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tired-teacher-blog · 3 months

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Virgin Pro hero Iida whose mind couldn't be less concerned about the subject despite him nearing his thirties.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who usually brushes off his friends' teasing words about him being "clueless around girls" and "surely to die alone" since his one and only goal in life is to be a hero worthy of carrying his brother's title, and nothing more.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who has the habit of scolding you each time you playfully ask him out on a date since he's just so used to everyone's mocking and believes it's what you're doing as well.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who is tragically unaware of your true feelings for him, and for someone who appears to be quite sharp and brainy, he constantly misses the longing gaze in your eyes.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who finally agrees to join you for dinner one evening just to shut you up and put an end to your pestering, only to wind up having a wonderful time with you, away from the usual stress of work.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who starts freaking out the moment he realizes that your soft voice and beautiful face are now hunting him, plaguing his every waking hour and rendering his mind a tangled mess, and the more he tries to deny it, the clearer it becomes that you are no longer just a dear friend to him, but potentially something a lot more than that.

Virgin Pro hero Iida whose peculiar tics seem to worsen around you, prompting your confusion as you watch him lose his composure before disappearing without a trace.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who secretly wishes you would ask him out again since he cannot bring himself to do it no matter how much he tries.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who almost yells his agreement when his wish finally comes true as you casually suggest having a drink together after work.

Virgin Pro hero Iida whose blush refuses to leave his face while he strives to keep his cool around you, beating himself up for seeming like a loser, but is unaware of how adorable he appears to you.

Virgin Pro hero Iida whose priorities start to shift and broaden a bit -to potentially include you- the moment your hand accidentally brushes against his own when walking you back home after your fourth date.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who can never explain the persistent heat waves washing over his body everytime you flash him a smile or call out his name, and in his confused virgin brain, it can only mean him suffering from an illness which seems to aggravate with your presence. Yeah, that must be it.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who almost breaks into laughter when he realizes the real reason behind his inexplicable state the moment you share your first kiss. It was never a virus or a mysterious syndrome that hit him, it was simply you all along.

Virgin Pro hero Iida whose arms shakily sneak around your waist and bring you against his toned chest to prolong this magical moment while your lips are moving perfectly together.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who's unaware of the prominent smile plastered across his face for days now, his eagerness is growing by the second and the feeling of your soft breath fanning over his face as you leaned back from the kiss, is still vivid in his memory.

Virgin Pro hero Iida whose body stiffens -but only for a second- the moment you invite him into your apartment with a suggestive glint in your eye. He's not stupid, and understands your intentions perfectly as they mirror his own, but his restlessness and excitement are messing with his brain and preventing him from voicing his approval, so much so that he ends up stiffly stepping inside without a word.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who's barely able to form a coherent thought all throughout the movie you suggested watching together, and whose only interest seems to be in the way your fingers are absentmindedly playing with his own.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who's just about reached his limit when you clumsily move to straddle his waist and claim his lips in a tender kiss as the end credits roll up the screen.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who curses under his breath when feeling his cock hardening against your restless hips, he wants more but is unsure of how to proceed, or if it is even possible for him to withstand your teasing without bursting in his pants.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who suddenly stands up while holding you in his arms, searching your eyes for a permission to carry you to bed, and stumbling his way there when you shyly nod an approval.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who lays you down gently and kneels before you, a deep flush reaching the tips of his ears as he racks his brain for what to do next.

Virgin Pro hero Iida whose blush undeniably grows when you start giggling at his clumsy state and softly ask him to follow your lead as you guide his moves.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who's a quick learner, promptly takes control and relishes the way your directing words jumble up with broken moans as you finally give in to him.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who is a gentleman, does his utmost to pleasure you, as best as his virgin body allows, and boy does he do that!

Virgin Pro hero Iida who whimpers loudly while feeling your warm walls squeezing him blissfully for the very first time, praying to God not to cum right then and there as the sensation is driving him insane.

Virgin Pro hero Iida whose tears are threatening to spill as he buries his face in the crook of your neck before giving in to them.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who cannot get enough of your warmth surrounding him, strokes, kisses and embraces you all night long while moving slowly and deeply into your heat and taking the time to explore your lustful body.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who breathlessly watches your enticing body splayed underneath himself with the hope of itching this heavenly image of you deep in his memory.

Virgin Pro hero Iida who is proud and elated to have you as his first, it was never about losing his virginity but rather, about experiencing it with the right person, and that is precisely who you are.

Divider by : @/cafekitsune

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dogbites-puppylove · 1 month

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Devil Sins

The Batfam and the deadly sin that colors their life, and the virtue of their darling

TW: Yandere behavior (obsession, possessive behavior and unhealthy ideations), mention of suicide ideation and s/h as well as gore

Tags: Yandere! Batfam x reader

Bruce Wayne: Pride

Within Gotham, it's common knowledge that when crimes wretched hands come down to slit your neck you do not clasp your hands and pray to God, no - you whisper your tears into a puddle of blood and give your reverence to hold out for Batman. It is under no exaggeration that divinity in the cursed city leaves justice to crumbled bones and puddles of teeth and tongue, and its cruel master in the form of a man with no face. It's fitting, for a city of corruption and bile. Gotham’s god is its dark knight with steel for bones and scripture of flesh, man made Godhood with flawed creation in its wake. But man has never been meant to hold godhood, the pathway of immortals too cruel and demanding, even with those who have wielded its deadly blade of eons it rips into them. Tearing at seams and breaking into them until their pieces can be glorified in the stained windows of churches.

Batman is divinity within mortal confines. There have been prayers and hymns in his name, retribution in his name and the painful dependency of creator and creation waged on him. Batman is an entity that is nothing but iron and brimstone, unbending and unfeeling, but Bruce Wayne, the man who created this creature whose only split from being a monster is a bloodied and beaten code, is painfully human. He feels each failure weigh on him, aging him past his own casket and decaying him even as he still breathes, it cradles his head during the night and whispers the screams of those he has watched fall.

Every time Batman stands tall, Bruce can feel something small and young turn decrepit and vile in his stomach until it erupts from him like bile from the back of his throat. He thinks it must be the humanity of a son who in truth, died with his parents in that alley. It slices his open, cutting his flesh to ribbons, and gorges itself on his organs only to fill him up with something inhuman. It's with bated breath with lungs that have been clouded with smog, that he waits for Batman to finally rule Bruce Wayne unfit and strangle him entirely.

Darling: Humility

The Darling acts as the humility to his pride, dragging him to his knees so archaically Batman shrivels in your presence. You are his humanity given form, the antithesis to his claim of being the perfect hero. You lead him by the nose, walking him on a leash so flawlessly he thinks you might have been born just to keep him grounded. Every scrape or bruise seems to repel the mission Batman strives for and replaces it with nothing, but a man stricken that he hadn’t done better. Each burn or scrape, even a paper cut drives guilt into him and brings a physical ache to his body like you had beaten him with a bat. Each mark burns the shame of a failed hero and leaves only the pathetic begs and whines of a man that can only be human.

If he could, he would spend his days by your side, affected by the intrinsic need to provide for you, leaving you physically and mentally unable and robbed of the ability to want. It's a desire that burns molten in his chest and drips down his limbs, it burns and aches at him as if trying to rip out of his chest and lick at your hand like a depraved dog. He would do anything for you, would render the world silent, bring you a heart on a platter, violate himself so terribly he could not know anything but his adoration of your presence and yet it still feels inadequate. A simple compliment from you leaves him bereft of ambition and scorn, leaving him on his hands clasped in prayer.

Batman may have been his creation, but Bruce Wayne is your own tool, use him to get what you want, change him for your own needs just keep him at hand. He'll be loyally and wholly (obsessively and blindly, almost rabid) yours. God bends to nobody's will, but Bruce Wayne knows down to the electrons snapping in his synapse that his place in this world is by your side, whether you point, whenever you deem fit. You’re his god, and himself nothing but a faithful follower.

Richard Grayson: Lust

Perhaps born from watching his parents, who should have been a constant, die in front of him a painful death filled with tourists' eyes and misplaced faith, right outside of his fingers grasps Dick has an inherent need to feel. For him, want runs in his skin like a conscious, whispering what he craves, giving voice to a voracity so impossible that it turns physical. He has known denial from the start, whether it be the blood of the man who stole his parents, a want that made his tongue ache and crawled at his ribs until his bones crackled, or the sweeter craving of a relationship, something that watered at his mouth. Want is something that has haunted him, growing obsessively until it reached lust.

