Al Haitham X Reader - Tumblr Posts

he gives you his sweatshirt headcanons. part three.

part one. part two.

including: kazuha, xiao, and al haitham.

warnings: gender neutral reader, fluff.

notes: literally writing part four right now.

kazuha.

“what are you doing?”

you immediately dropped the sweatshirt you were holding and spun towards its owner, plastering what you hoped looked like an innocent smile on your face. 

kazuha thought it looked entirely guilty. 

“nothing,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back. 

kazuha raised his eyebrows and peered at the sweatshirt abandoned on the floor behind you. 

“nothing?” he asked, incredulous. you shifted to stand directly in front of the sweatshirt and nodded, a little too eagerly for it to be convincing. 

“nothing at all,” you confirmed. 

“i don’t think stealing my sweatshirt is a whole lot of nothing,” kazuha said, side stepping you to pick it up. gently, he folded the sweatshirt and placed it back in an open drawer—

you mentally kicked yourself. you forgot to close it.

“okay, okay,” you said, holding your hands up in admittance. “it just looked so comfortable…” 

you trailed off. kazuha turned back to you, and with a gentle smile, replied, “yes, i know it is. but you have your own.”

“but i want yours,” you said, almost whining. 

“give me one good reason why you want mine over yours,” kazuha challenged.

“your sweatshirt is soft and comfortable and oversized—”

“so are yours—”

“and yours smell like you,” you finished. kazuha opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. you sighed, figuring kazuha was just trying to find the right words to deny you again, and continued, “it’s fine though. i don’t need it.”

you thought that was the end of it. the conversation was certainly over at that point, and you thought you might never wear his sweatshirt. maybe kazuha just didn’t want you touching his stuff, much less his clothes. 

but when you came home after waving kazuha off on another voyage with the crux and found his sweatshirt, laid out for you on the kitchen table, you realized that maybe he did want you to wear it after all. 

xiao.

xiao always appeared right after you called his name, and this time was no different. 

“what?” he demanded, a little impatient. “i just left. what could you possibly want now?”

a little taken aback at his harsh tone, you hesitated, and said, “you… you forgot this.” you gestured to the sweatshirt in your arms, large and oversized.

xiao’s eyes widened by a fraction before they narrowed. curiously, you might have thought he was pouting. but that wouldn’t make sense. you thought that maybe he was just annoyed he forgot it in the first place? you wondered if you were wrong to summon him for such a slight mistake. 

xiao snatched the sweatshirt from you, and without another word, he was gone. 

after your next date, xiao forgot his sweatshirt… again. this time, as to not bother xiao by summoning him again over such a trivial matter, you returned it to him the following day. but still that unhappy pout, and you were quite sure it was a pout now, persisted. 

you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why. 

on the third time it happened, xiao looked even more annoyed and… was that disappointment?

“are you not relieved? to have it back?” you asked. 

xiao didn’t say anything, and you thought he wasn’t going to respond, before he replied, “no. i am not.”

“what? why? i haven’t worn it or—“

“that’s the problem,” he said, cutting you off. feeling a little bold, and feeling like he should have done this in the first place, xiao gently placed the sweatshirt over your very confused head. “don’t make me spell it out for you, [you]. just… wear it. please.”

you pulled your arms through the sleeves and poked your head out from the top. you still looked a little perplexed, but nodded all the same. “okay… sure, i will. thanks.”

it was only then that xiao at last felt relief. you were finally wearing his sweatshirt. 

he just hoped you wouldn’t return it next time he saw you. 

al haitham.

al haitham was intelligent. he was so incredibly intelligent that it took you by surprise on numberous occasions. 

but right now, you could only think that he was possibly, just a little, kind of, maybe… dumb. well, maybe that wasn’t the right word for it. if your vocabulary was nearly half as large as his, you might have a better word to describe it. perphaps ignorant was better? or maybe dense?

whatever it was, al haitham just… wasn’t getting it. you asked for his sweatshirt and he, for all his intelligence, didn’t seem to understand why. 

when he asked you as much, you responded, “because… it’s cold?”

a flimsy excuse, and you both knew it. during the middle of the day, the sumeru desert was anything but. 

“it’s not—“

“i know, i know,” you said, cutting him off. you were growing frustrated now. your previous explanations of the sweatshirt being comfortable and perfectly oversized didn’t cut it, either. 

honestly, this was all so unnecessary. couldn’t al haitham, who knew you had a crush on him and felt a begruding affection for you in return, just give you his sweatshirt?

“i really don’t see a reason why you need to wear my sweatshirt,” al haitham stated. 

“maybe because i like you and it’s just something cute? like what couples do?”

you wanted to take back the words as soon as they left your mouth. you hadn’t wanted to officially confess your feelings to al haitham, but unfortunately for you, you did just that. 

“i didn’t realize we were a couple.” al haitham grinned, smug and knowing. it was then that you realized you might have underestimated him. 

he was smart enough to know why you asked him for his sweatshirt, and even more so to understand he was expected to give it to you. but why not have a little fun with it? and he even managed to get a confession out of you along the way. 

you sighed, both resenting and admiring that wicked mind of his. “you… i can’t believe— whatever. we’ll talk about thatlater, but… can i still have the sweatshirt?”

al haitham, done with his scheme, nodded. the sweatshirt was just as comfortable and warm as you imagained, perfect for cool desert nights. 

you had his sweatshirt. but more importantly, you had al haitham and his heart, both wrapped around your little finger. 

OF ALL THINGS, I BECAME A SEELIE!

Of all things, you became a seelie when you got isekai’d into your favourite game, Genshin Impact. You decide to make them fall for whatever charms you have left in hopes of being taken in as a pet to survive.

Aether & Dainsleif ver.

➸ Cyno, Dehya, Al-Haitham, Kusanali, Nilou, Tighnari.

➸ Gender-neutral reader.

➸ Inspired by the manhwa Of All Things, I Became A Crow. Al-Haitham is a little mean here 😂

#CYNO

Cyno finds you buried in the sand when he went to the desert, having been drawn towards your burial spot by your frantic squeaks. When you got isekicked to Teyvat, you had the worst luck of running into a group of eremites who decided to bully you, but fortunately, Cyno happened to be nearby after you were trapped in your sandy coffin.

He isn’t sure what type of creature you are and decides to bring you to the Akademiya once you were dugged out. He’s surprised when you wiggle free from his hands and float up to rest on the spot between the ears of his headpiece, but he doesn’t say anything since you weren’t being difficult. Just as he’s about to step inside the Akademiya, he’s quickly stopped by Aether who then tells him that you’re a rare seelie.

It doesn’t take very long for Cyno to warm up to you. He thinks that you’re rather cute (but would never say it out loud) and would sometimes poke your squishy body out of curiosity. There was a time when he disturbed your sleep with his incessant poking, which earned him a tiny slap on his index finger.

Seeing the General Mahamatra with a downgraded version of the Traveler’s flying companion is certainly a sight in Sumeru City. You’d follow him everywhere, even when he’s apprehending a scholar for plagiarism or other academic violations. You act like an extra pair of eyes for Cyno, which he is grateful for; if the scholar tries anything funny, you’d instantly alert him. You eventually became Cyno’s unofficial partner, and he’d feel a little lonely if you’re not around to listen to his god awful jokes.

Cyno initially didn’t know that you don’t need to eat and has tried to feed you dried fruits and nuts on occasion, only to get uno reversed every time. Taking the seedless date from his palm, you proceed to push the fruit against his lips to silently tell him to eat it. He hesitantly opens his mouth as you shove it in, and he couldn’t stop the minuscule smile from surfacing when you rub against his cheek with an adorable squeak.

Whenever he has a meeting with an official, he lets you fly off on your own, knowing that you’ll come searching for him once you’ve done enough exploration for the day. His only concern is you running into Al-Haitham; he’s an Akademiya lunatic and Cyno doesn’t trust him at all. He’s not sure if you understand him, but he would always remind you to avoid Al-Haitham.

Later on, Cyno orders a mini version of his headpiece for you to wear so that the two of you could match. You don’t miss his soft smile as he carefully puts it on you and calls you his seelie Mahamatra.

Keep reading

— how to woo the acting grand sage 101

wherein you pull out all the stops in an effort to persuade alhaitham on why he should date you, only… he woos you instead?!

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 7.8k wc, fluff, (attempts at) humour, angst if you squint, reader gets ill from overwork in one part, slight spoilers for 3.2 archon quest (brief mentions/recap of end events)

A/N : reader is struggling but they’re trying their best, alhaitham is a (smitten) menace and bad at feelings (kinda); the embodiment of u fall first, he falls harder (i just think we need more energetic/cute readers with haitham TヘT)

It wasn’t anything special. Really. Just you, your first day jitters, and the calm boy beside you in his Haravatat beret; the same one as yours.

Perhaps he’d noticed your flitting eyes, your shifting feet, or your wrung hands that swung gently in front of your robe-clad body because, when your eyes met (and, oh, what pretty eyes he had), he gave you a small nod. Of what? Comfort? Acknowledgement? Salutations?

You couldn’t tell, and you couldn’t ask. By the time you regained your senses he’d already walked off, the blank space beside you feeling strangely empty.

It wasn’t anything special.

But to you, that one, singular moment was all you needed; the comfort it gave was immeasurable, your first day jitters nonexistent.

Keep reading

— out of this world (and into another) : genshin impact

premise: you could've sworn the transmigration curse didn't have an effect on you... so what exactly are you doing here?! (alternatively, you tumble straight into your favorite video game; and you're kinda fucked)

...or, a genshin manhwa otome game inspired au.

act i: scaramouche, alhaitham, wriothesley.

↳ act ii: lyney, neuvilette, kazuha, kaeya. (next)

warnings. fem!reader but can be imagined as genderless if u'd like hehe, a shit ton of manhwa tropes in one, this is a hot mess aka not proofread all that much, half clunky half decent writing

a/n: as promised via the poll heh,, while i do plan to make this an actual au, im not that sure ^^; just the tip of the iceberg here tho!!

MAIN MASTERLIST | AU MASTERLIST (coming soon)

YOU — unsuspecting civilian turnt transmigrator

you've always been too attached to fictional characters for your own good.

yes, even the ones that are remarkably irredeemable (the power of a backstory is very formidable) and complex (complexity is a virtue!)

villains have always been destined to die, be cursed, or destined to curse others. it was heartbreaking, really. you've wished for a chance to rewrite their fates for them to find even a sliver of happiness, even when the fate of their plot says otherwise.

which is why when you find yourself awake into the game of your dreams, “Teyvat's Seven Stars”, like any lover of cliche novel and manhwa tropes, this is the time you think that maybe life wasn't so shitty on you.

....there's only one tiny, teensy, itty bitty problem here, actually.

you're not the protagonist. you're not even one of the protagonist's faithful friends and underlings that light protagonist's road to conquering the world and its men (and as of the 4.0 update, it's women); no, you're none of those.

you're a no name extra, and not to mention, a character involved with the game's main villain characters who are coincidentally the love interests of the game's black route!

