-> I Am Like You - So Never Abandon Me. In This World, It Will Be Me And You Side By Side.

Being on a hot springs vacation with Lilia and Malleus was a rather daring endeavor. (18+, minors dni. Gender neutral.)

Crowds were spread out in cliques, in a seemingly empty corner sat the two fae and yourself inbetween...

Your face red and not from the warm and relaxing water, but from the hands that naughtily caressed you beneath the water. Malleus was tall and able to shield you from prying eyes, whilst Lilia pulled you into his lap and nibbled your ear.

"You musn't make a sound, little bat," Lilia purred seductively into your ear. You were distracted by the large hands that touched your inner thigh and teased your most sensitive parts, Malleus chuckling at the twitching and trembling of your body.

"You look to be in pure bliss right now," Malleus pointed out with your hazy eyes staring at him with little thought through the wafting steam, "I wonder how long until someone hears the way you allow two fae to violate you in such a public space..." You let out a high pitch whimper as Lilia bit down on your neck then same time as Malleus teased your gentiles skillfully with his fingers leaving you tingling from head to toe.

You felt your heart leap out of your chest once the sound escaped your dirty lips- sobering up from the pleasure quickly attempting to wiggle out of Lilias grasp and frantically looking to see if anyone had noticed. Malleus used his other hand to roughly grab you by the cheeks and look him into his lustful glowing green eyes, his smile mischiveous and plotting.

"Careful, my treasure. Or are you perhaps hoping someone finds us out? Hmm? Are you interested in being displayed as ours?" He turned your head to bite your cheek before Lilias hands had pulled you back down into his lap once more, the water swooshing around with the movement causing your heart to thump at the noise it made.

"Oh no need to be so mean, the poor thing is trembling...." Lilia used his tongue to lick the nape of your neck, then planting a kiss upon your shoulder.

"They will be quiet now, won't you?" You nodded obediently before settling back down into their touch and melting between the heat making you dizzy and the pleasure leaving you breathless. It was cute, watching you bite back moans with every new touch they put upon your body. Just the idea of being caught only aroused you more, almost leaving you whimpering and grinding against Malleus's hand for more of a release. Afraid of being caught, however, left you hesitating and on edge simply waiting to see how much further they would go beneath the hidden protection of the springs steam and the others distractions.

Over and over they made it abundantly clear punishment awaited you for everytime a sound you made could be misconstrued and leave you in trouble.

What they wouldn't tell you, however, was the spell Malleus placed masking the three of you completely from strangers gazes.

As well as the "punishment" that awaited you back in the room they had rented <3

~~~

@masquerade-of-misery you can thank Nessy for this wonderful idea <3 heuheuehu.

Platonic yandere fatui(plus the tsaritsa) thoughts? Doesn't matter if reader is young, teenager or adult lol

Once again going purely off vibes bc we don’t know much about most of them!

Just gonna write small excerpts for each of them but feel free to request more in-depth hcs for any of them! Scaramouche already has a full set here! 💕💕

Pierro is the strict father figure. What he says goes and will be obeyed without question. If he tells you to stay with one of the harbingers for the day then that’s where he expects to find you. When he gets to spend time with you himself though, he’s a lot softer and happy to do whatever activities you would like to

Capitano is like a second shadow. He doesn’t really interact with you face to face, preferring to stand nearby and watch over you like a guardian. The type of friend that scares off people who make you uncomfortable except 10x scarier

Columbina is the clingy best friend. She’s practically attached to your hip at all times and loves to drape herself over you at every opportunity. She gets super pouty when you pay more attention to others in her presence

Arlecchino is the doting older sister. She brushes your hair for you, she makes you breakfast, she escorts you if you’re going out anywhere. But she also likes to keep you on a strict routine and doesn’t take nicely to transgressions. It’s for your safety after all

Dottore is the scary cousin. The one you dread to spend time with because he’s always up to something and insists you help with his schemes. Sometimes he makes you sit and watch whilst he does autopsies on the recently deceased, and you could swear some of them look eerily familiar

Signora is the pampered friend. She likes to show you off by walking side by side with you. But not before she’s picked out what you’re wearing, and done your hair and makeup. She wants to be seen with you, but you have to match her standard. You have to show everyone why she’s the only one fit to stand at your side as your dearest friend

Pantalone is like your rich best friend that buys you whatever you desire. If you look at anything even a fraction of a second too long, Pantalone will have his wallet out before you can blink. He’s also definitely not above bribing people to stay away from you if he doesn’t like them hanging around

Sandrone is the smothering mum friend. She pampers you and loves to dress you up and just sit around with you. Doesn’t let you do anything yourself in fear of hurting yourself and insists on leaving everything to her puppets

Tartaglia is like the fun older brother. He already has experience looking after his younger siblings so you’ll be joining them. He likes to take you to fights to show off but won’t let you try incase you hurt yourself. He is fiercely over protective as well, anyone who dares to even look at you wrong can expect to be on the wrong end of his bow

The Tsaritsa is like an overprotective mother. She fears for your safety out in the big scary world, so she keeps you safe in the expanses of Snezhnaya where she and her trusted harbingers can watch over you

YANDERE FATUI/HARBINGER SCARA>>>>>>>

The way he would kill anyone who would even look at you, if their someone in the fatui or Harbingers he will try and make their life hell (and he would succeed) wether you know his actions or not

Perhaps it’s fear, admiration, love, it doesn’t matter it’s the way you look at him the way he knows your calling to him, your his

I LOVE THE WHOLE HARBINGER, AND YANDERE AESTHETIC FOR SCARA

From aree: hard agree with you, anon. Harbinger Scara as a Yandere just hits all the right boxes. Hope you don't mind me writing a short lil bit right here. I sort of hyperfixated on the staring thing.

