.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Was Listening Some Horror Stories While I Finished Some Projects Then Got Inspired

Ajax’s children are scared of him, Diluc’s daughter loves him, what about Scaramouche? You did write a scenario where his darling had a miscarriage, if it’s in the same universe what type of a father would he be if his child was born? He did seem excited about the baby so I’m curious how he would treat the baby if it was alive.

Quite honestly, I touched on it, but Scaramouche is definitely the hardest father to write for!! But girl dad Scaramouche is what we're going for!

Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

TW: mentions of forced pregnancy

Purple. The color of his hair. The color of his clothes. And apparently, her favorite color as well. She never wanted the yellow spring kimono or the girlish pink one, but always a deep purple. She'd twirl in the mirror in awe of herself, watching intently as you put the many pins and ornaments in her hair.

She inherited his face. You hated Scaramouche more than you could ever express, but you didn't mind the fact that little Momo got his face, even down to his expressions. Her large eyes were sharp, and if it weren't for her wide smile she always had, people would think she was angry. When she was lost in thought, she looked the same way he did when he pondered in silence. And when she ate, she held her chopsticks the exact same way as well. A little mimic of him, only cuter and sweeter, with rounder cheeks and a bigger heart. 

“Will you wear the same color as me today, mommy?” Momo tilted her head back to look up at you, her beaming smile still on her lips.

You nodded. You couldn't say no to her. Not while she was being so sweet and asking as politely as she could. You had a soft spot on your heart for her. More than a soft spot. You loved her more than you could ever imagine, especially something that came from Scaramouche himself. Partially because of the guilt. The disgust you felt with her in your stomach. You remembered wanting to ride your body of her. 

You can't remember what changed in you. Maybe it was that maternal instinct finally kicking in, or maybe it was the loneliness. Laying beside Scaramouche at night still left you with a crippling, crushing feeling of isolation. Until you felt her little foot kicking inside your belly. You'd rest your hand on your tummy and she'd kick again, almost as if telling you that she was with you.

“And father will be wearing the same as well?” She smiled in the mirror as she spoke. So innocent. So naive. In her eyes, you, her and Scaramouche were the perfect family. He was a loving father and husband and you were a doting wife and mother, just like the books she read or the puppet plays she'd watched. There was no way you could bring yourself to tell her otherwise. Not when she herself was too sweet to understand the truth.

“Of course. He loves to match with us,” you'd say with a gleeful smile. And love it he did. He loves anything that meant being closer to you and closer to her as well.

Almost as if he knew he was being spoken of, he entered the room. His face, which would be frightening to anyone else with a deep snarl and furrowed eyebrows, was comforting to little Momo. She beamed up at him, practically bouncing and down and she twirled to show him her kimono with her long flowing sleeves and the many pins in her hair.

“Well aren't you lovely,” he said, kneeling to gently pet her head in the way she loved. His eyes then turned to you, also dressed in that same rich purple, less ornaments adorned your hair, but many bracelets decorated your wrists instead, “And you are breathtaking.” 

Mentally you grimaced at the compliment from him, but physically, you smiled.  He knew how to push your buttons, Momo was his daughter after all and despite her young age, she was rather perceptive. She'd notice immediately if you didn't act like a character in her books, like the loving mother and the caring father. 

With his signature smirk, Scaramouche pressed a kiss against your lips, his other hand on your waist. Just like the characters in Momo’s stories, a romantic kiss between lovers, and for Momo's sake alone, you'd allow it. 

I AM IN DESPERATE NEED OF MORE OLDER SIBLING XIAO, KAZUHA, AND SCARA CONTENT.

ur writing is literally so good im in love......

anyway UHHH older sibling xiao, kazuha, and scara with a stupid younger (technically adopted) sibling!!! turns out theres a reason for their stupidity

(y/n was basically sheltered and isolated by their 'parents' which is why they're so dumb in anything they do)

Xiao + Kazuha + Scara with a Little Sibling!Reader

Hmhm thank you. Sorry it's late.

