Koyoim - ᯽koyoi᯽

Hiii~

Can I request aventurine and Dr ratio (separately or together ur choice) with klee reader

Maybe Sunday too?

I just want chaos to unfold-

Take care ☺️

ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ, ᴀᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪɴᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅʀ ʀᴀᴛɪᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴋʟᴇᴇ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

pairings - sunday & klee! reader / aventurine & klee! reader / dr ratio & klee! reader

content - reader is gender-neutral/ klee! reader/ platonic relationships/ familial relationships/ chaos

warnings - a bit of angst (?), might be ooc i'm sorry guys T_T

⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙

↻ Whether you met Sunday because you’ve been unknowingly stirring up trouble in the dreamscapes or you met him by chance, he’d be a bit worried and concerned about a child roaming alone in Penacony

↺ He may or may not slowly adopt you into his routine as he always finds himself being greeted by you on the streets of Penacony (or called by a family member because mayhem has been occurring in certain parts of the dreamscapes)

↺ Gazing upon the damage you had done in the dreamscape as you stared at him with wide innocent eyes, he couldn’t be upset with you but rather surprised by how much power this unknown child has

↻ Sunday would be a lot like Jean, but he’d be a little more lenient when it comes to you

↺ He’d probably have a small area/room that’s your designated play area whenever you’re with him and sometimes he’d have to give you a time-out for blowing up something in the dreamscape

↺ Said time out wouldn’t last long as he’d feel guilty looking at your saddened state

↻ Sometimes whenever the other family members had a meeting with Sunday, they would see you playing around with your favorite stuffed animal but wouldn’t dare question your presence (you had quite the reputation for being.. explosive…)

↻ I think when it comes to each character with a Klee! Reader, they’d have those animal backpacks with the leash attached to it just because you’re so chaotic

↺ One moment they would be walking with you and then the next you’ve run off to somewhere that caught your attention

↺ For Sunday’s mental well-being, he got you this backpack to help him keep an eye on you whenever you were distracted

↻ As I mentioned in previous posts, Sunday, whenever he’s anxious or worried for you, would pace around his office with his feathers just puffing up and some of them popping right off due to his stress

↺ When you are found safe and sound, he’d give you a tight hug and you’d start playing with the feathers that were scattered on the ground

↺ He’s.. amused by it

↻ Honestly, Sunday had no idea what to do with you as you were found to be alone and it didn’t seem like you knew any of your family members (Just going to ignore Albedo and Klee’s mother for my sake…)

↺ Eventually, he warmed up to you a lot and considers you his little sister, which Robin also adores having around

↻ Sunday would be very protective of you but a little.. nervous about your abilities, he knew to an extent you were capable of handling things yourself

↺ But you are still a child so he’s extra cautious about the dangers in the dreamscapes and makes sure that you don’t get into trouble

↺ Otherwise, he’d have to confiscate your bombs.. which he really didn’t want to do because then you’d be super upset

↺ He tried to confiscate them one time but that ended up with you ignoring him for the remainder of the day and you were sulking in your playroom

↻ Sunday, during the Charmony Festival, would keep a very close eye on you because of what has been going on within Penacony

↺ He’ll keep you in his line of sight at all times, whether it’s him personally accompanying you around or having you sit near him in his conference room, he wouldn’t want you wandering too far off

↺ You’d find Sunday mumbling to himself while looking at some documents, but you never really understood them so you always stuck to what you were doing

↻ Sunday is very fond of you, and he’d do anything to ensure your safety

-----

Sunday was seated at his conference table, hand holding his chin in thought as he scanned through the multitude of documents. He carefully looked them over and over again, thoroughly reading through the letters written by a family member he assigned an assignment to. 

With the Charmony Festival coming in full swing, Sunday wanted to make sure that things would run as smoothly as possible, despite the growing concern that was nagging him from the depths of his consciousness. He couldn’t afford to become distracted…

That is what he thought, but yet he still found himself engaging in your little antics. Although things were growing busier and busier by the day, he wanted to ensure that you were alright and safe, playing a couple of your games when you pleaded for him to stay. He didn’t find the idea of playing with bombs safe, but if it was what made you happy, then your wish was his command.

As he stood up to roam the halls of his mansion, he gazed out into the open through the grand windows, a million thoughts racing through his mind. The future of Penacony contained countless outcomes and he could only grow restless every time he thought of it. But having you around to distract him from his worries with your silly antics, even if for just a fleeting moment, made him feel as if everything was going to be alright…

He would make sure of that.

-----

↻ Aventurine would also find your chaotic nature interesting, in fact, he might even indulge in it by taking a role in your little schemes

↺ He’d be a little concerned when you go a bit too far with your bombs and antics, so he’d try nudging you into a not-so-concerning situation

↻ Aventurine would find you when you got into a little scuffle with his subordinates, somehow destroying some IPC property and getting an earful from his coworkers

↺ Those IPC grunts would be terrified of you if they saw what you could do, especially because you’re a CHILD playing with BOMBS (They’re seriously concerned about who raised you and why you are the way you are.. or how you even managed to have bombs on you??)

↻ He’d send them off to go do something else (or to go bother someone else..) and bend down to your level to ask about your guardians or caregiver

↺ When you are confused about what he is talking about, his concern would only grow before he’d take you to find a trusted person to watch over you as he was busy with an assignment

↺ However, he would only come back to find that you escaped a worker’s watchful gaze and were playing with that bomb toy you had on you (Docodo? Cododo?? Whatever you said its name was…)

↻ When Aventurine hangs around you a little more during his free time (whether he’s done with work or doesn’t feel up to gambling), inquiring about the little fella you had on you and about your background

↺ He’d kind of take you under his wing from there on out, having you accompany him on missions if he determined they weren’t dangerous and were minor assignments

↺ Topaz would find it surprising seeing him around with a little kid, she’d even be wary about his intentions with you as he had suddenly popped up with a small kid out of nowhere

↺ She’d introduce you to Numby who, to your delight, would play and spend a bit of time with you

↻ Sometimes you’d accompany Aventurine on his casino trips, but he’d try leaving you out of them as it wasn’t really a kid-friendly setting

↺ So sometimes you’d in up in a more appropriate setting like a small daycare where you were safe (yet you’d sometimes pop up next to him in a game and catch him off guard)

↻ Aventurine, as someone with a lot of money to freely spend, would spoil you with a variety of things that he’d think you would like

↺ You aren’t necessarily a spoiled child, but he’d still get you the things that have caught your interest, whether you voice what you liked or not

↻ When he passes by a shop that has a showcase of kid backpacks, he would see one with a plush animal and a leash and he’d automatically get it for you 

↺ You wouldn’t really care about the leash part as you’re too distracted by the cute plush animal backpack, so it really was no problem for Aventurine

↺ He’d be walking around the IPC’s headquarters or Penacony with the backpack leash in his hand, you following him yet straying whenever you saw something

↺ He’d have to give the leash a small tug to make sure you weren’t wandering too far off though

↻ If you did something dangerous such as blowing up something that belongs to the IPC, Aventurine would vouch for you, becoming your partner in crime (Him sending a sly wink your way as you giggle innocently, hands covering your mouth to stifle your laughter) 

↺ Topaz would be the one scolding you before Aventurine tries defending your honor, but then he’d end up getting scolded by her too

↻ Aventurine would try his best to protect your innocence, not wanting you to see the dangers that linger on the different worlds he ends up on or what may invade the IPC’s headquarters

↺ He’s seen and witnessed firsthand hand of losing his innocence at a young age, those memories of his past still haunt him to this day and he doesn’t want you living with the same burden so he tries his best to protect you from danger (even if you’re somewhat capable of protecting yourself)

-----

“_____, did you destroy a piece of the IPC’s belongings again!?” Topaz asked, a stern look on her face as you stood there innocently with your hands tucked behind your back. 