tw for implied human experimentation and slight body horror

always watching// yandere!scaramouche

Scaramouche seems to get lost in his own thoughts a lot, staring off into the distance.

The Fatui grunts know better than to approach him when he's stuck in his own head. None of them can exactly tell whether he's simply bored at the moment or he's planning another murder that would change the course of history, but either way, getting close while he's thinking does not bode anyone well.

Currently, they've taken to noticing that his eyes always seem to find their way to you when he's deep in thought. His eyes are a burning glare, almost willing with focus alone for your very body to combust into a flurry of flames on the spot.

But of course, you stay safely intact, Scaramouche is left to stew in his self-imposed hatred for you and anyone bearing witness to all this tries their best to steer clear of the angered Harbinger whilst wondering what you did to earn such negative emotions. However, there are those who notice that his anger is not exactly aimed at you, but more so what you're doing.

Because once your attention is on Scaramouche, it's as if all the anger fizzles out - his face could be carefully blank or a smirk or a cruel laugh. The anger only comes back full force when you're looking away. Some of the grunts have taken to wondering: is he pretending to be cordial with you, while sending you hateful looks when your back is turned? He must hate you, right? But that didn't make sense, Scaramouche didn't even bother to hide his disdain for the other Harbingers, so why make the effort for you?

Why is he glaring at you like that?

Scaramouche hates it when your attention is on someone else. Thankfully, none have made the connection. But even if they did, they'd sooner use the knowledge to their advantage before saying it to his face. So for now, as far as he knows, you and the Fatui are none the wiser.

He hates it. Why? Just why? Surely, you can tell he wants to keep talking to you, even when he spits insult after insult, telling you your very presence was annoying, how you keep wasting his time with small talk when you can just get to the point. But you don't. There's a limit to how much of his disdain you can take, and when you walk away from him to continue your other duties, only then does he realize he has spread too much of himself to leave some room for you. But it's too late. And he does it again and again. You'll come back to him again, he'll insult you again, and you'll leave… again.

If there's anything he's thankful for it's that you still keep coming back, so surely, you feel an ounce of whatever he feels for you as well? Why else would you come back to him only to be ridiculed to hell and back? Yes, surely you love him. Even if it's just a fraction, it's a fragment Scaramouche is willing to guard with his life until he can take more of it.

So when he notices that some people have started occupying your time more and more, well, he's not thrilled, at the very least.

He thought he made peace with that fact a long time ago. Of course you need to talk to other people. Humans are social creatures that thrive off of the interactions they make day by day. It was annoying, but he could let it go. Until he realized the more time you spent with them, the less he got with you.

The realization kicked in when he approached you while you were talking to a Fatui skirmisher. You nod at him and he opens his mouth to say something before you immediately turn back to continue your previous conversation. He gapes for a second, for the first time caught off-guard by your actions, before he's gritting his teeth and snapping at you. The Fatui skirmisher makes an escape for it the moment they find an opening - Scaramouche will be sure to give them a fitting punishment later - before he turns to you and all the fire is put out once more. Your expression is confused and he'd be lying if he said the small fear he sees in your eyes makes him uneasy.

He staves off from seeing you for a while as he cools his head, but that idea backfired hard when he all but ran around Zapolyarny Palace looking for you. When you greet him again, like nothing was ever wrong, Scaramouche makes a promise to himself. It's not like you were the problem. He sees the way you smile at others and he's sure against all doubt that it's emptier compared to when you talk to him. It's everyone else. Everyone else was the problem.