Though sexual desire, of course, is something that is often attributed to it, it's not the only way lust presents itself. For Dick, it appears when he closes enough to reach out and feel flesh on his own, something tangible and it shocks him like a bad dog until he reaches out to soothe his skin. It appears in the dead of night when he can feel no other warmth than his blankets, even as he arches out and reaches pathetically into the air. It is a call of pathetic loneliness, so strong that when his younger brothers are cuddled drowning within him it is to try and get rid of the sudden echo, to try and merge them into one, until he is no longer Dick Grayson, and somehow a part of them. Somewhere in between the heat of a lover and the loyalty of a son, he realizes that being a part of a couple isn’t enough.

He wants like a man starved, all instinct and need, like a child who has been ripped out of his mother’s grasp before she has fed him fully, there is always something he’s not quite satisfied with. What he truly craves is a constant, a union, melting himself, and another so they can be poured into the same mold and make something new, indistinguishable from the other. And despite the carnal behavior of his want, he knows how to get it. He smiles full of charisma, grins with the sun and serenades with the moon to get his fixes, but each one leaves him starved, stricken for more. Like a bad addiction.

Darling: Chastity

The darling brings a chastity in his life, though not to say he wants less, but in the way a husband will fully devote himself to their wife. It’s the deceptive nature of a couple announcing a pregnancy and accidentally alluding to nights spent in bed. The darling hits a spot for him that leaves him mind numbingly euphoric, like a high that is reached after weeks and weeks of suspension. Every kiss has him feral, no better than an animal and chasing after you, every negligence has him whining by your feet, clinging to you. He grows incredibly dependent on your presence, on your touch and everything beneath.

With you his sharp mind bleeds into instinct, and the charisma he wields to pry himself into others good graces is left uselessly at the door. It’s a delusional dreamy trance, every hug sends him tumbling down further and further until his panting against your neck and thinking of nothing but you, you, you. He can feel himself slipping into your existence, swearing he can taste the coffee you drank in the morning, and can feel every cut or bruise you get without him present. His want for you is wet, sticky and binding, threatening to pull you over until you lose your mind along with him.

It’s almost laughable how pliant he is with you, a touch to his arm can have him following you over a cliff, a peck to the cheek and suddenly his on your lap whining for more. For all he is hard and angry, full of vigilante fights and bruised skin you wouldn’t even have to hurt him to kill him. With you, he can indulge himself fully, so much so that he wants no other. In fact any other touch leaves him lacking, so utterly entranced by you that he can no longer feel another’s skin unless it’s yours. To him, his darling and himself cannot be separated, they won’t go down in history but their names, but by the title for lovers. Nothing to define themselves but their own love.

Jason Todd: Wrath

Anger, to Jason, is an old friend that lives in his bones and whispers in his ears with every movement. He has used it well his entire life, a melting anger of forged iron against his father to keep him defiant, a indigent anger filled with a son's tears for his mother, the roar of inequality and social class that steals from the batmobile and the blinding and rash rush that leaves him as robin. It’s at first a soft motivation that keeps him alive, any good street rat knows, or any street rat still breathing that to stop means you’re as good as dead. He covets his rage, it's youthful and idealistic and keeps his heart beating.

Of course, after the pit (after being beaten to death in a warehouse of gasoline and gunpowder, watching his own blood relax as he’s robbed of his own, coming back ripping from his own skin and drowned in green only to find out his father-father-had left him unavenged. Left him replaced and gone) his anger has grown into something primordial. Too old to be Jason’s but so familiar he leans into it. It grows from his bones like ivy and twigs, poking out against his flesh and sewing itself under his skin so that the slightest breach sends it out to take root. Jason’s wrath is something that threatens to leave him choking blood, and yet it keeps him alive with the threat of keeping him running forever. It is the anger of a child on the poster who has never been found, and their stomach full of worms that burrows into his own. The tears of a case under the corrupt policeman’s file, and the ghosts scream in a house empty of their future. It’s all those who have ever been a statistic (as he has been) boiling over under his skin. Because Jason knows the wrath of the dead and unavenged intimately, it burns his memories in green and leaves his chest heaving with permanent mourning of mothers whose children were robbed and never found. It threatens to scratch away from the inside of his ribs until its nails finally rip him open in a mocking autopsy and wail into Gotham’s plugged ears.

Jason's violence, his actions and words, the bullets in his guns and glare under the hood are all reactions to this. As long as the world spins, as long as humans turn a blind eye to victims, and allow the injustice of the world to mold them, he will move. All his actions are an answer, a bullet through a man's cranium, the vengeance of a young girl with a ripped dress, a severed head, the relief of a child who watches their family bleed out for powdered death. Each and every shout of Red Hood, every puddle of blood he coats the ground on proof that he is still moving. Because Jason’s wrath is old and an answer, to the boy in the warehouse, to the boy in the ground and mounted not as a son but a soldier. It’s a solution to the fear that manipulates his chest that should he stop moving he’d be buried again.

Darling: Patience

Jason is a man of action and violence, fear turned into anger because above all he is a man cursed with empathy. With his darling the fear that curdles his insides soothes, like a mother rubbing her child’s stomach and singing a special song to keep the pain away. The world will keep moving regardless of him taking a break, and he has the blinding panic of staying in time, and yet his darling is a perfect encapsulation of time. Something preserved beautifully, a painting stuck in motion, the words on his books that are remembered through words and tongue. The tint of red becomes a pastel pink, and suddenly he’s so, so weak.

With his darling he closes his eyes without fear of waking up decaying. A sweep of your hand against his cheek will pull a sigh of pleasure from his throat suddenly free of phlegm and blood, even a harsh hit will feel divine. His darling functions as a sort of “moment” , something trapped in time and solely for Jason. Much like opening a book, the story is forever clashing but the words stay all the same, waiting for the reader. It’s with you the anger that has kept him moving for so long, washed away, like the dirt clinging to his skin under water. It's freeing and leaves him shakily bare, with you he weeps, with you he grows and stays forever yours. You are life itself, something ancient and timeless at the same time. The nostalgia of losing a tooth and excitement of a birthday party wrapped into tender song and softer skin.

It’s a common sight to see him cry when with you, prayer in the form of tears that are just for you. He spends his days in a lovestruck haze, almost as if he’s been drugged. For Jason there is no constant, no surety but you. He would do anything to keep you perfect, safe and just as you always are. He'll care for you much like a beloved heirloom, of course he loves you with a severance that would scare most, but you are something he seeks to preserve. Nothing can hurt you, will hurt you, you’ll remain untouched until you reach out yourself. Your presence alone is enough for him to intoxicate himself with, bask in forever. But should you give I’m a sliver of your attention, allow him to enter your perfect little world? He’ll be lost forever.

Tim Drake: Gluttony

The most intimate feeling Tim knows is hunger, perhaps not for food but for anything and everything else. Obsession is his most familiar form of companionship, stuffing picture after picture of his object of affection until he can drown in them. In his house of echoing walls and emptiness he comes to emulate it. He feels hollowness in his soul, some nights he wonders if he took a knife to his own side what he would find. Would it be organs? Perhaps a heart? Or would it be the void that has eaten all that made him and left him with a constant hunger to fill himself with? For a time, he manages to satiate himself with Batman and Robin, stalking and drinking them in over and over until one day it's stolen and left him with nausea so terrible. (And Tim still remembers the rawness of his skin as he is thrashing in his room, his throat bleeding from his wails of a boy he never met)

The more he gets the more he hungers, it’s something horrific and apathetic that leads him to chasing after his own fill. Case after case solved, fact after fact filtered and sorted through, Tim is insatiable. Like a well oiled machine, the fuel that keeps him going only works to find more fuel, it's a never-ending cycle of something that can no longer be deemed as human. Half of this can be attributed to the fact that it’s all the same to him, an angelic charity to a garish murder eh takes them and feasts on them all the sometime efficiency is more of a hook then anything, pulling others in so he can feast on them, devouring their mannerisms and habits, licking up and chewing on their thoughts until there nothing left of them.

One could blame this on the fact that the identity of “Tim Drake'' has never really been sought out, so there’s no substance to him. Something useless will obviously stay shiny, clean and unused, it's logical in all the ways it makes Tim want to throw a tantrum. It drives his mouth to salivate until he’s drooling over another function he can consume, another person he can mirror, another morsel to disappear within himself. And yet with each new meal he can only feel the void echo back louder, as if he had never eaten at all. Like a fire consuming too much wood that it withers out in anger, as if the trees that had been cut never existed in the first place. It threatens to force Tim to disappear forever.