[ unlock transmigration package: ultimate transmigrator's route ( ????? MODE ) ]

[ no ] [ yes ]

( 国崩 ) SCARAMOUCHE — the tyrant

“as of today, you will be engaged to crown prince kunikuzushi, who is her grace the shogun's rightful heir to the throne.”

when given approval to stare at your so-called soon to be husband, you expect the worst, mostly. the multitudes of character dialogue you've played through detailing his rather discourteous personality (which basically meant he was a huge asshole) don't exactly paint a pretty picture.

however...

who was this tender hearted looking scaramouche that ‘obliterated armies in the blink of an eye?’ the t in tyrant stands for tyrannical, not timid!

eyes like lighting framed by the longest eyelashes you've ever seen and an unfairly pretty face, comparable to a fair lotus. after fawning over his otherworldly countenance, a sinking realization of dread pools in your stomach.

oh, you are so screwed.

essentially tied to the indigo-haired ticking time bomb of a future tyrant due to the strong standing of your family for a period of until the main story starts, you're destined to never get crown prince scaramouche's affection, being his fiancée who scaramouche is arranged to for political means only.

not to mention, you're in an even more deadly position; of all the characters you switched souls with, it's the one that essentially dies by their own fiancé's hand because they were horrible to him! what atrocious luck!

frantic, you wrack up about three ways to survive.

plan a) win over the shogun's favor by being an appropriate partner unlike the original flavor of this body, who resorted to bullying the innocent prince and unknowingly digging their own grave or b) be a guiding friend to scaramouche as he learns the ways of the world and c) make sure you don't end up giving the protagonist a bad ending via his twisted personality.

weighing all these options, you decide to do all three in hopes to cement a life instead of a deathflag. prevention is better than the cure (aka: the protagonist) after all!

(you may also just want to spend time with your favorite character. having a time limit and a sign that says ‘i'll die in the future!’ should at least warrant you extra time to show some affection to scaramouche, at least.)

so, you do what anyone in your position would do: give affection! lots of it.

admittedly, it wasn't all flowers and rainbows. scaramouche—ahem, kunikuzushi—was very shy and reserved indeed, with his mother ei even worse off! (besides, who trains and studies all day and has to stop crying every time they were injured?! that was just too much!)

it was rather hard at first, the frigid atmosphere of the usually silent Tenshukaku Palace almost impossible to permeate. but with your amazing charm (read: deathflag radar) and social skills, you manage to let the members of the Royal family open up to you.

speaking words of praise in ei's cooking (a very difficult feat to accomplish), spending afternoons with your fiancé and teaching him ‘how to be a shoujo worthy male lead, name-version’ (very confusing to explain), and the cherry on top, driving away that vile teacher of his—the Doctor—once word got out that he'd been taking advantage of scaramouche as a political puppet king in the future. trauma enabler destroyed! look at your immeasurable powers!

(“you're not a failure.” clasping kunikuzushi's hands in yours as he reels back from you. damn that doctor.

his tears shot a wave of heartache through you. you can't bear to see your favorite in such suffering. “whatever happens in the future, i won't abandon you.

no matter what, i'll always be on your side, okay?”

kunikuzushi looks at you with something in his eyes—something like adoration. “do you promise that?”

“yeah.” you say without hesitation, the glow of the sunlight hitting your face so dazzlingly that kunikuzushi's eyes widen that his mouth hangs agape in awe. “i promise, kuni.”)

to your greatest delight, your efforts worked in your favor.

ei now spends time with her son, and though it's almost always just a tad bit awkward, you and the guuji yae miko get the two to strike up conversation, and overtime, kunikuzushi becomes more open to you.

(“[name], what kind of man is your type?”

“huh? well...” you think for a while. this was a great opportunity to say it, right? that life changing protagonist quote!

“to me, the only person i'll ever like the most is you, kunikuzushi.”

“do you really, really mean that?” and oh, he looks so cute—flustered and red from your words. worth it.

“yup! now, i made some shimi chazuke, try some—”)

(admittedly, lots of favoritism is involved.)

—and while you reap the fruits of your hard work, you spend warm, sunlit afternoons with ei at tea, even learning about other nations from scaramouche's aunt nahida and even befriended a few of his future affiliates—childe (though for some reason, kunikuzushi always pulls you away from him whenever he spots the two of you together), signora (she tolerates you, you think) and etcetera.

(“then, if i do well, can you kiss me on the cheek, [name]?”

you agree, much to his delight. scaramouche avoids the gaze of a certain pink haired fox eyeing him questionably. unbeknownst to you, he glares at the woman's scrutiny.)

unprecedented things unrelated to the plot happen too; like how your family, which basically only saw you as a political bargaining chip and an unwanted child they could get rid of easily—no longer sent you any demeaning letters demanding money once scaramouche found out....

(“they've been leeching off of you for how long?” so scary... is this was kunikuzushi is like when he's worried?)

(“...kunikuzushi, how long will you keep up that weak-hearted facade of yours? if they find out how.... dishonest you are....”

“i don't need the reminders of a foxy old hag that doesn't know her place. this is fine as it is.”)

(you don't need to know.)

but, you're nothing compared to the inevitable flow of the plot. inazuma is wracked with war, and it just so happened that you'd been unceremoniously kidnapped by a certain resistance leader's trusted general, used as a hostage bargain for approximately the majority of your life. in the worst moments in your dreary cell, there's only one thought in your mind.

....kunikuzushi's face, devastated when he tries to reach for you, before slipping away from him like sand— face morphing into an unbridled state of rage that's too natural, too familiar. when did he learn to make a face like that?

(they say the kingdom was wracked with thunderstorms all night that day.)

afterwards, fate doesn't make it kind for you.

years go by in the blink of an eye, with your capture fervently forgotten in the midst of the growing animosity of the two conflicting forces.

although you did hear that yae sent out a search party for you while at the resistance's base, the shogun's forces never reached you.

eventually, you got released secretly by sympathy of kokomi, the leader of the resistance, who felt pity for you getting caught in the crossfire. letting you go under the condition that you'd likely never meet any of the precious characters you've gotten to know and change was a heavy price to pay, but you didn't have any choice.

indeed, no matter how much you tried to divert the plot, your duty as an extra has ended, and you were even lucky to even be alive. you could only hope that your fiancé—ex-fiancé—took note of your lessons well, bidding farewell to inazuma as you hop on the boat to mondsdat.

by now, you at least hoped that scaramouche and the protagonist met, his true chance at happiness starting now that you were basically dead.

(even if your heart felt like breaking into a million pieces.)

....is what you thought would happen, but why is it that after three years from your supposed capture, inazuma was still at war?

“that crazy prince... he's still working to find his former fiancée... and he's razing almost every village apart looking for them!”

“—didn't the shogunate say that whoever finds her would receive almost 3 million mora?”

“the entire lot of them are lunatics, i tell you. all because of a missing person, too!”

what's more, why was it still going because of you?!

( 艾尔海森 ) AL-HAITHAM: the information guild master

to be fair, normal people don't really run into one of their favorite characters often after transmigrating.

but to be fair, again, you certainly didn't think you'd actually be in your favorite video game franchise caged in bed with essentially one of its main love interests.

eyes wide and unceremoniously looking—definitely not ogling— at the toned body that's currently enveloping you in its arms, the soft tuft of ashy gray hair caressing the crook of your neck, murmuring incoherent mumbles of—is that another language?

???????

you blink, looking down at the bare body currently embracing you. oh. oh.

you're an extra.

you're just an extra, but why are you in bed, currently being served breakfast by the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on, with a pretty view of the rainforests' canopy?

“you should lie down. if i recall, sufficient sleep is required in order for the human body to perform its basic bodily functions. although our partnership is temporary, to let you fall to harm is a situation i'd like to avoid as much as possible.”

“....what?”

“...?”

the guild master, al-haitham, is a character in Teyvat's Seven Stars that is heavily debated on whether he's technically a villain or not. in the game, he's the right hand of sumeru's leader, nahida, working as the overseer of the AKASHA, a guild that gathers information to the nation's leader. he's a pretty shady character—always working behind the scenes and very unfalteringly blunt—and a ‘villain’ for crown prince scaramouche's route, helping the protagonist escape his clutches.

he's often the subject of comedic ire, his banters with a certain broke architect always the highlight of any bonafide al-haitham fan.

“we're expected to work together by lord kusanali's decree in the duration of investigating the hivemind project the lord suspects the baron siraj is partaking in.”

right, that one scene in the game where al-haitham needed to go undercover to infiltrate a coup de etat staged by one of the factions against nahida... right... what.

you were that extra! the one that fell in love with him and pined for his affection!

(“well, i get that part, but does sleeping together really have to play a part in this...?”

al-haitham gives you a mere quirk of the lip, tilting his head. “we do have to play the part of a married couple in dire straights, do we not? this cover is more efficient.

...besides, i don't have anything to complain about. you're certainly better company than kaveh.” )

in truth, al-haitham wasn't bad company. far from it. aside from the internal giggling and fangirling (you) and the incredible stack of books (alhaitham) that you have to see more than the grey haired man on a daily basis, the two of you work out a rapport that stems from memories of the body you transmigrated in.

he's nice to be around, surprisingly considerate when he wants to be—he tells you about the books he always reads....

(who even reads ‘20 Tongues Language Memorization Guidebook: A Basic Overview of Vocabulary and Terms’ for enjoyment?

the content makes your head run in circles because of how complicated it is; but who wouldn't like to listen to an extremely attractive man overexplain to you with a calm and pretty voice?)

...is generous enough to provide meals and cook dinners that have you crying tears of gratitude because you know how awful yours compares (it was either too bland or too seasoned; al-haitham is surprisingly picky when he wants to be)

(you assigned al-haitham the title of “absolute s-tier husband material”— his capabilities are out of this world!)

by chance, you once gave al-haitham a little tidbit of information that proved to be valuable later in the investigation—courtesy of your avid game knowledge—when you two had been lost to the psychological illusion magic cast by siraj when you two finally broke in his estate.

(“whatever happens, if siraj messes with your mind, just make sure to think of me instead of anything else.” al-haitham lets his hand find yours.

“you once asked me if i trusted you, [name].”

“....” you're treated to one of al-haitham's rare smiles, one that warms you up from within. “i do. so don't let yourself get hurt.”)

however, your temporary partner had faltered for once, flinching when siraj took the form of his old grandmother who'd passed to exploit al-haitham's mind, hesitating and frozen in place while siraj inched ever closer to finding out his weakness.

and you couldn't stand it, the character you cared for—the al-haitham that always had a plan, always knew how to stay calm, had looked so unsure and hopeless.

(“wake up, al-haitham!”

with you cradling his face, al-haitham stares back at the only constant in the memories of his grief, eyes meeting yours. “you don't have to do it all alone. i'm right here, aren't i? believe in me.”)

your (fake) husband snaps back to reality, finally allowing enough time to apprehend siraj and put a stop to his malicious project.

