#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ

[hwaitham]

𝓯𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵 𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚 ‎

wriothesley x sub!f!reader . nsfw — mdni . rewrite + repost from old blog ﾉ established relationship ﾉ daddy kink ﾉ breeding ﾉ oral [ m -> f ] ﾉ dirty talkin' ooo finger suckin' ooooo (๑ ˃̵͈́ᵕ˂̵͈̀ ) ﾉ infantilization + mindbreak ﾉ praise ﾉ lotsa petnames [ babydoll + little girl + princess + sweetheart + baby ] ﾉ sappie wuvie dovie sex bcos ! ! well :3 it's me !

the fortress of meropide’s pankration ring is vacant now— three hours after the stronghold’s annual boxing spectacle, two hours after champagne showers, one hour after all the prisoners and gardes have made their way back to their sleeping quarters.

the fortress of meropide’s pankration ring is vacant now, nearly— it’s pitch black, nearly, save for the warm yellow flickers of the half-functioning light fixture hanging above the ring’s canvas, the image it casts on the rusty steel walls of two bodies pressed together.

a dancing shadow of your back curling into a perfect arch off the floor, the tilts and turns of wriothesley’s head as he fervently suckles on your clit with alcohol-stained lips, the heels of your frilly-socked feet digging further into his shoulder blades, toes wriggling within the lavender fabric.

“daddy—!”

“pussy tastes so good—”

“pleasepleaseplease— won’t last if you keep— h-huuughh…”

“so fuckin’ sweet— shit, babydoll.”

it’s not like your lover to dirty talk you like this— obscenely and unabashedly and so greedily— licking and sucking and slurping and huffing, blunt nails digging into the plush of your thighs, past the white stockings he’s fortuitously torn off your legs where he now leaves little mauve moons upon your skin.

your lover is usually all grunts and groans and whines that get tangled in his throat— but you adore it when he gets like this. you adore it when he gets all touchy and clingy and desperate for your love after he’s knocked back a couple drinks, you adore the carnivorous growl in his voice when he tells you, fuck, princess, need you so bad, you adore the shower of praise and kisses and bold touches where his heart lies in his fingertips and he smudges lines of pink and red all over your flesh.

“pretty little pussy’s all mine… look at you, sweet thing practically drooling for daddy, yeah?” wriothesley moans, speaking more to your cunt instead of you, and pulls away, slick strung in a thin ribbon that connects his lip to the pearl of your clit. he watches how your hole twitches and clamps around air as it searches for something that only he can give you— hungry and ready with how much of your sticky cream oozes from it and drips down the globe of your ass, soaks the silk of his scarlet boxing robe that you lay atop of.

and your daddy’s right— it is practically drooling, so pathetically leaking for him. 

“fuckin’ gorgeous.”

a glob of saliva builds under his tongue at the sight, and he gathers it in the purse of his lips before spitting it out onto your pussy, watching the frothy bubbles cling to your skin, laughing lowly when you begin to whimper and writhe beneath him, knead biscuits on his chest in a weak attempt to push him away.

“daddy, ‘s embarrassing when you look, o-oh—!” your protests are shushed when he collects the stringy mixture of his spit and your slick from your pussy and moves back up to meet your lips, kiss you messily.

“ah, ah, ahhh… don’t get all shy on m’now, sweetheart.”

the peach champagne on his tongue hits you after the sugary saltiness of your release, and evidently, you realize he must be drunk by the slur of his words, the greedy paws that cup your pussy, and then grab at your hips, your waist, your breasts.

a sharp glint of bright white has one of your eyes squeezing shut when wriothesley shifts to look down at you, his smile nothing short of beguiling. his frame is wide— broad shoulders and a strapping chest and sinewy arms that you’re caged under, the gold of the medal hanging loosely off his veiny neck reflecting the light from above.

and, oh, wriothesley thinks you look so pretty when the heavy metal thuds against your cheek amidst his soft swaying— he thinks you’ll look even prettier with his victory wrapped around your neck, because what’s his is yours, yours is his; you belong to him and he belongs to you.

he wouldn’t have it any other way.

bringing the gold up to his lips, he places a sweet kiss on it, lowering the medal back down to you so you can place another one right on top of his, baritone voice losing it’s primal growl and replaced with something more silky, loving. “fuck, couldn’t have won this without you.”

your fingers scrabble at one of wriothesley’s hands, holding it tight to your chest— to your heart— because you think the sheer sincerity in his voice is enough to have you losing balance and falling into an abyssal love. but that’s okay, that’s where you belong, deep, drowning in it, because you love him, you love him, you love him.

“love you, i love you, daddy— so, so much; love you forever…”

and the fortress’ duke thinks you just might kill him, with that admission.

with that milky, fuzzy, adoring look in your eyes, and how you press his palm to your heart, serve him your entire soul on a diamond-embedded platter— it cuts into his chest and carves deep into his flesh. your words are flames, and they are but dew on his skin, soothing and healing. 

something knots in his throat; and all of a sudden he feels overwhelmed— by the rush of alcohol in his blood, by how sweet you’re being for him, by the painful ache of his leaky cock as he slides the length up and down your folds, each of his movements decorated by a tiny whimper that’s pried from your throat.

“fuuuuck, haha— love your daddy that much, huh? well, i love you, princess. love you even after forever.” wriothesley hunches over so close to you, cupping your cheeks with such delicate care— as if you’re crafted from the finest porcelain— before he kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you, shoving an eternity’s worth of promises and secrets down into your lungs.

he pulls back shortly thereafter to admire your kiss-swollen lips, wiping the pearls that dew at your lashes from just how achingly painful your weeping cunt feels— from how awfully you need to have your daddy inside you.

“inside— nghhh, wanna feel you inside, wanna—”

“i know, i know, but can you be a big girl ‘nd wait a little longer? can y’do that for daddy?” he shushes you with a sweet coo and prod of his thumb at the swell of your bottom lip, gathering the drool that sits there, before you obediently take the digit into your mouth. his cock jumps against your clit and wriothesley doesn’t realize that his mouth has been watering at the show you’ve been putting on for him until a drop of spit lands on your shoulder— your smaller fingers lightly wrapping around his wrist to hold his hand in place, sucking and swirling your tongue around his thumb, licking the tip repeatedly and hollowing your cheeks, giving his thumb the same attention and care you would his cock.

“a-awhhh, shit— you’re such a good girl, mhm?”

your hips grind up mindlessly against your lover’s cock at his praise and your mind fogs up in submission, taking the digit deeper, deeper, suckling and licking until you’re drivelling spit down your chin, giggling stupidly and coating his heart in fondant. “mhmmm, hehe—! wanna be your good girl, daddy…”

“yeah? archons, you’re so cute,” he chuckles with you, shaking his head at how you’ve already gone featherbrained from so much as a mere suckle of his finger, pinching your cheek softly within his thumb and forefinger. “gonna put it in now, ‘kay? gonna give you your cock ‘nd you’re gonna take it; like my good little girl.”

with his free hand, he holds the heavy weight of his cock in the palm, tapping it over your clit and thumbing at his slit to coax more pre out from it, using the glossy cream to lubricate you further as he slowly pushes his aching, flushed tip past the tight ring of muscle lining your entrance. there’s a lewd, wet pop that follows when he gets his bulbous head settled in between your sticky walls, and he can’t suppress the noise— something in between a groan and laugh— that escapes him.

“fuuuck me, y’hear that?” squelch, squelch, squelch. “haha, that’s my liquid luck.”

“uh huh, ‘s yours, daddy— ‘s all yours, i’m all youuurs,” your voice comes out as a sweet, broken keen, one that dizzies wriothesley and has blood flooding his cock.

“a-ah, you’re gonna be the death of me, i swear…” his breathing picks up as he shallowly thrusts himself deeper into your cunt— it hugs him like a vice— like it loves him, his cock, like it wants to milk it dry. 

and without warning, he sinks fully inside of you until he’s buried deep in your sopping cunt— it’s a perfect fit. where his oozing tip is pressed up snugly against your cervix, every ridge and vein hitting all the right spots that line your walls. 

you drawl out a pitchy whine of his designation at the sudden split of his cock, hiccuping on your breath as he leans his whole weight on you and pushes your thighs back to meet your chest until the backs of your knees land on his shoulders, hips gyrating to grind his pubic bone down on your puffy bud. it soothes the sharp tremors of pain ripping through your core, washing them over with waves of pleasure, and you can only arch your chest up into his almost instinctually, fingers finding his face to trace sloppy stars over high-set cheekbones. 

“daddy, daddyyyy, i wanna k-kiss…”

your boyfriend smiles adoringly in response, not ignoring the heavy throbs and twitches of his cock within your drooling cunt at how fucking stunning you look underneath him: pouty and glassy-eyed as you weakly tug him closer by the lanyard of his medal, all ditsy and limbs pliable like the sweet little baby doll of his that you are, head near empty with nothing but daddy, daddy, daddy on your brain.

wriothesley finds himself unable to do anything but indulge your desperation, brushing his lips against yours softly— once, twice, until he feels your velvety breath settle in his lungs, and then he’s left craving more. 

“ohhh, baby, so tight.” his hips begin to rock against yours, and with each drag of his fat cock along your gummy walls, a hot knot begins to boil in the pit of your stomach. 

your lips break free from wriothesley’s when his thumb finds your clit, feeling him trace his name over the sensitive nub, gazing up at him through your dumbed out doe eyes, tongue caught in between your teeth in a dreamy little smile. because he looks so handsome like this, so, so gorgeous with raven and sleet slicked back by his fingers and the small strands that bounce and fall and curl around the pinch of his brows— it’s like he’s made of stardust and moonshine and tufts of clouds from the celestial skies.

“you won me this gold medal, what d’you wan’ in return? a ring? fuck— i’d give you the whole universe if you asked. put the fuckin’ oceans in the sky for you.”

an erotic mewl escapes you from how romantic he’s being and you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize the effect his champagne-kissed words have on you— your toes curl and hips grind up mindlessly into his, pussy throbbing on his cock when your clit brushes against the cream-frosted hairs at the base.

the hard clamp of your walls peels a low groan from him, head hanging low and medal gently slapping your cheek with each slow, deep stroke, “s-shit, you like that, huh? tell me what you want, sweetheart—"

“want your cum— want it inside— in here,” you cut him off with needy babbles as you bring his palms to your tummy, laying them gently over the love bites that scatter your flesh likes the stars scatter the night sky— an eternal reminder that you’re his. “please, pretty pleaseee— wanna make you a papa— mhnn!” 

and then he’s plunging into you deeper than ever before, cutting your words short, breaking them off into pitchy little pants as he presses his crotch flush against your messy, web-coated folds and swirls the tip of his dick deliciously over that one spongy spot where you’ve been needing to feel him the most.

“awh, you wanna make me a daddy? but i already am one, aren’t i?” he teases, runs his knuckles under your jaw and tugs on the plump of your lip with his teeth.

flustered by his words, you whine, shake your head petulantly and try to hide your face from him with the back of your hand. squeeze your eyes shut bashfully. melt his heart into icing and frost cupcakes with it. “nuh uhhh, you know ’s not what i mean…”

it’s staggering— how adorable you’re being for him, with your sweet pleas and darling little whines, he can’t help but huff out a growl through gritted teeth before leaning down to gather your lips in a kiss; it’s filled with so much love and so much fervour when he swallows your pretty cries with his tongue in your mouth and, fuck, he’s certain that even the mere thought of stuffing you full of his seed is enough to bring him down to his knees.

