Pining In Anticipation; Gepard Landau.

—pining in anticipation; gepard landau.

ʚ gepard landau x singer! reader | honkai: star rail | 1,7k words. ʚ gepard admits his feelings for you. ʚ friends-to-lovers; just fluff and clichés; pre-captain gepard. ʚ a/n — the part in taylor swift's dress where she sang "say my name and everything just stops i don't want you like a best friend." inspired this whole thing.

Gepard is transfixed at the stage—at your nearly ethereal form, darting from one side to the other, a noticeable bounce on your steps. You look like a star; you are a star. A star with your microphone tightly clutched in one hand, a custom-painted guitar slung over your shoulder, and that smile.

You are smiling with a degree of carefreeness he doesn't think possible for one to possess.

He is gawking at you; eyes unblinking, jaw slack. It's an incredible effect only you can inflict upon the rising star of the Silvermane Guard. As you strum your guitar one last time, letting the final note echo alongside the cheering before giddily expressing a ‘thank you’ into the microphone, he finally shakes himself out of the trance.

As the crowd disperses, they talk. It fills Gepard with pride as he hears them converse about your performance: how melodious your voice is, how confident your presence is on the stage, how beautiful you are. It suddenly spirals into your attractiveness and how they desire to know you personally.

He frowns when he walks past the group of people wondering aloud whether or not you're spoken for.

You are already waiting by the exit behind the stage, guitar case slung over one shoulder when he arrives. You flash him a grin; he automatically returns it.

“You were amazing,” he says, prying the guitar case off of you, slinging it over his shoulder. You let him. You've had one too many arguments about him carrying your things for you—guitar cases, shopping bags, satchels and backpacks. If he has a free hand, he'll immediately take them off of you. “You have absolutely hypnotised everyone with your performance.”

You chuckle. “What about you? Are you also 'absolutely hypnotised'?”

Before he can stop himself, he answers. “Always.”

You give him a shy smile, eyes blinking widely. For a moment, the air is charged with possibility, like every what-ifs in his daydreams may actually come to reality, but you shake your head, snickering, before lightly punching his shoulder. “Don't flatter me too much, Landau. Let's go.”

He sighs, shaking his head as he trails after you to catch up as you walk through the streets of Belobog. The cobblestone path is uneven under your boots, the evening chill engulfs you comfortably. After years of constantly living in snow, your body acclimated itself to the low temperatures.

“Serval wants you to join her band,” he says, pushing the falling strap of your guitar case back up his shoulder. “What do you think?”

“I am rather intimidated by their large and growing fanbase,” you answer. “Besides, the Mechanical Fever is perfect the way it is, I think. I'll just upset their balance. I'm very honoured that she thought of me, though. I've talked to her about it.”

His brow furrows. “You have?”

“We hang out often,” you shrug. “Where are you thinking for dinner?”

“You hang out with my sister now?” He asks. “Since when? And we can go to the usual place.”

The usual place refers to a small café called The Fireplace that opens in the evening to the early crack of dawn, down the street of your residence. You found it just before Gepard went off to the Silvermane guard academy and you, music academy. Ever since then, you've frequented the place and marked every table with at least a memory.

“Since you've been busy with your duties.” You are only half-serious. “Usual place it is. My treat.”

“My treat,” he protests. “Besides, I have not been that busy.”

“It was your treat last time.”

“So?”

“And the last last time.”

“Yes, and?”

“It's my treat now,” you insist.

“Only if you tell me what you and Serval talk about,” he offers.

You roll your eyes. “What happens in the workshop, stay in the workshop.”

He feigns hurt, pressing a hand over his chest and gasping dramatically. “Am I not exempt from the rule? I thought I meant something to you.”

“I have no idea you Landaus are so good at theatrics.” You smile, despite yourself. The Fireplace is just behind the corner. “If you're that curious, we talk about music a lot. She helps me with composing.” You look away. “Sometimes we talk about Lynx, or your family, or you.”