(“thank you.” al-haitham tells you solemnly. it hits you that this may be the last time you may ever see him. “i'm grateful that you brought me back to y— to my senses.”

there's a sincerity in your voice that rings from your heart. “anytime, al-haitham.”)

you thought that was the end of it.

defeating siraj meant you two no longer had to associate with each other, but somehow, to your great surprise, al-haitham doesn't stick to the plot at all. you were sure you didn't interfere with the game, though?

for some reason, al-haitham doesn't erase himself from your life, unlike the original route's flow.

in fact, he's become... easy to run into, a constant in your otherwise mundane life. he takes you out to lambad's tavern for an occasional drink, says he's lending you his headphones when you find yourself overwhelmed by the city (you were never good with noises) and even helps you out as you vent your problems to him.

(the day after, said problem conveniently disappears. how strange....)

and most of all, allowing you to enter his personal space... leaving kaveh's jaw dropping when he accuses al-haitham of having a lover.

“you're always going who knows where with them! what else is there to figure out?”

“...we are merely friends.”

“a friend that you let into your personal library? do they know that you still keep the ‘fake’ ring in a box inside the closet?” kaveh laughs. “nice try, al-haitham.”

(after all, kaveh could never unsee the way al-haitham's eyes softened at the feeling of the head on his shoulder lean onto him, with you no doubt asleep. he even took his headphones off! kaveh has never seen him actually take them off in order to keep the person who's sleeping on his shoulder as undisturbed as possible.

in fact, kaveh doesn't think he's ever seen al-haitham be this touchy or considerate with anyone this much before.

.....and most importantly, kaveh would never forget the way al-haitham, a man who found no merit in politeness and preferred bluntness, a man who preferred solitude rather than company—deliberately getting close to someone—pressing a fleeting kiss on the crown of your head.

kaveh blinks. it seems even the throes of love can reach even the most unconquerable of peaks....)

( 莱欧斯利 ) WRIOTHESLEY — the monster duke of the north

“—i need you to gather information on duke wriothesley. serve him undercover as one of the prisoners of the fortress.”

the duke of meropide—a man swamped with terrible rumors. they say he was exiled from the nation due to murdering his entire family. they say he possessed a face worthy of the title of a beast— grotesque, littered in scars. they say that any who end up in his estate, the iron prison of the north, meropide, never saw the light of day again.

(“only criminals of the worst kind are fated to be sentenced there. nobody returns, so we've stopped questioning it...” )

so to say you're not fearing for your life that bad right now is a massive understatement.

“now, mind telling me how you were able to sneak into the most impenetrable prison in all the land, miss prisoner?”

how did it end up like this?

so you wake up and find yourself in jail. lovely.

seriously, of all the places you can transmigrate into, why did it have to be fontaine?! Teyvat's Seven Stars chapter 4's main starting point, the nation of justice is littered with dark themes and high difficulty capture targets.

.... such is the case with the man in front of you. unlike what the rumors of him say, duke wriothesley paints a rugged yet dashing picture of a nobleman, even if he was —if you recall— one of the hardest capture targets to conquer in the game.

a villain character who you played once during one game route, acting as the driving force during one of the love events of one of the protagonist's other love interest, lyney. duke wriothesley almost assassinates lyney's younger brother, freminent, leading lyney to rally up a certain group to bring the nobleman down.... a typical side character villain, who's existence was added as late as 3 patches away from lyney's.

(even inazuma would be better than this! at least the tyrant route could be avoided, and let's not mention the easy sumeru route as well...)

“well, miss prisoner, cat got your tongue?”

in summary: fortunately for you, the body you transmigrated is in the position to spy on the current affairs of the fortress of meropide, with courtesy and with permission of one of Fontaine's leaders, neuvillette. unfortunately for you, it seems our dear monsieur wasn't able to inform wriothesley beforehand, leading to the current situation.

aka, you're pressed dangerously close to wriothesley's chest, with a knife at his throat and his hands pinning you against the wall, noses almost touching. you're not sure if this is even the kind of tension that two people who are trying to kill each other are supposed to have...

(“i'm an ally!” you sputter out. wriothesley raises an eyebrow at you. “monsieur neuvillette sent me.”

“how am i supposed to trust you after i saw you slinking around here, knife at my throat?” he replies, eyes narrowing. “i know that i'm labelled as a beast, but i don't really know what came over that pretty little head of yours when trying to sneak into my chambers.”

what does he take you for?! “...are you accusing me of something indecent?!”

“just saying — i've met lots of prisoners with your excuse, my lady.”

“i'm prepared to use this knife, you know.”

“hah.” wriothesley grins. “how aggressive. more aggressive than most. do you want me that bad?”

“stop twisting my words!”)

in any case, you hate wriothesley. you know he's one of the characters in Teyvat's Seven Stars and is a villain for one of the easy love interest routes in the game, but his personality is... a real piece of work.

you'd rather the protective and kind kazuha, or even the charming and elusive lyney! why did it have to be him?

not only did he not believe you, he even told you to prove your authenticity! you're just glad that his assistant sigewinne had been there to vouch for you — you're not sure if you'd even be on your two feet right now if she didn't.

so now you're stuck constantly on your feet, running to and fro — helping the dark-haired man record new prisoners, establishing trading routes to the main city of Fontaine, and treating other prisoners of the fortress with sigewinne.

your biggest surprise by far, though, is just how... different the duke is from the rumors. his scars were merely battle scars of honor (to which sigewinne rolls her eyes, “your grace, please stop trying to look cool”) he got from various succession fights, not scars to show how he was cursed to turn into a beast. he has a love for tea, but always seems to have a cup of your favorite blend with him when you feel tired after a long day of working (laboring) for him and the estate.

(“your daily report of new convicts, your grace.”

“-this is the tea you like, your grace. i've prepared it in advance.”

“you're very adamant on proving yourself. aren't you sick of such tasks by now, miss prisoner?”

“no.” wriothesley's expression screams 'why not?' on it. “ it's because of my own misjudgement of you.”

“...elaborate.”

“i may have had unnecessary prejudices on your conduct thus far. but you're... not like what the rumors paint you out to be.” you say sincerely. “you're more amazing and incredible than anyone else. i truly do admire you.”

wriothesley's expression; you couldn't decipher it. “i see.”)

he's battered, but caring. sigewinne makes you watch (in horror) as she doodles cartoonish looking characters on his face when he's asleep — wriothesley never fusses, only an exasperated sigh to his assistant. he's harsh with his tasks and duties, but is the first to rush you into sigewinne's infirmary to tend to you after you pass out from overwork.

(“don't worry, [name]. the duke may not look it, but he's very gentle!” sigewinne giggles. humoring the little girl who was the first to show you actual decency in this place, you try to nod. sigewinne doesn't seem convinced.

“i'm serious! after all, compared to other people who've snuck into the fortress, you're the first he's treated this way.” she says cheerily.

“what does that mean?” you can't help but scoff at that. “so he just works someone to the bone from the get go?” you shudder. damn production zone...

sigewinne blinks. “ oh no, not like that. it's just that he's never been so lenient before. in fact, when you fainted, he even gave me the order to prioritize treating you over anything else.”)

well, this wasn't exactly what you thought you would be doing when you transmigrated into your favorite game, but you suppose you can take it.

besides, you'd miss a certain duke otherwise. life truly is full of strange twists....

a/n: thank you for making it this far! if anyone asks why wriothesley's was short, listen, this was completely impulsive and i was out of inspiration LOL, but i do hope you enjoy! look forward to new parts though hehe :3

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

all i need —

SYP — “girl ur made for me, cuz ur love is all i need” just scenarios <3

GEN. — fluff, crack

WARN. — gn!reader, not proofread

NOTES — yk i love the grumpy x sunshine and polar opposites troupe so why not incorporate some hints of that into this? might make a pt 2..

at first glance, not many people would expect either of you to pursue each other.

the way you both handle things are different, reactions and such. and when you think of that, there’s only one situation that comes to mind..

throwing your head back slightly, you laugh at one of his lame jokes. hand in hand, both of you turn the corner, still too invested in your conversation to take in the sight in front if you.

he’s the first one to look, halting his movements as he stays rooted to the ground. you, taking note of his tense form, stop to turn to him. cocking an eyebrow, you nudge him on his shoulder and worryingly ask, “babe? you okay?”

his mouth is agape a bit and his eyes are fixated on whats in front of him. seeing as he’s not gonna answer, you follow his line of sight and gasp slightly.

there in front of both of you stood a couple leaning against a wall, making out. you grimaced slightly, noticing their lust for each other through their eager movements. ‘they kiss like fish..,’ you thought, deadpanning.

you felt a tug on your arm, pulling you back.

“c’mon, let’s go before they see us. they might think we enjoy watching them eat each others’ face,” he whispered, hooking an arm around your waist.

you were about to comply but you thought of something way better than just ignoring it. a mischievous smile creeps its way on your face and he grows concerned, not liking that smug look on your face.

unraveling your arms from his, you gasp exaggeratedly, successfully catching the couples attention. they break away from each other reluctantly and flushed, glaring at you.

“i knew you had somebody else!” you screamed, stomping away and wiping away invisible tears from the corners of your eyes. he trails quickly after you, standing beside you as you both hide behind a wall.

“are you kidding me? ugh!” you hear one of them shuffling, probably walking away from the other one.

“wait, baby! i swear, i have no idea who that was!” the other one pleaded, scrambling after his ‘baby’. his thick accent making it all the more funnier.

you leaned forward, clutching your stomach in laughter. he stared at you in slight disbelief before joining in on your giggling.

“what are you doing?”

uh oh, caught in the act.

you turn around, hiding the item behind your back. you grin widely but sheepishly. “what do you mean?” you smile innocently, stuffing the perfume bottle up your shirt.

tilting his head slightly, he raises a brow, skeptical. he walks over to you and hastily snatches the bottle from your hands.

“hey! i wasn’t done with that,” you whined, reaching for it but to no avail. he held it far from your reach, above his head. he tsked.

“i’ll give it back if you tell me what you were doing.”

you sighed, mumbling something so soft it was barely audible. “huh?” he nearly squeaked.

“i wanted to spray my perfume on your clothes so when we go out, people know you’re taken,” you grumbled. “but mostly because people are doing it on tiktok..”

he didn’t stop babying you that whole afternoon. and he posted a tiktok about it. (it went viral)

it was a nice noon. the birds were chirping, the grass seemed greener and your boyfriend was throwing a tantrum.

“i don’t wanna!”

“stop acting like a baby. its not that bad.”

“this isn’t fair.”

“what isn’t fair? you lost the bet, you have to do my dare,” you huff victoriously, smirking slightly.

he sighs, knowing there’s no way of convincing you to let him off. “fine, help me find one.”

“gladly,” you chirped, bouncing on the balls of your feet gently. your eyes scanned around the park before locking on someone. “right there,” you whispered, leaning to him and pointing at the person with your lips.

you shoo him to approach the person. he shakes his head and complies, walking backwards to cast you a pouty look to which you rolled your eyes at.

“excuse me?” he asked, approaching said persons line of sight. she smiled at him, waving, “hello! is there anything i can do for you?”

“i just wanted to tell you that your child is the chosen one,” he replied bluntly, pointing at her swollen stomach.

the woman blinked at him.

