Botany For Dummies

「 botany for dummies 」

TIGHNARI wishes once in a while, and once in a while only, that his ears weren’t so obvious. 

the way they perk up at your name, twitch at the sign of your arrival and droop ever so slightly at your departure; tighnari feels uncomfortable. the movements are subtle, barely noticeable even by those closest to him, but they occur beyond his control nonetheless. as a researcher, though he disregards akademiya laws left and right, he believes this goes against his own code of conduct.

even if you are an old friend from sumeru akademiya who he had horrifically repressed feelings for. your refusal to leave him alone is like adding crushed harra fruit to a wound. it’s impossible to have peace of mind with you around.

you help him with the marana despite the rangers’ protests, you pick mushrooms for him to discern as sick or healthy, you bring him lotuses even if he never asked you to. to be honest, he’s flattered you remember his fondness of them. he could get used to this, he thinks to himself often on sunny mornings when you greet him grinning ear to ear. but parting is only inevitable in the flow of life. it’s hard to believe you’ll stay forever in sumeru, by his side in gandharva ville.

tighnari hates you especially when he’s sick. you don’t leave his side, stare at him longer than he can handle, and archons, you don’t need to touch his skin to map his temperature. he doesn’t need taking care of—and he’s not pretending to be strong, he just knows everything to make himself better. you don’t have to go out of your way; it’s incredibly stupid and time-consuming. even if the rainstorms worsen his sleep, even if the heat of day gets under his skin; why would he ever ask you to do anything for him? it feels strange to be taken care of.

tighnari gets up from his bed, still reeling from the sound of thunder. he clutches his head, a part of his senses dulling and heightening from the ringing. his ears bring certain curses. 

“whoa there! who told you to get out of bed?”

ah, yes, of course. another curse for his ears had to materialize in front of him. you sit across from him and cross your arms, glaring at him till he sits back down too. it’s good to know the little quirks of your body language haven’t changed since your akademiya days.

“you… you really don’t have to.” he frowns. “this isn’t your job.”

“i know, i know.” you hum, a smile sneaking onto your face. “but it’s time i repaid you for giving me free medicine and… hm, let’s see. lending me your notes, that one time you cured me after i ate a suspicious mushroom and- and letting me tuck my hands into your tail when it was cold, allowing me to pet your ears-”

he coughs loudly, his discontent clear. “you can stop talking once in a while, (name). it’ll benefit everyone around.”

you roll your eyes. “if i didn’t open my big mouth, you would’ve never realized you’re sick. you can thank me now, pighead.”

tighnari makes a face. “you’re also the reason i ingested a poisonous mushroom.”

“that’s unimportant.”

he shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“here,” you say, shuffling through your backpack. “nilotpala lotuses. i was right about your diagnosis!”

“you don’t know that,” he quips. “these lotuses can be used as medicine against a variety of ailments.”

“but these work, don’t they?” your eyes widen, brimming with genuine concern.

“yes.” he responds far too quickly. he can’t help it. “you have to soak them first and then extract the nectar under a presser- not now, (name).”

you sit back down, pouting. “but you need to get better! as fast as you can, tighnari. i don’t like seeing you like this…”

tighnari sighs, eyes closing. “i will. it’s not like one mushroom will have me coughing up blood… at least not this one.”

you bite down your lip and tighnari can’t help but tilt his head to the side, trying to decipher your whole expression.

“tighnari,” you speak up, not looking at him. “we’re friends, right?”

“yes. obviously. do you need official documents stating our friendship?”

tighnari expects a bit of snark from you right back—instead, he is met with your sudden embrace, your breath warming the spot by his neck.

“why did you have to eat the mushroom on my behalf?” you whisper. “i made that bet with the eremites, you know? it was stupid tavern talk.”

it’s not the worst thing you’ve done drunk. however, tighnari steps in each time with no questions asked. he realizes once again how obvious his feelings are and how restrained he is, unable to tell you just so. you’re too dense to understand the language of flowers, so even a gift of a sumeru rose would pass over your head. you’re quite literally the worst person to fall in love with.

tighnari believes time settles everything. then why does he feel so impatient with your actions?

“why did you make that bet, stupid?” he answers, his arms wrapping around you nonetheless. 

“well… you know how i’m saving up?”

there’s a pause. are you hesitating?

“i want to… i want to travel.”

tighnari falls silent. he knows you cannot forever be his partner, journeying through the rainforests and surveying nature’s infinite wonders. you’ve expressed a longing for something else. he cannot deny it.

“do you want to leave?” he asks quietly. “i know being a researcher isn’t rewarding enough and… it’s hard to quantify knowledge. but…”

he trails off. there’s a spark of sorrow in his voice.

“i want to see more of the world,” you answer softly. your smile against his shoulder makes his face warm up. it’s not often the head of the forest rangers gets to feel this way. “but i don’t think i want to do it without you.”

his ears twitch before perking up. if you weren’t as observant as a shroomboar, you might have noticed. 

