Do You Have Any Hcs Of What The Yan Genshin Boys Would B Like When Darlings On Her Period?

Yandere! Noble! Scaramouche x GN! Reader (Arranged Marriage)

A/N: hey look first post!!!! this blog is basically just a place to dump my thoughts on yanderes and situations w them// if you’re not comfortable w that, please leave!!! this is not the place for you

GN reader but!!! the word “bride” is used once so do w that what you will .

remember, this is a mature blog !!! don’t like don’t read!!!!!!!!

warning(s): male! yandere, toxic relationships, slightly narcissistic yandere, verbal abuse, child neglect, arranged marriage, toxic behavior, bad parenting skills, loneliness, obsession, yandere scaramouche, scaramouche is his own warningetc. etc.

Synopsis: there’s this specific scenario ive been thinking of lately : an enemies to lovers, but with a yandere that is particularly bitter and hasn’t really experienced an unconditional love before but then his initial hatred of you turns into an obsession. I thought scara was perfect for it :)

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neither of you had wanted to get married; you, the child of the last bloodline of a falling noble family, and scaramouche, heir to one of the wealthiest and most prestigious names in the empire, would have never been pushed to marry under normal circumstances. it could only be assumed that fate had revealed its hand and placed its destiny upon you.

you had never even met the young man that society had branded as ruthlessly curt with a lash-like tongue. you had never expected to, considering how far apart you were, in different circles and in different worlds

he was the duchess’ nephew and only heir, and was untouchable in both stature and power. in contrast, your family name was declining rapidly. you knew why your mother and father had accepted the marriage proposal the day it came, and you knew why they decide not to tell you until the letter in reply had already been sent. you had no say in the matter

how you parents arranged a marriage between the two of you? well, you could certainly guess; noble ladies gossiped and gasped about the young man who was rich with a handsome face, but with an incredibly arrogant personality and a razor tongue that both reflected his wit and endless scorn. you thought that the rumors must have been over exaggerated, as they always were, but for the duchess to have to reach out to your family to find a spouse for her son? had all the other contestants being rejected, and now they were picking through the scraps that were left? or perhaps, had they rejected him?

now, you weren’t so sure

even then, some part of you had never thought they would agree to something like this; they had concluded that this was what was best for you, had even told you that you will live a much happier life if you were in a household that wasn’t always on the edge of crumbling and giving way to time; you could see that they did have the best of intentions. and still, you felt betrayed

unbeknownst to you, at the time, your fiancé had felt the same way toward his mother; the expression of his feelings on the matter, however, included a lot more yelling and rage in his questions as to why he was being dragged into this. he was used to being disappointed, but being so blatantly used?

unfortunately, scaramouche’s defiance was only met with a cold silence and a blank stare, and after he had vehemently denied to go along with the marriage, his mother had only said that nothing could be done. he had no choice in the matter.

and the gentle glint in her eyes, that had still remained their after all these years, that stayed as she firmly reprimanded him, only served to make him more furious.

and so, his resentment for you, the other victim in this situation, came naturally.

when he met you for the first time, his regularly crass and sarcastic attitude only got worse. you could see the embarrassment dawn on both your parents’ and his mother’s faces, cringing every time his voice got a little too loud or when he said something particularly blunt. he made snide comments on your upbringing, your title, even your clothing wasn’t spared the ruthless bite of his words. between his curt and cold attitude and your futile attempts at making conversation, you two didn’t exactly hit it off when you first met

and then, when you finally got sick of it and told him what exactly you thought of his words and his money and where he could shove them, his resentment turned into something much more personal: spite.

he reasoned that he had every right to hate you. to be overly rude and childish whenever you so much as got the idea to be five feet near him. he never asked for the marriage. he doesn’t care about how much it would benefit the two of you, and he’s long past trying to finally please his mother into loving him, so why should he have to act like the perfect husband for someone who is below him?

your parents seemed to love you plenty though. if their guilty eyes and shifty glances were anything to go by. even if they were shamelessly grabbing at the wealth and prestige of another family, he could tell that this marriage was meant for you and your future. even if you didn’t want it. even if you seemed to dread it. every time they brought you over for a scheduled date in the lonely garden at the back of the duchess’s estate, there seemed to be a subtle pain in their eyes.

perhaps, a paternal regret at having to make their child miserable so that they could eventually have the things they weren’t able to give them.