“child? i’m not pregnant.” she narrowed her eyes at him.

“oh.”

he ran away, dragging you with him before your knees buckled from your wheezing.

— (bllk) NAGI, SAE, RIN (genshin) DILUC, alhaitham (star rail) DAN HENG, jing yuan, BLADE (haikyuu) SUNA, TSUKI (KNY) GIYU, sanemi (ENCANTO) CARLOS, CAMILO () YOUR FAVES

@mykuro 2023. This is my content, inspired or not. Do not translate, copy or plagiarise my works in any way. Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated. <3

Disclaimer!

I am only comfortable writing fem readers! I have nothing against male or gender neutral peeps! I just want to give love to my fem and afab girlies out there! I also have more freedom with feminine pronouns but I'll try to write second pov too. This blog is more like a diary tbh. Mostly fem ocs.

I don't write incest, dubcon, noncon, degredation, domestic violence, pedophilia.

Masterlist♡

Magi : The Labyrinth of Magic

Solomon Jehoahaz Abraham fics/oneshots

Tba

Hakuyuu Ren fics/oneshots

• Hakuyuu Ren x oc oneshot smut

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□

Puss in Boots : The Last Wish

Death / Muerte and Love / Lisa

• Love ♡ Death hcs

• Love ♡ Death First meeting

• Love ♡ Death; Love comforting Death

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□

Honkai Star Rail

Gepard Landau

Gepard x Fem reader : The best way to a person's heart is through their stomach

Dan Heng

Dan Feng x F!Reader x Yingxing : Sing for us, Darling~

Dan Feng

Dan Feng x F!Reader x Yingxing : Sing for us, Darling~

XingYue x F!Reader Fluffy Headcanons

Yingxing/Ren/Blade

Dan Feng x F!Reader x Yingxing : Sing for us, Darling~

XingYue x F!Reader Fluffy Headcanons

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□

Genshin Impact

Al Haitham

Tba

Wriothesley

Tba

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□

Wuthering Waves

Jiyan

Tba

Geshu Lin

Tba

drunk confessions

alhaitham x fem!reader | 3k words

warnings: drunk alhaitham, a bit of unwanted touching from another character

the unpredictability of love was perhaps alhaithams worst enemy, at least when it came to you, and as he watched your skin flush under the gaze of another man that was more evident than ever. 

he’s forgotten why he even came out this way, if he had been seeking you out like he often did or was just trying to get his mind off of you before he spotted you in the distance, wearing that flowy dress that he can’t get enough of, accompanied by another scholar who stood much too close to you, who caressed and grabbed your arm to get you to look at him before leaning toward your lips. alhaitham didn’t stick around to watch you kiss the man. he hadn’t prepared himself for the feeling of tightness in his chest as he walked away or the deep breaths he’d need to take all the way back to his office to try to stop it, though it was to no avail in the end. this annoying lick of flames that kept his chest feeling annoyingly uncomfortable at the thought of another man taking you as their own didn’t disappear simply because he had walked away.

he had struggled, or maybe it was more so avoided, processing the fact that he had indeed fallen in love with you and even after he came to the conclusion of love, he still chose to do nothing about it. love was everything he was not; irrational, illogical, the act of following one’s heart. and you were.. 

Keep reading

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。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

Five More Minutes

Summary: Mornings are a pain, aren't they? So let Alhaitham hold you for just five more minutes, won't you? Word Count: 1.3k Tags: Fluff, Slight Crack, Established relationship (reader x husband!alhaitham), very slight spoilers for the archon quest + his story quest A/N: i can't get alhaitham out of my brain honestly

“Haitham, habibi, let go…”

“Mmnh… Not yet…”

“The sun’s already up. I’ll be late if you don’t let me go, Haitham…” 

There’s no life to your words; anyone would be just as unenthused about having to go to work. You're not a stranger to the way you just want to melt back into the bed and ignore your responsibilities, especially when you had work and he, didn't.

Though, it seems like he's upset about that fact, too. Your weak complaints barely even make it into Alhaitham's ears with how tightly he’s hugging you against him. They're muffled against the flesh of his skin as he holds you like one would a beloved stuffed toy. Either he's sleeping deeply, or he's outright ignoring you in favour of holding you a little while longer.

With his arm acting as your pillow and your legs tangled beneath the sheets, you’ve honestly never felt more comfortable in your life. The air was light and cool, and the silk sheets felt heavenly on your skin. Truthfully, you still weren’t too sure if you were awake or if this was all just a dream. It’s been rather disorienting after the truth of the use of the Akasha terminals had come to light. 

Eyes still bleary with sleep, you struggle to catch a glimpse of your lover past the shadows of the muscles that were caging you in. All you manage to catch is the way that the sunlight was filtering through your windows. Past your curtains and into the room, they bathe your shared bedroom in a soft morning glow. You can’t see it, but you can feel the rays that lap at your skin and his, mimicking the warmth of melted butter and lightly toasted marshmallows and everything good and well in this world. 

“Five more…” you hear him mumble, arms tightening around you as he pulls you even closer towards him. The smell of his body wash is nothing short of home. “God, just five more minutes…”

It didn’t sound like he was talking to you. His eyes were barely even open. A clingy Alhaitham was something you hadn’t expected when you had first begun dating, but you weren’t about to complain. It was endearing. Sweet. If you didn’t have work, you’d melt back into his embrace and mould yourself against him in an instant. 

“I have work, Haitham.”

“So?”

Spoken like a true linguist.

“Not all of us can escape it as easily as you can,” you mumble, trying to fight him off amidst the haze of your mind.

It’s a pathetic attempt. Between your heavy limbs and your desire to stay in for just a little while longer, all you manage to do is run a palm across his broad shoulders, lightly patting at his biceps in hopes that he did the work instead of poor, sleepy you. He doesn’t. He cages you in and locks you down. Alhaitham does shift, but only to roll on top of you. To trap you underneath him, pinning you down with his weight. 

As much as you like to complain, the weight of him is more of a comfort than a hindrance.

“Don’t go in,” he mumbles, lips moving against the pulse of your neck as he inhales deeply. The hair on your skin stands, and you squirm at the brush of air against the slope of your neck. “They haven’t accepted my resignation yet, have they? Tell them I allowed it.”

That makes you laugh a little. You can even feel a corner of his lip quirk up when you do.

“Are you abusing your authority?”

“If Azar could do it, why can’t I?” He says, always quick with his words. They’re raspy and soft in your ear, filled with unadulterated affection. He noses into your neck. “It’s not like I’m trying to build a God.”

“Yeah, you’re trying to flatten me instead.”

You hear him grumble atop you. “No I’m not.”

Resigned to your fate, you stay still for a while more, content to be drifting in and out of consciousness. There wasn’t much to do today, anyway. Coming in a little later than usual would be fine. If your hard-working lover wanted five more minutes, who were you not to give him that temporary period of peace?

You’re not sure how long you’ve been laying there, but eventually, you hear Alhaitham’s breathing start to even out.

So you nudge him.

“What?” He grumbles, voice laced with sleep. Almost like a disgruntled child, Alhaitham buries his face deeper against you as you tap his arm weakly once more. 

“I’m serious. I need to go to work. It's been five minutes.”

“No.”

“Haitham.”

“I’ll cover for you.” You can hear his hand patting around the bed, searching yours out, interlinking your fingers when he’s successful. His lips brush over your collarbone as they begin peppering sloppy kisses against the exposed skin, clustering them over one spot. “Won’t get you in trouble. Promise.”

He squeezes your hand, lifting his head just enough to catch your eye.

“Stay in with me for the day?”

Well... He asked really nicely.

Arms moving to wrap around his back, it’s your turn to pull him close before sleep could whisk you away once more. 

Extra:

The house is flooded with the aroma of spices, simmering meat, and caramelised onions. 

You wake to an empty bed, the sun high up in the sky. Whatever warmth that once lingered on the other side of the bed was now gone; replaced. You’d never understand how he always manages to get out of the most convoluted positions without waking you up in the process. 

“Haitham?” You call out. His earpieces are still on the bedside table and the curtains were still drawn. You can hear the stove turn off, just rooms away from you. Just barely, there’s the sound of utensils being set down and crockery being moved. 

Rubbing your eyes as you slip out of bed, you stumble out of the bedroom. Sleep still beckons you into her loving embrace, but you fight against it to find your husband in the kitchen.

“Habibti,” you hear him greet just somewhere in front of you, as you bumble your way towards him. It smelled delicious. A few dishes are already set on the dining table.

“Careful,” he whispers, pulling, and tucking you into his chest. Soaking in his warmth feels like being set in an oven, a non-existent timer ticking down to the second you’d inevitably have to part. Until then, you live in the moment and enjoy what life has to offer. What Haitham has to offer. 

And he has so much.

Little symbols are traced into your back, letters spelling words in different languages that you’ve learnt were variations of mine, mine, mine. 

“Don’t go falling back asleep on me now,” he croons, lightly poking you when he notices your eyes starting to droop. “It’s almost one in the afternoon.”

Had you slept for that long? 

His fingers pause.

“Love?”

“Hmm?”

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“You told me to stay in with you,” you mumble, reluctantly pulling away to look up at him. Messy grey bangs frame his face, and you brush them aside. 

His eyes twinkle with affection; and mirth. 

“Hm. Did I?”

It takes a while for his words to settle in, but when they do, panic seizes your chest upon the thought that you might have really dreamt that up. You jerk away from him, adrenaline thrumming through your veins as you grip his arms. 

The facade breaks. His lips curl up.

Alhaitham laughs at your expression, squeezing your side and pulling you in despite your silent protests to press his lips to the crown of your head. “I’m kidding. I had a letter sent in just now.” 

You smack his arm. “It’s not funny!”

“It’s pretty funny,” he pecks your temple. “Brush your teeth and join me for lunch. I made your favourites.”

A/N: i don't think its possible for me to ever shut up about alhaitham anymore

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

⑅ ۫ . ෆ ˟ ໒꒱ KAMA SUTRA: PRINCIPLES OF LOVE it’s silly, al haitham thinks, how madly in love with you he is, how that love defies all sense of logic in his mind.

al haitham x sub!f!reader ౨ৎ . . . nsfw — mdni ໒꒱ ⋆˚✩. established relationship / clit kissies + dry humping / foreplay heavy! / praise + petnames / cervix fucking / creampie / al haitham is only a teeny bit teasing + vewy sweet / 2.7k wc. feedback + comments supa appreciated!

“you’ll never hear the end of it if kaveh catches you with that.”

you paw at the thick book al haitham has laid over the thigh that you aren’t occupying, shying into his neck at the image painted on the cardstock page he’s flipped to— one of a man and woman adorned in fine jewelry, gold silks tumbling off their limbs as they embrace each other in what appears to be a rather compromising position.

truth be told, you’re not exactly sure what led your lover— someone who has rarely ever indulged in the pleasure-oriented faculties of life— to pick up such a text about sex and eroticism as the kama sutra, but the mere thought of it is enough to have heat swirling in your tummy and your legs squeezing around the thigh you’re straddling.

