The Ruthless Prince: Illustrated On Paperback Book (Giveaway!)

finally my tags work and i can type a whole ass essay like i wanted to >:D

— 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

You’re a healer in the Fatui, assigned to serve the Harbingers in Sneznhaya. This is a bit self indulgent but I promise I did my best to keep him in character! I enjoy Harbinger Scaramouche, so this is set before he went all AWOL xD reader is female. If you have requests for me I’d love that!

“Here you go,” said the eleventh harbinger with a friendly grin. “Your very own office.” He opened the door for you and you followed him inside. You set your things on the mahogany desk in the corner and turned back around to face him. 

“Thank you, lord Tartaglia,” you said, bowing your head. 

He laughed. “Call me Childe,” he said, waving lazily as he left the room, closing the door behind him. 

You looked around the spacious office—your spacious office. You’d been promoted as a healer for the Harbingers recently, and today was the day of your transfer. You looked in the cabinets to find supplies of various kinds. From splints to bandages, sutures, and medicine. 

After inspecting the contents of the cabinets, you wandered to your desk and sat down, opening a drawer. Inside, there was a notebook detailing every Harbinger and you read through every file carefully, determined to commit everything to memory. You learned that currently there were only 3 harbingers on active duty. Number 8, lady Signora, number 6, lord Scaramouche and number 11, Childe. 

It was your third day on duty when number 6 walked into your office. You stood quickly to greet him. “Lord Scaramouche,” you said, looking at him. He was even more striking than his picture, but at the moment, he was disheveled and injured. 

He didn’t acknowledge your greeting, merely eyeing you with fierce, violet eyes. You approached him, hands out and open. He had a nasty cut across his face that made you hiss softly in sympathy, and several cuts all along his arms. Your eyes assess him quickly, then you speak again. “Lord Scaramouche, may I remove this, to assess any injuries I can’t currently see?” You tug gently at his shirt. 

He nods sharply, slowly raising his arms like it pained him to do so. You lift his shirt slowly, trying hard not to scrape it over any of the injuries on his arms. You gasp at the wound on his side, your hands immediately going to work. Without warning him, your icy hand touches his wound, enveloped with your cryo power and he hisses loudly.

“I’m sorry, my lord!” you say, touching his arm, trying to comfort him with your other hand. This wound takes the longest, but as the bleeding stops and the skin beneath your hand becomes whole once more, his breathing becomes more normal. 

“My lord, what happened..?” you ask softly, your eyes meeting his. 

There’s suddenly static in the air around you, and his violet eyes flash. “I don’t recall being required to answer to the help,” he snaps. 

Your face fell. “Of course, I forget my place,” you said. You try to hurry now, not wanting to irritate him further. You finally finish the injuries on his arms, and move to the one on his face, still fresh and bleeding. His gaze meets yours and you break eye contact quickly, your heart pounding as you focus on trying to heal his face as quickly as you can. You’re so, so stupid! You scold yourself. 

Your hand is so gentle against him, and he watches you intently, almost evaluating your worth. You can feel his judgement and you silently pray for his patience. “I’m sorry,” you say, “for taking so long. I just don’t want any of these to scar…” 

He raises an eyebrow at you. Why would you concern yourself at all with scars? Your job was simply to make sure the harbingers’ injuries didn’t keep them out of the field. 

You took a step back, bowing to him again. “You’re all done sir,” you say. 

Scaramouche dresses and leaves without a word or even a glance in your direction. 

***

“He hates me,” you mutter to Childe, your only friend in this whole place as you finish his healing session. You’d told him the story from the other day, leaving out confidential information about his condition, merely telling Childe how you’d openly disrespected The Balladeer. 

Childe’s soft laughter rang in the air and you groaned. “I actually don’t think he does. If he didn’t threaten to snap your neck, I’d say he was just pissed from being in pain. He didn’t look good when he came back from his last mission.” 

“So you saw him,” you said.

“Yeah. He looked like he’d been in quite the battle,” Childe said, still grinning. “But hey, I’d say you’re one hell of a healer. He didn’t fire you!” 

“Is that why I was promoted?” You ask, your eyes wide.

“He’s fired the last three. I was going to tell you but I didn’t want to psych you out,” he said. 

You punch his arm. “Thanks a lot!” 

“Ow! Hey, okay, I’m sorry,” he said, and you glared at him. He didn’t look sorry at all. “Anyway, thank you,” he said sincerely. 

You smiled fondly at your friend, hugging him. “Come back in one piece,” you murmur.

“I will,” he said, wrapping your small frame in a one armed hug. “See you when I get back.” 

***

You sat at your desk, logging in information on your healing sessions with the harbingers, as well as the  agents who had come to you for sessions. 

You flipped to Signora’s file and you couldn’t help but make a face. She was so difficult and rude and you scowled, writing down the injuries she’d come to you with, disdain in her voice as she told you to hurry up, and how she didn’t have all day. She’d called you incompetent even and you’d had to bite your tongue to not tell her to fuck herself. You hated her. 