…well, it gave him more reason to torment you.

————————

there seemed to be no way out of the awkward meetings. your parents were hell bent on having scaramouche as your husband, and his mother was just as determined. so, when you did have to suffer through seeing each other, you kept trading thinly veiled insults, practically sulking every time you heard the others name, and bickering with the each other at every opportunity. it became a familiar routine for the two of you, to not get along and verbalize your frustrations through jabs and taunts

strangely enough, scaramouche grew fond of the bickering. you were practically the only person who would speak to him so casually. with so little respect and without fear of him blowing up. he thought it was refreshing. no one hardly ever talked to him anymore, and even a child that had everything and more could not curb his own loneliness by himself…he would never tell you that, though.

he thought that at least it was entertaining to tease you. actually, if you weren’t so annoying, he might have actually gone as far to say it’s pleasant having you in his company. It certainly beats the large, lonely house he had to wander every day.

plus, when was the last time he had talked this much? when someone had looked at him and acknowledged his existence without him having to work for it?

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as the engagement progressed, you two ended up spending hours together every week, whether you wanted to or not, and while you were mentally and emotionally exhausted from the stress your parents were putting you through, he’s looking forward to your meetings like they’re the highlight of his week…it’s ridiculous, he thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks, and oh god now he can’t get you out of his head.

then suddenly, you’re calling it off. the whole engagement. miraculously, you guilted your parents into going back on what they had agreed to.

his mother is appalled and frustrated, a bit exasperated now that she has to find another suitable bride for her son.

scaramouche is beyond furious.

he goes quiet with rage. he’s more snappish now, towards the maids, towards everyone. his attitude is no longer his usual arrogance and crudeness. his usual bitterness rose into an explosive temper and ruthless training just to keep himself confined to a state of sanity. there is, once again, for the first time in many, many years, an unmistakable fear of abandonment that is raging in his head. he feels so wronged.

and it’s your fault.

and then, he goes silent. if they thought it was bad when he talked, see what they think when he’s quiet.

for his mother, it’s unnerving. to the servants, it’s downright terrifying.

no one realizes that he’s calculating. no one really expects it. everyone assumed this was one big temper tantrum after suffering a huge blow to his pride.

scaramouche was really only clutching his shattered heart after giving it to someone who threw it away.

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what he wants at first is revenge.

that’s what he wants to think he wants. he wants to make things even between the two of you; make you suffer like you made him. force his way into your mind in the worst way possible, and keep himself there to get the message across.

for the first few agonizing days after the annulment, he thinks; maybe that he should tamper with your parents businesses and make you a pauper, someone who is reduced to having to take care of their parents after you fall from the graces of society. and then, after that, he’s hoping you’d come crawling back to him, and ask for his help and his hand. and he’d oh-so graciously accept you back into his life; not before making you beg for it, though.

then again, perhaps toying with whatever lover you have would be a good way to get back at you. he just assumes that you have one, because you must, for you to just abandon him like that.

you should have just stayed.

either way, he’s going to make you regret it.

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it doesn’t take much for scaramouche to convince his mother to have a much needed talk with your parents.

and despite everything she’s done, ei does want to make her son happy. she wasn’t blind after all; he’s always seemed to be on edge, ever since the accident, but he had changed in the short amount of time he had know you. the boy she had failed to raise and care for, someone who was now so far out of her reach, seemed to be more calm and content when you were by his side. it had been a long time since she had seen her nephew look forward to something this much.

whether you want the engagement or not matters less to her.

