Yan Scara - Blog Posts

Warning: Murder (not you or him), Vampire Scaramouche, angst(?), yandere, attempted suicide (you), suicidal thoughts (you), power imbalance, locked up against your will, married against your will, many forcing stuff (nothing explicit), biting/drinking blood/sinking for fangs, Scara can read your thoughts, teleport, really strong. And an unnamed character.

This was so long for some reason, uhh.

Four years ago. You never found the reason and purpose of living. You were on the edge of a cliff, about to jump off and die.

Until someone held you so tightly... "My love..." A voice calls out, who?

"I'm not-" and you passed out.

You wake up groggily in a royal-ish and gothic like designed room, each and every corner lavishly designed and a portrait of a woman who looks like you lies there in the middle, with a man.

Then the said man appeared in your face.

"You're not even her..." He grumbles, "I want you to marry me." He proposes.

You were taken aback, who wouldn't be? A man abducts and suddenly proposes to marry you.

"..What—" he immediately interrupts you, "I am not giving you a choice." He states

...and that's how your life ended, where you found out that the man who abducted you was named Scaramouche. And he's not really a man per se, more of a vampire honestly.

And that just terrified you. Because what? Scaramouche is basically that one vampire your town had angered because they ended up murdering his wife!

Not only that, why would anyone save you at all? When you have done nothing for the town and the town literally wants you gone... You're left with no choice honestly.

You don't even know why it hurts you, but, you found out that the only reason he wanted to marry you was because you looked similar to his late lover... It shouldn't really hurt you.

So you're just outside, just in his garden, the moonlight hovering above you. You sighed...

Your life really ended. You can't even see the sun anymore...

The meals he ate that he demanded you to prepare for him like a wife should — terrified you...

He doesn't even love you...

And you're locked up in the castle because of his paranoia.

Sometimes you wished you could just run away.. but where? Where would you go? You have nowhere to go.

You can't really go anywhere...

You just wish you could die.

You shut your eyes and deeply inhaled.. and exhaled. Then you open your eyes only to see the one who ended your life — Scaramouche.

He looked upset.. I mean, he always looked upset, his eyebrows are always furrowed, his lips are always curved into a frown, his dead indigo eyes are always dead... And when he's more mad than ever? He'd have an eerie forced smile on his face... Or a death glare.. he's really just unpredictable, it scares you. Everything about him scares you.

"Why are you outside? I've been looking for you." He spoke, and you averted your gaze and sat up. "I was just—"

"Can you stop it?" He snapped, you're confused as your eyebrows furrowed and you look at him. "What?"

"You are aware I can hear your thoughts no? I could hear from a mile away how much you want to die.. to get away from me. It irritates me. Stop it." He demands, you avert your gaze, your lips pressing into a firm line.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He's agitated, why are you so meek?

When he wants to see his first late lover unto you, he can't, he just sees you, and it's making him annoyed that his dead heart is starting to beat because of you, it irritates him.

Every little thing you do. Why can't you just do it for the sake of doing it? Why are you doing it for him? When he does see you do something for yourself — it's even worse! It's either running away or dying. He hates it. Stop.

He couldn't help himself but hold your arms firmly, at least firmly to his standard, but bruising to you. He stares you down as you look at him, why? Why are you so different from her?

His mouth slipped that question and you're just confused even more.

The more you keep on thinking of dying, the more he imagines you dead, the more he gets scared. He doesn't want to admit it, but he fell for how you are, for how different you are, from just yourself...

Maybe fell is an understatement... He's obsessed with it.

He wants to see more of you. He wants to see you act like him... He wants you to be an actual wife of his.. someone he can live his undying life with... Someone that isn't his dead lover. He can never replace his dead lover, but he definitely can be with you.

The fact that despite all these thoughts of dying and things, you stayed with him. You didn't run when he gave you so many opportunities to, you didn't get away from him.. you practically signed up for this didn't you?

You practically wanted him to never ever want you to die and to be gone ever again...

So stop it.

Stop trying to die.

Stop.

He can't let you die. No.

His grip is still firm on your shoulders as he gets on his knees — to your level — then places his face to your neck, nuzzling it (making you shiver).

Then opening his mouth, and bite.

He just bit your neck, and your face paled as the pain hit you. As you feel his fangs sink into your neck.

You're a weak mortal. You also have a weak mindset. So.. even though it takes time, he'll definitely turn you into a vampire so you can stay with him forever.

He never wants to tell you at all, but.. he's actually done this already when he started falling for you two years ago in your four year relationship.

Whenever you slumber in the chamber he gave you, so vulnerably sleeping, your neck to your shoulders exposed for him to feed on? He just can't keep his fangs out of it. You're practically begging to be with him forever with that.

So he'll do as you told him to. He'll make you a vampire so you could be with him. You asked for it, no?

Well either way, you never really had a choice.

You begged, you begged him to stop, you tangled your fingers in his indigo locks, trying to push him away, but he won't budge.

He just continued for a solid minute and stopped, some blood dripping off his lips. As he looked at you and then the bite mark, then to you.

And with his strength, he carried you and teleported to your chambers and threw you on the soft mattress.

Then laying on top of you as he caresses your face softly, his eyes focused as he murmured things that you couldn't make out (it was a love confession).

You opened your mouth to ask, but he quickly interrupted you, he always interrupted you whenever you spoke, it honestly made you feel disrespected, but he doesn't really care about that in the moment.

"You asked for it." That's all he said before he forces you to tilt your head as he sinks his fangs into the same bite mark on your neck, and proceeds to do the painful procedure of turning a human into a vampire...

You wouldn't really be at the same level as him because you were turned into a vampire, but he liked it that way.. because that meant he'd still be superior to you and have some kind of power and control over you.

Like he said... You asked for it the moment you decided to not leave when you had a chance. And you never really had a choice.

I was inspired to do this because of a certain friend of mine (ahem ahem @tnsophiaonly) having suicidal thoughts and having a fixation to vampires (specifically Scaramouche), and yandere ig.

TO PEOPLE HAVING SUICIDAL THOUGHTS OR HAS ATTEMPTED IT, PLEASE SEEK HELP, YOU ARE NOT ALONE!

And @tnsophiaonly YOU GOT INTO THAT INCIDENT BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO DIE FROM IT??? I am so tying you up after you get out of the hospital

Okay so maybe I'll give a couple headcanons about yandere! Sugar daddies!!

Nepobaby! Scaramouche who isn't the least bit upset that he's known for his very successful mother. Brandishing his money and power, he laughs in the face of those who tell him that he isn't self made. He laughs because he doesn't care. Known for controversy and being bratty, he's not an easy person to even be in the same room with. But he has a particular love for taunting you. The first time he picks you up in one of his fancy cars, you're trembling. He loves the taking pity on you, the poor college student struggling to get by, flashing money on your face. Taking you to places he knows you can't even dream of afford to spend a year's worth of your salary on lavish. It's almost crazy that someone so rich and powerful seems obsessed with your time, bombarding your phone with practically hundreds of texts and calls if you're even an hour late, quick to tell you how important he is. You can't afford to live without you, he tells you, you need his money. You need him.

CEO! Diluc who is self made, but humble regardless. Running a big corporations all by himself is quite a lonely job, he explains to you, which is why a man such as himself if willing to pay for companion ship. He's the epitome of a gentleman, not even asking for intimacy even after months of dates and thousands of dollars spent on you. Diluc says that he just enjoys your company, but even that gets to be a bit much. What was initially started as you just seeing him for dates on weekends became spending the days at his house and even sitting in his office while he filed documents. He just enjoys seeing you there, making you quit your job and even school, saying that he can support you so they're not necessary. Even with your large paycheck, you feel as if what he wants is too much, but mentioning this means your met with soft spoke harsh comments, implying that you're ungrateful for all that was given to you.

A Chance Encounter.

Yan Scaramouche x Reader.

Loosely based on this concept.

Warnings: Only light yandere themes since Reader doesn't know about Scara's Harbinger affiliation. Word count: 1.1k.

Scaramouche could succinctly describe this assignment as a pain.

Some whistleblower whose conscience got the better of her in retirement, realizing now that she’s living off a measly pension instead of a steady stream of income that perhaps experimentation on unwitting subjects is actually not so dandy. How convenient. Moral epiphanies have the best timing. Or in the Harbinger’s case, the worst timing, since this trip to Mondstadt was supposed to be for pleasure, not business. 

He occupies a space beneath a sizable canopy. Shadows swallow him, occasionally chased off by shy sunlight wriggling through interstices born from the steady wind. The weather is fair compared to the everlasting winter that wrings all life from Snezhnaya. This nation is perfectly idyllic, perfectly boring, save for a single inhabitant who is notably exempt from his criticism. 

If it weren’t for the invisible yet no less present Fatui agents slinking about, he’d give in to the urge to quirk his lips upward. 

At least when this is wrapped up, he can see you. 

The matter shouldn’t take much longer. In written correspondence with the would-be traitor, he played the role of a bleeding heart, successfully blindsiding her into thinking he shares her plight. Now all that remains is to meet up with her and discern if the supposedly damning documents hold any weight or not. The rest can be left to his lackeys, he’d rather not waste any more time when he could be engaging in far more enjoyable activities. 

This is about as cut and dry as it gets. 

Except… 

Rapid footsteps approach. 

Foliage crunches beneath the heel of an exuberant individual, smothering leaves and snapping twigs. 

“Kuuuuuniiiiiii!” A voice he knows very well calls out. 

There is but a single entity throughout all of Teyvat who actively runs toward him, not away from him, and this entity so happens to be you. The concept of shame is a foreign one, you’re far too concerned with utilizing various flourishes to capture his attention. The fanfare is without reason. The instant you enter the scene, Scaramouche scarcely remembers the rest of the world exists, it becomes as inconsequential as the ground he treads on. 

You are a fallen star streaming through the sky, an answer to a wish he never had the courage to make. 

Unfortunately, you’ve happened upon him at a tricky juncture. The Fatui swarming like sharks in the water are prepared to tear into you at his command. From their perspective, you are an unknown variable running full force at their Lord Harbinger. Never in their wildest dreams could they fathom the notoriously spiteful Balladeer has a sweet spot for you, this is by his design. He’s painstakingly taken measures to ensure his little ball of sunshine can’t be used by his many enemies. 

The wave he gives serves two purposes — to greet you and signal his men to stand down. 

As if he wasn’t already thrown off-kilter by your abrupt appearance, when you’re at the appropriate distance, you launch at him with arms held wide. He catches you with an ease unfitting of his slender demeanor, his strength far surpassing that of any mortal. You’re content to wrap your arms around his neck while he steadies you. 

“I knew it was you! The hat gave it away. It always does,” you explain in between breaths. “And here I was thinking that you wouldn’t be in for a few more days.” 

Slowly, he helps ease you back down. You sway a bit, clutching his shoulders to maintain your balance, to which he snickers. “Were you so desperate to see me that running at a reasonable pace slipped your mind?” 

“I thought if I exerted more force, I might be able to tackle you to the ground this time… so much for that.” 

“Hah. As if. What strange fantasies you entertain without me around. The loneliness must rot your brain.” 

“Who says I’m lonely?” You challenge, tilting your head to the side. “I’m more than capable of making and maintaining friendships. That’s what happens when you’re a likable person.” 

He’s quick to reply so as not to betray his irritation at the idea. “You? Likable? The mental deterioration is worse than I feared. I hope it isn’t irreversible at this stage.” 

You shrug. “I dunno, you seem to like me well enough. I consider that my crowning achievement. If I can win you over I’m capable of anything. Maybe I’ll aim for world peace next.” 

Scaramouche is so quick to be swept up in the wild tide that is you that his bumbling underlings temporarily slipped his mind. Lately, there’s been one in particular who seems keen on proving himself worthy of a promotion. He goes out of his way to do extra work Scaramouche never tasked him with. It’s been a minor nuisance yet nothing major has come from it. 