Darling: Temperance

The temperance his darling offers is in the form of a craving rather than actual fulfillment. After just his first taste of you, Tim has been enraptured for you, nothing comes close to your unique temperament, your reactions, everything that makes you, you. You leave his mouth watering for more, nothing else can settle against his tongue the way you can, nothing can mimic the way you fill his head with static and leave him filled to the brim. He takes whatever kindness you give him and uses it as an invitation to learn more about you, an invitation to bear himself fully. Any preference you have, a favorite color or show, even general food preference will settle into Tim as if it had been his all along. Where he used to drink black coffee, has grown a taste for your favorite creamer, your playlist will be playing in the back of his head as he switches through W.E. work, it’s all you, you, you. Like a puzzle finally coming together,

Tim’s brain finally quiets down and is forced to digest. Any sort of attention you give him is a five course meal, any scorn is just as quickly devoured. You don’t quite stop the habit of obsession, but you give it direction. Tim has never known such direct want until you, a den he has no plans to stop his indulgent habits. He is ravenous for anything you toss to him, your voice, a text, an opinion, even just a little note, whatever you do stays, It’s a blessing and a curse. Because while the hunger pangs back in your presence, now nothing else can even come close to keeping him occupied.

He’ll obsess over you, crafting himself to be your perfect companion just so he can stay by your side and continue feeding. Everything in your life has a shade of him, your job, your house, your hobbies, even your electronics, each one a special situation he created to have you just a bit closer. Nothing else can come close to you, he’ll make sure you're well taken care of, all he asks in return is you.

Damian Wayne: Envy

Damian’s life is a unique contradiction. He was born the sole inheritor of a Thorne he is meant to fight for, something only he can own and yet is so unworthy he is kept from it. It forces him into a sense of jealousy, inadequacy and egregious entitlement. He could have anything he needs, but only as long as he earns it, it gives him a longing sense of feeling everything is out of his reach. That even should he hold the sword in his hands it cannot be called his. Not in the way a dog can call its food their own, and not in the way a writer can crow over their own creation. It leaves him painfully envious of others, of their right to their own possession, it leaves him vicious and poisonous. Part of the reason he squirrels away animals with so much intent, is because they’d be “His.” He’s their sole owner, and as beings with a conscience they can prove their loyalty.

His envy leaves him with harsh words and even deadlier scars, it forces him into a fine weapon and while it’s an ideal state for an heir it’s a broken state for a child. It leaves the boy wanting, fearful and anxious. His envy is young and childish, something not allowed, and it’s something weaponized. It’s part of the reason he defends the title of robin so freckly, not only because he believes himself right, but because it’s his in way the throne cannot be. Because it’s not a legacy he’s supposed to take, it's one he steals from himself. It’s his, in a way nothing has been since he first cried from the pit.

But even then, the title of partner that so many others have worn, cannot soothe the constant ire, the lashing out that comes with fear of being replaceable, of being nothing but a role, comes with. Because Damian has been born as his mother’s son, as his father's legacy, but not as his own person. It makes Damian feel unfit, unusable in the way he has seen his mother discard students who cannot kill. It burns him, kills him and with time he thinks he might just be a husk. Damian is nothing but competency and a perfect successor, a successor will never be their own.

Darling: Kindness

Ironically the kindness that tempers his own envy is not his own but instead, actions of his own darlings. He fully gives himself to you, gives you his very purpose to do what you want with. Should you order him to kill, order him to die, or to live he would do it without complaint. Tell him you want his heart and he will pry himself open and hand it over with a smile, tell him you want his laugh, and he will laugh himself manic until you tire of it. He is a fine blade, a weapon that has seen battle far too much already, and it’s your own kindness that stops it from going to battle. In essence Damian has made himself a role right by you, but has given up his autonomy of your manipulation. You’ve become his master, his owner and his loyal weapon.

Every action is your doing, every remark is for your benefit, and by giving himself to you, he can have you in a way nobody else can claim. Every smile, every hug, every word that you speak to him is something unique from a dynamic he has hand crafted, and therefore uniquely his own. He will store you away from others, wary of letting them stain you, and even more wary of letting them steal you. You’re his, his love, his heart, his blood, his purpose on this earth, and he cannot let another’s touch deter you from this. His darling is a salve to his aches, a bandage that wraps tight enough to manage to hold him together, and his actions are that with the purpose of binding you to him. Your purpose will be each other.

Author's Note: Another reupload! Previously known as lovesick-laboratories.

#yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader

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strwberri-milk · 12 days

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Listen okay corrupted Al haithem from the archon quest after he takes the forbidden knowledge coming home and rendering the reader absolute mess like no thoughts head empty only DICK

i love. feral men. so much.

His head was killing him. The forbidden knowledge coursed through him, making his mind foggy but he was no longer under the more dangerous affects of the capsule. All he could think about was being close to you, ruining your body and making a mess of you.

When he comes through the door you can tell something is different about him. You try to help him first but he convinces you that he's fine. He holds your hips against him, peppering your face in kisses as he tests your boundaries. You can feel his need pressed against you and he doesn't want to force you into doing anything.

You don't resist against the insistent press of his lips against yours, moaning into the kiss and giving him a light whine of his name. His eyes glow, pressing you up against the wall as he kisses you like a man starved. He adores you and wants you to know it, fingernails digging deeply into your hips.

He brings his hands to cup your ass, locking your legs around his hips and grinding against his erection. You love the way he feels against you, not minding how desperate you sound against him. He was thinking about you the entire way home and now that he's got you he can't help the animalistic growls that make its way out of his throat.

At some point you end up pinned against the bed, wrists bound above your head as he fucks into you roughly. You've made a mess between your thighs, his cum painting your body time and time again. Your voice is hoarse from the moans he forces out of your chest. You whimper in overstimulation, feeling like your body can't handle any more from him but his brutal pace refuses to stop.

You know that he's most likely shooting blanks at this point but he certainly isn't acting like it. He just wants to ruin you, make you remember nothing else but his name. He's glad when you just make desperate little noises, barely able to keep your eyes open at the sight of him still fucking into you.

You let him use you as he wishes, giving him the sweetest little noises whenever he kisses you. His mind clears a little, cooing sweet nothings into your ear as he starts to slowly grind into you. His pace is more measured, drawing out the last of your pleasure as he fucks into you for the last time, holding you tightly as he thanks you for being so patient with him. He'll make it up to you later but now he wants to just hold you, peppering your body in kisses.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #al haitham x reader #al haitham smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut

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hwaitham · 2 months

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𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓪 𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓯𝓪𝔀𝓷 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 ⋆ ࣪˖ 𓂃𓋜

al haitham x f!reader . sfw — hurt ﾉ comfort . established relationship . rewrite from an old blog ﾉ insecure reader ﾉ he calls u ‘ habibti ‘ + ‘ baby ‘ + ‘ sweetheart ‘ ﾉ non - sexual nudity ( ie. u bathe together ) ﾉ reader is heavily insp by me n' this is a piece i wrote to comfort myself over anything soo .. Ya ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა pwz b kind with ur comments thanku!!!! ꒱ྀི 3.9k wc

“i’m always clinging onto you… and i depend on you quite a bit… don't you find it to be bothersome?” (i’m sorry if my love for you feels harrowing, unbearable, suffocating; i’m sorry the only way i know how to love is like a child.)

all it takes you is one little step past the front door, and al haitham immediately realises you’re unhappy.

it's hard not to, when it comes as large as a raincloud hanging over the house.

first, a drizzle with the drag of your feet; steps that are normally light and fawn-like and struggling to catch up with his own long strides, a wee bit skittish and much more adorably clumsy than you’d care to admit, are now sluggish. devoid of their usual urgency and purpose.

then, a deluge, as he hears you heave a sigh from beyond his tome. you’re burdened by something, he notices, as you scuff along the hardwood floor, let your book bag—and subsequently your heart—tumble to the ground.

“welcome home.” al haitham rises from the daybed, coming to meet you in the foyer. “how… was work?”

something in his tone, the pause in his question and the uncharacteristic apprehension of it makes your heart wither and crumble. quick as ever is he with his eyes—most especially when it comes to you.

how you so wish in this moment that weren’t the case.