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and so, your resistance all comes apart so easily. Ei is one of the most powerful people in the empire, so it doesn’t take much effort before she’s luring your parents into throwing you back to them and into scaramouche’s waiting arms. It would be the least she could do as his mother

it’s only a matter of time before you’re resting in the palm of his hand once again; the engagement is back on, running smoothly towards your fast approaching wedding, like your little rebellious mishap never even happened

scaramouche is reveling in it. he feels as though he’s won. and in truth, he has. he imagines the look on your face, how you’ll have to greet him eventually, look him in the eyes after tossing him to the side and then losing, and thinks about how he’s going to make your reunion as painful as possible when you do meet again

his wishes are fulfilled when not even a month later are you pushed into the expansive garden by servants and abandoned by them even quicker, watching them scurry away with pale but oddly relieved faces. once again, you were meant to suffer through another lunch date after you thought you had finally escaped and left the gloomy estate behind forever.

the familiar stone pathway and expansive flora only served to bring back bad memories of your failed attempt to gain your freedom and reminded you of what you would have to look forward to for the rest of your life. it’s only the scuffle of boots against the ground that brought you back to reality.

you knew exactly who was standing behind you.

—————————

when scaramouche saw you standing there, muscles taught and shoulders tensed as you refused to look at him, he took his time observing you, savoring the moment and committing it to memory.

his slow and deliberate footsteps did little to calm your fraying nerves. You were both surrounded by tall hedges and the gentle sound of water coming from nearby fountains. no one else was around. You were completely isolated, with only your fiancé- no, your crazed future husband- keeping you company.

and as always, his presence was suffocating.

“you know, trying to run away from me was cute, but it got annoying after the joke was over. did you really think you could go against a duchy? don’t make me laugh.” his voice had a high and condescending lit to it that seemed to grate against your ears. your stony facade crumbled soon after, instantly revealing the confusion and panic that welled in your chest.

“…why did you do it?” your voice came out hoarse and low. you whirled around, finally looking into those violet eyes. scaramouche felt a shiver of excitement run up his spine as your watery gaze met his.

“you hated this engagement just as much as I did. why did you drag me back here? we both could’ve been free.” a bitter laugh escaped your throat that pathetically choked off into a sob.

he laughed lowly as his head titled down, shielding his eyes from you. the sight made you shudder involuntarily.

“‘drag you back?’ deary, you belong to me. you did the moment I decided I wanted you. what you want doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t know what’s good for yourself, clearly.”

when he lifted his head back up to meet your eyes, he was smiling. the soft turn of his lips wasn’t full of cruelty or malice, scorn or hatred, and somehow that made the uncharacteristically gentle look so, so much worse.

scaramouche picked up your limp hand, gently turning it over, and slipped a ring onto it. it was like putting a heavy shackle on a caged bird; it was needless and unnecessary, you were already trapped. the world did not need anything else but the duchess’s final word to let everyone know who you belonged to.

but, as you stood there staring blankly ahead, you noticed scaramouche seemed genuinely happy to see the band resting on your finger.

the smile he wore turned more playful, more mocking, as those piercing eyes looked at you as if you were pitiful and small, beneath him, something that needed guidance

and his purple eyes locked with yours as he slowly pulled you to him and brought you into a soft kiss.

—————————

“Give me your love. Give me your validation. Hand yourself over to me, body, mind, and soul.”

“And what if I don’t want to?”

“Darling, do you think you have a choice?”

Listen, I have been doing a lot of gen-z jokes lately that my friends are so done with me, so like what abt a reader that tells deez-nutz jokes all the time.

Ace definitely is with reader on the deez-nutz jokes. Terrorizing everyone in the mansion with deez-nutz jokes with Ace is now your favorite hobby.

Yes I am projecting rn.

🎲Anon

What if I told you the Gen Z!MC request I’m writing may or may not be exclusively these kinds of jokes. One of my friends too, started making deez nuts and ur mom jokes, and like a disease, it spread to the whole group. It is truly a curse upon this world.

You’re completely right, it would be Ace that joins you on this treacherous journey, the two of you coming to share one singular brain cell . Everyone else in the mansion is sick and tired of it, literally in physical pain when they’re around you two. Those who are able to leave have. Vil has taken on 10 new projects just to get away from this.