“No… I didn’t do anything I swear! You can even ask Dodoco!” You answered, shoving Dodoco out in front of you as if to emphasize your statement. Topaz sighed, shaking her head.

“_____… I know you want to play around but sometimes you need to be careful of where you are. You could get hurt or, well.. damage things that aren’t yours.” Crossing her arms, Topaz looked at you with a softer gaze. You persisted in your stance. 

“But I swear! I didn’t do it!” You cried out, holding Dodoco closer to your chest. “Y-you can even ask Mr. Aventurine!”

“I heard my name?” Aventurine slinked to the spot right next to you, giving Topaz a questioning yet sly look. Topaz couldn’t help but groan when he popped up next to you, feeling as if she was on the verge of being teamed up against. 

“Mr. Aventurine! Please tell Miss Topaz that I wasn’t the one who blew up some of the IPC’s equipment!” You begged, tugging at his coat as he looked down at you with his cat-like eyes. 

He gave you a closed-eyed smile, patting the top of your head. “Is that what’s going on? Well, I have unfortunate news for you Topaz, as little _____ here was busy helping me out with an assignment.” Aventurine had a smug smile on his face as if to tease Topaz and tick her off, which worked.

Topaz, rolling her eyes, heaved a deep sigh. “Fine, I believe you, _____. You can go run off and play now.” 

With a joyful smile on your face and a cheer, you thanked Topaz before turning to thank Aventurine, bowing slightly with a quiet giggle.

“Thank you Mr. Aventurine! Promise we’ll play next time?” 

“I promise, _____. Now go play with Dodoco in your room, okay? I’ll check up on you later when I’m done with work.” 

“Okay!” 

-----

↻ Dr Ratio wasn’t necessarily fond of children…

↺ He understood that they weren’t the brightest of stars, but he could barely handle some of the behaviors they exhibited

↺ I imagine he’d be so disgusted because of how kids can be known for doing the weirdest stuff… (Picking their boogers, touching a variety of items, being unsanitary... the list goes on)

↻ When he meets you for the first time, he’s curious about the construction of your bombs and how you were able to make them

↺ To his disappointment, you are only able to draw crude drawings of the construction of your bombs and poorly explain how you built them

↺ He takes it upon himself to sample one of your bombs to see what they’re made of and how they’re made

↻ You’d invite him (more like drag him) to help you create and play with your bombs and he’d reluctantly follow you to where your room is

↺ Aventurine walking in on you playing dolls (or your bombs) with Ratio

-----

“How are you doing?”

“Mister Ratio, say it in your girl voice.”

“Sigh… How you doin’? 💅”

*Aventurine laughing before Ratio throws the doll he’s holding at him*

-----

↻ Ratio, knowing him, would tutor you if you went to a daycare or school, helping you understand your homework and teaching you about different subjects

↺ You wouldn’t comprehend half the things he’s teaching you but you follow along anyway

↺ Ratio would be genuinely happy if you were able to learn something new from him and apply it to your life

↻ Ratio is the type of teacher figure to give you random quizzes to test your knowledge and understanding but he rewards you with things like snacks or trinkets he gets from his trips

↻ Ratio would be delighted to talk about his trips to you, explaining the history and geography of the planets he has traveled to you when he comes back

↺ He would draw a small map for you to understand the general location of the places he’s visited

↻ You’d be excited to learn about what places he’s seen and you’d ask him a myriad of questions to which he’d patiently listen and answer 

↺ The thought of Ratio being patient with a young child warms my heart, this is how he’d find out that maybe he can tolerate specific kids

↻ Ratio reading stories to you to help you fall asleep, but those stories would probably be academic books he uses to teach his students

↻ If you were to get in trouble for blowing something up, he’d show his disappointment and sternly give you a punishment that isn’t too harsh on you (he’d give you school work lol)

↺ Ratio would check in on you here and there when you’re in your room, if he finds that you’re asleep he’d tuck you in before looking over your work

↺ This makes me think of Ratio walking in to see that you had drawn him an artwork of the both of you with Dodoco (who he came to know as your prized friend)

↻ Ratio doesn’t have a clue who your parents or guardians are, so he tries to locate them at first to no avail (he ends up pretty much adopting you as his own kid)

↻ Sometimes you’d sit near his desk in his lecture hall when he was teaching his students, swinging your legs back and forth as you eyed everyone in the room

↺ His students find you adorable and get distracted by your presence at first before their professor sends them a chalk their way

↺ His students give you little gifts or snacks as they leave the room, a part of them hoping that Ratio’s rampage on his grade book will be softened by your happiness at the gifts you received

↺ He finds out what his students are doing, but lets them do it anyway since it’s making you happy (he’d probably set some limits though before you get way too much stuff)

-----

Veritas had just finished up his lecture with his students, organizing their work into neat stacks on one side of his desk. Once the last student had left his classroom, he took off his plaster head and sat it in front of him. In his peripheral vision, he saw a small empty chair to the left of his desk. It was where you normally sat. 

The violet-haired man was then reminded of your absence due to the sudden sickness you had caught the day before. With a sigh, he turned back towards the ungraded stacks of paper on his desk and got to work. He’d try to be home before midnight. 

…..

By the time he finished, it was already 9. Walking out of the campus, he was met with the emptiness the night brought with it. Students were already long gone, the handful of teachers that had stayed late already packed up and left for dinner, but he was running a bit late. So with a brisk pace, he set off in the direction of his home, the cool night air hitting his skin.

Once Veritas reached his destination, he quickly unlocked the door and went inside, the warmth of his home greeting him. His shoulders fell, the weight that had been put upon himself leaving his body as he could see a faint light coming from your room. 

Slipping off his outerwear, he quietly walked across the hardwood floors and stopped outside of your bedroom door. Veritas listened for any signs that you might be awake, but nothing. He placed his hand on the door and gently pushed it open so he was able to enter. 

You had left your bedside lamp on, with a couple of papers and crayons scattered across the desk you normally drew at. His eyes had landed on your small, curled-up form, snoring away beneath the comforters of your bed. He softly chuckled to himself, walking towards your bed and lifting the blanket so it reached your shoulders. You had stirred but only shuffled to get comfortable. Placing a small kiss on your forehead, Veritas got up to put away the crayons and papers you had left out.