However, in his purview, he senses this sycophant taking a position that’d be advantageous to strike at you from. 

Scaramouche’s retaliation is immediate. On a perfectly sunny day, a vicious bolt of lightning strikes mere inches from the spot he occupies, effectively communicating his lord’s displeasure. The white-hot flash earns your attention. You turn your head in the direction it came from, then shoot him an inquisitive glance. 

“... What did that bush ever do wrong?” 

“You’d be surprised.” 

The warning must’ve made it through the agent’s thick head, for he backs off like a dog with its tail between its legs. 

“Hey. I have some business I need to finish, then I’ll treat you to dinner,” Scaramouche knows you well enough to be confident that the idea of delicious food will successfully distract you. It’s as he predicted — he can practically hear the gears turning in your head as you form plans. He can only hope he doesn’t have to encounter that slovenly excuse of a god who once serenaded you with the story of an abandoned doll, claiming it to be a ‘cautionary tale’. The self-restraint he exercised that day is second to none. 

“Alright, but try to leave some nature standing, this is a trail I enjoy walking. I’d rather you don’t eviscerate it.” 

You begin to part ways, before loudly proclaiming ‘oh!’, like you’d forgotten something important. Then you’re back by his side. He processes the feeling before anything else, the soft sensation of your lips on his cheek renders him speechless. A crimson hue dusts against his pale cheeks as he subconsciously raises his hand to touch the still-tingling spot. Content with yourself, you depart, waving as enthusiastically as you had earlier. 

When his coherency returns, he sighs. That was a bit more than he’d prefer any Fatui-aligned person to see.

He’ll have to get creative to explain the deaths of all his men on such a low-stakes mission. Before that, however, he needs to ask one to hand the appropriate forms over, lest it disintegrate to ash as they’re fated to. 

It’s a pain, truly, but you’re worth the extra effort. 

play wrestling — scaramouche.

Occasionally, there are instances in one’s life where regret embeds itself too deep to safely remove. 

Standing here, your back against the literal and proverbial wall, you’re reacquainted with this humbling reality. A reminder of your mortality. What a delicate substance it is, easily extinguishable like a candle to some. 

Violet eyes piercing enough to sever metal regard you, unamused and faintly malicious. You can’t say you didn’t bring this upon yourself. He pins your wrists above you with one hand. His grip is tight yet falls short of being painful. As much as you want to look away, he won’t permit it, so you maintain unflinching eye contact to prevent ruffling him further. 

“Well?” There’s a sardonic lilt to his voice that makes you shiver. “I’m waiting.” 

You part and close your lips in the same breath. Asking him for clarification won’t do you much good, he delights in watching you piece together his dubious intentions. The satisfaction he derives from it is a bit worrisome. Nonetheless, he offers you one saving grace he’d extend to no one else — patience.

What led up to this unfortunate development? Ah, yes, you saw fit to poke a slumbering beast with a stick. Scaramouche had been too preoccupied to entertain your whims. So, you being the genius that you are, offhandedly remarked that if he didn’t want to wrestle around with you, Tartaglia would certainly be up for it. 

No sooner had his junior Harbinger’s name left your lips did you find yourself pinned against a wall. 

He sighs, long and drawn out, as if you’re the source of all his woes. 

“You’re the one who proposed this insipid game, the least you can do is see it through.” 

One of the best boons from being in Scaramouche’s orbit is how many insults he adds to your vocabulary. His lexicon is vast and impressive. 

Now that you understand what he’s getting at, you push back against your restraints, gauging how effective this method would be. He doesn’t cede any ground. His lithe body belies the immense strength he can wield. He restricts your writhing without overexerting himself in the slightest. Realizing a battle of physical prowess won’t end in your favor, you employ a new tactic. 

The corners of your eyes crinkle as you smile at him softly. 

“Kuni,” you speak the nickname he weakly claims to abhor, “Won’t you go easy on me?” 

The tips of the Harbinger’s ears turn red. He scoffs, turning his head to hide how effortlessly you fluster him. “Of course not. If I always indulged you, you’d become more insufferable than you already are.” 

“That’s rude.” 

“The truth often is.” 

While he’s preoccupied with your exchange, you twist your body, placing your best on the element of surprise. He’d need to quickly readjust the angle at which he’s holding your wrist to stop you. For half a second, you think you have him beat, but he leans in, using his torso to block your escape. A wicked grin spreads on his face at your little underhanded tactic. 

You swallow thickly. 

“Awe, don’t look so defeated! The effort was there,” he snickers. “Maybe next time?” 

“Don’t you have things to do? It’s not like you can hold me here all day, right?” 

He stares at you blankly. 

“... Right?” You repeat, chuckling weakly. 

“Hm, I don’t know. I’m starting to see the appeal to this game of yours. Let’s play a while longer.” 

aww what if scara’s darling copied his red eye makeup, whether to catch him off guard or because of boredom

at first, scara's narrowing his eyes because hm. there's something different about you. he sees you everyday, he could accurately describe you from memory for any artist commissioned to paint your likeness. this familiarity has even the slightest change in your appearance sticking out like a sore thumb. seriously, you could change lip balms and he'd notice. he's weird like that.

with this in mind, you assumed he'd immediately point out the rouge pigment painted around your eyes. instead, he marched up to you, taking your chin in his unnaturally cold hand for an impromptu examination. after observing you from every possible angle, it hits him. the color, the shape, the placement—

—he blushes and sputters some incoherent spiel about 'ulterior motives' and 'shamelessness.' don't take the insults personally, the poor puppet is malfunctioning. for you to have replicated it this well, you must've studied him at length. did you find him handsome? had you noticed he changed his conditioner, giving his hair a glossier finish?

these thoughts run rampant in his overclocked brain.

good luck trying to convince him you did this out of boredom. he's convinced this is a subconscious sign of attraction, any evidence supporting the contrary goes in one ear and out the other. the power of delusion is unmatched.

begging for scaramouche brainrot crumbs 🙏🙏

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stubborn.” 

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

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

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

“Hm.” 

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

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

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. 

⌗ 𝘚𝘊𝘈𝘙𝘈𝘔𝘖𝘜𝘊𝘏𝘌 𝘏𝘊 ⁝ 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 ( ♱ )

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language Hope you enjoy!

Oh lord. He's a sadistic yandere. The type that I hate the most. He's honestly one of the worst yanderes in the game. Why would you even want him as your yandere?

Scaramouche thinks you're stupid. So, so stupid. You really believe this world is beautiful, don't you? You think it's worth it? You believe there are good things to be thankful for? You believe in gods?

That's why you're always smiling, isn't it? That's why you're not scared of him? That's why you're so happy? What a stupid, stupid human.

But he'll show you. He'll show you why you shouldn't trust blindly. Why this world is cruel. Why there's only disgusting things in this world. Why no one answers your prayers.

Oh, does it hurt? Did he broke your wrist? Are you crying? Does the little baby want her mommy? Too bad she's stuck with him, right?

How about your legs? Do they hurt badly? How does it feel? How much does it hurt? It must hurt so much, right?

Then why are you smiling through your tears? Why are you trying to reach him? Why are you caressing his face? Why are you telling him it's okay? That you're fine?

Huh? What is this? What is this feeling? Why are his eyes blurring? What's this? Why are his cheeks wet? What's that look on your face? Why does everything hurt so much?

Don't touch him! Don't fucking touch him with your filthy hands! It's your fault. It's all your fucking fault. If you hadn't smiled at him, if you hadn't tried to help him the first time, this wouldn't have happened.

But that's okay. That's okay. He just has to try harder. He just has to push you harder. To hurt you more.

What's wrong now? Why are you quiet? Shouldn't you be smiling? You said it didn't hurt, right? You said you were fine, right? Then why aren't you smiling now?

It's funny. See! You're not smiling anymore. He was right! He won! Now he's the one who can't stop laughing.

But... but if he won, why isn't he happy? Why are his eyes burning? Why are his hands shaking? Why can't he force his body to move?

The smell of blood disgusts him. His fingers dig into your cheeks as he forces your head up. Your once beautiful face is now marred with bruises and scars. Your clothes, soaking with blood, cling to your body like a second skin. He can clearly see the scars, the bruises, the broken bones that stick out of your flesh–everything. He can see everything.

He should be happy, right? Wasn't that what he wanted? He wanted to break you, right? He wanted to destroy your smile, right?

He softly unlocks the chains around your broken wrists, and your body collapses to the ground, as if you're dead.

He kneels down and wraps his arms around your fragile body. He buries his nose in your knotted hair and tries to calm himself down. But his tears just keep falling, and now you no longer wipe them away.

He presses his forehead to yours, his lips trembling. "I'm sorry," he whispers, the words foreign and bitter on his tongue. "I'm so sorry."

What has he done?

@ 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔 . 𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒, 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠.

LOCKED AND LOADED [Yandere!Wanderer x Reader]

Prompt: The world is about to end. How will you grieve when you're forced to be with a miserable man until the last second? [Dedicated To: @mixed-kester for the Alone Together Event]

Content Tags: yandere!scaramouche "fluff" oneshot (yes, there are no other parts:]), major persona 3 spoilers but you DON’T need to know the game before reading this since everything is explained, improper use of a S.E.E.S evoker /j, Scaramouche is so normal about you, UNRELIABLE NARRATOR, major character death/s–

V. Acceptance.

"Where the hell are you, (Y/n)?"

Standing near what should have been the front doors of his university was a short man with dark purple hair. He leaned precariously against them, his head tilted upward as if the sickly green moon's ominous pull was nothing to be afraid of. Gekkoukan University's nearby dorms– fraternity and sorority houses included– are not usually this silent. Instead of people, coffins were aligned perpendicular to the ground.

The wanderer glanced at his watch with mild interest. He had been waiting for a while now. Your guest hoisted himself up, circling the ground with the tip of his shoe. The baseline of his attitude had always defaulted to irritability and passive-aggressiveness. The vertically aligned hour-and-minute hands do not placate it. The timing itself makes it worse.

It's December 31st, 2009, 12 AM– the Dark Hour.

With a harsh sneer, he pocketed his hands. You usually have the door to the Velvet Room open to him whenever. What's the big deal? Were you seriously THAT mad at him? Really? He didn't do anything to warrant this "pettiness". He had never known silence as much as this moment.

You should've accounted for the hostility that proceeds on the "off-chance" he did arrive early.

His tone darkened, his bloodied hands gripping his S.E.E.S evoker tightly.

"If you don’t show up, I will cleanse the world of human emotion all by myself"

You shook from afar, afraid of how he wouldn't hesitate to make his threat a reality. He had already taken so much– you were beyond mad at him. You were terrified. Wronged. Abused. You didn't want to step into the light. Much worse, step into his shadow.

The worst thing evil can do is to turn you into one of them.

He clutched the bloodied yellow scarf in his hands tightly.

Why did this happen?

How did things END up like this?

IV. Depression.

You took a deep breath and charged forward.

You don't trust [Wanderer] ever since Ryoji told him about the impending apocalypse.

Seldom do you leave the Velvet Room. You weren't hiding in the Velvet room months before the end of the world was imminent. When April had only reached its fourth day, there was nothing you wanted more than to spend time outside. So ignominiously innocent. You did not know who [Wanderer] was and how much effect he would have on your life at the time. You were just tired of the ongoing stream of uneventfulness.

And now here you are, berating the protagonist in full.

"[Wanderer], why is Ryoji missing?! US ATTENDANTS CAN'T FIND TRACK HIM ANYWHERE!!!"

With a fistful of his university uniform, you yanked him by the collar. Your eyes were livid as you reeled your composure. This wasn't what you had in mind when you were "isekai"d into a video game. Out of any game, why did it have to be Persona 3? And out of anyone that could be a protagonist, why did it have to be HIM?!