Your door swung open, making you startle slightly. You looked up to see Scaramouche walking into your office, closing the door behind him. You flipped your log shut, standing immediately to greet him. 

“Good afternoon, lord Scaramouche,” you say, bowing your head. 

He eyes you, saying nothing before turning his back to you, revealing quite the gash behind his shoulder. You wince when you see it, murmuring to yourself that it looked painful. Your hands flickered with your Cryo power as you make your way over to him.

“Ready?” you ask, making sure to warn him this time. 

“Go ahead,” he says gruffly. 

Your hands bring immediate relief to the searing pain. Your fingers press tenderly onto his skin, sliding into his shirt through the hole over the injury. An audible sigh of relief escapes his lips as the wound closes. 

Your hands leave him and then you speak softly. “Are there any more injuries I need to treat sir?” 

He turns around to face you, his amethyst eyes meeting yours. You fought the urge to look away from him. Archons, he’s beautiful…

“That’s the only one,” he said, his voice inflectionless. 

You nod, a small smile lifting the corners of your mouth. “You’re all set, then.” 

He smirks. “At least those fools down at the recruiting office managed to send a proper healer this time.” 

Your eyes widen in shock at his praise. You smile a little wider at him. “I’m pleased that you think so, lord Scaramouche,” you say. “I wish everyone did.” 

“Who does not?” he asked, raising an elegant eyebrow.

“Lady Signora…” you say, picking at the hem of your shirt. 

He snorts, the sound making your head snap back up to look at him. “She’s fucking useless. Stupid bitch couldn’t carry out her last mission without nearly getting our whole embassy kicked out of Liyue.” He made his way to the door, before half turning back to you. “Pay her no mind,” he said, then stalked out the door. 

***

It was late, and you stretched in your chair, you’d lost track of time. Several of the agents training before deployment had come into your office. You’d had more sessions that day than any other since your arrival and you wondered at the reason for the increase in new recruits lately. 

You leave your office. The hallways in  this wing of the palace were dark now. You adjust your bag, making your way down the hall to the grand exit. There was light coming from a room to your right and you’re suddenly curious. Who could still be here? 

You approach slowly and peek into the room. It was Scaramouche. He was sitting at a beautiful mahogany desk, ornately crafted, with a murderous look on his face as he poured over a massive stack of papers in front of him. 

You bit your lip. He hadn’t noticed you at all, and you hesitated to make your presence known. Swallowing hard, you knocked softly on the open door. 

He glanced up, his fierce eyes meeting yours. 

“Lord Scaramouche?” you murmur, a questioning look in your eyes.

“What is it?” he asks, harsher than he meant to. 

“My lord, it’s so late.” you stammer. You didn’t dare question what he was doing, so instead you ask “May I get you anything?”

His expression softens ever so slightly. He sighs impatiently, but you know it wasn’t directed at you. “Coffee.” he says. “I’m going to be here a while.” 

You nod, “I’ll be right back.” 

You return with coffee in the biggest mug you could find, knocking on his door softly before entering. You set the tray on the edge of the desk, away from the stack of documents he wished he could burn. 

“I wasn’t sure how you like it so I brought cream and sugar on the side,” you say. 

He nods, reaching for his coffee and you note the amount of sugar and cream he pours into the mug. He looks at you critically after taking a sip. “What are you still doing here so late?” 

“Ah, well a dozen recruits came to see me right around when my day should have ended,” you said. 

He muttered something about the trainees Signora was most likely taking with her to Inazuma, probably to fuck up her next assignment. 

You hesitated to ask what he was still doing here, afraid to irritate him a second time. Your curiosity bested your better judgment though, so you took the chance to ask. “Why are you having to be here so late, my lord?” 

You prepared to be reprimanded for your insolence. He sips his coffee and scowls. “Because Signora is a fucking halfwit, and these,” he says, gesturing to the mountain of paperwork, “are the demands of the Liyuean government in order to allow us to continue operating there. There are reparations we have to pay for damages Signora allowed to happen, and the fucking head of their government wants us to pay—-“ he paused, making sure he had read the document in his hands correctly. “500 million Mora for her fucking floating chamber or some shit? What IS this??” 

“Did you say floating chamber?” you asked. 

“That’s what this fucking says,” he seethed. “We have to agree to follow all their terms. This is so stupid,” he mutters, angrily stamping the document for this floating chamber and slamming it down in another pile. You guessed that was the pile he’s been through already. 

“I’m so sorry you have to do all of this by yourself. You have to read ALL of this?” you ask incredulously. 

“Yup. Lucky me. Signora gets another assignment and I get stuck cleaning her fucking mess.” 

“Would…would you like some help?” you ask. 

He paused again, looking up at you. “You?” 

“I could read through some of that and give you the important details.” you offer. “Then you can approve them.” 