You downplay how much you actually talk about Gepard by a lot. Still, it catches his attention. “Me?”

The chimes by the door sounds softly as you enter the Fireplace. Its interior is a mix of dark wood and ceramic pots with plants and ivy growing out of it. The place is cozy, like the hearth at one's own home. You remember falling asleep with Gepard during cramming study sessions here—that's how comfortable the place is. It helps, too, for running away. Both of you are young and your family names can sometimes be too heavy of burdens to shoulder.

“You,” you confirm, settling into a corner booth. Gepard sits across from you, poring over the menu, but he always orders the same thing—deep-fried rock crabs. To make up for it, you order different things every time, and each time—without fail—he'll end up trading half the portion of his order for half of yours.

“What about me?” He asks curiously.

The waiter approaches and you make your orders first before answering him. “Just, you know, the usual.”

“Elaborate, please.” He says, staring at you attentively.

“How you're doing as a guard, embarrassing childhood memories. Along the lines of that,” you settle on an answer.

Gepard is only asking because he often confides about you to Serval. He is wondering if you know how much he rattles on about you; how 'hopelessly in love' he is, according to his older sister. If you ever find out, he may just bury himself in a pile of snow out in the outlying snow plains.

“You can ask me directly,” he says. “I've never kept anything from you.”

Well, except for one thing.

“You would never tell me embarrassing stories about yourself,” you retort. “Besides—”

Someone stops by your table, and it's not the waiter. The two of you turn to look at the stranger when he says your name with a mixture of shock and fondness. Gepard immediately recognises him—brown hair, black-framed glasses. It is the same person within the group who was concerned on your availability; on whether or not you have someone waiting on you.

“Hello,” you greet the stranger, who introduces himself as Altan. “Nice to meet you.”

The man gives Gepard a brief, disapproving glance, before turning back to look at you with admiration. Gepard wants to scoff. An uncomfortable, unpleasant feeling is growing in his chest.

“Are you on a ... date?” Altan asks sheepishly.

Gepard frowns as you laugh. Do you find the idea of going on a date with him laughable?

“No, no,” you answer. “We are childhood friends. We wouldn't ....”

You trail off. Gepard doesn't think when he reaches across the table, grasping your hand. Now you actually look like you're on a date. If you're bothered, you don't show it, even letting him stroke your knuckles with his thumb.

“I'm a huge fan,” says Altan. “If you're not... on a date—” He sounds doubtful, but he continues. “—would you consider going on one with me?”

“I don't think so.” To your surprise, Gepard answers. Altan looks somewhat disappointed, but gracefully accepts the answer, before turning to leave after telling you he appreciates your music a lot. After he disappears into his booth, all the way on the other side of the café, you finally turn to look at Gepard.

“I can answer for myself.” You give him a pointed look. “And what is this?”

You tug on your hand, trying to shake it loose, but his grip tightens. You send him a quizzical stare.

“What? Were you going to say yes?” You seem taken aback by his accusatory tone. His lips are pulled into a frown.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I won't allow it.”

“Your permission isn't really necessary.”

“For Qlipoth's sake,” he curses. “Take a hint. What were you saying, anyway? We are childhood friends and we wouldn't... What? I can tell you that I certainly would, without a doubt.”

“You certainly would—what?”

“Go on a date with you. Or two. Or ten. Had you not found the idea so laughable,” he sighs, pulling his hand away. You immediately feel colder all of a sudden, despite the heater running perfectly in the café. He swipes a hand over his face. “Apologies. I didn't mean for it to—I shouldn't have worded it that way. You are entitled to your feelings. I'm just sorry that you don't share my sentiments towards you.”

You stare at him, mouth agape.

“I completely understand,” he continues. “However, I hope we can remain friends. We'll always be friends first. Whatever my feelings beyond that are come second.”

You blink once.

“I'm extremely sorry,” he adds again. “Say something.” He sighs. “Please.”

“I... Why would you assume I don't share the same sentiments?”

“Do you?”

“Of course.”

“Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“What do you think?”

“That you are willing to go on a date with me?” He asks tentatively, cobalt blue-eyes fixed on you, studying your every move and gesture, trying to gauge your reactions.

“Or two.” You smile. “Or ten. Though, I would prefer it if our dates aren't numbered.”

That smile.

Gepard feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. He lets out a soft laugh. “You're serious?”

You nod.

“I feel like I may explode.”

“Gepard,” you warn. “Don't you dare—”

“Say that again,” he says, eyes fluttering close. “My name.”

“But I say it all the time.”

“Not like this. Say it again,” he says, holding both of your hands in his. “Please.”

“Gepard.”

Time seems to come to a halt all around him when he blinks his eyes open. The ambience of the café, the sounds of silverware in the kitchen and the rowdiness of Altan's table seem to melt and disappear. There are only your eyes, almost glittering as they stare back at him. He sees that you're flustered and it makes him flustered to realise he is the cause of it.

He says your name softly. “I may be hopelessly in love with you.”

He confesses breathlessly, gently. His voice feels like a breeze caressing your cheeks. You're warm all over, tingling with anticipation, excitement—wondering where you will go from here.

For now, you'll settle for a date. Or two.

“Likewise, Geppie. Likewise.”

[ ]

This is so cute 🥺 we know absolutely nothing about this man but I love that we have all agreed that Sigewinne's his pastel daughter to his edgy dad.

╭₊˚ ๑︰play pretend

:★: relationship : wriothesley x fem reader

:★: warnings : written pre wriothesley release, but other than that - none! fluff

:★: a/n : super quick thingy hehe ♡ i love this guy so much ;o; hes soooo eweeueehe

"You will be mama and Mr. WRIOTHESLEY will be papa!"

You have no idea how you were dragged into this, plastic teacup in hand as your work partner wore a toy tiara. "Eh?"

"Mama! I'm hungry!" Sigwinne pouts, running over to you and clinging onto your side. "Uh.. Should we get her icecream?"

Wriothesley shook his head with a chuckle, "That's not a meal, love." He slid the tiara off his head and stood up, grunting a little as he does - then he holds his hand out towards you. "Let's go get Sigwinne a snack."

However the second sentence almost sounded like static in your ears, did he just call you love? You knew he was probably just playing along with Sigwinne's little act.. but you never took him as a dedicated actor for it.

You gulp a little and take his hand, though once you're upright, he doesn't let go and instead gives you a close eyed smile. "Come on, little one. Hold your mama's hand and we'll go out."

Sigwinne's eyes are practically sparkling in delight, Wriothesley always loved to spoil her.. and she knew he did. And so she used this chance to play a little bit of cupid,

She knew you liked Wriothesley, and he was clueless to his evergrowing feelings for you. So a sort of 'fake dating' scenario must work!

"Atleast.. that's what the novels say." She thought, grabbing your hand with a smile.

-> random, smutty headcanons of the hsr men that have been plaguing my mind

SMUT - MINORS DNI

fem!reader x gepard, jing yuan, dan heng, sampo

cw: body worship, cunnilingus, tiddy sucking, 69, praise kink, penetration, implied creampie

GEPARD

I see Gepard being into body worship 'cause heck, he would kiss the ground you walk on in general. This dude would be such a devoted lover.

During love making, he would be so slow and careful with you, especially if it was your first time with him.

He'd leave kisses all over your body, and would stop at your most sensitive spots to give them the extra affection that they deserved.

Fondling your breasts, he'd lean down to circle his tongue around one of the buds, before puckering his lips to suck on it. And as he sucked, he'd softly moan, muttering how soft they were.

Then, trailing a line of kisses down your stomach and down to your heat, he'll place a quick kiss to your clit before sliding his tongue up and down your folds and finally inserting the wet muscle into your hole.