“there’s far more to the kama sutra than just… fornication. it’s more so a guide to living well and the nature of love. a whole section is dedicated to finding a life partner—”

“awh, does that mean you’re gonna…?” you giggle, wagging your ring finger in front of his face playfully.

al haitham’s ears tinge red at your insinuation, but he carries on with the faintest of smirks on his lips that he’s trained to remain invisible. “— and there’s another chapter solely demonstrating when and how to commit adultery.”

and just like that— your toothy smile turns to a frown, nose twitchy as you anxiously toss your hair. “better not be reading that chapter, hmph.” you mutter into the warm skin of his neck, lips curving into a weak kiss that you lay over his pulse.

it’s almost amusing to him, the prettiest pout on your lips and brows knit cutely as you try to hide your disappointment from him, turning your head away from his when he attempts to face you. he blows out a sigh, chuckling sweetly when he catches you and lays a delicate kiss to your cheek. “never said i’d be paying that part any mind, sweetheart.”

when you respond by wrapping your arms tighter around his neck and bury your face in his shirt, he can only bring himself to smile and shake his head as he feels himself enter a bit of a daze that’s full of yearning and craving. unnatural, for someone like himself, but fitting, for someone madly in love.

and so, he gently spreads your legs to slot his hips between them, hiking a thigh over his shoulder before lowering his face to the crotch of your panties, skirt pooling flimsily at your hips. “when a woman reproaches a man, but at the same time acts affectionately towards him, she should be made love to in every way.” he quotes from the book.

the warmth of his breath reaches through the thin cotton and your cunt begins to weep, clenching and oozing out slick in a silent plea for his fingers, his tongue— anything to relieve the weight of desperation that settles heavy on your stomach. and before your hips can involuntarily wiggle against his face in search of respite, alhaitham is already tugging your panties to the side to place a sweet, lingering kiss on your clit. 

you tremble at the sudden heat, soft features overcome with a dazed expression as if that alone is enough to knock all the thought out of your pretty little head. “‘h-haitham, what’re you doing…”

“putting theory into practice.”

and then he’s licking up the length of your slit, collecting your sugary slick in the dip of his tongue before letting it dribble past his lips in a mix of saliva onto your swollen clit— giving it another kiss, and another, and then some— until your chest begins to heave with pitchy whispers of his name, candied with a burning behind your eyes from how badly you need more of him.

“patience, darling …” lips are replaced with a growing bulge as his face levels to meet your own, sapphire-tinged emerald dancing across your features, from the delicate pinch of your brows to the flex of your neck. al haitham presses into you deeper, your bare and puffy folds moulding to the shape of his cock through his slacks, drenching the fabric with your milky cream.

his crotch catches onto your clit and in an instant, you’re curling your fingers woefully into the linen of his shirt, puffing out hot air against his jaw as you sweetly keen into him— f-feels good, ‘haitham, feels s’good.

oh, he thinks you're so pretty like this— clinging onto his bicep and painting his ivory skin with crescents of red, every slow grind of his clothed cock against your achy cunt drawing another eager, desperate whine from your throat. and you only fall more lightheaded as he nuzzles into your ankle dangling off his shoulder, kissing the bone before making quick work to remove the noisy anklet adorning it, because all he wants to hear are the sounds he coaxes out of you; he's sure they're the sweetest sounds to grace the earth.

“w-wan’… kiss…”

“what’s that?” he whispers against the inside of your knee, the swell of your breast, the hollow of your clavicle as he travels lipwards— covering every inch except the place you need to feel him most.

“i wanna kiss on my lips, ‘haitham!” you throw a tiny fit, and it’s nothing short of adorable when your tongue does a poor job of biting back your impatience. the uneven pout of your lips and the twitch of your nose have his veins aching with such a strong need to dote on you, tend to you until he rids you of the pain of your burning desire and all you’re able to voice is 50 different whimpers of his name.

“but if i kiss you here,” al haitham teases as he runs a thumb over the dainty curve of your mouth, stopping it at the swell of your bottom lip before releasing a strained laugh, chest knotted up with half-pleasure and half-pain, for all he wants to do is kiss and suck and lick and nibble the soft flesh— feed on it, even— and with a generosity wherein you’re ready to offer anything, everything, he’s almost positive you’d let him. “i’m afraid i won’t be able to stop.”

“don’t want you to stop… never ever.” your eyes are hazy with the light of the stars and you’re looking up at him with so much ardour, busying your lips with soft suckles on his finger while he hastily frees his cock from the confines of his slacks. and his gaze stays on you all the while— because you look so pretty like this and your words settle in the deepest depths of his soul and he thinks he could just devour you whole.

“never ever, hm?” he muses, eyes warm with mirth. you shiver and twitch under his gentle hold, where he kisses the corner of your parted lips, nosing along your cheek to place another on your brow, a final one against the hot lobe of your ear. his breath fans over your neck as he teases your little cunt open with his leaking tip, and you feel him smirk against your skin when you obediently spread your legs wider to accommodate his size. “you wouldn’t be able to eat or drink anything ever again.” 

it’s almost tragic— the soft, dreamy lulls of your head, the cute whimpers of his name, the saliva that pools and spills around the thumb he pops out of your mouth— he’s barely gotten the flushed head of his cock past your tight ring of muscle and you’re already so complacent, pliable for him. 

“don’t care… s’long as i have you,” you sniffle, fingers grappling weakly at the tufts of platinum and sage that curl around his neck, trying to lean up and nuzzle your nose against his. “please, kiss me?”

and it’s in the way you ask him: with dew clinging to your lashes and a timid quiver to your breath that makes him submit all at once, because what kind of a person would he be to deny his lover when she asks so sweetly?

and just as al haitham’s lips meet yours, he’s reprimanding himself for not giving you a kiss sooner. because on your tongue he tastes the spice carried through the sumeru wind and zaytun peaches and all the fluttering pieces of romantic prose you eat and gosh— alhaitham is the furthest thing from a poet— but surely, he doesn’t need any kama sutra to teach him about the love he holds for you in his heart.

he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you some more— smirking against your lips when you sigh happily and melt into the palms that smooth up your waist. “pretty little thing, aren’t you?

“uh huh, wanna be everything for you,” bringing your other leg to rest atop his shoulder, you respond wetly through the spit bubbling at your mouth and the blood that flows straight to your brain as he begins to fuck you languidly with his tip, watching your slick drip and ooze around the bulbous, red head.

he shushes your sobs sweetly, the pads of his thumbs dipping just at the edges of your eyes to collect any tears before they have a chance to be shed. “shhh— f-fuck— s’okay, you’re doin’ so well— doing so well for me.”

you begin to pant against the hollow of his neck as he eases his full length into you, all the ridges and veins decorating his cock that you’ve come to memorize over the months perfectly snug against the tightness of your delicate walls. his head falls forwards and his forehead bumps against your shoulder, a harsh, erotic groan escaping him when your little cunt begins to squeeze and clench around his cock, sucking him in further, all the way until he’s knocking at the sponge of your cervix and his pubic bone is flush against your clit.

your hips jerk at the sharp pulses of pleasure that build in your abdomen as he grinds into your womb— the sweetest, breathiest whines of ‘h-haitham, ‘haitham, s’big flood his brain because he’s deeper than he’s ever been, with the backs of your knees sticky against the bridge of his shoulders and your body quivering under him from how full you feel.

he does all he can to wash away the ache in your tummy— sliding a palm between the couch and the back of your head to cradle it, pressing hot kisses over the apple of your cheek as he continues drawing his hips back and forth.

and he continues fucking into your womb like this, thumb sliding in the thin space between his crotch and your clit to rub sloppy hearts on the puffy nub, and— oh, it feels like heaven.

“feels like heaven?” he’s asking, charmed by your guileless wonder as you wrap your arms around his neck and meekly tug his face closer to yours, rubbing your nose against his cheek like a puppy endeared to her owner.

“mhm, feel you here, ‘haitham… in my tummy,” you giggle in ecstasy, at the thought of his cock twitching wildly in you and his cum filling you up there, hot and sticky and oozing like sweet milk down your thighs— you want it so bad; you want it everywhere. to have him mark you with his seed as a proclamation of his love, fuck, you think you might cry.

and you do, because you want him— all of him so, so bad.

you sniffle when you feel the tears rush down your face and al haitham can only groan at how overwhelming everything is: the wild pounding of his heart against his ribs and the starry night reflected in your eyes and your walls hugging his cock so tight like it loves it. 

“h-hey now, ‘m gonna cum if you keep sucking me in like that— f-fuck.” 

he’s worked you up to that soft, dreamy headspace— where you’re hiccupping on shallow breaths and your bambi eyes are glazed over with honey and the words come tumbling out of your pretty lips before you have a chance to think them through. “cum in me— pretty please, wan’ your cum in my tummy, wan’ it everywhere—oh!"

it’s all so much, because it’s only been a short while but your words send a glow of numbing pleasure through his head, down his chest to his cock— and then he’s cumming— thrusts jerky before he plunges into you completely, spurt after spurt of thick white ribbon filling your womb, flushing your limbs full of warmth. and you’re right there with him, as the head of his cock twitches and drags over that spot nestled deep in your cunt and his thumb continues its assault on your clit, gravelly voice spewing sweet nothings into your hair while you keen for him sweetly.

you’re so pretty when you cry, so pretty when you cum— he tells you as he clears your face of any stray hairs before thumbing your tears away. the next few moments are silent and he takes them to admire you, the heave of your chest as your breath steadies, the almost doll-like pout of your lips, the precious way you suck your cheek in between your teeth to defy the flustered grin that forms under the curious gaze of your lover.

“don’t hide your smile from me.” the most tender smile graces his face when you begin to giggle shyly, eyes beaming with starlight and mouth curved up like the softest of petals. “so long as lips shall kiss, and eyes shall see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

another passage from the kama sutra, you presume. the delivery of the line, words thick and dripping affection like molasses would’ve made you swoon if it weren’t for the mere fact that it was al haitham saying them. in a failed attempt to suppress the onslaught of laughter, you suck you bottom lip into your mouth, only for al haitham to tut you with a playful roll of his eyes and a shake of his head.