“well then, you need to change your habits. don’t go around making bets, or diving onto a mushroom to jump higher, or touching and eating whatever plant you find,” he scolds. “i can tell you which plants are edible. i can teach you how to set up camp. you must listen to every instruction.”

“tighnari?”

“i’m saying, when the forest is healed, we can set out by ourselves.”

the last drop of rain patters outside his door. who knew the cure to a mildly poisonous mushroom would be the embrace of a loved one? perhaps those foreign fairytales you read to him had some meaning to them after all. perhaps the two of you would get to know soon.

(no, alright. that’s not true. he needs those nilotpala lotuses right now before he faints from overheating.)

forest fire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...shut up.”

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

cupid’s chokehold

pairing/s: cyno, diluc, scaramouche x gn!reader

summary: it’s simple, really. one moment you’re laughing, the light of the sun brightening your features, and the next his heart is beating out of his chest, face warm and breaths short, an almost pleasant twist to his gut when you lean close. you look at him with fondness dancing in your eyes, and he realizes, oh, he might just be in love. or — the moment they find out they love you.

note: this is really just an excuse to write diluc being whipped, also this was supposed to include childe heizou and xiao but i lost motivation so here ya go!

CYNO

He finds it hard to believe that you’d be so incapable of writing a simple essay. You once admitted to him how you only got accepted into the Akademiya through sheer luck, but he didn’t believe it then. The Akademiya is known for its strict rules and thorough examination of every student it takes on.

But seeing you struggling not to plagiarize an essay is truly pushing his patience. He’s not one to snap or bark out harsh words to those undeserving of it — and he can think of no one more undeserving of his wrath than you — but it is frustrating to watch you stumble even at the easiest of assignments.

“I think I’ve got it! Oh, I made a little mistake on the spelling there, but this is the one that’ll blow my professors away! Cyno, can you proofread this for me?”

He’ll tell you later that he didn’t mean it, and you’ll accept it without hesitation with an accepting smile — but right now, the searing sun made worse by the humid weather makes a short fuse even for the most patient of saints.

“If you can’t do something so simple, then I see no point in partaking in this fruitless endeavor. The Akademiya is harsh and has no room for error, you would be better off leaving than continue struggling futilely.”

He didn’t mean to come off so harsh, as if he’s belittling all your hard work and effort and telling you that you don’t belong in the Akademiya. But the damage has been done, and your hopeful look turns into shock at his outburst, retreating into yourself and quickly retracting the paper you’d been in the middle of handing out to him. Your face closes off, clutching your essay close to your chest and darting your eyes anywhere but his general direction.

“Sorry,” you say, awkward and fumbling, resolutely not meeting his eyes, “For being annoying, among other things.” Then, you rise to your feet abruptly. He can see the way your fingers are clenched tightly at your paper, tight enough to wrinkle the edges such that he knows you’ll regret later for ruining yet another paper. “I won’t bother you again.”

Your voice is uncharacteristically quiet, almost sounding choked off. You turn and give him a brief glimpse of your face, and he realizes that you’re on the verge of tears.

He catches your arm just before you can take a step forward. “Wait.”

You freeze, muscles tensing beneath his touch. He instantly releases you after he feels how uncomfortable it must have made you. The silence between you is so tangible he can almost see it permeating the air, cloying and thick and utterly unwelcome.

He parts his mouth a few times, going through every possible scenario where he says the wrong thing that pushes you to the edge and makes you hate him forever. The mere thought is enough to steal him of his breath. No, he can’t have that, can’t bear the thought of a world where you aren’t there greeting him brightly in the morning and being so shameless as you fall into step beside him despite his rank and engage him in idle chitchat. He doesn’t think he’s ever told you before, but he looks forward to that part of his day the most.

After what seems like eons of standing in silence, he finally speaks. But what comes out of his mouth isn’t the apology he rehearsed in his head.

“Why did the bike fall over?”

You turn to him with an almost incredulous look, eyes wide with unshed tears that he berates himself for. Then, hesitantly, you ask, “…Why?”

The response comes naturally to him, years of reading through his notes and making them himself has all but ingrained such information in his mind.

“Because it was two tired,” he delivers this with a straight face, tone flat and completely at odds with the nature of his joke.

You stare at him for a moment, lips parted in surprise at the sudden joke. He sees your grip on your paper loosen, shoulders relaxing, mouth twisting into something he can’t quite discern, and then—

“Pft.” It starts out small, quiet as you bring a hand to cover your mouth, before it dissolves into a full blown laugh, the kind that has your shoulders shaking and eyes closed, head tilted back and the sound of your laughter filling his ears. He’s never considered that laughs could produce such pleasant sounds, so it comes as a surprise when yours makes something in him want to lean forward to hear more. Or perhaps it’s just you.

The light from the sun bounces off your skin, making your expression all the more radiant.

And Cyno? Cyno doesn’t think he’s ever seen such a mesmerizing sight before.

