Each Version Of Yan Scaramouche Throughout The Years Is Ridiculously Clinging In Their Own Strange Way. 

hihi i requested that scara and little sibling reader a little while ago and i loved it sm!! so here i am Requesting Again…. could you do something with scara/wanderer and a child little sibling kinda like the rly cute kaveh fic you reblogged where they ask him to do their hair? except he’s like uuuugggghhhhhhh 🙄🙄 fiiiine 😒😒 but while he’s doing it he’s actually super gentle and sweet about it despite trying not show it ^^

hairstyling.

summary. scaramouche and the wanderer style their sibling's hair.

trigger & content warnings. none applicable.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff. scaramouche & child!reader, wanderer & child!reader. 0.5k words. they/them pronouns for reader. this post is vaguely connected to what's with this sassy, lost child? but can be read as a standalone. author's thoughts. hello anon!! its lovely to see you again, please do feel free to request anytime <3 also you're so right that kaveh fic is so cute it deserves so many reblogs (me when i promote my mutual's work.... /lh).

scaramouche and the wanderer style [name]'s hair. how does it go?

scaramouche.

the balladeer seems annoyed when they meekly ask him to do their hair, his brow twitching. he's a busy man, you know? he doesn't have the time to spare for such simple tasks that they should easily be able to do on their own. it's their hair; why should he have to do it? they're big enough to know how to brush and style their hair, surely.

nevertheless, he scoffs, beckoning them over seemingly begrudgingly, as if this is the most demanding and inconveniencing thing they've ever asked of him.

he seems so aggravated, and yet...

it's with gentle, tender, patient fingers that he works apart the tangles in their hair. he never pulls hard, never gets angry and never just tears their knots apart with no regard to how such roughness would damage both them and their hair.

he's patient... but only to an extent.

he's patient when he begins slowly dragging the brush through their locks, soft when they whine about it hurting as his patience inevitably begins to run thin causing him to brush a little harder (though he doesn't outwardly apologize, he does get noticeably slower). despite his best efforts, the balladeer is impatient by nature. he can't maintain such a state forever.

their scalp would certainly be sore by the end, but their hair is prettily styled.

their big brother is not perfect, but he tries.

the wanderer.

the wanderer is gentler than the balladeer.

he's still rough around the edges, offering a scoff and some half-hearted complaint about how they can't do anything by themselves, but his faux irritation fades quickly into warmth as they settle down in front of him. he makes sure that they're comfortable before he begins.

he still works apart the tangles just as gently as before, but now...

the wanderer is somehow different than the balladeer. he's healing. he's recovering. slowly, he's coming back in touch with kunikuzushi, the innocent, doe-eyed, curious and kind side of himself, even if he still doesn't like to admit it. even if he still refuses to acknowledge that he was once like that. even if the rest of teyvat except the traveller, paimon, [name], and nahida has forgotten...

he's patient, genuinely patient.

the world is cruel, far too cruel for his sibling to handle, far too cruel for kunikuzushi to handle. he'd be damned if he displayed any of that cruelness towards them, even when doing something as simple as brushing their hair.

cruelty ruined him. it won't ruin them.

he offers short breaks when their scalp begins to get a bit too sensitive and sore to his motions, sharing a zaytun peach with them and asking how they want their hair styled. he takes note of their response and commits it to memory, ensuring that he doesn't get too focused and forgets their desires as a consequence.

his kindness is for their eyes to witness and their eyes only (and nahida's, he guesses...).

by the end, their scalp is pain-free and their hair is styled prettily.

the wanderer is not perfect, but he is at his best when it involves his baby sibling.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

begging for scaramouche brainrot crumbs 🙏🙏

Each strike of your blade is accompanied by the toll of bells, forming a dissonant threnody. 

The barrage never connects. Your intended target weaves back and forth, fluid as a river, evading each swipe. Scaramouche is but a blur of black, purple, and red. Your eyes struggle to discern his figure amidst the haze. Eventually, you jump back, hoping to create distance while you reevaluate. He mirrors your decision. Unlike you, however, his composure is impeccable. He examines his nails, appearing bored with your effort. 

“Are you finished?” He asks. “Or will you draw this out until you faint from exhaustion?” 

This taunt makes you bristle. “I’m not…!” 

“Let me finish that sentence for you,” his voice, once several yards ahead, now purrs behind your ear. “You’re not capable of besting me.” 

Scaramouche’s hand curls around your wrist. He applies pressure until your grasp on the blade’s hilt grows weaker. You grimace. The pain isn’t anywhere near what he could inflict, but your attempts to pull free make it worse. Noticing this, he clicks his tongue, relaxing his grip before your antics dislocate it. 

“Stubborn.” 

He accompanies this comment with a surge of electro. Not at you, no — your sword. You gawk in disbelief as the blade disintegrates. All that electricity and your skin barely tingled. The precision necessary to pull that off without harming you is astonishing. Inconceivable. 

“Satisfied?” Scaramouche hums, resting his chin on your shoulder. He only needs one hand to restrain both of yours. “Compared to me, you’re weak. What more proof do you require?” 

“I’ll… get stronger,” you pant. “You’ll see.” 

“Hm.” 

In an instant, he twirls you around, his hand holding your jaw. The ring adorning his middle finger is cool against your feverish skin. Much to your chagrin, he squishes your cheeks, chuckling at the resulting expression. You doubt your glare intimidates him any. Not when the pleased gleam in his eyes is so prevalent. 