You thought this would be a grand affair... Whatever they spun in anime back when your reality existed were pure lies. Where are the scenic views? The mountains? The grasslands? This plane of existence you're forced to sit through for eternity was far from the RPG fantasy people would hope for. No closer you could ever be to paradise.

In fact, this man is threatening to ruin said paradise.

[Wanderer] pulled your hands away forcefully. His glare was not that different from yours. "Why do you care about him so much?"

"Oh, I don't know! Maybe it's because his death means forgetting everything?!" You clenched your empty fists. "You know damn well what happens if he dies! You'll lose all the help you can get to stopping the Fall!"

Such a heavy weight on your shoulders but the protagonist doesn't care. This may be a turn-based game– but it wasn't based on you. If it was, you wouldn't be screaming your heart out at him! You wouldn't be an NPC. Hell, you'd probably be a better protagonist than him.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed every stress out of your system.

"Listen—" You rubbed your temple. "You need to start forming bonds. Social links. Support system. Confidants. Whatever you want to call it. You were supposed to have the answer by now as to what life is for."

[Wanderer] remained silent throughout your spiels. His facial expression alone was enough to infer immense disinterest. You were mindlessly doing your job. There will be no tirade or physical aggression that can convince him that you believe in your assertions with full conviction.

"Do you want to see him?"

"Yes! Of course. Knowing you, you're—"

"Tempted to kill him because you think I want the world to end?"

"Obviously."

That's where you're wrong.

A nihilistic man can have other reasons to commit murder.

"But if he's missing, you can forget about him, right?"

"What on earth are you talking about?!"

[Wanderer] turned around. "Meet me later, you know the time."

"I'll show you where Ryoji is."

III. Bargaining.

XX/09/2009

He doesn't recall the time he was brought into this world like you had.

Puppets are malleable. Memories are easy to overwrite when your body is held together by white wood and "khemia". His past evades him.

Maybe it's better this way.

He took you to Chagall Café. Although it was your first time out in a long while, he had no qualms about ignoring your questions. He feigned deafness as you asked about the news, his college life, friends, or anything related to what was happening in 2009. And he even ignored your humble request to buy the cheapest coffee for you. Instead, he bought you a chocolate frappe.

"For Elizabeth's cutest little sibling." He said, sarcastically copying Elizabeth's tone as he sharply handed the drink. "Wouldn't want everyone's darling to get a caffeine addiction."

Thanks, asshat.

Of all his offensive behavior— he really spent more money just to insult you. You shook your head and accepted it. It's the most expensive one on the menu too. What dedication to being a hater. But before you could open your wallet, he shot your payment down.

"Just take it." He smirked. "Look at you, paying me back for treating you poorly. Are you a masochist?"

You immediately shoved your money back in. "You still bought me a free drink, so really, who's the loser here? Prick."

[Wanderer] laughed heartily before he pulled out his battered codal, which had underlined texts for provisions he deemed important. There was a momentary softness in his gaze that disappeared in an instant.

But that's the only conversation he planned on having that evening. He did mention he'll drag you out in his study session so you weren't too shocked by it. Instead, you sat and awkwardly people-watched. The world you came from and this one were identical. You got through your old 2009 just fine— it's just that Tatsumi Port Island was not a real location from your original Japan.

Your memories about the video game Persona aren't very clear since you reincarnated in the game, but the red band [Wanderer] wore on his sleeve affirmed that he is the leader of S.E.E.S. It's nice to know that someone like him has the potential to become a leader.

[Wanderer] appeared wholly immersed in his studies.

…

Maybe he wouldn't notice if you looked around—

…?!

He immediately grabbed your hand. You yelped slightly as you noticed the iron grip he had.

"Where are you going?"

Don't leave him.

He squeezed just a bit more tightly.

"W-What the— I'm just going to the bathroom." You felt a shiver down your spine as you shared his gaze. There's a dull coldness to it you couldn't quite place, as if he had been a witness to injustice, sevenfold.

You quietly sat back down. He still hasn't let go of your hand.

"Good riddance." He muttered.

"If it isn't [Wanderer]!"

You turned around, yanking your hand away.

It's Ryoji.

You stood up, gawking.

"W-Woah, are you okay?" Ryoji asked, hurriedly approaching you. While you were frozen in place, [Wanderer] looked at his empty hand, feeling your warmth escape his fingertips.

G-Good… he's still alive.

You thought [Wanderer] killed him.

[Wanderer] is the wildcard, and that's a terrifying factor to consider. He hasn't shown any interest in humanity. Knowing his past has not increased any hope on your end. Everyone else in his eyes are insignificant insects.

He has the power to end Ryoji.

He has the power to end this world.

Locked and loaded.

Ryoji's eyes softened. "Wait, I think I know a beautiful face like yours from somewhere… You must be [Wanderer]'s attendant, (Y/n), right?"

You blinked.

"Wait, how did you…"

He chuckled, taking and placing a soft kiss on your gloved hands.

"I have my ways." Ryoji winked.

"Don't touch them." [Wanderer] sneered.

Ryoji stood up straight, unfazed by his threatening tone. You took a moment to examine his appearance. He had a lot of white clothing and a big yellow scarf around his neck. Just below his left eye is a mole. On the surface, he appeared quite human, but everyone seated at this table was aware of his true nature.

He is the 13th arcana. The appraiser.

You and [Wanderer] have every right to be wary.

"I'm Ryoji Mochizuki. It's nice to be officially introduced to you, Mx. (Y/n)."

"Ryoji Mochizuki…" You tasted the syllables.

"Oh? Who knew hearing my name from your lips makes it sound so wonderful."

"C-Cut it out, you don't mean that." You said, a little flustered.

[Wanderer]'s gaze fixated on you, stewing in his concoction of envy and misery. His fists were clenched beneath the table, knuckles turning white. With narrowed eyes, he watched as you continued engaging in conversation with Ryoji. His laughter was grating his ears. He couldn't bear the sight of you engaging with another man, especially someone as flirtatious as him.

Ryoji, sensing [Wanderer]'s distress, shot him a casual glance. To top the look, he paired it with a knowing smirk. He made mental notes of the man's clenched jaw and tensed shoulders.

"You seem a little on edge, [Wanderer]. Finals coming up?" He feigned innocence.

"It's December, and I'm not on edge." He scoffed, trying not to make his gritted teeth evident. "Don't you own a calendar? Finals are in March. To think a pea-brain like you managed to transfer to Gekkan…"

"Right, right." Ryoji smiled, closing his eyes. "Then it must be my proposal you're thinking of."

You stiffened; [Wanderer] did not.

"Ryoji—"

"I know, Mx. (Y/n)." He started. "I know you're not too keen on the idea of killing me. My existence is the affirmation of the Fall. None of you— sorry, I forgot (Y/n) is from the Velvet room— I meant none of them will live till Spring… Or perhaps it's more accurate to say they'll forfeit the will to live."

…

"… I-I'm sorry." Ryoji buried his face in his yellow scarf. There's a certain tremble in his voice that truly emphasizes his sorrow. "Just as all living things die, the flow of time cannot be hindered. But there's comfort in killing me. If you do… you won't have to suffer for the coming days."

If [Wanderer] kills Ryoji, Tartarus, the Dark Hour— the burden of everyone's memories will all disappear.

But [Wanderer] can retain his.

He's not originally from this world after all…

However, should he let him live, the rest of S.E.E.S's life will continue until everyone's inevitable demise.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

[Wanderer] rolled his eyes, diverting his eyes back to his notes. "Everyone will die soon, who cares? I've heard your spiel several times already. You need to get more entertaining material."

"[Wanderer]!" You scolded him.

Your eyes widened in disbelief at [Wanderer]'s unwittingly casual jabs at the apocalypse. You wanted to ask him if he was even listening, but the truth will disappoint you. A cold sweat formed on your brow.

Ryoji's smile crooked into a hopeless one.

"You depend on (Y/n) too much."

[Wanderer] froze. "What did you say…?"

"You have a group of people around you, eager to establish a bond— eager to be friends with you. You have met Junpei, Yukari, Mitsuru, Akihiko, Fuuka, and many others– but you don't consider any of them as your friends." Ryoji shook his head. "Instead, you spend your time with just (Y/n). Never anyone else. Just them. To the point that I think it's unhealthy."

"I don't care for humans." He replied immediately.

"You're human too, [Wanderer]." Ryoji shot back. "You're made of blood, bones, and flesh."

[Wanderer] fell silent. What Ryoji said was true, and yet…

"Am I?" He laughed.

The sound was hollow and mechanical. Deprived of genuine mirth. It did not sound forced, yet his eyes were dull.

…

Perhaps he lived as a puppet for so long that the idea of being human has yet to reach him.

Ryoji shifted, uncomfortably glancing between you two. The tension was palpable despite the cafe's peaceful ambiance. Ryoji cleared his throat softly.

"I should leave…" He trailed off, voice slightly wavering. His eyes darted around, scrambling for words to say. "But, um, before I leave, I just want to say again that you need to give it some more thought, [Wanderer]... It's a big deal… Just…"

Ryoji sighed. "Remember to make your choice to spare or kill me by December 31st. I'm glad you're having fun but don't get too distracted with (Y/n). I'll be waiting."

That being said, his footsteps reverberated loudly in the otherwise still room as he turned and headed for the door. He dared to turn back as he grabbed for the doorknob and saw you two sharing a look that he couldn't determine if it was one of contemplation or displeasure. He hurried out and the cafe door shut behind him.

"Happy?" [Wanderer] bitterly asked.

You paused for a moment… then grinned.

"Tsk, what are you laughing at, worm?"

"Nothing, nothing!" You shrugged. "I just thought that for a guy with a stick up his ass, you're cute when you're jealous."

That riled [Wanderer] up in an instant.

You do not know the full extent of his envy's filth.

"I am NOT—" He stopped, realizing how counterproductive it would be. "Whatever. I don't care."

"Uhuh?"

"Shut up and finish your damn chocolate!"

II. Anger.

Before you know it, it's April.

"Seriously, you three, I'm bored as fuck! Can't I just take a stroll outside?" You yelled, waving the heavy persona compendium in the air as your sisters ignored you.

It hasn't been long since you reincarnated, so your right to go outside isn't as liberal. Given the impending threat of an apocalypse, the Velvet Room attendants are especially overprotective.

"(Y/n), dear sibling, watch your mouth! You mustn't let Igor or Nameless hear you speak so vulgarly."

Taking a good look at your new "siblings", you've noticed how almost everyone was present. Margaret sat elegantly on the sofa while Theodore & Elizabeth were doing their best to calm you down. It's almost rare to have all three in one place. The three oldest were busy-bodies who had more eccentric matters they devoted their attention to. Including rapping and dancing, though neither performances are good for your senses.

"If boredom plagues you, then you should try teasing Theodore." Elizabeth yawned. "He's easy pickings."

"Sister!" Theodore pouted. "Shouldn't (Y/n) focus on studying how fusing works? It would be a better use of their time…"

"The day (Y/n)'s new wildcard learns the value of social links might just be the day miserly politicians become generous." Elizabeth shrugged.

You paled, tugging her sleeve. "Oh fuck… Am I screwed?"

She gave you a lopsided smile. "I may be your new sibling but that does not mean I am obliged to resolve your problems, (Y/n). Learn to solve this on your own."

Theodore coughed.

"Please, stop scaring them, sister Elizabeth. It's not their fault this new guest is a cruel arbiter. I fear there will not be a second of groundless joy in store for them…"

"You're not helping me relax either! Motherfucker. Can't you two speak normally?"

"Settle down, all of you."

The four of you stood straight as Igor tilted his chin up. Though you've gotten used to his bloodshot gaze, it had a way of prickling your skin this time around. With his signature smile, he closed his eyes and snapped his fingers.

"Our guest is about to enter."

"W-Wait, RIGHT NOW?!?"