You’ve never laughed at his jokes, or rather, he’s never seen fit to tell you any of them, seeing as you’ve always been so at ease around him that telling a joke was never necessary. He’ll have to rectify that, he thinks, watching the way your mouth curves up in a smile, eyes dancing with mirth as you finally meet his eyes.

And he’s suddenly struck by the thought of how much he likes seeing you like this — hair mussed from the wind, exhilaration lining your lips, breaths short from laughing too hard, and gazing at him in delight.

And maybe he’s overthinking things too much, maybe the pounding of his heart and the sudden intake of breath is a result of something else, but he wants to believe it’s because of you.

Later, he’ll come up with a proper apology, something a little less joking and a little more serious. But right now, you’re looking at him like he’s the only person in the world, and that’s all that matters.

DILUC

The sun is particularly hot today, bordering on sweltering, but still, you insist on accompanying him in this menial task of picking grapes.

Diluc has always preferred solitude since he came of age, doing things alone and being lost in his thoughts have become things that he finds strangely pleasant, almost calming. But you’ve never been one to settle in silence, always needing to voice your thoughts and fill the room with chatter about all sorts of topics. It’s something he should dislike, all things considered due to his preference for quietness, but you, he finds, have always been an exception to what he considers the norm.

He wonders why.

“And just then, a hilichurl comes out of nowhere and starts throwing rocks at me — rocks! They have crossbows and shields and those battering things, but that one chose to use rocks to attack me! It’s like he thought I wasn’t even worth the effort!”

He idly plucks a group of ripe grapes from a vine, listening to you retell your encounter with a hilichurl that led to you discovering its camp that held a precious chest, only to open it and find nothing but cabbages. You bemoan how it was a total waste of effort, all that fighting just for a few pieces of vegetables you don’t even like.

A small, amused smile flits its way into his lips. It doesn’t escape your notice.

“So you think my suffering is funny, huh?” You narrow your eyes at him.

He turns away and briefly considers the merits of admitting to smiling, not at your plight, but at the various inflections in your tone as you regaled him with your story and the little laughs you let out when you got to a funny part and the way you looked at him with a smile so wide it crinkled the corners of your eyes, reflecting the light from the sun in its near-blinding intensity.

When he turns back to face you, he’s met with fingers on his lips and something small and round being pushed into his mouth. His teeth bites down into it, tender and sweet. A grape, he realizes, meeting mischievous eyes set upon a face that’s full of promises for future teasings and pranks.

The pads of your fingers are soft against his lips. His eyes wander against his will, landing on your lips twisted into a smirk, and his mind conjures an impossibly dangerous thought. Perhaps your lips would feel softer against his.

And then heat is creeping up his skin, searing red across his neck that reaches his cheeks and stops at the tips of his ears.

It’s nothing ostentatious. Not like the stories told in books where they meet each other’s eyes across the room and falter as their hearts beat as one, where they meet in the carnage of a battlefield, offering each other’s hands and knowing without a doubt that they will only ever have their backs for each other until the day they die. It’s not even one where he holds your hand and feels the way his heart leaps at the contact as he realizes what it might mean.

But this is still as meaningful, still as beautiful, suspended in time and carved in stone upon his memories until the winds of time erode it away.

A gentle breeze blows past you, and he catches the barest hint of a scent that consumes his mind and fills it with thoughts of nothing but you and your fingers lingering on his lips and how he’s never wanted to kiss a person more than he does now.

And oh, oh.

It’s a fanciful thought, but he imagines if his life were to become a book, then it should be one with an ending that intertwines with yours.

He considers that, for such a book, it would begin like this — the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and Diluc Ragnvindr is in love.

SCARAMOUCHE

If Scaramouche were the kind to think thoughts that would have him put below the pedestal he’s placed himself at, he’d think there must be something wrong with him.

“Did you really think you could have defeated those monsters all on your own? You’re lucky I was nearby, otherwise you’d be nothing but a bloody splatter on the ground.” His words are as harsh as ever, carrying that biting tone that’s labeled him unapproachable and unlikeable to most anyone — that is, most anyone who isn’t you.

He doesn’t understand you, the reasoning behind your actions and words and generally everything about you that makes you so infuriating. It grates at him, not knowing something, especially when that something pertains to you. Though why that would even matter is beyond him.

You smile at him, a sheepish little thing, utterly unrepentant and unaware of the possible consequences your actions could have brought. Not that he cares if anything happens to you. He’d just rather not deal with the trouble of handling your papers should you die under his service.

(That was, admittedly, a very weak argument that he’ll chastise himself for later. A Harbinger would have more pressing work to do than handle every paperwork about a dead subordinate. Not that the fact about him handling your papers upon your death was untrue, only that it’s only your paper among his countless other subordinates who’ve died that he’ll bother doing.)