Part two here.

Strictly platonic. Slight mention of tics. Spoilers for Scara's real name.

Xiao:

Xiao is not the most knowledgeable of mortal life, and he understands that.

But you, only a child that does not know literally anything about the outside world? It reminds him of an animal that was born sheltered, not knowing of how much potential they could've had outside.

Xiao feels bad he doesn't know how to help. In fact, both of you need help. But still, Xiao has taken on the role of a caring older brother, so he just has to help in some way.

He doesn't lose hope, though. He knows more than you, obviously. Xiao's lived thousands of years.

Your big brother may not be that big of a help in social situations. If you accidentally use the wrong tone towards someone in a conversation, and that person gets angry with you... Xiao will not hesitate to defend you.

He's a little too intimidating. Xiao has learned that a simple glare would get those mortals to shut up, so he does just that.

He tries to comfort you. You're confused with recieving comfort aswell.

At first, Xiao is embarrassed that you get all confused when he tries to make you feel better about yourself. Then, he thinks of how aweful your parents must've been.

At first, he wants to stop embarrassing himself. Yet Xiao thinks, who else will teach you, care for you? Soon, Xiao will completey drop his tsundere act, and openly show love to you as your big brother.

His love language is quality time, preferebly in silence, just knowing that you're alive and next to him.

During this time, Xiao likes to take you on nature walks, away from the harbour and inn. He finds places to sit, watch leaves and bushes sway in the wind, and possibly pet some wild animals.

But he knows that you should learn normal human life. So on some days, your big brother decides to take you around the harbour.

On your little walks around Liyue harbour, you're not the only one learning about mortal life.

Your bond is so strong. Sometimes, you find yourself getting trapped in one of his hugs. Actually, this has happened so many times, you understand completely what Xiao wants to say, to communicate, to let you know.

He might even give you gentle, hesitant, slow headpats.

Everyday, you are reminded how your big brother is trying so hard. Xiao wants you to have a happy life, and he's doing everything he can to achieve it. But, if you being "happy" means staying with him, then he'll gladly take you in his arms.

He loves you, he hopes you know that. He wants to tell you how proud he is of you, of all your progress getting over your isolated past.

Kazuha:

Kazuha thinks you're cute.

He feels scared, maybe paranoid when he has to leave you alone. But he shouldn't worry too much, he always feels a sense of urgency in the wind whenever you're in danger.

When Kazuha finds out about your parents and what they did to you, he feels upset. It almost angers him. You should've been allowed to go outside and explore the world, especially in the early stages of life.

So, he takes it upon himself, as your big brother, to show you all he knows.

Sometimes, when you do something stupid, like actually befriending a hilichurl... Kazuha would cheer you on. He knows what it's like to feel embarrassed, and he definitely does not want to be the cause of your embarrassment. Plus, you're just too cute.

He buys clothes you say look cute, and gift them to you. If you like sweets, Kazuha's going to give you little cat shaped sweets. At first you thought you were supposed to feed them to cats... But Kazuha thought you looked cute, so he took a little picture with his Kamera.

One time you accidentally said something rude to a person. Kazuha apoligized, which led you to apoligize aswell, but the person was still mad.

The next day, you and Kazuha were walking around in the city when you saw that same person, with backup. And they looked furious. One of them even said, "Get them!"

Kazuha reacted quickly before they could catch you. "Now isn't this going too far?" He questioned while grabbing your hand, using his anemo vision to blow a strong gust of wind to stop the group, and running away with you. With an innocent smile.

Kazuha knows since you've been pretty sheltered, you don't know much slang or big confusing words. So, around you Kazuha speaks easy, almost bad English.

But often when you two cuddle or hang out alone, your big brother tells you how much he loves you with poems, haikus, confusing words, old English, all that. It's like your big brother's speaking another language– Yet you somewhat understand after seeing that smile on his face.

