwich.”

You think he appreciates it, if the way he dedicated his latest thesis to you is any indication.

ALHAITHAM

You were in the middle of answering a math problem your professor assigned that morning, papers sprawled over the counter with you hunched over it, hand in your hair and trying not to pull at it in frustration over how difficult the problem was. And then he’d come in like an angel, all perfectly shiny hair and a no-nonsense look on his face, took one look at you and the papers scattered across the counter and said one sentence that saved your grade in math.

“You forgot to put a negative sign right there.”

That was the moment you decided that he must be an angel sent from heaven. He always grunts whenever you call him that, though whether it’s from amusement or annoyance remains to be seen.

He doesn’t visit the convenience store much, but when he does, he always spares the time to help you out with whatever assignment you were working on, sometimes even taking the initiative of asking if you need his assistance in answering a problem — though he says this on a much less nicer tone.

“Are you gonna make me do your homework again?”

“My professer didn’t assign me one today, surprisingly enough, so no.”

He seemed strangely disappointed when you told him no, but you chalked it up to him being some sort of math wiz who gets riled up by equations and the like. Seems like kind of guy too, what with all the times he’s made a subtle jab at your intelligence — or lack, thereof.

“How could you possibly need a paper to calculate the answer to four-hundred and thirty-two times fifty-eight?”

“Not all of us are smarter than Rukkhadevata like you.”

“Who?”

He’s not bad company, though that opinion stems solely from the fact that he helps you (solves it for you, more like) with all your homework. Not without making comments about you lazing about on the job and letting your customer answer your assignment for you. You respond in a mature way by making fun of him.

“I’ve never seen you without those earphones. Are you hiding a pair of large ears or something?”

“No.”

He refuses to elaborate more on the subject.

Sometimes you give him a drink, usually cola or juice, as thanks for helping you out. He takes it without question, taking sips from it as he tutors you about this and that, occasionally commenting about your job and how you’re only making yourself suffer by taking on midnight shifts. You don’t see why he cares. For all that you jokingly call him an angel, you know he’s far from actually being one.

You once saw him on campus reading a book by the library. It’s easy enough to come up to him and make conversation, handing him an unopened drink you just bought from a vending machine. It just feels wrong not to, more of a habit by this point.

It’s then that someone decides to dramatically drop his books to the ground and point at you and Alhaitham. The blonde guy gapes and asks how in the world Alhaitham managed not to scare you away. His eyes zero in on the can of grape juice on Alhaitham’s hand, and then he proceeds to laugh, asking Alhaitham since when did he decide to start drinking what he once called was an unhealthy drink composed of sugar and artificial flavoring.

You made a mental note of that response, and later that night, you decide to hand him a packaged biscuit. Nothing unhealthy there. Technically.

“Good. I was beginning to wonder if I should start taking medicine in case my stomach burst from the amount of cola you hand me.”

“You could’ve just not accepted, you know.”

“It was given to me. Not accepting would be considered rude.”

“Didn’t Kaveh say you threw a bottle of orange juice to his face after he gave you one?”

“I did.”

He refuses to elaborate more on the subject, but you’ve since resolved to only give him the healthiest thing you could find on the store—which isn’t much considering this is a 7-eleven, but hey, microwaved salad is still salad, right?

He grumbles about the radiation but eats the salad anyway. Another win for you, you suppose.

CHILDE

He came in near the end of your shift, lips busted and an eye swollen shut, blood splattered all over his clothes. The grin of his face should’ve hinted you at his lunacy, but you’ve always been blind to warnings and the like, so you went over the counter and helped him up from where he’s slumped over the chips and candies isle.

Aether, your co-worker and the one who’s about to take over from your shift, only looked at you with tired eyes, “It’s too early for this shit.” That was, of course, Aether’s way of basically saying, you’re on your own.

So you picked up the ginger lying on the linoleum floors, heaving his arm over your shoulder to drag him to the nearest pharmacy — never let it be said that you were just a bystander. He groaned as the movement bothered whatever injuries he may have, but he still looked at you with wide, strangely lightless eyes, as if only now registering your presence, and said, “Holy shit, you’re hot.”

After you finished dumping him on the pharmacy and leaving the people there baffled at what to do with an injured guy, he grabbed your wrist and, with a bloody smile he probably thought was charming, handed you a piece of paper containing his number.

You never text him. Or call.

He comes back to the store a week later with faint yellow bruises across his face and a far too bright grin for someone who’s visiting a 7-eleven at two in the morning. He pouts about not getting a single text from you, but before you can respond, he’s moving on to another topic, mindlessly picking up a box of tampons by the side and setting it on the counter.

He only seems to realize what he’s done when you give him a strange look.

“Tampons are, uh, great for bloody noses!”

“…Right.”

You weren’t convinced at all, but you decided to let it slide. He seemed like a genuine guy, if a bit too enthusiastic sometimes. His mouth never shuts ups, always going on about this and that, asking all sorts of questions that would’ve normally had most normal people backing away. But your brain isn’t exactly at its best condition and being sleep deprived for the better part of your life has made it less of a brain and more of an organ that just helps you get through the day.

You don’t know exactly why he stays to chat with you, buying ridiculous amounts of stuff that were frankly far too expensive just to have an excuse to talk to you. You don’t mind it much, especially when he’s a great deterrent for any unwanted petty thieves or middle school delinquents trying to rob your store every week or so.

Apparently, he’s got a reputation for being a bit of an adrenaline junkie and being willing to fight anything and everything that breathes. And apparently, word’s gotten out that he’s into you, like, really into you, so most guys who have less-than-well intentions have decided that robbing the local 7-eleven isn’t worth the trouble if it means having to deal with Ajax.

“Actually, it’s Tartaglia.”

“Tarantula?”

“No, Tartaglia. It’s my street name! Ajax just doesn’t inspire the same fear into other people’s hearts the same way Tartaglia does.”

“Whatever you say, Tortilla.”

“It’s Tartaglia!”

He never brings up the fact that you never call or text him back, even when he’s somehow gotten ahold of your number and started sending you memes and updates about his day. When asked, he just shrugs and says he’ll win you over eventually.

SCARAMOUCHE

It wasn’t intentional, and you’ll admit it was completely your fault, but did he have to be such an asshole about you dozing off on the counter?

“Have the standards really fallen so low that employees are now afforded to sleep on the job?”

Here was this guy at two in the morning, bemoaning society’s failure in raising the new generation to have a proper work ethic at a 7-eleven store. The guy had a rolex watch and clothes that looked like they were worth more than your monthly salary — you’re not one to judge other people’s appearances, but he’s the very image of nepotism. And frankly speaking, you’re of the opinion that rich people shouldn’t be entitled to an opinion on what the working class decides do with their life, like falling asleep on the job.

…And oh, you just said that out loud, didn’t you?

Oh well, your manager will understand.

The guy with a bowl cut leaves fuming, but not before slapping a wad of cash down the counter to pay for his stupidly expensive noodles, snarling at you to keep the change since you clearly need it more than him.

You do, in fact, keep the change. Money is money, whether it’s from your salary or a rich boy throwing a tantrum.

The next day in class, a bag slams down the seat beside you, and you’re met with the same rich boy from last night, a scowl painting his rather pretty face as he hisses lowly about how he’s surprised you can afford to go to college. Talk about holding a grudge, you would’ve forgotten all about him from last night if he hadn’t given you his change.