While picking up and putting away the crayons in the correct order that was directed on the box, the bright, grainy colors on a paper caught his eye. He gently picked up a piece of paper that you seemed to have been working on while he was gone. It was a drawing of the both of you in a field of flowers, your best friend, Dodoco, in between the both of you. Veritas had to admit that it was cute, a small smile appearing on his face before he gathered the rest of your drawings and slid them into a folder. 

When he had finished making sure that everything was neatly put away, Veritas moved to turn off the lamp, wishing you sweet dreams. 

-----

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

note - hey ya'll.. nice weather we've got here... 😀 i really need to blast through my requests-- wearesobackipromise.

Charisma Etched on Strings

You despised being near Scaramouche. It was a danger to your well-being.

Because all you can feel is the warmth of his body traveling to yours, enclosing around you and morphing into the oxygen that you so desperately need to survive.

Gn! reader x Electric guitarist!Scaramouche

Notes: I swear this one has no set pov. It switches between Scara and the reader so I apologize for that. Also, I'm not that good at wiriting x readers *insert crying emoji*

Warning: Slight cursing

It was supposed to be a harmless guitar lesson.

So how the fuck did you end up sitting on this shithead’s lap?

“Easy sweetheart. Stop squirming," Scaramouche’s grating voice reverberated throughout the otherwise empty room. The words he spouts are pestiferous, enough to ensure a fist will land on his face if he doesn’t shut up soon. You merely asked him for a guitar lesson, not to be manhandled and subjectively humiliated by this sick bastard of a friend. “Get me off your lap!" you protest, writhing against his arms. 

You want nothing to do with this. 

Yet he cages you with that god-forbidden instrument of his, propping the black, electric guitar in front of you. You were effectively sandwiched between that handsome son of a bitch and his prized musical instrument. “You said you wanted to learn right?" he mused, his calloused hand cascading down your wrist to seize it securely, "This is the fastest way." 

Lies. 

You scoff at his pathetic excuse to justify himself. He’s just so full of bull. You know he was amused at your predicament, your thrashing and twisting igniting a twinge of sadistic pleasure within him. Scara shifts slightly, a lock of your hair twirled around his index finger, “Now stop moving so we can start our lesson.”

Without much of a choice, you reluctantly compelled to his demands. Your tantrums ceased, much to Scara's entertainment. He knows how much you detest your current dilemma and he couldn't help but take advantage of it. He wants to mess with you. To increasingly rile you up every passing second. He presses his chest completely against your back, wanting to see those cute little veins of yours pop out. His lips twitched upwards as he made sure there wouldn't be any space left between you two. He could hear your pretty lips part and verbalize a gasp. 

A sweet, sweet treat for his ears. 

He couldn't be bothered to give you a chance to retaliate. It was way more fun toying with you when he rendered you helpless. Leaning closer and letting his breath fan against the tip of your ears, his fruity voice resounds through your brain and into your spine in the form of shivers. "Let's learn some basic chords first," he murmurs as he slinks his fingers towards yours, hovering over them. Scara felt the smirk on his face expand, you sure do have a warm set of hands. He surely wouldn't mind if it was pressed with his all the time. Stuck in his wishful thinking, he absentmindedly squeezed your thumb lightly. He blinks. Ah, he was getting distracted. He clears his throat and he proceeds, "Just like in every lesson, we start with C". 

He adjusts your index finger to pin the second string on the first fret. He does the same with your middle and ring finger, stationing them on the second fret of the fourth string and the third fret of the fifth string respectively. His loitering fingers aid in pushing down the strings as he's aware that you're probably not pressing down hard enough. It also helped restrain any movements that may disrupt the sound when plucked. You, on the other hand, verbalized a protest. 

“Hey, that hurts," you hissed as you tried to lift your finger off. Even just slightly. But Scara wouldn't let you. He remains unfazed, unbothered by the fact that your fingers are possibly bruising underneath his. “It’s supposed to idiot, it's your first time,” Scara rolls his eyes and his resolve to keep your finger position doesn't falter. 

You'll definitely punch him after this. 

“Now strum,” he instructs and you've got half the mind to not follow through. Curse your curiosity though, washing away each and every one of your senses, dulling them and allowing it to control your other hand to strum the strings. It made a tune, not akin to those voice cracks of teenagers going through puberty or screeching bats when viciously searching for their next meal. It was a pleasant melody, a fine sound that signifies a correct mark. Scara smiles, watching in delight how taken aback you looked. "Good. Next chord," he was ready to shift the position of your fingers once more. Your fingers wouldn't budge though. You've reached your limit.

You've certainly had enough. 

Your heart's been racing since the beginning and you were sure you won't be able to take it anymore. Not with him being this close. You catch a whiff of his perfume, a woody fragrance with a base of leather that never fails to drive you insane. You want to smash your head against the wall so badly.

You despised being near him. It was a danger to your well-being.

Because all you can feel is the warmth of his body traveling to yours, enclosing around you and morphing into the oxygen that you so desperately need to survive.

"This is stupid", you scoffed before he could move your fingers. Scara tilts his head in your direction. Oh? Were you going to object to him again? How cute. He chuckles and raises his brow, “What is?” 

“Your way of teaching.” With a groan, you go back to your squirming strategy to try and break loose from his predatorial hold, “Can't we do this without being an inch away from each other?” 

Scara merely laughs at you. ‘Why? Does the closeness bother you?" he teases. He would get closer to you if he could, but there's literally no more space left between you and him. So he opts to angle his lips adjacent to your neck and let out a drag of air. His breath brushes against your skin, parallel to a gentle caress from a lover. He was so sure he just heard your breathing hitch. Adorable.

“Is this better?” he smirks, heaving a drawn-out breath once more. You shake your head and writhe, flailing your arms wildly in a fit of fulmination. Scara can't help but grin at your antics. He doesn't back down, reinforcing his hold over you. He won’t let go. I mean, why would he? When you fit perfectly in his arms?  

Your scuffle abated for a second and he caught the way your face turned into a stunning shade of red. “Aw, you're even blushing for me," he remarks, prompting you to resume your thrashing.

“Of course not! Why would I be!?” 

Scara chuckles, his gaze never leaving you. "Why the denial? Anyone with eyes can see how red you've gotten because of me."

You wanted to wipe that smug expression plastered on his face. He knows that. He's just reveling in the fact that you couldn't. 

He elevated his head to meet your twitching ears, ready to grace them with an assortment of breathy words bound to hit that sore spot in your heart. "There's nothing to deny you know? Not when I'm right here. Mindful and observant of how you feel towards me."

His fingers dragged from your jaw to your cheek, leaving a touch so sensual it's flabbergasting at most. He rested his hands along your cheek as he spoke with an allure that was sure to keep you on the edge, subconsciously thirsting for more. "I know you like me. You like it when we're this close," he continues, cocking your head up and exposing more of that tempting throat of yours. Not that he can see it from his point of view, but from the front? It would certainly be a sensual sight that would drive every inch of his self-control onto the edge of a cliff. 

"I don't mind it though. I don't mind watching your pathetic descent into the abyss of my heart," he chuckles, hands falling towards your lips. It was quite the contrast, his rough fingers kneading against your soft and plump lips. 