Kazuha smiles so much around you, you probably developed a smiling tic, where your eyes close and you smile. Whenever you two greet each other, Kazuha's welcomed with that little close eyed smile of yours.

He thinks it's so adorable, your big brother always cups your face in his hands before giving you a little hug.

Will blow wind towards you, blowing your hair back, to see you smile.

One goal of his is to make you completely forget about your past, and your biological family. Another goal is to hug you everyday, another goal is to see you smile everyday, another goal is to tell you he loves you everyday, another goal—

You don't know a lot of things, and Kazuha helps you with that. But if you know that he is your big brother, and he loves you unconditionally, Kazuha will feel content and happy with you, which he already is.

Scaramouche:

At first, he thought you were so annoying. Did he really have to teach you how to do everything?

Occasionally he has yelled at you. But he always feels a weird sense of guilt he never felt before.

Scaramouche somehow finds out you've been sheltered by your biological family, that's why you acted so stupid.

He doesn't know how to feel about it. The next time Scaramouche sees you, he instantly feels regret. Now he's the one feeling stupid.

His face always softens around you. He's made a secret promise to himself that he'll never yell at you again.

Scara will take your hand to get you close to him, under his huge hat. He says it's so you don't get lost, but it's actually to protect you and for people to not mess with you.

Your big brother buys steals you kimonos, if you like those. Same with dango milk, and everything else.

Scaramouche will drop everything for you. You're way more important than what he was just doing.

"Well, look who it is." Scaramouche had his arms crossed. He was in a domain filled with electro.

He turned around. "Delighted to meet you again, traveler." The blonde switched to a fighting stance. "Hm. You already look like you want me dead."

The traveler sensed another presence enter the room, but had no time to pay attention to it, since the Balladeer could attack when the opponent was not focused.

"You've grown weak." "Big brother?" Scaramouche jolted.

He uncrossed his arms and looked to the side, seeing you approach him. Your big brother was hesitant to turn his attention to you, giving the traveler a side glare. Well, the traveler couldn't be stupid enough to attack him, right infront of his innocent little sibling, right?

Scaramouche kneeled down to your height. "Y/n, I told you not to come here, it's dangerous." His face relaxed, but still confused, asking for an explanation. In the corner of his eye, he could see the traveler's stance ease up and hide their sword.

"But I missed you." Scara tipped his hat backwards to see you better. He sighed after a moment.

"Alright, alright. I'll come visit you when I'm done, okay?" Your big brother gave you a quick hug. "Just go back for now."

You nodded. After giving the traveler a curious look, you came back from where you were.

Scaramouche stood up, crossing his arms again. "Th-The Balladeer? A little sibling!?" A squeaky Paimon voice shouted. The traveler has a ready stance again.

The harbinger scoffed. "Everyone has a family at some point in our lives, whether we like it or not." The traveler has more of an understanding of Scaramouche now.

If you're having trouble speaking for yourself, Scaramouche will gladly help you.

He desperately tries to keep you away from Childe. If you meet that ginger, you'll think he's a better big brother than Scara. He's scared you'll leave him. He doesn't want that happening.

Scaramouche doesn't want you calling him by his fatui name. He doesn't want you to call him someone that has multiple crimes to his name. Instead, he tells you his name is Kunikuzushi.

He's not used to being called by Kunikuzushi anymore, so it always warms his heart whenever you call him that.

Roll A Die, Roll A Poison - Evocation and Provocation

>Yan! Aventurine x Fem! Reader

>Word count: ~2.4k

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

Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No thanks to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As hilarious as that would be, no.”

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

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

Aventurine looks at you.

You look at him.

Aventurine continues looking at you.

You look at his waistcoat halfway down his arms.

Aventurine blinks at you.

You do not blink back.

“Is that it…?”

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

“This is worse than marrying you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Relax. So no kiss?”