He fumes even more when you don’t give him any sort of reaction, merely nodding your head at him and turning back to the board to listen to your professor drone on about this and that. It’s rather difficult to focus, however, when he keeps muttering sarcastic comments and barbs to the teacher beneath his breath.

“If you even had an iota of charm about you, perhaps your wife wouldn’t have filed for a divorce.”

You choked on a laugh, hand coming up muffle the sound, but he clearly noticed, judging by the way he snaps his head to you, eyes wide and seemingly surprised you found it funny. You only smile at him, an amused little thing, but he quickly looked away and murmured something unintelligible beneath his breath, his fists clenched and the tips of his ears curiously pink.

He comes back to visit your job that night, still with that air of haughtiness about him but a bit toned down. Even more surprising was the fact he didn’t immediately leave the moment he handed you his money.

“Do you want the change?”

“Are you so desperate for money that you’d go begging a total stranger for some spare coin?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess.”

“Tch, fine. You can have it.”

He never fails to come back every night, always giving you the change for his bill, even when the amount is more than the items he paid for. Sometimes, he’ll even take out a snack or a drink from the bag and slide them over to you, cheeks suspiciously red as he did so.

“Don’t think this means anything. I’m only giving this to you because I know you can’t afford it.”

“It’s literally worth ten mora.”

“Would it kill you to at least give me a thank you?”

“Thank you, Kunikuzushi. I’ll be sure to treasure this can of cola that I would’ve never been able to afford without your help.”

“Shut up.”

He buys you a tub of ice cream the next night, the ridiculously expensive kind, to prove a point. The two of you eat it together at one of the tables, him grumbling about the stain on the table and the overall lack of quality and taste — at a 7-eleven — and you laughing whatever he says.

Well, you suppose he’s not as much of an asshole as you initially assumed.

VENTI

He’s a bit popular in campus, in the sense that nearly everyone is friends with him, which makes it impossible not to have heard about that one guy who’s really great at singing. You were, unfortunately, one of the few that aren’t well acquainted with him — aren’t acquainted with him at all.

So when he comes up to the counter, all boyish grin and ridiculously short shorts and a cute little pink hair clip keeping his bangs away from his face, holding an entire household’s worth of vodka and wine, you do what any rational semi-adult would do and look at him with a blank face.

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

He laughs at you like this is a common occurrence he faces on the daily before slapping down his ID on the counter. And huh, would you look at that, he’s even older than you are.

He then lights up once he gets a good look at you. “Hey, you’re Albedo’s friend, aren’t you?” He abandons his alcohol at the counter in favor of looking around your quaint little convenient store. “So this is that 7-eleven he keeps talking about…”

You’re not exactly sure what he’s going on about, but you do know he must be a friend of Albedo’s, which makes you ease up around him. He’s nice. Sort of. If you ignore the teasing and the jokes and the way he keeps asking you to give him a student discount. For alcohol. You’d given him what you hoped was your best imitation of Kunikuzushi’s stink eye. You think you got it on point, if the way he deflates is any indication.

He comes around the store every weekend, saying he’s here to get a little treat for the awful weekday he’s had. You never fail to remind him that he has class every Sunday, to which he responds by opening a can of beer (which he hasn’t paid for yet) and sitting on the counter, bemoaning the injustice of putting classes during the weekends.

You once asked him why he keeps hanging around this store when there’s a perfectly good bar right around the corner, owned by that popular red-haired business major from your university. Venti just laughed and said he prefers the quietness here — and the company, he added with a wag of his eyebrows. He always teases you, sometimes borderline flirting, but it’s easy enough to wave it away.

The day you discovered he was actually well known in campus was when your university hosted a local event. There’d been stalls and booths set up everywhere and even a little mock-stage put up near the center for any band or singer to perform in. It’d been nice to have a break from the monotonous routine of going to class and studying then working at your job and getting less than ideal sleep.

And then you heard your name booming out from the speakers, and you turn your head to see Venti on the stage with that little lyre he sometimes carries with him to the store, saying he’d like your opinion on a song or two he composed.

He dedicates the song to to you in front of the entire student body, then proceeds to sing the cheesiest, most gut-wrenching and cringiest love song of all time.

“Why did you have to pick that song?”

“Because it’s fun and cute!”

“I sometimes question your ability to distinguish cute from horrifyingly monstrous.”

There’s a mortified look on your face, but amidst the embarrassment and the teasing remarks of his friends, there’s a smile on your face that you can’t bring yourself to wipe away.

i’ll be doing a part two on this but with diluc, dottore, kazuha, xiao, and zhongli!

@maehemthemisfit @sonder-paradise @96jnie @komiyaa @scaramouchenumber1fan @linn-a-a @wisteriaflowersss @ineriris @yesntforno @serramii @shadowmist0706 @jmgrule @imeanwatever @c00kie-cat @serramii @xtodorokismistressx @ieathairs @endlessmari @strawberryclumsy @serenity-ren-bliss @scarasbaby

hellooo!! could i request like a scara x gn reader, but reader is sick and scaramouche is taking care of them? Like scara is mean at first but when he realise how sick reader is he warms up and becomes very nice with a bit of fluff c: tysm!

this was so cute how scara goes from being so mean to sweet ik he actually cares abt ppl but loves to hide it,, i took a little bit of a diff approach with this bc i tried so many ideas before that didn't work so instead of the reader just being sick they're kinda freezing too lol but i hope u like it in the end, thank u sm for requesting this! if this wasn't to your liking you can always request again!

what happens...

synopsis: you and your boss scara get trapped in a snow storm and he helps you while you're really cold and sick

warnings: scara is degrading, you almost get hypothermia

characters: scaramouche (the balladeer) x reader

notes: i rewrote this like five times. dont talk to me.

•┈୨♡୧┈•

harsh winds singing a desperate chorus as it whirled around you, it claimed all the land in white. bounding everyone to their homes, unlucky for you, you were caught out in the storm. in other circumstances, this sight would have been beautiful to you as all of snezhnaya was, if only you weren't walking in the middle of it. you'd say you were happy when a small wooden hut appeared, it didn't look warm from the outside but it was shelter, except you had to go in with your boss.

scaramouche slammed the wooden door to the hut, blocking most of the blundering storm outside. the cabin was rotten down, boards coroading away, who ever lived here hadn't been around in probabaly years. it was stopping most of the wind, but the freezing tempature was still seeping in. he grimmaced at the situation, he'd been seperated from the rest of the fatui agents while out carrying a mission for the tsaritsa, simply on their way to catch debt from clients. this was only a minor setback, but a damn awful one. who knows how long he'd be stuck here. especially stuck with you.

you were in a corner of the house, curled into yourself to retain warmth. your thick black coat was keeping some sort of coziness but you were only human and some cloth could only do so much. damn your immune system, you'd only been curled up in here for a couple of minutes and were already sneezing uncontrollably, nose tingling and your skin in a bitter pain because of the frost. "look at you cowering away." your boss crossed his arms, glaring down at you. "we're stuck in this snow storm because of you giving us the wrong direactions. who even allowed you to join the fatui? you're obviously unfit to serve the tsarista." you who fed at his frigid words. "i bet it was that bobbleheaded childe, huh? pathetic." you knew never to show weakness infront of him, the balladeer was known to be so cruel to those who showed fear. yet in this snow storm, you couldn't care to even respond to him or say sorry about your incompetence. you swore if you stayed like this, you'd freeze over into a popsicle.