Besides, it's not like he can stop you from whatever you were doing. If he did, you'd start acting differently toward him, too. Your smile would drop whenever he was in the area. You'd wear simpler clothes when you were with him. You'd lose your voice whenever he was in your line of sight. So no, making you stop was not part of the solution.

He just had to make everyone else stop.

Scaramouche thinks they are underestimating how he watches. He has his eyes on you, yes, but that doesn't mean he is no longer aware to what happens around the two of you. He's not all that concerned, however, not anymore. Years of patience has taught him well how to deal with humans. He is well prepared for small little hiccups such as this. He won't hurt them, oh no, not yet. The Fatui needs as many of its people in tip top shape as much as possible, so he can't lay a hand on them.

All is fair outside the organization, however.

Whoever has found themselves under his watchful gaze will discover a lovely little package waiting back home for them. Inside, they will find two perfectly preserved eye balls bobbling up and down in a glass case of unidentified liquid. Scaramouche thinks its a fun game for the offender - how long will it take for them to find out which loved one the eyes belong to? (He should thank the Doctor for extracting the eyes from the host so flawlessly. He just hopes the mad man kept his promise and returned the person where they were last found, and not confined them into another experiment table. Then again, he couldn't care less what comes after. He wipes his hands clean from that.)

It's a threat and a warning all rolled into one gift, tied together tightly with a bow not unlike Scaramouche's love for you. The message is clear.

Keep your eyes to yourself.

Pretty soon, almost any and every grunt notices Scaramouche's eyes on you. But in the rare chance that the anger is not there, and there is only you, his eyes seem to say only one thing.

Look at me.

 ＝＝✿＝＝｜✧••❀••✧｜＝＝✿＝＝

✨ Masterlist ✨

Taglist: 💛@wonpielle 💜@shikanosn

🌙 Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

Title: Rotting Divinity.

Pairing: Yandere!Scaramouche x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.9k.

TW: Reader Is Referred To As A Shrine Maiden But Gender Neutral, Set A Few Years After Dottore Starts Experimenting On Scaramouche, Unhealthy Relationships, Obsessive Behavior, Kidnapping, Themes of Chronic Illness, and Mentions of Human Experimentation.

Scaramouche opened his eyes as the sun set, casting the sky a dull pinkish blue. You were standing above him, a straw basket on your hip and a frown tugging on the corners of your lips.

He let a groan as he hauled himself into a more dignified position, palms planted in the raw dirt and dried grass caught in his hair. One glance was spared to establish that he was no longer in the Doctor’s cramped observation room, all cold stone walls and porcelain tables with leather straps stapled into each corner, before his attention settled on you. “Mortal,” he barked, speaking loudly enough to hear himself over the pain still buzzing in his skull. “Which island is this?”

“Yashiori, near Serpent’s Head,” you muttered, disappointment heavy in your tone. When he clicked his tongue, you went on, your frown deepening. “You ruined my herb garden.”

Had he? He couldn’t remember anything after the Doctor worked those long, tapered needles underneath the skin of his forearms; after an iron mask was forced over his mouth and nose and he began to think his body may tear itself apart before that sadist had the chance to. He wasn’t supposed to be in Serpent’s Head. He wasn’t supposed to be on Yashiro at all. He hadn’t meant to be here, and yet, he’d be thrown in a cage of iron bars and subjected to another round of testing as soon as he trudged back to that dungeon of a facility. Thinking about the feeling of thick, pulsing electricity coursing through his hollow limbs was enough to send a familiar bolt of agony down the length of his spine. It was little more than a phantom, a shadow of the torture it would take to unlock his truepotential, but it was enough to leave him curling into himself involuntarily, glaring at the soil with a hollow type of malice.

He would’ve recovered in a second – less than a second, a moment, a breath – if you hadn’t fallen to your knees at his side, cooing as you pressed the back of your hand into his forehead. “Are you hurt?” If he’d tried to answer, his response would’ve been lost to your fussing, the way you hummed and shook your head as you hauled him to his feet. “Body aches? Migraines? Whatever it is—” An arm was drawn over your shoulders, his weight forcibly rested on you. “—I’m sure I have something for it inside. A place for you to rest, too – however you got here, the journey had to be burdensome.”

He considered protesting. Even in the state he’d been reduced to, it would’ve taken nothing to pry himself away from you, to shatter your ankles underneath his heel and leave you begging for the mercy of the creature you’d tried to pity. He could’ve penned a letter to the Doctor as you bled out in the soil of your own garden, recovered his strength as he took your body apart and fed your remains, piece by piece, to whatever scavengers would have you. He could’ve, if he’d wanted to. He could’ve, but then, he saw what you were wearing.