“No.”

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, be gentle!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

They instantly open, already side-eyeing you.

“What the hell!”

He chuckles. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Playing Favorites. Yan Scaramouche x Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, major power imbalances, having to deal with Scaramouche because that honestly entitles you to financial compensation.  Word count: 1.5k. 

(Thank you to @bye-bye-sunbird​ for making the beautiful header <333)

This is a part of the AU where the Reader/Darling is shared by all of the Harbingers. 

“I’ve been practicing my calligraphy lately.”

“Mhm.”

“You make it look so easy… I can’t say I’ve made a lot of progress, but I’d like to show you my work when you get the chance. I have some drying now, actually.”

“Ah.”

“The characters for your name have been especially tricky. I can do the part that looks like a square, it’s just filling in the rest of it where I tend to mess up. You know, smudging the lines on accident and all that. I still manage to get ink on my clothes even if I roll up my sleeves… aha… how does that happen, I wonder?”  

“Mm.”

This is nothing short of drawn-out torture.

Keep reading

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

"..."

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

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

In for a penny, as they say. 

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

“Why else would I tolerate your deplorable personality?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Hi there! So excited your requests are open <3 What do you think Scaramouche would be like with a darling that has panic attacks? I've only had them when I'm seriously distressed, upset, or stressed, which I think a darling of his would be quite.. often. I feel AWFUL during and after them, just ill. I can't see him being nice (only sorta kind of you'd have to look under a microscope quasi-nice if something REALLY bad happened) or forgiving if this happened in company (my worst nightmare).

Title: Cracked [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: You have a panic attack at the worst possible time.

Word count: 1221

notes: yandere, forced marriage, panic attacks

By the time that you’re hauled out of the room, by the time that Scaramouche’s unrelenting grip on your arm bruises your skin as he pulls you into your bedroom, it’s too late to salvage the evening. The guests were not doubt chattering and alarmed, if they hadn’t already been shooed out of the estate by the guards and servants. They must be shaking as much as you were.

But you can’t think about them, or the guests, or even the way that you messed up tonight. You can’t even think about the pain in your arm, or the way that bruises are surely blossoming under his fingertips at this very moment.

You can’t think at all. It’s all too much. You can feel the cold sweat trickling down your back, budding at your hairline like morning dew, though it was nowhere near as charming. Your heart skitters along, and you wonder if you might die; and that wondering only makes it beat faster, only makes you lose your balance, stumbling on shaking legs.

You don’t go far, because his grip is so tight.

You can only just make out the words that he spits at you.

“Are you daft? What’s wrong with you?”

You see his mouth move. You hear the words. But you can’t answer. You can only breathe, deep, heaving breaths that don’t make you feel any less anxious. You want him to let go. You want him to leave you alone.  You want everyone to leave you alone.

That’s how it started--with everyone and everything. Too many people, too many things. Tapestries and flower vases arranged just-so. Your clothing, thick and layered, cumbersome and still foreign on you, though he’d be dressing you up for months now.

You, a perfect doll surrounded by perfect things and watched endlessly by guests, your oppressive husband at your side. Prepare the tea and pour the tea and smile and converse and say the right words and do everything pitch-perfect every time and tilt your head just the right way so that the flickering light from the lanterns reflects off your face to show off your modest yet elegant beauty--do all of these things perfectly because your husband was a Harbringer and if word got out that his wife was an ill-mannered disobedient little thing, he wouldn’t be pleased.

Normally, you were good at this. You had to be. He expected it, and he trained you for it, and all those hours of practicing your poise and your smile and just the right type of conversation that would please your husband without inciting his jealousy would be for nothing if you weren’t a perfect hostess.

But even perfect porcelain can crack. And you tonight, you cracked. Oh, did you ever.