“i suppose such poetry is unbefitting for me, huh?”

your legs slot under his arms to wrap around his waist more comfortably, heels resting against his back dimples and fingers tracing hearts over the dips and grooves of his biceps. he’s picked it up as one of your habits— something you do when you feel particularly endeared to him. “you should leave the lovey-dovey stuff to me.”

perhaps you’re right, he tells you through bated breath— perhaps he’s the furthest thing from a poet, a romantic, but there’s no denying how you make him feel like he could compose the greatest love story in all the universe— and it’s silly, he thinks, how madly in love with you he is, how that love defies all sense of logic in his mind. 

perhaps al haitham is the furthest thing from a poet, but if you were to tell him he was your world, he would tell you that you’re everything that makes the world good and beautiful and pure. tell him you’d die without him, and he’d tell you that he could still exist without you, but that’s all he’d ever manage to do. you can say that every day spent with him is like a story, and he’d tell you that you make him feel like he’s living in a fairytale— every second of every day.

but al haitham is a scholar, not a romantic, and such poetry is unbefitting for him. right?

from coco ๑‧₊˚ ෆ i squealed a whole lot while writing this .. my littl baby boy my prince my moon my sun my stars my everything ! i lov u so much so much so much so much foreva n’ eva n’ eva ;;n;; ! comments + reblogs + feedback of any kind ! r supa ! dupa appreciated !! thankies a billi for reading ໒꒰ྀི∩´͈ ᐜ `͈∩꒱ྀིა

Boxer Al-Haitham Shows Off in the Ring

Pairing: Boxer!Al-Haitham x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, boxing, injury, showing off, blowing kisses, flirting, locker room kissing

A/N: Boxers are just universally hot. They just are, its how it works.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who looks for you in the crowd and does a little pose for you before entering the ring. He's only started doing this recently after you started dating but and it is a little embarrassing for him but he knows you like it, and it sends the crowd wild which is good for his future deals.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who chills his hands with ice even when he's at home because his fists keep aching. Because of this he's a little bit hesitant to take your hand, afraid of it being too cold and uncomfortable for you to hold. The ice isn't the only thing that melts when you not only take his hand but also proceed to kiss his bruises one by one.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who trains almost day and night, barely having a break because he knows that there are many who can physically overwhelm him. But he can be faster, he can be more agile, he can see through their guard better, that's the key to his victories in the end, his speed and mind.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who gets up after being knocked down only when he zeroes in on your voice and your face in the crowd cheering him on. He might be bloody and bruised but he promised you a date after this and god damn it he won't take you to dinner after losing such an important mach. This round will be his.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who blows kisses into the crowd after his victory and through his slightly dizzy vision manages to locate you and send you a few extra kisses. It's almost funny to see him barely standing tall and still being so stubborn about it. It would be funny if you weren't worried about him collapsing at any moment now. And... there he goes, right after that little wink.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who replays the footage from every one of his matches to he can improve next time. He has pages and pages of notes written about the various forms, combinations, guards and stances he can take or could have taken. Sometimes it feels like he's back at collage studding for a test and not a pro boxer champion.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who loves the massages you give him when he gets to sleep in. There are professionals who do this too but he only wants your hands on him. Plus he can flirt and tease you, be it verbally or when he flexes his muscles under your fingers when you pass over them.

Boxer!Al-Haitham gives you the keys to the locker room so you can wait for him in there and not have to push through all the people storming him along with him after a mach. It's tiering for him too but at least he gets to come back into your arms in private. And maybe hear you scold him about a bruise or two but it's nothing some medicine and kisses wouldn't fix.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who cringes when you buy so much of his merch, the shirts, the boxer gloves, oh god the fucking pillows and boxer shorts. Why did he even agree to those? Well at least you good wearing them, and the fact that his name is on them... he has to admit it does something to him.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who shows off his strength by lifting you up against the lockers and kissing you. Don't hold it against him please, he needs a little good luck kiss if he's gonna do well in the next match. Just don't grind against him, he doesn't have time for a cold shower..

Boxer Al-Haitham Shows Off in the Ring

Pairing: Boxer!Al-Haitham x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, boxing, injury, showing off, blowing kisses, flirting, locker room kissing

A/N: Boxers are just universally hot. They just are, its how it works.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who looks for you in the crowd and does a little pose for you before entering the ring. He's only started doing this recently after you started dating but and it is a little embarrassing for him but he knows you like it, and it sends the crowd wild which is good for his future deals.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who chills his hands with ice even when he's at home because his fists keep aching. Because of this he's a little bit hesitant to take your hand, afraid of it being too cold and uncomfortable for you to hold. The ice isn't the only thing that melts when you not only take his hand but also proceed to kiss his bruises one by one.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who trains almost day and night, barely having a break because he knows that there are many who can physically overwhelm him. But he can be faster, he can be more agile, he can see through their guard better, that's the key to his victories in the end, his speed and mind.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who gets up after being knocked down only when he zeroes in on your voice and your face in the crowd cheering him on. He might be bloody and bruised but he promised you a date after this and god damn it he won't take you to dinner after losing such an important mach. This round will be his.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who blows kisses into the crowd after his victory and through his slightly dizzy vision manages to locate you and send you a few extra kisses. It's almost funny to see him barely standing tall and still being so stubborn about it. It would be funny if you weren't worried about him collapsing at any moment now. And... there he goes, right after that little wink.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who replays the footage from every one of his matches to he can improve next time. He has pages and pages of notes written about the various forms, combinations, guards and stances he can take or could have taken. Sometimes it feels like he's back at collage studding for a test and not a pro boxer champion.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who loves the massages you give him when he gets to sleep in. There are professionals who do this too but he only wants your hands on him. Plus he can flirt and tease you, be it verbally or when he flexes his muscles under your fingers when you pass over them.

Boxer!Al-Haitham gives you the keys to the locker room so you can wait for him in there and not have to push through all the people storming him along with him after a mach. It's tiering for him too but at least he gets to come back into your arms in private. And maybe hear you scold him about a bruise or two but it's nothing some medicine and kisses wouldn't fix.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who cringes when you buy so much of his merch, the shirts, the boxer gloves, oh god the fucking pillows and boxer shorts. Why did he even agree to those? Well at least you good wearing them, and the fact that his name is on them... he has to admit it does something to him.

Boxer!Al-Haitham who shows off his strength by lifting you up against the lockers and kissing you. Don't hold it against him please, he needs a little good luck kiss if he's gonna do well in the next match. Just don't grind against him, he doesn't have time for a cold shower..

ᕱ⑅ᕱ ۪ ۫ 〜 ꒰ 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝓁𝓊𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒷𝓎, 𝒻𝓁𝓎, 𝒻𝓁𝓎. al haitham x f!reader. sfw. reader is in a skirt ﾉ some playful bicker ◞ some kisses ◞ some naughty touches ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა ﾉ jus fluffy stuffs ꒰ྀི 1.2k wc

you’re taller than al haitham as children— all dangly, clumsy fawn legs where he’s only a baby sapling that’s just begun to sprout from the soil.

even with his fluffy mop of slate hair, the tippy top of his head reaches under your chin, and it takes two of his strides to match one of your own.

perhaps it’s rude and not at all like you or your mother had taught you, but it’s so much fun teasing him about it— the ‘know-it-all’ little brat of a schoolmate who you consistently place second to, who won’t play with you at lunch break and sighs in boredom as often as he breathes and so evidently does not belong in a classroom of children his age.

it’s so much fun watching him struggle to reach for a book on the fourth shelf, one that you pick out with ease (but certainly cannot read with ease), hand to him with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, ruffle his hair and seemingly disregard him with a giggle, a lax wave of your hand.

"looks like you're too short to reach that shelf, haithie. i guess it just can’t be helped!”

neither the book he’s been wanting to read for weeks nor the strap of his suspender sliding off his shoulder have his attention now that you’ve stolen all of it for yourself. 

his head tilts curiously and he looks on in a bit of a stunned daze as you skip off to the section of the library that houses picture books and fairytales, two pigtails swaying side to side and the heels of your loafers scuffing along the carpet and he thinks you’re akin to a butterfly— or flutterby, as you like to call them— prancing about in that carefree way you tend to do.

haithie.

what a peculiar feeling the nickname brings him— a certain eagerness, childlike joy bubbling in his tummy and giving rise to something that he can’t seem to place a name to.

(no one’s ever called him by a nickname before. it’s… nice. just nice, and nothing else. yes, that’s correct… nothing else.

…

his face warms at the realization.)

and then he hears you squeal, watches you trip and tumble to the ground, scrape your palms and sit there pathetically on your knees with your shoulders slumped over.

what a clumsy little flutterby you are.

tiny hiccups are peeled from your throat and you begin to cry softly, and al haitham worries. his feet move on their own when he walks toward you, digging in his knapsack for the last bandage he has left. 

“take this.” the boy who you think dislikes you speaks to you for the first time, so you look up at him for the first time, lips wobbly and lashes sticky and cheeks glistening.

his face, however, is unchanging; he is as straight-lipped as you’d expect him to be, brows set in concentration and eyes sharp, piercing.

(but if you look closely, you’d see how the edges are clouded in concern, blunted down and soft and tender and caring— all the things you’d expect him not to be.)

“you really ought to be more careful,” he leans down to your level, wags the bandage in front of your face, “how will you be able to take notes in class if you hurt your hands?”

“you… you…” 

his words present themselves to you as a challenge and it makes you seethe, furrow your brows, scrunch up your nose, frown. 

al haitham swears there must be fumes coming out of your ears. 

“you’ll get wrinkles if you keep pouting like that.”

“don’t pater— pat— hmph! don’t patronize me!” you yap the too-difficult word awkwardly, snatch the bandage from his hand and run off, cheeks swollen like freshly puffed corn, either from the pain stinging at your palms or in embarrassment at having made a fool of yourself in front of your very first, very real, perhaps unrequited, and only love.

two decades later and you're standing uncomfortably with one knee up on the kitchen counter, tippy toes barely brushing the tile floor as you aimlessly reach for the spice tin sitting at the top of the pantry.

you grapple at air, slide your hand over to the left of the shelf, and to the right, and to the left again, and then you think you finally have it when you feel cool metal graze over your fingertips. stretching, wiggling your fingers as far as you can, you hook a nail under the side clasp and drag it to the ledge of the shelf; you have it, until—

“ow!” your hand flys down to the top of your thigh where your skirt has ridden up in your position that has you rather exposed, to where two lithe fingers much larger than your own surprise you with a pinch, and then a cheeky squeeze of your rear.

“need help with that?” before you can register it, your husband reaches up with ease to take the spice tin in his own hand, shaking it in front of your face almost tantalizingly. 

you frown.

(but then you catch sight of the flex of his bicep as he brings it to your level, the veins lining his forearms, his fingers drumming playfully over the tin. and your frown lessens.)

“haithie, i almost had it!” you lower yourself to the ground and whine, craning your neck up towards al haitham. it’s merely a second after that he raises the spice tin high in the air with a pompous smirk on his face that only serves to make him even more handsome, higher up than the top shelf of the pantry and certainly too high for you to reach.

his grin widens when you bounce on the balls of your feet, grip at his shirt and use it for leverage as you try so, so hard to take the tin from him. to no avail, of course.

you furrow your brows and puff out your cheek, look up at him as if you were about to throw a tantrum and then he’s brought back 20 years to his school library, akademiya-prep physics textbook in his hands and you splayed on the floor in front of him with your pigtails and scraped palms and blubbery cheeks and sullen little flutterby wings.

“you’re such a meanie.”

"and you're too short to reach that shelf, darling,” he muses, eyes swimming with hazy mirth as he finally holds out the spice tin for you to grab, watches on with a tender smile as you hug it to your chest and release a dissatisfied little hmph!

you’re older now, shorter than him now— your lips are fuller and your cheeks are dimpled with smile lines, but your childish peevishness has remained. perhaps it’s one of the things that endears him most to you.

and then he’s placating you the way he knows best, running his knuckles adoringly along the lift of your cheekbone because you’re just so cute when you get all pouty and petulant like this, because you melt under his touch like cream in the sun, because your pout softens and before you realize it you’re biting on your lip to hold back a giggle.

oh, how quickly he’s able to soothe your heart like this. his little flutterby.