"So just fall for me, yeah?" his thumb rubs your upper lip in a circular motion. Honestly, he's tempted to shove his finger in your mouth. He wants to hear your feeble whines as he occasionally toys with your tongue, your erotic whimpers that deluges his entire sensibility. But he doesn't. At least not now.

"I'll be sure to catch you"

ARCHON QUEST SPOILERS!

Your older brother isn’t a good person. Fatui Harbingers don’t tend to be. As the Sixth—well, what do you expect?

You may be a century or so younger than him, your mother’s second failure, the true eternity she’d been searching for trapped in a child’s body, but that doesn’t mean you lack a brain, or a nose, or a set of ears. When they scream, you hear them. When he snaps, you hear him. When he calls you into his office so you can tell him about your day, you pick up on the tang of blood. It hits your nose every time. So does the residue electricity, dancing across your skin and making your hair stand on end. You know, every time.

(Whether he’s aware of this, you’re not sure. Maybe he is. Maybe he isn’t. You don’t ask, only clutch the stuffed animal tighter in your arms and ignore how your older brother smells like the dead every time you meet him.)

But look, now: Kunikuzushi may not be a good person, but he’s the best brother.

He presses your face into his side when you’ve run into trouble and he’s had to cause a scene. A hat that wobbles atop your head, a veil that’s pulled across your eyes. Two hands that cover your own, these gestures warm with familiarity. Kunikuzushi snaps, “Are you stupid, getting yourself into trouble like that? Can you not keep your mouth shut for the one moment I’m gone? You’re the one who wanted to come with me, so behave yourself.” You don’t take the sharpness of his tongue to heart, nor the scowl as he berates you. It had hurt at first, but not for long. Now, these make you smile.

He takes you from the shrine maiden with sly eyes and two pink, swishing tails, when he hears of your birth—your creation. Back then he’d been like you: too sweet, too kind, too sensitive to the uncertainties of life’s transcience. He too had been fragile in nature and wide-eyed at the wonders of humanity, quick to cry in the face of betrayal.

Well, betrayals. Three.

You hadn’t been there for the first two, when he had lost his mother and his friend in the span of a century. But the last one, you’d witnessed. Kunikuzushi’s third; your second. The boy’s death had been the last string.

(Yes, you think. He falls before you. This is one of the few things we have left in common.

Of course, out of all things, it is this: The three betrayals it takes for Eternity’s puppets to snap.)

You didn’t mean to see it. Him. Your brother. The Balladeer.

Kunikuzushi, reaching for your mother’s gnosis.

It’s been centuries since you’ve seen him so vulnerable. If not for the Fatui, maybe you would’ve seen him like so more, but the Snezhnayan organization had hardened him. Turned him bitter, cunning. Not towards you, of course (never you, his precious little sibling) but you saw when he spoke down to others. So condescending, holding his position over their heads. So demanding.

You get the feeling that if they saw him now, they would laugh.

He’s hanging from the tubes of the robot The Doctor built for him and he looks so desperate. (He looks like the puppet he always tells you he’s not, but this time, the strings are Dottore’s, not your mother’s.)

It’s useless to strain for it now—even you know that. Even if it’s not yet in her hands, Sumeru’s god has already won. You can tell that much by how hoarse his voice has become.

Your older brother has been reduced to cries once more.

“That’s mine!” Kunikuzushi roars. You startle, stumble back. He hasn’t noticed you yet. “Don’t even try—!”

“A kid?” you hear from your right, and you see—yes. The Traveller. “What’s a kid doing here?”

You look over, open your mouth to answer, but then you hear him quiet. Your brother has gone silent. Your eyes shoot up.

His strings have snapped.

“Kun—” You catch yourself as you stumble forward. “Scaramouche! Brother!”

He is falling.

Just this once, you plead, help him. Help him. She made him, but she made you too. She made you, you’re her eternity, so surely—

Something gloved latches ’round your arm and you’re pulled back. Stop, you think to cry, but don’t. Why are you stopping me? Don’t do that!

You don’t turn though, only fight against its hold, claw at the fabric and the hand it’s slipped over—Please!

In your frustration, you give one last lunge forward.

And finally, he sees you. (But look, on his face—has it twisted in regret?)

You cry, “Broth—!”

And—too late. The crash is unbearably loud.

The fall has already ended.

Lilia thinks you’re beautiful.

If someone was to see you now, they would think him mad.

You? Beautiful?

Surely, someone like him who lived for centuries has seen beauties no mortal man can hope to compare in one lifetime.

You are no royal.

You are no warrior.

Nor do you posses powers of the greatest mages.

Yet you are beautiful in his eyes.

What was status, beauty, and power? If not something temporary?

You have something greater than all that.

You are observant which most oft over look.

You are kind.

You have heart.

You have empathy—something that surprises even him at times with how strong you feel.

Lilia looks at you as you lay next to him.

He pulls at your cheek, shaking slightly at the smile and slight drool you give as you continue to sleep.

How charming.

How adorable.

Beautiful.

“I love you, sweet one.”

Woke up today and went “wow, how sexy of me to drool.” And “you know what? Lilia would find it cute (and never let me live this down).” 😂💞💃So this came to be lolol 🫶

The greatest self-love is your favorites loving you unconditionally 🥰❤️‍🔥💝

I saw requests were open! I like to request PLATONIC! Lilia with a daughter (or child if you wanna make it gender neutral) who is like Ariel (the Disney princess)

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Soft platonic yandere content, fem reader, reader has red hair but that's the only physical description.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Lovely request, I hope you like it! <3

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Lilia Vanrouge was known for many things; mainly for being a general, the brother of Meleanor, guardian of Prince Malleus, and a loving father. His daughter, similar to Ariel, had beautiful red hair, an adventurous spirit and a kind heart. He had found her soon after finding Silver, lying dormant above the lake, a beautiful green tail revealing to him what you were.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ However, the strange part was that your parents weren't around. No matter how much he called or dived, he hadn't found them anywhere and Lilia was a fairy, who should he turn to to report a missing mermaid child? He did what fairies do and stole you (although if anyone asked, he would say he just adopted you).

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A traveler and connoisseur, he knew a thing or two about potions. And that's how he gave you legs and what an idea that was! As soon as you learned to walk, you couldn't stop running, dragging Silver with you wherever you went. It was tiring to take care of you, but Lilia loved it. You and Silver were the best part of his day, and the memories he forged with both of you was something he would never forget.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Since you were little, you have shown a fascination with the aquatic world, always asking your father about the fish, the algae and the tides. Somehow, he supposed, you knew your home was down there and swimming came naturally to you.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Lilia, although protective, never contained your curiosity. He taught you how to fight and defend yourself, but he also encouraged your passion for music and exploration, preferring that over you wandering aimlessly or swimming, afraid that you would simply disappear, even more if you knew the truth. Nights in Briar Valley are often filled with the sound of your songs, which are reminiscent of the old ballads Lilia used to hear on his travels. Your voice is soft to his heart, like a promise of an old friend.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Despite growing on the cottage, isolated from everyone except your father and brother, you captives everyone who meets you for the first time. Your red, beautiful hair makes everyone turn around to admire and when you sing, they are hypnotized by you - even if you don't why that happens, though it's just your mermaid voice acting.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Lilia likes to tell his old stories of battles and magic to you and Silver, while you, in return, like to talk about the ancient and mysterious artifacts you found during your dives. Lilia helps you organize your items, listening to how much you like your little collection of things.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Overall, he is a very sweet and doting father. He let you run free knowing full well he can take you home if you ever strayed away, if you ever feel hurt if you didn't know you too were adopted. And if this do happens, he sooth and comfort you. You are family and family stay together.