He stares at you for a long moment and you almost regret asking. He stands up, walking to the other side of the room and grabs hold of a chair, dragging it behind his desk, beside his. His nimble fingers then take a chunk off the stack of papers and he places it in front of the extra chair without a word. 

You smile as you both settle into the chairs and you start on your pile. It’s quiet for the most part, the sound of you both leafing through page after page is all you hear. He picks up the seal and you watch as he presses it into a pad of ink before pressing it onto a page. 

You clear your throat. “This part says the Northland Bank is expected to pay for the medical expenses for any injured Millelith due to the Osial incident,” you murmur quietly. 

He picks up the seal, handing it to you wordlessly. You take the seal, your cheeks blushing slightly as your fingers graze his. He doesn’t seem to notice. You stamp the document in the correct spot, and move onto the next section. 

You continue this way for a few hours longer, until your eyes begin to grow heavy. You tried hard to focus on the section you were on, blinking hard as you struggle to make sense of the words on the page. Sleepiness overcomes you though and you slump over to one side. 

Scaramouche startles when your head lightly lands on his shoulder. He looks at you, realizing that you’d fallen asleep. He sets down the document he was reading and looks over at the ornate clock on the wall. It was well passed midnight. 

His eyes linger on the stack you’d managed to get through and he felt a strange emotion tugging at his heart. Why was he pleased to have you in his presence? Why didn’t he want to move? 

He finished the section he was halfway through, and reached without looking for the seal to approve it. It wasn’t in the space on his desk between you and him and he scowled, thinking he’d misplaced it. “Fuck,” he hissed, turning his head to look for it. 

He saw it clasped softly in your hand. With gentleness he was not known to possess, he carefully pried it from your fingers, a twinge of regret in his heart as you stirred awake. 

It takes you a moment to realize where you are. Gentle fingers pull something out of your hand and a questioning hum leaves your parted lips. 

When you realize where you are, your heart stops. “We’re done for the night,” you hear him say softly. 

“My lord,” you stammer, quickly lifting your head from his shoulder. “Please forgive me, I’m so, so sorry.” You couldn’t even look at him. Embarrassment and fear washed over you in palpable waves. 

He frowns, his index finger going under your chin, lifting it to make you look at him. 

“There’s no need for that,” he says. 

You search his eyes and there’s no anger, no irritation. His expression looked almost questioning, but you couldn’t be sure. 

He stands from his chair, stretching before looking down at you, offering you his hand. You take hold and he assists you in standing, and the two of you make your way outside of his office. 

“Get some rest,” he says, his eyes lingering on you after he closes the door to his office.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur. “Goodnight.” 

He doesn’t reply, turning on his heel, heading towards the elevator. 

You make your own way to your assigned suite, barely staying conscious long enough to make it to your bed. 

The next morning, you’re still a little tired as you shuffle through your morning routine. You tie your hair up in some sort of semblance of a messy bun, motivation to do anything else with it completely gone today. 

You make your way to your office, mentally going through your to do list for the day. You started on your list, when you hear a knock at the door. “Enter,” you call. 

An agent enters, carrying a silver tray with coffee, cream and sugar in her hands. “This was sent for you, miss.” she says. 

You smile, “thank you so much,” you say, gesturing for her to set it down. She does, nods to you and takes her leave. 

On the tray, next to the cream, there was a small envelope. Curious, you opened it. You pull a long, slender key from it, and tied to it, from a silk ribbon was a note. 

Written in elegant handwriting was as follows: Wait for me in my office after work and don’t forget to bring more coffee. -S. 

You held the key tightly in one hand, a silly grin plastered onto your face as you read and reread his note. 

Your work day couldn’t end quickly enough. 

***

You balanced the tray with one hand and slipped his key into the lock with the other. Turning it, there was an audible click as you turned the door knob, opening the door. You pulled the key out and entered, closing the door softly behind you. 

He wasn’t there. On his desk, the stacks of papers were there just as you’d both left them last night, and so were the chairs. You set the tray down, and wondered how long he would be. 

His office was gorgeous. You hadn’t really paid much attention yesterday. It was furnished with pieces so ornate you didn’t even want to contemplate what they must have cost. You wandered to a bookshelf against the wall, pulled a random book from it and walked to the plush, leather couch in the middle of the room. 

You sat, opening the book, being careful with the pages. You read for about an hour, about ancient magic and ley lines before the door swung open, hitting the wall with an audible slam. 

Badly startled, you looked up at Scaramouche, who had a look on his face that spelled murder. You felt static in the air, the faint tingle of Electro sparking against your skin. 

You stood quickly. “My lord?” you question. 

He says nothing, slamming the door shut again. He remained facing the door, his shoulders tense as he tried to reign in his temper. 

You slowly approached him. “Lord Scaramouche,” you whisper, reaching out, slowly to touch his arm. 

He turned around to face you and your brow furrowed at his expression. You slipped your arms slowly around him. He didn’t resist, instead leaning into your embrace. He doesn’t hug you back but he places his forehead on your shoulder.

