The Soft Pitter-patter Of Rain Roused You In Your Sleep While Its Earthy Scent, Traveling Slow Through

the soft pitter-patter of rain roused you in your sleep while its earthy scent, traveling slow through the room like a wisp of incense, completely woke you. alhaitham glances over for a moment, notes the daze in your eyes and the lethargic way your hand comes up to rub them, though his gaze ricochets back to his book before you took notice.

“good nap?” he says casually.

you hum, stretching your arms out and slightly twisting your body—though there isn’t much space on a couch so small you have to throw your legs over his lap. frankly, alhaitham hasn’t moved an inch since you fell asleep an hour ago. he only intended to read just until sunset before getting a head start on some work, but that plan flew out the window as soon as you joined him.

having confessed this before, he finds it most endearing when you simply sit with him while he reads. whether you want your head against his shoulder, your arms looped in his, or like today, your legs snug in his lap, he deeply cherished your quiet presence. he knows you always have things to say and stories to tell but you respected the time he sets aside for important tasks, even though it sometimes drove you to sleep.

but what he doesn’t tell you is that in those instances, when your head gently lulls to the side and your soft snores begin to fill the room, alhaitham gets distracted. 

Keep reading

It was raining heavily in Mondstadt on the night that Kaeya Alberich received his Vision.

(familial/not ship)

tried to animate Kaeya’s vision story bc this scene would Not leave my mind…

「 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.)

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."

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.

 ੈ˚ʚ genshin characters as romantic tropes.

fandom: genshin impact.

characters: tighnari, cyno, scharamouche, kazuha.

reader: gn!

genre: headcanons.

content: fluff, slighty angst (scaramouche, kazuha)

word count: ~350 each // 1.3k total

 ੈ♡˳────── enjoy the reading <3 ──────

˚ʚ tighnari. destined to be together.

the gods themselves had brought you together. looking at the vast infinite sky, running through all the stars and constellations, it was easy for you to find your love written in the brightest points of the darkest night. for, you and tighnari, were destined to be together. and you knew it.

“blame the gods,” was what he used to say to you when you got into little arguments.

“blame the gods for holding me to you. for, in all my life I have never been able to walk a path where you were not at the end of it. and if it wasn't your smile that I longed to see in the darkest moments, it was your words that gave me the hope of a better day. blame the gods for not having the courage to take you away from me, because they know that our souls only feel complete when we are together, because there is no fire brighter than that of our hearts when we are in each other's arms.

blame the gods for making me love you. but also blame me. for I didn't fight my fate when I realized that you and I, like all the constellations, were destined to be guarded by the gods, our passion being an eternal tale of love only compared to the legends of yore, since a love like ours, a love so sincere and carved by the gods themselves, seems so surreal.

and yet I love you. I love you now, that's me. but loved you before I met you, that was the gods. and yet, I know I will love you after I'm far gone, for the memories of our love will remain carved in the stars that witnessed our love blossom and it will last forever. my love for you will last forever.”

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˚ʚ cyno. love at first sight.

all it took was an exchange of smiles and the whole world collapsed in your eyes. you went through troubled paths, several adversities that made you question whether, perhaps, that exchange of glances was just a fluke of fate. maybe your passion was a passing thing without a concrete future in front of you. but, behind all the doubts, there was a hope painted with colors of love and passion that made you believe, over and over again, that the first smile, the first look, would only lead you to a life together.

“I don't think it was a mistake,” said cyno with his forehead pressed against yours, the smile on his lips comparing to the first smile he gave you.

“I don't think that everything we've lived so far has been a mistake. our hearts are stained with the passage of time, sculpted by the arguments and disagreements we've had until this day. like the rocks in the sea and the most beautiful walls of the oldest temples, time is attacking our hearts, but only to strengthen them, to beautify them.

don't you think it's beautiful? don't you think there's beauty in our story? there is love and passion beyond the small arguments. there is desire and need, a mutual dependence and a strong belief in the other that makes me believe that none of this was, nor will it ever be, a mistake. there is so much beauty in us, my muse. why do you think we would be a mistake just because we have some occasional arguments?

don't you love me? don't you want me? don't you smile with the memories of our most tender moments? can't you see that the storm between us is just the waves of the sea carving our love to last? until our next life? until I fall in love with you for the first time, all over again?”

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˚ʚ scaramouche. secret love.

his love for you was scaramouche's second priority. his first was your safety. and, beyond the passion that burned scaramouche's chest, beyond the love that clung to scaramouche's fingertips, there was also the awareness that loving you meant hiding you.

“just until it's safe,” he assured you on the coldest winter nights when he just wanted to stay by your side and warm your body with the passion that hurt his chest so much.

“just until I'm sure the world won't steal you from me. my dreams are haunted with the idea of ​​losing you, with the idea of ​​them stealing you from me, usurping all my happiness and all the color in my life. my thoughts always flee to imaginary fights where I lose you, where your life shakily clings to my hands before saying goodbye with the sadness of someone who knows it's too late.

just one more day. one week. one month. just a little more. just until I can have your safety guaranteed and hold you to me for all eternity. just until I find a way, a solution, for all the evil in this world to be destroyed. just until it's safe. just until…

please. just a little more. I promise I will protect you. I promise I will love you. in public. in front of everyone. but, please, just wait. wait because I know there's more to us than these four walls and that the fire that burns in me, this damn fire that burns my chest, will never go out as long as you're by my side. but for that you have to wait. for me. for our love. for us. but just until it is safe.”

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˚ʚ kazuha. right person, wrong time.

the cause of your separation was still investigated by the most beautiful flowers of spring, by the hottest wind of summer. when autumn came, the trees realized the end of your love and tears of leaves ran all the paths you had traveled, only to be forgotten by the cruel and cold winter who knew better than anyone that there was nothing to blame but the cruel fate the gods had written to you.

“I don't know,” kazuha couldn't face you, but you could feel, in his trembling voice, that the anguish of his speech could be greater than your own pain of knowing how it would end.

“I don't know. I know nothing. I don't know anything other than what I feel. and I feel everything. I feel everything so intensely that it makes me weak, that it puts me down and prevents me from getting up. because I feel your love for me, I feel your passion with every word, with every caress. and I feel my passion for you. strong. warm. intense.

too intense. and maybe that's it. maybe it's this intensity that keeps me from loving you. maybe I have too much in me to know how to give you some. some of my weight. of my love. of me. I have everything in me. I have worlds inside of me. and I can't give you any of them. I don't know how to do it. I don't know. there's so much of me that wants you. there is so much of me that longs for you. and yet there is nothing in me capable of having you. to want you. I have hell inside of me. raging seas in my heart. I have it all. and I have nothing. because I don't have you. not like i want.

and I don't know. I don't know how I want you. I know that I love you. but I don't know how. and I will never know. for there is so much of me that decades are insufficient to decipher me. to understand my love for you. all I know is that today I can't take it and tomorrow I won't be able to. you are too much for me when I am already so much for myself. your love has overflowed mine and all that's left is the hope that we'll meet in another life where I'm still learning to love you.”

 ੈ♡˳───── feedback is appreciated <3 ─────