Platonic Au Bc I Can’t Help Myself. Thinking About How Abyss Lumine Could’ve Met Scara Before His

HEYYOO! Hope your doing well! I really enjoyed your platonic yandere scaramouche post ! I can't get it outta my head- Keep up the good work!

But I was wondering how would he react to the reader just straight up rebelling ? I'm talking ignoring him, refusing to eat stuff ect..

(sorry if this is a bit too vague)

Aaaa tysm!!!! Here’s your request, I hope you like it!! 💕

TW: yandere behaviour, starvation

He doesn’t take it well to say the least

You’ve both had mini rebellious phases where you’ve refused to talk to each other over small arguments, but those bouts are normally solved after a bit of time to cool down and an apology

But when Scara humbles himself to apologise to you after being unable to take the separation any longer and you still refuse to talk to him? Oh, he’s mad

He doesn’t start by taking it out on you, instead targeting anyone who you talk to in the span of time you’re ignoring him

If you’re not going to talk to him then you’re not going to talk to anyone. He’ll be so aggressive with those you interact with that the best case scenario is them never wanting to even breathe the same air as you for the rest of their lives

He’s truly hoping that the utter isolation from everyone will finally make you crack. He’d never admit it but being ignored by one of the only people he dared to ever consider a friend is a torture worse than death for him

However, his treatment of others only makes you more upset at him. You’d hoped to finally set some boundaries in your friendship with him by ignoring him but it seems that he’s still up to his usual tricks, meaning you’re going to have to try harder

When you refuse to leave your room and stop eating all together, it sends a wave of panic through him

But being the stubborn person that he is, he’d never outwardly admit to that, so he resorts to hurling insults at you through the door to the effect of “starve in there for all I care” and “I never even wanted to see your ugly face anyways”

Yet not even 3 days pass before he’s screaming at you to eat something. To eat before he kills you himself

And by the 5th day, he’s torn the door off the hinges and is begging for you to eat something, spewing apologies left right and centre

It’s such a contrast to anything you’ve ever seen from him before, so contradictory to how you view him that you can’t help but pity him in this state. So you begrudgingly accept his apology, despite knowing he probably doesn’t know what he was supposedly so sorry for

For the next week or so afterwards he insists on making sure you’re eating all of your meals, and despite seemingly being in such a mood with you that he doesn’t want to talk to you, he still insists on asking you a simple question every hour or so to make sure you’re not ignoring him again

As for him learning his lesson, he truly hasn’t seemed to change his ways at all. And if he can’t fix his possessive ways after such a scare, then maybe you’ll just have to accept that’s just the kind of friend he is

Coming Home [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: Coming Home [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: You never forgot Kunikuzushi. Nor did you tell anyone about him. He was a secret, and he entrusted you to keep him to yourself. 

Prompt: Scaramouche + “And what you own always comes home to you.” 

Word Count: 4134

Notes: yandere, non-graphic mentions of sex, abuse mentions 

He came into your life like debris blown harshly in an angry storm. Grey skies followed by unsettling stillness, everything out of place. He was something torn up at the roots, forced to go wherever the breeze took him, through winding paths, brushing against trees and debris and landing somewhere worse for wear but eager to reach upwards.

He simply showed up at your doorstep, an eyesore against the ordinary backdrop that was your life, and that was that.

Keep reading

A Linnet on a Bough [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: A Linnet on a Bough [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: Isolation takes its toll, and you begin to sleepwalk out of the gilded manor Scaramouche has procured for you. Commissioned piece.

Word count: 3300ish

notes: yandere, married reader, sleepwalking, isolation, unhealthy/controlling behavior 

Being the spouse of a Harbringer is no simple matter, and you are no simple spouse. 

If you had married someone from  your village, your life would be simple. You would do what your parents had done, and their parents had done, and their parents had done. Cooking and mending and minding the children, and living out your days without ever venturing very far, except on rare occasions that would be something you would treasure forever.

You would grow old within the confines of the village and die surrounded by your children, who would bury you near your own parents and go on to live out their lives much as you had done.

But you didn’t marry someone from your village, and your life is not so simple. Instead, you were wed to Scaramouche. Sometimes it doesn’t seem real, even now, and you pinch yourself to make sure you’re not nursing some long standing fever-dream. 

Who would have thought? Certainly not you. Sometimes you wonder if even he expected to ever make such a match. But he told you that he intended to marry you, and let the words hang in the air, to be caught or cut down with your decision.

You said yes. Really, you couldn’t say no… but part of you wanted it. Yes, you can admit that much. It was flattering, and isn’t it nice to be flattered? Especially when you were nobody. Just someone who trudged to the town well to fetch water for your elderly parents, someone who helped a stranger (Scaramouche, it turns out, was not the helpless waif you’d assumed) and got a husband for their troubles. 

So, no, life is not simple. Both in the figurative and literal meaning of the word. 

And now, wife of a Harbringer as you are, you have grown acquainted with--and acquainted is the only term for it, for you could never say you were accustomed to any of it--certain luxuries. Food, to your liking, whenever you would like it. Sometimes it is even brought to you out of season, the greatest luxury of all. Clothing made with rich materials; ribbons, jewels, the softest of slippers to adorn your feet. Servants and pampering the likes of which you had only heard about in your old life. 

But there is one luxury that you are routinely denied, no matter how much you pout your lips, no matter how prettily you ask, no matter how many tears blur your vision and wet your eyelashes: the outside world.

You’re not meant to go outside, Scaramouche had told you, the first time it became clear that you were not going to waltz out of the stately manor he’d brought you to for the wedding in order to take in the scenery. 

And so… you don’t go outside anymore. Not in the traditional sense. You rest in covered litters with the windows tacked shut and he’s not above smacking your hand if you try to lift up the corners to catch a glimpse of whatever (or whoever) waits outside. Of course, when he’s not accompanying you, your pitiful looks sometimes convince one of the guards to let you keep one flap untouched so that you can take a peek.

But seeing flashes of the world you used to live in are not the same as truly being within it. The ghost of a breeze against your half-hidden face is not the same as basking in the sunshine. Hearing the sounds of life from a village as you’re carried through it is not the same as stopping at a market stall to buy a treat, asking someone how their day is going, and absorbing the hustle and bustle of everyone around you.

There is no substitute for living out in the world. 

You just don’t know how to convince Scaramouche of that fact.

--

There is a fine line between gratitude and ingratitude, between obedience and surliness, and Scaramouche finds that you walk it all too well. 

It doesn’t matter how much he takes away; how much he removes the temptation by tacking up screens or keeping you within interior apartments, free from all the noise and sights and smells of the outside. You still want to go outside. Something about it calls to you, pulling on your sleeves, no matter what he does.

He loves to hear your voice, nightingale that you are, but sometimes he is so gravely tempted to press a finger to your lips and tell you to hush. 

No matter how much he tries to occupy your mind with something different. Better. Himself, most often (for you should be grateful for that) but things that no one else could say he gave them. Gifts. Trinkets. Things that suited your interests, which he knew very well, because he hangs onto every word that comes from your mouth.

Even the ones that drive him mad. 

At least until you learn to stop saying things that grate his ears and the space where his heart should be. 

The pleadings that come so softly and sweetly--but if that was all, he could manage. It’s the way that you weave your thoughts into every conversation like a pattern in a tapestry--remarking on the weather conditions in regions that the two of you might be traveling in, asking if the retinue had encountered certain flora or animals during the journey. You want to know about the world; you want to be in the world. 

Little things, little threads, connecting you to a world that isn’t exclusively him… why has nothing successfully cut them from your grasping fingers? 

--

“They only blossom under certain conditions, you know.” Your voice is soft and lilting, carrying on the one-sided conversation over a shared table of delicate foods. You take bites in between your verbal fascination with the local flora, a subject you’re all too keen to share with him. “The flowers are said to be so lovely that people have wept at the sight of them. And the fragrance…” You sigh a little, and pick a piece of fruit to nibble on. “There’s nothing like it. Or so I’m told.” 

A pause. You glance at him, eyelashes practically fluttering, then look back at your dishes. 