Your mask fell off somewhere in the middle of that rather pathetic fight. It’s a breach of protocol to not be wearing your mask while on duty, but Scaramouche chooses to ignore that particular rule. He’s a Harbinger, he’s the one who decides the rules. Having to order you to go fetch your mask to put it back on would be a waste of time and effort. Much more efficient to simply speak this way, he reasons. It’s most definitely not because he wants to see your eyes and the myriad of emotions that pass through them. And even if it is, it’s only a way for him to better read your expressions and discern whether you’re lying or not. He can’t have anyone betraying him the Fatui.

“I apologize, my lord. It seems I’m still unaccustomed to my new uniform.” Your voice carries a sort of lilt to it that makes it more tolerable than most people he’s ever spoken to. It’s not a compliment, lest his mind go against him and begin creating false narratives, it’s an observation rooted in fact. The sky is blue, the stars are false, and your voice isn’t unpleasant to listen to.

He does frown at your explanation. “Unaccustomed? It’s hardly that different from your previous uniform.” He would know, of course, he spent hours watching you in it. Not that he was watching you simply for the sake of watching, no, never, he was merely criticizing your choice of color scheme and the scuff marks and dried blood that never quite went away no matter how many times you washed it. You’ve complained to him enough times about it in a way that no subordinate should to their lord, but he was in a good mood then, so he let it slide… among countless other things he let slide.

You pull at the collar of your uniform. “It’s a bit constricting. I think they may have gotten my measurements wrong—”

He scoffs, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “And you didn’t think to tell me? What use would I have for a recruit who can’t even move properly because of a tight uniform?”

“Well, you did tell me not to bother you anymore with my inane concerns, so I figured you wouldn’t want to hear about this…my lord.” The last part is added almost as an afterthought. He decides to let it slide.

He does recall something along those lines, sometime when he was in a foul mood and had no patience for your presence and the contradictions it brought in his behavior. He remembers being lost and dumbfounded the next day when you turned to leave after giving your report instead of lounging on his office’s couch and telling him about your day and the gossip you recently heard. He hadn’t actually meant for you to stop talking to him, but he was too proud to say so to you, which resulted in a week of silence on both parties. It was completely unbearable, but Scaramouche would sooner cut his own head off than admit it.

“Fine. You’re allowed to speak such drivel to me again, since you clearly can’t function without any sort of assistance from me.” It’s easy to twist the situation as if you’re the one who’s been dying to talk to him normally again instead of the other way around.

You laugh beneath your breath, something bordering on a giggle — a giggle, of all things. The last time someone had the audacity to giggle in his presence was…was a long time ago. Something he won’t dwell in.

“If you insist, my lord,” you say, an almost teasing twinkle in your eyes, and Scaramouche has never been more grateful exasperated that you aren’t wearing a mask. Who do you think you are to show such an emotion like happiness in front of him?

He’ll let it slide though. Just this once.

“Let’s return to the camp. I don’t want to be seen any longer with you looking the state you are now.” He deliberately ignores the fact that people will only see the two of you together once you’re back and not at this lone clearing. You turn to place your mask back on and he lets you. Wouldn’t do much good to have others see your face and plot whatever nefarious schemes their minds will cook up, like talking to you or, gods forbid, flirting with you—

And then he stops, completely frozen in place and unable to hide that shock that bleeds through his carefully crafted mask. He’s lucky you’re standing behind him, otherwise he’d have to kill you for seeing him in such a state. Not that he believes he’ll be able to go through with it, but the thought is needed though not necessarily appreciated.

He turns to you after he’s gotten ahold of his expression, eyes scanning your features and, with an almost sickening lurch in his stomach, finding that you’re not exactly unpleasant to look at.

Your hand reaches out for his arm with worry, and he nearly reels his hand back at the sheer audacity you have for assuming he is someone who needs worrying for but—but.

He rather likes the feeling of your fingers brushing against his skin.

So he lets you close your hand around his arm and look at him with through a mask he knows harbors a concerned look behind it. He nearly laughs at the notion of someone being concerned for him, but alas, you’re such an anomaly that even he can’t bring himself to mock even the worst trait you possess.

You are truly the most vexing person he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Perhaps if you keep touching him like this, he’ll let that one slide too.

veneration.

PAIRING: scaramouche x reader

GENRE: canon-compliant. belligerent romantic tension, flirting but not quite flirting, the trope of helping the other get ready for an important event.

TW/CW: slight spoilers for 3.2 archon quest (although it was literally revealed in the livestream so idk if it counts as spoilers).

A/N: boo, I'm alive (sort of.) I can't believe I'm writing for emo pinocchio, much less simping for him (yes, @x-zho and @byeol-ssi you read that correctly),,,, but HEY IF THIS DRABBLE GETS ME OUTTA BURNOUT DEPRESSION Y NAT COCONUT

"How fares your one follower, Lord Harbinger?"

The Balladeer pauses in the middle of what he's doing, a tangle of energy tubes falling around his ankles like an undignified noodle dish. Your voice is carefully, perfectly even, your eyes steadily fixed on your book as if nothing was the matter.