He'd most definitely take a lot of time down there too, taking the time savor your flavor and letting his lips become accustomed to the shape of your lower ones. Look down at his face and see how flushed his cheeks would be, hot from the heat and hot from the drunkeness he has from your pussy, humming with delight and slurring out multiple, "you taste so good's"

He too, would especially be diligent with observing each of your own reactions you had to his touch, his kisses, his tongue, and to his thrusts that would caress your walls and deeply kiss your core with each stroke.

To any sharp gasp, furrow of your brows, or any cry that you'd let out, he'd immediately pause his motions and ask if you were okay. The last thing he would ever want to do in such a vulnerable and intimate activity would be to hurt you.

Let's be honest, with the way he would be touching and fucking you slowly and gently, none of your reactions would be derived from any real pain. So you must assure him they were simply from the pleasure he was giving you.

Encourage him not to hold back, and assure him that it's okay. You'll say the safeword if you truly are in pain anyway.

And lord when he no longer restricts himself from all of the love he wants to give you at last, you'll feel it.

His motions will become much quicker, and much eager. He's sure to shake the bed a lot with all the speed and pressure he's thrusting into you, lol.

Prior to this, he had never been really vocal about his carnal desires. He'd probably think that they were improper and might give you the impression that he was a lech.

Yet, now that you've given him reassurance, he'll be comfortable enough to let you know all of the numerous positions he wants to make love to you in; how he wants to feel the weight of your legs hanging over his shoulders, wanting to feel the way you squeeze around him so tightly, and feel the way you'd release yourself all over him.

With all of the various ways a person can show love to another, his desire is to try and do all of them. He love you that much and wants to make sure you know it.

On that note, I also see him as the type to chant multiple, "I love you's", when he's close to cumming. And if he can, he'd hold you tightly, needing to feel you in his arms as he finally releases.

I'd also like to add that he probably has a praise kink. Idk, I just feel it in my bones. To show him appreciation for what he does and how good he's doing would make him so happy, both inside and outside of the bedroom.

JING YUAN

'Kay I honestly don't know much about him (as I still haven't gotten too far into the story) but I think he'd be the type to enjoy having you do most of the work in bed...at first

He'll enjoy you sucking him off and riding him while he simply lays back, eyes half-lidded, wrapped up in pleasure, and letting out occasional, guttural groans

But the moment you feel your legs giving out from bouncing on his cock for so long, he will be there to take over. His hands will immediately be at your hips, and he'll lean over to your ear, whispering lowly, "You did well, darling... allow me to take care of the rest". He'll have a smile on his face as he ponders over what he has in store for you.

And before you can move or say a word, he'll then continue to thrust up into you while slamming your hips down at the same time so that his cock penetrates the deepest part of your core.

You'll let out a sharp gasp and would instinctively grab hold of his shoulders as it felt like he was splitting you open with each thrust

He'll continue to fuck you with that sheer amount of force, that your body eventually gives in and he's fucking you as if you were a ragdoll.

Anyway, I think he'd be a big fan of 69, with him lying down and you on top of him. Whatever your weight is, it won't matter. He'll be able hold you up while eating you out and relishing the way you'd suck his dick.

SAMPO

He looks like the type that is determined to make you cry and whimper during the act, but in actuality, I think he'll be crying and whimpering by the end of it too LOL

During sex, he'll like to taunt you by denying you your orgasm, often pleasuring you with his tongue and quickly pulling it back when he knows you're close.

He will be borderline humiliating you, saying things like, "Aw, can't take it anymore? Does my little slut want to cum? Well, you'll have to beg for it, sweetie" while massaging your inner thighs, knowing how it gets you even more worked up

But don't worry, you'll have your chance for revenge when you're riding him. Simply insert the tip of his cock inside of you, and sure, slide up and down it a bit, but nothing more. The way your walls squeeze him so deliciously will make him try to thrust up as he'd need more stimulation, but don't allow him to. That's when you'll be able to make him beg as well

DAN HENG

Love-making with Dan Heng would be special. Rarely is he ever so willing to be vulnerable like this, giving both of yourselves to each other, both body and soul, but you are so dear to him that he feels safe to do so.