“And… I’ve never seen one in person,” you add as you reach for another helping of fruit. “I wonder what they’re like.” 

Do you think he doesn’t know what you’re trying to do? Looking at him so sweetly, asking how he finds the food, interspersing dinner with notions of flowers blooming right outside the borrowed manor the two of you have been living in for this current assignment.

But he won’t give in. He won’t be manipulated, not even by you. 

Still… that doesn’t mean he can’t try to fulfill this hunger of yours. Much like filling a better, a taste should be enough to keep you from grumbling. 

Within the week, he has some unlucky Fatui tasked with the mission of cutting a fresh bouquet of the very flowers that you were waxing on about so prettily. And you wake up one morning to find them on the nightstand next to your bed, set in a clear vase.

He thinks that you’ll smile, and thank him, and if all goes well, he won’t have to hear any more not-so-subtle hints about your desire to go outside.

But you don’t smile and fling yourself at his feet, thanking him for such a thoughtful, fine gift. You don’t tell him that this is all you need--the flowers he gifts you, the clothes he has painstakingly crafted to suit our form and above all, him. 

Instead your hand goes to your mouth, covering the smallest of gasps. 

And, well, he thinks--you’re surprised. That’s all. That’s to be expected., if anything. You did often complain about the monotony of your days, so a little surprise was bound to get a reaction from you. 

But instead of breaking into a grin and thanking him, your hand reaches out to touch the delicate blossoms. Like they’re going to break. More than that--like there’s something wrong. 

“How much prettier they would be in nature…” Your lips curve downward, a soft frown that feels aimed right at him. “I’m sorry that you cut them…”

“What is it?” And if there is a snap in his voice,  you surely couldn’t blame him.  You are so difficult to please, and hiding the fact that he wants to please you at all is a tiring chore all on its own. You exhaust him as much as you fill him.

Sometimes, you make him want to scream.

He’ll take out his pent-up irritation on someone else. Irritation that is not at you, but with you. Yet not with you as well. It’s all a jumbled mess that he doesn’t want to untangle, and he won’t. He’ll shove it down deep into some cavernous hole, perhaps the one that exists inside of him no matter how hard he tries, and move on with his day.

If only you would stop looking at those flowers like they were broken glass.

--

You’re gone. The space that you occupy (the left half of the shared bed, all wrapped in blankets and often clutching a pillow instead of him, a trait he does not find endearing but does not wish to push on) is empty, bereft of anything but cool rumpled sheets.

There’s fear, at first. Fear that something has happened. Someone has taken you. Perhaps it was Her… perhaps She, of all the unholy things, has slithered past his defenses and snatched you up just to snap another piece from his broken patchwork body. 

It doesn’t have to be Her, though. He has many enemies. And enemies will target your weakest point, and you, you, you. You are exactly that to him. 

So there is fear, yes, that you have been snatched away and perhaps you are already dead, and they took you not for blackmail but for some kind of revenge. To see him wither. 

But then he retrieves the lantern from the dresser and lights it, the warm glow illuminating the silent, heavy room. He can feel his breath quickening, his chest tightening, and he doesn’t know why or what to do with any of it.

It only gets worse when he realizes that there is no sign of forced entry. No broken door-locks, no sprinkles of glass on the rugs, no drops of blood on the windowsill to mark where you might have been dragged through.

The fear ebbs away, replaced by a sour, sickly feeling of betrayal. 

You’ve left him. After all he’s given you. All he’s done for you. 

Yes, he’s taken away your freedom, but you didn’t have the capacity to understand why that was not something to begrudge him for. Freedom was not for delicate things that needed to be kept alive, protected, harbored from the rest of the world. 

He clutches the lantern in one hand and storms out of the room, still wearing his night-clothes. The hallways are dim, barely light by small windows that let in a trickle of moonlight. He listens. 

You couldn’t have gone far, and you’d better hope he catches you himself before morning, because if he has to engage a search party on  your behalf, no one (least of all the Fatui stationed with him) will be enjoying it.

He dismisses one of the guards who spots him. He doesn’t want them involved, not yet. He pushes out one of the side doors and begins to walk the perimeter of the grounds. You might have gone off into the forest, or perhaps you went down the paved path, hoping to find a traveler who might help you.

He is about to decide which option to take when he hears something from behind him, near a half-broken brick enclosure that had seen better days. Were you hiding in there? Trying to trick him? He couldn’t put it past you. 

He braces himself, feeling something thrum through him that made him want to turn away and rush forward all at once, and walks through the open gate of the enclosure. 

And… you’re there.

Sitting in the midst of a garden, some untended thing that was left here by the previous tenants, before it was abandoned and absorbed into the network of buildings useful to the Fatui. And to him, for keeping you in one secure location for months on end.

It was wild and overgrown, and some of the rocks creating the garden path were moss-covered. It’s a wonder you didn’t slip on them, he thinks, and there’s a flash of fear mingled with his irritation. How could you do something as stupid as sneak outside at night, in the dark, and walk into some unknown, overgrown eyesore? 

You haven’t heard his footsteps, evidently, because you go on standing. You’re swaying a little, and your hands brush the flowers. He can hear you talking to yourself, something low and sweet. He can’t see your face but it’s easy enough to imagine that you’re smiling. 

“What are you doing?” There was an attempt, in his mind, to keep his voice level. But it quakes anyway, with fury and irritation and that still-sour worry that you betrayed him in the night.

He waits. You don’t turn around. He thought that, when you heard his voice, you were going to jump like a scared little animal and apologize and try to smooth things over with your teary lashes and pouting lips.

But you don’t turn around. And when you answer him, it’s not a word, really. It’s mumbling. Low. Almost a groan.

He’s had enough. He walks forward until he can grip your upper arm, and moves to turn you around. But you don’t pout or jerk away or tell him that you just wanted to go outside. You’re looking straight at him but he can tell right away that you don’t truly see him at all.

You’re… asleep. 

Standing up, eyes blinking rapidly as if in the throes of some waking dream, in the middle of a garden.

But asleep, all the same. 

He presses his lips together. You were a nuisance. Truly. He should leave you here, let you wake up in the morning cold and shivering and covered in slick green moss.

Instead, he lifts you up. You flail a little, arms jerking this way and that, but it’s easy enough to grip you close and carry you bridal-style back down the hallway (the Fatui stationed in the hall is wise enough to say absolutely nothing as he sees him returning) and continues until he can lay you gently down onto your side of the bed.

You gasp, then, perhaps half-waking. But it’s eased enough when your hands instinctively grab your pillow and curl up with it. 

Before heading back into bed, he grabs a fire poker and slides it through the handles of your bedroom doorway. You wouldn’t be getting out, not in your sleep, anyway.

His dreams that night are fitful.

--

The first thing you realize upon awakening is that you’d really rather go back to sleep, because your dream was lovely. You were in a garden, fragrant and lovely. There was cool fresh air on your face and grass under your toes and sounds, real sounds. Birds and insects buzzing and everything that is forever kept on the other side of walls and windows now.

Over breakfast, you smile, and serve your husband his dishes before you tuck into your own. And is it wrong that you want to tell him about your dream? Is it wrong that you hope it will make him finally let you go outside, even just for a little while?

“I had a lovely dream last night,” you say, smiling with what you hope is sweetness and not desperation. “I was in a garden…”

You don’t see the goosebumps that run up his arms at your words.

--

You sleepwalk the next night. And the next. And the next. He doesn’t know how you manage to get the bar off the door every time, how you evade the guards, how you don’t wake him up… but you do. 

Always going to the same place, the damned garden, with its stubborn flowers and broken paths.

Well. If one vase of flowers is not enough to keep you satisfied (and more importantly, inside) perhaps he needs to take it a few steps further. 

He gifts you more flowers. Bundles of them, baskets of them, stuffed into vases and pots and cracked pans his underlings found in the kitchen storage room. 

And while the rooms of the manor are soon a garden, filled with cloying blossoms and greenery that brings its fair share of insects lurking about, it doesn’t make you stop talking about the world that you’re supposedly “missing” out there. 

Not just the flowers, but the animals. The people. The markets. 

The life, teeming with every little thing, good and bad, that makes up this world. 