The sleeves of your kosode were rolled neatly to the elbow, the hems of your pleaded hakama dusted with dirt and grass stains. Unlike the maidens of Watatsumi and the Grand Narukami Shrine, you wore neither red nor blue, but white. Pure, never-ending white.

Scaramouche went limp in your hold, his eyes falling shut as you let out a surprised laugh, doing your best to accommodate his now-dead weight. He could kill you tomorrow, he figured. It was already dusk, and while he didn’t mind traveling at night, he knew the Doctor wouldn’t begin to wonder where he was until the sun rose tomorrow morning. He wasn’t a dog, eager to crawl home and prove his obedience. He could wait until he was called for.

At least, by then, your worrying might’ve done something to dull the burn of the electricity underneath his skin.

~

“So, you’re telling me that this is a waste of time.”

You ignored him with a light hum, a quick movement of your tasseled gohei. Normally, daily rites were something to be performed quickly and efficiently before the unlucky shrine maiden responsible for carrying them out returned to scrubbing floorboards and disturbing fortunes, but in a life as slow as yours, with so little to occupy the many hours of your countless days, even repetitive tasks such as this were given an unnecessarily artistic flourish. Scaramouche might’ve called it indulgent, if he ever decided to be so kind to you.

Currently, you were dancing in front of a dilapidated shrine at the base of the snake’s skull; the paint mostly chipped away and the wood close to rotting. You’d explained, four days after he first allowed you to haul him into your ancient cabin, that you would be responsible for rebuilding it once it inevitably collapsed, an honor only bestowed upon caretakers every few centuries, and he’d told you that you ought to save yourself a few decades and tear it down that day, but you’d only laughed. Most things he said made you laugh.

He'd noticed early on that you were of a weak constitution. Dark bags circled under your eyes despite how often and how deeply you slept, and you seemed unable to carry anything heavier than what could fit in one of your woven baskets. There should’ve been another shrine keeper, if not several. And, if there could only be one, then it shouldn’t have been you.

Still, Scaramouche was glad that you had been chosen, even if you were a bad fit for the position. If it’d been anyone else, he would’ve had to get rid of them days ago, and he was thankful to be spared the effort.

“It’s not,” you said, consciously clipping his choice of words. You finished your rite with a deep bow, then turned to Scaramouche. “Shows of dedication make him happy.”

“He being…” His gaze drifted upward, to the fanged skull. Orobashi no Mikoto – the beast’s name provided by some nameless well of knowledge that seemed to linger in the space between the back of his throat and the pit of his chest. Consciously, the only title Scaramouche had ever thought to put to the serpent was that of ‘festering remains’. “…the fucking corpse?”

“If you keep using that kind of language, you might have to start sleeping outside.” You took up the basket of lavender melons you’d (admittedly, unwisely) left in his care, snatching it away before he could add to the small pile of black seeds stacked on his opposite side. Your hastiness left one of the rounder melons toppling over the well-worn edge, though, and he caught it with a single hand, grinning as he dug his teeth into the ripe flesh and claimed it for himself. You rolled your eyes, but quickly occupied yourself with clearing away yesterday’s fruit from the shrine. “It’s not complicated. We keep him happy, hold our rites and make our sacrifices, and he ensures that my crops grow quickly and the village prospers.” A pause, a smile thrown carelessly over your shoulder. You smiled as easily as you laughed, something that irritated Scaramouche to no end. “If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be recovering half as quickly as you are.”

Right. It was too easy to forget that there was a pretense to his time with you; that he was supposed to be some wayward, ailing traveler with a mysterious condition your charms and cures could only keep at bay. He wasn’t lying to you. All he did was lie back and let you fuss over his nonexistent pulse, the bloodless pallor of his skin, the way his temperature never seemed to rise above that of damp clay. He wasn’t like the Doctor – scheming and underhanded, prone to leading his victims in circles before gifting them with the mercy of a slow death – or the priestess he could only vaguely remember from his first days, all dark eyes and whispers of a merciful death. You liked doting on him, and he didn’t mind keeping his mouth shut.

“Don’t give yourself too much credit.” He dug his teeth into the lavender melon as you gathered your things, sugary juice turning his lips tacky as he went on. “I’ve always been hard to kill.”

You came to stand above him, your smile small and eyes vaguely narrowed. “If you’re feeling that strong,” you started, holding your now-emptied basket in front of you. “Then you shouldn’t mind weeding the garden and fetching water, this afternoon.”