Even your other friends are traumatized after you get them with a sick “who’s candice” “can-deez nuts fit in your mouth” joke. Epel died a little inside. Deuce found it a bit funny the first time but is now reconsidering all his life choices.

The only one who can tolerate them is Lilia, who will be giggling while everyone else is stays suffering.

Sinking Into Your Arms

Masterlist

Cw!: yandere!Scaramouche, possessive behavior, (brief) drowning/suffocation, abduction, (somewhat) suggestive. Tags: merman scaramouche, modern fantasy au, established relationship, gn!reader, open ending. Summary: Scaramouche has finally gotten tired of waiting in one place for you to come back to him.

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You sighed heavily as you walked along the coast, breathing in the salty breeze. Your parents called you back during your vacation, just to rush you to get married. You weren't even that old! They had been nagging you day by day, even on your regular phone calls. Your parents wouldn't understand that you had been dating someone already, even if he can't quite go to meet them.

Scaramouche swam up to the surface the moment he felt your presence. You were gone for way too long! His eyes lit up at the sight of you wearing the necklace he gave you but acted as if he did not care one bit. "Finally care to come back, pipsqueak?," he huffed while taking out a small bracelet designed to your taste. "It doesn't matter. How long are you going to stay this time?"

You looked at him guiltily. You felt horrible for choosing an inland city, making it even more difficult to meet up. "A week at most…?," you scratch your cheek awkwardly while looking away. A dark expression flashes on his face but disappears just as quickly as it appears.

Everyday for the next week, you go to the seashore, at Scaramouche's request, each time bringing a small snack or gift as an apology for leaving him again so quickly. Your parents don't let up on trying to get you to go on blind dates, however. And with their intensifying efforts, your exhaustion also increases, leading to you pouring out all of your complaints on the final day.

Scaramouche smiles almost innocently, his violet eyes glinting under the sunlight. "I have a solution for you." His hands move to pull you down into a deep kiss, each movement slowly claiming the air in lungs as his. His sharp nails dance on the nape of your neck, pulling you deeper into delirium before pulling you into the sea with him. 

The cold water pulls you right out of your trance and you struggle against his hold desperately. Scaramouche lets go just enough for regret to fill your eyes, diving back in to give you some much needed air. This time, there is no resistance even when he stakes his claim on your lips, your tongue and even your existence as a whole. He whispers into your ear, his voice killing you into a deep slumber…

"News flash: a resident has been reported missing after going to the seaside. It is recommended to keep your family members, especially children, away from the waters as the current has been rather unforgiving…" Your parents cried, aggrieved at your disappearance. There is nothing they wouldn't give to find you again.

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A/N: oh wow this wip was all the way back from april lololol well happy mermay folks!

Platonic! Wanderer with a child! reader

MEN/BLANK BLOGS DNI | main page

Wanderer tried avoiding you at first, he didnt want to get attached to you, but you were stubborn and followed him around everywhere he went

Over time he started to like you, you were like a younger sibling he never had, while you Can be annoying at times he still enjoys you being around

Wanderer is overprotective of you, he knows you cant protect yourself and he doesnt want to lose you, he lost too many people he cared about already

He wouldnt admit it, but he does enjoy playing games with you, he only wants to see you happy, and he will make sure no harm ever comes for you

little gnosis ‣ scaramouche x child!reader.

— ☆ Synopsis: It all happened so fast; a blinding purple light from your chest, several perplexed gasps, and then suddenly you were the vessel of the electro archon's gnosis. Now a young man who calls himself "The Balladeer" is forcing you to travel with him.

— ☆ CW: slightly ooc scaramouche.

If there was one thing that you examined from Kunikuzushi when you first met him after the event which shaped your fate, it was an overflowing hatred directed toward you. A hatred that you couldn't fully understand.