Before you could react, the room transformed into what appeared to be a large elevator. The walls were barred and creaking noises began to subtly make their presence. A floating door materialized, and soon, opened.

Dark purple hair and eyes, short frame, soft face.

"…Hmm?"

You blinked.

"Wait, no way…"

You know him.

Of course, you know him.

"Everyone, meet [Wanderer]."

You decided that you two should reintroduce yourselves and forget that the past ever happened.

For now, you had been gifted with a vital role: being the protagonist's attendant.

According to your Igor, your role is to assist your guest in fusing personas. He had chosen you specifically in advance as you are his "anima/animus figure". Initially, that job was for Elizabeth. However, your beliefs, your intuition, your emotions— they're in perfect tune with [Wanderer]. Igor expects you to facilitate their spiritual and psychological growth and implore them to interact more with others.

Which, based on that alone, sounds like this puppet just hired an unpaid therapist.

"What do you want?"

"Well…"

Since you became [Wanderer]'s attendant, you've started to have thicker skin. He will always make his crankiness known each visit. You're slightly grateful for it, for how else would you know patience otherwise? Though his personality rubs you the wrong way, his strength does have merits you cannot ignore. Even Belladona, the Velvet Room's devout singer, had sung praises for his mettle. There was one line that struck you about her song, something about him being like a puppet with a beating heart unbeknownst to himself…

Which is why you thought you might as well try to see if you could convince him to take you out sometimes.

"What, like a date?" [Wanderer] scoffed then smirked, a light blush on his face. "Are you really that desperate?"

"No, eww—" You rolled your eyes. "I meant it literally. Igor and the others wouldn't let me go outside unless I'm with someone they trust."

He looked away and covered his mouth, his shoulders trembling slightly.

"Like a child?"

"Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up." You deadpanned, your pride slightly chipped. "Like a child or whatever you want to see it, as long as it gets me out of here. I just want to see the world before it all…"

You paused.

Better not to bring it up. You're not sure if Igor told him yet.

[Wanderer] raised an eyebrow. "What's in it for me?"

You shrugged. "Is money not enough?"

He paused.

…

"You've got to be kidding me— Fine, what else do you want?"

His eyelids lowered, hissing slightly. "Evil expects evil from others, huh? I wasn't trying to think of anything more, but now that I think about it…"

"Oh, great."

"… I can take your request," he pointed at you. "But only if you join me in the library. Anywhere else, especially loud places like clubs, I'll send your ass back."

That's a no-brainer.

"Deal!"

Though you've missed the peculiar sight, [Wanderer] had a small smile on his face as you shook hands. The two of you had become nearly inseparable since then.

Worryingly, he's closer to you than other humans.

The only relationship he needed was with you.

And with what little time this world has left, you hope you could have a last cup of coffee with him…

I. Denial.

Your reality crumbled. What a START.

Your family, friends... all gone. No one was left. You convince yourself you "deserved" this punishment for smoking a life away with dreadful workloads, no matter how untrue it was. When the world burnt down, you were sent into a darkness you had not known before.

The person in charge of your reincarnation process told you that for the next few minutes, you and a selected companion will see your lives flash before your eyes in a void— and it will not necessarily be a comforting sight.

But you woke up relaxed. In an abyss filled with broken mirrors meant to depict your character to pieces, you donned a plain expression. There was not an inch of you that grieved for what was lost. Similarly, you had no care for how you were being transmigrated to another realm. Though you had grown accustomed to this isolation, humanity always struggled with silence. There was ringing on your fingers. When you unclasped your hands, you saw a pointed shard. Curiously, you clenched it. But no matter the tightness of your grip, no blood came out.

Your breath fogged up the glass. You wondered why that Memokeeper told you that you deserve to live on. You thought your life was rather unremarkable.

Makes sense. You thought to yourself. I'd rather pride myself on a boring life with integrity than an ambitious yet fraudulent one.

「Assignments. Commute. Study. Review. Assignments. Commute. Study. Review. Was that all your life was...? Then tell me, little (Y/n), why does the mirror in front of you appear distorted?」

And so, you gazed forward. Your reflection stood tall, larger than your life, and it beckoned you to come closer. This "(Y/n) (L/n)" had the opposite of a Cheshire grin- perhaps a caricature- perhaps an accurate depiction. Wearied of yourself and wearied of the sycophantic students around you. How unhappy are you to see yourself as someone like this? Are these the emotions you wish to be preserved? Is this the memory you want your world to be remembered by?

「These memories must be corrupted. Someone must be tampering with them. I do not think you lived a miserable life.」

I can't answer your questions either. But I think that reflection is who I am, because sometimes...

"I wish I had never been born at all."

Your lips were parted, but no sound came out. You resonated with those words, but they did not come from you. The voice was dark, hopeless, and alone.

When you were being sent off, you thought no one was around to greet you. There was another man. He had short hair and purple eyes- an incredibly rare sight in your world. This man seemed to be gazing at his reflection as well. You needn't know how he saw himself. The emptiness in his eyes did not differ from yours. He, too, was masking isolation as independence with an intense fragility. The dread he inflicted upon you was the closest you've ever gotten to facing your own perceived "weakness".

His memories were a mixbag. Some were filled with domestic bliss, but the anger in his heart triumphed more. He had friends but thought himself betrayed. His heart was constructed through a system of evasions, and he was a specialist in self-deception. This man knew little of emotions but had an abundance of it. It's no wonder he refused to sacrifice the artistry of his vengeance against humanity. You can sympathize with how he could not attach himself to those around him. He was burdened with malicious knowledge. Fakes. Lies. Insincerities. A class of his own.

However, he had a sin you cannot empathize with. A trait you can read that you're certain he had never noticed about himself.

He was a sickeningly beautiful man with a peculiar innocence.

He looked like a man who truly did not live in the real world.

This man did not feel real to you. He felt made-up. Fictional. His aura of flawlessness appalled you. Though you shared the same sentiments, you thought him dimensionless.

Yet this is supposedly your first meeting.

「Is it? Where have you seen him before? Can't you remember, dear (Y/n)?」

No. No, I can't.

「... What a shame. Worry no more, little (Y/n). Close your eyes. When you wake up, you will meet your new reality— new realm— new family.」

You nodded and agreed to a higher existence you did not believe in. Unlike others, you were a little bit more incapable of trusting a living soul. But there's no other choice.

Life is ordinarily far from anyone's control in the first place. Why bother fighting? If following can make her fuck off, it doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.

Wait…

Is that…

Scaramouche?

Before you closed your eyes and accepted your fate, you could've sworn...

He looked at you with a crooked grin.

「Thou art I... And I am thou...

Thou hast established a new bond...

Thou shalt be blessed when creating

Personas of the Universe Arcana..."」

"Hmm. Strange… Is that truly the order of the story?"

A woman stared at you.

Not (Y/n) (L/n).

YOU.

BEHIND.

THE.

SCREEN.

She smiled wryly.

Hate might empower you for a short while, but it comes at the cost of consuming you whole. Should a shard or any surface reflect [Wanderer]'s face, he would understand what he had become. However, it's too late. He had made his choice and stomped away any remorse he could have. When all is said and done, he alone will spread the ashes. He alone will stand. A blank slate.

[Wanderer] spent his life looking for scapegoats and ended up removing his responsibility.

Betrayals?

What a sad, sad puppet.

What a poor excuse to justify an entire apocalypse.

A poor excuse of a man.

"THE ARCANA IS THE MEANS BY WHICH ALL IS REVEALED." She muttered softly. "And you have been reading your story in REVERSE. Perhaps this is the only way this world can attain SALVATION. The chronological order is not a slice of life. You did not have a disagreement and decided to start your relationship over again. Life is far more WICKED."

"Read it again, but from DENIAL to ACCEPTANCE. The proper way to GRIEVE DEATH."

With great reluctance, she took the five cards laid on the table and placed them in an upright position.

"Let's see if you'd rather ACCEPT the truth or live in DENIAL."

Mixed-Kester can now message Wanderer [prior to 12/31/2009]

I like writing Yandere Scaramouche as someone with a lot of rules because I like to think about how he enforced said rules.

Getting you to call him "my lord" instead of any other name you'd referred to him by was his first course of action. Scaramouche was already a man wound tight like a string about to snap, he believed that he only had to tell you once to get something done. Anything after that would result in a punishment of some form.

But Scaramouche has a soft spot in his heart for you. He does want you around after all. So when he comes to you that first day, when your big eyes are looking around your bedroom scared and shaking, but somehow still managing to shoot a glare at him, he smirks. You're like a little dog, you could bite any second, but you'd look so cute while doing it. Therefore, he decides to train you like a dog.

"Outside of this bedroom, you will only refer to me as 'my lord.' Understood?" this was your one and only time being told, and despite the fact that you scoffed and begged to go home instead of listening to what he said, he knew you'd think on his words eventually.

The next day you were free to roam his manor. You were mostly looking for your escape, testing doors and windows to see if maybe there was a way out, but your arrival was planned for many months before, even if he had less time to prepare the house for you, there wouldn't be an escape.

With his arms crossed, he watched as you tried to open the door to the back garden, locked of course. Even if you did manage to get out, eight armed guards were placed all through out the area, with orders of capture not kill in regards to you. You'd be dragged back before you even had a taste of freedom. But he didn't tell you that.

"You didn't eat today," he stated plainly. Your first meal in his home and you didn't even take a single bite of it. Even he, who did not need food to survive, didn't enjoy watching such a lavish dish go to the trash.

"You must think I'm stupid, Scaramouche-" your little huff of rude words was stopped in its track by his fingers hitting your lips. Your attitude was another issue he'd need to work on, but he wanted to fix one problem at a time.

It didn't hurt, the way the back of his hand met your mouth. Didn't even sting a little. It just felt demeaning. Like you were an animal being scolded and not a person. He did this every time you opened your mouth to call him anything, but his preferred title, and when you spewed profanities at him, he tap your lips a bit harder.

With a huff, you finally decided to call him, "My lord" after many disrespectful taps against your lips spanning over many days. Annoyance finally made you to decide to allow him to win this one, much to your dismay and his pleasure. Your reward for doing as you were told was a gift of sweets and confections, a treat you weren't given because of his vocal distate for such things.

You are them with your arms crossed and your eyebrows knitted, glaring at him as he watched you eat. That little attitude of yours was going to be the next to go.

How do the different yanderes "love" you? (plus some tropes(??) i feel like would fit them)

this was honeslty just practice, and it ended up turning into smt kinda decent, i dont love what ive written but i just needed to get our smt

i blame @fatuismooches for being lovely and having such good harbinger thoughts that they've taken over my mind (fuck you[said with affection])

Yandere! Childe, Scaramouche, Dottore(separate) x gn reader

Childe ("soft and sweet" x unloving and hates touch)

He just spoils you left and right, he feels a little bad when he sees the uncomfortable look in your eyes when he kisses you all over, or when he touches you too much. so he has chosen to spoil you rotten until you finally fall for him, or at least see the way he can take care of you and finally kiss him back.

[He loves you, and that should be known by now, so why do you force his hands to do this, "why cant you just love him like he is", those were the last words you heard before he brought something to your lips and made you drink something unknown]

You are incredibly lucky that the 11th Harbinger is this patient with you, but dont push it too much, he can go to more bloody measures of getting you to fall for him if he sees it's needed. dont worry he wont hurt you too much, he loves you too much to do that, but love is complicated and you cant always control whom you fall in love with, so just love him will you, darling?

after all he knows the aphrodisiac he gave you wont last forever, so it would be better to just fall for him manually, right?

Scaramouche (manipulative, powerful x easily manipulated, weak[...i didnt know what to do here lol])

He might seem like he doesn't love at all, but when you aren't being dragged around to missions and meetings, and all alone with him in your shared chambers, he loves to just hug you, maybe litter kisses on your neck and collarbone. you hated it at first, and you still kind of do, but you've long since gotten used to it all.