It only took him a moment to think to protest, but you were already gone, stumbling down the mountainside as he hastily pushed himself to his feet. He called your name, but he could already hear your voice – rising above his in one of your obnoxiously repetitive hymns and drowning him out as he chased after you.

~

The villagers welcomed you as sheep welcomed field dogs; from a distance.

Scaramouche trailed behind you as you plodded through the humble village, humming and clutching your basket close to your chest, fiddling nervously with the pure-white material of your sleeves. The crowd parted around you, twin walls of watchful eyes and hushed voices forming well-ahead of your path and collapsing as you strode past them, either unable or unwilling to acknowledge the thick silence that seemed to hang over you like a shroud. Occasionally, you’d stop at a stall or a doorway, handing off bundles of wrapped herbs to gloved and trembling hands, and less often, you’d send him a smile over your shoulder, your tired eyes wrinkling at the corners, as if apologizing that he had to come along for such a dull errand. That was how you described it, when he asked where you went off to every few days. ‘Just a quick errand,’ you’d said, as you tried to convince him to stay behind yet again. When he cited your poor health and his growing concern that he’d find you dead in that garden of yours one day, you didn’t waver. ‘You’ll only be bored if you come. The villagers aren’t very friendly.’

Scaramouche decided, mostly on a whim, that he would burn down this village before he returned to the Doctor. If he had time.

He moved to rush forward, to place himself at your side, but a hand shot out of a narrow alleyway and caught him by the wrist. It was a middle-aged blacksmith, judging by the ash smeared across his cheeks, the thick apron hanging from his neck. Scaramouche was quick to pull out of his filthy grasp, but he spoke regardless, his voice low and rough. “Mind your distance, boy.” A glance towards you, a deep sneer. “Don’t you know who that is?”

Scaramouche glanced over him, fighting the urge to scoff. “Why is no one speaking to the healer?”

“That’s no healer, that’s the shrine maiden.” He said it as if he’d caught Scaramouche attempting to throw himself into a rifthound’s mouth. “They cultivate the serpent’s remains. You’ll be dead in a week if you—”

This time, Scaramouche was the one to reach out, his hand wrapping around the blacksmith’s neck. By instinct, a bolt of pure, searing electro shot from his palm into the man’s neck, leaving him limp and convulsing in Scaramouche’s hold. Scaramouche released him as the last of the aftershocks faded, watching him collapse to the ground before planting his heel on the man’s diaphragm, prepared to shift his weight and crush whatever laid below his foot should the blacksmith say something to displease him.

“I’ll ask again,” he said, slowly, ozone thick in the air. “Why is no one speaking to the healer?”

~

Scaramouche returned to your cabin closer to sunrise than sunset. Somewhere, back in the village that he would see reduced to embers if it was his last act on the face of Teyvat, the charred remains of a blacksmith smoldered at the bottom of a stone well, and he opened the door to your ramshackle home with enough force to tear the rotted piece of wood from its hinges.

You were kneeling beside your work table, grinding dried lavender petals into a fine powder. He closed the space between you in a breath, knocked the pestle from your hand in another, then collapsed beside you. “You’re going to die?”

You eyed the spilled lavender wearily. “Even the archons will fall, eventually.”

He let out a ragged sob, burying his face in the dip of your shoulder. You allowed him to, your arms coming up to wrap loosely around him. You’d always been weak, but now, you seemed as feeble as a morning gale.

He was unable to speak, so you took up the mantle, tracing idle patterns into the base of his spine as you went on. “I know what they tell newcomers, about dead gods and their rot, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. He gifts us with herbs to cure our sick and soothe our elders and in return, someone sacrifices a few years. The villagers might not be able to linger, but they make sure I’m taken care of.” He felt you smile, heard you laugh. “So long as I get to help people, I don’t mind making sacrifices.”

“Other people don’t matter.” It took him longer than he cared to admit to pry himself away from you, to straighten his back and drag a deep breath into his aching lungs. He was thankful, not for the first time, that he couldn’t cry. You would only think him irrational if he fell apart so visibly. “How long do you have?”

Your head lulled to the side, your attention drifting to some indistinguishable point on the far wall. “Only the gods can say what fate has—”

“How long?”

“…another year.” Your tone carried a sort of detached acceptance, as if you couldn’t summon the energy to care. “Maybe two. The last caretaker was very fortunate – he survived half a decade in his position.”