“perfect— you’re my perfect little doll, yeah? gonna make you a mother, gonna make you my wife, gonna make you the happiest girl alive.” 

and it’s all so much, too much, the thumb he has pressed flat against your tongue to pacify your sobs, the promises he washes your tears away with, the sound of gold thudding harshly against the canvas of the floor when he thrusts into you at a different angle— one that has the tip of his cock knocking at the sponge of your cervix in a way where your hips rock up into his own. “daddydaddydaddy, please, ‘m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cuuuum—!”

“my sweet girl’s already fucked silly? got nothin’ but cock on your little brain, uh huh?”

“uh huh, uh huhhhh— wan’ daddy’s cock, wan’ daddy’s cum, wanna— mmph!”

your mindless babbling pulls a harsh guttural noise deep from wriothesley’s stomach, his vision doubling at the shaky lilt to your voice, at the manicured nails that dig into his biceps and claw red wings there— an eternal reminder that he’s yours. “oh, baby, that’s it, there you go— c’mon, be a big girl and cum all over my cock.” 

“n-no! nonono, wanna cum with youuu—” you cut him off with a sharp keen, wailing out when you feel him start to thrust harder, faster, pearls of your slick and his pre spluttering out to fall as dewdrops on your thighs. doing your best to wrap your arms around his neck amidst the jostles of your body, you pull wriothesley in closer, closer, until his lips meet yours and there’s no space for air between the two of you. 

he can’t help but crumble to ashes as you weep into the kiss, as you cling to him— it’s heart-wrenchingly cute how badly you need him. your slurred whimpers of, daddy, daddy please cum— wan’ it in me f’ever, remind him of just how much he loves you, so much, it reminds him that he is the only one for you in this timeline and every other, he is the only one that can ever make you feel this way— and, fuck, it fills him with a rush that he’s certain he’ll never find in anything else. the knot of fire that treads up his spine coils tighter on itself at the sound of your pitchy breaths and pathetic whines. 

it brings wriothesley to the heavens, and soon enough, he’s prattling on and tripping over his words just as you had been, drooling drivelling from his lips like a fucking dog.

“shiiit, all those pretty fuckin’ sounds you make, h-hah, gonna make me cum, baby— you want that? wanna make daddy cum? want his seed so deep inside ya? yeah, ohhh, i know you do, c’mon then, milk this fuckin’ cock, ’s all yours.”

and so, you moan and whimper and cry out for your daddy, goaded by his words and his cock moulding your cunt to the shape of him, toes curling and tapping helplessly over his shoulder, your orgasm flying through you from head to toe. “fuck, fuck fuck, daddy— ‘m cum’ng— cummiiiing, daddyyy—!”

it’s nothing short of endearing, how you clutch at the nape of his neck and whimper in the junction of his neck, little incoherent mumbles falling onto deaf ears. because when you cum, wriothesley cums too, seeing white, a strangled whine ripping from his throat when tiny squirts push past your hole where the creamy base of his cock sticks to your cunt and thick ribbons of his milk paint the walls of your womb.

your heart dances with wriothesley’s when they meet on the tip of his tongue, his nose brushing against yours with so much delicate care and a boyish chuckle pushing past him when your hips swirl in cute little motions to catch your clit on his pubic bone, grinding up and chasing his cock to keep it plugging you full. “wrio.” 

it comes out as a sniffle, and he can’t help but blush at the small pout you send his way. 

“yeah, princess?” he moves back to pull out of you, but your legs slip down from his shoulders in between his arms to wrap around his waist, ensuring his full length is kept inside your stuffed hole.

“if you move it’ll all leak out,” you whine, pitchy and puerile, “don’t want it to— wan’ it to stay in me forever and ever…”

his seed as a sliver of him in your tummy, a sliver of his love kept in your body until the end of time— his head falls forward into your neck where he can only bring himself to huff out an endearing laugh and repeat your words, “forever ‘nd ever, huh…?”

“mhm… forever ‘nd ever ‘nd even after that.”

you tug on the medal’s lanyard to prompt him to meet your gaze, absolutely cockdrunk and bambi-eyed with your bottom lip tugged coyly into your top teeth— wriothesley knows that look well, you cheeky little minx; and you giggle when you clamp down around him once more, coaxing another tiny rope of milk from his slit, evident by a sharp moan that escapes him mid-breath.

“you’re killin’ me, sweetheart.”

he's dizzy— either from all the alcohol or the intensity of his high or a mix of both, but he still manages to bar you to his chest with two steady hands against your back and raise you both so that you’re sitting upright on the floor, and you cry out at the shift in position, at how his cock is nestled so incredibly deep inside that you swear you can feel him piercing your womb.

and it’s a sound that so sweet, so tooth-rottingly sweet, because wriothesley can’t help but mutter out small proclamations of his love as he lays them all over your face, can’t help the excruciating ache in his limbs and muscles and the uncomfortable twist and turn of his organs because, archons, he loves you.

“gold looks good on you, wrio,” you whisper, cheeks burning with warmth and popping like corn from how wide your smile is, from the accidental tickle of his fleeting touches.

you’re floating— high on his love, floating higher, higher, until you’re swimming in the oceans he put in the sky for you, the waterfalls up in the clouds. 

the loss of his touch brings you back down to earth— his fingers are sticky, sweet and salty with drying champagne and a mix of your releases, but he could care less when he removes the medal from his neck and hangs it around yours, carefully laying the gold flat on your sternum, right above your heart.

and maybe he jumps the gun a little when he rubs your ring finger and searches for something that’s not there— his soul fanning across your face in sweet breaths when he starts thinking about white picket fences and a little angel with his hair, your eyes, his nose, your smile— the most beautiful blessing of all.

“well, i think it looks better on you.”

do u evr hate a character so much you wnt to write the most unabashedly horny smut for them . bcos i do ♡ anw hehe :3 tusm for readin ! ! ‎٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و i hope u liked dis n' it made u just as flustered as i felt when writing ⭐️ pls consider commenting ﾉ reblogging if u enjoyed aaa ( =v= ) it wld make mi so happie yayayayyy ! !

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin thirsts #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #genshin imagines #tw daddy kink #tw infantilization #tw mindbreak

[hwaitham]

𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚

al haitham x f!reader . nsfw — mdni . established relationship ﾉ dry humping ﾉ foreplay heavy ﾉ praise ﾉ finger sucking ,, :3c ﾉ cervix fucking + creampies ﾉ petnames [ darling + baby + sweet girl + princess ] ﾉ clit kissies ﾉ haithie is only a teensie bit teasing n' supa dupa sweet ᰔᩚ disclaimer tht this is a rewrite + repost frm m old blog ! !

“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.

you’re not exactly sure what's led your haitham— 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.

regardless, you can't seem to deny that the mere thought of him analyzing the images on each page, fantasizing about you and he bound together in such positions, limbs draped and damp and hot, is enough to coil your insides with anticipation.

“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, playfully wagging your ring finger in front of his face.

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. at least, invisible to you, “— 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 twitching as you anxiously toss your hair. “you'd better not be reading that chapter,” you mutter into the warm skin of his neck, lips curving into a weak, half-hearted kiss that you lay over his pulse.

it’s almost amusing to him, the prettiest pout on your lips and brows knitted taut as you try to hide your disappointment from him, turn your head away from his when he attempts to face you. “sweetheart, look at me.”

“no.”

“you child,” he huffs out a sigh, endeared to your petulance. shaking his head, he gently grasps your chin to hold you in place and lays an apologetic kiss atop the apple of your cheek. “i never said i’d be paying that part any mind, did i?”

"still..." bashfully, you pick at the jade of his breastbone, soft voice crackling with nerves that you forcefully keep lodged in your throat.

and al haitham can't deny that it's cute; it's very, very cute when you get like this.

he can't deny his heart leaping and stopping and leaping again until he feels the sweet burn of it at the back of his tongue, the strong pulse jumping into his head and the tips of his fingers and southbound of the waist of his pants.

it beats quickly, quickly, grows untamed.

such intense feelings are perhaps thought by most to be unnatural for someone like himself, but fitting, for someone madly in love.

so, al haitham does what his heart tells him to do— he sets the heavy leather-bound tome aside and leans over you, holding you down against the couch by the handles of your waist. hikes your 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 kama sutra.

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 heavily on your stomach. and before your hips can involuntarily wiggle against his face in search of respite, al haitham is already tugging your panties to the side to place a sweet, lingering kiss on your clit. 

you tremble at the sudden warmth, 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, all 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. "all in due time, now..."

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 keen sweetly— haithieee, f-feels nice, feels... o-ohh...

oh, what a pretty, tender, needy thing you are— 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, needs to hear are the sounds he coaxes out of you; all the pitchy moans and cute little hums are the most dulcet sounds to grace the earth, he’s absolutely sure of it.

“w-wanna… 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, haitham! lots 'nd lots 'nd lots...” 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 fifty different whimpers of his name. "i want a kiss on my lips, please?"

“oh, but if i kiss you here,” your 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 thumb while he hastily frees his cock from the confines of his slacks. 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.

patience be damned.

“never ever, hm?” he muses, eyes swimming with a shimmery pool of silver 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 nearly 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, perfect 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 bump 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— al haitham 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, moulding and shaping you into the perfect princess of his that you are. “pretty little thing, aren’t you?"

“uh huhhh, wanna be everything for you,” 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 red, bulbous 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. oh you sweet girl.”

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 past months perfectly snug against the warmth of your delicate walls. his head falls forwards and his forehead bumps against yours, a harsh, erotic groan escaping him when your little cunt begins to squeeze and clench around his cock, sucking him in further, 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 pain and pleasure that build in your abdomen as he grinds into your womb— the sweetest, breathiest whines of h-haithie, ‘haitham, s’biiiig 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 aching pinpricks in your tummy— slipping a palm between the couch and the back of your head to cradle it, pressing hot kisses to your forehead as he continues drawing his hips back and forth, back and forth, maintaining a steady rhythm with his cockhead as it slides against the sponge of your most sensitive parts.

and he continues fucking into your womb like this, thumb sliding in the thin space between his crotch and your clit to rub sloppy stars 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 pet endeared to her owner.

"mhmmm, feel you here, haithie… 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— in your womb, dousing your skin and in every crevice, in your brain. to have him mark you with his seed as a physical manifestation of his love makes 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— o-oh, fuckkk.” 

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 everywhereee—!"

it’s all so much, and it’s all too fast, because it’s only been a short while but your words send a glow of mind-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.

you’re right there with him as the head of his cock twitches and drags over that one 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 mewl for him sweetly.

and it’s so pretty— 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 molars to defy the flustered grin that forms under the curious gaze of your lover.

“don’t hide from me,” he speaks to your lips as he gently tugs the skin free from between your teeth, the most tender smile gracing his face when you begin to giggle shyly, eyes beaming with starlight and mouth curved up like the most daintiest 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 ginger 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 your bottom lip into your mouth, only for your lover 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, haithie.”

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.

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

right?

my early birthday gift frm me 2 u ^__^ i apologize for it only being a repost ,, i will try my vry best to post a new fic for our haithie over the winter break 🍪🥛 so please cheer me on & look forward to it ! ! !