Most disturbingly of all: The sleepwalking continues.

What more can he give you without giving you the freedom that would break him apart?

--

It’s not that the sound of a bird in the morning is unusual. It’s just that they are normally muffled, as there are no trees near the window of the bedroom.

But the chirping that you hear now is so close that it might as well be in your ear. Groggy, rubbing away the dust of sleep in your eyes, you sit up…

And find that there is a silver bird cage sitting on top of your dresser, next to a wilting vase of flowers from a few days before. 

It’s a pretty thing. Small and  yellow. A pretty thing in a pretty cage. Another gift from your husband, after the mountains of flowers, the wreaths of blooming vines, the meals, the clothes, the comfort…

--

He can never get used to waking up without you beside him. No matter how many times he easily finds you and brings you back, mumbling and bleary, there is always those terrible, agonizing moments of panic when he thinks: you’ve left him.

But you’re not alone in the garden. 

You’re holding the cage, clutching it to your chest. He wonders what will happen if your sleeping muscles dream of something else; will you drop the cage and let it clatter to the ground? Will the delicate bird inside be jostled so terribly that it dies? And what would he do, then, to ensure that this doesn’t make you even less satisfied with your isolated life?

But you don’t drop it. One thing he has learned from watching you sleepwalk is that you are surprisingly nimble about it. 

He watches, lips pressed into a frown, as you slowly lower the cage to one of the formerly ornate pedestal tables in the garden. It must have been pretty once. Now, it’s mossy and gray and damp. 

It doesn’t surprise him, what you do next. Your fingers, shaking but surprisingly deft, undo the latch on the door and swing it open. The bird inside hops around for a few moments, tilting its head to and fro, before it launches itself into the air and flies away.

You mumble something, sweet and slurry. A farewell, perhaps. Who knows what really goes on in your pretty head when you sleep? 

And it’s his cue to take you back inside. You still fight, just a little, when he picks you up. Flail your arms and legs, until he’s held you tight enough that your muscles seem to accept the hold and relax.

He looks down at your bleary, half-awake face. Your eyes tend to close when he carries you. Perhaps your body knows that it’s okay to let them rest, now that someone else is carrying you. Holding you. Protecting you.

A pity that your mind couldn’t understand that fact. 

Sometimes he considers chaining you up at night. It would be the most practical solution. It might even ease his fears every time he wakes to find you gone, and he’s forced to track you down to this nighttime garden that no one else would bother entering.

But there’s something in him, hard and sick, that wonders. If he chains you up, he might just free you in his sleep, like you’ve freed the bird in the cage. 

It’s easier to pretend you aren’t his prisoner when your chains are invisible, after all. 

I was wondering for poly harbingers (except Pulcinella cuz he's like my father figure) what would it be like if like the reader fell first but obviously since everyone of them r harbingers they're terrible at feelings and reader is always trying to get them to love them but after a while they just give up and leave snezhanya and that's when the grovelling starts? Sorry u can ignore this if u want <3

—

(not really a request it's more brainrot but I still wanted to send this hdjshdb) Imagine being a new recruit to the Fatui and end up becoming all of the harbingers favorite,,, like you're just a new cicin mage or agent and they all dote on you and can and will spoil you rotten,,,I just love the harbingers being soft gidigsigdsgi <3

♡ 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ♡

synopsis: When you fell in love with the Harbingers, you already knew that they didn't do love, or feelings, or emotions. You knew that, but it still hurt when you kept trying your best to woo them, but to no avail. Thankfully, things turn around.

includes: all harbingers (except pulcinella) w/ gn! reader

notes: To both these anons, yes!! This is so cute! (I kinda combined two asks and sent them in as one myself. Also, this turned into my just spewing my thoughts around, so apologies if it's kinda messy.) I want them all to hug me. NOW!

Everyone joins the Fatui for different reasons. Some to become stronger, to get paid to support their families, some to faithfully serve the Tsaritsa, and some to climb the ranks. Your reason, however, had nothing to do with that. It might be stupid- no, actually it is dumb, but you joined simply because you thought all the Harbingers were handsome, gorgeous, beautiful, and everything else. (Minus Pulcinella, you daydreamed of him being your grandpa, telling you stories from long ago, and eating cookies you baked together.) Capitano? Even with the helmet, he still managed to woo you. La Signora? You admired her confidence and the long hair that flowed after her. Dottore? He’d probably kill you but you were determined. Arlecchino? Her permanent resting face was still attractive. You could go on about all the Harbingers… but the main point was that you made it your goal to gain all of their attention. (Your ambition probably rivaled Childe’s, and for the least sane reasons.)

You couldn’t bear the embarrassment of messing up in front of the Harbingers so you trained a long time before you joined the Fatui. You may not have a Vision, but you could still kick serious ass. You hoped that your skill would eventually catch the attention of at least one of the Harbingers. And what did you know - your hopes and efforts paid off. The day had come when all the new recruits would have their first training battles with each other. Everyone would be separated randomly into eleven groups with a Harbinger watching over each. Who would you get? You’d be fine with anyone really. You and the other recruits uniformly filed into the arena and there he was - Capitano. He was so well formed, dwarfing everyone else, and he was even more attractive up close, but also more intimidating up close. He didn’t notice you, of course, but nothing would stop you. You heard some relieved sighs from the others. Capitano was much more composed and didn’t have a bad temper like some of the other Harbingers. (We won’t mention names.)

Soon, you were paired with other random recruits to spar, and it was a cakewalk. You didn’t even need to use the wooden sword - you could easily trip them on their own feet by dodging their attacks. You could feel a lot of eyes on you due to all the wins you were effortlessly getting. Oh, and you could feel that especially intense gaze, belonging none other to the Harbinger. Oh, how giddy you were for him to talk to you. And he did! Not as quick as you hoped, but you were prepared to wait a long time. Since that day, the higher-ups ranking below the Harbingers saw you as someone reliable and assigned you more tasks than the average recruit, which led to your deeply desired meetings with the Harbingers.

The first Harbinger got to speak more than a couple of words first was Childe. He was always looking for a good fight, so when he heard of your abilities, he couldn’t help but seek you out and ask for a sparring match. You were ecstatic and accepted, and you lost, of course, but training with Childe had put you in a great mood. And furthermore, he complimented your abilities and urged you to keep training, so he could keep sparring with you. You could have cried tears of joy right there. Since then, the Eleventh Harbinger began to see you more and more.

As you climbed the ranks, people talked about you more and more. You didn’t care much for their attention, but you really hoped the Harbingers were hearing about you too. For some reason, you were assigned to a specific squad, and you were more running around helping each Harbinger’s division. (You didn’t complain though - you had the chance to familiarize yourself with each section.)

It had been a while since you joined, but you finally had it. You had the honor of delivering paperwork and reports directly to each Harbinger. You could finally see them up close. Scaramouche, who sneered and rolled his eyes at you for a while, but grew curious when you’d keep coming back with a smile on your face. Arlecchino who gave you the same cold look every day but was surprised to see you play with the orphans. Childe who waved you over and called you comrade. Capitano and Pierro who nodded at you politely and went back to their work. Dottore who did his usual crazy and maniacal things but grew interested when you weren’t that phased. Columbina who was usually asleep or singing to herself but began conversing with you after many meetings. La Signora who grew fond of you after all the other recruits pushed you to deliver any news to her because they were too scared. Pantalone who teases you with his velvety voice and kept offering you a job as his personal secretary. Sandrone who doesn’t say much but lets you look at her robots since you’re the only one who's not scared. And Pulcinella… the one who is being your father figure and dropping some fun facts about the other Harbingers without their knowledge.

You had worked your way up to the point that they could remember your name and face, which was amazing considering how many recruits there are. With this, you began to try and actually talk to them more. Pretty much all the recruits were terrified of saying anything more than “Yes, Lord Harbinger” to them so to hear you actually voice your thoughts was a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. If it were anyone else, they’d be punished by now, but you were different, for some reason. The more friendly ones would sometimes invite you to their office during their breaks. Another would forcibly drag you from whatever you were doing to follow him around (totally not Scara.) Some would lock you up in their labs with them and order you to help them with their experiments. And sometimes, you’d find gifts in your living quarters. Soon enough, every time you appeared, you were at the side of a Harbinger. The more you were in their presence, the more and more you loved them. You had garnered that all of them had some terrible backstory and all you really wanted to do was share your feelings and make them feel warm inside.