“You know, I’m in a good mood,” he declares. From this perspective, you can see the flush lining his cheeks. He must not be immune to the adrenaline from battle. “Get creative with your apologies and perhaps… perhaps I’ll have mercy.” 

Oh shit lmao kokomi sorry I totally forgot to say

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ LITTLE PEARL. platonic kokomi & reader !

synopsis. a child appears on watatsumi island, lost and scared. what is kokomi to do, other than take care of them? contents. PLATONIC. referenced shipwreck & parental death. gn!reader. they/them pronouns used. hurt/comfort. 1.5k words. notes. hehe i thought so!! i didn't want to start writing until i was certain though :D hope you enjoy!!

Kokomi’s quiet evening—a rare luxury these days, one that she never saw enough of to get used to—came to an abrupt halt with a knock at her door.

She looked up wearily, already wishing she had retreated to her secluded cave instead of her room. The seats she had dragged in there might not be as comfortable as her plush armchair, but it carried one sacred trait that she craved most: privacy.

But alas, in times of unrest, Watatsumi Island couldn’t afford to be missing its leader. There were too many reports of discontent in the outer villages, that spoke of rising tensions and concerning food shortages. She had to be available within the Shrine at all times, lest she miss an important message and leave her people to fend for themselves. No amount of convincing from General Gorou would sway her to take some time away; as much as the idea of withdrawing from her duties for a night enticed her, she knew she was far too important. She would have to make do recovering energy in her room.

The knock sounded again, this time more urgent. It was accompanied by a muffled call of her name, stifling any chance she had of ignoring it and continuing to read.

“-1 energy,” Kokomi murmured to herself, setting her book down. She rose from her seat, crossing her room in two quick steps. When the door swung open, she was met with a soldier.

“Your Excellency!” The soldier exclaimed, bowing as she appeared. “Soldiers from the southern village have returned, with a criminal in tow. They were attempting to steal from the camp supplies, but they were caught, and brought back here.”

“The southern encampment has its own officers in charge of deal with wrongdoers.” Kokomi frowned in confusion. “Why have they been taken here instead of being sorted out there?”

“Well… there were two issues.” The soldier said sheepishly. “For one, they’re not a resident of Watatsumi. We aren’t sure where they came from, but no one recognized them.”

Kokomi hummed. While it wasn’t unheard of for travellers to find themselves on Watatsumi, especially after Inazuma’s borders were officially reopened, those who did were carefully documented by Sangonomiya officials. It was particularly odd for a stranger to have slipped past their notice and gotten far enough to steal from their supplies. “What was the second issue?”

“That…” He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. “That’s one that I think you will want to see for yourself.”

Kokomi raised an eyebrow, flitting through the possibilities in her mind. A mystery thief, unknown to the inhabitants of Watatsumi. From the soldier’s story, nothing stuck out as particularly notable. What could have the guards so vexed that they needed the Divine Priestess herself to solve the issue?

“Very well.” Kokomi said with a nod. “But please, explain to me everything that happened on the way.”

“Of course, Your Excellency.” The soldier bowed again, turning on his heel and leading the way. “Iwata was the one to discover them. He was trying to retrieve some seeds from the supply stores, when he found them rifling through the boxes.”

“What did they take?” Kokomi asked, as they turned the corner.

“Uh… food, I think. Some grain, a bit of the vegetables.” Curious. They must have been desperate, if they were resorting to stealing rations. “Anyway, he alerted the nearest samurai, who apprehended them. He suggested imprisoning them, but one of the elders talked him out of it. For starters, no one knows who they are so we didn’t know what kind of threat they might pose. Others opposed the idea because… well…”

The soldier pushed open the door, revealing the front of the shrine. Moonlight bathed the area in a dim glow, glinting across the shelled walls. In front of the palace stood a group of half-a-dozen soldiers, escorting one person towards the shrine. It was then that Kokomi saw their wide-eyed for the first time, and she realized what was so wrong with the scene.

“The criminal is—”

“A child.” Kokomi finished with a gasp. The thief couldn’t have been more than a young teen at the oldest, with watery eyes and tear streaks shining across their cheeks.

They looked—to put it bluntly—a mess. Their hair hung limply, tangled with sand and salt, their clothes were rumpled and covered in tears. They looked like something that had been dragged up from the bottom of the sea in a net, still dripping with water and covered in sand.

As the guard on their left pulled them forward, they let out a cry. Kokomi's eyes narrowed at his roughness, tugging on them carelessly like a ragdoll.

“Stand down, please.” Kokomi said calmly, waving away the guard. His grip on their arm only seemed to tighten, as vehement protests left his lips.

“Your Excellency! They were caught red-handed stealing from army supplies! I urge you not to treat this matter lightly just because—”

“Stand down, please.” Kokomi repeated, her voice turning steely. “Do not misunderstand me, soldier. That was an order, not a request.”

The guard turned red, but let go of the child’s arm. He bowed stiffly and stood back with the rest of his group, murmuring under his breath as he did. She elected to ignore him, as bold as the disrespect was, turning her gaze to the group.

“The rest of you, please return to your posts. I thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. You are all dismissed.” Kokomi said. All of the soldiers bowed to her—some more willingly than others—and slowly retreated from the shrine.

When they were out of eyesight, she turned back to the child, crouching until they were eye-to-eye. They shrunk away from her, stumbling on the steps in their haste to put distance between them. Something in her chest twinged at seeing just how skittish the child was, but she didn't let her expression waver.

“Hello there, little one.” Kokomi smiled warmly, her voice light. “I’m sorry for how roughly he treated you. My name is Kokomi, may I know your name too?”