He show his love for you when he has his hands all over your body as you dress into the clothes he picked out for you. he cant keep himself off of your lovely body, but would kill if anyone even touch a strand of your hair.

But oh how could you try 'nd leave when this weak little puppet is crying in your arms every night, when he has nightmares about you leaving him, dying when he can't be there to protect you... oh how foolish you are, how stupid you must be to fall for such things, as he has long since abandoned the idea of ever letting go of you.

And he'll make sure you dont let go of him either, because you need him. after all he was the one to save you from danger when you were stupid enough to walk too far into a hilichurl camp. you need protection, and he's rgith here willing to give it for "free".

Dottore (crazy scientist and his crazy lover[aka yandere x yandere but worse])

You lvoe each other in ways normal human minds wouldn't dream of ever understanding. he smiled when you gave him a dead body for experimenting, and the worst part? you had the biggest grin on your face, and a massive amount of blood on your hands and clothes, much to the dismay of many onlookers.

And then there's the fact that neither of you even spare a glance at the amount of blood on the others' clothes, or at least it looks like you don't. but when you are in the privacy of your shared bedroom (though filled with dead onlookers in the closet) you reward each other for getting rid of anyone who dares to interrupt, or archons forbid break, the love you two have.

It has been made a daily occurrence for you both to randomly disappear from the building with a fatui agent, who had taken too much attention from the other, and then come back alone with bloodied hands, and being greeted by a two-minute-long kiss when opening the lap doors again.

just two crazy maniacs in love, awwww (if they arent wanted in at least 6 nations they need to be)

thx for reading whatever this is, luv ya -Masterlist

You are welcome to reblog and like any of my posts, but you CAN NOT translate, copy or hate on anybody for liking my posts

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!

Sing for me, little Nightingale (Yan! Scaramouche x Reader)

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56024689

Felines are deserving of their accolades. Merit embodies their nimble spines and ductile limbs; bodies like pliable sand, threading their way through knots, twists, cavities and labyrinths. The prince of the hunt flexes and swipes his talons and his prey are swift to falter, their necks wringed and their spines contorted in ways that are unnatural to their physicality.

“I’ve got you now.”

At times, though, even a cat doesn't remain undefeated.

“How stupid are you to think that a cheap disguise would work against me?” He almost sounds amused, his words an arctic hiss against your ear. Reaching up, Scaramouche claws at the thick cloak that veils your face and tears it to your shoulders. Your hair is quick to mime the departed elements, hanging in disarray across your face. A mantilla of unkempt tresses, veiling whatever thoughts sketch your visage.

The Balladeer regards the sight of your person with a sort of contemptuous delight. Forcefully knelt at his feet with your wrists bound behind you and your head drooped in defeat—or in pensiveness. It's a shame Zapolyarny is so devoid of windows. What light finds it's way into these all-too familiar stone chambers is too sparse to see what expression you're making.

“Well? Say something. Or have I rendered you incapable of speech?”

Tentatively—begrudgingly—you tip your head back, back, back until your irises lock with the hypnotic indigo tinctures belonging to the predator who leers dauntingly above you. Locks of such a hue that only you could wear part like the red sea, revealing a thin, perhaps solemn, ambiguous smile—the last expression the harbinger could anticipate. Or desire.

“Thwarted again, hm?” You chuckle and it sounds like frost, “and I even took extensive measures to conceal my tracks. No good?”

“Failures are bound to repeat themselves.” Scaramouche doesn't nuisance himself with that syrupy facade he wears to rope his targets right between his molars. Malice is a noisome stench in the air as he adds, “This is the seventh time I’ve had to retrieve you. I'd figure you’d have learned your lesson by now, but time after time you insist on making yourself a burden to fetch.”

“There's no harm in trying, is there?” You maintain that strange curve on your plush lips. It’s difficult to tell what you're thinking, or feeling.

“‘No harm’, yet you delude yourself into believing that a time would come when you could successfully evade me. I wonder how long it’ll take until those dreams of yours crumble and die.”

“You know, there’s a word for what you are,” you state after a thoughtful pause. “I think it’s called: overbearing.”

What a strange girl with a strange smile. Normally, Scaramouche would meet such defiance by smiting his poor victim to dust within the blink of an eye. In your displays of resolve, though, the invincible harbinger finds himself crouching to your level, trailing a slender hand against your windpipe. How easily he could squeeze the life from your throat until you begs for reprieve; choke you of your indignation. Instead, he allows it to linger there without purpose, applying no pressure, grasping nothing.

“And there’s a word for what you are.” He nearly whispers. Difficult. Stubborn. Irrevocably his. “Irrational, when I only want what’s best for you. And what’s best for you, is to offer me your complete submission.”

“Even though I’d sooner offer my life than yield to you?” A new tone makes itself heard in your cadence. Such words, such simple, few words, reveal what lingers beneath your otherwise indifferent facade.

Sagacious. Provocative. Challenging.

Of course, you're testing the boundaries of Scaramouche's resolve, as he does with yours. Suddenly, the atmosphere is taut and palpable with tension for what may become of the future.

Sly, sly little songbird.

Something most unanticipated happens, and you reveal your hands, which you freed from their binds. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise Scaramouche, what with your prowess in the art of escape, but regardless your smile stretches in the presence of the astonishment that lifts his eyebrows and makes his eyes flash white, if only briefly. You take your time observing such a paltry display of rare, raw, emotion, how it shapes the contours of his features at the command of your actions. And gently, you take his hand that graces your throat and tenderly place it on your cheek.

"Ah... You've always been this way, haven't you, Kunikuzushi? Since the very day fate first connected your eyes to mine? " You slant your head into his cold hand with all the fragility of a shedding lotus petal descending into a reservoir, resting your cheek against his cold, liquid touch. Although, the action is far from affectionate. Rather, it's reminiscent of a sort of obstinacy, wearing the facade of love.

"You pine for my heart like you're starved for my flesh.” You take his hand and pass it through your cloak, poising it on your chest, right above your pumping heart.

"But... Perhaps I have no heart to offer you. What then? What will you do when you realize, there is no flesh to pick from my bones? No heart beneath my ribs?"

Scaramouche trudges through your words, running them across his mind. No plausible answer makes itself seen. He relinquishes his hand from your chest.

A cat may not have wings, but it is unrelenting.

“If you have no heart…” He murmurs, before smiling a bitter smile, “Then I’ll make you learn how to love.” how to love him. “I’ll create a heart in the shape of my love, and then I’ll take it. By force if I must.”

"You're willing to create something, just to seize and destroy it..." His words taste like blood upon your tongue. Strange. Carrying pleasantry and uncanniness in a sordid congruence. your lips falter from their smile.

"What a rotten soul you have... When will you realize that your avarice will be your demise?"

A wry, perhaps relenting chuckle emerges from your throat. Then you sigh.

"Perhaps we were made for each other." “

Then why do you run from me? Why do you fight, when you’re meant to be mine?” He asks, vehement, pertinacious.

"But that is where you're mistaken, Scaramouche. You see—” You direct your pointer finger to his chest, resting it in the junction between his collarbones.

“—You're tenacious in pursuing me. But I'm," You points at herself, "Tenacious in avoiding you. We are made for each other like the same ends of two magnets. The same, yet destined to be apart."

There it is, another one of your challenging remarks. The chirping nightingale wriggles free and unfurls it's wings, just as the cat thinks the bird is trapped beneath its paws. And oh, how infuriating, how exhilarating you are. Hatred is a simmering tempest that ignites the harbinger's temper. He despises how affixed he is to you, to the thought of trapping you beneath his claws, only for you to fly free and rejoice your liberation in song. It's petty. It's pathetic. It's irresistible. The Balladeer scoffs.

“Is this all just a game of push and pull to you? Just how long are you willing to avoid me?”

 “How long are you willing to pursue me?”

“Until you submit to me.”

“Then, until you set me free.”

Scaramouche can only watch as you put on your hideous, inhuman, anomalistic smile. Fine, then. If nothing else, he’ll build you a gilded cage to lure you into a golden prison disguised as a paradise. He’ll rip your wings from your body, flesh and bone marrow hanging in loose tendrils, so to erase all notions of flying free from your unreadable mind that he tends to make his possession, until you’re bleeding so sweetly beneath his claws. His beautiful songbird, who sings in the shape of his love.

Because you were made for him. He, the heartless one, who wishes for a heart. For your heart, which you are't willing to offer. Which you wish you never had.

You’re the only one to believe he still has a soul. That he ever had one, rotten as it may be.

Scaramouche cannot let that go. Regardless of how many times you flee from his talons, he will find you and chase you to the very ends of this earth.

Fly away, little singing nightingale.

OMG could you just imagine how smug wanderer will be if he gets to lay on darlings lap? A dream come true for him, as for the other party members.... well-

It's almost comical to compare Wanderer's past deeds to the shenanigans he's pulling at present. Make no mistake, he's completely lucid of his actions and how unbefitting it should be for him to do them. But there's the matter of you, with your annoyingly endearing kindness that attracts all sorts of malicious attention. He can't quite complain about it either because it saved him as well and even though Nahida emphasized how relationships aren't about balancing the books — his mind convinces him that that's why he's doing all of these. But in truth, he leans into that perception only because it suppresses the smidgen of guilt that gnaws at him (ew). Wanderer knows there's a boundary and he treads carefully around it. In any case, as long as he's cautious, he knows you'll always be his shield.

Kaveh is so flabbergasted, astonished and dumbfounded at the uncensored audacity of that brat that he chokes halfway through his sip of the wine — but even if the beverage wasn't in his hand, he's sure he would've choked on his breath anyway. To this day he's still dreaming about holding your hand and here's Wanderer, showing him the thumbs down while soaking in the comfort of your lap! His shock gradually fades as he wonders if he needs to pretend to be sick or something to get that treatment. But, knowing his luck he's sure it'd backfire as well. So he just seethes in his seat, for now.

Alhaitham doesn't even give the impression that he's looking at the fiasco — except he is by the rim of his book, more keenly than the rest present at that. To be even more honest, his eyes have never left you since the moment he entered the tavern so, he's acutely aware of every moment that lead to this... display. While the rest watch in disbelief, he's taking mental notes and running various simulations in his mind to picture the perfect scenario where he will instead be in the position of Wanderer. Or at least, doing so distracts him from succumbing to the less than pleasant feelings that arise at the sight.

Tighnari is exasperated. Yes, no dramatic response, just exasperation at its purest form. He's a busy person and it's only because of you that he's made his visits to Sumeru city regular. He does not have the time or energy to tolerate such incidents every single time. He's tried to convince you that the harmlessness of Wanderer is faux and just an act, but for whatever reason, your trust in the boy seems to be resolute. So he can do nothing but bear witness to these stunts with increasing audacity and that makes him want to tear his hair out at this point. Just you wait, he will find a way to expose the brat one day.

Of everything Cyno was expecting to see this evening, this was not at all in that list. He's not unaware of how touchy Wanderer tries to get each time he and the others are in the vicinity. A seasoned Matra's senses are far sharper than ordinary folk and Cyno is the only one that gets the message of this gesture immediately. He knows it's a warning and a claim. He can tell that there's something off about Wanderer and no, it isn't his act of being a goody-two-shoes. This stunt further justifies his suspicions and paired with the strength he displayed at the last round of the InterDarshan Championship — Cyno has made up his mind. He will challenge Wanderer to a duel right then and there, have fun settling this dispute.

view me as a god — self aware (yandere) wanderer x gn reader

warnings: self aware au, reader is viewed as the player, reader is obsessed with genshin in the beginning, codependency (aether and wanderer), wanderer develops a victim mentality, traveler is a goat, aether is he/they (you'll know what I'm talking about)

notes: wanderer lore spoilers to those who haven't read, that one event in 1.6 spoilers to those who haven't played; if my account were self aware, i'd actually kms — the characters don't need to see my bio 😭 / i didnt know what team to put him with so i used my own / congrats king on your second rerun 🙏

it was never intended to be taken this far. this little game you've played for years without end had begun to take your social life away and left you in the dark, the only light you saw was the one on your screen.

the sweet voices of the characters , the beautiful scenery and designs, and the story of the fictional world was so alluring you barely slept. thank god your career had the option of working at home so no other potential coworker could've said something about your disheveled hair or your unpleasant smell.

your life was as perfect as can be as long as you see a picture or anything related to your video game! codependency? what is that? shh, you can survive an hour without it!

fuck. once in his many lives, he had never felt so cold. what was wrong with him?

with every name he gained, another tie to his joints tightened its grip on the wanderer, trapping him from the pleasant feel on calmness but the name the traveler gave it felt so pure and warm like a toasty fireplace during the snow. the puppet hadn't felt any warmth in his body since niwa's irreversible death as his still-beating and bleeding heart has been put inside the chest of wanderer. but now it was gone, just like the other feelings of happiness and sweet childish dreams.