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #al haitham smut #al haitham x reader #alhaitham smut #alhaitham x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #< haithie 3

[hwaitham]

𝓲'𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚 al haitham x f!reader. nsfw — mdni. established relationship ﾉ inexperienced al haitham ﾉ a teensie bit of nipple play ﾉ spit :3 drool :3 ﾉ dry humping ﾉ you call him ' haithie ' quite a bit ꒰ᐡ´˃ ˙̫ ˂ഃ`ᐡ꒱ ﾉ this is a rewrite + repost from my old blog !

the akademiya’s scribe is in heaven.

at least, that’s what it feels like—with your whimpers and keens and pretty, pretty pleas, legs caging either side of his hips, and your panty-clad cunt weighing down heavily on his crotch; he can’t seem to bring himself to paint you as anything but some sort of celestial body.

and it’s his first time in heaven.

it’s the first time his angel of a girlfriend is sat on his lap like this: the lace straps of your dress sliding off your shoulders and digging into the supple flesh of your arms—the arms that wrap around his neck to pull him closer, closer, until there’s no room for air between your bodies, or your lips. your mouth moves languidly against his own—softly, sensually, each wet smack decorated with a small whine that sends a painful throb to his cock.

his lashes flutter sporadically as you continue to kiss him, and for the first time, al haitham can’t seem to think straight. 

because you kiss him like that—so gently, so carefully, fingers curling at his nape—every kiss to his lips feels like the first but you kiss him like it’ll be the last. tilting your head to press against him even deeper, deeper, and then he drowns. in the roses that bloom in his chest and the lose petals stuffing his mouth full, in the scarcity of your sweet voice when all you can do is call out for him, wanting al haitham, your al haitham.

“h-haitham… mmm, haithie…”

he's in heaven—on cloud nine, and he doesn’t want to come back down.

perhaps it’s the intimacy of the moment, of your fingers in his hair and your warm breath settling in his lungs that has him harder than ever before, but al haitham’s stomach is in his throat, his heart pounding with lust and mind racing with feelings so foreign—fear, embarrassment. he grows horrified by the thought that just maybe you can feel his raging boner through the thick fabric of his pants.

“please, p-please…” your voice pulls him out of his head and you run your hands down the grooves of his biceps, the veins that line his forearms, and then your fingers find his own, loosening his fist before smoothing his palms up your torso to your breasts, squeezing gently, “can you touch me here…? pretty please, haitham?” 

the way you say his name is hypnotizing: a soft, needy mewl against his lips and he has no choice but to cave in, nodding along with a deep hum when you wrap your fingers around his thumb and run them over your pebbled nipples. “f-fuck… i… yeah, baby.”

and as if that isn’t enough to send your boyfriend’s mind reeling, when he feels your tongue dip into his mouth to massage his own, when he feels your saliva mix with his and collect at the swell of his bottom lip—dribbling down his chin in slow, teasing ebbs—he moans: a smooth, drawn-out assonance that travels straight to your clit. 

you can’t help the reciprocated sound that al haitham swallows and the slow roll of your hips that follow as you search for friction to ignite the tightly wound coil inside you. a mewl pushes past you when you feel his hard-on through your movements, grinding your sex along the outline of his cock, “haithie… feels really nice…”

your sweet keen overwhelms your lover—a heavy dizziness carrying from one ear to the next and it stokes the embers in his gut—he’s sure he won’t be able to control the flames if you continue on like this any longer, clinging onto him like some guardian angel who's nothing short of head over for her human, nuzzling your cheek against his, making those pretty, pretty noises.

he doesn’t want to cum— at least, not yet— not until he sinks his cock past your wet folds, deep, until his leaking slit brushes that one sweet spot that makes you arch your chest up into his and you’re calling out his name like it’s some sort of prayer. 

he can’t cum, he won’t allow it— at least, not until you cream around his cock, tears wetting your cheeks that he can wipe away, loving you through your high just as you’re loving him now: purely, tenderly.

the thought sends his mind into overdrive, his pulse picking up when he starts to hear it ringing in his ears, and so he pulls his lips away from yours hastily, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. his brows knit tightly and his molars grind in frustration as his fingertips move from your breasts down to your waist, digging them into the flesh to stop the slow rolls of your hips.

“h-haithie?” your voice is sweet when you call out for him, it always is, but he think’s so especially when it’s like this: wobbly and pitchy and teetering on the edge of blubbery sobs.

“i’m fine— you’re fine, just… need a sec,” he pants headily, pulling you into him impossibly close, until your body melts into him and your heart dovetails his through the gaps in your ribs.

you’re absolutely intoxicating, with the sugary, decadent scent of your perfume and the steady rise and fall of your chest, where he can feel your nipples against his own. his forehead is heavy on your shoulder and he tries to smother the flames burning behind his eyes, tries to ignore the dull ache of his cock as his impending orgasm retracts.

al haitham pulls away from your neck and tilts his head towards your lips when he thinks the bright blue flames have subdued to a light flicker, looking up at you through lidded eyes—at the pretty angel sitting on his lap with a halo glowing around her head. 

“you’re the sweetest, haitham…” your palms cup either side of his face, thumb wiping away the remnants of rosy glitter that had fallen from your cheekbones onto his. he sees the way you gaze at him ardently, nothing but love and adoration held in your blown-out pupils before you lean in, lips brushing over his forehead, and then his brows, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his chin.

it's staggering—how wanted he feels, how loved. a feeling that wakes something long dormant inside him and flushes his limbs full of warmth. 

he wants to make you feel the same way too.

you’re the sweetest—he wants to say, but he can’t seem to peel any words from his throat with the way blood floods the swell of his cock, his chest caving inwards with a burning desire as he meets you halfway when your lips reach for his.

and it’s in how you two kiss this time around that ignites the fire in his stomach brighter than before—soft, delicate fingers tracing over his cheekbones as you tilt your head and melt your silken lips into his—tiny, satisfied whimpers escaping you when his palms smooth the skirt of your dress up to your hips, run along your thighs and grope at the soft flesh of your ass.

prompted by his warm touch, you grind down into him again, pulling away ever so slightly to breathe out your wants, needs over his lips.

“w-wanna, i wan’, haithammm—“

“c’mon, use your words. i know they’re, h-hah, know they’re in there.”

you whimper, cheeks hot and head dizzy when he asserts himself, “wanna fuck, haithie, want your cum s’bad,” it comes out a pitiful whine, one that al haitham realizes the pain behind when you take his pinky in your hold and guide his palm from your ass to your tummy. “in here… wan’ it in here.”

there’s no way you don’t know the effect your words and the way you say them has on your boyfriend—it’s beyond torturous hearing you say how you want him in you, cockhead knocking at your cervix and balls heavy over the swell of your ass and his seed filling your womb and oozing out of you in creamy globs that drivel and stick to your thighs and—god, al haitham just can’t stave off the orgasm that hits him, “fuck, i’m—!”

before you can ask him what the matter is, he groans, loud and low into your mouth, a tiny squeak escaping you when he bucks his hips up into you unexpectedly, each painfully erotic thrust of his punctuated by the bounce of your body.

you’re quick to realize what’s going on with him when you feel his open mouth puffing out hot air and choked expletives onto your skin, fingers lightly digging into your back as he fists the lace fabric of your dress so tightly you can feel them tremble. 

and then there’s his cock twitching about in this shorts, thick, creamy ropes spilling from his slit; the thought is dizzying, it heats you up, and you can only latch onto al haitham’s arms to steady yourself.

when you look down to where your crotch meets his, you’re greeted by the sight you expected—a dark patch spreading along the seam of your lover’s slacks, the dampness seeping through until you can feel it through the gusset of your panties and slathered as strokes of glaze over the apex of your thighs.

your lover falls back onto the bed almost instantaneously as he comes down from his high, covering up the growing blush on his cheeks and ears with his forearm, shame settling into his bones while he slowly regains his full consciousness from cumming—hard—shuffling his hips around uncomfortably from the hot, sticky feeling in his pants.

it has you giggling shyly—a cute, playfully innocent sound that makes al haitham’s heart skip several beats.

“you… you’re just a little minx, aren’t you?”

nuh uh, ‘m not! is whispered into his palm when you bring his hand up to your lips to place a long kiss to his wrist, trailing them up to his fingers before you lean over him and lay another one to the underside of his jaw. 

he moans when you wiggle your cunt over his still-aching cock. he stills wants more.

and you’ll give him more, you'd give him anything he wanted, pull the moon down to the earth if he’d asked, anything, everything—and so, you lift yourself up off his lap, sink onto your knees in between his spread legs and run your palms up his sinewy thighs. 

he tenses under your sensual touch and you have to bite back a moan when he finds his way to your hair, lithe fingers brushing free strands from your face before he gently takes your twin-tails in either hand. 

kisses follow in the trail of your warm touch: a kiss to his knee, another one halfway up the inside of his thigh, and a final one to the bulge of his crotch, wet salt spreading over your lips that you lick up and swallow with a satisfied hum, smiling at how his hips roll up into the air.

“can i clean you up, haitham?”

he peeks down at you when your angelic voice reaches his ears, and for the first time, al haitham begins to doubt himself.

he wonders whether maybe letting you get on your knees for him was a mistake, because when you let a glob of spit fall from your lips onto his twitchy bulge and lean down to lick it off—the white glow of your halo shining brighter than ever— he thinks he just might cum again.

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #al haitham smut #al haitham x reader #alhaitham smut #alhaitham x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham thirst #genshin thirsts #al-haitham smut #al-haitham x reader #al haitam x reader #al haitham x you #al haitham x y/n #genshin imagines #< haithie 3

[hwaitham]

𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚 al haitham x sub!f!reader. nsfw — mdni. established relationship ﾉ period sex ﾉ daddy kink ﾉ sweetheart + princess + baby as petnames ﾉ lotsa praise n' haithie is vry doting :3 dis is a rewrite ﾉ repost from my old blog ! any interactions are super loved n' appreciated (∩ˊᵕˋ∩ ྀི)

you think the way al haitham touches you so tenderly and so cautiously—like your skin is as fragile as the petals of the padisarahs he picks for you, like you’re some prey animal with your innocent fawn eyes and twitchy bunny nose—is enough to make you weep.

and, oh, it is; and, yes, you realize you’re prone to tearful outbursts, but when he caresses you like this, with his thumb sowing slick hearts over your clit and his lips hot on the swell of your breast and his leaky cockhead webbed with red as it works your little cunt apart, when he slathers all his love for you—unadulterated, pure—over your spine, how can you expect yourself to not cry?

“crying already, sweetheart?” your lover's lips curve up into a soft smile when you choke on a sob as you nuzzle your cheek over his, a warm pool of crystalline pressing into his skin and drivelling down his jaw. he pulls away to coo at you sweetly, thumbing at the dew of your lashes as he watches on in awe of your emotional frailty. "delicate little thing, aren't you?"

he shuffles around on his forearms into a more comfortable position on top of you, elbows digging into the mattress as he cradles your face within his palms.

jaded cerulean gazes between your eyes, and then your lips, and then he’s kissing you slowly—exploring the concavities of your mouth with his tongue, stealing tiny mewls and the other pretty noises you make in an attempt to distract you from the painful contractions in your tummy.

and when he begins to stretch you open with his cockhead, easing his way in and moulding your puffy walls to his girth, the ache of your cramps dissipate into barely-there pinpricks, the pleasure candied by slow swirls of his hips into your g-spot and his thumb digging into your puffy nub. al haitham’s ministrations coax a sore sob from your throat, your ankles unlocking around his waist in favour of lightly tapping your toes against the bottom of his back because it feels like heaven. 

“feels like heaven, hm?” he muses and cocks a brow, drinking up the dreamy glaze over your pupils and the sinful pout of your lips and the adorable twitch of your nose. 