Roll A Die, Roll A Poison - Evocation and Provocation

>Yan! Aventurine x Fem! Reader

>Word count: ~2.4k

>a/n: before anyone asks, no this isn't a series. I'm just writing a drabble from the same universe this is not an established series. very subtle yandere themes. just wholesome in general. the backstory of this in my mind is not so wholesome

Part 1

Intrusive thoughts typically pop in uninvited and leave just as so. You do not let them stay for long lest they marinate and tempt you to cook them to feast on the ‘delicious’ outcome. However… however, this one has been festering in your mind ever since it made itself known. It has started rotting and mould is certainly growing on it, yet you are still allowing it to decay in your mind, waiting for the opportunity to let it seduce you into throwing it onto the grill.

You shamelessly pin the blame on Aventurine. After all, he was the one who said he’d like to experiment hairstyles on your hair, even going as far as to open video tutorials and search appropriate hairstyles for your hair texture. Unfortunately for him, the moment the blond took off his gloves, you had grabbed your hair protectively and uttered something about not trusting anyone with your hair.

Conveniently ignoring the fact that you were invested in which video tutorial he should follow, you declined his offer with a plethora of silly excuses (seriously, why did you say you’re afraid he might end up tangling it horribly? he treats his hair like his first born child he is obviously not so stupid as to do so). Having been let off the hook graciously by your captor unwilling living partner, you had carried on your merry day completely oblivious to the thoughts silently crawling from the dark in your mind.

Now you are here. Side eyeing him as he sheds off his fur lined coat followed by his hat. He turns around, looking at you as he discards his rose coloured sunglasses. The former two are placed onto a chair while the latter is placed on top of them. Irises more vibrant than those glasses remain fixed on you, and you grimace at the way the corners of his eyes crinkle from his smile.

That never happens outside these four walls. He never smiles like that outside.

Though you are lying on the bed with a book lying open over your chest, he makes no move to turn the situation into something intimate. Perhaps all his previous failed attempts have finally taught him something. Or maybe he’s just enjoying the view of you on his bed. He’s a simple minded creature after all.

Aventurine chuckles when you continue giving him a weird look. “You look relaxed.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Ouch.” He turns to the dressing table. First he takes off his wristwatch then his rings. The other accessories follow, and you strike when he least expects it.

“Aventurine,” you call, “I need something.”

He turns to face you instantly instead of looking at your reflection in the mirror like he usually does. At first he searches your face for any hints of what your request could be, yet his gaze drops to the cover of the open book lying on your chest. You close it and place it beside you face down promptly, cheeks burning because it’s one of those smutty romance books that he absolutely does not need to get access to.

Aventurine raises a brow at your antics, but humours you nonetheless. “This is rare. What would a beautiful woman like you need? I hope I’m not lacking in taking care of you.”

“I do agree that your knowledge is lacking in regards to women, but my request is… well, not something typical of me.”

He grows more curious, moving to the foot of the bed as he undoes his thigh garter before moving onto his belt. The two are placed onto the bed before he urges you to continue.

A nervous gulp precedes you voicing your request. The edges of your lips are stopped from scowling at yourself. “I need… I wish to have some time with your hair. There’s something I wish to try out.”

The reaction you receive is him unbelievingly blinking at you. His hands remain over the buttons over his waistcoat, frozen with twitching fingers. “My hair…?”

You sit up, nodding. He recovers quickly, clearing his throat. “My, that’s forward of you. What do you wish to do with it? You aren’t planning to turn me bald, are you?”

“As hilarious as that would be, no.”

“Then?” The waistcoat is unbuttoned, and he is currently shrugging it off. “If I am going to give you some time alone with my hair, it’s only fair I know your intentions.”

You swallow your pride, cursing yourself for tossing such rotten food onto a skillet. “I… I just want to braid it.”

Aventurine looks at you.

You look at him.

Aventurine continues looking at you.

You look at his waistcoat halfway down his arms.

Aventurine blinks at you.

You do not blink back.

“Is that it…?”

You nod at his question, and he clearly looks like he’s holding in a laugh. “My my. You’re being bashful as though you’re asking me to marry you,” he grins.

“This is worse than marrying you.”

“I’m glad to hear you changed your mind on nothing being worse than being mine forever.”

A glare is directed his way. His ability to remember your words is downright disturbing. Nevertheless, he places his waistcoat on the bed before crossing his arms. That damned smile is back on Aventurine’s face. The smile he has when he’s brewing something in his mind. Something that you would definitely not want to ingest.

“On one condition,” he raises a finger. “I want something in return.”

You raise a curious brow. “What would that be?”

 A response is not given right away. Instead he peels off his gloves, placing them next to the waistcoat on the bed. Then, he tilts his head at you before voicing his price. “I want a kiss. On the lips more specifically.”

To say you choked on your words would be an understatement.

He taps his lips with his bare hand, and you make a horrible cringing face. “With tongue would be preferable.”

You shake your head profusely at his demand. What does he take you for? “Absolutely not. Anywhere but your lips is fine. Don't make me regret trusting you enough to ask you for something.”

“Aw.” Aventurine visibly deflates, eyes falling to his discarded waistcoat on the bed. “We've kissed before. I didn't think… wait. You said anywhere but my lips.”

A different meaning of your words comes to mind, and you slap your palm over your mouth in horror. If that devious smile on his face is anything to go by, he's having ideas. “No. Don't get ideas. I do not mean what you think I mean.”

“Relax. So no kiss?”

“No.”

“Not even if I bat my eyelashes all pretty?”

“No.”

He sighs, loud and dramatic on purpose to rile you up. “I still remember the last time we kissed. It felt like you were eating my insides.”

“You had forced it upon me by kissing me first,” you accuse. “I know your games now.”

A finger points in your direction, accusing yet remindful. “I admit I kissed you first, but you kissed me back harder. You were the one who started using your tongue.”

“It was a spur of the moment thing! Don't compare that to now.”

Aventurine sighs wistfully, as though he’s remembering a fond memory. To him it is, but to you it is not. “Don’t be shy,” he coos. “I remember. We were alone, and you were absolutely into it.”

A phantom sensation of his hands all over you returns, the image of his eyes seemingly more vibrant before he closes them and kisses you again accompanying it. It heats your cheeks and renders you unable to hold eye contact with him. Regardless, you clear your throat and try to negotiate again.

After what seemed like forever, he finally settles with a kiss to the cheek as his payment (he declined your insistence to kiss his hand instead). Alas, Aventurine had another demand. To receive his payment after you’re done with his hair. Which brings you here.

He sits cross legged on the bed while you remain kneeled on the mattress behind him. It’s hard to braid his hair. The longer parts are uneven since it’s longer on his right, so you thought you would attempt a messy bun with whatever braid you could make. Unfortunately, that did not work out. The layers poked out and it was mostly just hair poking out and less braid.