"traveler? why'd we stop?" xiangling asks as she helped bennett sit down beside the anemo statue of seven in windrise to heal his injuries as quickly as possible. layla helps the poor boy eat something she packed into her inventory.

the traveler could only stay silent before letting out a small whisper as the wind slows down, the statue of seven only shining so dimly, not like it does when it feels something — someone greater. "i don't feel it anymore." they sit down on the broken stone steps leading to the statue.

"feel? feel what?" layla mutters, laying her head on the globe she keeps near as she rests her eyes. the traveler doesn't respond as they look through their bag for something. they obviously panic, their chest falling down and rising up quicker than a rabbit's. their golden chest plaque dims ever so slightly, just as the windrise statue's light. "the, uhh... uhm, the wind."

of course the idiots fell for it, wanderer thinks as he hears the collective agreement from his party. he doesn't bother setting down his hat as he sits beside a totem near the staircase, not bothering to show his respect to the anemo god or his peers. they're just there to help him please them, to eliminate any obstacle in the traveler's way as their form of appreciation for what they've done for their accounted nations. but they, not the traveler but they weren't pleased.

is that the reason wanderer couldn't feel their warmth? he didn't attack fast enough, hit hard enough, dodge quick enough? was he not enough for the person behind the stars? the dweller who called "earth" their home?

"why are we in windrise, if i can ask?" layla sits beside the traveler. her curls curl around her while her golden accents let out small hymns. "to... to uhh...heal bennett. i do feel very bad for him with his bad luck and all..."

wanderer knew it was a white lie. sure, bennett had been hurt badly even with layla's shielding and guoba's defensive demeanor towards the poor child and his bad luck was only getting worse with the amount of constant traveling the party did but really, all the traveler wanted to do was rest and wait for that feeling.

the feeling of being monitored, not as a prisoner but as a fragile thing, to be cared for and used as a hollow doll—no need to lift a finger unless told to and loved for their hard work—the work they didn't even do. to be drowned in affection, suffocated with praises, and shot with care and pity. something that the wanderer despised so much but craved so badly.

not by anyone, no. no one, no mortal or god could make him feel this way, but something hidden, someone hidden behind a mask, the stars, and celestia itself was waiting for him, wanting him, caring for him like he was.

when he couldn't dodge an attack, he was healed instantly. when he had no energy, it was replenished right before his eyes. when he wanted to be stronger, he became just that. it was a complicated choice between his morals and integrity or his selfish desires and temptations.

bennett didn't heal as fast as he does when the greater person behind the screen is there. he blames it on his bad luck but both the traveler and wanderer know what's really wrong. his pale face slowly turns back to his tanner complexion as time moves forward and everyone decides to rest up a bit before the night ends.

it's been too long since the feeling went away.

"[wanderer]! is it okay if you're on watch duty?" that name. it felt like a childhood lullaby, something the elderly women of tatarasuna would sing him to sleep when he was awoken by nightmares. that name was his, something he held to with genuine pride, not like his other disdainful names that were given by cruel people or joking jesters.

"alright." there's no sigh, groan, or remark afterwards to everyone's surprise. it only happens once in a blue moon and you know damn well that they took it to heart.

layla and xiangling slept beside bennett while aether sat where he was with his eyes closed. there was a moment of silence where it was just beautiful.

the crystalflies didn’t hide from the characters, an anemo one landing on layla’s nose and on the top of the wanderer’s hat. the wind blew ever so softly and for a moment, the wanderer could feel that warmth again.

“what’s up with you?” the traveler asked. his eyes stayed close but they were attentive like always.

“nothing.”

“liar.”

wanderer frowns and slightly turns his head to see them. a smile grew on their face and they sat up, opening their eyes and looking directly at him. “you felt it, didn’t you?” the wanderer looks away.

“do you always ask dumb questions?”

the traveler beside him stifles a laugh. “they’re not dumb,” they pause. they have a visible frown painted on their face now. “you know, don’t you?”

“what? that there’s some being out there controlling us, that the world shifts to their liking, or that you can practically see their face written in those damned stars?”

they stay silent. how’d he even know? was it that meteorite from long ago? “yeah, i guess.”

the wanderer scoffs at his companion's vagueness. “i’m tired of being a vessel.” that was obviously a lie. he can’t remember the last time he actually enjoyed serving someone, let alone helping if it wasn’t for his own personal gain. it felt nice being used (which is something he never thought he’d ever think).

aether sighs, leaning on the totem. they closed their eyes, "wake me up later then."

the wanderer scoffed. "i'm not your alarm," he says but he doesn't complain any further, simply watching over his teammates, the ones you assigned him, with a faint frown on his face. just where were you?

you quickly sweep your phone off of your desk once you come back from an errand. it was only a few minutes but still! you need your game to thrive at work, remember?

it had been days to them. they were at windrise, where you left them, your whole team. thank the gods. everyone was awake and ready to be used as characters.

you continued what you were doing prior to your errand, collecting crystalflies and flowers for your characters' ascensions.

wanderer didn't tell anyone he felt your warmth.

he shouldn't, he couldn't—wouldn't. no one else had suffered like him, it was unfair for those who didn't deserve it to bask in the sweet feeling of your muse. everything bad happened to him; nothing ever bad happened to anyone else.

nahida was right; he needs help!

your help. you were the only one who could help him, help the poor wanderer who had cried and groveled at your feet centuries ago, begging for a god greater than the gods to take care of him and help him—you!

you put him through all this pain to help him in the end, right? to free him, make him truly himself and not part human or puppet but himself again.

his salvation wasn't leaving him; he wouldn't let it happen.

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

your wanderer is so good like what??? you could literally tell me that you worked for hoyoverse and i would be like yeah that makes sense. anyway i was wondering what if wanderer had a girlfriend that was immortal like him? maybe even one that acts a little like him or has the same trauma?

If praises could kill, anon, I wouldn’t be able to answer your ask… I beseech thee, have mercy on me! And yet again I let myself drift away from the theme of the ask... Perhaps???

cw & wc: female reader, implied yandere!Wanderer, 1.7k.

Since he had (and still has, to some extent) lingering issues related to both immortals (namely that one certain woman who spurned her own creation) and mortals alike, I don’t think that Wanderer’s initial attitude would change that much if you’d also happen to be an immortal being. He’d be still as cautious around you, putting little credence in your words and actions; yet given that he’s quite a clever and perceptive little fellow, he’d be quick to sense distrust and unease in you as well (and if you’re devoted to keeping your identity a secret, it wouldn’t take long for him to expose your cover either – don’t forget that over the course of centuries, he accumulated no less amount of specific knowledge than you).

Once your past is revealed to his judgment, you might think that you could be someone he might easily connect with, considering how similar your experiences are. But it’d be a mistake on your part to presume that the former Fatui Harbinger would empathize with you and actively seek your company solely because of this world’s apparent aversion to both of you. His interest would be piqued, no doubt – he will be definitely intrigued by your persona. But that interest alone wouldn’t be sufficient for him to contemplate entering into a romantic relationship with you – you would need to maintain that interest and show him that you have immense potential; that you wouldn’t waste his time and instead would end up being a fine complement to his routine (in that regard you’d not be that different from a human woman, for the quest shall be of equal difficulty). There are some challenges you might face in your immortal & immortal dynamic, and the hardest of them all would concern (surprisingly enough) the aforementioned similarities between the two of you.

Considering that your personality might be as aloof and bitter as his own, neither of you might want to make a first step. It’s a crucial part of establishing any kind of relationship, after all, and since you both would be far from overcoming your pain any time soon, the situation might end in a stalemate. Unfortunately, Wanderer is too arrogant and too troubled to express his interest in you directly – he might come to actually like you once the strength of your character is proven, but his inability to properly communicate with people and interact with them outside of the usual “mutual business” pattern would prevent him from ever courting you. Thus, the task of laying the foundation for your future relationship shall fall on your shoulders – if you won’t come out of your shell and take the initiative, then you’ll never resolve the said stalemate; if you won’t attempt to fight your demons, you’ll get nowhere.

If you were an ordinary human female, you could’ve eventually won him over with your innocence and benignity (because he’s drawn to purity and kindness of human hearts from his very birth, and it’s a weakness he’ll never completely eliminate) – human women are indeed infamously known for their persistence and willpower when it comes to matters of love (at least in his eyes; those Yae Publishing House romantic novels were surely not misleading him in his Kabukimono days, right?). Yet you’re anything but innocent and/or nice – you are a member of a long-life species who suffered hardships incomprehensible to mortals and was subjected to horrors you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy; in a way, you’ve been defiled of the majority of your virtues. You ought to invent another approach: you must appeal to the common origins of your struggles and convince (preferably with actions, not words) him that you could work together as a pair precisely because of your firm understanding of each other’s past and the impact that your mental scars have left on your souls. Birds of a feather flock together, so how about bonding over your shared trauma and healing each other’s wounds? Don’t be too pushy and do try not to appear as a manipulative entity serving her own dubious agenda, for the puppet is not as susceptible to manipulations as he was before, back when his strings were still intact; do remember that “birds of a feather” thing was once his reason for siding with the “bad” guys, so you must choose your words carefully and phrase your arguments flawlessly, acting in accordance with your sincere intentions (you don’t want to be disowned, do you?).

Growing bored of your lover (why would you ever grow bored of such an entertainingly complex man, though?) and/or burning out from your relationship is also a problem you might someday encounter – but this time, it’d apply exclusively to you. You must be ready to embrace the fact that Wanderer (even a fully reformed one!) is a creature who harbors strong emotions and attachments; if anything, this was the cause of all his past incarnations’ downfalls. If you manage to obtain his love, then you must realize that you won’t ever be free to love anyone else but him – perceive this as the unjust contract you signed of your own volition. The concept of eternal devotion, in a rather ironic twist of fate, is not foreign to his cynical self – if he is with you, then you won’t be given a chance to leave him and have another man in your very, very long life simply because he’d aim to be your only man. He would never renounce his ownership over you, so it’s recommended that you weigh all the consequences that come with accepting the once nameless doll as your lover – as a woman who has been through a lot, you must be aware of the drastic temperament of one’s commitment (and you are definitely not that foolish to overestimate the longevity of your feelings and not that naïve to think that you would be able to successfully escape his grasp after silently promising him to stay together for millennia, are you?). A mortal woman could escape it by means of inevitable death, but you… If you dare to betray him (“betray” him in his own interpretation of the term, to be exact), expect him to haunt you forever skin to a vengeful ghost, with all his drawbacks and obsessions reanimated because why, why would you, of all people, abandon him (him, who has finally gotten a name, a new life, and a significant presence in his existence to cherish until this realm burns you two to ashes?).