The only thing was, no matter how hard you tried to drop any hints, or get them to engage in conversations other than work, was fruitless. Even when you got promoted to Harbinger status, your main job was to assist others in their work. So you did, but along with basic things that they forgot to do. Simple meals, each catered to their liking, coffee or tea, made how they like it best, frequently sat on their desk, made by you. That huge stack of documents? Already signed off by you. Little trinkets you thought they’d like were given. But they still didn’t catch on to how much you liked them?! You were literally doing everything besides kissing them at this point. It was starting to give you a headache.

You kind of felt stupid and sad, to put this much time and effort into this plan, only for the rest of the Harbingers to treat you mostly as their colleague. But this was incredibly stupid in the first place so you couldn’t really blame anyone. You knew they were horrible with feelings, but… damn, it was really bad. And now you were a damn Harbinger so you couldn’t exactly leave the organization. Since you were a new Harbinger, you weren’t required to leave the nation for some time, but you needed some time alone, so you directly applied to the Tsaritsa to send you out to a foreign nation for some mission. Little did you know about the switch-up that was about to happen.

For once, the Harbingers were grateful for Scaramouche’s confrontational nature. After hearing news of your possible departure from Snezhnaya, all the Harbingers were suddenly wide awake and with the same question - Why are you leaving, and why do they feel so irritated at the loss of your presence? Thankfully, they could leave the first question up to the Sixth Harbinger while they listened on from far away.

A sudden call of your name and hard, impatient footsteps behind you stopped you in your tracks. Anyone in the Fatui could easily recognize those ones. You turned around and saw a very peeved Scaramouche. Before you could greet him, he crossed his arms and spoke.

“Why are you leaving?”

“What do you mean?”

He scowled, “Why are you leaving this nation? There is no reason for you to go.” You didn’t know the news would spread so fast, and that he of all people would be the first to say something.

“I’ve just decided I need more real experience to better complete my duties,” you lied. Hell, you’d stay here forever if you could but it just hurt to see the Harbinger’s faces every day and not have your relationships progress.

“What about your duties here? You’re supposed to help us.” To be honest, Scaramouche could care less about duties and whatnot, he just had this nagging, irritating feeling of loneliness that kept popping up when he thought of you leaving for months on end.

“Well, there’s a hundred other recruits you can ask for help. From what I can remember, last time you got mad at me because your coffee wasn’t bitter enough,” you frowned back. “Everyone’s survived without me before, I think you can survive without me again.” You didn’t mean to add that much sass but you just left before the situation escalated.

Scaramouche and the other hidden Harbingers watched you leave. They didn’t mean to come off that way… they just have shitty communication skills.

I have to throw this in but- Grandpa Pulcinella who scolds the hell out of the other Harbingers for their denseness and communication. Has to actually explain to them that you’re relatively normal compared to them, so you’re expecting normal interactions in return. And that they have to start doing better before you ditch their asses. So now, the Harbingers are very out of characteristically groveling to silently convince you to stay.

Scaramouche has to physically bite down on his tongue to prevent any accidental snarkiness from coming out. It’s not that he wants to be that mean, it’s just his natural reflex to say something like that after every sentence. Orders you to accompany him to places but he just walks around randomly while you ask where exactly you’re going. Allows himself to become softer in your presence because he doesn’t want to lose you. He has been betrayed enough times, he doesn’t want to see you go.

Capitano makes an effort to frequently invite you to his office so he can just listen to you talk. Also thanks you a lot for everything. He’s very unsure about how to treat you in the best way possible. So he just listens to you talk and secretly takes notes instead of doing paperwork. Also is scared to initiate any physical contact because he’s afraid of breaking you somehow, is jealous of the other Harbingers for this reason. Also opens doors for you, I just see him as a gentleman. Doesn’t know how to tell you not to leave him, so he just comments on how quiet his office will be without you.

La Signora who invites you to go shopping with you many times. Spoils you with the best clothing, cologne/perfume, hair products, and much more. She did have a previous lover so she at least knows about love, she was just hesitant and scared because of how her last relationship ended. But she’s the one whose not afraid to touch you - will curl a lock of hair of yours around her finger and hum, or place her hands on your shoulders, silently conveying that she’d rather have you here, safe in her arms, than outside.

Dottore doesn’t know how to show genuine affection like a regular person so his idea of making you stay is appointing you as his personal assistant who gets special access to his lab, notes, and answers to any questions you want. To an average person, it seems useless, but when the genius mad scientist bestows upon you this, you better at least show your thanks. (It’s so funny to see how he thinks he’s doing good, and you’re just like hmm yea such an interesting bloody fact!) Subtly drops the fact that he can’t do his experiments without your help anymore, which would lead to problems within the Fatui, so you simply must stay.

Childe continues to spar with you, only this time he physically shows you the right form, his strong arms positioned on you. Will painfully lament about how he’ll miss these “little sparring dates.” Cooks your favorite food and coughs about how you won’t get authentic Snezhnaya cuisine anywhere else. Also brings you to his family so Teucer and the other siblings can cry to you about how much they’ll miss you.

Arlecchino is still quiet and cold as usual but makes a much bigger effort to talk more than normal. She lets herself smile now when you’re around inside of restricting it. Is secretly scared of you dying in a foreign land. Also comments about how the kids always look forward to your storytelling and visit.

Sandrone doesn’t know what to tell you in person so she makes cute little robots of your favorite animals that deliver messages to you. She takes inspiration from the notes you leave her and other Harbingers - “Make sure to eat and drink some water <3” or “Please don’t stay up until three AM doing paperwork or experimenting” Sometimes, you write “And Dottore, I don’t want to be woken up by your maniacal laughter that early in the morning. Go to sleep, please. That includes all of you.” The most important note Sandrone sends is “Don’t go.”

Pantalone just spoils you endlessly. Gifts upon gifts upon an immense sum of Mora being deposited into your account. Your whole closet is full of clothes despite the only thing you wear is literally your Harbinger clothes and a big fluffy coat. The one who calls you into his office not even to do any work, but to just to flirt with you, show you around his huge mansion, get your opinions and interests so he knows what to buy for you later on. It’s awfully lonely around here when he doesn’t have anyone to spoil, he complains.

Pierro is the one whose old and wise, yet he still has problems dealing with these feelings he always keeps sealed you. He is the Harbinger who you probably see the least, yet you always make an effort to scurry up to him and inquire about his day, because he apparently always looks tired. Pierro doesn’t say much but enjoys these sparks of brightness into his dark life. Gives you advice about anything, your troubles may seem mundane compared to his but he wants you to be stress free. He doesn’t want to intrude on your Harbinger duties, but he really will miss you bouncing around headquarters.

Columbina takes you to visit the most beautiful but unknown places in Snezhnaya, and often falls asleep on you there (you can’t say no to her.) Hums that she’ll be sad to not have anyone as her personal pillow anymore.

You’re pretty much overwhelmed by all this positive attention - you finally did it! And you deliver the news they’ve all been anxiously awaiting: you won’t leave your snowy nation anymore. And that you also have something important to tell them.

At this point, all the Harbingers know that each other has taking a strong liking to you, and all of them are quite literally, ready to fight for your love. That is, until you explain how you love all of them and want to cherish all of them equally. None of them are quite pleased with the arrangement, but they do see how happy you are with each of them, so they won’t say anything. Some of the Harbingers probably grow a bit closer to each other, just by talking about you.

“You know, when we went to Liyue together, we took a lot of pictures together. I’ve even got one of them cuddling their pillow.”

Cue nine other heads snapping in the other direction.

“You brat, don’t hog it to yourself. Give it to me.”

“Indeed, I want a copy as well.”

“I do too, for research purposes.”

“Oh, they look so cute like that!”

