HELLOOOO I LOVE UR WORK!!
If you don't like this, then just ignore but I kinda have a specific and odd request🥹
Yknow those asmr scalp scratching / massage videos?? I was wondering if you could do xiao, wanderer, kaveh and tighnari with a s/o who always plays with their hair and does those asmr scalp massages on their head. And ofc it feels SOOO relaxing for them.
☁️ IF YOU GIVE THEM A HEAD MASSAGE
PREMISE . . . In which you notice him looking unusually tired, so you give him a head massage until he finally relaxes and let himself be cared for. ꫂ᭪݁ STARRING . . . wanderer, xiao, kaveh, tighnari + gender neutral! reader
⚠︎ WARNING . . . › sfw, brief mention of xiao accidentally hurting you, mild emotional exhaustion, mentions of fatigue, stress, physical affection, established relationship, comfort and caretaking, fluff
note . i'm so sorry this took a while to make anon.. i hope the writing makes up for the long wait! :")
── ( 𝒘. ) Wanderer would initially tense the moment your fingers slipped into his hair, his shoulders drawing up almost instinctively. He'd been sitting on a chair with a book open in his hands, so absorbed in whatever he was reading that he'd barely registered anything happening around him. His hat, which he usually kept firmly on his head, had been set aside on the table nearby, leaving his hair completely uncovered as he leaned slightly forward over the pages.
He hadn't noticed you getting up, quietly walking around behind his chair, and he certainly hadn't realized you'd stopped directly behind him. His attention remained fixed on the lines of text, one hand supporting his cheek as his elbow rested against the arm of the chair, while his other hand held the spine of the book loosely.
It was only when your fingers finally slipped gently into his hair that his entire body would tense in surprise. His eyes would immediately lift from the page, and he'd turn his head sharply to look over his shoulder, clearly caught completely off guard by the sudden touch.
"What are you doing?" he'd mutter, staring up at you with that familiar irritated expression, though the surprise in his eyes would make it obvious that he hadn't even realized you'd been there. Despite the question, he wouldn't move away. If anything, he'd remain perfectly still beneath your touch, watching you from the corner of his eye as your fingers slowly combed through the strands, separating them gently before returning to his scalp.
The moment your fingertips began massaging small circles against the tension gathered there, his expression would falter. The irritation in his eyes would gradually lose its edge, his shoulders sinking little by little as the pressure beneath his skin finally began to ease. He'd let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost like a reluctant sigh, and close his eyes for only a second before opening them again as though he'd caught himself being too comfortable.
You'd continue anyway, occasionally brushing your fingertips along his temples or lightly scratching his scalp, and each time you'd find a particularly tense spot, his head would subtly tilt toward your hand before he realized what he was doing.
"You could've warned me first," he'd mutter, his brows drawing together as he glanced back at you, clearly still displeased by how suddenly you'd touched him. He'd try to return his attention to the book, but your fingers continuing to run gently through his hair would make that increasingly difficult. "Do you always sneak up on people like that?" His tone would carry the usual irritation, though there'd be far less bite behind it than he wanted you to believe. If you teased him with a small smile and pointed out that he clearly liked it despite all his complaining, he'd go quiet. He wouldn't answer, his eyes simply dropping back toward the page as the faintest warmth crept across his cheeks. You'd continue massaging his scalp, watching him become increasingly comfortable despite himself, before teasing him again about how he'd surely tell you to stop if he genuinely disliked it. That would earn you a long silence. When you teased him again, asking why he hadn't told you to stop if he disliked it so much, he'd click his tongue and turn another page with exaggerated concentration. "You seem awfully determined to keep talking about it." He'd pause for a moment before quietly adding, "Just keep doing what you're doing." He'd immediately pretend to become engrossed in his book again, but the slight way he'd lean back into your hand would tell you everything he refused to say aloud.
As the minutes passed, the change in him would become impossible to miss. His posture would gradually soften until he was leaning against you without even seeming to notice, and if you were sitting comfortably enough for him to rest against your lap, he'd eventually give up whatever pretense remained and settle there, his head resting against you while your fingers continued to drift through his hair.
His eyes would eventually fall completely shut, and after another few moments of trying to follow the words on the page, he'd finally give up on reading altogether. The book would slowly lower from his hands before coming to rest open across his lap, forgotten as his attention shifted entirely toward the feeling of your fingers moving through his hair. With nothing left demanding his concentration, he'd gradually relax into the chair, his head tilting back slightly to give you easier access.
