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Look at joot's little smile🥹 AAAAH I love this
I think I accidentally deleted the ask, but here's a sketch for the person who requested the Kujo fam enjoying the fireworks!
Wamuu and his stupid ass sneakers and also his little kitty ❤️
before i started using 2000s amy lee as a reference for kaina's outfits...
this is some more au stuff where kaina takes keigo under her wing in a way
A little doodle of a de-aged Hawks being taken care of by the League of Villains - specifically Mr Compress who is surprisingly very good with kids. And yes, Hawks is wearing Endeavor pajamas - compliments of Twice and Toga wanting to troll Dabi.
I finished it!
Here’s my gift for @/lillyanne4writes from the fma gift exchange run by @/rene-of-the-blackouts
I had a ton of fun working on this and I think it turned out really well!
the prompt was Al & may studying alchahestry in xing
gratitude
pairings (separately!) - diluc ragnvindr, kaeya alberich, albedo childe/tartaglia, zhongli, xiao, kaedehara kazuha, scaramouche, dainsleif x gender neutral reader
word count - 3113
genre - fluff, comfort
format - drabbles
warnings - skinship
summary - he's looking at you like no one ever has, and you can't help but thank him
a/n - i've always wanted to write something like this :D many people have waited so long to find their partners and it's really a euphoric feeling when you do :) also yes i did write a frickin haiku just for kazuha's HAHA
all around you is perfectly still.
nothing moves, time is frozen save for the steady thump of his heart against your ear and the slight, gentle scratch of his nails on your scalp.
he exudes nothing but warmth and compassion. his firm arms cradle you tight against his body as if you were crafted of the finest china or the silkiest glass. he situated you on his lap like a plush pillow and pressed his heart against yours to beat in sync.
your senses are filled with him: the touch of his finger pads on your back, his alluring scent, that beautiful voice that riles up the butterflies deep within your stomach, the stunning image of his radiant visage and rose colored irises, the taste of his words on your palette and the brush of his lips against yours.
overwhelmed might be a way to describe it, but in the moment where he looks you straight in the eye with nothing but love and adoration swirling in those misty pools of his, you can't help but feel like putty in his arms.
"thank you," your searing hot hands come up to hold his slacked face, just above a whisper, you hardly recognize your voice that dripped with affection and filled itself with love lined with gold, "thank you for loving me."
diluc.
diluc and the idea of "romantic love" have never gone well together in his mind. many times had he found someone in his youth who fancied him and many times has he blown them off as gentlemanly in nature as he could. though, he could never deny his curiosity for such affections. with a windwheel aster in one hand, he plucked until it was down to the last petal where the words "they love me" rested on his lips in a whisper instead of "they love me not", though he did not know who he wanted to love him.
but here you sat on his lap, holding his face as if you held the world in your hands and thanked him for loving you. it almost baffled him, just how lucky he was. it was as if he'd been searching in a field of three leafed clovers and finally found a stem with four protruding leaves. but instead of plucking it, he gently nursed the tiny plant and came back to it each day with something new. you were his luck, his most beloved person, someone for which he would bring down heaven and walk into hell barefeet.
no longer did he lay awake at night, holding his pillow close to him and wondering what it would be like to be able to hold someone within his arms. nor did he purchase lovely roses for no one in particular, and place them on his desk as if awaiting to one day give them to someone.
no, you were here in his arms, thanking him for loving you unconditionally. but in reality it was him who knew you held his heart in your hands and gently cradled it within your love.
"the pleasure of loving you belongs entirely to me, my love." he whispered into the palm of your hand and finalized his words with an inward kiss.
kaeya.
love was a preposterous idea for someone like kaeya. he knew this and he knew it well, better than anyone else. love was fickle, unsteady, and uncertain. if one truly peered beneath his arctic waves and caught sight of the monstrous iceberg that lay underneath, would they truly stay? his resolution was firm: he would never fall in love. and yet, much like his brother, his curiosity would often get the better of him when in the privacy of either the winds of barbatos or the brick-walled confines of his office.
he'd place his palm on the skin of his chest and feel for his heartbeat, and wonder one day if his heart would belong to someone—someone who would see all of him and keep their feet planted firmly by his side. kaeya thought himself stupid, that he asked too much. someone like him deserved to be all by his lonesome so when the storms finally ravaged his world, there wouldn't be any collateral damage.
and yet here you were, hand on his chest feeling the heart that belonged to you thump ferociously underneath the thin skin of his chest. you were thanking him. the idea almost made him laugh, for how could someone as radiant as you be thanking him for his love. you'd managed to wriggle your way into his life and cause a mess of his resolution until he gave into his desires and made you his.
he still placed his hand on his chest from time to time, to remind himself of his humanity, and to be reminded that this heart that beat so tenderly not only beats for him but thunders onwards for you.