I think sex wouldn't be iniated by carnal desire alone (at least on his part) but would mostly be initiated by his emotional needs, particularly when he needed your comfort, your touch, and your essence; or when he fears of losing you, his desperation will settle in and give him the need to hold you protectively to him; and other than that, like anyone else, he'll do it when words can no longer express how much he loves and adores you.

And depending on which reason, his touches can range from being gentle and soft, to being desperate and needy.

Either way, what will never change is his praises and words of assurance to you. He'll always make sure to tell you how good you feel, how well you're taking him, and how beautiful you are.

He'll tell you all this as he fucks you, and most importantly, he'll ask you if you understand how precious you are to him.

And if you couldn't answer quickly even after all the love he's given you and had thrusted into you, even to the point of overflowing, then he wouldn't stop until he made sure you understood it, continuing on, no matter how long it would take

a/n: It's clear to see that my favorite is Gepard, haha

© 2023 lyneira. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE, OR REPOST MY WRITING ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS

The way that I agree with all of these is insane 💀

Some Wriothesley headcanons

~ contents: pre-fontaine wriothesley headcanons, fluff, a tiny bit suggestive

~ a/n: ever since this man was shown in the trailer, i am falling hard for him and there isn't that much written about him so I decided to make some myself even though there is not much information about him. plus this is my first time writing headcanons so i'm new to this so hopefully this isn't too rough :)

i think his animal theme is suppose to be a wolf so I see him as being the big, bad, scary wolf but really he's just a big teddy bear

a true gentleman

i can see him preferring physical affection, more than verbal affection

loves giving forehead kisses and hugs, especially hugs from behind

enjoys snuggling, especially when tired (which is often due to his work)

prefers being big spoon

tea dates

likes to tease

has fangs

likes playful biting/nipping especially on the neck

would be a caring, protective boyfriend

would ask you about your day, listen to you vent, or help you with any other troubles you may have

Sigwinne is literally his child. he spoils her, would do anything for her

probably practices boxing in his free time

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。RIGOR — AL-HAITHAM.

contents. mild injuries (al-haitham), established relationship, fluff, really bad banter, al-haitham is left handed because i say so

notes. literally just 2k embarrassing words of you taking care of al-haitham after he’s injured from a trip to the desert. yeah.

“that stings,” al-haitham hisses, glaring at you—which earns him an equally as harsh glare back. “why don’t you just pour the entire bottle of antiseptic down my arm at this rate?

“don’t yell at me,” you hiss back, scowling as you dab at the (already clean) wound some more, “i’m not the one who came back with this. why didn’t you get it checked?”

to your utter dismay, al-haitham comes home from a visit to the desert injured. gravely.

well, truth be told, it’s not really grave. that’s just how you see it because anything beyond a scratch is enough to throw you into a fit of panic. he’s not really used to coming home to someone fretting over him like this—standing between his legs as he sits on the edge of the bathtub, dabbing ever so gently at the small (and hardly deep, he’d like to point out) cut on his arm.

running into eremites is an inevitable part of most visits to desert ruins. usually, al-haitham manages to come back unscathed, but sometimes, things don’t always go accordingly. in his defense, he’d thought he’d be able to dodge the blade of the eremite he happened to be fighting. al-haitham has the precision and athletic ability to not only manage, but excel at dodging things that are thrown at him. but still, even he has his moments of miscalculation, and just by a hair, he feels the sting of a blade’s edge tearing through the surface of his skin.

it’s unfortunate, but it’s not a big deal—at least, that’s what he thought. apparently, but not unusually, you have a tendency to disagree with him on most things.

“i was going to check it myself,” he says simply, “it would’ve been fine.”