After everything is established and such, I can see Scaramouche who bickers with the other Harbingers, especially the lower ranking ones over your time and attention. All of them are possessive but Scaramouche hates almost everyone and has no problem voicing his biting thoughts aloud, while other Harbingers prefer to be more professional and not cause a scene. Surprisingly enough, he gets along a little bit better with Childe (if you count calling him various curses and electrocuting him every five seconds better). Even still, Scara would much rather prefer to keep you to himself, and you do too unless you want him to be scowling at another Harbinger the whole time. And you often spend time with Childe alone too, just because he’s not very close with the others. He has beef with all the women Harbingers, and he’s actually a lot more… sane than the other males, or they’re too high ranking for him to talk to. If anything, he’d love to spend time with you and Capitano just so he can admire both of you and your strength. (It’s more of a pipe dream, but if you manage to make it happen, he’ll be ecstatic.) Hell, you might even be spending time with Childe and grandpa Pulcinella because he thinks of you as his kids, lol. He gives Childe great advice on how he wooed others back in the day. Also, Childe who is arguably the sanest and romantic and is actually knowledgable about this stuff helps the other Harbingers on how to treat you. (Is my bias showing? Sorry.)

Arlecchino and Columbina who like to spend time with you together. Columbina likes to use you two as a pillow as she falls asleep, while you tell both of them about your day. Both of them are the quiet types so they go quite splendidly together with you. La Signora and Sandrone also join sometimes for sleepovers and self-care days (I like to think all the female Harbingers are secretly close with each other and respect each other a bunch <3.) They all would pamper you, all different in the areas they excel in. Columbina and Signora take on your hair, Sandrone has her robots take care of your nails, and Arlecchino helps you with anything else really (she’s at a loss with this kind of stuff so the others teach her.) They’re probably the most harmonic group here, and they don’t mind sharing you, but they tend to scoff at the other men when they’re near you. Also expect lots and LOTS of kisses all over your body with them <3. They all got to destress with you after all these Harbinger duties. Oh, and also expect tea parties with them!

Dottore who also often spends time with you alone because the other harbingers don’t like him very much due to his… you know. If anything, Pantalone or Sandrone usually join in him spending time with you. The former isn’t too scared of Dottore because he provides funding, the latter respects Dottore for his robotic knowledge and tends to actually observe his experiments sometimes. Dottore loses patience with Pantalone more quickly, due to his charming and even flirtatious nature when he’s around you. Dotty likes Sandrone a bit more due to her more subdued and quiet nature. Dottore who will drone on about the most sciency things in order to get anyone else to leave so he can be alone with you.

Capitano and Pierro who like to share you too, are both big, tall, and initially awkward men. (I like to think both of them are on good terms with each other.) Neither of them are sure of how to treat sweet, little you. But they are both so infatuated with you that they just let you take the lead for now. The two of them are more on the quiet, gentle giant (and also very much overworked) so they enjoy the calm and peaceful activities. (I don’t know why, but I imagine picnics with the two of them, where Capitano is taking up half of the blanket and sitting with his legs to his chest.)

All of your lovers fight over who gets to take you with them on their mission outside Snezhnaya. (They’re coming with me to Inazuma… no, they should come to Liyue with me… actually, they’re staying in Snezhnaya with me.) Most of them are not very fond of each other, but they can come together just a bit, if it’s for you. Also, all the Harbingers wonder if they’re truly worthy of you. They have all this blood and chaos on their hands but you still allow them to hold you and touch you. None of them voice this out loud but they know every one of them thinks the same thing. (Extra - the Tsaritsa who is amused and curious at how you managed to get all her devoted Harbingers wrapped around your finger so quickly. Pulcinella who is initially shocked at the relationship… “youngsters these days” but grows to accept it. Fatui recruits who get whiplash from seeing their cold and stoic Harbingers become nicer in your presence.)

To scaramouche: Since I'm just a kind of doll to you why don't I sleep on the shelf? Oh... sorry! I completely forgot you can't reach there ^^

"..."

His eye twitches. To say that you were on thin ice around Scaramouche was an understatement; you’d sooner brave traversing a frozen lake than dealing with your volatile captor. The wooden floorboards groan in protest of his rapid approach. Scaramouche stalks toward you, his lips pulled into a grimace, and his posture rigid. 

He grabs your collar and pulls you down. “Dolls are supposed to sit there and look pretty, in silence. The grating sound of your voice ruins the effect beyond repair.” 

In for a penny, as they say. 

“So you find me pretty?” You inquire, paying little mind to how his nostrils flare in exasperation with your unruliness. There’s little he can do to make your life more miserable than it already is. While you have enough wits about you to not send him on a rampage, that doesn’t mean you won’t test the boundaries. You’d twirl your hair to add insult to injury if your arms would stop shaking. 

“Why else would I tolerate your deplorable personality?” 

It’s not like he has much room to be talking. The Fatui agents assigned to watch over you shrink away in silent confirmation, knowing full well what hell awaits them if the Harbinger decides to unleash his boiling rage. They’re collateral damage just waiting to happen. Underneath their masks, you’d wager they’re sending you pleading looks, begging you to stop while you were ahead. 

The dark aura oozing off of Scaramouche is enough to deter you from trying your luck again. 

“I swear,” his fist tightens around the fabric of your outfit. “I’ve never met someone so incapable of using their head. Try giving it a shot, will you?” 

You want nothing more than to roll your eyes at his petty insults. 

Scaramouche releases you and brushes his hands against his shorts. “That wasn’t a suggestion, I’ve had just about enough of that tongue of yours. This is the only warning I’ll give.” 

Hiii! Omg I really loved the Khaenri'ah child!!! Would you be willing to write platonic archons with a child who is the daughter or niece of the Heavenly Principels?🙏

Heaven’s Little Star

Synopsis: The Archons find themselves faced with an unusual charge: a child born of Celestia’s will, the daughter (or niece) of the Heavenly Principles. Despite their vastly different personalities and histories with the gods above, they each develop a unique bond with the child, treating them as a precious yet mysterious presence in their lives. Whether out of genuine affection, curiosity, or cautious reverence, the Archons all find themselves drawn to this little celestial being. Pairings: Venti, Zhongli, Raiden Ei, Nahida, Furina, Mavuika x Celestial Child

Venti - The Carefree Guardian

Venti is the first to disregard whatever divine implications surround you. To him, you are not "Celestia’s child" but simply a child who deserves joy and freedom. He takes you on wild adventures across Mondstadt, letting you dance with the wind and sing along to his songs.

However, beneath the lightheartedness, there's a wariness he doesn't speak of. He avoids the subject of Celestia like a plague, but every time you mention your origins, a fleeting look of contemplation crosses his face. He doesn’t see you as a threat, but the history between him and Celestia is complicated.

He spoils you endlessly—dandelion wine is off-limits, of course, but fresh apple cider? Only the best for you. If you ever get upset, he’ll strum his lyre, voice soft as he hums a tune just for you. And if you ever feel trapped by divine expectations? He’ll take you somewhere the stars feel close enough to touch, whispering that no fate is unchangeable.

But even through his mischief, Venti knows what you are. If Celestia ever comes to retrieve you, he’ll be ready to play the trickster, to steal you away like a breeze that refuses to be caught.

“Don’t let them take you back up there, little breeze. The sky is beautiful, but you belong where you can laugh freely.”

Zhongli - The Wise Protector

Zhongli treats you with a mix of reverence and warmth. He is perhaps the only one who truly understands the gravity of your existence. Unlike Venti, he does not ignore your origins—he acknowledges them and prepares accordingly.

“Even the oldest of gods must respect the unknown,” he murmurs when Hu Tao asks why he is so careful with you.

Despite his caution, he ensures you are taught the ways of Liyue’s traditions, history, and philosophy, determined to give you an identity outside your celestial ties. Should you ever express sadness over your connection to the Heavenly Principles, he will kneel before you, placing a steady hand on your shoulder.

“You are not your lineage alone. You are who you choose to become.”

He also spoils you in a different way—gifts of fine tea, calligraphy sets, and jade trinkets are common. He takes you on strolls through Liyue Harbor, explaining the significance of each structure and telling you stories of the past. If you have any celestial abilities, he teaches you how to use them wisely, warning you of their consequences.