“uh huh, feels s’good, daddy,” your voice comes out a pitchy sigh as you cling to him, dainty fingers dipping into his clavicles and the arch of your back deepening when he continues to grind into your sensitive spots with care, lewd squelches of blood and slick making your entire body swell with heat. and you can’t help but be the slightest bit embarrassed by it all, by the mess you make over the towels he’s laid under you and the sticky red that clings to his pubes and the needy aches of your heart because you just yearn for him terribly, curving your body up into his and grappling lazily at the tufts of silver that curl just around the nape of his neck. “you take such g-good care of me…”

the cute sniffles and stuffiness of your voice as you hiccup over your words pull a guttural groan of a curse from him, his head tossed back and cock throbbing painfully as more webs of glistening blood drip and ooze and coat his length, materializing as a creamy ring around the base when it mixes with his pre.

as if to punctuate your words with actions, he leans down to kiss over the hot plane of your chest, running his tongue along a pert nipple, shushing your whimpers sweetly while he pushes his cock deep, deep, deep—all the way until his leaky tip is greeted by the soft sponge of your cervix.

“fuck—well, that’s my job, isn’t it? sweet girl like you deserves all the care in the world.” 

honeyed words slip out of your right ear just as they enter your left, and you can all but helplessly tug him closer to your chest with limp limbs—clingy and desperate to feel every inch of his body against yours. he swallows your mewls with soft kisses as he fucks your womb and grinds into your clit, the mingled pleasure and pain coaxing drip after drip of thick red from each clamp of your pussy that seems to get increasingly tighter.

"a-awh, s'okay, 'm not going anywhere, baby." his voice is a gentle croon, sweet and encouraging and the edges to his words are the slightest bit teasing. it makes you whimper—realizing how lucky you are to be able to experience al haitham like this; soft and doting and deeply in love.

with his low groans against the hot shell of your ear, his palms wet over the small of your waist and his cock plunging into you as far as it can go, the bubble that grows in the pit of your tummy finally pops, and you cum—tiny, slurred mewls of daddydaddydaddy buried into his chest and your toes curled and, oh, al haitham thinks it’s so cute how your arms lock around his neck to hold him close, overstimulated as your hips jerk and body jostles helplessly with each rock of his hips, yet still hungry for more, more of him.

“daddy, p-please—” you choke on a whimper, horribly in love with your daddy and blissed out from your orgasm and all that—drunk on his cock taking up every inch of space in your twitchy cunt and dripping hot pre into your womb. 

he continues to thrust into you languidly and rub stars and hearts, spell out his name over your clit, his fingers stained as red as the base of his cock. there is no urgency to his movements, no rush to wash over your slow tides of pleasure—he’ll drag it out for as long as he needs to, as he wants to; what’s losing a couple of hours of his workday in favour of tending to the owner of his glowing heart?

“s’okay, princess; daddy’s gonna take all the pain away.”

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #al haitham smut #al haitham x reader #alhaitham smut #alhaitham x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham thirst #genshin thirsts #al-haitham smut #al-haitham x reader #tw period sex #tw daddy kink #< haithie 3

[hwaitham]

𝓼𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓼𝓾𝓷 ⋆ ࣪˖ 𓂃𓋜

al haitham x f!reader . sfw . established relationship ﾉ fluff + suggestive ﾉ reader is smaller than haitham ﾉ kaveh!! ૮꒰ིྀ˶꜆´˘`꜀˶꒱ིྀა 

"someone's up rather early."

al haitham's kitchen is teeming with light when he walks in on saturday morning: the pots hanging from the ceiling catching the sunshine from the open window (ting! ting!), the blue flame on the gas burner that billows out along the bottom of the stone pan that rests atop it, and you.

the warmest, softest light of them all, standing there by the stove in your—his—shirt, silk strings of an apron cinched into a messy bow at your waist as you busy yourself with frothing the masala chai, turn to face your lover when his voice reaches your ears and welcome him with a cheery, "g'mornie! breakfast's gonna be ready soon."

darling angel, little sunspot in the corner of his mind.

he hums sleepily, making his way behind you and draping his broad frame over your smaller one, strong arms curled around your waist and tenderly squeezing your ribs, chin propped on your head before he leans down to nuzzle his nose into your hair—sweet and sun-warmed.

you don't need to tilt your head up to know al haitham is keeping a watchful eye as you split even volumes of the chai into three mugs, stir a tablespoon of sugar into two of them. spread ghee over the hot stone pan and wait for it to sizzle before you pour on a ladle full of dosa batter.

had it been a few months prior, you would've felt nerves from tip to toe, afraid of his silent judgement—yet here you stand now, blooming like a rose under his gaze.

it's one that's caring, tender, when he gently reminds you to watch your fingers as you're cutting an onion and to flip over the dosa so it doesn't burn.

"dosa and chai for breakfast? you spoil me."

you open your mouth to reply, but the words leave your throat as a garbled mess of stutters and little hums when al haitham surprises you with lazy kisses fluttered over your cheek, and then your jaw, trailing southbound of your neck to your décolletage.

"haitham, stoppp!" you burst into a lovely little peal of giggles when he nips at your skin—playfully, hungrily—pushing your rear back into him and shrugging your shoulders in a failed attempt to get him off you. "what if kaveh sees?"

"then he sees."

his voice is low and nonchalant, but he only holds onto you tighter, protectively, digging his arms further into your ribs as if to remind you that he's already made his home there, that he's staked his claim.

"if the sight of me loving on you drives him out of the house faster, then i may just have to do it more often."

"you meanie." you quip back and stick your tongue out at him as you transfer the crisp dosa onto a plate, reaching for the bowl of batter to make another.

a squeak escapes you before you can do so, because your lover is tilting your chin up with his finger and finally giving you a kiss where it should be given, sucking and licking at your lips, wiping a bubbled bead of his saliva off the corner with his thumb.

it's rare for your haitham to get like this—outwardly clingy with his touch, but you know him well enough to understand why he's displaying such behaviour.

"you're not still jealous from last night, are you?"

ah, yes.

last night.

celebrations at lambad's tavern after al haitham's successful demotion from acting grand sage to mere scribe—celebrations in the manner of a feast of delicacies, followed by innumerable rounds of genius invokation tcg, and concluded with pints upon pints of beer; one for the master (al haitham), one for the dame (you), and one too many for the roommate who swilled them without restraint (kaveh).

and what a sight to behold was the kshahrewar architect—your bestest friend—at the end of the night.

blonde braid mussed and his clips somehow finding their way into your hair, hiccuping and sniffling and pockets emptied beyond belief, trailing at your feet like a puppy and slathering you with sweet words and blubbering drunkenly on your shoulder:

you're so pretty, you're so kind, i really don't understand why you'd entertain a romance from someone of the likes of al haitham... i can assure you, if he doesn't get down on one knee soon, then somebody else definitely will!!

"me, jealous of kaveh? what a joke." your haitham scoffs, burying his face in your hair to hide the irritated pout on his face.

"that sounds an awful lot like something someone who is jealous would say."

"'m not jealous."

"i don't think i believe—a-ah!"

you're cut off all of a sudden—him growling into your temple and tugging you back firmly into his chest, arms unraveling from your waist to weave his fingers between your own, drawing your attention away from breakfast as he lays his love heavy on you with heated kisses to the shell of your ear, nipping and tugging and seemingly overcome with some form of carnal desire.

"i'm—" your knees wobble and knock together when he licks at a particularly sensitive spot, caging you against the kitchen countertop and leaving physical manifestations of his love over the fragile skin of your neck.

and then it becomes awfully hot in al haitham's kitchen on saturday morning, despite the stovetop now turned off and chai no longer steaming, the sun hiding behind a cloud and covering his eyes to allow you and your lover the privacy you deserve.

"i need to make breakfast—i-i'm busy, haitham..."

he hums in dismissal of your protests, mindlessly thumbing at your ring finger before he bunches your shirt up past your hips, lowers himself onto a knee and kisses up the back of your thigh—touches once possessive, greedy, now softening and sweetening into something more reverent and devoted.

"as am i."

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham fluff #genshin x reader #al haitham x you #al haitham x y/n #< haithie 3

[hwaitham]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the tahchin is bitter on your tongue today. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you’re grateful, truly, you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

and you, what are you like? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

not over yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“your heart is rather big.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(i love you.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you like holding me close, sweetheart?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“h-haitham?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #alhaitham x reader #genshin x reader #al haitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #genshin drabbles #genshin imagines #alhaitham comfort #genshin comfort #< haithie 3

[hwaitham]

𝓱𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼 𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚

al haitham x f!reader . nsfw — mdni . established relationship ﾉ daddy kink ﾉ heavy ddlg dynamics ﾉ dumbification + mindbreak ﾉ finger sucking ﾉ baby + sweetheart as petnames ﾉ typical condescending praise from haithie . . hehe c;

al haitham believes that the sweetest and best days are not those on which anything particularly exciting or whirlwindishly wonderful occurs, but those that bring with them humble delights that follow gently after each other— like the flipping of parchment as one nears the end of a book, the fresh aroma of biscuits and pastries that seem to continuously linger about in the air of a patisserie.

and such belief is what has led him to favour moments like these.

you, beneath him, fucked-out doll, orgasm after orgasm after orgasm coaxed from your cunt to slather the base of his heavy cock in glistening cream, no thoughts swirling around in that darling mind of yours except reams upon reams of ribbon that spell out his designation.

daddydaddydaddydaddydaddy.

and it’s the best thing— the very best thing in the world. his dumbed-down little girl, knees pressed to your chest and ankles crossed, body jostling with each forceful thrust, with each letter of his name that’s swiped across your clit.

“d-daddy—“ you choke on a tiny whimper, hiccup over your breath. keen sweetly when he pulls out and leaves you feeling empty and in loss of the milk that drivels out of you. “love you... l-love you s’much, nngfh…”

“love your daddy s'much?” tapping his weeping tip over your tummy, he presses his crotch into your greedy cunt and groans at the hot slick that coats his balls, the little grind of your hips as you search for more. “is it daddy you love… or his cock, hmm?”

you give him a needy whine and a weak kiss to his cheek, the adorable pout strung over your lips being the only answer you’re able to respond with after having your brain stuffed to the brim with cotton and cum.

it tells him everything he needs to know. “s’okay, baby, i know, i know…”

because even without words, al haitham understands just how smitten you are with him, how fiendishly you adore him, perhaps more than life itself. it’s easy to see in the look you give him from under his arms, eyes glazed over with pearl and such delicate reverence. it’s in the insatiable desire you have for him, his cock and his thumb and his milk and his kisses and his heart. so dumb and so in love— you’re lucky that your daddy feels just the same about you.

he gifts you his cock once more, pushing past your creamy hole and stopping with shallow thrusts when he feels your walls seizing around him, stomach clenching and feet kicking softly against his abdomen. “daddy, nooo…” you sob, sniffle at the pleasure of his shaft throbbing within you, pushing sticky cum even further into your womb. 

hunching over closer to you, he rubs his lips over your forehead and kisses away the few stray bubbles of sweat, lends you his thumb to pacify your pathetic little whimpers— yet the lazy swirls of your tongue around the digit only seem to serve as a breach for you to make even more lewd noises. al haitham shudders at a particularly sweet, air-headed little giggle you release. “no, what, sweetheart?”

“‘s not enough… wan’ more.” more cock, more cum, more everything.

and he’ll give you more of everything, as much as he has in him that he can give. drain his balls and flood you with his seed, press down on your soft tummy and watch it drip in globs out of you, all so he can fill you up again, and again, and again.

with a grunt and sharp glint of a smirk, he pries your legs apart to hook them over his forearms, pulling out… almost, almost… and then slowly, slowly sinking back and splitting you in half. 