“fine!” your reply is light, “just, i’m a bit tired… is it okay if we eat leftovers from last night for dinner? i’m really sorry…” when you smile up at him, it doesn’t meet your eyes, nor too do your eyes meet his own.

lies—you’ve never been all that successful at convincing him of them, due in part to the guilt that you can’t keep hidden from your countenance, as well as the callowness of your voice that seems to render any falsity you utter ring with an air of untruth.

“it’s nothing to apologise for.” he says slowly, standing before you as he awaits the hug you always give him when you arrive home from work, the press of your ear over his heart. you up on the tips of your toes as you ask him for a kiss and to cut up a peach so you might feed them to each other as you sit on the sill facing village hills.

you do none of these, and al haitham wonders why.

walking past you, he ruffles your hair, softly scritches at your scalp. “go wash up; i’ll set the table.”

you want to speak, say thank you, but you can find no words. a deep melancholy breaks over you like a hurricane. it terrifies you. but still you lift your head, look past his ear as you smile again to hide all the woe-rapture that festers within.

and this is all it takes for al haitham to resolve that he will do something about it.

the tahchin is bitter on your tongue today.

grains of rice pebbly between your teeth, chicken tasting far too much of chicken and not the blend of spices it had been marinated in. it’s near unpalatable.

and just as it is unpalatable, it is a most arduous task to even lift your fork. the weight of your melancholy is clamped to your wrist and your jaw—it makes eating all the more difficult than it need be, and a knot at the back of your throat that feeds the taste of bile into your mouth only serves to darken the shadow that your malaise casts over dinner.

how is it: your favourite dish losing its ability to console, its only purpose to be a vessel for sustenance. yet, even at that, what sustenance does it provide you with when each bite makes you feel as though you might hurl?

“you’re not eating.” al haitham observes sharply, glancing at you out the corner of his eye. it’s a serious shortcoming in his mind, obviously, for someone who does so dearly enjoy her meals.

you shrug despondently and sigh, “suppose i’m just not hungry.”

as much as he may want to, al haitham doesn’t push further—his hand hovering over a button before deciding to leave it untouched in fear of what may come. and you’re grateful, that he doesn’t ask you what the matter is, and simply hums in acknowledgement before returning to his food.

(his silence casts a harsh stroke upon your heart.)

you’re grateful, truly, you are.

(you hear his voice in your head—‘are you alright, habibti?’, and quickly, you seize a grasp of your heart to stop the bleeding that threatens to reach your eyes.)

now you’ve gone and worsened the spoil of your appetite.

resting your fork on the worn wood table, you sigh yet again—this time around a soft wispy thing that does little to soothe the ache of your lungs, and turn your head to regard his profile.

the relaxed ridge of his brows and the handsome slope of his nose, lidded teal eyes that are always analysing, never idling; he is just as a diamond is. all sharp edges that glimmer and glint, not only in body but also in mind.

al haitham is beautiful by way of his nurturing and guiding in a seemingly unorthodox manner. generous with his intentions no matter how hard he may try to prove otherwise, clever and witty and always five steps ahead and so incredibly attractive in his self-assurance—oh, he is just perfect—as is the ground he walks upon and the air that floats over his head and each word that touches his lips.

what is he like… winter fields blanketed by the sun and the tips of flower petals after a deluge, bubbles in wine, diamonds, diamonds, all diamonds. he is a brilliant blue diamond in your night sky.

and you, what are you like?

puerile at heart and loud with your love. a wee bit foolish and entirely silly, always fumbling and mumbling and messing up in spite of trying your best.

if al haitham is as a diamond is, then perhaps you would best be suited to a pearl—with those little dewy globes resting on your lashes more often than not, a heart smooth to the touch and all the more fragile.

which, yes, does sound rather precious when worded in such a way, but you can’t help but wonder, if for al haitham you are too much.

whether your whimsies are too fantastical, and your brain is too often in the clouds and not in your head where it belongs. or whether the apple-sweet naivety that offers your heart up to anyone who shows you even a modicum of kindness, be it honest or corrupt, is too much of an annoyance to look after. you worry whether your love is too strong for someone like him who has grown so comfortable in his own company, like fire scorching his blood or the waves of the sea crashing along a cliff or the sticky residue of honey on fingertips that just won’t wash off.

these woes slather uncertainty over your spine, and before you can think, you’re already reaching over to clutch at al haitham’s sleeve.

it’s an effort to command his attention, silently, for if you call him by his name instead, you fear the tears may fly out your eyes and the pathetic hiccups out your throat and you’d weep until the end of eternity. that’s how it feels, anyway.

“yes, habibti?” al haitham wipes the corner of his lip with his thumb and lays down his fork just as you’ve done yours. he waits for your voice to fill the heavy air of the dining room, but when he notices the nervous nibble of your lip and the twiddles of your thumb, he sighs, pulls you in closer by the leg of your chair. “you know, you shouldn’t be afraid to tell me if anything’s troubling you. i’ll do my best to help however i can.”

his hand swallows your fist in a comforting embrace, plucking your fingers free one by one so that he can thread his between yours. it’s a challenge to not look his way when he behaves so darling, and in his eyes you see a certain pleading softness swimming round the edges of his pupils.

it’d be hard to notice to an untrained eye, what with his acts of romance mostly always lacking the entirety of pomp and blare in the world, but you can tell—of course you can.

it holds you spellbound, compels you to give in, and so, you reach your trembling hands past your ribs and take hold of your burgeoning heart, pay little heed to the rose thorns that scrape and scar it as you tug it free of its cavity. placing the lame organ in front of al haitham, you wince at all its clotted ugliness and self-serving insecurity.

“that’s exactly it… i cause a lot of trouble for you, don’t i.”

(am i too much? am i too overbearing?)

“i’m always clinging onto you… and i depend on you quite a bit… don’t you find it to be bothersome?”

(i’m sorry if my love for you feels harrowing, unbearable, suffocating; i’m sorry the only way i know how to love is like a child.)

“it’s just—” there’s a fracture in your voice and then a whimper that follows.

you’re quick to avert your gaze from him and down to the worn wood table, at your grubby plate of food. the words, recited in your head over and over slip away from your tongue and leave it laid with only scribbled thoughts; they float up—up—up… and then your eyes squeeze shut and your fingertips press anxiously into the space between his knuckles and your shoulders shirk in on themselves.

as many a time have you weeped before him—over the loveliness of a perfectly sunny day or a particularly sweet and excellent bite into a zaytun peach, over all things nonsensical and silly and things that one ought not to be weeping at. but in this moment, you feel obliged to hide your tears from him.

you’d rather he didn’t see you cry, at least, not over something like this.

not over yourself.

“it’s just, i can’t help but feel as though you’d fare better off with someone more like you—someone more sound in mind and less chaotic at heart, perhaps. i dunno…” you pick idly at your food, the tooth of your fork accidentally sending a grain of rice flying to the floor under the pressure of its touch. how unfortunate. “i don’t know…”

(i wish i were more like you. maybe then i’d feel like less of a liability at your side.)

in all your days of loving al haitham, you’ve only presented your heart to him as a dog would to its human, but today you’re atoning. it’s near sacrificial—your laments and apologies for being too much, too little, not enough, whatever.

your heart waits anxiously before him: sliced down the precise centre, carmine, bleeding, beating.

and for the first time since you’ve come bounding into al haitham’s life, his house is silent, though, this silence seems to dislike being broken as he mulls yours words over—save for the sad hymns sung by the wind and the gauche scritches and scratches of your fork atop ceramic.

the tears begin to brim and froth behind your lash-line, like milk on the stove that boils and isn’t being kept a watchful eye over. yet, even as your vision begins to blur, you know al haitham is glancing your way.

he takes your heart into his mouth and cradles it gently within his maw.

“is this what’s been on your mind? silly girl.”

your lover leans into your personal space and flicks your forehead gently, coaxing your gaze from your lap to his face.

“your heart is rather big.”

(you make it easy to adore you. and i like that. it saves me so much trouble making myself adore someone.)

“you both love and loathe it in equal parts.”

(you will always be so free and blithe, as you will always be naive and afraid. such is the eternal nature of your heart—it will coddle and weather in its fragility until its last days. won’t you trust it to me to make sure of? to care for?)

“yes—you cry too often, and you forgive too easily, and you worry too much about those who aren’t deserving of your care, and you feel guilt too strongly over things you have no control over.”

(you are so precious, so pure, so full of infinite compassion for the world.)

“it’s easy for one’s heart to be trampled over if it’s held in their palms, for the world to see. just as you hold out your’s.”