A sigh and you try again. “You good back there?” Aventurine’s question is shut down with a harsh ‘shush’ and you return to your battle. Out of pure frustration, you grab the brush and brush back all his hair despite the tangles and the way his head gets pulled back with it.

“Hey, be gentle!”

You simply tut. “This is how mothers make their daughter’s hair in the morning before school. This is a core childhood experience recreation. Savour it while it lasts.”

The pout is evident in his voice. “You’re simply making excuses for being rough.”

All of his hair is grabbed into a half-assed ponytail. Bangs are still poking out and a lot of layers from the side are too short to even be grabbed into it. Seriously, how intricate is his hairstyle? How does the barber even maintain this?

You let go of all of it. Fingers shake the hair to let it settle according to his natural hair pattern, and when you’re satisfied, you pick up a small section from near his bangs. You don’t grab all his bangs, only incorporating some of them and leaving the rest to frame his face.

An idea pops into your head, a good one this time thankfully, and you start creating a dutch braid from there. When you reach the nape of his neck, you realise your mistake and undo the braid just an inch. Then, you try to incorporate the longer strands of his hair into it, yet when it simply pokes out instead of being tamed, you settle with ending the braid at his nape with a low ponytail.

The braid is loosened a little for volume, but you retract your hand when a few strands start poking out. He’s been surprisingly quiet, you note. However, one peek at his face and you see that his eyes are closed.

They instantly open, already side-eyeing you.

“What the hell!”

He chuckles. “What?”

“That’s creepy! Don’t do that again,” you grimace. Aventurine doesn’t seem to mind. He even seems amused.

“So,” he drawls, “may I see the finished product?”

You take a good look at your work. Honestly, his hair is so soft and pretty you’d ask if he could grow it out a bit just so you could braid it more freely. You wouldn’t of course, but it doesn’t hurt to think about it.

You dismiss him, “You’re free to look in a mirror.” As expected, he gets up right away, going to the dressing table and looking at himself with widened eyes. He inspects your work, fingertips gently running over the braid trailing from near his hairline to his nape. The hair in a ponytail is brought to drape over his right shoulder, and he smiles, satisfied.

More of his face is visible with the wispy bangs, but you have to admit. He looks gorgeous. It’s almost unfair that he’s pretty.

“Now then…” Aventurine turns to you, a smile on face as he continues. “My payment for allowing you to have your way with my precious hair.”

On the other hand, you sigh. “I make you pretty and work hard, yet I still get punished. Where’s the worker’s right’s association now?”

“Gone. Decimated. My kiss, dear. Now.”

Your curiosity has led you to this. As you slowly get off the bed and move closer to him, he watches you with attentive eyes. It is when you stand in front of him that he smiles, body language obviously impatient.

Out of simple desire to be generous, you first cup his face then dive in to kiss his left cheekbone. When you pull away after the quick peck, you’re surprised to see his cheeks slowly turning red.

You blink at him in disbelief. “Are you… are you blushing?”

Unfortunately, he recovers quickly as always, deflecting it to you despite his flustered face. “The woman I love just kissed me. Of course I’m going to blush.”

Now you are at the receiving end of embarrassment. It’s unfair. It’s so unfair how he’s still able to stir up feelings within you. It’s unfair how you still care about him. It’s unfair how you can’t let him leave the house without having a proper meal, and it’s unfair that you still send him the same “stay hydrated” sticker on his phone everyday when he’s not around you.

It’s unfair because you want to hate him so bad for what he has done, but you can never forget the questions he used to ask you whenever you both spent time together. They were hushed and quickly brushed off, deemed insignificant after you gave your answer and dubbed “just messing around”. You can never forget them because you know he meant them.

He meant every single one. He just didn’t want you to peel away the layers of his person.

“Woohoo. Aventurine to [Name]? Is there still a signal?”

You snap back, gaze rising from your feet to his face. “Wow, I really lost you there,” he says. “Come on. The kiss wasn’t that bad.”

“You’re right,” you breathe out. After a few seconds of thinking, you excuse yourself. However, as soon as you are out the door, Aventurine’s concern turns into curiosity as he promptly grabs the book you were reading earlier off the bed. A picture of its cover is snapped, and it is placed onto the nightstand.

Unbeknownst to you, Aventurine downloaded a pdf and started reading. Not without taking a picture of your master hairstyling skills of course. While you were regaining your bearings in a different room, he had been searching up summaries and key events of the book.

Perhaps you might be in for a different game next time.

The Balladeer strives to uphold the illusion of a consensual and healthy relationship at any cost: no traces of toxicity and abuse shall be left out in the open for everyone to see. It is not that the Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers himself cares about the opinions of his most untrustworthy colleagues or lowlifes under his command – you will be branded a fool for assuming that he is bothered by what others think. He just doesn’t want you to expect a knight in shining armor to come to the rescue once they see how badly he treats you; any hope to leave him by using the conveniently helping hand shall be extinguished akin to a firefly’s light. 

Scaramouche is not against the idea of spilling the impudent insect’s blood (he is more than willing to slay thousands and thousands of them if he feels like it) – he is against the idea of you seriously contemplating someone would gift you a ticket out of this relationship. The risk is minimal, he knows it: among the ranks of Fatui, it’s very unlikely for an ordinary piece of meat such as yourself to catch the attention of both high-ranking members and their subordinates of humble might – yet he will still prefer to terminate any chance of luring in any noble intentions.

He is not afraid of confronting that rare and exceptional idiot who would be brave enough to try to snatch the “maiden” out of the “dragon”’s grasp, oh no – he is afraid of losing his control over you. He must remain the sole pillar of the crumbling temple that is your life; you must rely only on him because who else in this rotten world will waste their time on you? You must realize that while he is an utterly deplorable being, he is your one and only “safe option”; more so than the potential “nice guy” scumbag who will keep up appearances as long as there is a benefit in doing so until the need to stab you in the back arises. With Scaramouche, you will never taste deception and betrayal – he may slap your face hard enough to split your lower lip, but he is at least honest about his methods of silencing your lousy mouth… And he will comfort your injury right away, with just the right amount of tenderness so as to not pollute his “villain” status, and you will be – in a rather paradoxical way – deemed insane for declaring he is handling you roughly because there will be nothing to your skin to indicate there was a laceration in the first place. 

You are not mistaken for presuming that he is no better than those he often accuses of hypocrisy. The Balladeer is just as obsessed with wiping out any evidence of what he is doing to you in private as his brainwashed agents are with covering up their clandestine activities in peaceful lands; he claims he is doing it to avoid unnecessary attention and insists that you will suffer much worse if others develop the idea that beating you is a fun and totally unpunishable thing to do – really, what else will those imbeciles get into their heads if they see their boss making a punching bag out of some peasant-looking woman? They will take the scene as an invitation to the banquet, of course!