"Haypasia? Well, she's the first of many to come, so of course she is someone of great prestige in my eyes."

He enjoys the faint flicker in your eyes, choking back a taunting smile as your grip tightens on your book. To say that he held affection for you would be staunchly denied, but there was nothing Scaramouche delighted in more than to wear your nerves out.

"As she should be. Never forget the service she has done you, sir."

"And what of the service you owe me?" He retorts. "I don't recall summoning you here just so you could sit and recite pretty words to me while I do all the work."

An exasperated sigh and a slight rustle as you get up from your chair, followed by the echoing sound of your footsteps as you began climbing the stairs to the head of his soon-to-be divine vessel. "I had assumed that you wouldn't want my assistance until I was called for."

"I'm sure Haypasia would have willingly volunteered to assist me." Scaramouche remarks idly, tracing a finger along the polished metal. "When it comes to loyalty to me, I'm sure that that girl is second to none."

Silence, just as expected. Your face is pristinely neutral when you reach the top of the stairs and place the book on the floor, but he knows better; he knows how the blood surges in your veins in not-quite-jealousy, how the air catches in your throat at the thought of someone being better devoted to him.

Up until now, the Balladeer had had a hard time finding an edge over your nonchalant nature, with any sharp jabs left blithely ignored or rebutted, with no room for nonsense— for out of all the people who dared test their bravery by working with him, you were one of the few who had remained mostly unaffected by his short temper.

But with a certain researcher in the equation, it seems that he had a new — and most entertaining — way to push your buttons.

"You shouldn't have tangled up the tethers like this, sir." You kneel down to untangle the mess of cables at his already-tethered feet, your hair falling forward to conceal your face. "The Doctor would not be pleased if something were to malfunction tomorrow due to something as minor as this."

He stands stock-still as your hands trace along the length of his arm, searching for where to attach the cables to his wrists and shoulders, your fingertips brushing against his back as you check for any loosened tethers; to an outsider, it would seem that you were merely performing the duties of a faithful assistant. But every move and word was choreographed, designed to bring out your true intentions under the guise of professionalism.

"Tell me," The Balladeer asks, a taunting lilt to his voice. "What sort of book are you reading that distracts you from my glory?"

"Just something I picked up in the Grand Bazaar." You reply, and soft hands brush against the sides of his neck, reaching to safely tether him to his vessel. "A book of short essays and poetry, written by some obscure but well-read author."

"What sort of poetry?" Scaramouche keeps his gaze locked on yours, pretending to be unaffected by the way your arms enclosed the air around him, the close proximity between the two of you. The fun part of the game was to never reveal your hand of cards, after all.

"The usual; some about life, or loss. The seasons, and some about places the author had been to." Your eyes briefly flicker to meet his. "Love poems, too."

He cannot help but smirk, knowing full well at what you were playing at; the two of you had an unspoken agreement, a mutual push and pull as you aimed to tear each other's heartstrings out and have the other dancing in the palm of their hand. "Care to recite one, then? I'd like to see if you can actually spew pleasant words for once."

"If that is what the Lord Harbinger wishes," was your response, your gaze drifting away to focus on adjusting the tethers on his hands and wrists one last time. "There is one piece that I particularly enjoy; allow me to retrieve my book so that I may read that to you."

You were clever— he had to admit as much. This very well could have been your plan all along, to grab his attention with a book that you were certain would make an impression on him; he would not put it past you to have made such a bold plan.

But since the Balladeer was soon to achieve his lifelong goal, he was feeling generous tonight— he would indulge your little schemes for today, just this once.

"Ah, here it is." You straighten up, the pages rustling as you flip to the correct page. "This essay is rather long, but this particular excerpt is my favourite."

Scaramouche watches as you begin to pace back and forth aimlessly, your lips parting to take a deep breath in preparation... and he waits. He waits for the next move in the chess game, for his turn to come.

"Look up to the stars, and remember the light in my eyes." One finger traces idly along the page, your eyes following it intently as if to bore a hole through the paper. "Look to the east, the rosy dawn, and think of my lips, sweetened with the honey of memories with you."

"But furthermore, evermore, I beg of you, my darling..." Your feet shift to wander towards him, stepping closer and closer till you were only a few paces away from where he stood.

"...Look at me and only me forevermore." You recited, tilting his head upwards with the edge of your book, your warm breath fanning his cheeks as you leaned ever-closer. "Are these the sort of words you'd like to hear from me, Lord Harbinger?"

"Hah." A chuckle escapes his mouth before he can stop himself— really, truly, this was all too entertaining! "That all depends on what I am to you."