“[Name],” they mumbled, still not meeting her eye. Their restless hands fiddled with the edge of their clothing, unraveling the already frayed stitches.

“[Name]… it suits you well. You must have lovely parents to give you such a nice name.” Kokomi paused. “Where are your parents, sweetheart?”

A shrug. Their eyes darted between her, and the guards still stationed at the side of the shrine.

“You don't know?”

Another shrug.

“Love, I'm here to help you.” She said softly, taking a cautious step towards them. When they didn't immediately retreat, she took another. “If you've gotten lost, and can't find your parents I'll do everything I can to reunite you with them.”

Their face scrunched up, and they murmured something quick that she barely managed to catch. “...They were with me on the boat.”

“What was that?”

“We... we were on the boat together.” They said quietly, clenching their tiny hands into fists. “They were with me when... when it started filling with water. They made sure I got onto the little boats, before... before...”

The pieces clicked in Kokomi's head, as the child burst into tears.

“I-I-I want them back!” They wailed, their words broken up by sobs.

“Oh my...” Kokomi said softly. “Oh my. Come, come here.”

She held open her arms in an invitation, waiting for them to move towards her. For a few moments they didn't move, only staring at her in between sniffles. She offered a small, comforting smile, and their hesitance broke, practically tackling her into a hug. She murmured comforts into their hair, as she held them close and tight to her chest. They continued to weep, all of their fear and stress spilling out in a messy wave of tears and snot.

“I'm so sorry, little one. I know this must be very hard for you, and you're being very brave.” She soothed, rubbing their back.

“Will you find them for me?” They asked, the question mumbled into the front of her clothes. Kokomi hesitated.

False hope would be cruel, but candor would be crueler. It wasn't the first time a ship had sunk in the Inazuma seas, but very few occasions returned with news of survivors. It was a miracle that they had lasted long enough to wash up on Watatsumi, but the chances of their parents doing the same were slim, especially if they hadn't already been discovered.

“I will do everything within my power to search for them.” Kokomi said carefully, making sure to add, “However, if we can't find them, I will be happy take care of you myself.”

They pulled away, and their eyes brightened through the glaze of tears. For the first time, hope seemed to bloom. “Promise?”

“I promise. Come with me, little pearl.” Kokomi said gently. “I’ll make sure you are well taken care of, alright?”

She held out her hand, and they tentatively grasped in in her own.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai.

6)Scaramouche

Yandere!Platonic!Scaramouche x Child! Reader

Let me be clear, Scaramouche isn't the worst platonic yandere among the harbingers, but he will treat those yandere who mercilessly trample your mental health, nerves and self-esteem. So...

The danger of this platonic yandere-7/10

Common features:

It is difficult for Scaramouche to define his yandere side, but it seems to me that he is conscious. He knows in advance that you will leave and it's not about escape, but about your mortality. Sooner or later it will happen, because of this, he will try to avoid and ignore your existence. However, the longer he does this, the worse he keeps himself in control.

The first time you meet, he will make you cry on purpose. And, at first, he will be pleased with the result, but then, when he remembers your tear-stained face, he will be, to put it mildly, unpleasant. Honestly, it surprises him. Does he feel sorry for you? It's ridiculous... However, whatever it was, he achieved his goal. Now not only is he trying to avoid you, but you shun him like a fire.

I can imagine that the fatal moment will be when one of your loved ones swings at you and he, arriving in a rage, simply will not be able to restrain himself. He didn't want to have anything to do with you because he didn't want to get attached and see your stupid death, but he wants to watch your suffering even less. In the end, after he deals with the objectionable person, he will just grab you painfully and drag you along, periodically throwing you something like: 'Don't break out', 'Shut up', 'try to hit me/bite me again and I will do the same with you as with (Name the abuser)'.

A special feature:

What makes him truly special among other yandere and even among ordinary people is his ability to learn. And I'm not talking about everyday things now, but about his ability to change his behavior towards you. He needs a lot of time and effort, but the progress he ultimately shows is huge. His grip is no longer as painful as it was in the beginning, his angry words about your weakness and pathetic are more like a grunt or a way to tease you.

BUT don't let that fool you, he's still yandere and if you don't notice it the first time, you'll definitely notice it after he takes you to Dottore and demands to make a potion of immortality for you.

An adorable feature:

He always holds your hand, it doesn't matter where you are, what his mood is and whether you want it. He will hold your hand. In the first days, he will hold out his hand to you and after a few seconds of waiting, he will order you to take it, and if you continue to stand in a stupor, he will simply grab your hand himself. It may be silly and strange for you, but it makes a huge difference for him. To know that you are there, that he has control over the situation, is of great importance to him.

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

get isekai’d into your gacha hell but every time you meet someone who has a soul-crushing heart-wrenching tear-inducing punch in the throat backstory you give them a non contextual hug (ft. 6reeze)

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.

... Working under the Balladeer's orders as one of the members of the Fatui.

You were new, and Scaramouche knew that well. He was even told by one of the harbingers that they were letting you work under his guidance as you were not... Fit to follow the stronger harbingers.

He saw you as a nuisance once. He never really liked you, and he thought that you were simply annoying. Repulsive, even. It was laughable with how many times he'd watch you fall.

However, he couldn't lie and said that when others did it... He found it annoying. Irritating.

You were his property, just like how everyone is his own to use and break. That was no exception, and everyone knew that.

So why the hell do they think they can toy with you?