By Scaramouche’s decree, therefore, everything about the twisted bond between the two of you must tell of the happiness of a dog kept on a leash by her master and demonstrate the elation of a toy that willingly sold itself to a puppet master. You must always smile and nod at his every statement; must always mind your manners and show no sign of artificiality – in other words, you must behave akin to a wind-up doll, additionally adopting a composure and obedience befitting a seasoned soldier (and definitely not a village wench). In this counterfeit theatre of his, there is no room for sabotage. You must be as perfect as the lead actor of the play and act accordingly, for should you try to dispose of the mask… Well, let’s just say that your extremely modest clothes were not chosen with the purpose of hiding your virtues.

Deliberately or not, though, The Balladeer misses the entire point. Given his cynicism, it’s probably the latter – he is not delusional, he is simply incapable of believing in the goodness and benevolence of people’s hearts. Be they Fatui or of as plain origins as you, his unpleasant experiences persuaded him of the ignorance and selfishness of humankind; in his flawed worldview, no one is going to steal you away from him because you have nothing valuable to give to them (even your body, irreparably scarred and marked by him, has long since lost its initial price). He refuses to acknowledge the presence of chivalry in certain individuals’ souls, for every single two-legged abomination populating this realm is here after the gain, after the thrill of seizing a treasure worthy of their ambitions, and that’s precisely why the “risk is minimal” and not nonexistent; that’s why the performance must go on and only end when you enter his chambers at night. 

Because someone might want to obtain you under the pretense of saving you. Because someone might gift you false wings and then tear them off for shits and giggles. Because someone might ache for the opportunity to spite him, and you would be naïve enough to fall for any trick. 

Suspicions will still be raised and doubts will still emerge, sure. There will be smart ones who shall silently question the masquerade and scrutinize your every move; there will be nosy ones who shall notice the stiffness of the rehearsed lines and catch the glimpse of uneasiness in your eyes, and there will be brazen ones who shall openly interfere with your relationship and pay with their life. Scaramouche doesn’t deny the possibility of this happening – he is too paranoid to be that offensively oblivious. What he does deny, however, is the existence of selfless motive because rectitude is not inherent to any living being.

It is the quality of the dead, after all. It would be in your best interest to trust Scaramouche and embrace his truth… The truth that no such color as “white” is present in Teyvat: it’s all black powder that poorly imitates the crystals of sugar, a chocolate house made of bitter bars. You must understand that if you don’t dance to The Balladeer’s tune, then you shall dance to someone else’s; ‘tis the fate of the cornered mouse who stubbornly chases after the piece of the invisible cheese. There is no escape out of the cats’ den, for no cat grants freedom to its prey – and luckily for you, he is the type of cat who favors his mouse safe and well-fed as long as she dispels his boredom and loneliness.

The final feast shall eventually come. But will you be able to survive the last yet desperate bite of his fangs?

Headcanons for sibling scara with an affectionate reader who pinches and kisses his cheek just because he’s cute and likes picking him up?

SAGAU: THE GOD OF TEYVAT WONT LET GO OF ME PLEASE SEND HELP-

❀ synopsis: you are the clingy one, and you so happen to be a god with super strength. how do the three different phases of Scaramouche handle the situation?

❀ notes: this was supposed to be sibling headcanons but then realized just how ambiguous I made the relationship between the reader and Scaramouche. So this can be implied as romantic or platonic, or if this is regular genshin or sagau.

❀ pronouns: they/them

Kabukimono with a clingy God reader: Omg, he is so overwhelmed with joy and embarrassment, please give him a minute to process his emotions. If you picked him up in private he would immediately wrap his arms around you to try and hug you. He would even request for you to spin him around if you didn't do so yet. In public, though he would short-circuit and shyly ask for you to please put him down, if you don't he will do his best to shrink in your clothing if he sees any of the villagers staring.

Pinching his cheeks is a different story, it was ok at first but then he grew to not like them. Mostly because it feels weird if you do it, and maybe even painful if you're not gentle enough. He would pout before (gently) slapping your hand away before you can pinch his cheeks. But then he would realize what he did before hugging and affirming how sorry he was and you can pinch his cheeks as much as you want please don't leave him alone-

Scaramouche with a clingy God reader: Soft moments are over, have a scummy Scaramouche to replenish your palette. He enjoys the affection, but only in private. If you are taller than him he would be even more frustrated with how you can easily sweep him off his feet and pick him up. His face bloomed a deep shade of red as he demands that you put him down immediately. If you did this in front of any of his subordinates he will feel a huge chunk of his pride die inside of him.

Similar to when he was Kabukimono he wouldn't like the cheek pinching. While pinching his cheeks he will just give you this look that says "You-will-forget-what-its-like-to-eat-solid-food-if-you-don't-let-go-of-my-cheek", but he soon learns to appreciate the small piece of affection and even mimic your actions by pinching your cheek too.

albeit harsher since he is petty like that

Wanderer with a clingy God reader: Unlike these two, he is SHAMELESS. Nobody remembers him anymore so what does he have to worry about? Forget about you picking him up in public, he will be the one to drag you back to the camp if he wants to spend time with you. Any sort of physical affection is greedily gobbled up by this man. He would act like a tsundere in public unless he was jealous and you decided to pick him up to prove that you're taken. In that case he would be smug.

Pinching his cheeks would be a bit annoying but the more you do it, the more he grows to like it. It would come to the point he would lean onto your hand if you ever do it. And then it would just be you holding his face. He likes your hand, they are very warm...

Pacing Game [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: Pacing Game [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re due to give birth any day now, and you’ve never been so terrified. 

Word Count: 2524

Notes: Yandere, arranged marriage, pregnant afab reader, mentions of physical roughness, non-graphic childbirth descriptions

Your husband, the great and feared Sixth Harbringer, has never been terribly affectionate. As if that would surprise anyone, not that you have anyone you could tell this to; perhaps the gaggle of prim attendants who are frequently at your side, but no–they’re his crows, little spies that will flutter to this side the moment you say anything worth repeating.

It’s the truth, however. He’s never been one to plant soft kisses on your forehead in the morning or wax on about how the beauty of the most stunning blossoms were nothing compared to your smile. He has never told you he loves you, though you’re certain that he wants you–bruised wrists and bruised lips and your currently swollen belly can attest to that.

Keep reading

❥ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 — 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄. ˚⊹꒷

📓୧・꒰summary—wc꒱ affection, regret, and zenith. 1503.

🎸୧・꒰warnings꒱ yandere character ꒰forced/unhealthy relationship, manipulative behavior, mentions of abduction꒱, reader is not traveler, lightly edited.

💿୧・꒰adi moment꒱ sorry for the scara/wanderer posting, may or may not end up happening again! i've got mixed feelings on how this turned out, but yandere scaramouche owns my heart atm and i had to write something for him. hope you enjoy! ૮꒰..◜ᴗ◝..꒱ა ♡

as a disclaimer, i don't support yandere behavior in real life! please don’t interpret this post as justification for any of scaramouche's actions.

જ⁀➴ affection: how do they show their love and affection? ˚⊹꒷

Being openly affectionate is a rather difficult task for Scaramouche… though it isn’t exactly hard to understand why. Betrayal after betrayal combined with years of working beneath the Tsaritsa certainly don’t encourage emotional vulnerability, any tenderness he’d once possessed being forsaken for the sadistic persona he now proudly flaunts.