“oh, i didn’t realize you graduated in linguistics and biology,” you raise a brow.

al-haitham is a well rounded man—he reads books from just about any subject so long as it’s informative and offers him new knowledge that can assist him in being well versed in any topic. more importantly, al-haitham rarely loses arguments, and in order to be able to always win said arguments, his understanding of most subjects is required to be thorough.

he knows how to treat a small wound or two, especially with as often as he lands himself in small fights as he explores ruins.

he looks up at you with an unimpressed stare as he mumbles, “i’ve taken at least a few classes from every darshan.”

“i hate you,” you huff. he exhales tiredly.

“it’s only a cut,” he argues, “there’s no need to be so worried—”

“i’m always worried,” you sigh, staring dejectedly at the injury littering his arm. no one should ever leave a mark over his skin—unless it’s you, and that’s only in a very different context. “does it hurt?” you ask quietly.

a small part of him feels guilty that he’s worried you over his well being, that he’s come home harmed even the slightest bit and disrupted your peace. but the larger and more rational part of him reasons that injuries of this nature are common and inevitable in trips to the desert like this, and he’s skilled enough to ensure that nothing serious ever happens.

still, for your sake, he mumbles, “no.”

it’s a bit of a white lie—it does sting a bit, and the antiseptic you pressed just a few moments ago didn’t exactly help, but admitting to you that he’s in any sort of pain is only opening up more avenues to making this into a larger deal than it really is.

al-haitham is fine, and he’s doesn’t need anything for the slightly inconvenient but not serious laceration on his skin. he’s sure of that.

but then, you cup his cheeks and press a small kiss to his forehead as you murmur, “my poor baby,” with a small pout, “i’ll feed you dinner, okay? they got your left arm.”

he wants to tell you that his motor skills are good enough that he can function with his non dominant hand—being left handed in a world catered for right handed individuals forces you to acquire functionality in both hands. but before he can open his mouth, you kiss down his cheeks, tracing your lips along him until they map out his jaw.

it distracts him for a moment, making hie eyes close and his breath hitch as he lets your warmth settle into the deepest crevices of his skin.

“don’t worry, haitham, i’ll take care of you until this heals,” you murmur sweetly.

and just like that, al-haitham is a bit conflicted now. in his two plus decades of life, he has always been an independent and capable individual—more than most his age. he doesn’t need the assistance of anyone, nor has he ever really needed the assistance of anyone. but you’re making it very hard to resist with the way you’re doting on him with affection.

“i’m fine,” he tries to argue, “really—”

“i should run you a bath,” you mumble, cutting him off. he gets the strong feeling you’re taking more to yourself than him. “and i’ll wash your hair for you too.”

even with the self control someone like him has, even he can’t help but sigh in content when your fingers slip into his hair, stroking through the strands and scratching gently at his scalp. it’s a bit nice—he has to admit that being taken care of, even as minimally as fingers in his hair, is nice.

“you don’t have to do all that,” he mutters.

“i don’t want you moving that arm,” you huff, “would it kill you to stop acting high and mighty for once? most people would take advantage of being spoiled.”

“i don’t enjoy taking advantage of others like most people,” he shrugs.

“you know what i mean,” you glower, rolling your eyes.

it’s a common understanding to most that al-haitham is a bit difficult—you don’t think you ever remember a time where he hasn’t been. he’s stubborn and always believes his views to be correct, and he’s not ashamed of arguing his point no matter who it is. you’re surprised that mouth of his hasn’t landed him in trouble yet—although, you suppose he’s not exactly in the good graces of most at the akademiya.

and as the akademiya’s acting grand sage, you admire his unwillingness to back down. but, as your boyfriend and the man you love, you wish he’d just compromise sometimes—and maybe let you wash his hair and hand feed him dinner for a bit as you nurse his injury back to health.

just this once….and maybe just a few more times later on too. you don’t ask for much, you like to think.

“i’ve gotten injuries like this before,” he reasons, “i’ve survived.”

you look at him with that delicate look of yours, the one that makes him feel like maybe he’s been living his life wrong this whole time. that it only became correct once his life involved you.

he thinks that’s might just be the case when you grin slightly, pinching his nose as you lean down, pecking his forehead and mumbling, “you don’t always have to just survive. you can indulge a bit, you know.”