The moment your fingers paused for more than a few seconds, his eyes would open again. "Why did you stop?" The question would come out so naturally that he'd only realize afterward how obvious he'd made himself. If you smiled at him, he'd immediately avert his gaze and grumble something about how you were reading too much into it, but when you moved away, he'd reach up, catch your wrist, and gently guide your hand back into his hair.
He'd hold it there for a moment, his fingers lingering around your wrist before finally letting go. "...Don't stop." His voice would be quieter this time, almost embarrassed by the admission. He'd settle back against you again, allowing his eyes to close as your fingers resumed their slow rhythm.
"You started this," he'd mutter, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "So you don't get to stop until I tell you to." And beneath all the grumbling and reluctant attempts to preserve his dignity, he'd quietly cherish the gentleness of your touch, the way you cared for him without asking anything in return, and how easily your affection could make the world feel a little quieter.
── ( 𝒙. ) Xiao would arrive at Wangshu Inn after dealing with a group of monsters that had gathered in the area, appearing at the rooftop with the faint sound of his landing barely audible over the night wind. He'd be breathing a little harder than usual, his shoulders rising and falling as he finally allowed himself a moment to recover from the fight.
His mask would already be off, held loosely in one hand as he wiped away the faint traces of sweat from his brow, his expression noticeably more tired than the one he usually wore when he appeared in front of others. He'd be so focused on catching his breath that he wouldn't immediately notice you standing beside the table nearby, waiting in the usual spot you'd claimed whenever you met at Wangshu Inn.
He'd take a few steps toward the table before noticing a presence behind him. When you reached out and touched his shoulder, his body would react before his mind could catch up. He'd turn sharply, immediately catching your arm and gripping it far more tightly than he intended, his instincts still sharpened from the battle.
The sudden pressure would hurt, a loud yelp escaping your throat and the moment Xiao realized who was standing in behind him, his eyes would widen. He'd release you immediately, his expression shifting into unmistakable regret. "I— I'm sorry." His gaze would fall toward your arm, checking where he'd grabbed you before looking back at your face. "I thought you were..." He'd stop himself, clearly dissatisfied with the explanation, and lower his head slightly. "I should have been more careful." You'd reassure him that you were alright, and he'd remain quiet for a moment, still looking faintly guilty. The exhaustion in his expression would suddenly become much more apparent to you, the slight heaviness beneath his eyes, the way his shoulders hadn't fully relaxed even after the fight, and the way his fingers still loosely held his mask as though he hadn't yet remembered what to do with it.
Seeing how tired he was would give you an idea. You'd gently tell him to sit down for a while, pointing toward the empty chair beside the small wooden table at your usual spot near the rooftop. Xiao would follow your gesture, then look back at you with a faint crease between his brows, as though he couldn't quite understand what you were trying to do.
He'd quietly insist that he was fine, that the monsters had already been dealt with and there was no reason for him to rest, but the slight heaviness in his voice would betray how exhausted he actually was. You'd remind him that he'd just finished fighting and that sitting down for a few minutes wouldn't hurt, especially when the inn was quiet and neither of you had anywhere else to be.
He'd hesitate again, his gaze lingering on you before finally giving a small sigh of resignation. "Very well." He'd sit down and resting his hands loosely against his lap. Without the mask covering his face, the fatigue he'd usually conceal would be much easier to see.
When you moved behind him, Xiao wouldn't pay much attention at first. He'd assume you were simply moving around the table, still gazing out over the rooftops while the quiet of the inn settled around the two of you.
Then your fingers would gently slip into his hair. His entire body would stiffen. His shoulders would rise slightly, and his head would turn just enough for him to look at you over his shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and confusion. "What are you doing?" There would be no irritation in his voice, only genuine uncertainty, as though the gesture were something he had never quite encountered before.
He'd remain still when your fingers continued, carefully combing through his hair before your fingertips began gently massaging his scalp. At first, he'd seem unsure of where to look, his gaze shifting toward the table and then back toward the scenery as though he were deliberately avoiding your eyes.
"You don't have to do this," he'd murmur after a moment, though there'd be no real insistence behind his words. If you quietly told him that you wanted to, he'd fall silent again, his eyes lowering as though he didn't quite know how to respond to such a simple expression of care.