"…i'm so damn cold." you mumbled. scara pondered you with a scouring look. "oh, you're cold? well you're in snezhnaya its going to be a little chilly" his stupid sarcasm was not what you needed. you hands sting through your gloves, throat itchy and eyes watering. you tried to fight back the tears, you could not cry in front of him no matter how sick and cold you were. his eyes widened watching you shudder in the corner. he shuffled around a bit, looking to you and fro, cheeks a little flush. he hadn't expect you to seriously cry. he sighed, watching his breath swirl the air then trugded over to you.

with his hand nearing your face, you flinched at it thinking he was going to reprimand you for being so weak. yet he simply was pressing the back of his hand to your forehead, you were icy to the touch, eyes puffy and red. a tear rolled down your cheek as you sniffled, he took his thumb and wiped it away with a pout on his lip. "don't cry..." he mumbled. you weren't really sad just your body reacting to the uncomfortable reality you were in. "let me see your hand…" you lifted you arm to him and he pulled one of your gloves off, revealing your discolored fingers, a sign of hyperthermia.

the balladeer was no mother goose, he had no nurturing bone in his body. if he wanted to, he'd leave you here to freeze and would carry out the rest of his mission without batting an eye. instead, he gloved your hand again and held them between his. it wouldn't do him any good to let you die, he supposed. he couldn't warm you up much himself considering his...condition, he knew you were going to catch an even worse cold if he didn't do anything. so, he did the unthinkable. he sat against the wall, pulling you towards him by the waist, you were between his legs, and he curled you into his chest. it wasn't a lot of warmth, but it was enough. it was reassuring that you would be okay, you're allergies were getting to you but atleast you weren't alone in this storm.

in other circumstances, being coddled in your boss' arms would make you vomit at the thought but he was suprsingly cozy. "…tell anyone about this and i'll let you freeze in the lake." scaramouche pulled you tighter to his chest trying to get you warmer. "i'm only doing this because if you die i wont hear the end of it." "…of course, balladeer." you held back a little giggle. "i wouldn't dream of it"

maybe the balladeer was more than he seemed. maybe he cared underneath his empty heartless shell. don't tell anyone though, what happens at the hut, stays at the hut.

•┈୨♡୧┈•

dw when you guys got somewhere safe he made you tea as long as u didn't tell anyone what happened at the hut (esp childe)

the fall

a quick one-shot I wrote after playing the new archon quest, about the only thing that kinda bothered me. so this isn’t particularly well-written or anything, just a quick, self indulgent little thing.

spoilers for the archon quest (3.2) ahead.

Watching Scaramouche, the so-called “False God,” desperately reach out for the electro Gnosis, hearing him beg with that heartbreaking expression on his usually resentful, cold face… And seeing Nahida, the Traveler and Paimon completely ignore his pleas in favor of using the Gnosis to save Irminsul, it made something twist inside your chest.

Keep reading

— it’s the small things with you that matter most

just some day-to-day snippets depicting how it’s like to be in a relationship with alhaitham.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 4.4k wc, fluff, (attempts at) humour, slight crack, established relationship, idiots in love

A/N : HAPPY BDAY BELOVED HAITHAM !! smitten clingy sappy menace haitham is my lifeline huhu 〒▽〒 (this is also just me once again advocating cute/energetic readers with haitham TヘT)

(can be read as a standalone or viewed as the post-happenings of [how to woo the acting grand sage 101] ^^)

Navigating through a relationship with Alhaitham isn’t as hard as one might think.

The transition from friends-who-pined-for-years to lovers was a lot easier than you’d like to admit. While there were some significant changes to adjust to (read: Alhaitham’s sudden surge in displays of affection), your dynamic pretty much remained the same.

And while you’ve had your fair share of ups and downs, most of your more serious fights happened before you got together. Considering how long you both have known one another, it wouldn’t be an understatement to say you know the other like the back of your hand — understanding minuscule hints and mannerisms anyone else wouldn’t notice — and so, most disputes are settled before they can even surface.

Most of your fights wouldn’t drag on for long as you’re both pretty open to discussing the root cause and where you both were in the wrong. That and the fact it’s hard to be apart from each other under bad terms, as you’ve come to realise after the particularly bad argument you had two months ago (Kaveh demanded you both stay at your house so that he didn’t have to witness your intensified displays of affection after reconciling).

More often than not, your subject of disagreements are petty, typically resulting in revoked privileges of affection from the victim. That usually results in both sides being depraved and cranky (well, more so than usual in Alhaitham’s case) until the revoked privilege is, uh, unrevoked,

Well, it’s a good thing you both rarely argue!

Keep reading

Okay fuck it if this post reaches 666k notes by the end of 2023 I'll practise basic self care

Why 666k? Because it's funny and impossible so good fucking luck

- your birthday with scaramouche

- a/n: i saw scara's birthday voice line and was inspired plz i love him so much. i wrote this very late so sorry if theres any mistakes. but i pulled c1 scara tomight and got his weapon so im very excited !! may all scara wanters be scara havers.

- fluff fluff so much fluff, kinda pining from both sides

"take my hand."

if any sane person were to be offered the hand of the wanderer, they would most definitely say no. after all, the amount of atrocities he's committed was too many to be counted on both hands, and even though he may have left the fatui he's still not the most trustworthy type.

"there's no need to be nervous," he says, but with him staring directly into your soul it's hard not to be.

today was your birthday, your friends in sumeru had thrown you a lavish party with cake and music and a special performance by nilou herself at the grand bazaar. though it was very fun, indeed, anyone would need a break after something as exciting as that, so you decided to step out into the streets of sumeru for some air.

it was here that the wanderer, or scaramouche, emerged from the alleys, offering his hand to you with the most innocent smile he can muster on his face.

"I'm just taking you to vantage point. isn't that a normal birthday activity?"

reluctantly, you place your hand in his outstretched one and he grips it tight, beginning to lead you down the many winding streets of sumeru city. his hand, despite it being cold, spread a warmth through your body. it was late in the afternoon, the sun would be setting soon, and you had to admit that in this lighting he did look quite pretty, though you'd never say that out loud.

he seemed to sense your gaze on him, sparing a glance behind him quickly.

"stop staring at me."

it was a somewhat long walk, but where you ended up was on the balcony in front of the sanctuary of suransthana. finally, he released you hand here while you wandered towards the railing, staring at the sight in front of you.

in the time it took for you to get here, the sun had begun to set over the horizon, painting a pinkish hue over the vast lands of the deserts and forests of sumeru while the branches of the great tree framed the sight perfectly. scaramouche found himself mimicking you, with his hands on the railing, almost touching your own, the only distance between your bodies caused by his hat.

"how is it?" he asks, cocking his head towards you. a smug smile laid on his face as if he already knew your answer. "the scenery here should be quite breathtaking."