"i guess it just can’t be helped.”

𐂯 ‧₊˚ thanku for reading i hope u luv teasing hubbie haithie as much as i doooo :3 🌈🍀💝☮️ ! ! consider reblogging or leaving a comment if u enjoyed ෆ

Walking out the door with your bags

with Al Haitham"

You wished you'd been at work when he decided to move his stuff out. At least it would've been easier to come home to the absence of him and his possessions. It would've still been painful, but not like seeing him carry out his boxes of items you convinced him into having at your place.

Despite still paying for and legally living with Kaveh, he kept many of his "hideous" house decor in your home after his roommate banished it. Now you'll lose that hint of a smile or chuckle he gets when Kaveh complains to you about them.

"If you'd just communicate more, you wouldn't have to do all this," you mumbled. You were more than just bummed out, sitting on a dining room stool.

Just as he was about to walk out another box, he stopped. "Well, I have no intention of changing for an individual who sees nothing wrong with their own self. But it's also not my job to tell you how you should or should not be."

Archons, that stung.

"This is my final box. Goodbye, and I do hope we can be cordial for our friends' sake." You wanted nothing more than to run up, hug him from behind, and beg for him to stay. But there was no point. He had no intention of changing for you two, and you couldn't either.

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 — PUSSY P♡WER.

They only have one goal before you leave Sumeru for another land, and that is to satiate their fantasies about your cunt.

OVERVIEW + afab!reader. tease!reader. traveler!reader not pertaining to the twins in game. i got a biiit carried away with cyno’s part (i mean, it’s cyno my number one slut). nonetheless, please enjoy!

[ CYNO ] — lots of cum, undertones of perv!cyno, unprotected.

cyno is unfamiliar with defeat in all aspects of life. in sumeru, everyone with ears and eyes knows that whatever the general mahamatra wants, the general mahamatra gets. or in this case, you: the traveler from another land. that being said, none could gauge his discontent upon having his persuasions denied every time.

“i can give you anything: money, power, influence. just name it.” his lilt unmasked his dwindling patience. after all, as general mahamatra, it is not a walk in the park to leave his base for a journey to the rainforest. coming home defeated each time calls for desperate measures indeed.

such a wily thing you are, adroit in pushing back after cultivating make-believe for cyno to relish in. it’s always hidden in your smile, followed by an innocent “general, you wish to fuck me that badly?”

to which, he’d answer, “yes. hard and preferably in my bed. but as you are now, stubborn and unbent, say yes and i wouldn’t mind anywhere.”

he awaits the laugh that is certain to follow, a sound that peels off at his sanity, all while tempting his cock to spring out of its restraints, but none echoed. instead, he finds himself inside an inn, with your naked body and wet cunt spread out in the creaky bed. at long fucking last.

sumeru is home to breathtaking panoramas. but in cyno’s opinion, no vista could ever vie with how your arousal coats the plumped lips of your cunt, waiting to be fucked hard. or how gorgeous you look in all fours, back smoothly curving to present yourself to him.

and when he finally, finally pops his cock into your pulsing walls, his breath hitches at the sensation. proving the fantasies he has painted about you all while maintaining the surprise, your cunt is indeed warm, wet, and perfect. it’s loud, too— producing a sucking noise every time cyno picks up his pace, burying himself in you until the white ring around his girth dribbles down his heavy balls.

you clamp around him and his eyes roll back to his skull. his cocktip kisses your spot and he drools at the feeling. the cycle of pulling and pushing and endless huff of jagged breathing tips him over the edge. until he’s coming loads straight into your insides. cyno overstimulates himself until his shoulders begin to jitter, pistoling his rawed-out cock to give you every drop of his thick and hot cum. in hopes that you’ll never forget what it feels like.

[ AL-HAITHAM ] — might be ooc, spare me this man is hard to write. undertones of yandere. big balled and big brained al-haitham. you walk in on him touching himself.

as someone in possession of knowledge that remains shrouded in most people’s cognizance, al-haitham has mastered the art of deceit easier than anyone with a functioning brain in sumeru. deceit that he equips as white lies, all in order to fall in your good graces. or if he is to be candid, to get under your pants.

he particularly roisters in hearing about your curiosities merely to obscure his answers and lead you astray from what you seek. a calculated effort that will establish the day you’d come for his help again, therefore nailing your attention to him and no one else. and as expected from an outlander strange to the land of dendro, you seem oblivious to al-haitham’s advances.

which he finds remarkably endearing, for if there exists an image that could shake his carnal desires awake, it is the manner of how you look at him: doe-eyed, awaiting the answers to your inquiries to slip past his lips.

you are a tight knot in his chest, pressing down on his stomach and between his legs. the product of his salacity, you take away any crumbs of reason and logic from him each night as he pumps himself with big hands. until there are drops of cum on his floor, and his cock falls limp to his stomach once he lays back panting on his bed.

that is until one particular day when his lust has overcome all rational thoughts. al-haitham ends up behind crates in an abandoned room in port ormos, sweating bullets while fucking himself greedily. it was meant to be a quick release, propelled by his growing need to fuck you. never had he foreseen that you’d be following his trail, therefore catching him abusing his cock while panting your name.

“i… allow me to explain,” he mutters in haste, grappling for the waistband of his breaches to hide his swelling cock. “it’s not… i have not any intentions—”

“do you need my help?” you offer. he blinks at you, and you blink back innocently. “we cannot leave you in that painful state, can we?”

no, you can’t. but al-haitham, even after the first time he came inside you, has not found the satisfaction he quests after. what was supposed to be a quick fuck ended up with him fucking you in a few different positions inside the dim room. nevermind the cobwebs or the dust, al-haitham has only one thing in mind, and that is to pump you full with cum it’s the only thing you’d be thinking about once you depart from sumeru.

[ TIGHNARI ] — perv!tighnari. oral sex (reader receiving). voyeurism.

being a scholar equates to having the freedom of committing deeds that would’ve been questionable in someone else’s eyes. and in his lifetime, tighnari surely has done quite a few things that are considered eccentric from a standpoint of a bystander. he is not apologetic, not one bit. after all, nothing is prohibited for the sake of knowledge.

however, this particular curiosity rallied by the arrival of a certain outlander has the young scholar pondering about what’s considered moral and not. and yet his nature’s heightened instincts galloped faster than his ability to provide himself an answer.

it’s your scent, tighnari thinks. the overwhelming whiff of something addictive. something that he’d search for in the morning, or follow in the middle of the night. your scent provides him a certain heat, which travels from his nape down his spine. and with that scent, tighnari learns how to pleasure himself again. yet, it barely filled the desire seeping in his bones whenever you’d look his way or touch his skin accidentally.

he has been consumed by the thought before he could formalize a way to free himself from it: tighnari wants to eat your cunt and fuck you right after. all this he has kept to himself for weeks until one fateful night.

he knows that your body has been shaped to the point of perfection, he knows it. but nothing prepared him to see you with no clothes while you pistol two fingers in your cunt with so much enthusiasm. and perhaps he has moved from where he stands gelid or breathed a little too loud from where he hides, for the next thing he knows, your eyes are on his.

tighnari counts the seconds, telling himself that once it reaches five, you’d be covering yourself in mortification. imagine his surprise when you widen your legs and rub your clit while tugging at your nipple.

he wants to break here and there. take his cock out and shoot a fat load to the ground. what he ended up doing was kneeling before you in silent agreement. his lips buzz against your cunt as he enthusiastically feasts between your legs. he loves it, so much that he feels his cock leaking with every suck and lick of his tongue. when you arch your back and cried out into the night, tighnari’s balls tighten. even without touching himself, thick globules squirt from his throbbing slit. he realizes, then: your scent is unique because it comes from between your legs. and that night, tighnari drowned in it.

HOW WAS THE UPDATE? TELL US WHAT YOU THINK.

genshin men + love language

ft. kaeya, albedo, alhaitham

✽ kaeya believes his love language to be the short quips and flirty lines he throws at you more than anyone else. he does make it quite obvious how much he adores you, even through more than suggestive dialogue. however, you know for a fact it’s the little touches he never intends to grace you with: the hand on your shoulder when the tavern men glance at you, the fingers gently tucking your hair behind your ear, the way his head only ever finds your shoulder to rest upon. kaeya has the need to be engulfed in your presence in one way or another, especially if he’s feeling vulnerable. but of course, those moments for captain kaeya of the knights of favonius must be quite rare. surely…?

Keep reading

forest fire

Featuring— alhaitham x reader ⤀ warnings: gn!reader, hurt/comfort fic, reader has a pyro vision, slightly suggestive at the end if you squint ⤀ summary: he comforts you when you overthink on certain aspects of your relationship | w.c. 1k+ ⤀ a/n: alhaitham strikes me as someone who's intelligent but doesn't overthink, so as an overthinker, this is so..so..so self indulgent

“You’re overthinking things again,” al-haitham states matter of factly. He continues to read despite the soft thudding of your footsteps as you pace the room.

“I’m not.” You argue, stopping in your tracks. “It makes sense. I just think… what if we…” your words trail off as you hesitate, biting your lip, wondering if you should continue your train of thought. 

“...what if we… end things now. Before things get worse…” you falter, wringing your hands, your voice as small as you feel under the watchful eyes of the heavens. Al-haitham’s shoulders visibly stiffen, pausing for just a moment to look up from his book, before slamming it shut in his hand.

“And where’s all this coming from?” he inquires, a quizzical brow arched in skepticism. Your boyfriend leans back in his seat, arms crossed, waiting for an explanation; you weren’t one to make rash decisions like this.

“Where’s this coming from… al-haitham were you even listening to me?” you throw your hands up in frustration and continue pacing the room. The two of you had taken a stroll this afternoon through sumeru city and you had thought it a good idea to have your fortunes read; your colleague at the akademiya, setaria, had sworn by nabiya and the accuracy of her readings, claiming that this relationship you had with the scribe should undergo the young fortune teller’s divination before proceeding foward: “Lest you waste your time on a doomed love prospect,” your friend had warned. Besides, it wasn’t that you necessarily believed in divination, but it didn’t hurt to have a little bit of fun… right? How wrong you were.

As you once again begin to pace to and fro, you miss the way al-haitham rolls his eyes from across you. “Don’t tell me this is all because of what that fortune teller said. You know they’re almost never accurate right? And you’re telling me you want to end things because… her cats recommended it?” Nabiya had read that your relationship would burn up, like a dying star, that it’d be better to save the trouble before everything went up in flames.

“No,” you continue, ignoring him, “she said the gods spoke through her. But anyways, I’ve been thinking ever since and I mean… just looking at our visions should be proof enough that maybe we shouldn’t be together at all.” 