Now, here you were, breaking on the inside and maybe the outside too. Sweating and cold and dizzy and scared and the clothes on your back are too heavy and the smells of the food wafting through the corridor are too rich and your husband’s words, coming at you in irritation and the slightest tinge of concern, are making it worse. You want him to be quiet. You want everything to disappear. You’re smothered, too smothered, and it just won’t stop.

You gulp in great, big heaving breaths as he finally lets go of your arm. You walk backwards and half-fall onto the bed. You dimly register his movements--he’s walking towards the table on the side of the bed, but you can’t fathom what for, and it doesn’t matter when you start feeling like your throat is closing. Is this how you die? Is this--

And then there’s a feeling of cold and wet on your face, a cold shock, and your throat feels like it opens as you sputter.

It’s still in you, that tight oppressive feeling, but now there’s indignation and surprise that begins to overtake it.

Then he’s there, kneeling in front of you--and that imagery might be shocking, if you could think about it more clearly. His hand grips your thighs and your mind hones in on the sensation of his nails digging into your skin.

“Look at me,” he says.

You do. Your lips quiver. Your chest heaves in and out, no longer frantic, but still unsettling.

“Calm yourself.” His voice is firm, and you try to grab onto his words and the sound of his surety. Your mind hooks into it, hooks into the dull pain from his nails, grasping for something to hold onto.

And you do take hold, breathing slower, deeper, and gradually the chilliness ebbs away from your limbs and you become aware of yourself again. Aware that your clothing is not suffocating you, aware that the presence of other people and hand-picked flowers in golden vases is not a portent of doom.

When you breathe normally, when you feel like yourself again, his fingers release from your thighs and he slowly pulls you up--his grip not harsh like before, but firm, steady as his voice had been.

You finally have the nerve to look at him, and the awareness to think about what just happened and what he just did and what it all might mean. His lips are thin and pressed together, and he’s not happy, clearly--but he’s not yelling at you, and you don’t feel the too-familiar sensation of electric crackling in the air as you might have expected.

He almost looks relieved. And that scares you, because it makes you feel relieved, too.

After a few moments, he speaks.

“That was unseemly,” he says. His voice is low.

“I…” you begin, but you have no idea where to take your words. It’s not the first time you’ve felt that creeping, overwhelming anxiety--but it is the first time it happened in front of others, in front of Scaramouche himself. Do you make an excuse? Do you try to explain it? Would he even care, if you did? The thought of opening yourself up even the tiniest bit to your husband and being rejected scares you more than the thought of his wrath, so you decide against it.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, lowering your head. The default words you turn to again and again, whenever you make a mistake.

He scoffs, but says nothing further. Instead, he turns and begins walking away, perhaps to see if the guests had remained behind or to give steely orders to the servants, no doubt waiting and worried about the mood he might be in after such an incident.

You begin to follow, dutiful though not eager, but he waves you off as he begins walking through the open doorway.

 “Stay here. I’ll make your excuses, as flimsy as they might be. That is, if my guests weren’t scared away by your little stunt.”

It should hurt. It should sting, to be dismissed like this. But there’s no real force behind the words.

You watch him go. And--not for the first time since he arranged your relationship--you get the uncanny sense that his words are hollow and meaningless. As if he’s heard others say them and he merely repeats them, as if he does what he’s expected, just as you do what you’re expected.

Sometimes you think, and you think it now, that Scaramouche is an actor reciting lines in a play. Rehearsed and nothing more.

Sharing a Jacket - Drabble

Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

“I told you to wear appropriate clothes,” he muttered beneath his breath, words laced with his usual displeased venom, “Look at you. A shivering mess.”

His glare was colder than the wintery air of Snezhnaya, his eyes making you tremble more than the snow. Scaramouche was dressed more appropriate for the weather, in a heavy coat. Fatui issued, you know as much, you'd seen his coworkers wearing one similar. Despite your adamant hatred for the organization, specifically the one you married, you couldn't help but long for one yourself as the sharp air seemed to practically cut your skin.