He’d used that very façade of his to attempt to push you away, back when he’d still had yet to realize just how desperately he needed you in his life. Affection from Scaramouche would remain a rarity between the both of you for quite some time, even after he’d taken you into his ꒰albeit forceful꒱ care. It was safer for him, that way. You weren’t exactly subtle with your discontentment, and the sting of abandonment wouldn’t hurt as badly if he kept you at a distance.

But when he asks—no, demands a hug from you—you’ve really got no choice but to oblige. 

At first, he’s hesitant in the embrace, hands shakily grasping and pulling at the fabric on the back of your shirt as you hold him. Although without the need for air, the stiffness of his body made it seem as though his breath had gotten stuck in his throat, mechanical grasp erratically tightening and loosening as he attempted to adjust. Once he finally does, he absolutely refuses to allow you to pull away, keeping you still in his grip for well over a minute before he finally relents. His eyes are wet as you glance at him, a tear-stained blotch on your clothing as he hurriedly barks for you to turn away.

Despite his initial reaction, these commands for physical affection only become more and more frequent afterwards—much to your distress. Beginning with those awkward hugs and culminating in full blown cuddle sessions ꒰one-sided as they usually are꒱, Scaramouche gradually allows himself to become more and more acquainted with the softness of your touch.

Gift-giving is also a rather common habit of his. As strange as it is for him to be jealous, considering that you aren’t even allowed to sit in the manor’s garden unattended, he just can’t help but worry about you. Seeing you decorated in clothing and accessories of his choosing alleviates his worries, reminding him that you’re still his, even when he might be far away on one of the Tsaritsa’s missions.

It starts out small. A gold necklace. An intricate bracelet, the design of which mimicking the traditional Inazuman motifs found on his clothing.

But it’s not long until he has you fitted for the garments themselves, tailors indebted to the Fatui hauled over from the solitary nation to create an entirely new wardrobe. Scaramouche, of course, oversees the entire process. Not a single detail is overlooked, with him comparing different samples of designs and forcing them to start over whenever he’s displeased with one of their creations. Any attempts to get him to loosen up are met with harsh glares—the same reasoning repeated to you every time. 

“Their debts will be paid by their labor,” he’ll justify, “A mercy considering the Fatui’s usual methodology.” Unless they want to find a permanent residence amongst the cadavers in Dottore’s lab, incompetence simply isn’t something he’ll tolerate.

And, sure, the expense is one that causes a fair share of annoyance from the other Harbingers—especially Pantalone, who was made to fund the operation—though it’s hard to pay any attention to his vexed murmurs when you look so good in the finished pieces.

જ⁀➴ regret: would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? ˚⊹꒷

Scaramouche? Feel bad? When he’s doing you such a gracious favor? Archons, now that might just be the funniest thing he’s heard in a while. In his eyes, it should really be you that feels bad. You should be sobbing at his feet, begging him to forgive you for your oh so constant insolence—your endless whining and complaining.

After all, how could he possibly ever expect to feel pity for the circumstances you’ve found yourself in? You, who’s currently ‘trapped’ within a mansion more luxurious than you could’ve previously imagined. You, who he makes sure is both well fed and dressed—who has countless Fatui guards at your every beck and call. You, who he specifically keeps safe from the many dangers of the world you so stupidly wish to explore. You, who he endures some of Dottore’s more gruesome experiments for—just so your DNA can be preserved in case of tragedy. 

In actuality, the thought that he’d regret ‘taking you’ from your ‘home’... it’s just pathetic to him.

You’re innocent. Naïve. Foolish, to be totally honest. How could you possibly hope to survive out there without his protection? Teyvat is not nearly as safe as you wish to believe, the gods that you find reprieve in oftentimes uncaring to the suffering of their believers. He knows that from experience, and yet you still refuse to believe him. Everything that he’s done is for your sake, ungrateful as you are—it’s a miracle that he hasn’t exposed you to the true nature of the world in order to stop your incessant nagging. 

Scaramouche doesn’t even think he asks much of you, either. All that he expects you to do is sit still. Remain by his side, allow him to shower you with love and ꒰more importantly꒱ keep you safe. Not… sulking around in the room he’d prepared specifically for you, not wildly declaring that ‘you’d never asked him for his protection!’—no, not at all!

So, no, he doesn’t feel any sort of remorse for his actions. What he's done is simply for your own good, and you’re simply foolish to not appreciate that. If he didn’t love you as much as he did, you would’ve been disposed of a long time ago. At the very least… be grateful for that.

જ⁀➴ zenith: would they ever break their darling? ˚⊹꒷

In a way, it’s simply an inevitability with him. Entanglement with the Fatui has rarely ever spelt out positive outcomes for those involved, something you’ll learn because of Scaramouche’s attempts to protect you. Living within his carefully constructed dollhouse doesn’t do much to dim the memories of your old life, nor does it do anything to quell the urge for freedom burning deep within your bones. Awareness of the world you’d once known and fear at the very notion of being struck beneath his control for the rest of your life… None of it bodes well for your mental health, either.

Lacing it with the violence made common from the Fatui, or the punishments inflicted on you in hopes of finally destroying your will to escape ꒰whether they be physical or mental꒱—it’s really no surprise to see the ambitious spark within your eyes eventually being snuffed out.

Isolation alone is already enough to drive the average person insane. With all that you’ve been dealing with on top of that, it’s honestly quite commendable that it doesn’t happen sooner.

At first, Scaramouche doesn’t take this new development of yours well. Your lack of response, lack of reaction to even the cruelest insults of his being hurled at you—to even his mere presence—it freaks him out, slipping beneath his guard and making him feel as though you’ve already abandoned him. Really, how dare you not pay attention to him? Are you mad? Or is this just your latest attempt at escape? Aren’t you just trying to fool him? To make him believe that you’d learned your place just to turn around and sneak away? 

It must be.

He doesn’t leave your side unless necessary, having his soldiers keep watch on you whenever something pulls him away. Whatever new game you’re playing at, he’s determined in his attempts to stop you before you can take a single step outside. Days turn into weeks. Weeks into months. His patience wears thin, the realization you still haven’t done anything hovering over him and sending him into frenzies. But coupled with your newfound compliance to his commands, the way that you numbly follow along with any plans he makes for the both of you—well, he’s eventually forced to realize that you don’t even intend to try running.

As much as he finds himself enjoying your obedience, a part of him simply can’t help but miss your spark. The delicious fear that glazed over your eyes when you were caught doing something suspicious, the fits of passion that led you to stupidly defy his orders… They’d been aspects of you—aspects of the version of you Scaramouche initially fell in love with, the version of you that stubbornly persisted when you still had the opportunity to back away from him.

But this version of you doesn’t move away whenever he pulls you into his arms, doesn’t recoil from the touch of his fingers as if he’d somehow burnt you. This version of you doesn’t cry and beg him to go outside, doesn’t fight against him when he goes on tangents confessing his love to you—occasionally grants him the chance to hear an ‘I love you, too.’ slipping past your lips.

Ultimately… that’s good enough for him.

i have a taglist, which you can sign up for here!