Should anyone dare to harm you, the old instincts of the Geo Archon resurface. He may have retired his godhood, but for you, he would summon stone and spear once more.

There is an underlying protectiveness in the way he acts. He never mentions Celestia openly, but there’s a glint in his golden eyes that speaks of caution.

“You must understand,” he murmurs one evening as you sip tea beside him, “power is a responsibility, not a right. No matter where you come from, the choices you make will define you.”

Ei - The Silent Guardian

Ei is distant at first. She does not know how to handle children, much less one tied to Celestia. She watches you carefully, as if expecting divine judgment to be passed at any moment.

But over time, her wariness fades. She begins to teach you the way of the sword, explaining the importance of discipline and strength. If you show an interest in the arts, she encourages it—perhaps as a way to make up for the time she lost with Makoto.

Unlike the others, she does not shower you with affection, but her actions speak louder than words. She ensures you have the best food, the best training, and the best security. If you ever fall asleep in the Tenshukaku, she will sit beside you in silence, keeping watch.

She does not see you as an extension of Celestia, but as an individual. And for that, she is willing to protect you with everything she has.

“If they ever try to take you away,” she says, eyes sharp as lightning, “I will be the storm that tears them apart.”

Nahida – The Understanding Guide

Unlike the others, Nahida understands what it means to be born into something greater than yourself. She sees the loneliness behind your celestial ties, the quiet yearning for normalcy. And so, she does not treat you as a divine being, nor as an anomaly. She treats you as you.

With her, you are allowed to be a child. To learn, to stumble, to grow. She introduces you to Sumeru’s people, lets you play in its forests with the Aranara, and gives you books filled with stories to dream about.

She teaches you dreams and stories, whispering truths and fables alike into your mind as she tucks you in at night. She tells you, “The world is vast, and even the gods do not know everything. If you ever wish to leave the shadow of the heavens, I will help you carve your own path.”

More than anything, she wants you to have the freedom she once lacked. And if Celestia ever tries to take that from you, she will use every ounce of her wisdom to keep you safe.

“No matter what they say you are, you are still you. And that is enough.”

Furina - The Dramatic Older Sister

Furina treats you like a beloved younger sibling—one she absolutely must spoil rotten. You are not just a child in her eyes; you are an audience, a confidant, and a co-star in whatever dramatic performance she has planned for the day.

She insists on dressing you in the finest Fontaine fashion, taking you to grandiose operas and teaching you how to deliver the most elegant of courtly speeches. She showers you with extravagant gifts, sometimes unnecessary, but always dazzling.

But beneath her theatricality, she is aware of the weight of your origins. There is a quiet protectiveness beneath the glitz and glamour. If anyone dares to treat you differently because of your divine bloodline, she will tear them apart with sharp words and sharper wit.

“You may be of Celestia,” she declares grandly, pulling you into an over-the-top hug, “but you are also of Fontaine! And as its beloved citizen, you deserve nothing less than the best!”

She treats you with indulgence, giving you gifts, lavishing you with admiration, yet there is always an underlying tension. She fears the day you might outgrow her influence, or worse—the day you might be taken away.

And if it ever comes to that, Furina, despite all her fears, would stand atop the Opera Epiclese and demand a trial against the gods themselves.

Mavuika - The Fiery Mentor

Mavuika is fascinated by you. She does not fear you, nor does she treat you with excessive reverence. Instead, she welcomes you with open arms, inviting you to Natlan’s grand festivals and teaching you the ways of her people.

She trains you to be strong, to carve your own path despite the divine blood in your veins. If you struggle, she does not coddle you—she pushes you forward, making sure you learn through experience.

But she is not unkind. When the weight of your origins becomes too much, she lets you rest against her, patting your back with a warm, steady hand.

“Celestia may have given you life,” she says with a grin, “but the world is yours to shape. Don’t let them decide who you are.”

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"

Hiii! I've never done this before but... What if Scara and reader had a fight... Like a fight fight... and reader was seriously injured due to him being blinded be emotions... What do you think would the aftermath of this...?

A/n: Yet again, another ask that i was originally gonna js give a short thought to, turned into something longer *sigh* (I need to stop doing this).

Summary: [Angst/Comfort]He could never say sorry, even in the moments it mattered.

Warnings: Harm to reader, Scars, Unrealistic Writing of getting hit with lightning,

———

This was kinda hard to come up with, just because my personal interpretation of him is that he would never ever hurt reader, cause they’re really all he has left buut, if I put that aside the aftermath would be something along the lines of an awkward confrontation??

During his time in the fatui, no one exactly had the galls of stopping his rampages. The balladeer is quite famed for his regular intervals of anger, you’re no stranger to it yourself, you’ve seen him mad. it’s just…

Hes never been angry towards you.

You’d get the occasionally scoff every now and then if you uttered something he found foolish, but never has he lashed out at you to such a degree. Not to this level. He’s painfully reminded by his ignorance as soon as his hand crafted eyes lay sight upon your bare form, a body, a human body, covered in scars from lightning. Lightning he inherited, lightning he engaged, lightning he struck you with.

There’s no doubt, the silence is defecating while you sit with him in the empty room, waiting for one of the medical professionals in the fatui to check on you.

He’s silent. It’s rare. He’s never been quiet for more than 5 minutes with you. He’s either complaining or attempting to make small talk a vast majority of the time, typically the former. But he doesn’t, he doesn’t even stare at you like he always does. You’re about to break the silence before the harbinger breaks it for you.

“You don’t look okay.” He doesn’t look at you, his vision trained on the white tile at his feet.

“Yeah. you struck me with lightning.”

…

“oh.”

It doesn’t hit you until he releases a quiet ‘oh’ from his mouth. Something you probably know better than anyone else that has been on teyvat within his 500 year lifespan.

This man can not say sorry.

“oh? Oh? Kunikuzushi put your pride away for one second.” you don’t try to hide the frustration in your voice. You truly did not mind the eccentricities the puppet in front of you holds, you never did, not even when you first met him.

He still doesn’t answer but you can see the way his face winces and widens in the same moment. Seems he got way too accustomed to ‘Kuni’ and ‘Scara’ to remember that you do in fact remember his given name.

“What else should I say to you? I’ll strike harder next time?” He isn’t getting mad, he was only infuriated earlier, but not now. You can see his demeanor start changing. Whether it be in the direction you want it to go, you’re not sure yet.

“Maybe a sorry? An apology? A “oh forgive me [Name] I love you so much?” He doesn’t answer you, he only scoffs and fall back onto the back of his chair. You don’t miss the way his fingers dig into the cloth of his clothing, probably using it as a replacement for human skin.

The man can’t breathe, but you can hear him inhale and exhale before his next words.

“i don’t know what happened. I didn’t mean to- well not at you.” It comes out softer than the other words hes said to you the entire period of time in the room. His eyes are finally off the floor, trying their best to maintain contact with your own.

Once again, all thats left between the space of you two, is silence. You look away from him for a moment, fiddling with the blanket draped over your legs. You’d like to assume that’s the closest you’ll get to an ‘I’m sorry from him’, but you can’t accept that, so you don’t reply. Ever since waking up, you never were able to see the scars on your body, only the ones on your arms. You wonder if they look hideous.

Your hand reaches behind you to your back, your fingers grazing whatever part you assume suffers scarring.

“Are you worried about how it looks?”

“No, not at all, fighting is commonplace in the fatui.”

“Lying isn’t good, you told me that yourself didn’t you?” Damn him and his pristine memory. You can never remember where you leave your keys yet he can remember things you’ve said to him years ago?

…

“No matter how scarred and beaten you are you’re still [Name] are you not?” With the way he’s looking at you, you’re sure this is another thing he’d want to keep out of the publics knowledge. “Even without your face i’d strike someone down for you in an instant.”

“Oh like you did to me?”

“…” Seems the sweet moment was ruined. You don’t mind though, it’s funny to you.

———

The weeks that followed still held some tension. You’d refused to see him for awhile. When asked by some trembling lower subordinate, one in which the harbinger had personally sent, why you weren’t seeing him, your reply made the soldier fear for his own downfall.