You shivered, teeth chattering and finger tips going cold. He was right about telling you to dress appropriately, but you'd assume this harbinger event would be indoors and went lacking on your usual attire. As such, you were now stuck in ankle deep snow, wondering how even the sunlight of Snezhnaya was cold.

“Come here,” he ordered, using his hands to spread open the insides of his cape. He seemed clearly upset, more than usual, but still allowed you into his arms, where the warm cape was wrapped around you as well. Your face nestled against your chest, all you could think about was how you hated the touch of the man, but you wouldn't complain, no when he was providing you with more warmth, that was only growing hotter with your body heat.

“Thank you, my lord,” you managed to stutter out into the fabric of his shirt, followed by a sniffle from your red, runny nose. The apology was forced from your lips, it wasn't very often that you were grateful for anything that he'd given you.

He merely hummed, a usual response for him. His arms around your waist somehow felt better than the icy cold air, causing you to only press against him harder.

“Be glad that I love you,”

Dark Reality (Filler)

Scaramouche x kitsune!fem!reader

synopsis | After all these years, you see your beloved enemy once more. And again, you two stand on opposing sides.

content | angst... i think

cw | none

a/c | @/ike_0910 on X (twt)

taglist | @ayanasss, @kunisnaomi, @swivy123, @blacky-rose, @cottencandysky, @i-ineedhelp, @vixialuvs, @shutingstar, @ashfrommars4, @xschizoe

a/n | a small filler for Flashing memories bcz the support has been overwhelming and it doesn't seem like it's winning my 300 follower poll 😭

If you haven't read the previous parts before, I strongly advise you to! Links are right here:

Flashing memories (1) + (1.5) here!

"THE WRATH OF THE GODS FILLS THIS FACTORY, and it feeds on your anger..." a husky laugh accompanied these words, as the Balladeer neared the traveller in slow steps. The traveller fell to the ground, their eyes closing as they struggled to keep themselves awake.

"Ah, what's happening..." Paimon immediately flew down to the traveller, shaking their arm frantically, "Get up...!" she yells panic-stricken. Their breaths were erratic, uneven as they tried to keep their eyes open, before they saw a figure walk ahead of their fallen figure. And soon their eyes closed.

Scaramouche tilted his head as he saw a woman approaching, clothed in a typical shrine maiden's attire and a mask of a fox covered her face. But he knew who it was. He could recognise you from anywhere, after all. You recognised him as well, the corners of your lips tugging downwards. After all these years, you two had to meet yet again. Paimon looked over to you, confused why you, Yae Miko's right hand, was here.

"Well if it isn't my beloved." he chuckles, crossing his arms as he stared at you. The mask only covered half of your face, the lower half was on full display for him, "Isn't it a wondrous meeting? We're fated to cross paths, aren't we, darling?" he smirked, his sharp gazes digging into the mask you wore. Then his smirk dropped, a scowl replacing his features. "What do you want?"

"Miss Tsuki? Do... do you know him?" Paimon flew over to hide behind your left shoulder, holding tightly onto the fabric of your clothes as she whispers not so quietly. You remain silent, glancing at her for a while before turning your gaze back to Scaramouche. "We... were acquaintanted a long time ago."

"Acquainted? Have you already forgotten all our lovely memories together?" he scoffed, "Or do you simply wish to forget me?" he knew you too well... or maybe he just guessed right. But you didn't let that faze you. You truly wished to bury those memories back deep into the forgotten corner of your mind. If it only were so simple.

"Hey! Don't talk to miss Tsuki like that! She would never ever hang out with an evil Harbinger like you!" the little fairy by your side jumped up from behind your figure to protect you, but was quickly shut down by the wrathful indigo that met her eyes. "'Tsuki', huh?" he scoffed once more, followed by an amused chuckle, "Since when did you go by such a distasteful name? Did that fox woman give it to you? I wonder..."