Gradually, though, the tension in his shoulders would begin to disappear. His breathing would slow, and his head would unconsciously tilt ever so slightly toward your hand when your fingers found a particularly tense spot. He'd blink in quiet surprise at his own reaction, but he wouldn't pull away.
The sensation would be unfamiliar, almost strangely intimate, and yet there would be something soothing about it that made the exhaustion he'd been holding back all evening finally catch up with him.
His eyelids would grow heavier, his posture softening against the chair as he allowed your hand to continue. He wouldn't know what to call the feeling, only that it was warm, peaceful, and strangely comforting to have someone notice that he was tired and simply decide to take care of him.
Every so often, his head would subtly lean into your hand, betraying how comforting he found it despite himself. "Thank you. This feels.. nice." He'd admit it quietly, almost hesitantly, the unfamiliar tenderness would leave him strangely peaceful, and although he wouldn't have the words to explain why, there would be something deeply comforting about knowing that after spending the evening protecting everyone else, he could return to you and simply be allowed to rest.
── ( 𝐤. ) Kaveh would react with immediate, almost comical relief the moment your fingers slipped into his hair, especially if he'd been sitting beside you in the middle of one of his particularly exhausting rants about work.
He'd have spent the last several minutes complaining about an unreasonable client, some ridiculous deadline, or the latest disaster at the construction site, gesturing dramatically as he tried to explain exactly why everyone else was making his life unnecessarily difficult.
He'd be so absorbed in his own frustration that your hand slipping gently into his hair would completely interrupt his train of thought. "Wait— what are you doing?" he'd ask, looking up at you with genuine surprise, his brows still slightly furrowed from whatever he'd been complaining about.
But the moment your fingertips began slowly combing through his hair and massaging his scalp, the irritation in his expression would start to melt away. He'd blink several times, almost as though his mind needed a moment to catch up with the sensation, before his shoulders gradually dropped and the tension around his face softened.
"Oh..." A quiet sigh would escape him, and he'd immediately realize just how badly he'd needed the gesture. He'd still insist that he wasn't that stressed, of course, muttering that you were fussing over him unnecessarily, but his body would betray him completely. He'd lean closer without thinking, his head gradually settling against you as your fingers continued moving through his hair.
If you were sitting beside him, he'd eventually shift until he could comfortably rest his head against your shoulder or lap, his eyes fluttering shut as another quiet sigh left him. Every time your fingers found a particularly tense spot, he'd subtly tilt his head toward your hand, practically guiding you without realizing it.
The man who had been loudly declaring how much work he had to do moments ago would suddenly become remarkably quiet, his only response being the occasional contented hum whenever you massaged his scalp.
Once he'd become comfortable, getting him to admit he liked it would be another matter entirely. He'd keep trying to preserve whatever dignity he had left. "You know, I'm perfectly capable of relaxing without all this," he'd mumble, despite making absolutely no effort to move away from you. If your fingers paused for even a few seconds, however, his eyes would immediately open and he'd look up at you with an almost offended expression.
"You— Why'd you stop?" And when you laughed and reminded him that he'd just spent several minutes insisting he didn't need you to fuss over him, he'd become adorably defensive, his cheeks warming as he tried to justify himself. "I never said I didn't like it!" Eventually, he'd simply give up arguing, reaching for your hand and gently placing it back into his hair himself. His expression would soften as he looked at you, all the frustration he'd been carrying earlier replaced by a tired, affectionate smile.
"Just... stay like this for a while, alright?" He'd probably become noticeably flustered once he realized just how quickly he'd gone from complaining to practically melting beneath your touch. When your fingers found another particularly soothing spot, he'd let out a quiet sigh before suddenly noticing your giggle.
"Don't look at me like that," he'd mumble, turning his face slightly away from you despite making no attempt to move. If you teased him about how relaxed he looked, his cheeks would warm even more. "I am not that easy to spoil, you know." The fact that he was already resting comfortably against you would make the denial especially unconvincing, and he'd eventually give up trying to defend himself, reaching for your hand and guiding it back into his hair with a sheepish little smile. "Just... don't make a big deal out of it, alright?"