"it is, very much so," you whisper back, too in awe of the view in front of you to notice just how much he's staring at you.

you, still in your party outfit, hair blowing in the breeze that comes from being so high up, the light gracing your features. while scaramouche has never been one to appreciate the sights before, he can still admit you do look quite nice in this very moment.

still staring ahead of you, you begin to speak once again. "thank you, really, this means a lot to me."

"there's no need to thank me - i see little point in it," he sighs, eyes leaving you for the first time since you got up here.

"this really isn't much to be thanked for, especially compared to the party thrown in you honor."

he sounds disinterested saying this, you almost thought bringing you up here was something he was forced to do, but the fact that he can't meet your eyes tells you otherwise.

"i don't care about how much someone has done for me on my birthday, all the matters is that i spend time with them. like right now, for example."

it's silent for a few seconds, your words processing in his mind.

"i understand," he hums, and he truly thinks he does, because he wouldn't mind coming up here again to spend some time with you in the future.

fall / in love

Pairing: Al-Haitham x Reader Warnings: fluff, slight angst with a happy ending Word Count: ~1.3k A/N: writer's block is hitting hard rn so here are some feelings with our fav grumpy grand scribe

“You’ve been avoiding me. Why?” The last person you want to see stands in front of you. You can feel your desk digging into you from behind as you’re cornered in the quiet walls of your office with nowhere to run. Petty excuses are futile in the presence of Al-Haitham, and his looming shadow makes you feel impossibly small.  

You cannot fall in love with him, you’ve told yourself this over and over again. They are bitter words to swallow down, stuck in the back of your throat as you force a practiced smile to hide every confession that threatens to tear through. There are certain things that cannot be said because they will tear down the walls you’ve so carefully constructed, and you know better than anyone how terrible he is at lending a hand when it comes to emotions. Al-Haitham is a man of titles: the Grand Scribe of the Akademiya, the current Acting Grand Master, a saviour to Sumeru (whether he acknowledges it or not), and a good friend. So you cannot fall in love with him because that will threaten everything you have built thus far.

And yet you free-fall, stumbling into these emotions you struggle to push away. You remind yourself to re-read the label that describes your relationship: childhood friends. Keep it that way, you say to yourself. Don’t fall in love, don’t fall for silly words and actions that have no deeper meaning. Falling in love is dangerous, and falling in love with Al-Haitham is possibly the most dangerous of all. You know this and yet you cannot bring yourself to draw the line. He pushes his way into his life without care, his body fitting the indent on your couch from sleepless nights of research and escaping from Kaveh’s hammering in the middle of the night.

Don’t fall in love. Instead, push him away, pull yourself out, place every obstacle you can on this chess-game like friendship that’s cornering you. So how is it that he’s cornered you now, arms crossed over his chest as he stares you down.

“I’ve been busy.” You sigh with a shake of your head. It’s not a lie, you have been rather busy with the sudden influx of paperwork and rebuilding that comes with the rebuilding of the Akademiya. But you’ve still made an effort to steer clear of Al-Haitham when you could. It was changing your daily routes, choosing to take longer walks around the Akademiya to get to your office in the morning, and instead taking up Kaveh’s offers to get lunch at the cafe across the city rather than the one just outside the Akademiya. 

Al-Haitham rolls his eyes ,”Do you think I’m that stupid? You’ve been actively avoiding me. This is the first time I’ve seen you in almost two weeks. So why?” You hear the slight waver in his voice as his words end. There’s a flicker of worry in his eyes that lasts for just one second, but it’s that one second that punches through your pride. It’s too late to back out now.

“Because— I don’t understand you! You buy me my favourite pastries and then tell me it’s because you wanted one too but I know you hate how sweet these are! You ask for book recommendations but I know you hate the books I read because you have this odd enjoyment of reading physics books! You seek out my company and claim it’s only because you have nothing better to do! And I don’t understand what you want from me!” He remains quiet at your words and you shake your head slightly. Of course he doesn’t say anything. When you finally put him in check, he doesn’t know what to say. His pawns are gone, chess pieces not set up for your play, so he stays quiet. 

“I don’t like feeling whatever this feeling is.” Your hands tremble as you bring them to your chest. The words bubble up from your chest and there’s no stopping them now. Not after you’ve pushed them down for so long and watched from a distance, because this distance is what has kept you going for so long. 

“I see you and— and suddenly I have this stupid smile on my face and my heart beats faster and you don’t even know!” You cry out, “You don’t care that time and time again I have to turn away just because I get so worried that you’ll see me and know.!” He stares at you blankly and you hate it. You hate that you can’t read any emotions in those pretty eyes of his. You hate that his mouth hasn’t moved, not a twitch or a smirk, or a smile, or anything. You hate that his hands reach up to grasp yours, the surprisingly soft texture of his gloves stark against your clammy palms.

He opens his mouth and you brace for the worse, only for him to say softly, “Breathe, please.” A shaky breath rattles your lungs as you stare at him, mouth parted in a mix of surprise at the sudden contact and how damn close he is. There’s a mix of something in those pretty eyes of his as he ducks down to look at you from behind his grey swept hair. A smile, a rare, genuine one tugs on his lips and you can only stare. You’ve laid out your emotions bare for him to see, put him in check position and can only wait for him to make his next move.

And what you hate the most about Al-Haitham is his infuriating ability to take his time, even in the most stressful of situations. You’re acutely aware of your breathing, the rise and fall of your chest and his as you stand in silence. Your hands, no doubt sweaty, still shake even in his gentle grasp and you  know that he can see the way your eyes dart around nervously, refusing to hold eye contact with him.

“After knowing me for so long, I thought that you might be able to read me just as well.” Forget how nervous you feel at the moment. You want to strangle him for his cryptic words. He’s always been good at this, dangling the truth in front of everyone’s eyes under the disguise of honey coated words and half-truths. Perhaps, at another time, you would indulge in riddled words and bite back with some of your own, but now they only irritate you. And Al-Haitham knows it. Just the thought of it brings a teasing grin to his face, one you recognize immediately.

“Don’t you think it’s rather foolish of you to avoid me like this?” Al-Haitham hums and steps back to give you some space. He doesn’t let go of your hands. “After all this time, you’d think that maybe you might realize that I care for you just as much, if not more, as you do for me.” You let the words sink in, bask in their warmth before scowling at him. Tugging your hands from his grasp you push at him gently, ignoring the feeling of his chest against your fingers as you look away.

“Just say you like me too.” You grumble. Al-Haitham’s fingers come to drag along your skin, teasing yet comforting as he laughs, “What a childish way of putting it.” You roll your eyes but stay in your spot, relishing in the turn of events. Quick as it may have been, and far too unexpected for your liking, you’d be lying if you said this wasn’t something Al-Haitham would do.

He hums, catching your attention once more. “So, are you done avoiding me?”

“Keep up this attitude and I won’t be.” Al-Haitham grins and you can’t help but match his expression. But nothing prepares you for the brief kiss that his planted on your forehead, a promise sealed without words, an act of comfort and honesty. And in the confines of these four walls, you let yourself fall in love again. 