He tried to speak, to scream at you for not telling him sooner, but his voice caught in his throat and you reached up, cupping his face in both hands. Slowly, with a dry chuckle, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. The cool porcelain of his skin sapped the warmth from yours, but for once, you didn’t seem to mind his unusual anatomy. “I hope I’ll be able to cure you, before I’m gone.” You were mumbling, now, speaking barely above your breath. “Do you think you’ll be able to stay for a little longer?”

He tried to answer, but you’d fallen asleep on top of him by the time he opened his mouth.

~

He left the next morning, while you were still tucked underneath a small pile of furs and quilts. A letter was penned and sent to the Doctor’s base, a caddy of wildflower seeds purchased from a young girl peddling wares by the side of the road, and he returned to your cabin just as your sleep turned restless. When you rose an hour past noon, he pestered you into taking him to the groove near the shoreline. By the time you returned, chiding him for distracting you from your responsibilities and pointedly ignoring the basket full of fruit at your hip, the sun was low in the sky and masked soldiers had stamped your garden into the ground. Your cabin was in flames and your shrine had been reduced to little more than a pillar of smoke in the distance.

Whatever concern you might’ve held for him was immediately forgotten. Dropping your basket, you moved to run towards the embers of your home, but Scaramouche caught you – one hand on your shoulder, another on your waist. Careful not to break what couldn’t be repaired, he forced you onto your knees, letting you scratch at his wrists as you screamed, the noise anguished and ragged. Masked soldiers gathered in the outskirts of his vision, but he bared his teeth, keeping them at a distance as you thrashed in his steadfast hold. Once he took you somewhere else, somewhere better, you’d be able to calm down.

Once he got you away from your rotting god and your unthankful village, you’d be able to worship something worth your time.

A moment passed, then another. Finally, the Doctor emerged from the crowd, his white coat unmarred by the ash in the air. He regarded you with a grin, then looked to Scaramouche. “This is the filthy toy you’d like to take home?”

It was a foolish question, undeserving of an answer. Scaramouche countered with one of his own. “Can you fix them?”

“Can I save a human being who’s been brought to the brink of death and infected thoroughly with the rot of divine remains?” The Doctor hummed, clicked his tongue. “That depends, little puppet. How much time are you willing to spend on my vivisection table?”

Scaramouche glowered, but he didn’t protest. Rather, he pulled you close – your crying softer, now, your struggling impossibly weak – and held you against his chest as he responded. “Do what you have to. They’ll be staying in my chambers, and you won’t lay a hand on them without my permission, doctor.”

“I do wish you could call me Dottore.” He sighed, shaking his head. His acquiescence was communicated with a dismissive roll of his wrist, a silent order communicated to his lackeys. His soldiers moved to take you up, but he kept you in his arms as he pushed himself back to his feet, letting you cling to and beat against his chest in tandem.

Your voice was hoarse, your shoulders trembling. Tears streamed freely from your eyes, and he allowed himself to wonder how poorly you would take it if he ran his tongue over your cheeks. “You— You monster. Hundreds of people will—"

“You said you wanted to stay with me, right?” His smile wasn’t as soft as yours, as comforting, but he did what he could. You let out another agonized sob, crumbling against him as he let his lips ghost over your forehead, speaking against your skin and above your wordless cries.

“Now, there’ll be nothing in the world capable of taking you away from me.”

Thinking about Ex!Aventurine who doesn't have much of a reaction to your break-up, who is certain you'll crawl back to him within three days at most.

Ex!Aventurine who goes on about his life, after all, every second is worth precious credits. Days, weeks, months and then a few years pass and one day, the realization that you may actually have moved on from him crashes atop him like a pile of bricks.

Ex!Aventurine who tries to contact you through your number and social media, only to find that he's been blocked everywhere. No matter how many fake accounts he makes and how many texts and calls he sends you, you just don't respond and it frustrates him so much.

Ex!Aventurine who is ecstatic when he sees you again in Penacony, sprinting his way to you and ready to give you a hearty reprimand on your prolonged avoidance.

Ex!Aventurine whose heart sinks when he sees you coiled around the arms of another, smiling and laughing in pure happiness and paying not a millisecond of attention to him. Is this a joke?

Ex!Aventurine who corners you when an opportunity arises, ready to strangle every answer out of you so please tell him this is just some prank and you still love him—and, his heart shatters when you give him the coldest truth of his life.

Yandere!Ex!Aventurine who feels the nudging of an infamous green monster every time he sees you with them in the halls of the Reveries or in dreamscapes. Who wants to tear his hair out when he sees you giving that dreamy look to that vermin, one he thought belonged only to him? Who wants to tear that imbecile limb from limb every time he touches your skin.