You don’t press him, you say nothing. After some time, he calms down and mutters that he was surrounded by idiots today, and what the fuck did he have to do to get underlings who could follow orders? 

Despite yourself, you laugh. He huffs against your neck and lifts his head to glare daggers at you. 

“It’s not funny,” he snaps. 

“It’s kind of funny,” you say, unafraid of him now. You reach out, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. 

His eyes pierce yours, his expression unreadable again. He moves closer to you and your breath catches in your throat when an iron grip wraps around your waist. His expression is suddenly superior. “You are playing a very dangerous game.” 

Your lips part and you feel your cheeks flush. You wanted to say something witty right back at him but words eluded you. 

“What’s the matter?” he asks, his face inches from yours. “You were so smug a minute ago.” 

You couldn’t speak when his lips found your neck. You gasped and your reaction spurred him to continue. 

“You will wear your hair down from now on,” he commanded, his fingers going on top of your head and breaking the hair tie holding your messy bun in place. “Say you will,” he said, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back to expose your neck. 

Your fingers go into his hair, raking through it as he kisses all over your throat. “I’ll wear my hair down, my lor—“ 

“Scaramouche,” he says, giving you unprecedented permission to call him only by his name. He kissess your jaw, then finally your lips. His kiss is yearning, passionate, and tender. 

You kiss him back, gasping into his lips and he smiles against you. Your heart pounds and you’re certain he can hear it as he slips his tongue into your mouth. His arms are possessive around you, in stark contrast to the sweet way he was kissing you. 

“Archons,” he whispers, his face going into the crook of your neck. He closes his eyes when he feels gentle kisses on the side of his face. 

He reluctantly pulls away from you. You look up at him, smiling happily. He smirks back at you, before flicking your forehead. “That’s for earlier.” 

“Ow!” you protest, covering the spot he’d flicked with your hand. 

“Oh, shut up and come help me finish this shit,” he says. 

You mumble incoherently as you follow him to your chair, but you’re not even halfway angry and he knows it. Damn him to hell. 

***

You twirl one of his pens that probably costs more than what you made in a month absentmindedly between your thumb and index finger. “I don’t understand this one at all,” you confess, taking the related pages and sliding them over to him. 

“It’s fine,” he says, taking them from you. “Let’s stop for today. I can finish this tomorrow.” He stamps the page he was reading and places some pages in the “done” pile and you’re so pleased to see that there indeed isn’t much left. 

He turns to face you, and a twinge of some unknown emotion pulls at his heart when he sees how tired you look. “I’ll make sure you’re compensated for your time here.” 

“What? No,” you say, shaking your head. “Don’t you dare, Scaramouche. I wanted to help you. I wanted to be here.” You lift your chin in defiance. “I won’t let you pay me for this.” 

“You act like you have a choice,” he says, and suddenly you’re in his lap, pulled out of your chair by that iron grip. Archons, he was so strong. 

“Please?” you said, caressing his angelic face. “Please. I don’t want your money. I didn’t—I’m not here for that. I’m here for you.” 

He scoffs, trying so hard to pretend like you weren’t stirring emotions in his heart. “Fine, whatever then,” he mutters. 

He kisses you back when you lean into him a moment later, and when you leave his office for the night, he tells you to keep the key when you tried to return it to him. 

***

Signora strolls into your office one morning, not even bothering to knock. “Get out,” she snaps at the young recruit, who you were just finishing up with. You grit your teeth in annoyance as the young girl scrambles out of your office like a terrified mouse. 

“Lady Signora,” you mutter, “good morning.” Your fingers reach for the pen tucked behind your ear. It was the one you’d—uhem—stolen from Scaramouche. “How can I assist you?”

“Begin packing your belongings immediately,” she says, looking at her flawless manicure. “You’ll be leaving with me the day after tomorrow to Inazuma.” 

“What?” you asked, your eyes going wide with disbelief. 

She glares at you with irritation. “What part didn’t you comprehend? You’re being reassigned.” She tosses an envelope at you before turning to leave your office. “Be ready to leave as instructed.” 

You sank into your chair as your shaking hands tore open the envelope. Contained within were your orders to relocate to Inazuma and in the corner, was the seal of La Signora herself. 

***

Scaramouche sat at his desk, diligently writing instructions to be sent to the agents stationed in Mondstadt, when the sound of a key sliding into the lock on his door drew his attention. He smirked, knowing it was you. It was so early in the day. Did you miss him that much? 

You opened the door, and the smile he wore left his face when he saw your stricken expression. “(Name), what is it?” 

“S-Signora…” you whispered. “She’s…she’s reassigning me to Inazuma with her in two days.” Tears stained your face, and you tried hard to hold back the sobs that rose from your chest. 

Scaramouche looked critical. Like hell you were going anywhere if you wanted to stay. He wondered why you were so upset. 

“Are you going to say anything?” you asked, wiping your tears with your sleeve. Does he not care one bit? 