(to me, your beauty lies heaviest within your fawn heart.)

al haitham’s words are veined with ice, and your lips freeze in their subtle pout—one that wobbles on the edge of a dejected frown, “it’s not like i mean for it to—”

“but don’t you realise that’s why i’m here? why i’ll continue to be here? to catch your heart before it has a chance to get trampled over, and to tend to it when it does?” the ice crackles through his words and they all break up, as if it were spring again. “don’t you realise this is what i admire most about you?”

(i love you.)

for a moment, your heart flutters queerly. the veil shrouding your thoughts lifts and you’re left to be shaken and pierced by al haitham’s tender tone.

“it sounds as though you wish you were more like me…” your lover takes the fork from your hand and raises with his fingers your chin, so that you may properly meet his eyes for the first time this evening. “but when we love someone, we love them entirely for themselves, not whatever thing we’ve twisted them into to fit our own image. if that were the case—we’d only be loving the reflection of ourselves we find in them. is this not what you once told me, sweetheart?”

(i love you, in all your adorably jejune whimsies and nonsensical musings and humble tidings. i love the darling tears that cling to the round of your cheek and your great excitability and childish curiosity—all things i lack. and of all things i love your mad, devout love; so… please, please continue to love me as you do without fear of abandonment.)

perhaps, after all, it is okay that you are nothing like him and he is nothing like you. that you are diametric antitheses, like earth and air or diamond and pearl. your eyes falter under his gaze, body rigid in his arms as he manoeuvres you into his lap and presses his palms to your hot cheeks.

“please, i…” you weaken and he smiles and then you tremble and soften and melt and the tears finally bubble onto your face just as a white rose slips past its sheath.

like a baby, you sob—free of guilt and shame, it’s the only thing you know how to do when you’ve already spoken the words in your mind.

you press a palm to his chest, fingers splayed out over his heart, head tilted down and hair hiding yourself from him. though, he can still see; and you know he can, even if all that’s in your periphery are clouds and fuzz, wobbly pearls of dew that dribble down your face. he doesn’t ask you to look at him—he already knows why you weep. from catharsis or love or joy or heartache or gratitude… all of them at once or perhaps none of them at all.

“i-i’m really sorry for r-ruining dinner!” your voice is stuffy with sniffles and you hiccup in between your words, eyes squeezed shut awfully tight so that your nose crinkles. how sweet.

there you are again, little flower. al haitham spares you a smile that twists your heart as he leans in to brush his lips against yours, exchanging breaths. i’ve missed you. “you didn’t ruin anything. now—” with one hand, he holds you by the dip of your waist to press you to his chest and uses the other to gather a bite of tahchin on his fork, “you need to eat.”

at the hands of your lover, the tahchin is savoury and full of life on your tongue, nowhere near as nauseating and boorish as earlier. “isn’t it fascinating, haitham?” you part your lips to take another bite and hum softly as the spices flush you with warmth. “how the tahchin tastes so much more delicious now that you’re feeding it to me?”

he watches on in awe as you chew on your food, tiny little hiccups from tears unshed that occasionally rack your chest and fluster you, the ones that have dried coming off your face as gossamer flakes. they’re angel tears, he’s certain of that much.

“you have the cutest cheeks, you know…” your lover takes the fat of your cheeks between his thumb and index finger as you eat, gently squeezing and marvelling at the suppleness of your powdery skin. “baby's just like a bunny.”

“stop teasing…” you grasp his wrist gently, swallowing your food and sucking in your cheek to bite down on it bashfully, look the opposite way of prying eyes. they’re lidded and lazy and there’s a smile that lifts them up at the edges—his eyes, you see—but also his heart. because you just make him feel like that: organs and limbs loose and relaxed and thumping with his calm pulse, vision framed by a glowy pink haze as though he were laying on marble under the sun by the sea. everything sweet and wonderful in the world.

“even after all the moments we’ve shared…” he smirks and pinches your bottom lip, bringing you in close. “you’re still just as shy as though it were our first.”

you can't help but burst into a lovely little peal of giggles as he kisses you and pampers you, your tippy toes dusting the floor playfully and your fingertips curling strands of his hair. your cheeks are stuffed with warm food and your eyes burn with the crystalline that brims at your lower lashes when you swallow thickly, so you push back the tremble to your voice and bury it under his love stored in bite after bite of tahchin.

and even after your plate has been emptied and love is about to burst past the seams of your heart and your tummy, and you lay half-asleep atop him in a growing pool of moonlight—even after much of your aches and pains have been put to rest, al haitham still has yet to be completely satisfied, awaiting to be placated by one final thing.

“come, you must be tired,” he ties your hair for you, takes you by your hand, offers to wash the lingering fogs out of your soul. “should we bathe together before we sleep?”

al haitham’s touch is soft as he strips you of your clothing, kisses downwards of your clavicle after he removes your necklace—your wrist, your rib, your belly, your thigh. he knows just how you like your baths: window propped wide open to waft in the fragrance from blossoming peach trees and the sweet lulls of nightly birdsong, padisarah petals coasting across the water.

he prepares the room for you as such, swathing your frame between his long, broad limbs in the tub, too tiny for two, mind you. yet, he finds it to be a simple task to ignore the annoyance of the ledge digging into his spine when your body curls up against him like this, cheek pillowed by the plush of his chest and your arms draped ‘round his waist.

“you like holding me close, sweetheart?”

it’s a fun little poke at just how tight you cling to him, but truthfully, al haitham is all the same. a hand on the small of your back or warm fingers massaging your chilly nape—he finds the utmost comfort in feeling your skin on his, familiarity in the clouds of chantilly cream and sumeru rose that seem to linger about in the air around you.

perhaps he is just as clingy as you are, in how he cuddles you close to his chest and takes a book from the stool next to the bathtub, preparing to read to you from it.

and you listen intently—no matter how hard the throes of sleep try to whisk you away—to the flip of parchment, the birds keeping you company at the sill, the handsome cadence to your lover’s voice that makes your cheeks feel all bubbly, the beat of his heart dovetailing yours through your back.

he reads to you until the moon casts her light over the water through the window and your fingers are pruned—short fairytales about butterflies dancing on honey cups, maidens falling in love with talking roses—all from a certain emerald-covered book handed down to him from the only person to show him the same tender care you do.

the tension is dispelled from your shoulders, the barely there coil of anguish around you fully snapping and resolving into something lighter, entirely less murky. and as you sit there in his embrace, you feel your nose twitch and the backs of your eyes sting.

again! again, you cry! how lame you are in love, indeed, silly girl.

because al haitham is romantic in the way he silently cares for you like this, looks at you as though you’re extraordinarily lovely, the greatest bit of knowledge he’d ever be able to wrap his head around; touches you as if you were the most delicate of flowers.

which, you are, because how can you not blossom under his affection and grow a little love-struck?

“h-haitham?”

the words halt in his throat and he looks down at your face, or as much of it as he can make out when you’ve near buried it entirely into his neck. humming sweetly, he coaxes you on with lithe fingers slipping beneath the water’s surface to rub shapes into your doughy hip. “yes?”

“i love you…” you pick mindlessly at the emerald on his chest, let the words flow freely from the blubbering mess that has become of your voice— “i really love you, a whole lot.”—look up at him and smile toothily, plainly, eyes all watery and full of hope, promise, just like the child in you. “you love me a whole lot, too, don’t you?”

and what can he do but mirror your smile. because from it a picture of reassurance has been born, flooding and twisting and seizing his entire being. sometimes, most times, he doesn’t know how to behave when this thing, this wild love so eagerly breaks his body and pours without end into the hollow of his heart.

but it is a nice feeling, a sweet feeling: when you look at him like this and he thinks, perhaps, he could learn to love as freely as this too. all he has to do is look. it won’t be hard.

after all, everything he sees holds your darling smile within it.

tusm for reading!!! i hope this was able to bring some comfort for those who also have little fawn hearts .. and worry about their love being too all-consuming . im actually rllie embarrassed n nervous to be posting this fic bcos it means an awful lot to mi ૮꒰ྀི◞⸝⸝⸝⸝◟꒱ྀིა that being said , if you hav any comments to share please make sure they are only kind .. thanku ♡

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #alhaitham x reader #genshin x reader #al haitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #genshin drabbles #genshin imagines #alhaitham comfort #genshin comfort #haitham ❤︎

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teyums · 11 months

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a/n: cats are so funny because they genuinely think they’re doing something nice for you when they drop a mouse at your feet as an offering and it’s actually the opposite. i was watching my cat play with her little toy and it just brought the terrifying memory back to me bc WHY WOULD YOU THINK I WANT THIS? As soon as the idea came i wrote it, Neteyam just seems like the type LMAOO 😭

neteyam x human!reader

It takes Neteyam quite a while to understand the difference between Na’vi women and human women, especially the difference in what you do and don’t like. But you can’t blame him, you don’t look like his kind, you don’t smell like his kind, hell, you don’t even dress like them.