”guess daddy needs to go even deeper.” squelch, squelch, squelch— he rocks into you back and forth, back and forth, all the way until you feel his cockhead gyrating over the deepest spongy spot of pleasure in you. it’s enough to push you to your high, silky walls clamping down tighter than ever before, not allowing al haitham a single moment of reprieve. “fuuuuuuck, h-hahh— you jus’ don’t wanna let go, do you? greedy little cunt.”

toes furled and nails carving red wings into his back, you have trouble hearing him over your squeals and mewls. they’re such sweet, honest, candy-hearted sounds, the break to your voice and the mindless little babbles— cumming, cumming, ’m cumm’nghhh, daddy— i love you, loveyouloveyouloveyou!— it doesn’t take much more than that for him to give you what you want.

once, twice more he thrusts and releases into your womb with an unsteady moan, heart hammering against his chest so hard and fast you can feel it against your own as he lays atop you, hand cradling the back of your head and lips pressed hard to your temple. he whispers to you, some trivial words that float like haze past your ear: perfect fit… so tight ‘nd warm… you wanna stay with daddy like this forever, baby?

barely, you nod, your face pressed to the handsome junction of his neck and his cock pressed yet to your cervix, ribbons of cum flushing you with tender warmth. “mhmmm, daddy… forever ‘nd ever ‘nd ever…”

“god, you're such a sweetheart...” he whispers and grinds his seed into you deeper, his hips chafing along the insides of your sticky thighs. and with this, you can only sigh a dreamy sigh, cling to him like his perfect little princess, let al haitham nestle further into the only home he's ever known.

what a humble delight, indeed.

dis drabble is da product of a vry overworked masters student who has j gotten her period n' needs nothing but to be Babied n Coddled >< i apologize for da self-indulgence but i hope even j one of you could find some comfort here ♡

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #al haitham smut #alhaitham smut #alhaitham x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #< haithie 3 #tw daddy kink #tw mindbreak #૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა . AAAAAAAAAHH ! ! ! !

[hwaitham]

𝓪 𝔀𝓪𝓵𝓽𝔃 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓪 𝓼𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 ⋆ ࣪˖ 𓂃𓋜

al haitham x f!reader . sfw — fluff . established relationship ﾉ how to spend a sunday morning in love . . ♡ note : this is a sweet little ficlet based on a dream i had dreamt two nights ago :3 i apologize for any errors here — i wrote this in one sitting with love absolutely inundating me (∩´͈ `͈∩ ྀི) this is moreso catharsis for me than anything else !

it will never be more homely in al haitham's house than it is late on sunday mornings.

because it really doesn't get much cosier than this: the sumeru sun peeking through the open window to tip its hat and wish upon you a ‘good day!’, the bird-chime breeze whisking the sweet fragrance of ripened zaytun peaches past the curtains, the cuckoo clock announcing that it's prime time for elevenses.

“biscuits with your tea, haitham?”

“yes, thank you.”

what a delightfully dreamy sunday morning it is! today especially of all sundays past, where mottles of gold dust flit and float through the spiced air of his kitchen and you stand before him dressed in a sugar-icing pink frock.

he holds you in his eyes and a mug of chai in his left hand, fondling your fingers with his right, mindlessly thumbing over your ring finger.

al haitham searches for something that isn’t yet there.

and of course, you understand your lover without words. meet his gaze with a demure smile. quiet, fawn-eyed, clever. and you dare him to speak his mind with a pout of your lips, an enticing tilt of your head, a charming giggle that’s puffed out onto the junction of his neck before you give it a kiss— tugging at the roots of his heart in ways you know best, “whatcha thinking about?”

his lips twitch up into a curve at your feigned innocence because, oh, you know exactly what he’s thinking.

it's in this pas de deux that he finds such great joy, these games of push-and-pull that you play. he recognizes that perhaps he's weak to it— your whimsy and wonder, that you're still as coy as when first you met, and he melts underneath it as if he were cream on a cone.

you twirl twine round and round and round his soul to bind it to yours without even realizing.

“i'm sure you already know, habibti,” al haitham tells you: once spoken, once again with a playful tug of your ring finger, once more with the sealing kiss of an unspoken promise to your lips. the syrupy sweetness of his breath and his words are laid thickly on you, and your smile wavers the teensiest of bits as he sets his mug aside and encases your hand within his, raising it to his chest.

“still...”

your head begins to spin and your little heart begins to pound a little louder.

“won't you say it? please?”

so too does his.

there is a lot more vehemence in al haitham than you'd have guessed, and a great deal more than he has any idea of himself— for he's spitting the words out before you can even close your mouth.

but it is just such a tender sunday morning here in his kitchen and the sun is kissing your cheek and casting dancing shadows in the dip of your clavicle and your glass of iced tea is starting to tear up and you smell of harra fruit and white shores and green fields and everything pure in this world and good grief, he is just so in love with you.

“marry me.”

al haitham does not ask it of you nor does he command it of you— it is merely a breath (one that is slightly more wobbly than his pride would have foretold) of a burning desire that he wishes to will into existence.

“let me be your husband.” a delicate kiss is laid upon your ring finger. “let me make you my wife.” another to the one on your opposite hand. “let me make you the happiest girl alive.”

his words slice through your cake of a heart and bleeds it of its custard memories, tart lemony feelings that push a crinkle up your throat and behind your eyes. before he's given the chance to speak such uncharacteristically sweet words any longer, you throw yourself into his arms and steal from him a searing hug.

and it's not the colour of his hair that fascinates you (you do well to remind yourself that it is silver, not grey), nor the peculiar little way he's got about him. it's the form his eyes and lips take when he smiles at you, the shape his voice fills when he talks to you— how carefully, tenderly he crafts himself when it comes to you. it is all for you, entirely yours and only yours to see, to keep, to admire.

“i get to love you until the end of forever... lucky me.” your voice is a garbled mess of sniffles and hiccups but really, you can't help it.

love is inundating you and you can't help but weep in the middle of his kitchen on this fine sunday morning, where the sun blesses you with its light and the birds and chimes sing and the flowers on the sill dance for you and your eternal honeymoon love.

al haitham takes your face within the cradles of his palms, kissing your dewy cheeks and shushing your sobs and caressing you into a peaceful silence. “so… what say you?”

the giggles and squeals of children playing as they run past his house sound through the window and it makes you cling to him tighter, fists furling and unfurling in the linen of his sleep shirt.

how long have you stood, swathed in his sweet embrace like this? his chai is no longer steaming and an ache begins to wrap itself around your head from all the tears you've shed. though, you suppose it matters not— a moment is forever if it is spent in his arms.

“i'm sure you already know, haitham.”

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #alhaitham x reader #genshin x reader #al haitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #genshin fluff #genshin drabbles #genshin imagines #frens …. i jus . …….. .. …… 🥹 #< haithie 3

[hwaitham]

��𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝔀𝓸 ꒱ྀིა . ｡˓ ❤︎ ˖ ݁ blade ( yingxing ) x gn!reader. sfw. established relationship ﾉ suggestive ﾉ set during da high cloud quintet era ﾉ no prns for reader but dey r dressed in a dress n' mary janes ﾉ u're called bunny at some point hehe c: ﾉ repost frm old bloggie ! i just miss him tremendously ‎o(TヘTo)

you bring yingxing’s lunch to his smithy, precisely at noon when the mechanical birdie above the door chirps 12 times as you walk in. before you can enter his frame of view, a small smile already begins to quirk up on his lips. 

(he's grown familiar with the clickity-clack of your mary janes and the spring of your step— he swears on his life that he'd be able to recognize you from the sound of your footsteps alone.)

“yingxing, i brought you lunch!” you greet him cheerfully and rub your nose against his in a bunny kiss, leaning over a bench decorated with multitudes of nuts and bolts and "little spinny wheels" and "puffy air blowers"— as you like to call the names of tools you're unfamiliar with.

(he’s thought time and time again about educating you on proper terminology but decides against it every time.

your silly whimsies are rather endearing.)

your lover melts at your affection, feeling the warmth of the sun through your thumb that sweeps over the smudge of charcoal on his chin, your lips that land on his brow, and then his nose, and under his eyes and over the apples of his cheeks and finally his own lips.

he smirks over your mouth— amused by your sweet desperation to feel more of him, the happy little noises that bubble in your throat, the way you paw at his chest.

so eager.

surely there must be a tail wagging somewhere behind your back.

"how am i expected to eat my lunch when it can't stop kissing me?" yingxing whispers lowly, voice lilted the same way it always does whenever he tries to pry you from the orchard and into his bed. "i'm hungry, dear."

and you taste so sweet, like strawberries and butterscotch and cream and everything precious in this world and, aeons, won't you allow him just one bite?

"naughty! not here—" your giggle breaks off into a squeal when he pinches your waist, and then into a dreamy sigh when he kisses your lips once more.

and your jaw. and over the muscle lining your neck. and inside the hollow of your clavicle.

you've allowed him three bites too many, because now you're putty in his hands. cookie dough for him to knead and shape and eat however he sees fit.

"at least... not now..."

"so, later, then?"

(he's as charming and boyish as he was when you first came to know him years ago. and perhaps just as shameless.)

"you're such a glutton," you tease, gently slapping away the wandering hands that slide up the skirt of your dress before they're given a chance to devour you whole. "look, lunch."

your fingers find his chin to avert his gaze from your face to the steel tiffin box and wicker basket full of tangerines that you've laid on his countertop— perfectly orange, peels unblemished, tiny dewdrops of cool water clinging to the surface.

“tangerines?”

they're his favourite.

“mhm!"

after you, of course.

"i picked them from the orchard this morning.” you take the basket in one hand and reach out for him with the other, palm facing the sky, hair flowing gently when you step closer to the daylight and into the wind-chime breeze flitting through the open window.

his hand finds a home in yours, then you smile— all teeth and scrunched-up eyes and it feels like he's seeing you smile for the first time all over again and he falls and falls and falls.

“won't you enjoy some with me, yingxing?"

and it's almost as if the daylight is shining just for your eternal honeymoon love when it kisses both your faces so tenderly— sitting with yingxing on the sill under the saturday sun, your legs slung over his thighs as he peels tangerines. 

he feeds you the cleanest pieces, white fibre picked off and sticky on his hands because he knows you don't like how it tastes.

and he gets messy with the juice, lets it run down the strong vein that lines the back of his palm because he enjoys when you lick it all off, suck on his fingers and kiss their tips all the while looking up at him like you don't realize how you wring his heart and twist it into a ribbon.

(you call him a glutton but he reckons you are just as greedy with your love.)

and he splits the tangerines into single slices and feeds you the biggest ones because it's ridiculously cute how you like to stuff your cheeks with them, fitting as many as you can into your mouth.

"you look quite adorable when you're eating." yingxing's voice is silky, quiet, yet it catches you off guard when he leans into your side to softly pinch your full cheeks between two fingers, jaw falling slack and wide eyes unmoving while you gaze up at him curiously. "my little bunny."

"'myourbunny?" you laugh and question shyly, lashes fluttering as your eyes close and wrinkles crease at their corners, the tangerine slices filling your mouth threatening to pop past the seams. with your wobbly lips, you smile the best you can, wrap your sticky fingers around his wrist and lower his palm to cradle the side of your face.

when you nuzzle into his touch, yingxing sees the brightest star in his sky.

he feels the way your fingers slip between his own and he feels how perfectly they fit, and that feeling creeps along his neck, moves to the corners of his mouth to tug them up until his smile grows wider than your own.

there's a seed caught between his teeth that's now on display.

he could care less.

you two share touches with rind-covered fingertips, kisses with juice dripping from your chins. giggles and breaths and honeycomb words and a dozen tangerines.

yingxing wishes you had picked some more. and he thinks about how much he loves you.

and he wonders if you can tell.