Speaking of positive aspects of your relationship, you’d predictably avoid a great deal of obstacles that would’ve befallen a mortal lady. There would be plenty of advantages you’d hold over a human woman: for instance, Wanderer would be willing to allow you to travel with him (something that his overprotective and overly paranoid self would’ve never allowed his human lover to do, regardless of her occupation) and participate in combat if necessary (he’d teach you how to fight just in case you lack either a Vision or skills required to protect yourself, but beware: he’d be a very strict teacher) – depending on your type of immortality, he might not be inclined to worry about losing you in a heated battle with either living beings or environmental conditions (and nothing would be as delightful and pleasurable as shredding a pack of vile brutes to bloody pieces together). Due to special properties of your character, you’d also probably never genuinely annoy him or enrage him – all distant and unapproving of indolence (thanks to your resemblance to him in terms of personality traits), you wouldn’t force him to chastise you or mock you, and your antics wouldn’t ever play on his nerves (because you’d obviously never resort to such childish behavior); you’d add a note of harmony to his once discordant life. What flaws Wanderer would’ve loathed in his human lover would be naturally absent in you, and if you’d somehow succumb to any imperfections inherent in human beings, he’d be only slightly frustrated than outright furious (“To think that after centuries of unjust treatment, you would converse with them so nonchalantly,” the indigo-haired youth would huff, visibly uncomfortable at the sight of you talking to human children, and… Wait, did he accuse literal children of having abused you?)

On the other hand, you – as his immortal lover – would only fuel his antipathy towards mortals, whereas the gentle influence of his human lover would’ve changed his prejudiced opinion on humans overall.

It goes without saying that he’d still uphold his cold, sarcastic front and tease you in a rather blunt (read: mean) yet playful fashion whenever he’d get the chance, but hey – why would you, a woman of equally intricate temper, feel anything but appreciation of his peculiar manner of conveying affection? On the contrary, you’d be capable of enjoying his unruly self more so than any woman on this continent.

Yet the most important and unique detail about your relationship would be the intensity of Wanderer’s fear of good old imminent separation – to be precise, that fear would evaporate in a blink. Since you’re an immortal yourself, there would be no point in overthinking certain… things. He’d be more relaxed compared to his usual tense self and a bit more open to the idea of letting you enjoy your life once in a while without him interfering and watching over you like a mother hen; unlike mortal insects who are always at risk of being swayed even by the gentlest gust of wind, you’re competent, capable, and not that fragile to be crushed so easily. You won’t be the source of yet another tragedy, for death won’t claim you – the cruelty of old age or terminal illness shall never bother you, and he won’t be afraid of other causes because he’ll never let anything or anyone land a scratch on you. What he would’ve feared most in his supposed relationship with a mortal female will simply not exist in his relationship with you – you’ll be truly, undisputably his. Dread of abandonment will still be alive deep inside his psyche, however (after all, other men do breathe and walk); just as a fair share of his other, good old (“I am not worthy of something that’s not awful”, for example) insecurities. But that particular fear of being unable to keep his promise of everlasting loyalty won’t be gnawing at his illusionary heart anymore—

Because that hollow heart of his will be finally filled with purpose to beat for.

Love that Beat Vanity

Scaramouche/GN! Reader - Forced Established Marriage

TW: Domestic Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Verbal Abuse

A/N: HELLO! Thank you for reading my goofy little oneshots once again. I've decided to have every Scaramouche fics I write on this acc to have some kind of continuation. So, if you have read my previous works, the reader's lore will be the same throughout this series. But you don't have to read the previous works to catch up with the story since I wrote it as oneshots, scenarios and whatnot.

If you choose not to read the previous works, Reader was an orphan who survived stealing from people but stole from the wrong person one time and was taken and placed in a human trafficking ring, Scaramouche bought her to work at for the Fatui and the rest is history.

-----

It has been 5 years since Scaramouche has taken you as his spouse. You have still not adapted well into this new "domestic" life that was forced onto you by your husband. The lessons you have to keep taking because you can't make yourself to remember it all, has started to take a toll on your body.

Sleep has been difficult to achieved, it might be near impossible as your husband demands for the two of you to sleep together in the same bed, as husband and spouse. But try as you might to close your eyes, the moment you feel his arms snake around your waist, you freeze up like a statue and not sleep until you pass out from exhaustion. However, when you wake up from fainting, you'll feel the blanket placed properly on top of you, the bed side where your husband would always lay on, cold.

You have no doubt that Scaramouche loves you, too much in fact.

Early in the morning, he would leave you in bed and attend to his harbinger duties. Not a single item of his was ever misplaced whenever he fixes himself up. His sakura blossom perfume would always be placed in it proper spot and his brush to add the rouge over his eyelids were clean from any color, as if it was never even used.

Tidiness can't be said the same to your vanity table. Although you rarely use the furniture as it was intended, you do use it as something to leave the fabrics that you have meticulously stitched from the lessons that Scaramouche forced on you. They were ugly, so you have no idea why your husband lets you leave them in the open.

Your 'lovely' Scaramouche once commented on how your needlework was "god awful that even a child can do better". You might not have expressed it physically, but it hurt to hear him say that. Blood was spilled when you were creating your first fabric But you learned the truth later on that the first finished fabric you have created was hidden in the drawer of his office.

It makes your heart confused on why he has to resort to harsh tactics to get a semblance of your "love". Why can't your husband act like a normal person?

Mornings has been something you have been waiting for every single day for the past 5 years. For the whole morning, you have the manor all to yourself. A place for you to be alone with your thoughts. But when the hour hand reaches 12 PM, your teacher for that day will be coming to teach you another useless skill that you will never remember.

How They Mark You as Theirs

Yandere x Fem! Reader

A/N: because I genuinely can't stop thinking about Scaramouche putting his makeup on you! It's been keeping me up at night.

Diluc: With jewelry

You sparkle when you walk into a room. Not just your glowing eyes or large, puffy dresses, but also what adornes your body. A pendant around your neck, large gem rings on your fingers, and earrings, more expensive than most could afford. People wondered if maybe all of your gems and stones were too heavy, maybe that's why despite the fact that you looked so lavish, you never smiled.

Dilcuc would be at your side, slipping another ring onto your finger. The other ladies would fawn at the sight, silently wishing for a man who wanted to adorn them with silver and gold, but to you, every ring, every stone, every bracelet, and every gem was another lock on the chain harboring you to him, claiming you as his.

Childe: With Bruises

Your neck is littered with love bites, your thighs covered in scratches from where his nails would dig into them, your wrist would have markings around them, from where he would hold you down, pressing passionate kisses and maybe more if he desired.

Even though you were embarrassed by the blatant proof of what he'd done to you all over your body, he still made sure you wore rather revealing clothing. You'd flush with embarrassed, knowing eyes looking all over you, but Childe would smile happily. A hand around your waist would caress you, making it known that he wished to claim you more.

Scaramouche: With make-up

How did everyone know that you were married to number six of the Fatui harbingers? Well, they had to look no further than your eyes, framed in that familiar red shade. The first time he makes you wear it, it's because you watched as he did his own. His nimble fingers held the brush like it was second nature, creating the lines against his eye with ease.

“Come here,” he'll order while still standing in front of the mirror. Before you can ask what he needs from you, he's already squeezing your cheeks between those same fingers, holding your face in place.

The brush tickles as it slides across your eyelids, making you shake a bit in his grasp as you hold back laughter. The smile on your face making his demeanor melt for just a moment, he softens and stops his work, just staring at your features, “I know how it feels. Stop moving,” he'll order. And you do your best to obey.

The sight of your smile is more than enough to make this a habit, instead of a one off thing. Everyday after your kimono dressing, he calls you to him, holding the brush stained with that familiar red makeup.

Yandere Scaramouche who can't bring himself to be soft in your presence. Softness is weakness, and you'll pounce at any moment of weakness from him. But he still loves you, more than his mechanical heart can contain, so he shows it in less than kind ways.

A box of chocolates will be haphazardly dropped into your lap with him standing above you, arms crossed and a frown on his face. He'll gesture for you to take them, trying to hide the raging blush that's forming on his cheeks.

"Take them, they're disgusting," he'd grumble before walking off without another word. He'd never buy himself chocolates. Not willingly. His hatred for sweets was more than common knowledge to you, he gagged if you even put a drop too much sugar in his tea. Yet somehow, he'd come to aquire a box of chocolates.

And not just any box. Your favorite. A kind that was only found in Mondstadt. Having a bit of an acquired taste, they never got popular around Teyvat and were hard to come across anywhere else. You remember mumbling to yourself about how you missed their taste a few short days ago and now here they were, on your lap. Despite your hatred for the man, you felt a smile forming upon your lips.

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,”

Uh just a thought:

cw: yandere, cussing, bad grammar, scara being scara, Childe is Childe, fatui, blood is mentioned at least 1 time

Imagine a Y/N\Reader who does everything for their family, so like your brother/sister/mother/father anyone you love!! got super sick and the cure for it is expensive as hell! (8,765,432,765 mora)

So you work for the fatui to get better expenses, you were skilled enough to immediately be recognized by your superiors—ahem, harbingers— and the first one to recognize you was Childe. Childe is just so down bad for you, he loves fighting with you, anything that gets your attention, if he could, he'd always have you by his side when he does missions.

And there's this thing, your fellow friend (who's been to the fatui far longer than you) in the fatui had a gambling habit and would make bets. One time they talked about giving away millions of mora to whoever gets to be The Balladeer's secretary and survive for 3 months.

You, eager for the mora, you immediately did too well, acted like you were obsessed with him to amuse him, did so many things to the point of getting Scaramouche's attention, he finally made you his assistant.

Of course Childe is pissed as fuck. How dare this midget get you before him??!!

At first Scara was just humoring your fake obsessive behavior just for entertainment, telling himself he'd throw you away soon and laugh at your fake reactions.

3 months passed and Scaramouche started humoring another fatui agent in an attempt to get you to break and snap and make you jealous, you used that opportunity to slowly part ways from him. He took a whole week to notice how you were basically disappearing from his life. You didn't leave the work though, you did the remaining paperwork and missions before disappearing.

Scaramouche who slowly notices the difference in his life when you left, you left a great impact in his life. This new fatui agent he humors doesn't do as well as you do, they keep fucking up to the point that Scara doesn't find it funny anymore. Yeah, he admits, your perfectionist personality helped a lot in his work, you were boring yeah, but at least you got the work done! After yelling and punishing the fatui agent for fucking up again, Scara grits his teeth and walks out to cool himself down.

But that's where he saw you sparring with Childe. Childe is out here feeling gleeful that you were finally back to him, while you just went back to him because you are an agent under him.

The sparring ended with Childe winning, you almost won, but Childe was stronger as expected, he walked up to you and almost gave you a kiss before you pushed him away, shocked. Childe frowns, he keeps you caged in his arms, he doesn't care about the dirt, blood, snow, and sweat that mixes when he has you in his arms, what matters is you.

Scaramouche, gritting his teeth in anger and getting more frustrated and annoyed than ever—why is that obedient pet of his with Tartaglia?— he's mad.

You felt that cold and electric glares sent to you, you judge your head and saw Scaramouche watching the both of you hug with a blank face, fffuck. You were not supposed to be seen by Scaramouche.

And Childe notices it too, he smirks and holds you closer, nuzzling his cheek on your hair.

Scaramouche was about to rush into both of you and demand an explanation, but why does he care? He isn't supposed to care about something like this! He always said he could replace you anytime, but he never said you could replace him.

I want to add more harbingers to this thought, imagine Columbina and Arlecchino 😻

Make Me Your God, I Can Give You Everything

Yandere! Scaramouche x Broken! Reader

Part of {Mai Playlist}

“Do you love me?”

“Yes, my lord Scaramouche,”

“How much?”

“More than anything, my lord Scaramouche,”

“Would you kill for me?”

“Happily, my lord Scaramouche,”

“Would you die for me?”