Yandere!Ex!Aventurine who wishes to turn back time and drag you back to him. Who drowns himself in liquor, round after round at the casino and the sweetest of dream bubbles, yet, nothing compares to your warmth. Whose regret and jealousy slowly eat away at his left-over sanity til he's on the verge of committing something that'll soothe his agony but, create one for you.

Yandere!Ex!Aventurine who spares no warning, catapulting mysterious debts and financial troubles your way with no trace that it was his doing. But when you still don't leave your so-called lover, he finally snaps.

Yandere!Ex!Aventurine who takes it slow, one by one, patiently and meticulously ; first the fingers, then the legs, then the eyes and at last the heart of your ‘beloved’. But is not satisfied still and has every piece of their remains fed to hungry wolves right in front of your eyes.

Then, Yandere!(No longer Ex?)Aventurine will come to you and wipe away your tears, shush your curses and hateful words with a kiss. Telling you to forget and resume what you had with him. And you absolutely cannot say no, after all, what other choices do you even have?

GENSHIN masterlist

yan! sagau archons ; hairstyling yan! sagau scaramouche ; resist yan! dentist dottore ; tolerate yan! scaramouche ; goddess yan! scaramouche ; you left me yan! sagau zhongli ; for you have skin as radiant as the sun zhongli ; your hands in mine yan! children zhongli & childe ; quarrels yan! sagau scaramouche ; don't leave zhongli ; farewell zhongli ; forever scaramouche ; leaving / pt2

SAY YOU'RE MINE ( childe ) LOVE ME OR NOT ( diluc & kaeya ) - chapters ; 1 2 3 { tbc }

might we see more yandere lilia... your way of writing him is so >>>>

You're too kind ♡ Thank you!

✧ CW: yandere character, manipulation, jealousy

✧ PAIRING: Lilia Vanrouge x GN! reader

Admittedly, Lilia thinks he may have been a little too soft on you

The realization only dawns upon him when he finds you in the hallway, after declining his offer to help you with some homework. He thought you did so because you were feeling unwell, or tired, but it was clearly not the reason. He notices, with a tinge of irritation, that you're holding your books, the polish on your little finger has chipped, and you're laughing, carefree and joyous, with one of your classmates. Bitterness fills his mouth when he realizes that you left him to spend time with someone else.

He doesn't let his irritation show, not even when he fluidly interjects your conversation to ask, his voice light, if you had gone to study with your friend.

"Yes," there's a faint giggle following your words, one that makes his eyes narrow, "He's been such a great help! I've never gotten so much done in a day."

Your callousness—your casual disregard for how he may feel hearing this—stings most. More than it does seeing another arm brush back your hair as you're leaving and your radiant smile directed to someone else when he's right there. More than the knowledge that he's been kicked to the curb so you could giggle away with someone else.

It appeared to him that you may have forgotten that Lilia was not always sweet and doting. You had gotten too used to your playful senior, unaware of the role he played many years ago in the Briar Valley. You had no clue that behind his gentle caresses were brutal strikes and behind his lively words, frightening commands.

But this could very well serve as a good opportunity for you to learn.

Lilia's initial plan was to target Malleus during Beanfest (all, of course, in good fun), but considering your recent show of ungratefulness, he decided to focus on you for a little while. He only wanted to scare you a little, just to shake you up and make you realize that Lilia could be frightening if he wanted to, and that you were extremely fortunate to be on the receiving side of his tender touch and not the cold point of his blade instead.

Honestly, he wanted to scare you just a little.

But seeing you sprawled below him, eyes wide and breathing shallow, heart pounding against your chest, your limbs unmoving and fear etched into every crevice of your figure, Lilia couldn't help but mess with you a little more. He leans in closer, letting you see the unfeeling hardness in his eyes and the menacing grin on his face, holding you still with an iron grip and digging his nails just enough to prick the skin of your cheek. The silence is deafening. He had planned well enough to lure you away from any crowds, leaving you even more terrified at the realization that there was nobody to help. Not that anyone in NRC was selfless enough to get in his way and sacrifice their lives for you.

"Caught you," his usual airy tone is completely gone, leaving behind something sinister and unsettling. He hears you exhale sharply, and watches as you begin to tremble as his hand squeezes you once more.

Then he pulled back with a light giggle, all previous signs of malice gone immediately and replaced by a mischievous grin.

"Oh? I didn't scare you too much, did I?"

Your lips part in an awkward, still-shaken laugh. Delight thrums in him as he observes how you still reach out to take his outstretched hand, despite how you're still reeling from the shock. There's still apprehension in the way you hesitate, and the heavy silence that follows, but Lilia wasn't bothered. He glances at your intertwined hands with a concealed smirk.