🐾 special taggiez 4 bladie'z sweethearts @blushfwul @culturity :3

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #blade x reader #yingxing x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #huwwo i just think he is so lovely . . ‎(╥﹏╥)

[hwaitham]

𝓹𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓱 𝓹𝓾𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 ꒱ྀིა . ｡˓ ❤︎ ˖ ݁

al haitham x f!reader . sfw . established relationship ﾉ fluff + suggestive ﾉ reader is in a saree + haithie is in a sherwani :3 ﾉ reader has a rather cutesie personality ﾉ al haitham wubs u vvv much but ohhh ! is he ever the litl tease ( ˃᷄˶˶̫˶˂᷅ )

㌥( ྀིง ˙˘˙ )ว㌥ . . halloooo happie deepavali fwens :D ! ! this is my silly littl gift to u . . . it’s quite rushed + not my best work , but i rllie wanted to post something for today ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡ regardless of whether u celebrate the holiday or not , i hope everything that u wish for comes true && u r blessed w all the joys the universe has to offer ⭐️ ! !

fireworks shower the night sky with ribbons of light, colouring sumeru in vibrant reds and yellows and pinks. amidst the muffled pops and fizzles they create, you can hear the crowds pass by al haitham’s home up along the cobblestone path of the divine tree— laughter from happy couples and cheering from akademiya students, children ushering their parents to ‘hurry up’ lest they miss out on a good spot outside the sanctuary of surasthana to catch the fireworks (and all the sweets are sold out!).

you seem to exist in a similar vein, al haitham finds, when you begin to huff and whine, tilting your head up to pout at him in the mirror while he continues to calmly pin the jasmine garland he’d bought for you earlier in the day into your hair. 

“haitham, we’re gonna be late.” 

“we won’t be if you’d just keep still for a moment.” with a finger, he pushes your head back down, his lips curling into a soft smile and carving dimples into the apples of his cheeks when he hears you mutter under your breath. “truthfully, i don’t think you’re so preoccupied with being late as you are worried about all the padisarah pudding being sold out when we arrive.”

“yeah, w-well! well…” flaring up in embarrassment, you grumble, gather your cheek within your molars and bite down, avoiding al haitham’s gaze to look down at your hands— nails manicured and wrists sounding off little tinktinks! at the clinks of the bangles that adorn them. “hmph. so what if i am?”

your lover chooses not to dignify you with a response, and instead works a bit more hastily to finish decorating your hair, the rich floral notes and slightly sensual muskiness of the jasmine surrounding his senses until all he can really think about, feel is you.

oh, you darling girl of dreams. sweet, sweet light of his.

dressed the way you are in baby pink, the georgette fabric of your saree pleated and draped perfectly, bindi centred right between your brows, you look nothing short of doll-like, delicate and precious and the prettiest flower in the meadow.

“oww, haitham, you’re tugging on my hair!” 

when he notices you wincing, al haitham is drawn out of his head and he ceases his movements in threading bobby pins through your hair, watching you raise your hand to massage the sore spot that blooms across your scalp.

“so fragile,” he leans down over you, his voice lilted into a playful tease, yet his touch so tender and cautious— as if to apologize for the pain he’d caused— before he lays a kiss to the shell of your ear all the while sliding one last bobby pin through your hair.

it’s only brief, but he hears the catch in your breath, how you stiffen your shoulders at the kiss, feeling its aftereffects as a warm trill travelling up and down along your spine.

so fragile, indeed. he staves off the temptation that bubbles in his chest at your meek little display, pocketing it to have his fun with you later in the night. 

after all, padisarah pudding comes first!

“there, you’re all done.”

with a few more firm pats of his fingers around the bobby pins, al haitham secures the jasmine garland to your scalp, scritching your head sweetly and sealing his handiwork with a gentle press of his mouth to your temple. he admires you alongside yourself in the mirror, bringing two of the flower chains around either side of your neck, letting them fall along your chest. 

“you made me look so pretty!” an airy giggle spills from your lips— soft and glossy as you step back from the mirror to do a twirl for him, reaching out to tug on his sleeve and bounce on your tippy toes, thanking him with a wet mwah! of a kiss to his cheek. “thank you, haitham!”

“wait a minute missy, we’re not leaving just yet…” before you can scamper away out of his clutches, al haitham wraps his fingers around your wrist, tugging gently in a silent command to stay facing him. when you do, he takes your cheeks within the cradles of his palms— searching your eyes and scanning your lips with sharp cerulean, a mischievous smirk.

pretty. 

you’re so, so, pretty. something of a little butterfly that he’s come to grow perhaps overly fond of— with your tiny pearlescent wings, the flits and floats when you play among the summer flora, your delicate dances over teacups and honeypots. you fly circles around his heart and entwine it in pink ribbon, drinking its sweet nectar, making a home in the palm of his hands, the strong junction of his neck.

“haiyi…?” 

he sighs rather dreamily when you squeak his name in confusion, his teasing smirk dissolving into something more tender as he tucks a loose tuft of your hair behind your ear and adjusts his hold on you, now squishing your cheeks together to effectively pucker your lips. “i think i require more than just a kiss as a thank you.”

“b-but—” you're caught off guard by his close proximity, looking anywhere else but his eyes in an attempt to fight off the roses blooming in your lungs and their petals stuffing your mouth full, leaving you void of oxygen. “but, padisarah pudding…”

at your deflated little whimper, al haitham laughs breathlessly, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a loving smile when he realizes just how endeared he’s become to your puerile nature. he’s hunching his back to hover over you, ghost his lips on top of yours, letting his breath fan spearmint over your face before he dips his head down into the crook of your neck. 

“gosh, you’re just too cute…”

he lays his wet, open mouth over your pulse and kisses, and licks, and sucks, and oh—your head spins and your knees buckle as you press further against him, grapple at his shoulders to try and regain any sort of leverage over the dizziness that falls upon you. “hai-haitham; we gotta… gotta go…”

brows knitted tightly, al haitham only hums dismissively at your blubbery words, sliding a warm palm under the drape of your saree to take you even more by surprise. it smoothes down the side of your torso, tugs gently on the gold chain adorning your waist to bring you flush against his chest. his knuckles graze your flesh and his fingertips tease the clasps of your blouse and his touch—tender yet commanding—makes you want to sin.

and it’s only after he’s worked you up to this headspace, needy and clingy and wanting more, pawing at the buttons of his sherwani and panting rather eagerly into his clavicle, that he retracts, pinching the dip of your waist between his thumb and forefinger to bring you back down to earth.

ever the tease.

“hey!” you yelp, he chuckles, you frown, he smiles. 

“c’mon. we don’t want you missing out on any padisarah pudding, do we?”

“you’re a horrible boyfriend.” weakly, you bat at his chest before turning away from him to slip on your heels.

he beats you to it, kneeling in front of you before you can reach down for your shoes, gathering the skirt of your saree in one hand before fitting the heel to your bare foot, kissing the gold ‘𝓐 ’ pendant of the chain that rests delicately atop your ankle. “oho, is that what you think of me, dear?”

softening around the edges, your heart skips several beats at the romantic gesture, and your forgiveness is instantaneous, for all you find yourself wanting to do in that moment is kiss and hug and love on him without inhibitions.

“i suppose you’re not all bad…”

he pats your head, rubs his nose against yours in a little bunny kiss. slathering you with his affection is the only way he knows how to apologize to you. “that’s what i like to hear.”

and just as he guides you out the door, on your way to stuff your pretty little face with as much padisarah pudding as your heart desires, he kisses the crown of your head once— for good measure— and pinches your waist, yet again— for good luck!

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x you #al haitham x you #genshin impact x reader #al haitham fluff #genshin imagines #al haitham x y/n #< haithie 3

[hwaitham]

𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓶𝓼𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓸𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓮𝓼 ꒱ྀིა . ｡˓ ❤︎ ˖ ݁ al haitham x gn!reader . sfw . established relationship ﾉ fluff + suggestive towards the end ﾉ selfshippy . . . 'm srrie (ㅠ‸ㅠ)

"well, this is quite an unusual setup."

"what d'you mean?" you question al haitham as you carefully set down the heart-shaped cocotte full of lamb biryani—steaming, fragrant, his favourite—in the center of the dining table, turning it until the heart faces him.

a laugh escapes him, one peeled as a breathless wheeze from his throat no thanks to your whimsies and oddities and the puerile ways of your mind and your rather unfortunate affinity for heart-shaped objects.

(unfortunate, because now more than half the trinkets in the acting grand sage's house are shaped as such, and he's almost certain kaveh is keeping well-hidden a photo of him napping on the living room couch cuddling a heart-shaped plushie).

"the table looks fine to me..."

"i'm saying you didn't need to place our plates next to each other like that. we could've just sat at opposite ends of the table; like normal."

"huh?" you make your way around the table to take your seat next to him, eyeing the two plates that lay side by side before you and blink once. tilt your head to look up at him and blink again.

like normal?

his logic seems to fail you.

"but if i sit next to you, then we'd be closer to each other, see!" proving your point, you scoot your chair closer to his, resting your chin atop his strong shoulder, tenderly nudging his knee with yours and hooking your ankle over his.

al haitham's cheeks tinge pink as you press yourself against him, and he shakes his head, and then he's reminded for the umpteenth time that day of why he fell in love with you all those moons ago.

"right, 'cause if you sat opposite me, how else would you be able to lean your chin on my shoulder?"

the amused lift of his brows and the teasing lilt in his voice goes unnoticed by you, and you can only nod eagerly, blindly agree with him. slather his spine and melt his heart with that certain puppy-like affection he's come to enjoy receiving from you so very much. "mhm, exactly! i also can't do this as easily—"

pivoting on your chair, you lean a palm on his thigh and lift yourself up to kiss the apple of his cheek; once, twice, three times—each wet smack decorated with a silly muah!

"or do this," the plush of your berry-balmed lips are replaced by the tip of your nose, dusting it along the handsome lift of his cheekbone, down along his jaw, your sweet breath and soft giggles fanning over his neck and stiffening him up and all of a sudden the chilly sumeru night starts to heat up, "or this—"

"alright, alright, you’ve made your point… you little devil."

in a rare show of playfulness, your lover stops your southbound movements with his fork, tapping a piece of lamb over your now pouty lips.

"i suppose i have no qualms with this seating arrangement. as long as you can keep your greedy paws to yourself."

al haitham chuckles fully, heartily when you go back to leaning your chin on his shoulder, grumbling a tiny 'okay, fine' to yourself before you open your mouth and let him feed you, your fingers idly tapping along the sinew of his thigh.

very obviously not keeping your greedy paws to yourself.

(and it's here where you miss the way the grip he has on his fork gets tighter, just as his pants do.)