It was a hatred conveyed through mean side glances as you ran to catch up with his fast pace, with eyes narrowed and malice swirling through indigo like a violent storm. A hatred conveyed through a harsh grip on your wrist when you weren't fast enough, individual fingers digging into your skin so hard that it hurt, paired with a strident comment for you to hurry up. You didn't know what in Teyvat a "gnosis" was, nor did you know why you were now its vessel and what it means for you, but it appeared to be something that greatly peeved him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Scaramouche," You suddenly spoke one evening as the two of you were traversing Inazuma, voice sincerely apologetic as your eyes solemnly trailed down to the floor below. As usual, you were slightly trailing behind him, the back of his feet as he continued walking were visible in the corner of your sights. "For messing everything up."

What had you done? Absolutely nothing. A lone child in the wrong place at the wrong time, having the pinnacle of a god's power sealed inside them by mistake due to a strange reaction with the gnosis, and now being dragged around by a man who appears to be mad about it.

There was no indication that he even listened to the apology, not a turn of the head or a hum. The Balladeer was completely silent, eyes remaining trained forwards. You hadn't expected him to accept it or anything, you just wanted him to know that you were sorry.

You knew he did hear it, though. Whether a scream for help, a pathetic attempt to start a conversation or a muttered comment, he always heard what you said. A response from him was rare... well, a response that wasn't some sort of insult, that is.

The familiar sound which pulled you from the blackened tank of your thoughts wasn't the sound of his voice, as much as you would have liked it to be. But a loud bang that almost felt to shake the surrounding environment, and cast a bright light above you which made your shadow visible below. That noise was quickly followed by another, quieter bang which emitted a dimmer light from above you. Which was followed by another, and then another.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze from the floor, looking upwards to find the beginnings of a glamorous fireworks display unfolding above you. Red, purple, green, orange flowers of lights blooming before your very eyes, decorating the gradient blue of the sky in a way which was absolutely beautiful.

Yoimiya's fireworks, you thought. Word in Hanamizaka is that summer isn't complete without seeing one of her glamorous displays. It truly is the experience of Inazuma.

Eyes trained upwards, you hadn't noticed the man you were trailing slowly halt to a stop to peer up at the display, and continued walking. After a minute of looking to the fireworks, his gaze turned to you.

You looked completely mesmerized, mouth open as you gawked at the stunning sight. Lights reflected in your eyes, which held a soft fondness as if the sight was reminding you of an old friend. Yet they also held a childish wonder, as if it were your first time seeing such a sight. He almost, almost found it cute.

Until your foot caught an elevation in the ground, causing you to trip forwards. Unbeknownst to you, beside you, the harbinger's eyes widened in sheer panic. As he watched your smaller form fall towards the floor, he quickly lunged in your direction without thought, hand reaching out to catch you in any way possible. Lucky enough to grasp your arm just in time.

"Look where you're going, idiot."

It took a few short moments for your racing heart to calm, comprehending that you had been saved from your fall. When you eventually looked up, Scaramouche was standing tall as usual. Both feet planted firmly on the floor and stood normally, with the exception of how he was holding your arm to prevent you from faceplanting the floor below. There was no hint of urgency there anymore, a stoic and slightly peeved, fitting of his tone of voice, expression there instead as he stared down at you.

He let go of your arm when you corrected your form, standing on your own again. There were no other words spoken as he simply turned around, continuing the walk that you two were having, leaving you standing there. Clearly expecting you to follow him again.

You remained there for a few seconds, watching him walk. Every time a firework exploded, the light would flood around him, before diminishing and being rebirthed in a different color. When you realized what he just did for you, your eyes pinged wide and you pushed yourself forwards quickly after him.

"Um-- Thank you! ...For saving me!"

There was no response as you ran to catch up with him, not that you expected one.

The quartet

Platonic!Arlecchino x Traveller!Reader x Platonic!Lyney, Lynette, Freminet

When Arlecchino left the office, she was greeted by almost absolute silence, only the snoring and quiet snuffling of tired children interrupted her. To be honest, the harbinger liked this sight, since most of the children did not plan to fall asleep after lunch and from this they lay not only in unnatural poses, but also in the most unexpected places.