Scaramouche blinked. He was baffled as he gestured you over to him. You complied, and you didn’t wait for his permission before you settled yourself miserably into his lap. He smiled softly when you tucked your face into his neck. 

He was quiet and calm when he reached into a drawer on his desk, for a blank document and for a pen. You heard the sound of a pen gliding against expensive paper and your heart ached. You didn’t look,  but you assumed he’d just resumed what he was doing before you burst into his office, a crying mess. 

He opened a different drawer and pulled an envelope from it. He shifted you slightly so he could reach for his seal across his desk. He then stamped whatever he’d just written. “You’re friends with number 11, are you not?” he asked. 

You sniffled, wondering why on earth he was asking. “Yes,” you answered, pushing yourself back so you could sit up straight. 

“Good. He can make himself useful today.” Scaramouche said. 

Frustrated, you were about to ask what he meant, but before you could, he startled you, barking for an agent. The same girl who had brought you your coffee the other morning rushed into his office. 

“My lord?” she asked, bowing deeply. 

“Take this to Tartaglia immediately,” he said, holding the envelope out to her. 

She rushed forward to retrieve it.  “Yes, my lord.” She bowed again before hastily dashing out of his office.

“Is Childe back?” you asked. 

“This morning I believe,” he replied, nonchalantly. He picked up his pen again and returned to his previous task, stroking your hair softly with his other hand. 

“I hate her,” you said softly. 

He hummed. “She is of no consequence.” 

“That’s easy for you to say, Scaramouche,” you snapped. “She can’t just make you rearrange your whole life with a snap of her fingers like she just did to me.” 

And then he understood. “Do you think I’m so incapable?” he asked coldly. 

“What?” you asked. 

“If you didn’t come to me because you know I’m stronger than Signora, why the fuck are you here, hm?” 

“Scaramouche—“ you began. 

“Do you want to stay or don’t you?” he asked, his eyes flashing. 

“Of course I do!“ you said, clutching the front of his shirt. 

“Say it,” he said, his voice low. 

“I want to stay with you. I don’t want to go to Inazuma with her.” You cupped his face with both of your hands. “Please don’t let her take me.” Your arms slipped slowly around his neck. “I’m sorry. Please, don’t let her take me.” 

“Don’t ever doubt my ability to keep that which is mine,” he said gruffly, one arm going around your waist at last. “Signora is nothing.” 

You nodded, softly kissing his neck. You heard the sound of his pen against paper again and you relaxed entirely against him. 

You’d nearly fallen asleep in his lap when the door to his office slammed open, startling you. You turned to see Signora, holding a crumpled document in her gloved hand.  You scrambled to get off of his lap, but he held you in place, murmuring softly for you to stay. 

“You have some nerve barging in here uninvited,” Scaramouche drawled, adjusting you gently on his lap, into a position more comfortable for him. 

“No, you have some nerve!” she shot back. “What is the meaning of this, Scaramouche?” She held up the parchment. 

“What do you think it is?” he asked. “I’ve countered your orders to relocate (Name), and so has Tartaglia.” He sounded positively bored. 

“My unit will need a healer,” she snapped back. “Inazuma is hostile. The girl will come. She’s not needed here just for you and Childe and a few trainees.” 

“You’re overruled, Signora,” he said, like he was talking to a petulant toddler. “Find another healer, or don’t. I really don’t care. Now, get the fuck out.” 

“Listen to me Scar—“ you heard Signora say, and then you felt the boy beneath you tense with anger. 

“You are one sentence away from dying where you stand,” he said softly, his voice low and deadly. “The girl is mine. I outrank you, bitch. And even if I didn’t, it wouldn’t matter because you’re no match for me. Now, if you don’t want proof that what I’m saying is the truth, get out of my sight.” 

Signora seethed, but she didn’t say another word before she stormed out of the office, slamming the door so hard, the walls rattled. 

Scaramouche sighed, agitated. “The fucking shit I have to put up with.” 

You looked at him, tears sparkling in your eyes. You straddled his lap, surprising him. Your lips found his, and he could practically taste the relief you felt as he kissed you. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. You were breathless and all you wanted was him. 

Possessive hands tugged you closer against him and he looked into your eyes. “No one is going to take you away from me.” His fingers moved to brush a strand of hair behind your ear when his fingers touched something slender hidden in your hair. He pulled his pen out from behind your ear and scoffed. “You little thief!” 

You laughed, and though he’d never admit it out loud, he loved how you sounded. “I wanted something of yours to keep with me during the day when I’m working.” 

He was speechless. He didn’t know how to respond or why what you’d just said made him so damn happy. How had you weaseled your way into his heart? He never let anyone so close; he never wanted anyone so close. 

“Archons,” he said at last, pressing the extravagant pen into your hand. You beamed up at him and took it, and he tightened his hold on you. “What have you done to me?” 

“Nothing that you haven’t done to me,” you replied. 

He tucked your head under his chin. “You better take care of that pen. That’s my favorite one.” 