The Na’vi’s behavior very closely resembles that of a house cat on earth— you’ve noted after studying how Neteyam’s emotions portray themselves through his expressive tail, how his ears dip when he’s angry or perk up when he’s excited, or how he purrs when you finally agree to sitting in his lap instead of your chair while you finish up your work for the day. With the innate behavior of the two creatures mirroring each other almost completely, it’s no surprise that this also heavily factors into what they deem as ‘gifts’ for their favorite human.

Just as housecats will fetch their humans dead animals or rodents as an offering to them, the Na’vi way isn’t too far from that. You hated so much as looking at dead animals, let alone being near them, but when your childhood cat, Loki, used to bring field mice into the home and drop them at the foot of your bed, at least it was small enough for you to scoop into a grocery bag with pinched eyes and a hand over your nose while you fought back the tears of sheer terror.

Most of Neteyam’s catlike nature rendered adorable to you, and while you were more than willing to learn more about the ways of his people, this new custom he’d introduced you to had your heart dropping out of your ass like a brick and your soul exiting your body as if you could do without it. It’s when he shows up to the lab, a dead boar strung over his back with the biggest, toothiest smile you’ve ever seen spread on his lips until a bloodcurdling scream wipes it clean off his expression.

“Oh my God, ‘Teyam, get it away, get it away!” You shrill, so startled you almost tumble out of your desk chair, the hairs on your neck standing straight up as you divert your attention from the animal that’s almost the size of your body, a panicked hand splayed over your rumbling chest and the other extended out, palm towards him.

“What? You don’t like it? Should I have gone with a hexapede (deer) instead?” His brows gather in the center of his forehead when he steps closer and you immediately yelp and scoot back, the metal wheels of your chair screeching against the smooth tile with the effort of your retreat. He’s wholeheartedly confused, because any woman of his kind would find such a gesture as this one beyond thoughtful, and even romantic. Catching one of these things isn’t easy, and a clean kill with an arrow through the heart as to not rupture or damage the meat of the animal is even harder.

“I even skinned it for you!” He urges with a pout.

Your involuntary squeal interrupts his attempt to convince you as you fan your face with your hands, but it seems as if he’s still having trouble understanding.

“Perhaps I should have roasted it as well…” He ponders to himself with a hand pinching his chin, deep in contemplation while he keeps his catch over his shoulder and his eyes cast toward the wall, completely missing the way your trembling hands scramble over your desk for something to launch at him.

“GET IT OUT!”

He winces at the pitch of your shriek, astounded by how that loud of a sound could come out of such a tiny being. His brows raise before he quickly ducks to dodge the one-subject notebook that flaps past his head in a blur of fluttering paper, and he hurriedly obliges your wishes with a few steps back and a rushed ‘okay, okay!’.

Likes + Comments + Reblogs are much appreciated 💗

©teyums 2023

#avatar 2 #avatar way of water #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam fic #neteyam fluff #avatar twow #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x human reader

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fairyhaos · 1 year

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how seventeen act with their clingy s/o

requested by @cinnamoroxie: aaaa your writing is so cute <33 what ab svt w a pretty clingy / touchy reader? take care of yourself lovie and ty for writing this if u do!! 💓💓

notes: i hope you enjoy!

masterlist

seungcheol:

this man is the father of 12 children and a dog. do you think he'd hate clingy people???? loves it when you randomly reach over to take his hand, or play with his hair, or poke his cheeks. is totally okay with you needing to be squished up against him whenever you're in the same space, bc tbh he really wants that too

jeonghan:

pretends to hate it whenever you practically fall on top of him whenever you see him, but wraps his arms around you so tightly so you can't move away. has a hairband permanently on his wrist, partly so he can tie his hair and partly so you can fiddle with something while his hand is in the space between you. his favourite act of clinginess is when you put his head into your lap and pet his hair

joshua:

have you seen this man? he adores affection, but also becomes so awkward in the face of it. basically shuts down if you kiss his cheek more than 5 times in ten minutes. lets out those beautiful laughs whenever you basically tackle hug him every time your eyes meet. would let you put the world on pause to hug him even if the world was trying to end all around you

junhui:

clingy back with you. you have competitions w him about who is more clingy in your relationship. junhui once spent the entire day hanging like a baby bear draped over your back, and you in turn spent the next day Refusing to let go of your arm linked in his. he starts fake-crying if you're in the same room as him for more than five seconds and yet Have Not come over to immediately crush him in a hug

hoshi:

either cannot get enough of it or is a blushing mess the entire time. you pecked him on the lips one time while he was with the rest of the 96z and he went such a bright pink that it was all they talked about for a year. he pouts The Most if you suddenly let go of his hand while you're walking, but is rendered flusteredly silent if you bend down to kiss his knuckles on a whim

wonwoo:

doesn't mind it, as long as it's not too public. however, he still absolutely loves how your touchiness means that your hand is intertwined with his basically 24/7. will politely tell you if it gets too much, but you being so open with your affection helps him relax too and has definitely been the one to lie in your lap a few times when he's had a tiring day

woozi:

he's resigned himself to essentially forever being your hug toy. used to dislike it if you were attached to him for a little too long, but now he visibly pouts if you're not huddled up next to him on the couch while you're together. goes rlly red if your clinginess manifests itself in kisses, and can barely talk for a minute straight afterwards

minghao:

if you flop into his lap the minute you see him, he'll look down at you in mild panic bc he thinks that something terrible has happened to you to make you clingy. soon gets used to it tho and realises it's just your love language, and is way more relaxed when you unexpectedly put your head in his lap. lets you play with his fingers. and his rings. and his nail polish, which keeps getting chipped bc of you

mingyu:

have you seen this man's arms? i'm betting he gives the best hugs. probably works out for that exact reason. if you suddenly hug him then he's not letting go for at least half an hour. looks like a kicked puppy if you try to leave his arms even if "mingyu seriously i need to pee so badly let me go—" "no, you initiated this, you're not escaping so soon"

dokyeom:

it never even occurs to him that your behaviour could be classified as 'clingy' because he. he is the exact same as you. loves to boop your nose and will giggle so hard if you do it back to him. the idea of you two Not being touching in some way is a concept that just doesn't exist. jeonghan jokes you must have a string connecting you two or something bc you're always together

seungkwan:

he's a hyper person, can barely sit still due to his urge to kick hoshi or argue with dino. however, if you're next to him and link an arm with his or lay your head on his shoulder, he's instantly ceasing his frantic bouncing so you can comfortably touch him. if he gets too worked up tho, then he'll grab your hand instead n drag you around while telling everyone off bc even when mad he'll let you touch him for however long you need

vernon:

totally cool with it. you wanna tug on the hair on the back of his neck while you're bored? he'll tilt his head downwards slightly to give you better access. if you're wearing face paint or makeup tho, pls don't lean your head on him bc he'll get yelled at by seungkwan yet again if he goes to the guy for help in removing makeup stains from his clothes

chan:

loves when your clinginess turns into you just babying him. pinch his cheeks, play with his hair, coo all over him and he's grinning so hard and his serotonin levels are through the roof. vv chill when it comes to your affection, goes about his day super normally even if you're basically hanging off his back like a koala

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sunsents · 1 year

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neteyam sully - beautiful boy

This is the fluffiest thing I've ever written. I'm on my period and very emotional.

➵ summary: Neteyam's beauty renders you speechless, you can't help but gawk at him.

➵ pairing: neteyam x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

➵ word count: 990

➵ warnings: pure, teeth rotting fluff. it's so sweet that even I was embarrassed while writing it. reader is literally just pining after him like an idiot and doing nothing else. reader is a simp.

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

"Will you stop it?"

"But you're just so pretty,"

Sat snugly on Neteyam's lap, you're tracing his facial features with a gentle finger. Your mate, frustrated and flushed - a combo you've come to adore after years of knowing him - keeps swatting at your hand and grumbling lowly.