"i should be the one thanking you, but i have a feeling we'd be here all day if i started that war." he mused against your lips with a smile and locked you in once more for another intoxicating kiss.
he was willing to set aside his convictions, just this once.
albedo.
baffled is what he is. albedo is a man of logic and of precision and love is neither of those things. logic can't explain the desire to see you in the wee hours of the night when he plagued himself with nightmarish visions intertwined with formulas with letters he couldn't make sense of. love confuses him, but he finds himself rather intrigued. he's first introduced to the concept through a novel—impulsive procurement. he often never realized it much once he finished the novel, but his slender fingers would come up to his scalp and gently rake through his soft, tender locks as if his hand didn't belong to him—as if his hand had turned into his lover's that didn't exist.
shame overwhelmed him for such actions, but the feeling often crept up on him while his mind lay idle, awake at night wondering what chemicals are released when one kisses someone they love dearly. sketching would take his mind off of the desire, but alas, he found himself sketching two silhouettes on the backdrop of beaches and forests lined with gold and silver, their hands always intertwined.
now, his sketchbook was filled with sketches of you. pencil lines marks the edges, grooves, curves, and dips of your face and body. each line had been carefully drawn with love and precision. it was no longer his hand that raked through his locks, pretending to be his lover's hand, but instead your own hand lovingly tended to the tensed strands of ashen blonde hair on his scalp and pressed kiss after kiss to the skin where just below the bone lay a magnificent mind.
"thanking me is a fruitless action," he gently grasped your palm and pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist, "for i'm still learning from you each and every day, what it truly means to love. for that, i am eternally grateful to you."
childe.
love is gentle, tender, and patient, nothing like childe. he lusts for chaos and craves disorder. love—romantic love—was the furthest thing from his mind whenever he drew his weapons and charged forth with a charming grin and a palpitating heart. although, there were times when he'd come across fields of brilliant flowers stilling in the wind, stretching for miles in hues of all kinds and he'd find himself at a loss for who he could show such a magnificent sight to. he'd brush his fingers against the skin of his calloused and scarred palm and wonder what the feel of another hand in his would be like. would it be akin to the handle of his blade? or that of a delicate flower stem?
what a true predicament he's found himself in, yearning for the soft touch of one filled with the blessing of eros yet finding himself engrossed in giving into the urges brought forth by ares himself. conflict waged wars in his mind but they always came to a halt when he felt the soft skin of your hands anywhere on his body.
you held the power to subdue his primal urges and smooth over the rough bumps and edges that carved themselves into his skin. even now as he cradled you in his arms, it felt unreal to believe that you were thanking him for loving you. his hand felt barren of warmth no longer, instead an irreplaceable tug filled the void and tugged at his heart.
"i will always love you, so there's no need to thank me, sunshine." he took your hand and intertwined it with his, letting you bump your unsullied fingers against the deep ridges and scars that lined his hands.
zhongli.
to love is one of the most blessed acts in zhongli's mind. there was once a time where he believed love was weak, to love was to be mortal, such acts are beneath an archon who must fight to the death for sustainability. yet there was a tender part of his buried beneath the bedrock of his heart that pulsed and beamed with every moment he breathed. he often wondered if he was truly capable of love, or of loving someone in their entirety.
discipline was written on the back of his hands and imprinted down the line of his spine, but he truly was fascinated with mortals. not only mortals as a whole, but their capacity to feel the thing they called love. he'd lay awake at night and wonder if he too could love, while clutching his throbbing heart that ached for something he couldn't define.
you seemed to define it all: what love was to him. love was tender in the way you longingly looked at him with those doe eyes of yours. love was confusing in the way you'd beckon for his presence late at night to hold you close while you drifted out of consciousness. love meant many things to him because of the way you fiddled with the broach on his tie or the subtle tuck of his hair behind his ear courtesy of your smooth fingers.
with nothing but adoration in your eyes, you stared up at him and he felt the rush of gold flow through his veins. a god possesses many things but love is never usually one of them. zhongli, however, can say different.
"my lily, you need not thank me for loving you," his hands overlapped yours that held his face while his nose gently bumped against yours, "know that i am truly the thankful one for having you to stand by my side until my memories are nothing but dust."
xiao.
love isn't in his vocabulary nor is it an emotion that comes naturally to xiao. he considers himself a weapon, a tool, and inanimate objects are not capable of love. he is a man of discipline, nothing shall ever tempt him from his true duties. yet the very human part of him cannot help but entertain ludicrous ideas. like the feel of a warm body pressed tight against his, or the sensual touch of nails gently trailing down his tattooed arms. his mind wanders when all is quiet and the lands are peaceful, but that was all it ever was: a dream, a pastime for until when he'd need to sacrifice himself and become a weapon yet again.
but his mortal indulgences were all he had to feel as though he weren't suffocating beneath a thick, black, wave of fog and hazing dust. his palms were cold but he imagined they held nothing but warmth when he placed his palms onto the line of his jaw and pretended that someone held him not like a tool or a weapon, but as a regular man who was allowed to be human.