He had found himself making sure your missions go smoothly, even going so far as to isolate you from everyone else. Hell, he even made sure that those who decide to pair with you knew the extremes that he will take should they fuck around and get you hurt.

If a single hair had been misplaced, hell will break loose.

Scaramouche is a ticking time bomb, and for his poor, sweet, accident and chaos magnet of a darling... He found himself about to explode.

Maybe, just maybe, he was aware of that. And maybe you were, too.

After all, he knew that if anyone had decided to simply hurt you so much as even breathing wrong in your direction, he would have their necks faster than they can beg.

Love is a twisted thing.

And Scaramouche will twist it till it breaks.

@.throw-letter-away | do not republish or repost my works anywhere | 2023

Make Me Your God, I Can Give You Everything

Yandere! Scaramouche x Broken! Reader

Part of {Mai Playlist}

“Do you love me?”

“Yes, my lord Scaramouche,”

“How much?”

“More than anything, my lord Scaramouche,”

“Would you kill for me?”

“Happily, my lord Scaramouche,”

“Would you die for me?”

“If it would please you, my lord Scaramouche,”

Like a broken record repeating the same phrase over and over, you spoke your words with little emotion, hardly even a change in cadence. You looked at him, but your eyes had lost that familiar glimmer, that light that he'd come to rather enjoy, even if it was annoying. That light was perseverance, it was hope, it was good drive and will, but now it was gone and you often just looked more like a doll than he did.

“What’s something that would bring you joy?” He asked. Typically, he wasn't one to spoil you, but the last few weeks of you just being so docile and…empty. It had him worried. He wanted that spark back, that light in your eyes. He wanted you back.

“You, my lord Scaramouche,”

“No,” he spat back angrily, “What will really bring you joy? What will make you happy?”

“Anything you offer me is a gift enough, my lord Scaramouche,”

Annoyance caused him to stand swiftly from his chair and march over to where you sat, still as a board and posture straight, just like he'd drilled into you many times before. When he raised his hand to strike you, you didn't even flinch, making him lower it in surrender. You were still as beautiful as the day he got you, still as soft and your voice still as sweet. But you were hollow. Had he truly broken you down so?

He slumped back in his seat and sighed out longingly and you still barely moved. He made a motion with his hand for you to come closer and without a word, you did, “Sit. Join me,” he ordered. Promptly, you sat on his lap, the weight of your body comforting him. You were still in there, somewhere.

“I didn't want this,” he mumbled, his face pressed into you back, arms wrapped around your waist.

“You didn't wish for me to sit here?” You questioned, preparing to stand, but he pulled you back down with little resistance.

“No. I didn't want you to end up like this,” he squeezed your waist a bit tighter, making you let out a shallow breath, “Why couldn't you just love me as you were before. Why did it have to come to this?”

“I do love you, my lord,”

He pushed you from his lap and you crumbled to the floor, still, with little resistance. You didn't look scared or shocked, you didn't even look hurt from the way you'd fallen. Just there. He remembers the last time he'd done something similar to you. You spat at his feet in defiance. Mentally, he cringed at how hard he'd punished you that day. One of the many days of punishment that led to you becoming what you are now. Empty.

“I'm…I'm sorry,” he struggled to get the words out. Eyeing your face he saw something different, the slight raise of your eyebrows, before they fell again. But it was something. It was you, even for just a second, “Is that what you want? An apology?”

He kneeled before you and took one of your feet into his hands, his cold hands traced the soft skin of it. Scaramouche hadn't taken a knee for anyone in years. No one except his creator and the Tsaritsa herself. Both archons, but he put you on a similar pedestal. A kiss was pressed right against the toe of your foot and he felt your body jolt.

“Come back to me,” he pressed another kiss to your foot, “You'll be worshiped, not broken again.”

Bleeding Pastels (Kabukimono x Reader)

The puppet's life is colourful; while tainted and stained with a dark smudge in the middle- originating from his creation- at least it won't discolour the world he lives in...

right?

Yandere!Scaramouche x Reader

Kabukimono era

Canon-divergent. Some abuse briefly described later on. Symbolism-heavy. Read between the rainbow to find the shadows that the light casts.

-------------------------

I. Pink

The day that the boy first saw you, he almost mistook you for a god.

You sat alone underneath wispy sunlight that broke through the gaps in the bright pink petals above you. Gently fluttering down around you, picking up with the occasional spring breeze; sakura petals adorned your atmosphere and lay like a bed around your form.

The shade of pink that dusted the boy's cheeks was only somewhat darker then the beautiful pale pink of the sakura and it's flowers.

The boy could only stare in awe, lost in his own world of reverence and admiration- that was until a beautiful, soft voice pulled him out of his head.

"And who might you be?"

The puppet blinks. Your bright, vivid irises held him captive among the falling blossoms; his pale pink lips open and close without a sound- the boy unable to find a response.

You laugh. Gods, that sound makes something within him stir. It steals his artificial breath and replaces it with something so soft and light that he does not dare to look too deep into.

"Well? There's room for both of us here, if you want." You say with a smile, palm patting the soft grass beside you.

It takes a moment for the puppet to register your words, but as soon as he does it's like a string has been pulled taut- and he longs to loosen the tension that has formed. He makes his way over to you, his knees folded underneath him as he merely stares at you silently.

"You're that boy that guy brought with him a couple days ago, right? What's your name?"

For once, the puppet speaks.

"I... Don't know." His voice is soft, light, and almost somewhat childish. He sounds so innocent and boyish.

Your eyes wander down his face and trail down his arms. He doesn't say anything, but he can see you stop and stare at the joints in the middle of his arms; the ones attached with a ball and some hinges.