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3

not proofread dumb little drabble

-

scaramouche used to shove you around a lot

mentally, physically, he’d do anything he could to convince you to leave your rank among the harbingers, to convince you that you were better off seen as a traitor than part of them.

he’d hurt you whenever he got the chance, urging you to stay away from him or he’d do it again.

he hated the way the wind picked up your hair sometimes

how you were so fragile and weak, and how you looked ashamed every time he struck you.

the way your eyes still widened and you cowered away with every “GET AWAY FROM ME!” he could muster out of his venomous lips.

he hated the way childe let you sleep on his shoulder, and the way he’d play with your hair as he whispered praises to you

and the way that a recent mission had gone

you’d made it to mondstadt only for the knights to find you, drug you, and use whatever methods they could to pry information from you.

by the time scaramouche had arrived to you (only because he couldn’t allow a fellow harbinger to die), you were already drugged out of your mind.

he found the fact you could barely walk incredibly amusing

but oh he hated the way you just suddenly, in your foggy mind, had the idea to kiss him.

and the way you did it so tenderly

if he didn’t know better he may have thought you weren’t drugged at all, the way your kiss was so controlled, almost loving

he hated the way it didn’t taste like alcohol or odd substances, but instead sweet and heartfelt.

he hated the way… that he kissed you back, that he melted into you like salt into water.

the way that you avoided childe once you had finally arrived back at goth grand hotel, your shivering body opting to scaramouche instead, he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you

you smelled so nice, intoxicating almost, finally laying down in the bed, next to him, allowing him to wrap himself around you so you wouldn’t be cold or feel unsafe while you were so vulnerable

vulnerable enough for him to kill you

he’d thought about it, even gone as far as to bring his knives up to your throat, it would take one slash.

yet every time, he seemed to catch sight of your lips, the way your face seemed to be disturbed and afraid even in your sleep.

“s-scara…” you’d whimper through tears, even though you weren’t awake. the 4th time you’d cried in your sleep tonight, the 4th nightmare of the night.

the way you called out his name in fear but also desperation, “master scaramouche please…” you spoke in a way that drove knives into his heart and tore it open like paper “please don’t i…. im sorry sir” he watched you shift around and plead until you eventually jolted awake, sweat dripping from your forehead and tears running down your face.

he looked at you with wide eyes. shock and something else you couldn’t quite identify filled them. you turned away quickly, apologizing profusely.

“y/n.” he spoke sternly but almost calmly “look at me when i speak to you”

you looked at him without hesitation, expecting another slap or punishment for looking away from him when you weren’t supposed to, you flinched when his hand reached out to you but never met your skin, but instead met the back of your head as he pulled you into his chest before letting go and wrapping his arms around you.

a “hug” he had seen others call it. touch. touch in an affectionate way was unfamiliar to him, only leaving him room for combat and battle, but never to understand how your skin felt or the warmth it radiated, the feeling of your heart, the feeling of you beginning to sob against him.

“master scaramouche……..what did i do wrong?” your voice seemed to break more with every word, your fear of him rising with every breath you took and tear you cried. you tried to pull away, afraid you’d get a single teardrop on his clothing and he’d make you scrub it off relentlessly, but he pulled you back in, caressing your hair.

“kunikuzushi” he spoke softly, causing you to gaze up at him with glossy eyes and skin that burned red from tears. “my name is kunikuzushi”

he looked at you again, laying his forehead on top of your forehead, doing what you did to him, placing a kiss on your lips as if they were made of the thinnest glass.

“tell me what they did to you.”

“they tied me down, and asked me questions, and hit me and gave me some… pills i think they were… it hurt kunikuzushi, it hurt so much.”

whatever softness you had seen in him mere moments ago was gone. fire reignited in his eyes and lightning touched at his soul.

“i’m just… so tired..so cold”

“rest then, suppose i should rest too”

he watched you try to lay on the ground instead of the bed, being your usual submissive and selfless personality and allowing him to have the bed, but he grabbed your wrist gently and patted the space next to him

“i will deal with our little mondstadt issue tomorrow, okay?”

you nodded your head lightly

“however your cold issue can only be solved by… becoming warm?”

you nodded again, confused this time.

“forget it. come here.”

and you found your back pressed to his chest under the covers again, warmth almost immediately consuming you

thus you gained your name

12th of the Fatui Harbingers, The Puppeteer

After Hours

Synopsis: Alhaitham has multiple, very good reasons for not liking to stay after office hours. You're one of them. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: Female reader x Husband!Alhaitham, Spoilers for the archon quests, Fluff, Domesticity, Slight angst, Pregnancy, Morning sickness (pretty heavy on the morning sickness but nothing graphic, just mentions of puking + inability to keep food down), Pregnancy woes, Established relationship, kind of hidden pregnancy, Alhaitham is 27 in my head and so is the reader A/N: listen. LISTEN. I don't normally write pregnancy but I had this idea and HAD to let it out. There is nothing hotter to me than a smart, dependable man with a stable, cushy job that's utterly in love with you. I'm a gojo writer, but damn. Alhaitham has me feeling some sort of way.

"Given the recent developments, there are many researchers wondering about what will happen to their funding. Acting Grand Sage, do you have any-"

"I'll be taking my leave now."

"H-Huh?"

Alhaitham clears his throat and stands, his chair dragging against the floor. From high-profile staff at the Akademiya, to esteemed researchers searching for an answer, Alhaitham casually shrugs off the bewildered, confused stares they give him.

"It's 5PM," he says nonchalantly. "You can find me at my desk tomorrow morning at 9."

"B-But we're not done with the meeting-"

"Goodbye."

"Wait-"

"My work for the day is done," Alhaitham hums, effectively cutting off whatever it was that was about to be said. Silence befalls the room, tension growing in its stead. "Haven't I already made my stance on this very clear?"

For all that is said and done, at least they knew how to stop talking when he displays his displeasure. Maybe being the Acting Grand Sage wasn't that bad after all. There were very few that would dare challenge his authority.

"But Sir, our meeting just started..."

Maybe not.

"Well, you should have started it earlier." Alhaitham doesn't miss a beat, neatly gathering his documents into a pile for his assigned assistant to take away. There's a tiny smile on his assistant's face, the young, interning scholar finding the entire exchange amusing.

Alhaitham fails to see what could be soooo amusing about working past official office hours.

5:01. Alhaitham clicks his tongue.

"Acting Grand Sage," a scandalised voice begins, but the person he's referring to is in a rush. Alhaitham should be out of the Akademiya by now. He can't risk being late. "It is imperative that you give us the necessary instructions so that Sumeru can still function as per usual..."

He tunes the voice out. It's past 5. He doesn't have to listen.

If they could handle themselves under Azar's so-called leadership, they can handle themselves under no supervision for the next sixteen hours. Sure, years worth of rampant corruption was difficult to erode without work, but it wasn't as if staying past 5 would magically fix everything overnight.

Alhaitham would tell them to go home and leave it for tomorrow... But it's now 5:02 and he's running behind on time. Simply being within the House of Daena was a pleasantry he was not willing to give for even a second longer.

"A-Alhaitham!"

He walks past the old man, past Cyno, and he's out of the door, out of the Akademiya, in mere moments.

The passing scholars greet him, all up to date with the change of hands after the atrocities of the previous Sages had gone public. Various pairs of eyes linger on him. Seemingly overnight, he had become known to the public as one of the core few that had freed Sumeru's Archon and foiled Azar's plan.

A mighty accomplishment in the eyes of the people, indeed.