Foltz, for example, was lying in the dining room with his face buried in the table. Even the older children couldn't resist going to bed in the afternoon. So, her gaze slipped to your quartet lying by the fireplace. With a quick glance, it was difficult to understand where whose legs and arms were, so her eyes stopped a little longer, although she knows perfectly well that an excessively long look can disturb the light sleep of some children.

You lies in the middle, a Freminet lies neatly on the right, he slightly nuzzled your shoulder, while holding his faithful friend Per. Lynette lies a little apart on the left, her tail gently wrapped around your leg, when she herself almost does not touch you. And to top it all off, Lyney... It was as if he wanted to hug everyone at once. He was sleeping in the tiny space between you and Lynette, one of his hands reaching straight for Freminet through your face, the other holding Lynette's hand.

Exhaling softly, Arlecchino goes to the fireplace and calmly extinguishes it. Her gaze goes back to your pile. She notices how you open your sleepy eyes and squint at her for a couple of seconds, after which you turn over on your other side, throwing your leg over the Freminet.

What a tangible difference there is between your first day at the House of the Hearth and this one. In the first days, you were especially careful with her and the other children, but now you have become much more trusting. And trust is an important and indispensable component of any family.

However, she should definitely return to her duties as soon as possible, and not linger here idly. However one from your pile noticed her.

"Father?..."

"I'm going out on business, Lyney. There are no missions for your quartet today. However, it would be nice if you could improve the calligraphy of Y/n, because the last report was given to me was hard to understand."

"Yes, Father."

Lyney answered sleepily, looking at Arlecchino leaving. When the door quietly closed, Lynette's voice was heard.

"Did Father just call us a quartet again?"

A Linnet on a Bough [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

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

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

Word count: 3300ish

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is no substitute for living out in the world. 

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

--

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

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

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

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

Even the ones that drive him mad. 

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes, you make him want to scream.

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And… you’re there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re… asleep. 

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

But asleep, all the same. 

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

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

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

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

His dreams that night are fitful.

--

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most disturbingly of all: The sleepwalking continues.

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

--

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

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

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

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

--

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

But you’re not alone in the garden. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but what if its the other way around and we're the one's carressing scaras hair 😩

maybe in the shared bed, running fingerd through his hair and pressing a soft kiss to his head because you think he's asleep

i know i would develop mad stockholm for yandere scaramouche

I think deep down he would love it because he craves your affection. But he wouldn't admit it. And the idea that (he assumes) you think that he needs or craves this sort of touch is infuriating. He'd probably feign sleep for a bit, then suddenly grap your wrist and snap out: do you think he's some kind of weak child who needs your kisses? Mind your place. In fact, he might just tie your hands to the bed post at night to teach you a lesson.

But y'know, for now. Don't stop.

On the flip side, if you weren't openly affectionate and he knew the thought of being so made you squirm, he'd probably force you to do little things like this just to see your reaction.

Requesting again because why not. If your okay with it. but first. YOUVE GROWN SO MUCH AAAA. If you're okay with doing angst maybe a xiao x reader angst. Reader dies on him after a argument on how he don't spend time with the reader. And xiao gets mad and starts saying that there Annoyong and stuff. If your comfortable of course! Thank youu

Too late.

• xiao x reader

Contents ; angst absolutely no comfort because I’m angry, Xiao being kinda mean, i refuse to write uwu smol reader and make them cry from a little yelling but i did make them tear up a little, descriptions of gore, throwing up mentioned,

Notes ; I really love writing strong reader (emotionally) and thank u Lunar! You were my first ask and certainly not the last, if anyone is reading this and planning to request anything, please remember to specify of you'd like yandere or normal (sorry I only write sub yans)

When has it come to this? When did he become so.. distant? Every time you try to spend time with him, he straight up refuses. You know he’s a Yaksha, but certainly he’s got to have some time for himself? The thought of confronting him crosses your mind after he refuses yet another one of the many dinner dates you’ve been planning.