He paused, faking an expression as if he was deep in his thoughts, before muttering out your true name. The one he had given you all those years ago. "Did you not like that name?" he hummed, asking it as if it was a genuine question, "Nevermind that, makes it much more bearable to know you're not hopelessly clinging to that silly past."

"What do you want from the traveller?" you cut him off, not wanting to listen to his rambles. You did not need another reminder of what once was and what shall never be again. "Straight to the point, aren't you? I thought you might want to chat with me a bit longer. I suppose not." he faked a sigh, "I'm only here to kill the traveller."

Paimon shrieked in response, but you quickly shut her up. "I can't let you do that. I need them for something important." you reply, leaving out the fact that you were send by Yae Miko. She must've had a hunch that Scaramouche was involved in this damned factory or else she wouldn't have given you this important task of retrieving the traveller.

"As if I'd hand them over to you that easily." he smiles at you tauntingly. He opened his fist, a flicker of Electro created by his delusion danced across the palm of his hand. "You'll have to fight me if you're bold enough." he remarks, narrowing his eyes at your figure. In terms of power, you knew you couldn't beat him. Miko has already informed you about the Doctor breaking the seal to Scaramouche's abilites.

But you came prepared.

"I'm not searching for a fight. I'm here to trade with you." you say, hand reaching into your sleeve, before pulling out the gnosis. The one thing he was aiming for all his life. And now you held it in your possession right before his very being. He narrowed his eyes even further at the item in your hand. That was all he needed to achieve his purpose...

"I'll trade the traveller's life for the Electro gnosis." you spoke confidently, waiting for his reaction. He remained quiet, before a chuckle escaped his lips. It didn't take long for him to burst into a laughter of amusement. You furrowed your eyebrows behind the mask you wore, confused why he was laughing.

Once he calmed down, his indigo hues land back on your mask. "To think that the person I've abandoned becomes the one who's the most useful to me..." he mutters, a smirk adorning his lips as he reached out to take the gnosis from you. "I'll take you up on that deal. Now hand it to me."

You hesitated a bit. You weren't sure why Miko would ask you to trade the gnosis for the traveller's life. After all, this small chess piece held overwhelming powers... to trade it for the life of an outlander didn't seem beneficial to you. But you did as told anyways, throwing the gnosis over to him, as Scaramouche swiftly caught it with his hand.

Paimon watched this trade happen with wide eyes, but when she saw you giving the sign to leave, she did as asked. "I've brought two of my people with me. They are standing outside on guard, so be a dear and notify them to help carry the traveller." you tell her and she quickly flew out on your command.

Your turn your back to him to check up on the traveller, wanting to leave this place as soon as possible since you'd rather not spend another second here with him. But he stopped you, before you could take even a single step. "Who said I'd let you leave this place alive? I only traded the traveller's life for this gnosis, not yours." he said and you freeze in your place. A miscalculation, one might say... you didn't expect him to be this aggressive after already getting what he had come for.

You turn back around, glaring at him behind your mask. "What do you want from me this time?" you questioned him. He merely chuckled in response, taking a few steps closer to you. "Not so feisty, 'Tsuki'." he called you by that name mockingly, "Let's make another deal." he suggested, analysing your face for any reaction.

You pursed your lips, your nerves getting to your head but you didn't let it show. With bated breath, you prepared yourself for his next words or actions he might take. If he intended to kill you, you wouldn't go down without a fight.

"How about you come back to me?" he finally says, a hint of a soft tone was audible, layered underneath his usual cold one. It was a question you've longed to hear all those years ago... how long have you been dreaming to go back to him, to have him embrace you and have him tell you he never meant what he had said back then. You were tempted to... but you couldn't. You knew you shouldn't, your heart was squeezing ever so tightly in your chest.

This question came five hundred years too late. And so you knew your answer. "I'd rather die." you lie skillfully, your hands clenching tensely. And this time he bought your lie, his arms dropping to his sides, before he lets out a sigh. "I've figured." he says, before staring at you with cold eyes. "Then take off your mask. Let me see your face one last time and I'll let you off."