“And pray tell y/n, what do our visions have to do with our relationship? If anything, I’d say it’s a good omen that our elements react so well together.” Ever the rational insight. Usually, al-haitham quite enjoyed listening to your theories, but this was getting absurd, making him wonder if perhaps, there was more troubling you beneath the surface than you let on. Because even he couldn’t predict the tangent you were about to go on when your pyro and his dendro vision worked wonders together, especially when encountering enemies during your investigations in the forest and beyond. 

“Yes, they do react well don’t they,” you chuckle, cynical. “Burning. In our forest nation.”

“Well actually only half forest,” he interjects, as a poor attempt at lightening the mood. In his quiet observation, al-haitham hears the slight shift in your tone, hears you struggling to choke back your true feelings in your tirade. And yet the more you processed your own reasoning, the more it made sense. Your lover is rational if nothing else, so he’s sure to see your point. The nails of your clenched fists dig into the flesh of your palms, your heart starts beating faster, the voices of a hundred different thoughts swirling in your head. Here in the knowledge driven nation of sumeru, it was a rare occasion that the head would agree with the heart, so when it came down to it, most chose to follow their head. You were no exception.

“Al-haitham I’m being serious.” As if your large, pleading eyes weren’t already enough to break his cool persona, your next words do. You turn around, unable to face him as you begin to speak.

“Pyro is destructive. When it spreads, it burns everything in its path, and what if I burn you. Maybe not literally but I’m sure you know the sages aren’t exactly happy their scribe is getting distracted lately. And the grand sage is rtawahist— he’s bound to connect the dots and say the same… I don’t want to be a liability to you al-haitham, or cost you-” 

Ah. There it was. Dating the infamous grand scribe had thrown both you and your relationship into the public eye, and the scrutiny of the akademiya itself was no exception. You felt the air escape from your lungs before you could continue any further. Al-haitham had all but jumped out of his seat, tackling your person and enveloping you from behind, in a rare embrace.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. We’re going to be okay,” he murmurs, “having a pyro vision doesn’t make you the fire itself. And the sages have no say in my personal life, so even if you do ever burn me, well, forests need fire to renew and regrow.” He turns your body around to face him, fingers lifting up your chin so he could look into your eyes.

“I don’t care about any sort of destiny the gods or stars want to show me. I-”

“-plan to discredit the entire rtawahist darshan?” Al-haitham ignores your interruption and continues,

“And? I’d go against celestia as well if they think the element of our visions is enough of a reason to seperate us. You know I’m no zealot.” When the only response he gets from you is the fact that you shift your eyes away from his, he opts to pull you into himself, a hand on your back, the other behind your head. At this proximity, you’re able to pick up the steady sounds of his heartbeat. It was calming; it settled the rapid pace of your own heart to match his. Slowly, you bring your arms to wrap around his waist and press a soft smile into his chiseled chest.

“I fight for what I believe in y/n, and I believe in us. It’s going to take more than just some fortune teller to change my mind, so let’s not discuss this anymore… unless you’d like other ways to keep your thoughts at bay?”

“You know… despite the robot allegations, you’re actually quite romantic,” you tease, looking up. 

“And you’re strangely impulsive for an overthinker.”

“...shut up.”

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

a new chatroom just opened!

↬ boyfriend texts ↠

◇ characters ◇ albedo, al haitham, ayato, childe, diluc, heizou, itto, kaeya, kazuha, thoma, venti, xiao, zhongli

◇ tags ◇ modern!au, established relationship, suggestive (on some), fluff (mostly), a dab of angst (kaeya), mentions of reader skipping meals (diluc)

◇ a/n ◇ unfortunately i can’t really make a readable ‘script’ version for this??? since i’m not sure how i’d display the branching dialogs and all. so uh yeah if this didn’t work on your phone then maybe try your pc!

◇ notes ◇ recommended to view via pc/laptop screen ◇ you will be prompted to give your name, but if you don’t feel comfortable you can skip them entirely - if you do give your name, the data will only be stored locally on your devices

some little tidbits / notes:

yes, the wallpaper changes based on your local time.

there are no ‘wrong’ answers, so go ahead and see if you can find all the possible combinations <3

(optional) send me screenshots of your favorite interactions or line lol

if you have yet to see ‘This chat has ended’ then- well, the chat has yet to end! be patient, it might take him some time to reply~ ;)

if the ui glitches, try turning the screen upright, back down, and then wait for a little (thanks @/prinrestcess for the tip!)

if you don't feel like thinking, here are the helper tools for heizou's chats: [morse code] [utf-8]

this took me literal  d a y s  to figure out... so if you enjoyed it, i would super appreciate your reblogs <3

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @paintingsofdragonspine | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon

ps. if you want to be removed/added from the taglist, just send an ask!

“how much do you love me?”

in which you question the extent of their love out of the blue.

characters; scaramouche, cyno, tighnari, alhaitham, kaveh

; gn! reader, fluff, crack, uh, idk just sumeru men sexy. first time writing kaveh too!

SCARAMOUCHE stares at you. boredly. unamusedly. unimpressed. er, disappointed even. he's having trouble deciding if he should ignore you or not for deciding to distract him from his paperwork. he decides the latter with a sigh. “do you want me to be brutally honest?” brutally honest? is he hinting at some implication that he doesn't actually love you?! what the hell? with gritted teeth and a newfound insecurity, you nod with uncertainty.

“go for it.”

a smirk creeps on his lips as a dark expression etches itself on his face, staring at you with a level of seriousness. “i'd brawl with celestia for you.” his hands find yours, clasping it tightly in his as he breathes a vow—a promise, even. “if you were somehow taken away from me, even i am quite unsure of what kind of being i'd become.”

ah...you sweatdrop at the dedication he's willing to offer. he sounded a bit scary, borderline creepy but it's just scaramouche being your sweetie pie, haha! nothing new, am i right? anyway, he does seem to love you quite a bit—you're unsure if you should be relieved or not.

his other arm lazily warps around your shoulder as he presses his cheek against yours, his eyes shutting in content at the warmth of your skin. “but then again, there are times where i just kinda wish to throw you off a cliff. you can be quite annoying sometimes, darling. ”

“you—!” he cuts you off with a press of his lips to yours. chu~ ;>

CYNO ponders the question for a bit too long—you're afraid that he might've taken the question a bit too seriously. he could've just said something bland and cheesy like “more than anything” and you still would've swooned like a teenage girl. after all, who wouldn't? the general mahamantra—well, if people weren't so busy fearing him, they probably would've been admiring his pretty face instead.

“i love you a lot, that's for sure. though i'm not quite sure how to measure it...”

oh, dear cyno. your heart clenches at his thoughtful words. “haha, i thought you were trying to find a joke to go along with my question or something.”

“why would i do that? my love for your isn't something to laugh about,” he pauses, eyes flickering towards you for a moment, a glint you know all too well present in his eyes.

“though,” he starts with a small grin, “if you want to hear a joke or two, i've got the ones just for you.”

it's plural?! oh no. D:

TIGHNARI doesn't peel his eyes away from the research paper before him, nonchalantly replying in a heartbeat—“i love you enough to date you, apparently.”

you outwardly huff at his boring answer, staring at the ceiling boredly as you lie in his bed. tighnari isn't quite the charmer, you guess. but then again, you probably wouldn't have dated him if he wasn't being his sassy self. “is that so.” your tone comes out more disappointed than you intended.

unbeknownst to you, his ear twitches at the lack of enthusiasm in your tone. his gaze finally removing itself from the papers in his desk to look at you from over his shoulder. he sees you staring at the ceiling, sprawled out all over his bead while humming a random tune out of boredom.

“you didn't get the meaning behind my words, did you?”

your head turns to him in utter confusion, your gaze meeting his unamused expression. “huh?”

a sigh leaves his lips as he turns back to his desk, resuming his paperwork as your gaze burns into his back.

thinking he had dismissed the subject completely, you pout at the lack of explanation, opening your mouth to ask what he meant before he abruptly cuts you off with another twitch of his ears.

“fennec foxes mate for life.”

oh. oh. :o

ALHAITHAM peers at you with a raised brow. “are you asking for an exact estimation or?” this dude you swear—

“it's not like you can calculate love, dummy.” you slap his arm lightly as you huff out a laugh at his words, “i'm simply asking for a metaphor. or at least, what's the most you'd do for me out of pure love.”

“care to give an example?”

you press a finger to your chin as you walk beside him, “hmm...i love you enough that i'd give up my position in the akademiya if it meant to spend more time you!”

“that sounds unreasonable.” he replies without hesitation, a concerned frown forming on his face. “you should work on your time management instead of giving up your studies—”

“i-it's just a reference for what i would do for you, calm down...”

“i can assist you. i'll help you make schedule right now if you want to.” he whips out a piece of paper and a pen from nowhere, surprising you greatly. where'd he get that from?! “here, you wake up at around 7 am, right? give your studies about 8 hours of your day—the average time a scholar needs, then you can spend about 4 to 6 hours with me daily without problem. in our time together we could go out and eat, maybe even do your homework so you could add an extra hour with me if so—”

sadly, you never got an answer. :(

KAVEH immediately goes “i love you more than anything in the world!” yes, it's bland and cheesy like i mentioned earlier. and yes, he's going to be proud of it too. extra points for the confidence(?)

would definitely press kisses onto your face afterwards, hugging you tightly in his arms. “ahh, you're so cute that it's impossible that i'd choose anything else over you.”

“is that so?” you ask innocently as you tilt your head, staring into his eyes. “would that mean you'll finally join me in the upcoming event that alhaitham will be co-hosting?” you almost laugh at the way his expression drops.

“aha—that's...”

“oh, c'mon! you love me more than anything, right? that also includes putting your hatred for alhaitham at bay just to keep me company, riiiight?”

“m-maybe there are a few exceptions—” he really doesn't want to see that guy more than necessary!

you lean closer to him, cupping his cheek with a smile. “even if i give you a kiss now?”

“—nevermind! i'll join you!”

yes, i hc kaveh is a simp <3

—𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐚𝐥-𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦

summary: he hasn’t dreamed in a long time, but when al-haitham dreamed for the first time after the akademiya coup, he dreamed of you.

WARNINGS: archon quest akasha pulses, the kalpa flame rises spoilers! soulmate au if you squint, swearing, mentions of violence, death, injury, minor self-loathing, plot AND lore heavy, angst, fluff, not poly, happy ending!  pairing: al-haitham x fem!reader, minor kaveh x fem!reader word count: 18.1k grind

a/n: written for the lovely @zhongrin​ and her elemental supercharge collab! it was super fun to work on and really inspired me to love writing again because it was just a breath of fresh air. my entry: dendro + dendro + cryo = permafrost 

here are some important notes for this fic to help with understanding it:

tsaritsa is the former goddess of love. the goddess of flowers was a seelie. king deshret reborn was al-haitham. possibly ooc al-haitham (he’s also deaf!) i made shit up about teleport waypoints and about pretty much all the lore surrounding the three god-kings besides what i glimpsed through some books/theories/etc. i was just like fuck it we ball. 

inspo songs: who is she? - i monster, about you - the 1975, awake from a nightmare - hoyo-mix (i recommend you listen to this one especially during kaveh - chat: craftsmanship)

now on ao3 x

Keep reading