You laughed again and he decided he’d do anything, deny you nothing if it meant he’d get to hear that sound. 

Cozy pixel library for Kaveh and Haitham :)

Reblog, click the picture, and prepare for battle.

🎭 just playing the part !

a social media au | scaramouche x gender neutral reader

synopsis: you and scaramouche are both drama majors and have been at each other’s throats vying for the same lead roles since high school. but when you’re both cast as each other’s love interest in your second year you’re forced to be civil with your academic rival and see him in a new light. are his feelings for you true or is he just playing the part?

genre: modern college au, enemies/rivals to lovers, fluff, crack, angst if you squint

status: - ongoing, random updates, will try not to drag it out

warnings! time stamps don’t matter, unsupportive parents, mentions of alcohol and weed, will add more if needed, slight ooc?

ACTION!

the cast:

↳ y/n’s gang | scara’s “friends”

ACT ONE — new year same me cus i’m perfect !

01. the announcement

02. on the edge of my seat

03. beat me to it

04. the amigos

05. an unexpected companion

06. a one night stand

07. red flag

08. auditions

09. anticipation

10. monopoly ruins friendships

ACT TWO — the show must go on !

11. i won but at what cost

12. just admit you’re a virgin

13. i’m kinkshaming you

14. he’s a ten but he has mommy issues

15. grape lookin ass

16. enemies with benefits

17. will you be my bf? (totally not clickbait!)

18. wikihow perfect first kisses

19. with the taste of your lips i’m on a ride

20. bereal? id rather bedead / 20.5 confirm or delete

ACT THREE — break a leg !

21. is this what friends do?

22. twenty-one questions

23. walk him like a dog

24. free therapy

25. suffer in silence

26. kiss cam

27. falling for ya, literally

28. emails i cant send

29. yes or yes

30. loyalty tests

ACT FOUR — curtain call !

31. making it big

32. the it couple

33. after party; epilogue

CUT!

tag list — closed!

author’s note: i wanted to try smth longer tumblr needs more scara aus since we unlocked his heartbreaking backstory ,,, o(╥﹏╥)o i’m doing a college au! go easy on me this is my first long smau !! if u want me to continue it pls lmk i need motivation,,i’m also in college so i don’t have an update schedule lmao

✨✨✨

marigold promises

pairing: albedo x gn!reader

genre: social media au, modern/college au, childhood friends to academic rivals to lovers, slow burn

summary: it was evident that you and albedo have changed in the five years you’ve spent apart, but you know better than to view him through the lens of nostalgia. with one goal on your mind – graduate valedictorian – who better to stand in your way than the studious, intelligent, ice-cold albedo? one thing’s for sure: he’s going down.

warnings: swearing, crack, light angst

status: ongoing

author’s notes:

my first smau hehe. i’ve been working on this for a while so i’m really excited! updates will be sporadic but i’ll do my best to update often.

the timestamps don’t matter unless i say they do!

written chapters are marked with (☕︎)

profiles:

coffee addicts ([name]’s friends)

donut disco (albedo’s friends)

act i —whetheri likeit or not... || playlist

01. finally, a worthy opponent!

02. why pay for netflix?

03. if looks could kill

04. impromptu cramming session

05. enigma (☕︎)

tba

act ii — it’s always been you || playlist

tba

taglist:@fvkkyu @mintreen@edreee @khyllynnn @xxmirrorballxx@aiikalvr@yaefics @ch35hir3 @aequha @alch3myy@lovely-althxa @nei-rinn @cridtiins @zestrya @skylions-den@moriiartt @theother-victoria@sunsethw4 @dazaisfavgf @serossidechick @koiir @lazy-sanns

— the taglist is currently open! if you’d like to be added feel free to reply or send in an ask! – if your blog isn’t highlighted it means i can’t tag you.

savior amidst snowstorms.

# — pairing: snow prince!albedo x gn!reader

# — characters: snow prince!albedo, gender neutral reader

# — summary: moments before it all ends, a figure comes to your rescue.

# — warnings: mentions of blood, death, near-death experience (reader)

# — tags: first meetings, implied violence, unspecified injuries, introduction to au piece, angst (??), reader is in LOTS of pain and wishes for death but no MCD

# — notes: SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGSSSS I FINALLY WROTE SOMETHING I LIKE ABOUT SNOW PRINCE!ALBEDO AAAAA I CAN'T WAIT TO WRITE MORE! reblogs and reactions are greatly appreciated, and i hope you enjoy this (and are curious about it, too!)

wanna join the tag list?