“Xiao.” You quickly grab onto his hand before he could disappear into smoke again, off to do his thing. He jolts a bit when your skin makes contact with his. “Could you listen to me for a second?” You ask gently.

“Make this quick [name]. I have other things to attend to.” One might think he’s irritated from the way his tone sounds, but you’ve grown accustomed to it. His brows furrow and he crosses his arms.

"Lately you’ve been a little too focused on your duties. I understand that it’s part of your life as a Yaksha, but could you maybe hold it off for two or three hours? To spend time with me?" You asked him with a soft smile. Hoping your small smile could maybe trick him into spending more time with you. He looks at you like you've lost your mind for a second and returns to his neutral expression.

"[name], you knew I always protect Liyue day and night, yet you still insisted on forming a relationship with me. You're asking too much from someone like me." He states with an almost annoyed look.

'Too much?' the word repeats in your head. It somehow makes your heart ache. You prepare yourself so your voice doesn't get wobbly.

"Xiao, 'too much'? It's been almost two months since you've actually got some time to spend with me. I'm only asking for two hours of your time. Is that too much for you?" You try to reason with him. But if anything, he looks more annoyed than he already looked. It's clear that he looks like he wants nothing more than to just leave. He sighs heavily.

"If I knew how tiresome you'd be to deal with, I wouldn't have picked you as my partner." He mutters while looking away. He doesn't give you time to react before spitting out something you wished he hadn't said.

"If you keep up this kind of attitude, It's better if you leave me alone." Your eyes start to sting. So that's how he thinks of you? How naive of you to think you might've changed him. You feel stupid.

"Fine then, I won't bother you anymore." You turn away and leave quickly before he can see your teary eyes. Like hell you'll ever let someone see you so vulnerable.

It's not long after you left Wangshuu Inn before you got yourself in trouble.

'Seriously, can nothing go right for me?' You should probably check your fortune now and then to see how your luck's doing.

A ruin hunter. Great.

It's eye lights up and you know you messed up by going in the wrong direction this time.

⋘══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════⋙

After you left not long ago, Xiao got a bad feeling sturring in his stomach. It makes him feel like throwing up. Deciding to look for you, he searced near the Wangshuu Inn. Just in case you were hiding somewhere.

Passing by a small forest, the familiar iron smell of blood hit his nose. Summoning his polearm, he quickly dashes towards the forest. His mind flooding with possibilities of you getting hurt.

What if you called his name but he didn't hear it? What if those pesky treasure horders were threatening you? Why didn't you call-

There you were, with a gaping hole in your stomach. Blood was everywhere, it makes him sick to the bone. Ruin parts were scattered like you were tearing it apart. He wants to throw up. He feels as though a part of him left him as he takes a closer look at your unmoving body. Your vision no longer giving the pulse it usually had. Your bright eyes had no colour and they were so dull. His voice wavers and his hand shakes as he reaches out to you. "[name].. I-I'm here now, nothing can hurt.. you.." Your chest isn't moving the way is used to. Something aches in him. It's all your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault- For the first time in years, he lets a tear roll down his cheeks as his cries were carried by the winds.

Notes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

don't mind how I went on a hiatus for like 2 months <3

Get Lucky

Meeting the god of luck (you)

Ft. Arlecchino, Capitano, Childe, Dottore, Pantalone

Arlecchino:

Her loyalty lies wherever she most benefits from it

Which is why she reveres you so, the one god who could enable her endeavours regardless of what they were by granting her good fortune

So she was exhilarated at the prospect of meeting you in person

She makes sure she has her usual offerings prepared, along with some extra, since she'll have the opportunity to hand them to you herself instead of relying on an altar

Despite maintaining her usual stature, there's a clear excitement in her body language

Her eyes widen when you motion for her to come closer, hesitantly stepping towards you, as though she's unsure if she's allowed this proximity

I hope you don't mind being stared at, because she's observing you very keenly as any devout worshipper would, trying to gauge your reaction to each of her offerings

Which of course, means she'll take note of any preferences you mention in passing