𝓂𝒶𝓇𝑔𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁𝒾𝒶 : wuz inspired by a memory i had of my boyfie n' da first time he ate at my house ‎(*´▽`*) + da cutest heart shaped dutch oven ever . . . don't look at da price tag ‎(╥﹏╥)

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham fluff #genshin x reader #al haitham x you #al haitham x y/n #< haithie 3

[hwaitham]

𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓾𝓷𝓪𝓻𝔂 𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚

hatori sohma x f!reader. nsfw — mdni. established relationship ﾉ soff' sex ﾉ reader is rather clingy :3 ﾉ praise + sweet hatori + u're both so in love with each other n' this whole thing is so cheesy n' prosy um ! ! ! ﾉ the sohma curse hasn't been broken yet in this fic ﾉ vry slight infantilization ﾉ petnames ﾉ foreplay heavy ﾉ finger sucking bcos ! ! oooo ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა

you are tired, tired. you are very tired.

even with your eyes closed and head laying in a pool of moonlight, you cannot find it within yourself to sleep.

because he is not here—your hatori. it’s hard to fall into a peaceful slumber without being wished a goodnight by him; you must be tucked in, fluffy quilt pulled up to your chin and his thumb smoothing over the lift of your cheeks before your eyelids are kissed so you’re blessed with nothing but the sweetest dreams of you and him.

alas, he isn’t here. so you do what you can when you’re cold and alone in his bed; through heavy half-blinks, you watch the snowfall outside the bedroom window, dusting the branches of the old oak tree in the garden and piling up on the sill. 

you’ll have to ask hatori when he comes home whether he would join you in playing in it tomorrow, building a snowman like you did two winters ago when he confessed his love for you.

(you placed his stethoscope around the neck of packed snow, his glasses over the pebbled eyes, pulled him out of his office by the sleeve of his doctor’s coat—hatori, doesn't this snowman look like you? he'd realized it seemingly doesn’t take much for him to fall.)

you smile thinking of that time, dream of all the times to come, happy and sad and everything in between. you wait and wait some more, and just as the throbbing in your chest starts to become a bit too unbearable, the smells of tobacco and mint begin to shroud your senses until all can feel is the fluttering breeze of calming fingertips breathe occasional kisses on your spine.

the sudden heat that cuts through the frigid air surrounding you rattles you awake, sends goosebumps down your legs and flushes your limbs full of light—it fills the gaping hole in your heart, the one that aches for him, the one that can only be healed by him.

“hatori?”  

before the heels of your palms can find your eyes to scrub out the sleep from them, they’re taken a hold of by a larger hand—pruned fingertips squeezing gently, soothingly down on your wrist. “i’m here.”

“you’re here,” you whisper, smile drowsily when you hear your lover’s voice over the hot shell of your ear, his words followed by a lingering kiss.

“go back to sleep, dear.”

“uh huh…” 

you’re too tired to tell him you weren’t exactly sleeping in the first place.

disregarding his qualms, you blindly feel around for him, shuffling through the sheets and pillows until you find his shoulders—strong and broad and honey-hued as he sits before you with his torso bare, silk pyjamas hanging low on his hips. 

“i missed you…”

you do everything you can but embrace him, pull him down to the bed, cling to his bicep and rub your nose along the handsome vein of his neck, feel him up entirely beneath your greedy paws. hatori is lean and defined with layers of taut muscle, but you notice he’s starting to get a bit soft around the waist; there’s the tiniest bit of fat you’re able to pinch between your thumb and index finger, and you can only giggle to yourself at the fact. 

you’re feeding me well.

it’s told to you silently in his barely-there smile pressed against the tresses of your hair that scatter over a pillow. when he inhales a breath, his nostrils fill with juniper and aquatic accord. 

you smell like him. 

you must have sprayed his cologne onto the sheets.

“missed you s’much.”

hatori laughs wistfully, shakes his head when you whine, nuzzle your forehead over his cheek in that endearing puppy-like way you do. “you missed me so much? i was only gone a few hours.”

you hum idly, sleep quickly overtaking you now that your lover is in your hold. as much of it as he can be in, at least. 

his body is warm, gently warm. not searing; rather faintly, something like the moon—not distant or far away, but a soft glow. light full of memory and promise and it’s beautiful. it’s the light of the celestial body that shines brightest in your sky, and it’s in every brush of his fingers over your skin, every strand of hair that tickles your nose where he creates a corner in heaven just for you.

your hands curl into the silky onyx that sweep over the nape of his neck—it’s the slightest bit damp, you notice; pearls of water from the snowflakes that have melted over his skin. with one deep inhale from where your face hides in the shallow space between his neck and shoulder, you smell your body wash on him through his musk, and your lips stretch into a lazy smile. 

it’s a feminine, delectably sugary scent, but hatori doesn’t care. 

he doesn’t think there’s anything in this world that drives such a primal part of him than the fact that you two smell like each other, that anyone can smell you on him—him on you, and that from it they will know you belong to each other.

“still feels like forever when you’re away from me,” it comes out as a quiet slur of words, one that hatori can barely hear from where you burrow as deep as you possibly can into his skin. he smiles wide at your sleepy thoughts, true thoughts; he loves when you get like this, clingy and needy and seemingly wanting him to melt into you and flow through your veins, as if feeling him skin-to-skin simply isn’t enough.

“forever, huh?”

“mhm,” you whisper, voice sweet and muffled and hinted with the most minuscule amount of coy innocence (he has no issue picking up on it) as you lean your chin on the sharp blade of his shoulder, hug his arm close to your chest in an attempt to soak up the silver-dewed warmth that radiates off him like a sponge until it saturates you fully. “i love you…”

“and i love you.” hatori lowers his face until it’s level with yours, easing you into submission with a graze of his mouth over your brow, your cheek, your jaw and finally your lips. his teasing ministrations don’t match his voice—breathless and full of yearning and hunger—almost like your assertions are enough to leave his lungs bereft of oxygen.

“but i love you more, i swear it!” with a petulant whine, you grapple at his pinky as if to make a promise on it, wrapping your fingers around the larger digit and shaking it around with as much strength as your sleep-laden self can muster.

“oh, you child.” 

he blushes deeply, heart beating in double time at the endearing, rather infantile way you seem to act with him when you’re all worn down from the labours of your afternoon and in need of him, his touch, his love.

then you’re wrapping your legs around a sinewy thigh, kneading your balled fists weakly into his traps, and then he’s grabbing your sea horse plushie to stuff in the steadily closing gap between your chests, lest he turn into one himself when he inevitably gets lost in the throes of intimacy that creep up his spine. “careful, now…”

“love you more than anything, hatori.” 

and it’s the way you say it—so sincerely, like you’re feeding him a piece of your soul, like you know just your heart alone will leave him unsatiated—that makes the moon no longer shine. it makes him crack at the surface and burst into fragments of rock, diamond flares scattering like comets across the sky for the world to wish upon.

(but there’s really only one wish he would ever truly grant.)

“i mean it, and it’s true…”

you reach up to press a palm in the divot between his pecs, where his heart lays shielded beneath the ribs that you’ve squeezed your way through and built a home—for him and for you. the sudden onslaught of affection has him flushing with a tender heat, bottom lip pulled in between teeth and lilted up into a shy smile, cheeks tingling with gold. 

“‘tori… i wanna kiss…”

“just one, okay? and then straight back to bed.”

“mhm, just one, promise i’ll be good—wanna be good for you.” and that’s all it takes for hatori to be certain that one kiss is bound to become one thousand—the desperation in your voice and the legs that wrap around his thigh tighter and oh.

you’re soaked. 

he can feel the sticky dampness through the thick flannel of your pyjama pants, from the crotch where you try to rock your hips over his leg, from the insides of your thighs; you’re dripping slick down your legs and your knee slides along his clothed cock and his head spins, resolve falters.

so, hatori does the only thing he can do when he can’t calm his racing heart, and he kisses you without any reservations. 

every kiss to your lips feels like it’s the first— where adoration streams from your fingers as you dip them into the hollows of his clavicle, where he feels a lump just beneath that works its way up to his mouth and stuffs it full of cotton; it’s staggering when you cling to him like this, loving him so tenderly, feeding your heart to him pure and raw with a silver spoon.

“wan’ more…” you’re pleading against his lips as soon as he removes them from your own, gaze drawn to the string of spit that tethers him to you.

“whatever happened to ‘being good’?” your lover’s voice is dripping mirth; it’s low and teasing and gentle and it makes your chest burn with so much love; you swear you’d do anything for him, everything to keep him tangled up with you like this until the end of forever.

“just a couple more kisses, please? else i’ll die.”

and you’re looking up at him with these eyes—wobbly tears dewing on your lashes and pupils blown to the heavens and teeming with equal measures of love and lust—you’re looking up at him like he’s hand-painted each star in the sky, like he’s superlunary.

you really think you’d die without him. 

and you’re just so fucking cute begging for him like this, with your heart tangled in your throat as silent words bubble and spill over your pouty lips. even after all this time of being together, hatori doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling of being so wanted, so cared for, so purely and innocently loved by you.

“well, i wouldn’t be a very good doctor if i let someone die on me, now, would i?”

“hatoriii…”

“shh, let me put you to sleep, my love.”

you nod and hum in admission, curling your fingers tighter into the plushie that joins you to him, shying into the wide neck of your—his—sleep shirt you have on when you hear the lilt in his voice; it’s soft, airy, dreamy, and he moves to hover over you before slipping two warm fingers into your pyjamas. 

his touch is so gentle, treating you like fine porcelain—and his touch is so slow, so cautious, like he’s afraid that you’re nothing but some figment of the imagination he’s lost to his childhood, the sweetest of fairytale dreams, one that he doesn’t ever want to wake up from.

he tugs the flannel past your hips, past your knees and calves and ankles, dancing his lips over your sensitive skin as he kisses the crenulated imprint left by the waistband, right atop the delicate satin trim and dainty bow of your now exposed panties.

sweet and pink and patterned with ditsy daisies, three layers of frills adorning each of the legholes.

it’s his favourite set that you own.

(you very well know of this fact.)

“naughty, naughty… were you planning this?,” hatori coos at you—darling girl, beautiful you. he noses along the outline of your puffy folds, swallowing a quiet growl when your scent invades all his senses, when he feels the arousal dribbling down the insides of your thigh cool and dampen his cheeks. “i suppose you really can’t fall asleep without a little assistance, hm?”

it’s not as if he expected anything less. 

he leans in to tap to your clit through the fabric, falling lightheaded at how it’s already so swollen, at how your cunt is already drooling, at how you’re already whining and whimpering so greedily, at how it’s all for him. 

looks like someone’s really been missing me. he tucks his fingers in the gusset of your panties to slip them to the side, exposing yourself to him. i know, baby, i know. webs of slick shine against the moonlight coming from outside the windowpane, and hatori’s throat tingles as he dips his tongue into your hole—tasting you, savouring you—saliva spilling over his teeth that he lets dribble out on top of your cunt. shh, it’s okay, ‘m here, gonna take real good care of you, alright? he finally gives your clit a sloppy kiss hello.

“‘tori, ‘s embarrassing—o-oh, hahhh…” the words tangle in your throat and dissipate into the cold air of the bedroom as you try to register how he speaks to you, to your sex. lewdly and unabashedly and coaxing and through the hazy cloud of lust that fills your mind you wonder whether hatori’s been reading his cousin’s rather… erotic novels out of your gaze.

because wherever did he learn to talk like that?

“just want to make you feel good,” he hums, moves back up so that he’s level with your face again and can kiss you, make you taste yourself on him. with his free hand not cradling the crown of your head, hatori clumsily tugs his pyjamas and briefs down to his knees, letting his swollen cock slap up against his abdomen before he takes a hold of it and glides it along your slit. “fuck, sweetheart…”

hatori is of mint and tobacco when he turns his head down and breathes over your lips to look at where his tip oozes hot pre over your sensitive nub, at where your weeping hole furls desperately around nothing; it’s a silent plea to feel him inside you.

“hatori, please—wanna—i-insiiide,” you whine and protest, sink your head deeper into your pillow and dig faint bruises into his biceps with your fingertips.