He'd close his eyes again and settle more comfortably against you, letting himself enjoy the quiet without feeling obligated to fill it with another complaint. The longer you continued, the heavier his head would become against you, until he'd eventually drift off without even realizing it, one hand still loosely holding onto yours.
── ( 𝐭. ) Tighnari would notice what you were doing almost immediately, because despite being absorbed in his work, he was far too observant to miss the subtle change in your presence beside him.
He'd been sitting with his notes spread across the table, several pages covered in his neat handwriting while a few reference books remained open around him, their pages weighed down by small objects to keep them from turning in the evening breeze.
His ears were slightly lowered, and his tail had gone unusually still behind him, lacking its usual subtle movements that tended to betray his mood. His eyes continued moving over the same few lines, following the words from beginning to end before returning to the start again, yet nothing seemed to be sticking. Every now and then, the tip of his pencil would hover above the page for several seconds without making a mark.
The fatigue was subtle enough that someone unfamiliar with him might overlook it, but to you, the signs were unmistakable, the slight furrow between his brows, the faint heaviness around his eyes, the way his ears weren't as alert as they usually were whenever he heard a sound nearby, and the occasional little sigh whenever he reached another sentence that required more concentration than he had left to give.
He'd been trying to convince himself that he could finish just one more section before resting, then another, and another, until he'd gradually stopped making any meaningful progress at all.
You'd quietly move closer, careful not to interrupt him outright, before letting your fingers slip gently through his hair. His ears would immediately twitch beneath your touch, one flicking backward before relaxing again, and Tighnari would pause mid-sentence.
He'd glance up at you with a small, knowing smile, already understanding what you'd noticed without needing you to say anything. "You noticed, huh?" he'd murmur, amusement softening his tired voice. He'd try to continue reading anyway, stubbornly keeping his eyes on the notes while your fingers slowly combed through his hair, but the steady rhythm of your touch would make maintaining his concentration increasingly difficult.
His ears would gradually relax beneath your hand, occasionally twitching whenever your fingertips brushed a particularly sensitive spot, and his shoulders would begin to lose the quiet tension they'd been carrying. You'd continue gently massaging his scalp, occasionally scratching lightly near the base of his ears, and each time you did, his eyes would linger on the same line for a little too long.
Eventually, he'd exhale through his nose, lower the page, and let his hand rest on the table rather than attempting to turn it. He'd glance at you with a mildly exasperated expression that was completely undermined by the softness in his eyes.
"You're distracting me, my dear." There'd be no genuine complaint behind it. In fact, he'd shift his chair slightly closer until his shoulder rested against yours, making no effort to hide that he was enjoying the attention.
His tail would give one slow, lazy movement behind him before curling loosely around your leg, and he'd allow his eyes to close for just a moment beneath your hand, as though he'd finally accepted that finishing his notes could wait.
When your fingers began gently massaging his scalp, he'd let out another quiet breath, his eyes closing for a moment as the tension gradually left his face. His tail would eventually curl loosely around your leg almost unconsciously, the fluffy tip giving an occasional lazy twitch whenever your hand moved through his hair.
Once he'd stopped pretending he could continue working, Tighnari would allow himself to fully settle against you, his head resting comfortably against your shoulder. His ears would remain relaxed, no longer held tensely upright, while your fingers moved slowly through his hair.
If you asked whether he was stressed, he'd give you an honest answer rather than trying to brush it aside. "A little more than I'd like to admit." He'd pause, then give a quiet laugh. "I've been staring at the same notes for the past ten minutes and somehow convinced myself I was still being productive." Your continued attention would make him smile, and when you teased him about finally admitting he was tired, he'd open one eye to give you an amused look. "Don't sound so pleased with yourself. This doesn't mean you're always right." He'd close his eyes again almost immediately, though, completely undermining his own argument as he relaxed further beneath your touch. After a while, he'd quietly murmur, "I suppose this is considerably more effective than pretending I'm not tired." His fingers might loosely catch around your wrist for a moment, not to stop you but simply to keep the connection there, and his tail would curl a little more securely around your leg.
Eventually, he'd look up at you with a fond, almost sleepy smile. "Thank you. You always seem to notice before I do." He'd then settle back against you without another word, letting you continue stroking his hair while the unfinished notes sat forgotten nearby. For someone as responsible and practical as Tighnari, there would be something deeply comforting in being allowed to put his work aside for a while and simply receive affection.
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