It was a lesson well learned.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

scaramouche + "won't you kiss me already? please, my lord?"

note: yandere, cheekiness, the audacity of it all

"No, no,” he says, voice thin and impatient. “Not like that.” He huffs, and you suddenly remember an old schoolteacher you had, who used to rap student’s palms with a stick when they were displeased. At least lord Scaramouche has no such stick. “You’re saying them like some schoolchild forced to read lines.” 

You, kneeling on a cushion, twist the fabric of your robes in your hand. Not out of anxiety, because you are far past feeling it today, but out of boredom. He’s been at this for far too long. 

“I don’t know how you would like me to say it, my lord.” 

His eyes roll until you’re sure they’ll stick in the back of his head. You’re about to tell him so, when he continues. 

“Are you daft? Say it like you’re in love.” He pauses. “No, more than that. You need to sound enamored. Obsessed.” 

You sigh, dryly, and let the long folds of your sleeves drop in boredom. 

“And why must I do this again?” 

It’s only to Scaramouche that you would ever dare speak so boldly, so casually, lacking the reverence expected of a handmaiden in your station. 

He snorts through his nose. 

“Isn’t it obvious? To show those other imbeciles that I have you. That I’m the one you chose.” He smirks a little, taunting. “Or do you pretend not to notice how they looked at you, before?”

You don’t point out that he chose for you, having petitioned the Tsaritsa to have you transferred to his service. A handmaiden, a servant, a lover--whatever you were to him, exactly. You weren’t sure if it was difficult to tell, or if Scaramouche himself didn’t exactly know. 

Instead, you rise--without being prompted, cheeky thing--and take his unsuspecting hands in yours. His fingers twitch, just enough for you to notice. 

“If you want someone to sound in love, enamored, and obsessed, my lord,” you say, letting a flicker of a smile grace your expression. “Perhaps you should do the talking.” 

The Tsaritsas and the Harbingers obsession

note -> These HCs are based off of the Pulcinella grandchild AU by @hunnieknight ! (I didnt include Signora cause she is 💀)

paring -> Yandere! Tsaritsa X gn! reader, Yandere! fem! harbingers X gn! reader

warnings -> yandere themed, blood, kidnapping.

content includes -> yandere! characters, obsessive! characters

The Tsaritsa

The first time the Tsaritsas had met you, she knew she was obsessed with you, she found you absolutely adorable

At first her obsession was only platonic, she adored you like a mother would adore a child, but as you grew and reached adulthood, so did her obsession

The Tsaritsas would often tell your grandfather to leave you with her, and while he didnt want to at first he eventually agreed

She would often spend time with you in her garden, the only place where the flowers bloomed, she made sure you knew that your only home is where she is, that that is where you belong, with her

The Tsaritsas wants you to be hers and only hers, but she doesnt mind sharing you with a few of her harbingers

Arlecchino

Arlecchino never had a good relationship with your grandfather, that was one of the reasons why she was suprised that you were his grandchild

Her obsession began when she met you during one of the meetings when your grandfather brought you with him, she knew she had to have you

While she knew that the Tsaritsa already had a unspoken claim on you, that didnt mean she could only have you to herself

Arlecchino would often bring you to the House of the Hearth, and while she May "love" you, she is no afraid of punishing you until you behave

Arlecchino agreed to share you with the Tsaritsa and the other harbingers, tasked to make sure you never escape their grasp

Columbina

Columbinas obsession started the first time she saw you, she found you absolutely adorable and she wants to make you hers

She knew the Tsaritsa and the others already had an obsession with you too, so all of them agreed to share you, which she was pleased with

Columbina would often sing to you to calm you down, especially after every punishment you were given for trying to escape your lovers

She, alongside Sandrone, would dress you in cute outfits and show you off as their precious doll

Columbina would make sure your grandfather doesnt mingle in your affairs, you now belong to the Tsaritsa and the other harbingers

Sandrone

Sandrone is not sure when her obsession started, but she knows she will make you hers, she doesnt care about the Tsaritsas claim on you, you are her perfect doll

She would dress you up and make you into the perfect doll for her and the others, she will make sure you are an obedient little doll just for them~

Sandrone often has one of her robots with you for protection, and to make sure you never escape them

She is the harshest when it comes to punishing you, thats why you always make sure you are obedient for her, because you know she will hurt you

Your poor grandfather has to deal with the fact that he will never see his precious grandchild again, but they could care less about him

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 🥰❤️‍🔥💝