✧ — ❄️ + 🌼 — ✧

i'm going to die here.

that is all you can think as you watch the lawachurl shamble towards you. you did all you could. you put up one hell of a fight; originally you were faced with at least ten hilichurls, all of which you managed to defeat. you didn't escape from that confrontation unscathed, but they were dead, and you were still breathing. unfortunately all the commotion lured the attention of a lawachurl in the distance, and now you were staring down the cause of your inevitable demise. the hilichurls you faced earlier left you cut up and bruised, so you're in no state to take this thing on.

like hell i'd be able to anyway, you think as it lumbers closer. even in the cold, you can smell the stench of raw death wafting off of this hulking creature. how many adventurers has it feasted on? how many unfortunate souls have fallen to this thing? whatever the number is, you know in your heart that you're about to add onto it. a sharp sting of pain shoots up your leg as you try to step back and gain some distance from it. a hilichurl arrow pierced your thigh deeply, the point of which is still firmly lodged in there. only now, when the adrenaline has started to make way for fear, do you feel the acute agony of it all. all of your injuries seem to weigh on you now, the time when you need it the least.

boom. the snow-covered ground seems to rattle under your feet as the lawachurl comes closer. about ten paces away now. it's a miracle the thing hasn't lunged at you, else you'd have made a fine dinner by now.

boom. nine paces. it's almost tame in its demeanor. in its eyes, you see nothing but a predatory hunger. blood from your wounds hits the fresh snow with a soft plip-! and though you can't see its nostrils, you're prety sure they must've flared at the smell.

boom. boom. seven paces. dragonspine is about to become your icy grave. what did you even come here for, anyway? what could have possibly been so important that you'd put your life on the line like this? was it some silly commission? some old adventurer's tale? what does it even matter? nothing matters in the face of death.

boom. boom. five paces. this is it. you let your grip on your sword slacken and you hear the metal collide with the snowy floor. what use is it to you at this point, anyway? the lawachurl reaches out. you let your eyes slip shut and brace for a painful death.

but it never comes.

you count each breath you take expecting the next one to be your last. after the fifth one though, you hesitate to take a sixth as you're curious as to why you're still breathing. by now, the lawachurl should have you in its frosty grip, crushing your ribs. why are you still alive?

you open one eye and are surprised to see the lawachurl not even facing you. its back is to you and it's down on one knee with its head lowered. even with such a hazy mind, you recognize that posture. it's one of servitude, of submission. another surge of fear grips you by the throat. is there something that even a beast like this would bow its head to? what could possibly possess more strength than this creature on this icy hellscape? you hobble to the side to get a glimpse of the new arrival.

there's... nothing there. great. not only are there abominations on this mountain, but it would appear that it's haunted, too. you have half a mind to scream. how much longer will the universe dangle death in front of you? you don't like being teased, much less with your own safety. a frigid gust of wind nearly knocks you over, forcing your eyes shut. the blood that leaks from your head seems to crystallize, making it hard for you to open your eyes. you manage to pry one of them open to peer out into the distance; surely, you're imagining things. the mountain is many things, but haunted couldn't possibly be one of them... right?

the way forward is almost misty, the gusty snow obscuring the view of what's ahead. but through it all, you make out a figure of something. a silhouette of a person walking your way.

a person? that can't be right. a cryo lawachurl wouldn't be bowing to a human. you squint and try to focus, a part of you hoping that the figure turns out to be that of another, potentially more horrifying, monster. yet the silhouette remains the same. it's clearer now that it's closer. it's that of a man — his stride seems smooth, his body seemingly unbothered by the chaotic snow whirling around him. he appears untouched by the elements, almost.

you gulp. maybe you shouldn't rule out a haunting just yet.

you can't run, so you're forced to watch as the man comes closer and closer still. when he breaks through the mist, you take notice of how ethereal he looks amidst the snowstorm. his hair is a pale blond and reflects what little sunlight comes through the clouds. it reaches just below his shoulders and is almost neatly pulled into a braided half ponytail. his skin is pale and his eyes are a sharp teal that cut through the whiteness of your surroundings. his white coat bears navy blue and gold embellishments and his hands are gloved. he extends one to the monster and you see his lips move, though you can't hear his words over the whirlwind of snow. only when the hulking beast beside you moves do you realize what he said.

"arise."

you yelp and, for the first time in minutes, your body moves. you crash into the snow beneath you unceremoniously and with a loud groan. everything hurts. you're truly defeated. the man's lips move once more and the lawachurl approaches him with a bowed head. to your horror, it looks as though he's speaking to it — even worse is that it appears to understand him. if he were to give the order, that thing would tear you limb from limb. you don't know if you should waste your last breath begging for your life, or if you should just go back to accepting your demise with open arms.

neither of those choices are correct, apparently, because when the lawachurl faces you once more, gone is the intense bloodlust you'd felt moments earlier. it approaches you again, this time seeming calm. the man behind it comes closer, allowing you to see it better. maybe you're delirious with pain, but you notice that he's extremely attractive. there's a certain elegance to his features, his cold, calculating stare making you want to bow your own head in submission.

yeah. definitely delirium. you're losing your mind.