"What I am to you is the same as what you are to me." For the first time that evening you smiled, a mirror of the same smile he had now; the air of both challenge and taunt hidden behind the guise of a pleasant expression. "I wish you good luck on your promotion tomorrow, Lord Harbinger."

giving tighnari an aphrodisiac while you’re hanging out so he’ll sleep with you cause you have a bit of a huge crush on him, but you severely miscalculate how long it’ll last for so you end up stuck underneath him, pussy aching from his neverending thrusts and his cum flowing out, telling you how much he’s in love with you and your cunt and hoping that this never ends. mission accomplished?

ok sorry i have been gone so long. i actually just finished a monster of a chem report and i am in the mood to write so lets do this >:)

this turned out really long my god- i got really into meaningless plot and dialogue i am so sorry, there's like 1 minute of smut.

also, because i like to keep it consensual, we are gonna say tighnari was already dtf and he knew exactly what those petals do 😏

warnings: rough-dom!tighnari and sub!fem anatomy/pronouns reader

aphrodisiac usage (reader didn't know it was an aphrodisiac she gave tighnari), overstimulation, a lot of cum (unsafe sex 👎), biting, mating press, friends to lovers 🥵🥵, fingering/oral, also mentions of venti because he is your mondstat friend but he is wild

"and you're sure this is legit?" you asked, brows furrowing as you observed the petals in your palm.

"of course i'm sure, are you seriously doubting a professional?" venti grinned as you pursed your lips. "guaranteed to make even the most stoic swoon." venti pressed his hand to his forehead dramatically.

"alright, alright, i trust you." you carefully pocket the preserved blooms as venti eagerly bounces on his heels. you sigh deeply. "okay, one bottle on me, but that's it- diluc charges an arm and a leg these days."

it had been about a week since that conversation on your last day in mondstat. you originally went for research purposes and catching up with some old friends. sure, you expected a few souvenirs but not 'love blooms.'

you inspected the petals on your desk, trying desperately to focus on your reports.

when you told venti about your little (massive) crush on tighnari, venti was delighted to help you in the most venti way possible. by offering you flowers that make your crush fall in love with you.

because what other advice would that bard give?

you had your doubts, but part of you was intrigued to find out if they were real. you didn't want to test the tea on just anyone in case these blooms really did have some magic in them. or maybe you were just overthinking this. what if-

a soft knock on the wood of your door stirred you from your thoughts as you jumped up from your desk, knocking some of your papers off the surface.

"come in!" you call out, seeing tighnari peek his head around the corner of the wall. "tighnari! what are you doing here?"

tighnari greeted you with a small wave, carrying a basket in his arms. "i apologize for intruding so late, i originally meant to drop this off earlier. but you were asleep when i came by, and i didn't want to disturb you." tighnari smiled sheepishly, and you missed the soft blush dusting his cheeks in the low light from your lamp.

"oh, that's fine! it's great, no worries." you laughed awkwardly. "so, what's in there?" you pointed at the basket as he carefully opened the top.

"collei made it for you. she was feeling good this week, said it was the cooler weather and fresh air. she collected some herbs and fungi, and i think some tea leaves she received from a friend visiting liyue." tighnari mumbled, sifting through the contents.

"tell her i said thank you-"

"you could always come over and tell her yourself, you know. being a messenger is hard work for a forest ranger." tighnari teased.

you smiled at him fondly, shaking your head. it wasn't that you didn't want to visit, on the contrary. you were just terrified of embarrassing yourself in front of tighnari and collei.

"well, i am free tomorrow afternoon, if that's an okay time?"

"sure, i would check with collei first, but i'm positive she's already asleep." he hummed, ears flicking atop his head.

you let the quiet linger for a moment before you cleared your throat. "since you came all this way, would you like to stay for some tea?" you suddenly panicked, reminding yourself it was almost dark out, and tighnari would surely want to go back home as soon as possible. "well, i mean, it's late, so that was a stupid thing for me to suggest. sorry."

"actually, if you don't mind having me, i would love to share some tea. i didn't bring anything to drink on the trek here, and i am embarrassed to admit i'm a bit parched." tighnari's tail curled up as you nodded.

"sure! have a seat, anywhere you like- just maybe not on the chair with all my stuff on it, sorry for the mess." you awkwardly shuffled towards the kitchen, pulling the kettle out to start boiling a pot of water.

and then, the wicked little voice of venti popped into your mind.

now would be the perfect time to test out those petals.

you blinked twice, eyes shifting over to your desk where the petals sat. you smacked your cheeks, shaking your head.

no, that would be a bad idea. you don't even know if they're legit. and what if they're actually poison. can you ever really trust venti's judgement with love potion flowers?

you took a deep breath, instead focusing on rummaging through your cabinet, allowing tighnari to slink around your room unnoticed.

he smiled softly as he gazed at your handwriting. it slowly got sloppier as time went on, hand cramping from writing page upon page.

the ink bottle he had purchased for you from inazuma sat on your desk, almost empty. he made a mental note to purchase more the next time he had the chance.

you had lined up your favorite pens and quills on the desk, your notebooks at the side, scratches and rips on the cloth covers, and-

petals?

tighnari arched an eyebrow, glancing over to where you were in the kitchen, busy with digging for decent tea leaves.

he carefully picked the package up, bringing it up towards his face to waft the scent into his nose.

familiar and sweet. the saccharine petals had an aroma he had smelled before, though not from any plants in sumeru. it seemed familiar, like something from mondstat. perhaps he had read about it. something about legends.

tighnari frowned, deep in thought, tail bristling when he finally remembered. of course, mondstat tales of lovers. these flowers brought good luck for couples and those attempting to court their desired partners.

but why would you have them unless-

unless you were trying to court someone? tighnari frowned deeper at that thought.

his ears perked up as he heard you close the cabinets, walking into the room as he quickly situated himself on a chair, neatly folding his tail across his lap.