“He’s insufferable right now. I’ll talk to him when he shows me he’s not a man child who can’t admit his faults.” You’ve always been able to put up with his outbursts, but right now, you realize maybe you should turn up your attitude with him.

After that unfortunate event, not unfortunate for you, for the fatuss, your days have seemingly been more dull. You’ve forgotten just how eccentric the balladeer is. Waking up never seemed so boring, the puppet would either be by your side in the early mornings, or knocking on the door ready to whisk you away.

Seems that routine is coming back.

“Oh? Have you finally swallowed your ego-“

“I’m sorry.”

Seems he couldn’t go any longer without you, how sweet.

———

Tagging this, I was super confused if this could be characterized as angst w/ comfort or fluff. I just did both though.

hihi! may i suggest the 2nd years’ reaction to a teasing but easily flustered darling? they’re like a mix of a hiyakasudere (teasedere) and a dandere. long story short, it’s kinda like “oooo you want to kiss me so bad aha” to “WAIT WHY ARE YOU GETTING SO CLOSE” kinda thingy + don’t forget to take care of yourself! don’t forget to drink water and get some rest! :)

hoooly shit this has been in my drafts for so long and i finally had a sudden spark of inspiration to finally finish it. i'm so sorry anon you've waited a terribly long time

now, for the moments where your yandere harem is not-so-yandere and relatively normal-looking

you might like: yan! academy genshin second years

you thought that you'd get to share a nice lunch with your dear friend albedo after he invited you to a nice secluded spot for the both of you to spend lunch together. the food was definitely nice— this is albedo we're talking about after all— but you couldn't help but find yourself pouting. all he had been doing all lunch was sketch away at his papers.

hmph. you think. shouldn't he give me a bit of his attention?

hoping to sneak some sort of reaction out of him, you inch closer to his drawings. he’s never had a problem with you looking at his unfinished work and yet his strong but gentle hand reach out and firmly root you to your position. “don’t move,” he mutters. and then a long period of silence follows, but this time his eyes study every inch of your face and body.

"don't you think you're starin' at me a bit too much?" you croon, flashing one of your mischievous grins at the ever stoic student with the hope of alleviating some of the awkardness you feel. "someone might think you have a crush on me.”

“maybe i do,” he hums. “what about it?” it’s so nonchalant that it’d pass through anyone’s ears as a joke, but you’re so hyper-aware of everything right now that the blush starts rising to your cheeks, gaping at him with an open mouth.

“wh– what?!” you hate how squeaky your voice is.

“oh nothing,” he resumes back to his sketching before he gives you a glance over and smirks at you. “don’t you think you’re blushing too much? someone might think you have a crush on me.”

“a– albedo!”

no one knows how xiao lets you get away with how overly touchy you are. you’re not exactly what they’d imagine to be hanging around xiao. you smile too much, flirt and tease with people, and you drag the boy around to places almost embarassing to be seen at. but xiao follows anyway. one moment he’ll go: “hmph. and why should i?” but when you pout and just whine about going with another boy, he’s immediately latching onto your arm.

you’re aware of how differently xiao treats you and to be honest, you’re a little bit smug. you like to exert your power over him time to time. pushing a little too close or trailing your fingers up his surprisingly toned muscles just to tease him.

“you’re shameful,” he’d huff and look away, but you’re delighted at how his porcelain face turns into a bright cherry shade and continue teasing him anyway.

xiao is aware of this power you have over him, but he doesn’t stop you. he likes this warm and fluttery feeling you overwhelm him with. still, it’d be nice if he could change the tables for a moment and make you stutter and blush instead.

this musing of his is shelved away in his mind until an impromptu study date comes up. poring over your textbooks for the upcoming quiz, you snack away on some nuts to help you concentrate. when xiao looks up, he sees some crumbs on you’re too focused to notice. absentmindedly, he reaches over the table and slides a finger to wipe away the crumbs. you take this the wrong.

“wh- what are you doing?!” you squeak, face blaring red. “we’re studying, you know!”

he hushes you. “hold still.”

he brings the finger to his mouth and licks up the food, confused at your shock and embarassment but no questioning it. he sits back down and resumes his studies while you spend the rest of the session covering your face with a book and fanning your face. xiao remains ever oblivious as he focuses on passing the test, unaware that his wish has already been granted.

kazuha takes your flirtatious advances seriously, because well, romance and love must be taken seriously. somewhere in the back of his mind he can sense that you’re just joking... still, let kazuha delude himself for a tiny bit.

all flirty remarks of yours are responded with sincere and genuine exclamations of love which has you blushing and running away with every encounter with him. you don’t even know why you bother anymore, but perhaps it’s the urge to see the ever so calm and serene kazuha lose his composure because of you.

it’s for the sake of blushy kazuha! you pump yourself up before pushing open the classroom doors. the boy idles by the window sill, away from the chatter of your classmates. your presence immediately has him perking up and smiling at you from across the room. you take a deep breath and close your eyes.

be still, be confident. you’re gonna get him today! 

“hi kazu~” you grin, sauntering over to him with brimming confidence. “your most favorite person is here!” you open your mouth, planning to pour out another set of cheesy pick-up lines and compliments, but kazuha reacts quicker.

“indeed, you are here right now,” he says in nigh reverence. he takes a stray lock from your hair and twirls it around his finger. “i’ve missed you over the weekend, you know?” he kisses it and smiles at you. the morning sun lights his face aglow, and the wind brushing past the window makes his hair flutter along with your heart. “oh, [your name]? you’re redder than a maple leaf.”

steam puffs out of your ears at being called out, and you stumble back, glaring at him. “i-i’ll get you one day, kazu! i swear i will!” and when you make a tactical retreat, kazuha only laughs to himself before fondly kissing the finger that held your lock of hair so tenderly.

you honestly thought that thoma would be the easily flustered type, but he's really not. it's always the same reaction out of him: you flirt, he stops, stares, and his lips crack into a brilliant yet amused smile. your charms, that have flawlessly worked on both me and women, are received like an elder brother witnessing their sibling's antics.

it makes your blood boil! really! the audacity of this guy to just shrug off your remarks when you're already growing desperate to get a reaction out of him! you up your charisma, bat your lashes more, but no, nada! it makes you a bit insecure— juuuust a little. is your allure starting to wane?

you're sulkily poking at your lunchbox, too caught up with your little dilemma to actually eat. thoma notices from across you, and his brows pinch together in concern as he regards your expression.

"is everything okay, [your name]?" he asks softly, placing a gentle hand on yours to let you know he's there. "you don't seem to have an appetite today. is the lunchbox i made not up to your liking?"

you might be sulking, but archon forbid you make thoma think his cooking wasn't up to standard! you frantically shake your head, before settling down and letting out a sigh.

"thoma~" you let out a whine, grasping his hand on yours with both of yours. you pout as prettily as you can, letting the lips you meticulously glossed this morning do their job, bat your lashes, and doing everything and anything you can in your power to turn it up a hundred times more. "be honest with me. do you find me pretty at all?"

his eyes widen at the question. "o– of course, i do, [your name]! there's no one in this school who doesn't find you attractive." something dark flickers in his eyes for a moment as he mutters lowly. "believe me."

that shadow disappears as soon as it comes, and squeezes your hands reassuringly. "more than just being attractive, i like you for who you are." his soft green eyes crease downward in a fond look, and you think your heart is racing a hundred miles per second. "i'm here with you, aren't i?"

you do your utmost best to respond, but your tongue fails you. your brain has short-circuited, and you can barely hear anything than the pounding of your heart and the muffled worried calls of your name. you slump in your seat, steam coming out of your brain and dizzy from the heartburn. you are defeated at your game.

there are advantages and disadvantages to flirting with the scaramouche. when you shoot him one of your teasing remarks or sidle a bit too close to his side, the people around you look at you like you're crazy.

and you are. you're crazy obsessed with his reactions, how sardonic and dry-humor they are but so cute and feisty. so what if his glares keep getting scarier and scarier, if his lips curl up in a sneer whenever he sees you. you don't waste a single moment in trying to get a reaction out of him!

"hey, scara~♪" your head pops out from the corner while he's busy with his locker, and glances at you before resuming with his work. "you're as cute as ever as always!"