You can't help it though, he's just so pretty. The type of pretty you stare at for hours without getting enough of it, no matter how much you trace and retrace his facial features with wandering eyes. The type of pretty that has you questioning how, or rather who allowed him to be this beautiful. The inquiries are daily and, nonstop - Eywa's likely fed up with you bending your neck at the sky and letting out a muffled scream of misery.

Because Neteyam was a hurting kind of pretty - like he was incapable of making a facial expression that made him look even a tinge bit ugly, and this hurt your chest. Squeezed your heart until it shriveled and let out a pent, 'Enough, no more'. Worst of it all, you were free to touch. Free to look, free to fondle, and free to love. He was your mate, after all.

This thought brought you immense joy every waking hour of the day.

So, he should cut you some slack. You were allowed to trace his facial features, because he looks like that, and he needs to be marveled at and cooed at.

"I'm not pretty," he grumbles and squeezes your side in an effort to make you stop. It's useless, you're going nowhere. This is where you'll be spending the rest of your years, growing old and all that. Right between his arms. "I'm handsome and mighty!"

"Sure, you're all those. But you're also," you lean close to his ear, "pretty..."

Neteyam grumbles all the same but stays still when you return to tracing his romanesque nose. His eyes are closed and you can't help but stare at his lashes - dark and long, kissing his cheeks. "I can never say no to you, can I?"

You smile, deciding to stay silent. You both know the answer, Neteyam would jump into a fire if you asked nicely.

So, with this in mind, you give him the softest kisses - peppering them on his smooth cheeks tenderly. His face is truly gorgeous and right in front of you; you can't help but kiss his lips. It's tame but drawn out, a press of lips as Neteyam stays completely still. (Which is a struggle for him since your mate always has to be doing something useful with himself.) You feel him smile against your lips, and a big, warm hand closes around your nape. His beautiful lashes - the ones you were admiring just moments ago - flutter against your cheek.

Neteyam likes to look. Not as much as you, but he had the strange habit of opening his eyes mid-kiss. You don't know how this action became a habit of his, but you're sure it was between the periods of I want to hold your hand longer, and I think I'm in love with you. It would have been weird if you opened your eyes as well, but your heart never allowed you to. It's surprising you even noticed him doing this since you melt into pudgy goo whenever his lips touch you. So curse Neteyam's long and perfect eyelashes, it's hard not to notice them when they flutter softly against your cheek and tickle your heart.

You pull away to which he whines, then continue your tracing. The tip of your pointer finger lingers on the curve of his lips - another feature you absolutely adore. His lip twitches and your finger moves to his bottom lip, pulling it down to watch it bounce back. The scene drives you crazy - causes your mind to reel.

His lips are plush and soft, and his skin is oh-so pliant under your body. Your hand cups the sides of his face, massaging his temples. Neteyam hums and wraps his tail around your waist possessively. "Feels good," his eyes flutter shut again, letting you knead at his face. You try to be as gentle as possible, yet determined to make full use of this moment your mate has allowed you.

You feel the need to knead and smooth over every inch of his body so somehow - hopefully - the ache to just settle into his entire being and live there for the rest of your life is soothed. And the ache scares you.

The intensity of your love scares you because sometimes you feel like you cannot breathe. Neteyam has that effect on you - stealing your breath away with a kind smile and not even being apologetic about it. He's not even aware of his effect on you, and you think that only makes him more guilty.

Punishing him is fun though - peppering kisses all over his face so he's unable to catch his breath as well, serves him right. You don't stop your kissing, out of breath and flushed.

"Stop!" Neteyam laughs breathily, trying to push you away. He catches your face between his palms and harshly kisses your lips. Like a kiss a young child would share with a crush, only to run away, giggling, because ewww.

You scrunch your nose, mumbling protests against his mouth. "You stop!"

He pulls away with a grin - and, oh Eywa. You're truly done for.

"I love you, so much. I could stay here all day, even if people come looking for us. Even if Eywa wills it herself for us to separate. I'm never letting you go, my love." he casually hums as he wraps his arms around you again, pressing you into his chest. So casual that you're baffled, looking up at him through your eyelashes with your lips parted. You feel your heart melting, sliding off from your parted lips and into his palms, snugly finding a new home in his hold.

#neteyam imagine #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #avatar neteyam #neteyam #avatar twow #avatar way of water #avatar fanfiction #avatar au #avatar 2009 #fluff #neteyam fluff #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam sully x you #neteyam x you

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cocoa-goat · 7 months

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When they catch a glimpse of you playing in the rain.

Featuring: Venti, Xiao, Wanderer, Kazuha

A/N: Hihi !! I feel like I haven’t posted on Tumblr in so long, so here’s a little update. My term break ends tomorrow and I am definitely not thrilled ( T⌓T) ;;

Warning/s: None

Additional info: Reader is gender neutral

♡ Venti ♡

The moment he sees you playing out in the rain, he’s awestruck and doesn’t hesitate to join you.

The bard twirls you around as the gentle raindrops begin to wet his hair and clothes, but he doesn’t mind.

He knows that moments like these are worthwhile, even though you’ll both end up getting sick the next day.

Upon hearing your laughter, it’s almost as if he’s fallen in love with you all over again. He can’t say no to you… after all, how could he resist his one and only muse?

It wasn’t long before his laughter begins to blend with your own, creating a wonderful symphony in the downpour.

“I can’t let my windblume have all the fun, now can I? Mind if I join you?”

♡ Xiao ♡

Xiao is… rendered speechless. He’s never witnessed someone be so carefree, much less under the rain.

Unbeknownst to you, he’s gazing at your joyous figure from Wangshu Inn with what seems to be a smile. Something very rare for someone like him.

He doesn’t seem to mind you playing around in the rain, instead keeping a watchful gaze on you from afar. He wouldn’t want to spoil your fun.

It’s not everyday that someone makes the yaksha smile, but you seemed to have changed that with your little habits.

It was at this moment that Xiao decided to protect you and your happiness. Both of which he deemed as precious. A vow to himself, and an unspoken promise to you.

“How long I’ve been watching you? …That doesn’t matter, just don’t stay outside for too long, alright?”

♡ Kazuha ♡

The samurai leans onto the doorframe with his arms crossed and his heart melts at the sight.

Kazuha stays like that for a while, only breaking his gaze once you’ve caught him staring at you.

Don’t be shy—tell him to join in! He’d gladly oblige. He rarely ever gets to see this side of you, and he wants to cherish it as much as possible.

He’s probably the type to slow-dance with you in the rain. With his hand on your waist, and the other taking hold of your hand, he guides you into synchronising with his graceful movements.

Oh, how he wishes that time would slow down when it comes to you.

“[name], as much as I adore seeing you like this, the idea of you getting sick pains me… Let’s head inside, shall we?”

♡ Wanderer / Scaramouche ♡

Okay let’s be honest here, his hat would probably shield him from the rain. 💀 (Seriously, how does he pass through narrow doors with that hat on??)

He’d most likely lecture you about getting sick and how much of a hassle it would be to tend to you. But just as he’s about to, something tells him to stop and just… admire you.

To Scaramouche, it’s as if time had come to a halt, and all noises seemed to have been drowned out. All can see is your smile, and all he can feel is the rapid beating of his heart.

That smile of yours which he’s grown to love so much. Your smile that feels like the first rays of sunshine after a harsh storm.

That still won’t stop him from reprimanding you, though… after he’s snapped out of his star-struck trance, he’ll be quick to wrap you in the warmth of his embrace; shielding you from the incoming storm.

“What were you doing out there? You know better than to—[name]? You’re shivering, come here.”

Based on an experience I had the other day lol (and now I’m sick 🤧)

#genshin #genshin impact #headcanons #4nemo #venti x reader #xiao x reader #kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #fluff headcanons #fluff hcs #gender neutral reader #genshin venti #adeptus xiao #kaedehara kazuha #wanderer

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lorelune · 1 year

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oh to be alhaitham and kaveh's third roommate. less of a stray, more of a tax-paying citizen of sumeru city who mellows the two of them out. mediates by your nature.

you listen to kaveh's rants and ravings, let him show you his blueprints and new inspirations, and inspire him in kind with casual beauties you bring him. a padisarah in full bloom you found by the market. a seashell, found on the shores of yazahada pool, carried in from the ocean by the rivers current.

you sit quiet with alhaitham. you pet his hair after long days, lean against his side during the kinder ones. he likes when you read over his shoulder or have your nose in your own book. you start keeping a book of crossword puzzles on the coffee table, topped with a black ink pen, and you'll ask alhaitham to do one with you when the mood strikes.