"Hey, you're not human, are you?" You say with curiosity in your tone, as you pull yourself onto your knees to take a closer look. Your hands are soft as they take ahold of his wrist and hand, pulling it out to a stretch as you stare in wonder at his unblemished skin and the way his arm connects to the rest of his body.

The puppet watches as a bright pink petal flutters down against the untainted sky and lands delicately in your hair.

"I hope you forgive me for oogling you; I've just never met someone like you before..."

Your eyes flicker up to meet his wide-eyed stare; and you offer him a smile as bright as the sunlight above.

"Your skin is so soft, and the way your elbows are designed is so cool! Are your knees like this too?"

The puppet doesn't say anything; instead unable to find an appropriate response as all he can do is nod his head.

"Really? That's so cool!" You say with wonder to match his own.

"I'm (Y/N). I-"

Your mouth hangs open, but no words escape you as you watch the puppet's hand slowly move atop your head. Delicate fingers pluck what his eyes are so intensely trained on from your hair, before bringing it down infront of the both of you to see.

"This... was on you."

You blank at the pink petal between his fingers, and for a moment the puppet's mind whirs to life with questions of whether he had done something wrong, but you soon snap out of your trance with a laugh. The boy sits still, confused about your reaction.

"Thank you. You don't have to show it to me though." You say before snatching the soft object from him and swiftly placing it atop his own head.

You laugh at the expression on his face from your actions, and the puppet finds the wonderful sound brings a smile to his face. He doesn't quite understand why you did that, or why you're laughing, but he finds your joy infectious all the same.

II. Purple

Over time, the people of Tatarasuna as well as the puppet himself learned how he differed and how he was similar to the humans around him.

He felt pain and bled just like they did. Yet, he didn't seem to have a heart. He didn't need to eat or drink either, but he claimed that he could and that he wanted to do so to 'become more human'.

The puppet- now called Kabukimono by his peers- also didn't quite understand social ques and what was wrong or right. After finding out that humans would often disrobe and bathe when they became dirty, the puppet had tried to do the same in the nearby stream of village. That little event had a few people swiftly ushering him to put his clothes back on while laughing awkwardly; as if he was a child who didn't truly know what he was doing.

Which, in all honestly, was pretty much what he was. A child who knew nothing about the world or people around him. But he was learning.

The pastel purple clothing that he was so often seen in flowed freely in the breeze; the smell of lavender was picked up by the summer wind off his freshly washed robes and filled his nostrils with the calming scent. It was the smell that adorned him whenever you were the one responsible for washing his clothes (as you often took turns among the other villagers to look after him).

He had grown to love that scent.

"Just... like... this." You said as you dragged the teeth of the comb through his wet hair; letting the Kabukimono watch your actions through the mirror.

"Think you got it?" He nods at your question, and you hand him the comb.

His hand is steady as he mimics your previous movements; dragging the teeth of the light purple comb through the strands of dark indigo atop his head. After a few strokes, he pulls the comb away; a deep violet staining the teeth as if to remind him that he wasn't like you.

You smile at him. "Perfect! Just like that. Now you're all set to wash yourself next time you need to."

The Kabukimono stares down at the comb in his hands; staring down at the violet that taints the pastel shade. You had gotten him this comb, it was one of the first objects he had ever owned. And now, because of him, it was stained a dark purple from the dye that was used for his colour- that still coated his hair.

And yet, the same dark stain that now marred his gift from you had dyed your palms a similar shade to that of the comb- a bright, pastel purple. Originally, he had panicked and apologized profusely for staining you, for tainting you, but you merely had laughed and said you didn't mind. That it would go away eventually.

And while others wore gloves when taking care of him and his hair, you didn't. You let your fingertips run through the dark locks and dance across the top of his forehead; you let him feel the warmth and softness of your touch as you scrubbed the dirt and dust that had accumulated in his hair. You let his colour stain you; and somehow, you managed to make the dark purple such a bright and beautiful shade of lavender once it touched your skin.

"My... arms hurt. Can you do this for me?" He says quietly, turning towards you and holding the comb back up to you with a pleading look in his eyes. You smile, the corners of your eyes crinkling in adoration at the Kabukimono's barely-concealed lie.

You had done a lot to take care of him and teach him about various things; he knew that lying was 'bad' and that he shouldn't do it. But even so, on rare occasion- like right now- he would say something small that didn't match what you already knew. And it would always end up with you taking a little extra care of him then you otherwise would have.

You knew you shouldn't let him keeping lying, but he was so bad at telling them, and it was adorable how he yearned for attention... so you couldn't make yourself scold him for his behaviour. You let this lie slide like all the others.

"Alright, alright. Come on then, turn around."

You can see the corners of his mouth tip upward in a smile, however subtle, as he did as he was told and let you run both the comb and your fingers through his hair.

The Kabukimono couldn't help but watch your hands. To seek glimpses of the bright purple staining on your palms that could only have been from him. He always loved when the other humans would point out your coloured hands and comment on how you practically took sole care of him with how often your hands took on the familiar shade.

Even when he wasn't by your side like a loyal puppy, it was like a part of him was still with you. Even if at first he saw the colour as a stain upon your otherwise perfect skin, you had assured him that it was harmless, told him you liked the colour, even.

You had taught him that being 'selfish' is one of the 'bad' things, and he shouldn't be 'selfish'. But if it was so 'bad', then why did it feel good? Why did it feel good to leave a piece of him with you, as if to claim you as his own human?