"sorry it took so long!" you smiled awkwardly. "it's brewing now, it'll just be a few minutes."

"take your time, don't stress yourself out over tea." tighnari shook his head, mentally cooing at your adorable expression when you scratched the back of your neck.

you glanced over at the desk, eyes focused on the petals as you thought of a way to get them without tighnari noticing.

of course, the minute you glanced away, he knew.

and that must mean-

you intended to use them on him? oh, tighnari wished he could say something.

but oh, was he intrigued to see where this path would lead...

and so, he conveniently stood up, excusing himself to the restroom and allowing you to rush and add the petals to the tea. he could hear you clumsily dumping them into his cup, crushing them up.

it was almost endearing in a way to think you wanted to use a love potion on him. how could you not realize you had tighnari wrapped around your finger.

if you had asked tighnari sweetly enough to visit mondstat with you, he would have. if you asked tighnari for another inazuman ink bottle, you'd have one by the next morning. if you asked tighnari to carry you back to his home to visit with collei, he would be more than happy to find a way to do so.

he waited just long enough for you to figure out the petal situation before walking out, adjusting his hair and tail. "oh, is the tea ready?"

"yes, you have perfect timing as always it seems." you laughed as tighnari sat down across from you.

you lifted the kettle, carefully pouring two cups of tea, setting the kettle down and moving his cup to his side. "there we go. i hope you like it- when i was in mondstat i got some flowers for the tea. my friend says they're supposed to be very sweet, and they make tea smooth." you lied through your teeth, praying to the archons that this love spell somehow did work.

you watched as tighnari lifted the cup to his lips, blowing on the liquid before tasting some. it was indeed sweet, unlike most of the bitter brews he makes. "it's very good. a unique sugary taste. maybe i'll have to visit mondstat myself." tighnari hummed, taking larger sips of the tea and watching as your eyes grew comically wide.

"wow, i'm glad you like it so much!" you raised your cup to your lips, feigning a sip as tighnari pretended not to notice. you brushed the hair away from your face, feeling hot as tighnari leaned in closer towards you.

your lips parted, though no words came out as tighnari's nose touched yours. "can i ask you something?"

"anything." you breathed out.

"did you really feel the need to give me a love potion? isn't it obvious i already like you?"

your mouth dropped as you scrambled backwards. "what- i, no, no i didn't- well...it's not what you think, i'm so sorry-"

"i'm not." tighnari shrugged, downing the cup. "i was waiting for you to realize how much i care for you. it isn't easy coming all the way here, you know. especially when it's dark. it isn't easy getting inazuman commodities or fancy sweaters from snezhnaya, you know."

tighnari's words made your face feel hot as you pressed your palms to your cheeks. "why didn't you just say something before?"

"because you're cute when you're flustered." tighnari admitted, surprised at his own boldness. maybe those petals really were affecting him differently due to his anatomy?

you let out a gasp, watching tighnari slowly approach you, crawling closer, almost like a predator stalking his prey.

"tighnari-" you called out to him, feeling him lean over you. his body was warm, radiating heat as you suddenly shook out of your stupor. "tighnari, you feel really hot- i mean warm! you must be sick or something, oh archons, what if i poisoned you. stupid, stupid, i knew i shouldn't have trusted venti." you tried to pull tighnari up, yet he wouldn't budge, instead firmly gripping your chin and tilting your head to look him in the eyes.

"i can tell that love potion isn't doing what you thought it would hm?" tighnari dragged his thumb across your lip, feeling you lean closer to him. "i planned this whole trip to confess to you, honestly. but i think this is a lot more exciting, don't you?"

"tighnari, i've never seen you like this before." you admitted, eyes starry as you gazed up at him. your thighs rubbed against eachother slightly as tighnari suddenly closed his eyes and groaned.