the feel of your hands on his face never felt real, despite his pinches and slaps to his face to see if it was all a dream. your hands were so very warm, warmer than his could ever be and they ignited a fire within his chest whenever they found solace holding his face. your nails traced the shapes of the tattoos on his biceps and your kisses made a home for themselves nestled in his soft locks. to say he was out of his element would be an understatement, you brought him light amidst a slew of black holes and carried warmth where frigid ice reigned supreme.
he needed to say nothing, if he tried he wasn't sure he could form the right words at all. your kisses took the breath away from him and he'd be happy to give you all that he was, and you felt it in the way his grip on you tightened and the press of his forehead against yours in a silent promise to forever protect you with his life.
kaedehara kazuha.
like swirling red leaves
that fall swiftly to the ground
my heart stills once more
love is poetry and as free as kazuha himself. there are many ways in which the winds can blow for him, and yet he finds solace in treading along the most gentle of breezes. love is whatever comes along his way, and his patience knows no bounds. but there are nights where he sits atop a perch of the alcor and traces patterns of stars with his eyes. words of a poem begin to slip from his lips and yet there are no ears to listen. his private indulgence of whispering poems of love for no one in particular are what manages to keep him sane, but he knows that such a blessing can only come with time. so he waits.
his notebooks are lined with words which he one days yearns to speak, and yet time has deemed that he is not ready yet. the words he'd created felt like sugar on his tongue, sweet and burning hot to the touch yet he'd still swallow as if it were nothing but water.
practiced to perfection was his soothing voice against the shell of your ear, whispering line after line of all the words that lived within his mind. your beauty makes the stars pale in comparison, to hold you was almost akin to holding the last bit of a comet, the tail that shone the most voluminously. his patience had rewarded him with you, all the time he spent alone writing away at what he wished to say now found a new home etched into the grooves of your brain, written in thick ink in the most beautiful of cursive.
you had given him the world, and still thanked him with that lovely voice of yours.
"i am thankful for you as well, my beloved. you bring heaven down to earth for me." he whispered against your temple and cradled you like you'd slip away from his grasp if he let go too soon.
scaramouche.
love was dumb, simply put. whatever scaramouche could not comprehend became immediately dubbed as "dumb", and love was the number one item on this list. such ludicrous feelings were far below the stature of the sixth harbinger, nor did he have the time or patience for love. he spoke these words loud and clear for all to hear, but the silent ache of his heart spoke unsaid words that clung to him and made a mess of his life.
he denied himself curiosity, or to look past the whirling storms that encircled his heart. but every so often when the moon sat high in the sky and he'd stripped himself of his title, scaramouche would faintly trace the sides of his torso and imagine the tender hold of another on his waist. his pillow was too hard to imagine as a human body, and such a silly thought had him fuming the next morning.
love was dumb and yet here you were in his arms, hands around his torso just like he'd imagined and your lips hovering over his own, thanking him for loving you. to deserve someone like you, someone who looked past his stormy exterior and found a gentle core pulsing with violet fervor. where he grew horns and bared his fangs, you showed your wings and smoothed down the frazzled ends of his locks. gentleness was not a word in his book and yet you took a pen and rewrote all of his pages.
"you're a dumbass, y'know that?" scaramouche grinned wickedly as the soft give of your cheek pulled in his forefinger and thumb despite your whining protests.
"but you're my dumbass, you don't need to thank me for loving you. if anything it should be the other way around." he suddenly pushed your face into the crook of his neck and ensnared your body within his arms, letting his words be absorbed by your burning skin.
dainsleif.
a sole wanderer, destined to pursue a fruitless goal amidst loneliness and destitute caverns of fragility. there was no time for love, no time to think about it or indulge in it. but dainsleif has always defied the odds, and even then as he lay by his lonesome beside another quiet fire, he thought of love. the feel of a hand raking through his soft, feathery locks, the gentle press of a kiss on his forehead, the innocent intertwining of pinkies or hands. he thought himself a fool, waking up with flushed cheeks and a mind full of temptation.
but such feelings no longer lived alone in his mind. the feel of your hands combing through his locks were real, as was the persistent kisses to his flushing face and the innocent intertwining of your pinky against his. he would forever be at your mercy and yet it was you who thanked him for the love in your eyes.
baffled and bewildered, he doesn't quite understand why you thank him when it was you who allowed him to shed himself of his duties and become simple dainsleif, who loved you and would give his life for you.
you were real, in his arms and thanking him for his love. you were real and you weren't going anywhere. as tenderly as you held his face, his palms came up and cupped your jaw as if it would break under his touch.
"gratitude is not what i seek, but you hold my heart within your hands and that is more than enough for me." dainsleif sealed his words with a gentle kiss on your forehead doused with adoration and crafted of love.
date published: july 29th, 2021
It's so cute when kids get restless or excited then they start fiddling with their clothes HSHSHSHAHA
Stop it, Inko!! He’s already dead!