“is that so?” he raises a brow, his good arm snaking around your hips.

“yes,” you hum, “if you give it a try, you might just enjoy indulging here and there,” you grin, stroking a thumb over his cheek as you admire his features, relearning every curve and every angle of his face. you don’t think you’d ever get bored like this—just standing in your bathroom, staring at him. you think you could comfortably stay right here like this forever.

maybe longer.

“i see,” he says slowly. al-haitham has always had a strong sense of control. but that was before you—he’s now forced to admit that his resolve is a bit weaker, just a bit shakier after you’ve come along. “does this begin with washing my hair?”

“and feeding you dinner,” you nod, tracing your thumb over his brow, letting it wander along the hook of his nose. “do you want me to kiss your arm better too?”

“is that really going to help?” he asks in amusement, making you giggle.

“oh yes,” you tease, “it was in a class i took from amurta. you probably didn’t take it—it’s far too rigorous for you.”

“oh,” he nods playfully, “of course. you’ll have to excuse my lack of understanding. not everyone can be as advanced as you.”

“here,” you grin—and it’s wide, and it’s warm, and it’s far too bright to ever be dimmed by the light of your bathroom as you stare at him, “i can demonstrate if you want. hands-on learning is always the best.”

“i must ask—have you ever learned hands-on like this with anyone else?” he raises a brow.

“and if i have? would that make you jealous?”

“perhaps a little,” he admits, fighting desperately to keep his own smile hidden. it’s hard not to smile when you’re around—how could he not when you swallow the sun with your lips every time they curve upwards in that honeyed way that they do?

“don’t worry,” you giggle again—and god, he thinks, he really loves that sound. he watches you lean down and kiss softly along the edges of his wound, tracing the cut slowly as you say, “you’re my only academic partner now.”

“i’m most grateful.”

“well?” you peck his shoulder, “a kiss helps, doesn’t it?”

“it does,” he chuckles quietly, “maybe you can show me a bit more.”

he’s given into you completely by now—you can tell by the way his body is relaxed on the edge of the bathtub. you can tell by that easy grin plastered on his usually blank face. you can tell by the way he leans into your touch every chance he gets. you can tell by the way he asks you to kiss his wound some more—the same wound he didn’t think you needed to care about.

but you always care, and he’s starting to understand you always will. so he stares at you hopefully, expecting just a few more presses of your lips.

so you do, kissing along his arm, peppering scattered pecks along his shoulder, pressing your lips gently along the column of his neck as he sighs softly and closes his eyes.

maybe being taken care of isn’t so bad—maybe he’s been missing out all this time….but then again, he thinks it’s just that he’s always been missing you. like he was born to find you. like he was made to be yours and you were made to be his and you both were made for each other if nothing else.

if nothing else, al-haitham is glad to be yours.

“does it still hurt?” you ask after some time.

“just a little,” he lets himself admit, “it’s nothing i’ve never dealt with before.”

“you really worried me you know,” you breathe quietly, making him squeeze your hips in reassurance, “don’t hide next time you’re hurt.”

“and will you kiss me back to health if i tell you?” he hums, leaning his head back to let you kiss his jaw easier.

you smile against his skin, letting your touch linger for a moment before you mumble, “of course, it’s only the best treatment. only those who take rigorous classes would know that.”

“good thing i have you to teach me.”

“yes, you’re really quite lucky,” you say with a cheeky smile.

there’s a warm bath waiting for him after this. and a hand fed meal. and perhaps a few more gentle kisses. but most certainly a lifetime of you—that much he knows.

i feel like i’m borderline violating myself by posting this bc it’s so self indulgent but here u go

Damn. I am a canon x reader and canon x oc writer and lover, and things like this just makes me laugh. Use the filter sis, it aint that deep.

I love my readers, I love my oc and I love myself. Selfshipping and fanfics are like free therapy.

Damn when a fanartist you really like reblogs this post with mean tags 😬