Silence surrounded the two of you once more. You didn't want him to see your visage, because you knew that he was able read your expression all too well. But you still have things to do and goals to accomplish before you could die peacefully. So your hand reluctantly reached up to your face, your fingers curling around your wooden texture, before slowly taking it off and revealing your face to him. The familiar face that he once knew and loved.

A face that seemed to have always smiled at him whenever he looked at it. A welcoming expression that always forgave him for anything and everything. Or that's how he had remembered it in his memories. That's what they all were now... mere memories. Because right now, your eyes looked pained and hateful. And these emotions were all directed towards him.

Before any words could be uttered, Paimon flew back inside with two men behind her. They quickly picked up the traveller, before being ushered out by the little fairy. You turn around again, your back facing him and you left him standing in that lonely factory, leaving this place without another word.

Outside that wretched cave, you breathe in the fresh air surrounding you. You had to stay rational, but your heart kept clenching with each step away from him. You wanted to go back oh-so-badly, to jump into his arms and reassure yourself that everything is fine again. That everything is good and that nothing will destroy the relationship you two had. But you knew that this wasn't some fairy tale.

You glanced back at the factory again, gazing at it longingly, before ultimately turning back to complete your task and fulfill your duties. That was when a cryo vision formed right before your eyes, the orb glowing strongly as it descended from the sky and into the palm of your hand. As you found yourself in a crossroad of decisions, this vision drove you to look back one more time at the place where Scaramouche still was. And you decided that you'll continue on your own path, hoping that this won't be the last time you two cross roads...

(extra snippet:)

A sigh escaped his lips, as Scaramouche turned to make his escape as well. He had been bluffing the whole time... He knew all too well that he didn't have it in him to actually lay even a finger on you. It was just like back then, when you two met during his rampage at the Raiden Gokaden. He just couldn't kill you even if he wanted to...

The Harbinger ran his fingers through his indigo locks. He must've been crazy to ask you to come back to him... but it was alright, at least he was able to get something out of this. To see your face one last time before he'll ascend to godhood. Soon he'll become an almighty being and all will be well again. Everything will be alright again and he'll get you back eventually, no matter the cost...

MASTERLIST | INFO

Yandere Diasomnia Headcanons

TW/CW: Dark content up ahead!! Yandere headcanons means yandere content y’all! Mentions of abuse and violent acts either towards the reader or the character!! Mental instability, gaslighting, manipulation, stalking, possessiveness, obsession, emotional whiplash, etc. (Don’t think I’m missing anything but if I am, please do let me know!)  This is your TW please proceed with caution!!

ALSO FYI!! A minor spoiler warning, it’s during the last paragraph of Lilias Headcanons! It’s slightly mentioned in book 6 but emphasized in book 7!

DISCLAIMER: These are my interpretations of his/her/their persona and none of these is 100% accurate. I don’t condone any of these actions in real life and all of this is purely fictional and should be taken as such! Underage characters will ONLY  be given SFW headcanons, please respect this decision!

As always, banner made by the lovely bestie @herestrish​ thank you for making all of these, you’re literally the best I love you so much! 

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.⁠ ｡⁠*⁠♡ request: May I request Sebastian and Lilia Vanrouge as reader’s father figure, pretty please?

.⁠ ｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: i really like papa lilia, i just know that he would take very good care of the reader if he had the opportunity to adopt you lol. Well, I hope you like it anonie! Also Sebbys part here.

It’s faerie custom to steal human children for themselves, so the first moment your eyes met in the cafeteria he knew he needed to keep you close. I mean, you were a cute little thing that was brought into a world where you didn’t know anything or anyone. A cute little thing that managed to hold Lilia’s attention and focus, and he just can’t help but be in awe of your strength and courage.

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