It doesn't take long to get to the Bazar, where his task at hand was. He's done this tons of times before, but with every passing day, he only seems to get pickier with the produce before him.

Yoghurt, Tomatoes, Ginger, Butter...

"Oh, honey..."

He looks away from a ripe tomato and into the eyes of an older auntie who stood next to him with a fond look on her face.

"You're going to stare a hole into that poor tomato at that rate."

Alhaitham has no idea who she is. Silently, he returns his gaze to the tomato pile and narrows down the select few that had passed his earlier inspection. He'd grab them, pay, and leave.

"Ah ah!" The lady laughs, interrupting his process. "Come, dear. Have these tomatoes instead," she says, offering him her basket of tomatoes. "It's the least I could do for the Grand Sage."

"Acting Grand Sage," he can't help but correct.

"Yes, yes, the Acting Grand Sage. Honestly, what does it matter! Come! Have these. I have a good eye for tomatoes, you know?"

Alhaitham can't help but agree. The tomatoes are perfect. If his departure hadn't been halted, even for those few minutes, he would have gotten to them first. Ripe, juicy, no blemishes whatsoever, fresh... They're good. Declining is the first thought that comes into mind. He has no need to owe anyone any favours. But how can he when he remembers who was waiting for him back home?

"Ahhh, don't be shy!" The auntie shoves them into his own basket, where a few ginger roots sat alongside some cloves of garlic and some extra spices. "You've done so much for Sumeru! This is the least we could do."

She doesn't seem malicious. Or looking for anything in return.

"...Thank you, then."

And that special phrase unleashes hell on earth. The moment the tomatoes make a touchdown in his basket, he gets swamped by the aunties and uncles at the bazar.

"Here! Have some fish!"

"Oh! Oh! Here's some preserved vegetables! Take these, too!"

"Acting Grand Sage! My mama told me to give this to you!" "Me too! Here! Here!"

It's comes and goes as abruptly as a tidal wave. There's not even a chance to reply to anyone, or reject anything. Before Alhaitham knows it, he's decorated with new groceries. Everyone who had gifted him something was long gone, walking away like nothing had happened.

For the first time in a long while, Alhaitham feels awkward standing alone in the Bazar.

"I'll take these..." Alhaitham says, sliding his personal basket to Housein. It's a little difficult to get his mora pouch out while holding so many items, but he manages. It's not like he can just abandon everything at the side of the pavement. There were too many prying eyes.

"Oh, they'll be on the house, Mr Alhaitham!" Housein grins, declining the mora. The produce seller looks pleased with himself. "The Bazar technically owes you for helping to oust Azar! Now the theatre can continue their performances!"

"I insist-"

"Really, it's alright!"

"No, I-"

"Alhaitham! Oh, my sweet boy!" Someone grabs his arm, whisking him away before he could get Housein to accept his mora. Greying hair frames the old lady's face, and Alhaitham recognises her in an instant.

"Auntie?"

"Yes, yes. Come," she ushers him, giddy with excitement. "I have some things that you'll appreciate."

"I don't think that's necessary," he sighs, nodding at the bags he was already carrying. He had fish and chicken slung over his shoulder. Not to mention the countless fresh produce in each bag... "Can it not wait until our next visit?"

"Nonsense," she swats his arm. "You will like what I have!"

Rationality and knowledge cannot override the cultural traditions and norms ingrained in each Sumeru citizen from a young age. Alhaitham follows the former Amurta researcher up to the hospital she now worked at during her retirement.

Dutifully, the Scribe stands in wait, ignoring the stares and awed whispers of the people as the old lady rounds the corner of the reception desk to dig through her stock. Save for a couple of patients and their attending physicians, the Bimarstan is quiet today.

"Here," she hums proudly, brandishing a bundle of pouches. They're beautifully embroidered, with patterns that he could easily identify to be from some of the Seven nations. "I got some supplements for your wife."

The mere mention of you has the tips of Alhaitham's ears warming. The lady might be old, but her eyes are still sharp as ever. She chuckles, patting his arm appreciatively, and some of the staff familiar with you and he smile to themselves, knowing something many did not.

"You two are so adorable," she sighs wistfully. "Come, I'll explain each one to you."

"Thank you."

The old pharmacist explains each supplement in great detail. There's a whole assortment available, from powders, to tea bags, to roots, and to pills and potions from each nation. All of high quality.

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it," Alhaitham says, setting down his groceries to pull out his mora pouch. Once again, he's declined.

"If you really want to repay me, then go take better care of your wife," she tuts. The old lady always had a soft spot for you. "It's not healthy to make her worry so much."

The reminder brings forth a surge of emotions that he gingerly represses for now.

"Of course," he bows deeply, "I will. Thank you."

"Ah, I shan't hold you up anymore. Off you go!"

Neatly packing his spoils for the day, Alhaitham bids his farewell and walks off in the direction of his home. Though, unfortunately, it's not fast enough to escape the various food stall owners...

Returning home is no easy feat, not when you're lugging home months worth of groceries. Still, as with anything thrown his way, Alhaitham manages. He's careful with his keys, making sure they don't make too much noise lest you wake from your slumber or worse, run to greet him. And - Oh.

"Habibti," he says, greeting you out of habit even if he can clearly see that you're asleep on the couch.

As quietly as possible, Alhaitham shuffles his way into his house along with all the groceries. It's almost feels like he's a thief in his own house.

The groceries are set on the floor, in a neat pile that he'll sort out later. The citizens were well-meaning, but he needed to do another check to make sure nothing was tainted. He braces himself when the bags crinkle against each other, but you don't wake. Good, he thinks. You needed the rest.

Shoes off, his hands washed, any fatigue laced into his muscles dissipates the moment he comes to stand in front of you. Alhaitham leans down to brush aside stray strands of your hair away from your forehead. His fingers ghost over your soft skin. You looked glowing.

"Good evening," he greets softly, lips pressed against your forehead. You stir, but he soothes you back into dreamland. His palm smooths back and forth between your waist and where your bellybutton was, and he smiles himself when he sees the corner of your lips curl up.

Gently, he plucks your hands from the knitting needles Kaveh had gotten you. The half-done blanket resting on the swell of your belly is removed, set neatly on the coffee table with the rest of your colourful balls of yarn. Alhaitham easily carries you, slipping his an arm under your back and the other under your knees.

Though he wants to tuck you back in bed, he knows you well enough to place you into the comfy armchair he had gotten instead. He leaves, only to return from your shared bedroom with a fluffy blanket to keep you warm. Tucking you in is an terribly short affair. Parting from you takes a lot of willpower.

In the time you're asleep, Alhaitham busies himself around the house. The groceries get checked, washed, and put away, and he takes a much needed shower. He's halfway through sweating the minced garlic and shallots when you finally wake, your tiny, sleepy voice making its way to him.

"Haitham...?"

The fire goes out.

"Yes, habibti?" He pulls his apron off, walking out of the kitchen. Warmth pools in his chest when he takes you in; how your blanket slides off your shoulders; how your eyes blearily search him out.

"Welcome home," you say dazedly, arms open and raised up to beckon him in for a hug. Alhaitham closes the distance in less than a second, pulling you in.

"Mm," he hugs you tight, mindful of your baby bump. His hand splays out protectively over your tummy, and a light giggle erupts from you as you bask in his warmth.