That includes if you mention preferring homemade meals

Suddenly the orphanage chefs are met with a very eager Arlecchino in full chef's attire ready to cook up a buffet for her beloved god

Capitano:

Luck can be crucial on the battlefield, which is why he finds himself frequenting your shrines and altars every so often, hoping you'll keep him and his soldiers alive

And he truly does believe in your strength, with the number of close calls he's had

It's because of that that he likes to think he's one of your favourites

So meeting you in person? He's nothing short of chivalrous

He offers to escort you wherever you need to go

It's one of the ways he can thank you apart from prayers and offerings

He also hopes that in spending time with you, a bit of your luck would brush off onto him

He's also not quite as shy as Arlecchino in his devotion, so he'll ask you what you think of the gifts he prepares for you and change them accordingly

He also absolutely does that kiss on your knuckles to show respect

Childe:

Unless you're one of the deities of Snezhnaya, you aren't of much importance to Childe

That is until his little siblings tell him about how you answered their prayers, granting them bits of luck in exchange for their little offerings of candy and old toys

That's when he starts to think it might be a good idea to have you protect his family too

When you meet him, it suddenly becomes clear why you've received so much seafood the past few months

Because he greets you with more fish and trinkets he gets from beating mobs up

He knows what the Tsaritsa wants from him, since she's his boss, but you? Not so much, which means he offers you whatever he can

Mora? He knows Zhongli appreciates it, so maybe you will too. Confectionery? The god of eternity seems to like them

But of course, he knows that you aren't them, hence the trinkets and fish

To which you'll have to explain that you don't need that much fish, especially since whatever he catches for you tends to range from massive to obscenely humongous

He does look sad when you tell him that, because he thinks it means you aren't happy with his offerings but continued to bless him and his family anyway

He's even worse when you comfort him though, because he takes it as his sign to try again

Which means observing what most of your worshippers offer up and one upping them by getting you something of a higher grade, or more

You can't even tell him to stop unless you want to crush his proud little smile

Dottore:

For someone who thinks so lowly of gods, he prays to you a suspicious lot

It's not like he has much of a choice though, since he finds his tests turn out more successful when he leaves you a little something every so often

A small price to pay for success, he supposes

Now, since you're so busy with everyone's desire for good fortune, you don't really know Dottore's notoriety

So you're quite curious about the strange fellow who leaves you with strange elixirs you don't dare consume every Monday in exchange for splashes of luck throughout the week

And when he finds that you're curious about his experiments upon meeting you?

Good luck to you

It's like he's talking to an investor, his biggest sponsor, about his work so you'll keep supporting him (in a way, you sort of are)

A part of him wants to hear you praise his genius and insist that he could've done it without your blessing, but at the same time he doesn't want you to think he doesn't need you and have you stop blessing him

So how does he counter that? The same way he got funding from the academia

"Now I can guarantee you, with my genius and just a smidge of your luck, that's all I'm asking for, I could turn these hilichurl corpses into bioweapons. No, I know what you're thinking, that sounds impossible, but not in my lab-"

Smile and nod, your full attention is all it'll take to please him when he gets like this

Pantalone:

He has a very love hate relationship with you because sometimes he forgets to head down to give you an offering before certain business ventures and they're hit by all sorts of misfortune

Now he acknowledges that you aren't obligated to give him luck when he hasn't "paid" for it, but he really finds it inconvenient

So when he meets you he's going to convince you to start a tab for him

Just constantly bless his work so he strikes gold every time, and he'll pay you your offerings + interest at the standard rate they've got going

You can try to explain to him that's not how it works, but he's pretty dead set on convincing you

"This might sound unconventional, I know, or maybe the interest rate among mortals is insufficient to you? I understand the fortune you bestow upon your worshippers can't be bought with gold, but perhaps you could suggest a rate that might tempt you to make an exception for me?"

He is not above trying to seduce a god if it means he'll get a massive profit from it

Not so subtly slips his jacket off his shoulders, leaning his elbow on a table as he props his head up in one hands, eyeing you with that purposeful, scheming look

It's up to you whether you'll entertain his little business proposal

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