The teeth of the comb grew ever darker as they sorted through his indigo hair.

III. Yellow

For a being that was supposedly crafted by the hands of the god of thunder, the Kabukimono couldn't help but jump at each loud roar of lightning that dared to light up the dark night.

"Oh, Kabuki..."

The puppet was shaking; his arms wrapped around his knees as he sat staring at the floor, trying to ignore each jolt of thunder only to be hyper aware of every crash of it outside the window.

The pity in your voice somehow comforted the puppet, even more so when you kneeled beside him to pull him into a hug.

"It's ok, you're not in any danger. The Electro Archon would never hurt us."

The Kabukimono still shook. Sure, she may never hurt you, but to him- every bolt that struck the earth was searching for him; the fruit of the anger and hatred he knew his mother held for him.

Each flash of lightning lit the inside of your warm home a bright yellow. A stark contrast to the usual deep purple of the electro element he knew so well.

Your hand smoothed over his back, the other wrapped around his shoulders as you held him close. Another flash had him jump once again; burying his face into your shoulder as if to try to hide from the storm.

"Oh, hey, hey... It's ok..." You tried to soothe him, your voice gentle and low as his arms wrapped around you to hold tightly to your clothes.

Your arms wrapped around him were warm, firm, secure, as if you were the one shielding him from the tumultuous rain and deafening thunder.

"Ok, c'mon, lets go to bed."

The boy in your arms sniffled as you pushed him away from you, guiding him towards your plush bed.

"B-But... My bed..." He mumbled out, his eyes falling onto a small mat off to the side that you had done your best to make comfortable. And as shabby as it was, the Kabukimono loved it. You had made it for him, after all.

"You won't be able to sleep if you're over there, will you? This storm doesn't look like it's going to stop anytime soon, so... Why don't you stay with me? That way, I can protect you."

The deep purples of his eyes were wide and glossy with tears at your proposal; but he swiftly nodded and climbed onto the bed with you following suit.

The two of you got settled underneath the blankets, and the Kabukimono couldn't tell if your bed was just more comfortable then his, or if he really liked being beside you that much more then being alone. He watched as you shifted around; moving the pillow you normally slept on to rest underneath his head as you lay flat on the mattress next to him.

You smiled at him, a smile that made his chest tighten and something within his artificial body malfunction. His breath caught in his throat at the feeling of your fingers brushing along the side of his face, pushing his bangs out of the way of his eyes.

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep? I'll be right here if you need me."

The rain was loud on the old glass of your home; a flash of lightning bringing attention to the lack of purple that the Kabukimono had so loved to see on your hands.

But the fear of the thunder triumphed over his sadness that his hair no longer stained your palms; and he couldn't help but jump at the noise that shook him to his core once again.

Trembling hands grabbed your soft, steady one and brought it up to his cheek. The Kabukimono rested your palm against his flesh, nuzzling into it even as he shook in fear. You couldn't help but pity him, the pad of your thumb brushing over his cheekbone as you indulged him.

"You won't leave me, right?" He says quietly, warily, as if he's afraid the storm will hear his weakness and aim straight for his non existent heart.

The smile you give him almost looks sad. But it remains as sweet as it always does nonetheless.

"Never."

"You promise?"

Another crash of thunder has him jump once again, but with your hand against his cheek, he's quick to recover.

"I promise."

He peers at you and sees no trace of malice; no trace of annoyance or deception or betrayal. All he sees is you; your beautiful smile and crinkled eyes, glistening even in the darkest of nights.

The next flash of yellow lightning that illuminates the two of you only proves to show that even against the Electro Archon herself; your light is so much brighter then anything the god could conjure to harm him.

He doesn't jump at the sudden thunder. Instead, he lets out a shaky breath and pulls you forward- bringing your head onto the pillow that you had given him before he buries his head right underneath your chin; pushing himself into your body as if he wished to become one with you.

You can't help but smile at his unintended affection. Your hands move to embrace him; to smooth over his back and run your fingers through his hair.

"It's... bad to break a promise." He mumbled into your chest. "You won't break your promise, right?"

You let out a soft chuckle, tightening your embrace as you let the boy cling to you for life.

"Of course I won't. I love you too much to hurt you like that."

Your words were accentuated with another jolt of thunder. Another flash of yellow. And then a second bolt of lightning- this time, right through the cavity where his heart would have been.

I love you.

The words repeated in his head like a prayer; and he nestled himself deeper into your embrace in an attempt to muffle his thoughts and hide the pink on his cheeks.

The innocent, pure little Kabukimono had heard the words before. Humans who were close, who kissed and slept in beds together would say it to one another. Humans who were bound for life by little bands of metal on their fingers would whisper it to eachother whenever they pleased.

His tongue burned- yearned to repeat the words back to you, but something inside of him refused. Rejected the idea of feeling the intimacy of human love... of the idea that he could be with you just like all the other humans who loved eachother.

That night, when the puppet and his human had fallen asleep, the Kabukimono found himself without a single dream.

IV. Blue

Even when the Kabukimono wasn't under your care for that day, he still hovered near to where you were.

The old woman who was tasked to care for him that day was a vile creature. One who refused to acknowledge the puppet as anything close to human; instead treating him as merely an object, a plaything, something that could do whatever she wanted of him without complaint.

Because the poor Kabukimono didn't know how.

The puppet watched from where he sat by a large bucket. His hands were filthy; red and sore from scrubbing away at the clothing that he was forced to wash by his current caretaker.

He watched as you bid farewell to your fellow villagers; a basket hung off your arm as you walked into the nearby woods.