"fuck, i can smell your arousal." you watched as tighnari's pants slowly formed a tent, ears pressed back to his head.

his eyes opened, looking slightly different than before. he almost seemed feral in a way as he suddenly began tearing off your clothes, claws ripping through fabric as you clung onto his shoulders.

he pressed feverish kisses into your skin, pulling your core down against his lap and rutting against you while stripping your form.

how you ended up on your back, knees pressed to your chest was anyone's guess.

you had already come once from him fingering you, licking at your clit and rubbing against your g-spot in the most perfect way, sending you over the edge quickly.

now, he had you underneath him, cock pushing in and out of you at such a rapid pace it had your head spinning. tighnari was mumbling under his breath, almost growling as he fucked into you harshly, heavy balls slapping against your skin.

you cried out for him, tightening as he came deep inside of you. it was thick, dripping out of your hole as you tried to take shallow breaths, gasping as he suddenly started moving again. "what-"

"oh, someone miscalculated their dosage, hm?" tighnari laughed, pressing down harder on the backs of your thighs and fucking you with fervor, grinding into your sweet spot until he had you coming around his cock, trembling beneath him.

he gave you barely any time to recover, playing with your clit and fucking you faster as you sobbed for tighnari, body teetering between extreme pleasure but overstimulation.

you cried out his name, feeling his teeth press along the column of your neck. you arched, allowing him full access to the skin as he hummed his approval, biting down into your skin with the intent of leaving his mark.

you felt him collect the mix of your cum leaking around his dick before coming back to play with your clit, feeling your body shake as he threw you into another orgasm that sent him into his own, filling you up again. his cum leaked out from your hole, though he tried to use his dick to plug it up inside you.

tighnari growled, discontented with the way his cum flowed out of you. "it has to stay in there-" he huffed, beginning to fuck you again as you whined.

"tighnari, wait! slow down- i-"

tighnari silenced you by pressing a deep kiss onto your lips. "it's okay, dear. it's alright. you can take it, i know you can. be a good girl." he smiled, pressing deeper into you, gripping your body and leaving indents from his nails as he grinned wickedly. "good girl."

I hope you’re doing well, could you write for Scaramouche where the reader kisses his insecurities away-

Have a good day!!

KISSING HIS INSECURITIES AWAY

a/n: hope this is sufficient 😭 can’t wait for his voice lines to be released so we have a better understanding of his character

notes: reader works for fatui

masterlist

you and scara had been together for just barely a year now, and yet, scara still didn’t quite believe it. you noticed it when he didn’t react well to your touches in the beginning, inching his cheek away or jerking his hand from yours. but as the months passed and seasons changed he slowly let you in. even if that only meant getting to hold his callused hand for an extra few seconds.

you knew of his past and knew when you should stop prying, but sometimes you wished he would let you in. you had to roll your words in your mouth to see how they feel before letting them go, just to be certain scara understood how much you cared for him and wouldn’t judge. it was a slow process, but you were willing to wait.

you were both out on a mission and had separated from your crew to let them do the dirty work, perks of being in a relationship with a harbinger was that he went easy on you. if they needed help they’d call so for the most part you and scara wandered around the premise as you both competed against each other to kill any enemies in your way.

when nightfall came you both slumped against a tree, your breath visible in the air from the cold wind. scara was beside you drawing circles in the dirt, gazing elsewhere.

his other hand was free so you reached over and laced your fingers with his. you felt his body go stiff before he let you lock your fingers with his and rub your thumb against his palm.

“why do you try?” he asks, his voice mellow.

“what do you mean?” you hum, observing the chipped nail polish you had begged him to let you do the other week.

“try with me,” he adds, “it’s pointless.”

you turned to look at him, but his eyes were still downward. the light from the moon lets you see the pale glow of his skin and the bags under his eyes.

“you’re not pointless,” you slowly say, not knowing where he was going with this.

he looks down at your interlocked hands.

“i’m holding my breath every day, waiting for when you inevitably leave.”

“i’m not going to,” you easily assure.

“that’s what everyone else said,” scara dryly laughs, voice empty, “I have no clue how to do this shit. You know I’m a literal puppet. I’m not meant to love.”

“everyone deserves a chance to be loved,” you start, pulling his palm to your lips and letting them graze his knuckles, “i’m gonna stay and show you.”

he finally turns his gaze towards you, eyeing your hand in his.

“i don’t believe you,” he says, leaning his head on bark of the tree.

“I’ll keep trying until you do,” you hum, taking your free hand and maneuvering yourself so you’re straddling his lap. one hand holding his and the other grazing his cheek.

he raises a brow at you, his other hand instinctively holding your waist.

you lean down and place a chaste kiss on each of his cheeks and watch in glee as they bloom pink. his grip on your waist hardens and you take that as an encouragement to continue. you move your lips to his jaw and leave a trail of kisses down to his chin. and finally, you give him a kiss.

at first, he doesn’t respond. but after a few seconds, he pushes you up closer to him and kisses back with more fervor. his fingers interlace with yours and you only pull back for a breath.

“believe me now?” you whisper, curling a strand of his hair behind his ear.

“i’m not sure,” he starts, “you’ll need to do it a few more time,” he adds, a sly smile upturning his lips.

you give him a half-hearted shove but ultimately fulfill his request.

a/n: hope you approved anon 💓 if anyone has requests i’ve opened them^^ ty for reading and here’s to hoping tumblr doesn’t fuck up the layout of this 🍻