"if you're going to kill me," you say, your throat lined with needles, "then please, don't let me suffer. make it quick. i'm in enough pain as is."

those teal eyes regard you closely. there isn't a lick of emotion on his face. "do you need assistance?" he asks. his voice, too, is devoid of emotion.

you blink your one eye slowly and notice dark spots in your vision. it won't be long before you lose consciousness. and hopefully, your life, too. look at you; so badly damaged that you're wishing for death. the man before you doesn't move an inch as he awaits your response. you spit blood onto the icy ground away from you. "just... kill me." you rasp. "please."

"i do not wish to see you dead." his crystalline lashes seem to flutter. if you didn't know any better, you'd think him an angel. it's a shame there's no wings protruding from his back. "i wish to aid you. will you allow me to do so?"

you stagger. "please." you beg. "just..." the dark spots grow suddenly, consuming your world. you plummet into darkness before you can finish your sentence and collapse into the snow, never to see the sun again.

...or so you'd think.

you awake with a start, your body screaming at you with every frantic breath you take. you pat yourself down despite the aching of your wounds. all of your flesh is relatively intact — did you seriously survive that encounter? what the hell was all of that? the hilichurls, the monster, the weird angel-man—

wait a minute.

once more, you pat yourself down. you feel bandages in various places, each one meticulously wrapped around your appendages. you look down at your legs and find them buried beneath luxurious cream-colored silk sheets. come to think of it, the mattress supporting your weight feels like it's curving to meet your body — where the hell are you?!

you do a quick sweep of the room and an unknown emotion makes itself present. you're not sure whether to feel awe, fear, or curiosity. the room is fit for royalty: its floor-to-ceiling windows are crystal clear, allowing for a perfect view of the snowy mountain outside, the floors are marbled and polished, the furniture seems antiquated, yet grand all the same, the silvers and golds either woven through the cushions or embedded in the harder surfaces. this place, imposing and majestic as it might be, seems frozen in time — no one has touched this place in ages, yet it seems well-cared for. your head feels ready to explode. who in the archons' name would—?

"you've awoken."

you're not proud of the shriek that rips past your lips at the sound of the voice. (you're even less proud of the fact that you can hear it echoing off of the walls. was it really that quiet in here?) you turn to see the man from outside standing in your doorway, his features less illuminated, yet still regal in the dim lighting.

"i'm not going to harm you." his face remains as passive as ever. "please, don't shout."

"wh-why wouldn't i?" you retort. you break into a fit of hacking coughs. how did you not feel this ill a second ago? adrenaline sure works in strange ways. only now do you feel how flushed and clammy your skin is, how the banging in your head rivals that of a swordsmith forging a weapon, how painful it is just to take a breath. you ease yourself back into a lying position. you can't defend yourself like this. "you were communicating—" you pause to cough again— "with that monster outside! you could have killed me."

the man is at your side in the blink of an eye. an icy hand rests on your forehead and you feel a near instant relief. your eyes slip shut against your will. "you're running a high grade fever," he points out. "but i do not understand why you think me to be a threat when i saved your life. is gratitude lost on people in modern times?"

though spoken so evenly, such a biting response doesn't fit your image of this guy. who does he think he is? "you should have let me die." your voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. "let me die in peace." you partially mean it. the brief moments of clarity are nothing in comparison to the agony you're in. hell, you may as well be dead already. perhaps this is just what was waiting for you after you crossed over.

the man moves and you hear some shuffling. "i... don't want you to." he's whispering. it's almost like he's speaking to himself. "allow me to help you. please."

you can't make heads or tails of anything anymore. "water," you plead. your body is truly on its last legs. you're begging, though if you were of clear mind, you wouldn't reasonably ask this man for a thing; survival instincts have kicked in, and you're only trying to use what's been given to you. "give me water, please."

instead of the cold water you expected, you feel your head being propped up and hot water (tea?) slides down your throat instead. it's infinitely better than the ice water you had imagined — the relief is instant, and the spikes in your throat seem to clear almost immediately. before you can ask for more, some more is already being offered at your lips, and you drink eagerly, like a dying man in a desert. once you've had your fill, you're being eased back down, your body feeling just a touch better than before. words of gratitude don't make it out of you, so you settle for a sigh. you feel your consciousness slipping once more. dimly, you think there must have been a sedative in that drink. must be medicinal, you think, seeing as your throat doesn't hurt much anymore.

"the medicine will act faster if you rest." the man's voice seems so far away. "when you wake, please allow me the honor of knowing your name."

with the last of your energy, you breathe your own name in a whisper. you can almost hear the smile in the man's voice as you tread back into darkness.

"my name is albedo," he says. "it'll be my pleasure to greet you when you're fully conscious. get some sleep, now."

like you need to be told twice. almost on command, you fall into a deep, restful, dreamless sleep.

✦ oh my god. OH MY GOD??? SNOW PRINCE!ALBEDO INTRODUCTION??? WHEN'S THE FIC ZUZU???

✦ i actually am VERY proud of this. it's not the intro that i've been dreaming about for... what, a year? but i like the setup. i can't wait to build this au again.

i think about this a lot