Oh, how he longed to follow you. To see where you were off to, to accompany you and watch every move you made.

He looked down at the water in the bucket, browned with dirt and dust. Surely, the water flowing through the stream in the forest would be nice and clean, right?

He's quick to set everything aside; emptying the water into the nearby crops like he was instructed, and then following you into the forest.

It was like your presence had merely teased him; he stumbled blindly through the brush hoping that you would be found in this direction. That he could, at the very least, be able to lay his gaze upon you once more and lighten this heavy feeling in his chest.

What the Kabukimono hadn't thought about, though, was just what you may be doing out here in the forest. And what he saw when he finally approached the familiar babbling brook stole his artificial breath away- the feeling all to familiar to that time had first laid eyes upon you.

The water was a beautiful crystal blue; your clothing lay next to the stream, a telltale sign of what he had stumbled across.

You looked divine. Beautiful. The way the water ran by your bare form and dripped so deliciously from your skin had the puppet star-struck. Pink was quick to dust his pale cheeks.

Then, like an all-too-familiar flash of sickeningly-yellow thunder, a thought occurred to him.

He shouldn't be seeing this.

Sudden panic washed over him, a fear he had felt so many times before now baring it's fangs at him once more.

If you caught him, you would leave him too.

He bolted.

The trees rushed by him in a blur of green; sticks cracking beneath his feet as he retraced his path out of the forest. Birds flew and squirrels panicked as he went by them like the roaring wind; and finally he reemerged from the trees to the sight of the village before him.

He felt warm. He couldn't get the image of you out of his head. The picture of you bathing in such beautiful blue waters was ethereal. He felt his chest tighten even further at the memory.

"You damn puppet! Where have you been!?"

The Kabukimono's face paled instantly at the shrill sound.

"You thought you could just go for a stroll through the forest, huh?! You didn't even finish your chores!! And where's my water pail!?"

The voice boomed. It's origin angrily stomping up to him before grabbing his wrist so harshly, he was sure it would have bruised if he were human.

If he were human.

"You damned-... Can't you do anything right!?" The old woman shouted, dragging the shrinking boy along behind her and towards her old, decrepit house.

"I'm sorry-" He tried to speak, tried to make himself heard over the pounding in his ears.

The woman was like a constant flash of thunder; waiting for the perfect moment to strike the puppet where he stood. And this time, it looked like he was all alone in this storm.

The woman tossed open her front door before dragging the Kabukimono inside, harshly slamming the door shut before she turned to him with a wild look in her eye. The puppet looked absolutely pathetic as tears welled in the corners of his violet eyes.

She shouted at him. Cursed at him. Pushed, pulled, hit him in whatever way she felt fit to.

The Kabukimono shut his eyes, and recalled the divine scene he had stumbled across just a little while prior. He pictured you, standing within the crystal blue water of the stream, and he pictured himself standing infront of you. The sky such a rich, pale blue above the two of you as you found comfort in one another's embrace.

"Are you listening to me!?"

The puppet opened his eyes, and all he saw was blue. The world was blue, he was blue, the old woman was blue, and the constant patter of liquid splashing onto wood from his cheek was blue as well.

A sad, soulless, cold blue. The blue of loneliness and pain.

He remembered how beautiful you looked underneath the cherry blossoms that day he first met you. The shade of pale pink that so beautifully complimented the darker pink on his cheeks that day.

He remembered how tightly you held him under the flashes of yellow that threatened to consume him whole. How you told him you loved him- how you promised you would never leave him.

And he remembered the blue of the water running by your hips. The blue of the sky above, the blue of the cotton of your clothing.

The pounding in his ears was overwhelmingly loud.

A blue hand raised itself before him.

Before it could hit it's target, the pounding stopped.

Everything stopped.

V. Red

The world's colours had returned. But they were so much darker then before. As if drenched in thick shadows that clung even to the most well-lit areas.

And it was like the Kabukimono was just seeing the real world for the first time.

The green of the foliage outside had turned from a beautiful bright shade to a deep, forest colour. And even darker still were the greens inside; where moss and mildew grew along the corners of the old house, and the various stains from archons-know-what seemingly having appeared from nowhere now dotting the surroundings with the deepest shade of black.

The puppet had seen black before. But this was different. Darker. And it was like the entire world had been tainted by those stains of black.

Even the deep brown of the rotting wood below almost seemingly started turning black as a dark red seeped into it's pores.

Such a deep shade of red it was. The colour akin to the same that flowed freely from his cheek; although his was so much brighter then the vile woman who stained the floorboards.

No- if he wasn't a human, then she wasn't either. She was merely a creature, a worm- that now lie pathetically limp at his feet.

Her words, despite his attempt to drown them out, had seeped into his head regardless.

You will never be human.

You will never be wanted.

You will never be needed.

Perhaps she had been correct.

After all, she had only been repeating what he had been telling himself already.

But, if she was correct, then what did that make of the words that the other villagers had said? What, pray tell, did that make the humans themselves?

Liars. All of them. Filthy, red-stained liars.

They had never once truly cared about him. Merely tossing him scraps, at best; demanding that he do things for them and barely leaving him to fend for himself.

Barely giving him space in their village, barely caring to try and be 'polite' with him- even when they demanded that he be polite around everyone he interacted with.

At first, he just accepted it. Of course he did. The world was bright, colourful, beautiful- but now, he's seen it for what it truly is. He's seen the suffering, the pain, the lies; the shadows etched into every crevice of this forsaken world.