Getting down on one knee, level with the evidence of his, and your, love, he looks up at you and asks, "How was your day, habibti?"

"I was working on the baby blanket," you tell him, gesturing at the knitwork on the table. "I was thinking of making a few."

"It's going well?"

You nod, happily engaging him in conversation before he carefully nudges open a new door of conversation. One that you understood, but didn't like. High on pregnancy hormones (and on stress), he distinctly remembers you crying to him in the middle of the night, telling him that it felt like you were being interrogated whenever he wouldn't let up on the questions.

You had subsequently thrown up dinner.

And promptly fell back asleep on him.

Thus, the small talk.

"Did our baby give you any trouble today?" He asks gently, a hand gently circling your wrist. One finger traces unintelligible symbols against your skin as the other pressed against your pulse.

You shake your head slowly as he counts in his. "Just some nausea."

"And lunch?" He asks, switching hands. "How was lunch? What did you have?"

You shake your head sadly. "Couldn't keep much of it down. Baby bird didn't agree with it."

"They didn't?" Alhaitham frowns, a contemplative look on his face. "I see. Did you drink-"

"Did I drink the tea you made?" You raise a brow, completing the question for him.

"...Yes."

You were catching on. And fast. Silently, he pulls your hand towards his face to kiss the back of your palm, hoping that it would throw you off.

"Did it help?"

"It did," you tell him. The suspicious look you had softens. "It was very good. Helped with the nausea for a bit."

"I see. And did you-"

"Haitham," You admonish gently. "Stop being such a worrywart. I've been taking care of myself. These things happen. It's normal."

"Yes, habibti, I'm aware, but you're already in your second trimester. I just want to check if-"

Accustomed to this, you cut him off with words he can't ignore.

"I'm hungry."

"You're hungry?" He pauses. He supposes that you're bound to be, considering what you had just reported about lunch. "I just started cooking, but the people at the Bazar gave us a lot of food."

"Really? That's nice of them. Why?"

"As thanks," he says vaguely, squeezing your side. "There's a lot of it. Tandoori chicken, Curry, Kebabs, Wraps... Is there anything to your fancy?"

"Mm, I guess," you half-heartedly answer. "Then why are you still cooking?"

"You said you wanted Butter Chicken this morning."

The name of the dish makes your mouth water, the reminder perking you up. The baby nestled deep in your womb agrees.

"Grab something light," he says, recognising that expression of yours. You looked pleased to smell his cooking wafting through the air, only just realising it after the grip of sleep had loosened its hold on you. "I only just started."

"Okay-"

"Sit down. I'll grab it for you. What do you want?" Your husband urges you back into the chair. It begins, once more.

"I don't know," you roll your eyes at him, "I have to get up and see what there is, don't I?"

"I already told you what there is. If it helps, there's Samosas and-"

"I want to look for myself," you interrupt. "I'm pregnant. Not incapable."

"The doctor said you need to be careful."

"The doctor said that I can move around. That I should move around."

"Within reason," he adds, grumbling, just because. Helping you stand after your complaints, you hold him, hugging his arm tightly, and Alhaitham watches you waddle towards the kitchen with him in tow.

He never expected the pregnant waddle to happen so soon. Archons, he hadn't expected you to look so cute, either. You were partway through your second trimester and he can't imagine how it'd be like in your third.

"Oooh," you coo, and he gets dragged back into reality. "There's Baklava?"

"And Panipuri." He says, hovering over you. If he thinks about it, he's almost like a little fly... Even his colours matched. With the way you're looking at him, you must have thought of the same thing. "And Custard. And Cakes. And-"

"Oh! Pudding!" You excitedly nab the Padisarah Pudding out of the cooler, clapping. Alhaitham lets out a low chuckle at your delight, reaching over to grab you a teaspoon so you could enjoy your desert.

"Now sit," he tells you, guiding you to the kitchen island, where there was a chair. He had gotten Kaveh to design and make one for you as part of his rental agreement. "You can watch me cook."

"You're not letting me help again?"

He shakes his head. From temporarily stepping down from your work as a researcher, to repeating dreams, and to Alhaitham having to go away for a mission, you had been stressed out from all the back-to-back changes. Only recently had you been discharged from bed rest after the news that he had gone insane from consuming forbidden knowledge and was exiled had caused you to faint in the middle of Treasure Street.

Alhaitham prides himself on his rational decision making skills, but keeping you in the dark to the happenings in Sumeru's political sphere had been by far the worst decision he had ever made.

You had fallen sick, carrying a fever for five days and five nights as the doctors at the Bimarstan worked around the clock to keep you stable. Luck had been on your side for you to have been found by one of the physicians. He had almost...

Alhaitham shakes his head, focusing instead on the metal band around his finger. Cooking was the least he could do for you after everything you had to handle.

Ignoring the pang in his chest, he resumes cooking. The wok sizzles, and you're happily munching away on your pudding, offering him a spoonful here and there as his ingredients go in in a methodological order. He tosses in peeled and boiled tomatoes, spices, and marinated chicken cubes from last night.

"It smells so good..."

"I know."

"But why aren't you making more?" You ask, leaning over so he could feed you a test bite of the creamy dish. "Is Kaveh not coming home for dinner?"

"It's none of our business, habibti," Alhaitham hums. "Kaveh can freeload food elsewhere."

"Haitham," you giggle. "That's not very kind."

"What? Letting him stay here rent-free is kind enough. I don't have to feed him, too."

"You're making him build our nursery," you remind him. "And baby-proof the house."

"It's part of the rental agreement."

"Still," you huff, watching your husband roll up his sleeves before portioning the dough for your naan. "At least leave him some food."

"He can have whatever we can't finish. Can we agree?" He says, rolling the dough out into flat circles. "We have too much food from the people, anyway. He can have those. The Butter Chicken is yours. You don't have to share."

You're swayed.

"...Fine."

He graduated from the Haravatat. To put it loosely, he's a linguist. A knack for words comes with the job.

"Good," he hums, handing you a bowl of melted butter so you wouldn't feel left out. You stir it with a clean spoon, mixing in garlic paste and chopped coriander.

It's peaceful. Serene. The sizzling in the background is nothing but homey, nothing but comfort. Alhaitham loves it when you sing to him while he cooks, but today he settles for a spritely summary of one of the books he's gotten you.

"Thank you, Haitham."

"Of course," he leans over to peck your temple. After serving you a hearty plate, Alhaitham finally sits with you to eat. "Anything you need."

"What would people say if they knew I had the Acting Grand Sage at home like this?"

"They'd praise me," he deadpans. His own plate lightly clinks against the table. "Especially if they knew the main reason why I helped."

"Show-off."

Wanting to keep his cushy job at the Akademiya may have been what had spurred him to take on a core role in the planning of rescuing Lesser Lord Kusanali, but apart from that, he was not about to leave a year's worth of fully-paid, fully covered paternity leave in the hands of some old man that woke up and decided that he wanted to play god.

Even now, it still sounded ridiculous in his head.

Alhaitham and you were only aware that the Grand Sage had something sinister cooking up, but nothing had been concrete. Investigating further was on the top of your priority list until you were faced with the possibility, and eventual confirmation, of your pregnancy.