“patience,” he chides, and then he chuckles, low and hearty and dripping ardour and disbelief, for how did he attain the unattainable?

your smile, your heart, your flesh, a love so tangible that just feeling you against him in this capacity is enough to make him forget the nightmare of a curse he’d been born into, even if only for a brief moment.

his palm smoothes over your hair as he grinds his cock hard into your folds and your back arches off the bed instinctively, soft little sounds spewing from your lips that only serve to heat up the coil curling around his heart. “love you, love you, i love…”

he pacifies your babbles with lingering kisses over your neck, your sternum, your lips—and i love you—it drips like molasses over your tongue and settles into your lungs; you’re left choking on the pleas that come tumbling up your throat, legs itching to wrap around his waist and pull him closer, but you can’t. instead, you whine and writhe under him, voice pitchy and petulant. 

“want you, need you, please, please, hatori?”

the sounds you make are the prettiest on the earth, hatori is sure of this much. it makes him shiver almost uncontrollably, stokes the embers in his belly until he’s swallowed up in your flame of blue. 

“you—h-hah, c’mere, you—“

hatori devours you, staining your lips with his saliva, licking into your mouth and sucking on your tongue until the clash of teeth-on-teeth rings louder than your broken moans. and his love is heavy, your spine throbs at the weight, but it’s nothing short of comfortable. 

warm, and familiar—the hand that tethers to yours is the same hand that massages balm into your muscles after the day comes to a close, the mouth that lays hushed praise over your brow is the same mouth that makes you smile and laugh and cry tears of joy and pleasure; it’s the same mouth you feed your heart to.

“hatori!” you’re wailing out his name when his cock catches onto your neglected clit, a searing throb working its way up to the apex of your thighs that makes you scrabble at his chest, ignoring the plushie in between that separates you from him. “pretty please…”

it’s easy to get him to fold like this, in the way you plead him with such broken desperation, wilted like a flower. it’s easy when you look up at him like he’s some deity, tears threatening to spill over your lashes and brows strained with need. he hasn’t prepped you nearly as much as you need to be able to accommodate his size, but he’s almost convinced your greed is enough to make up for the lack of it. and so, he runs the leaking tip of his cock up and down your folds once, twice, three times—each stroke punctuated with a kiss to the swell of your breasts.

“it’s alright, sweetheart, shh. i’ve got you,” he huffs out a gruff expletive when he begins to stretch you out with the flushed head of his cock, your walls hungry as they clamp down around him. 

you feel the pain of his girth splitting you open as a dull ache, one that wraps around your tummy and inches down to your core—it’s a slow spreading fire, one you don’t even realize has a hold of you until hatori bottoms out and grinds his pubic bone down on your clit to dissolve the pain. 

your eyes flutter shut at the pleasure, jaw falling slack and saliva building at the tip of your tongue—everything feels so good like this: with the warmth radiating from his cock through your fluttering walls and you’re just so full of him and fuck, it’s perfect.

“hah—it’s a tight fit, isn’t it?” hatori’s voice is a gentle croon, low and handsome and silky and reassuring; the love he slathers you in has you sucking him in further, further, as deep as you think you’ve ever felt him.

“hatori, oh, god,” you hiccup on a sweet sob, voice stuffy as you bite down on your plushie and hitch your legs higher up on the sides of his waist, careful not to lock your ankles around him in an embrace. “s’deep—hic! p-please, need you to move…”

 “it’s okay, i’m not going anywhere.” he kisses your forehead and pushes into you languidly, almost lazy with his movements as he draws back and forth, back and forth. his rhythm is steady and his cock only barely leaves the sponge of your cervix before he buries himself deep again, so deep you swear you can feel him in your womb. 

words catch on the tip of your tongue and they spill as sweet mumbles. it’s cute; you’re so cute, with the tiny nods of your head, brows knit as you attempt to hold off on cumming prematurely, toes curling into the dimples at the bottom of his back and whimpering into your drool-soaked stuffed animal. 

and then he angles his thrusts that way— the way that has the head of his cock gliding over your g-spot until he can hear the lewd squelch, squelch, squelch that comes with his ministrations. it makes you squeal, kick your feet and squeeze your eyes shut impossibly tight from how good it feels.

“right there, hm?” hatori tosses his head back to exhale, making a sound where a curt laugh meets a shaky moan, before leaning down to gently knock his nose over yours.

“’t-tori…” it’s a struggle to open your eyes under the weight of sticky tears that cling to your lashes, but you manage to do so anyway, pushing his fringe out of his face with weak fingers and tucking strands of charcoal behind his ears to see all of him. 

he’s so beautiful, your hatori. 

and you think he sounds just as beautiful with those low, drawn-out moans that simmer off into garbled growls; these are the sounds that make your stomach pulse with the need for more, a warning that just a little more is all you need to unravel. they have you sinking into the bed, caged by his arms and broad frame, your walls moulding to the shape of him, flushing the skin of your entire body with the intensity of the warmth that comes with being so in love. 

“a-ah!” your whole body wracks with trembles when his thrusts turn from shallow to deep again, his leaky head swivelling against your cervix and, fuck, you’re already so close—with his thumb drawing lazy hearts over your clit and his strokes long and slow and angled so perfectly against the one spot that has you coating the base of his cock with thick cream.

“hatori, hatori, w-wanna—i wan’—”

your arms move up to drape over his shoulders, but hatori is quick to pin them down next to your head, painfully reminding you of what you don’t have—can’t have. “i know, f-fuck, i know, baby… one day, okay?” 

his head falls into your neck and he moans; it’s loud and erotic and your innocent begging makes his heart feel all gooey—soft and pliable as he spills it into your palms, as if it’s yours to keep, yours to hold, yours to treasure forever—and it is, because there’s no one else, will be no one else that can make him feel the way he does quite like you do. god, he loves you.

“o-okay,” you hiccup and sob, from pleasure and pain and the multitudes of emotions in between, you listen to him despite your heart screaming at you, because, “i just, just wanna be good for you, wanna be your everything, ‘tori!” 

you are, you’re so good to me, you’re perfect, i love you— he wants to say; you are my everything and i’d give you everything, i love you more than anything in this wretched world—he wants to tell you but he can’t because your timid admission knocks the air out of his lungs, and hatori thinks you don’t realize just how sweet you’re being to him, for him. 

and so, he kisses you, slowly and in time with the gentle rock of his hips, feeding you unspoken words that you digest and make a home of in the pit of your soul. it flushes your entire being with light, it collects and swirls around in your head until you find yourself in a haze, drunk on the heat that pulses through you with every grind of his cock into your cunt.  

everything is so hot, so cold—the sweat that drips down the backs of your thighs, the breath of your panting against the fingers hatori traces your lips with—everything is just so hot and cold and everything feels so good; you’re knocked out of the present world and somewhere in a haven of white and purple where all you can see, all you can feel is him. 

what you wouldn’t give to hold him just a little closer and stay like this forever. 

the two digits rubbing over the swell of your bottom lip to collect the spit that’s been sitting there is what brings you back down to earth, and you all but lick meekly at the tips, take both index and middle fingers into your mouth and suck like a good girl.

“you want my fingers?” he groans at the tiny little nods you give him, fresh tears arising that push old ones down your cheeks. his heart pounds wildly against the cage of his ribs. “needy little thing…”

hatori isn’t fucking you fast, but he’s fucking you good—so, so good that it drains all the thought from your head until all you can think about is him—the slow, deep strokes where the head of his cock firmly pokes and prods at the spot that makes you gush, the digits pressing down on your tongue that you drool over, the mindless praise that streams from his lips; precious, precious girl—fuck, you feel so tight—so good to me, aren’t you? my good girl.

his words feel like liquid moonlight— softy glowing, and sweet, and sincere, and you can’t help but drink up every last drop. it fills your tummy with some sort of orb of light, one that has your toes curling into the sheets and fingers wrapping around his forearm tighter; you pull him closer, closer, until the plushie between you digs into your ribs and his nose sweeps over yours with so much delicate affection and all you see and feel is him.

“h-hatori… in my tummy, f-feel you there, feel you everywhere.” 

“feel me right here, huh?” he draws his hips back, pulling out of you almost fully before pushing back, slowly, agonizingly—but it feels amazing, so amazing—the swollen head of his cock splitting you, tight against the silkiness of your walls, flush against the sponge of your cervix as he presses himself as deep as he can into you, pushing a palm gently down on your navel. “you want it in your tummy, don’t you? can’t sleep unless you’re full of it, i know…” 

it all becomes so much, too much, the wet slaps of his skin against yours, his words, his cockhead spilling pre over your walls and rubbing into the spots that have you stumbling over your breath. you cum without warning, crying out into the column of his neck like the little sweetheart of his that you are, fingers clutching at the thick strands of hair that curl around his neck, your cunt squeezing impossibly tight around him, like it loves him. 

and, oh, hatori feels it. the love, isolated and purified from the roots of your soul as you feed it to him on your tongue through mumbles and babbles of incoherent words. 

regardless, he knows what you mean.

the heat builds and builds and builds at his core, and then the coil fit to snap finally does. he shatters into silver specks as the rapid spasms of your cunt milk him dry—leave him starry-eyed and dizzy as he shoots rope after rope of thick cum into your womb, his cock twitching inside you from the aftershocks of a mind-blowing orgasm. 

“fuck, i love you—so much.” hatori huffs it out as a whine before he engulfs you in a bruising kiss, one that you’re almost positive is bound to leave a mark that will last until your next life, and the ones after that.

and it’s overwhelming, so overwhelming—the warmth of his seed oozing thick into you and the burn of the tingles that follow in the path of his touch—you think nothing else in this world and any other can make you feel quite the way he can. you’re certain of it.

“and you’re so pretty…” he continues to lay his praise on you, pressing his lips to your temple as he regains his bearings and looks down to your face.

spit-slicked lips and lazy blinks and slurred little iloveyous tumble from your mouth in half-whispers. even in your disarray you are nothing short of beautiful, other-worldly, hatori thinks. each slow flutter of your lashes is a sweep of the stars you dust into a pile of warmth at his feet; he curls his toes into them and kisses you and it flushes him with so much love, light, feelings he hadn't thought he'd ever be able to experience. he smoothes your hair down and moves to embrace your near sleeping frame—but then he remembers.

he’s reminded by the sweat-soaked plushie pressed against his chest and yours, reminded by how your arms lay free by the sides of your head, your ankles that don’t lock around his waist.

“look, ‘tori… ’s still snowing outside…” you yawn, avert his attention, nuzzle into his palm and point to the window, powdery snow finding rest on the sill, the moon’s light shining through and casting calm, steady falling shadows onto the two of you. “perhaps… we could… make...” you drift off before you have a chance to finish your question, and hatori smiles, endeared.

silly girl.

and then remembers. why he doesn’t resent the sohma curse, at least, not in the same capacity he once had. because he loves you like a child—freely, purely, without having to think.

and soon, soon, he’ll be able to hold you like a lover—he feels it in each passing day, his bond growing weaker, the rope snapping each individual thread at a time, thinning whenever he spares even the tiniest of glances at you and you call him by his name in that sweet, sweet voice of yours.

the owner of his glowing heart.

“yes, we should make a snowman tomorrow, dear.”

soon.

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #hatori sohma x reader #hatori sohma smut #fruits basket smut #fruba x reader #furuba x reader #fruba smut #hatori sohma fics #hatori sohma imagines #hatori sohma x you #hatori sohma x y/n #dr hatori sohma protector of my heart keeper of my soul > O < ! ! i lov him sooo much goodnight