He knows that they had lied to him when they said they considered him a fellow human.

And you had taught him, the saint that you are, that liars are bad.

Oh, you... how beautiful you are. How wonderful and amazing and kind you are. Out of everyone in this damned, pathetic village, you had been the one to treat him like an equal. To treat him like a human.

To love him like a human.

His chest tightened at the memory of your voice above his head that night; "I love you" falling so effortlessly from your lips as you held him close.

Archons, you loved him. You promised him you would never leave him. And you had never broken your promises before.

You loved him.

Deep purple eyes fell to the human shaped insect on the floor. And a laugh bubbled up from within him.

He did something bad. Terrible. He had made the woman who hurt him stop moving.

But it felt good.

And if it felt so good, then... why stop?

He was already stained a deep, dark black. He could never go back to being as pure as you had seen him. Perhaps, he had always been this way- perhaps that's why his so called 'mother' and her fox-pet had decided to seal away what was rightfully his. The power that she had inlaid within him.

The power that now pounded so freely through him. And it seemed like the only way to silence it was to let it go.

As the puppet exited the house, a trail of red followed behind him. Electro crackled at his fingertips as he walked towards the center of the village, and he revelled in the hushed and desperate whispers of the humans he passed by.

The pounding in his ears- in his head- only grew stronger with each passing second. The crackling electro a disgusting shade of darkened, tainted yellow as it emanated from him.

And like a bolt of thunder that once had scared him so; flashes of yellow now flew through the open air and showed no mercy to the humans he was surrounded by.

Screams filled the air, filled his ears- and all he could do was laugh. Such pathetic insects, all scrambling to seek shelter from his divine wrath. It was chaotic, beautiful, as red stained the ground and painted the houses in it's corruption.

A gentle breeze kissed the cheek that had rapidly healed it's wound. With it, it brought delicate pale pink petals from the sakura trees that were so abundant in this land.

The village fell still. Nothing but the blossoms that danced on the wind dared to move; to catch the eye of the puppet-murderer.

"K-Kabuki...?"

A voice so small called out to him, stirring him from his thoughtless-thoughts.

He turned to you, and it was like your very presence made the surrounding area brighten to how it was before. Suddenly the world was perfect again; bright and happy and welcoming and loving.

Your eyes, so beautiful and vibrant, were wide and tinged with fear. Your hair was still wet- evidence of your bath, but all it served was to remind the puppet of what he had seen. Of the divinity he had been so blessed to witness.

You didn't move as he walked up to you. You couldn't. Shock had it's tight grasp on your body and mind, and you were unable to even speak at the bloody scene around you.

The puppet smiled so sweetly at you. And despite being the same smile as he had always given you, it no longer looked so innocent.

"I love you." He said, voice proud and unwavering.

Your eyes darted to meet his. He looked so...

dark.

"What...?" You couldn't even process what he said.

"You said you loved me that night, and I never said it back. I love you, (Y/N)."

"What-... what did you do..?" Your voice trailed off into a pathetic whisper, and it made the puppet smirk as his hand moved up to cup your cheek- much like how yours had once done for him.

"They were... bad. All of them. They could have hurt you, like they did to me..." The pad of his thumb spread a deep red over your skin as it rubbed your cheek. "But you love me. You promised you would never leave me. And I know you would never hurt me like they did..."

It was like his eyes had become gateways to the abyss itself; dark, devoid of life- of the boy you had once loved. Black stained his beautiful purple irises; tainted the beautiful colour with darkness and something sinister. Just like the blood that now stained your cheek.

The puppet-murderer intently watched your face drain of colour; intently watched as your pupils shrunk into pinpricks- and made note of your body starting to tremble.

He knew the signs of fear- he himself had expressed the same many times before. He knew you were scared. His chest felt like it tightened around a non-existent heart... he didn't want to see you scared. Not of him.

"...They were going to hurt you. I-I heard them. T-They were waiting for you to come back, a-and they would have... I-I couldn't let them do that. I couldn't let them be bad. I-I wanted to protect you..."

You still continued to tremble. It was like you had barely heard the lie he had told- but you didn't push him away when he pulled you into a cold, blood-stained embrace. And that was enough for him.

"I will... protect you. Stay with you. I will... be good for you."

...another lie. He was no longer good- he could never be good again. His soul- his hands- were now permanently stained red... a red that would be drained of colour as soon as you left his side- and he refused to be seen with that vile black ick. He refused to let you go.

It was almost sickening how swiftly he was able to return to how he was just hours ago... innocent, sweet, gentle. Even as the vibrant crimson stained his once-white flesh. Tainted him. Changed him.

As you gazed at him with a slacked-jaw expression, you could see the surrounding area- the massacred village- devoid of colour... of life. As if the puppet-murderer had drained the pinks and purples and blues and reds and it all congregated into a swirling black in the center of his beautiful indigo irises.

Was your beautiful, sweet little puppet-boy always so... heartless?

The way he pressed his lips to yours was robotic. Stiff and almost forced- but you knew that this was just his way of doing things, until he got used to it.

Until he got used to kissing you. Loving you. Tainting you.

A colourless tear cascaded down your cheek, your eyes closed as the puppet continued to kiss you as sweetly and gently as he could.

When he pulled away, he gently took your hands into his own, and looked down to see you trembling in his grasp. He noticed just how pretty your hands were covered in red.

And his violet eyes flicked up to your face, your hair- his red-stained fingers reaching up to pluck a crimson petal from your hair.

The pretty pink looked good on you, he once thought.

But he thinks you look so much better covered in red.