(nsfw)

you cow them both into being a bit more... reasonable with one and other. they're oil and water, sun and moon, sky and sea. you remind alhaitham that antagonizing kaveh with staunch logic isn't the best way to resolve a conflict. you remind kaveh that not everything he feels is a personal slight is intended to be taken in such a way.

you are the jar that hold the oil and water. the star bed that carries the sun and moon. solid earth that keeps the sky tethered and the sea close.

alhaitham takes your recommendation for books seriously-- dives into fiction at your request. his assistant at the akademiya catches him reading what could only be called a "smut novel" between meetings. kaveh drags you into the study and kisses you breathless on the comfy chaise lounge in the corner, pushing you into the cushions and telling you sweetly-- "stay just like that." sketches you. paints you. memorizes the contours and curves of you.

when you tumble into bed, it's a dance.

kaveh maps out the curves of you with soft, long-fingered hands. leaves scratches and opened-mouthed kisses in his wake. kaveh wants to feel you. the rush of heat that comes when he sucks a bruise into your neck. the breath that rushes from your lungs when you let out a pretty keen.

alhaitham wants to know you. wants to learn you in the most intimate way. he wants to know the best angles to crook his finger inside you, the positions that make your eyes roll back in your skull. there's something about rendering you-- someone so horribly intentional, kind, present-- into a puddle, at his hand, that alhaitham quietly adores. shows you, more than tells you. you never leave bed without a limp, or a drooling web of slick and spunk stickying your thighs.

you drag them close. glut yourself on them. watch starry eyes when they kiss, whimper at the way they both go weak for teasing. you spit in your palms and tug at them both, watch with a split smile when kaveh has to duck his head into alhaitham's neck. overcome with just a little touch.

it's all reciprocal. you trade teeth marks (and in alhaitham's case, chomps) and have a schedule for who cooks dinner each night. you link arms with kaveh on the way to the market and steal sips of alhaithams tea before bed. you all attempt to steal the duvet during the night, so you propose to invest in another to keep folded at the end of your shared mattress.

you're grateful, to have fallen into step with them

#lore writes #alhaitham x reader #kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader x kaveh #drabbles #i love these two #their dynamic #oh to be squished between them #lovely and domestic :'^)

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shu-glue · 10 months

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devilspawn!

alhaitham x gn!reader

wherein Alhaitham, despite being deeply and irrevocably in love with you, thinks it's rather immature to be picking fights with a child whose age hasn't even reached double digits yet. until he meets said child himself. notes: gn!reader, written in lowercase, reader is implied to be the traveler but can be read otherwise, alhaitham is whipped for reader, reader hates timmie so if you adore the kid i'm very sorry, two curse words (reader says ass and alhaitham mentally says little shit)

alhaitham loves you a lot. he really does. he rarely ever says the three magic words, and for the most part, it's fine on your end because he expresses his deep affection for you through his actions.

sometimes, he'll say 'i love you' through quiet but powerful hugs after he comes home from a long, grueling day in the Akademiya. other times, he'll whisper 'i love you' as he hands you a small trinket or even a book you've mentioned in passing, one he bought just earlier when he saw said item in a stall while on an assignment. he'll call you 'beloved' through massaging your shoulders after training, and he'll tell you how much he adores you through the many times you spent basking in each other's presence in comfortable silence.

he'll walk with you to the ends of the Teyvat if it means staying by your side, however…

"love," alhaitham shakes his head, "you're a… fully grown adult. the one you want to 'crush under the heavy hand that is loss', is a child. my love, a child."

now, alhaitham is no stranger to the game that is TCG, Genius Invocation, the Card Game. the only times he, kaveh, tighnari, and cyno will meet up are when they're all free, fancying a drink, and cyno wants to try out another new card he has recently obtained.

in all honesty, your partner couldn't for the life of him understand the hype about this card game. he was by no means an amateur - he has won enough games to be considered an official TCG player, despite only borrowing decks from kaveh, and he is the only one able to actually last more than 5 rounds against cyno in a single session at lambad's.

he knows how to play, he just does not see the need to play so obsessively, nor blow off money for special cards he'll only use in a few given instances of his life (if he even utters this line of thought out loud around cyno, he'll have a spear stuck on his back for the rest of the day).

however, you - his lover, his partner, the only person reserved for the ring in his pocket - love TCG, and as the loving boyfriend he is, he tries to keep his opinion of the game to himself; he'd rather have a giant spear in his back than see you sad and pouting as you shuffle through your beloved deck of cards. he should know, he's made the mistake once and it took him a couple of padisarah pudding servings to cheer you up.

alhaitham loves you, and if you like this card game, he will certainly make sure you're happy every duel or match you do. he just can't wrap his head around why you're setting off to the bridge that leads to the entrance of mondstadt city, deadset on making a something years old child cry from defeat.

"alhaitham, baby, you don't understand," you argued, "that child is my mortal enemy, my lifetime arch-nemesis, and a pain in my ass."

"yes, darling, but consider: you have many more potential TCG friends who would make better rivals than some random kid." alhaitham rubs his forehead, completely exasperated if it weren't for the adorable way you're marching ahead in front of him like a goofy soldier going into war.

you only spin around just at the mouth of the bridge, your hands on your hips as you stare up at alhaitham with a pout on your face and a raised eyebrow. "you think i'm being irrational, aren't you?"

alhaitham raises an eyebrow back as he continues walking. "not necessarily, my love, however - "

there's something about being hit in the face with multiple fluttering wings and feathers unexpectedly, that can render even the most stoic of men like alhaitham utterly lost and speechless. is it the pure shock? the pain of not really fluffy appendages hitting their face? well, it's when the haze of birds - pigeons? - finally clear, alhaitham is greeted by the displeased and outright sour expression of the one he can only assume to be timmie, your 'sworn enemy'.

"what are you doing?!" said boy screeched. "you scared my pigeons away!"

alhaitham could only blink owlishly at the dirty blond haired boy, looking around to see a bunch of pigeons flying away, leaving a trail of feathers in their wake. granted, despite all the horror stories you told him about timmie, alhaitham's rational enough to be patient with timmie.

"i'm sorry, but I don't think I have control over that, kid." alhaitham tilts his head down to look at timmie. "if you feed your pigeons in the middle of the road, especially a bridge with exactly two exit and entry points, your pigeons will surely—"

"no, my mama always said that if you're a person with a pure heart, the animals won't be afraid of you." timmie turned his nose up and stuck his tongue out at alhaitham. "that's why my pigeons like me, and not you, you meanie!"

alhaitham had to reel himself back to take in the ridiculous logic, the gears in his head turning to come up with an explanation. "no," he shakes his head as if it's hurting, "birds and all animals for that matter don't know the concept of morality, thus they have no sense of right and wrong as humans do. the only reason the pigeons run away from others and stay with you is because you're feeding them, creating a dependent relationshi—"

"blah blah, why should i listen to an old man with graying hair?"

said (old) man with gray(ing) hair visibly reels back, flabbergasted. he's not so much offended as he is shocked at timmie's attitude. he wanted to say 'no, he's not old', 'his gray hair is a natural phenomenon because of genetics', and, 'listen here you little shit'.

"see?" you commented from the sideline, arms crossed. "devilspawn."

"ARGH!" timmie shouts, pointing an accusing finger at you. "you again?! stop scaring my pigeons away!"

"i keep telling you, there's nothing i can do about that!" you shout back, bickering with the small child as if you were about to lunge at him.

alhaitham looks back and forth between the two of you, mentally wondering if he was dating and courting someone of the immature type (doesn't mind it solely, because it's you). when he moves to calm you down so the both of you can finally head into mondstadt city to look for marjorie, timmie says:

"maybe my pigeons don't like you because you look like an ugly cow!"

oh boy. no good. no, no good, alhaitham won't tolerate that.

alhaitham loves you a lot. he really does. he rarely ever says the three magic words, and for the most part, it's fine on your end because he expresses his deep affection for you through his actions.

and if it means making a little boy cry at a simple card game to protect your dignity, then so be it.

"beloved. if you would so kindly let me borrow your cards."

"wha—?"

"beloved."

this is just a silly drabble i thought of a lot of days ago and no, it's not proofread AHAHA. i have been so inactive lately and i apologize for that, school has been hectic and i was busy with college applications to boot. but now, i'm about to graduate so i should have some free time before i finally taste the college life ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ if y'all saw this post but with no tags you did not

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham imagines #alhaitham imagins #shu writes

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