Being so unexpected, the news had hit the both of you hard and fast. After both of your priorities needed a complete upheaval, it was a scramble to decide the next course of action.

Having you step down from your work as a result of the rough start to your pregnancy had been hard to hide from the prying eyes of Azar, his minions, and gossiping researchers. The walls of the Akademiya had ears. The barest wisps of whatever Azar was planning that had gotten back to you gave you the impression that they had wanted you to join in on the later stages of their scheme.

Recuperation may have been the main motivator, but the likelihood that a blunt rejection would spur on heavy retaliation had been a major reason why you were urged, and convinced, to take a medical leave of absence as early in as possible. As quietly as possible. Your weakened constitution had only spurred the advance of this plan.

Your sudden request for long medical leave had formed the basis of a well-known rumour that you were adamant on not acknowledging, not when you had suspected Alhaitham to be on Azar's hit list. Few knew of your marriage to him, only that you were in a relationship with the Scribe. He can only imagine what types of words were said behind closed doors.

Those days had been tense. Your act—though it wasn't really an act at all—was convincing, but the Sages seemed adamant on having you stay on. They had even questioned Alhaitham about your supposed illness. Half-truths made the best lie, and when Alhaitham only had the truth to tell them, they had no choice but to turn to other avenues.

Thankfully, the rumours had all died out when Tighnari was invited by the Sages to check on you.

Your long-standing friend had done you a favour that day. Under the watchful eye of the sages, the three of you had shared a look that Tighnari easily interpreted. A strongly worded letter of recommendation for medical leave had been issued, and you were immediately granted long leave. The rumours were put out in an instant. On account for your contributions to the Akademiya and to academia itself, your leave had been fully paid for as well.

Alhaitham makes a mental note to send the forest ranger some gifts again after everything dies down. He's been thinking of taking you on a short trip to Pardis Dhyai so you could visit some old classmates and colleagues. Maybe some crates of wine for him and his subordinates would suffice...

"If you revealed everything, I think they'd have a heart attack first," you muse, picking up your spoon. Looking at you now, it's almost as though your pregnancy had been nothing but smooth sailing. You looked so peaceful. Happy and content and glowing.

"I love your cooking," you sigh between bites, taking meaningful chomps out of your meal. Eyes falling shut to savour the taste, Alhaitham can't help but chuckle at the blissed out expression you made.

It's not rare for Alhaitham to cook for you, especially after finding out that you were expecting, but the way your eyes always light up, glimmering with stars? It makes him wonder just how good his food is to you for you to always react like this.

"Good?"

"Mhm!" You nod happily, shoveling the Butter Chicken coated garlic naan into your mouth. The flatbread was cooked to perfection, just the way you liked it. Too busy with your food, you don't even bother with a conversation.

Alhaitham sits back, watching you eat, making sure that his unborn child enjoys his food, too. It was early on in your pregnancy that he realises just how picky his child was. Coupled with morning sickness, any food that wasn't made by him, your body would reject. He had been tense those weeks, pouring over countless texts in the library trying to find a solution that would guarantee both you and your child's safety.

He had tracked your food intake, just to see if there was any sort of pattern that would emerge. To his surprise, one did. The only meals you could hold down were either those made by you, made by those close to you, or his. The latter worked the best. Alhaitham still has that nutrition table in his office, updated to this day.

Really, it's a wonder how people hadn't realised that you were pregnant. After Sumeru's political situation began to calm, he hadn't bothered hiding it. What did people think he ordered maternity dresses for? Even now, the number of people who knew of your pregnancy was few and far between. Cyno, surprisingly, was one of them.

Oh, well.

After seeing that you showed no sign of nausea, he finally picks up his spoon.

"Shall we go for a walk later tonight?" He asks after swallowing a bite of his food. "The weather is nice today."

Before getting swamped by the citizens, he had been thinking that it would be good to bring you out. So far, the only interactions you've had were either with him, the doctors, the stray cats that would visit, or with Kaveh. Although you hadn't complained, he knew that you were getting lonely.

"Really?" You ask excitedly, biting into your coated naan. "Where to?

"Anywhere you want," he says, pouring another ladel full of butter chicken onto your plate. "But we'll take it slow, okay? You haven't been out in some time. I don't want you to overexert yourself."

You chew slowly.

"I'm not weak."

"I never said that."

"You're implying it."

"I did not."

After a bit of back and forth, in which he could tell you were thoroughly enjoying, he remembers something that Housein had told him earlier in the day.

"I believe Miss Nilou is performing tonight. Would you like to watch?"

"Really? I'd love to!" Compared to him, you had always had a deep appreciation for the Arts. It's been some time since you've seen a live performance. Eyes shimmering, you ask, "Can we go get some sweets at the Bazar, too? The baby's been craving it."

You didn't have to pull the cravings card to get it. Alhaitham would have gotten them for you regardless.

"If you'd like," he agrees. "I was thinking that we could get some more books, as well."

"What," you snicker, "the library you have isn't enough for you?"

"It's good to broaden your horizons. And I mean to get books for our child."

"Hm? Why?"

"Aren't you the Amurta scholar?" He quips. Then his voice grows softer. More gentle. "...I read that our child can start hearing in the second trimester."

The look of confusion on your face turns into a fond smile. "I'm not that far along enough, Haitham. That only happens later."

"Better now than never, don't you think?"

"Are you going to be reading to them, then?" You ask, resting your chin on your palm, a smile on your face as you tease him. "Are we going to have bedtime stories now?"

"Of course."

His bluntness takes you off guard, but Alhaitham fails to see how shocking this revelation can be. Why wouldn't he be reading to his child?

"Oh," you say dumbly. "I... Yeah. That's a good idea—Ah!"

Alhaitham's spoon clatters to the table at the sound of your punctured gasp. He's by your side in an instant, looking over you once, twice, thrice, as you hold onto your stomach, eyes blown wide open, pupils dilated.

"W-What?" Adrenaline rushes through his veins. "What's wrong, albi? What's the matter? Are you alright? What hurts? Stay here, I'll call for someone right now-"

"No," you whisper, grabbing his hand to stop him from running off. They tremble in your hold, and he swallows tightly past the lump in his throat. You stare silently at your belly, and Alhaitham, at you.

"Albi," he insists. "My love. Don't scare me. C'mon, we need to... go..."

Palm covering his, you guide his hand to your belly.

Alhaitham, the Scribe of Sumeru, the star of the Haravatat, for the first time in forever, is at a loss for words. Every letter and every syllable he's come to learn dissipates on the tip of his tongue, his mind blanking out into nothingness. Within him, synapses fire off rapidly, capturing everything about this moment. Everything refocuses onto what rests below his palm.

There's a tiny flutter. One that grows more insistent.

"Haitham... I think our baby is trying to say hi."

Bimarstan: Hospital in Sumeru Habibti: Term of endearment meaning Darling Albi: Term of endearment meaning My love

A/N: bc of this fic i'll have to make a new masterlist and update my pinned aaaaaaa okay goodbye it's time for me to return to my studies (and to gojo) [i say this but tell me why i wanna write about the time cyno found alhaitham at the bimarstan with reader...]

©shiinleaf Do not plagiarise, use, translate and/or share my content outside of Tumblr in any way, shape, or form. Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated if you enjoyed!