"and i can see that you still insist on being annoying," he says plainly, before slamming his locker shut and fixing you with his signature dirty glare. "when will you stop bothering me, or do i have to put up with your nonsense until graduation?"

"only if you'll have me~"

"idiot," he scoffs. "to be disturbing me like this day in and day out. you have some nerve, [last name]. are you really that keen on breaking my peace? or—" he studies your face carefully, before a smug smile breaks out on his lips. "are you really that obsessed with me?"

your mind blanks out at the sudden accusation and you can feel the heat rising in your face. "o–obsessed with you? don't be absurd! i– you– you're not the only one, you know! don't get too full of yourself." your face reddens further as his smirk only grows, and you stomp your foot childishly. "believe me!"

"tut, tut, [last name]. you won't get further in this society if you wear your hearts on a sleeve like that. but don't worry." he lifts your chin up with a slender finger, and as much as that knowing grin of his is humiliating, you can't help but appreciate how alluring the expression is on him. "since you're so obsessed with me, i don't mind letting a commoner like you live under my care when the time calls for it."

would you like a new home? (pt. 3.2)

forethoughts: i maxxed out arlecchino to lvl 90 🤩. rip all my fragile resins.

notes: gn!child!reader, NOT AN X READER READER IS A CHILD IN THIS!!!

Arlecchino was working when the caretaker had entered her office. She suppressed her disdain and annoyance as she asked the caretaker what was so important her work time had to be disrupted.

Arlecchino immediately stood up and stormed towards the caretaker when she heard your name.

“Y/N had gotten in a fight with another child? Two children?” Arlecchino pursed her lips, eyebrows furrowed. The caretaker elaborated more, handing her two distinct blades, one stained with blood.

“We have them in their room right now. The other two is in the infirmary. How would a child get their hands on such dangerous objects?” The caretaker commented, as Arlecchino took both blades, clutching both helms with one hand.

“I will deal with this.” Arlecchino walked out of her office, marching towards the infirmary. After all, you could use some more time to reflect before you would meet her.

You sat on your bed, knees to your chest and head on your knees as you stared at the wall. Father’s broken compass was next to you, the needle finally taking a rest. You could imagine the children outside gossiping and decreasing your odds of ever making friends in this hellhole of an orphanage. How you had injured the most popular kid. 

Father made sure you knew not to care about what the others said about you. And you didn’t at all.

Father.

How was Father taking in the information?

Surely Father was already informed about the fight. 

Your heart sank a little when you tried to imagine how Father was feeling. The betrayal. The hurt. The shock that you had used your new toys Father had only taught you on one of your ‘kin’. Perhaps the boy was right. In the end of the day Father might as well revoke everything she had given you. Including this room.

The sound of the doorknob twisting open shattered your confidence and determination you had about the fight, the sounds of Father’s heel clicking against the marble ground sending spiders down your spine. You felt a dip in the mattress being created, as Father sat down next to you, mere inches away. Father sat there, observing your hunched figure with a stoic expression in the deafening silence. You heard her pick up her broken compass-the gift she had given you to take care of. And it was completely shattered.

“...I’m sorry.” You murmured, breaking the silent barrier. “I tried to stop them from breaking it.”

Father let out a chuckle. “Anything that can break will break. Some can be fixed, some cannot.” 

You felt Father’s eyes pierce your skull, causing your gaze to fall even lower. To your surprise, a hand was placed on your head, combing through your hair. You were shuffled closer to Father’s body, until your shoulder touched hers. “How are you feeling, dear? Are you alright?”

Father was… comforting you? 

Your shoulders relaxed a little, but they were still stiff.

“I-I’m… okay.”

“Did they hurt you in any way?” You bit your lips, the conversation one of the orphans had with you while their foot was on your head was still fresh in your mind.

“Yes…” You mumbled, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

Father noticed-of course she did-, and placed her hand in yours, rubbing small circles on your palm.

“How so?”

You looked down. “...They started it.”

“Okay.” Father said calmly. “How so? And do look at me when you do.”

You reluctantly lifted your head, meeting Father’ surprisingly warm and calm gaze. “I was admiring the compass you had given me. And then one of them tripped me and took the compass and started playing with it. The other one shoved me and placed his feet on my head and pressed it down.”

You swore you saw Father’s eye twitch at your last sentence. 

“The one pressing my head against the ground told me I had to ask you to have a smaller room, no dessert, last in line and an earlier curfew than the other orphans.” You spat each word out with poison. “They threatened to break Father’s compass if I did not do what they said. He shoved me first and attacked me. Father said if I was attacked first I could use my toys. So I did. I tried talking to them first but they wouldn’t listen. I did what Father said to do before I used my toys.”

Father remained silent, as her hand brushed over the area the boy had stepped on your head. “Does your head hurt now?”

“A-A little… b-but it's nothing…” 

Father ignored your comment, as she lifted your body so you were on her lap. She examined the area the boy stepped on. Placing a single finger on the area was enough to make you shiver, the corners of your eyes burn and tears threatening to fall.

“My poor child…” Father sighed, wrapping her arms around your frail body.

Now your tears were really threatening to fall. “I-I’m sorry for using my new toys on the other orphans… I’m sorry for disobeying Father’s rule… I promise it won’t happen again. F-Father can take away my room a-and move me back to that room w-with the other orphans, put me last in line for food and give me an earlier curfew. I’ll take it without complaint. I d-deserve it for disappointing Father.”

“Nonsense, my child.” Father placed her fingers on your chin, forcing you to look her in the eyes. She moved her hand to your cheek, wiping your tears away with a gentle wipe of her thumb. “None of those things will happen. I will not punish you for acting in self defense. I am not disappointed in you for trying to defend yourself.”

“B-But-”

“No buts. What happened has happened. You are hurt; they are hurt. Adding more pain and suffering to one side of the scale will not make it balanced nor just.” Father’s lips turned into a thin smile, as she let out a sigh. “Come. Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed, okay? It has been a long day for you.”

Father lifted you up in her arms, cradling you as she carried you to what you could only assume to be her private bathroom, seeing she had walked past the showering hall. 

“Father…?” You hesitantly asked.

“Yes, my dear?”

“...Why did you give me all those perks? A new room, first in line, no curfew?”

Father let out a sigh. “Even looking back I do not understand why I had the urge to do all those for you. I suppose it was because I was concerned and worried about you, my child. I could not bear to watch you sit alone and always get the last pick for everything. I could not bear to sit in the sidelines and watch you try and hold your tears back as you watched dust move across the ground. I could not bear to watch the other children treat you like filth when you were the kindness out of all. I believed that giving you some perks would help make your stay more… comfortable.”

Father paused. “Has it… made your stay more comfortable?”

You looked at the ground, your head resting on Father’s shoulder. “A little…”

Father let out a chuckle. “Better than none.”

Father carried you to her private bathroom, setting you down in the tub as she lathered soap across your back and body, washing your hair. Her touch was delicate and gentle, never lingering in one spot for too long or applying a large amount of pressure. Father dried you with one of her towels, dressing you in silk pajamas before carrying you back to your room. You found it hard to believe. You had injured two of Father’s children, and yet while they were in the infirmary, legs immobilized, you were wearing silk pajamas, being washed by Father, and coddled all along the way.

As Father laid you down in bed, brushing your hair one last time and planting a kiss on your forehead, you couldn’t help but ask.

“Why does Father treat me so well? Father w-wouldn’t do any of this for the others, would she?” You blurted out.

Father chuckled at your question, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards. “Perhaps it is true I treat you much differently and better than the rest. Perhaps I do have a sense of favoritism towards you. Perhaps it is because I see a part of me in you. No matter. Soon, my dear child, all of this will be over. I will deal with this. Do not worry about the other two children. Get some rest, my child, and all will be well. I will be coming back shortly to deliver you dinner.”

Father walked away, turning off the lights in your room as she shut the door. You laid there on your bed, her words echoing in your head. Father saw herself in you? Your little mind didn’t know how to think about that.

But all you knew was that Father cared for you.

Father loved you. 

Father was not mad. 

Father said everything will be better.

So everything will be better.