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

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

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

“You, my lord Scaramouche,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do love you, my lord,”

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

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

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

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

The Balladeer strives to uphold the illusion of a consensual and healthy relationship at any cost: no traces of toxicity and abuse shall be left out in the open for everyone to see. It is not that the Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers himself cares about the opinions of his most untrustworthy colleagues or lowlifes under his command – you will be branded a fool for assuming that he is bothered by what others think. He just doesn’t want you to expect a knight in shining armor to come to the rescue once they see how badly he treats you; any hope to leave him by using the conveniently helping hand shall be extinguished akin to a firefly’s light. 

Scaramouche is not against the idea of spilling the impudent insect’s blood (he is more than willing to slay thousands and thousands of them if he feels like it) – he is against the idea of you seriously contemplating someone would gift you a ticket out of this relationship. The risk is minimal, he knows it: among the ranks of Fatui, it’s very unlikely for an ordinary piece of meat such as yourself to catch the attention of both high-ranking members and their subordinates of humble might – yet he will still prefer to terminate any chance of luring in any noble intentions.

He is not afraid of confronting that rare and exceptional idiot who would be brave enough to try to snatch the “maiden” out of the “dragon”’s grasp, oh no – he is afraid of losing his control over you. He must remain the sole pillar of the crumbling temple that is your life; you must rely only on him because who else in this rotten world will waste their time on you? You must realize that while he is an utterly deplorable being, he is your one and only “safe option”; more so than the potential “nice guy” scumbag who will keep up appearances as long as there is a benefit in doing so until the need to stab you in the back arises. With Scaramouche, you will never taste deception and betrayal – he may slap your face hard enough to split your lower lip, but he is at least honest about his methods of silencing your lousy mouth… And he will comfort your injury right away, with just the right amount of tenderness so as to not pollute his “villain” status, and you will be – in a rather paradoxical way – deemed insane for declaring he is handling you roughly because there will be nothing to your skin to indicate there was a laceration in the first place. 

You are not mistaken for presuming that he is no better than those he often accuses of hypocrisy. The Balladeer is just as obsessed with wiping out any evidence of what he is doing to you in private as his brainwashed agents are with covering up their clandestine activities in peaceful lands; he claims he is doing it to avoid unnecessary attention and insists that you will suffer much worse if others develop the idea that beating you is a fun and totally unpunishable thing to do – really, what else will those imbeciles get into their heads if they see their boss making a punching bag out of some peasant-looking woman? They will take the scene as an invitation to the banquet, of course!

By Scaramouche’s decree, therefore, everything about the twisted bond between the two of you must tell of the happiness of a dog kept on a leash by her master and demonstrate the elation of a toy that willingly sold itself to a puppet master. You must always smile and nod at his every statement; must always mind your manners and show no sign of artificiality – in other words, you must behave akin to a wind-up doll, additionally adopting a composure and obedience befitting a seasoned soldier (and definitely not a village wench). In this counterfeit theatre of his, there is no room for sabotage. You must be as perfect as the lead actor of the play and act accordingly, for should you try to dispose of the mask… Well, let’s just say that your extremely modest clothes were not chosen with the purpose of hiding your virtues.

Deliberately or not, though, The Balladeer misses the entire point. Given his cynicism, it’s probably the latter – he is not delusional, he is simply incapable of believing in the goodness and benevolence of people’s hearts. Be they Fatui or of as plain origins as you, his unpleasant experiences persuaded him of the ignorance and selfishness of humankind; in his flawed worldview, no one is going to steal you away from him because you have nothing valuable to give to them (even your body, irreparably scarred and marked by him, has long since lost its initial price). He refuses to acknowledge the presence of chivalry in certain individuals’ souls, for every single two-legged abomination populating this realm is here after the gain, after the thrill of seizing a treasure worthy of their ambitions, and that’s precisely why the “risk is minimal” and not nonexistent; that’s why the performance must go on and only end when you enter his chambers at night. 

Because someone might want to obtain you under the pretense of saving you. Because someone might gift you false wings and then tear them off for shits and giggles. Because someone might ache for the opportunity to spite him, and you would be naïve enough to fall for any trick. 

Suspicions will still be raised and doubts will still emerge, sure. There will be smart ones who shall silently question the masquerade and scrutinize your every move; there will be nosy ones who shall notice the stiffness of the rehearsed lines and catch the glimpse of uneasiness in your eyes, and there will be brazen ones who shall openly interfere with your relationship and pay with their life. Scaramouche doesn’t deny the possibility of this happening – he is too paranoid to be that offensively oblivious. What he does deny, however, is the existence of selfless motive because rectitude is not inherent to any living being.

It is the quality of the dead, after all. It would be in your best interest to trust Scaramouche and embrace his truth… The truth that no such color as “white” is present in Teyvat: it’s all black powder that poorly imitates the crystals of sugar, a chocolate house made of bitter bars. You must understand that if you don’t dance to The Balladeer’s tune, then you shall dance to someone else’s; ‘tis the fate of the cornered mouse who stubbornly chases after the piece of the invisible cheese. There is no escape out of the cats’ den, for no cat grants freedom to its prey – and luckily for you, he is the type of cat who favors his mouse safe and well-fed as long as she dispels his boredom and loneliness.

The final feast shall eventually come. But will you be able to survive the last yet desperate bite of his fangs?

"Please Don't Leave Me"

Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

Words spoken so silently, whispered into the quiet of the night. He'd have thought it was a ghost, if not for your arm draped around his waist, holding him in place. Not really holding him persay, you were weak, fragile, if he wanted to he could snap that arm in two. But he didn't. He wanted you to hold him, while sleepily batting those eyelashes, tears in the corners of your eyes, lips in a tight pout.

Such a terrible dream. It was one filled with monsters and goblins, creatures that came not from this world and people who wanted to hurt you. You'd had plenty of nightmares since your forced marriage, but never did you have one where he was the hero. Standing tall and getting rid of all the assailants with the flick of his nimble wrist, was Scaramouche. He looked at you and for once, your heart didn't drop to your ass, your stomach didn't churn. He looked at you and you felt safe.

Even you were surprised by the way you'd woken up, holding him in your arms. The moonlight casted down on his face made his pale skin seem to glow, his hand reaching out to brush some of the sweat from your forehead. His skin was cold. Cool against the hot summer night and the painfully warm nightmare you'd just had. He felt like ice coming to calm you, his fingers dancing all over your face before settling on your cheek and using his thumb to brush your lips.

“Bad dream?” He questioned into the night, his voice hoarse from just waking up. All you could do was nod in response, your head moving up and down at a slow pace, “I thought so. You'd never touch me willingly, not without such nonsense being the reason.”

He sighed, but still pulled you closer to him, making you rest your head upon his chest. His cold skin cooled your warm cheek, one of your tears falling from your eyes and landing upon him. His hand moved up to cup the back of your head, lightly scratching at your scalp and coaxing you back to sleep. The feeling of his heartbeat, the way his chest rose and fell with his breathing, it was all calming. Disgustingly so, considering who he was and what he'd done to you. Yet you couldn't rip yourself away.

“I won't let anything harm you, even in your dreams. Now go back to sleep,” his words felt sincere, his hold on you tight. He was your biggest concern, the thing you were most scared of in the world, but you still snuggled in closer to him. Still let yourself be swept away in his hold. You let the feeling of his breathing rock you to sleep, you let him hold you.

But only for the night. When morning comes, everything will go back to normal, and the shelter you feel in his arms will dissipate and vanish. Filled with that familiar fear and disgust of him that keeps you at a ten feet distance, he cherishes this one moment where he gets to hold you. He too sinks into your touch. Protecting you from the silly fear of bad dreams, but also feeling a pride at knowing that you grasped at him in your sleepy state for security.

hii! can i make a request?

I've been thinking about angsty things a bit. say if, reader got pregnant, would she hate it? how would scara/childe react? in my opinion, id like to think that scara thinks of this as a way to tie her down to him more, plus its canon he likes kids!! and as for childe i think he'd be very very happy since he has soooo many siblings, (maybe he wants a lot of kids too??)

and..what if reader miscarried? i have this thought of where scara would still be cold to her but give her breaks and more space than usual, but what if reader completely locks herself in and then when he confronts her about it they get into a huge argument, how would scara tackle that, would he resort to abusive tactics and would it increase readers hatred & distance more?

just a brainrot, you dont have to write about it if you're not comfy^_^

This took me so so so long!! I'm so sorry if you were waiting for it!!

I don't typically write for things like pregnancy because it makes me uncomfortable, but I'd be lying if I said I do not absolutely fucking adore angst and hopelessness.

Parasite

Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

TW: 18+ MDNI, Dark Content, Forced marriage, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Mentions of Dub/Non-Con

A week late turned into two. Two turned into a month. A month turned into three. And three turned into unusual cravings for foods that didn't go together. Sickness and vomiting clouded the hours of your mornings. Dread filled your body the second you realized what this was. Stress makes your cycles late, you told yourself, stress makes your entire body change, and this was a stressful situation, but stress wasn't causing this, was it?

Scaramouche could tell the changes in you immediately. As someone who constantly kept tabs on your life, it was only fair to assume that he'd noticed your slight fluctuation in weight and lack of asking for your monthly cloths. When you were called into his office, you felt a hot flash all over your body, you assumed it was fear, but it could've also been nausea.

His office was a place filled with dread. The air in the room was too thick and worst of all, he was there. The room made you feel small, the only good thing about it was that he was usually too focused on his mile high stacks of paperwork. Except today. Today his razor sharp gaze was focused on your trembling form as you bowed to him, his eyes following down, then back up.

“Answer me honestly,” he began, hands planted on the wood in front of him, “Are you with child?”

If you could throw up again, you would. Of course, you knew all this time, but you never wanted to say it. You hoped, just hoped and prayed that maybe if you never acknowledged it, it would all go away. It would all be a bad dream. But it was true. There was something disgusting living inside you. And it was his.

“I believe so, my lord,” the words couldn't even completely fall from your lips before you were a blubbering, sobbing mess of anguish and fear. Despite the fact that you were completely breaking down before him, he had a small smile on his face, like he was proud of what he'd done to you.

“That's good,” he said calmly, wiping away your tears and planting a forced kiss upon your face. His touch felt cold as ice, but his hands against you made you want to melt your skin away.

The reaction to the “good news” was immediate, whether that was good or bad was up in the air, but everything changed. The tight obi of all the kimono you owned would put too much pressure on your budding stomach, new one's were ordered to be ready as you grew more in size. Your diet was changed completely, less of the Inazuma raw delicacies and more lean meat and vegetables. Daily classes of calligraphy and tea ceremonies were switched to resting with your feet up or light stretching, everything to keep you happy and healthy during your pregnancy.

The biggest change was Scaramouche himself. A man filled with so much hatred and disgust, was suddenly being kinder. Or trying to at least. You watch him open his mouth to make a comment, only to shut it again in favor of saying something still rude, but less insulting.

The Scaramouche that believed that he could take your body whenever he pleased was long gone, even though that was what got you in this predicament in the first place. He'd taken to leaving you in the middle of the night and going to the bathroom to sate his urges. He'd come back with cold damp hands and lay next to you, a protective hand over your stomach as he kissed your cheek and told you how much he loved you.

The day you saw blood between your legs and felt an aching pain in your stomach was a joyous one indeed. A part of you wanted to scream out in glee, but you didn't want to wake your already on edge husband. The blood that coated your fingers could only mean one thing. One good thing. It was gone. You were free of it. Almost immediately, the dark air that seemed to linger over your body vanished and you let out a sigh of relief.

Scaramouche was informed shortly before breakfast that same morning. You relayed the information to a maid, who then told him, whispering the words in his ear so quietly, it sounded like she was speaking gibberish. His face, his expression, changed to one shock, then horror, then pain. You didn't even know he could make such a face, yet there he was with tears in his eyes.

“Wh-what happened?” There was that tone again. The one you were used to. The anger and distaste for you in his voice. He slammed his fist down on the desk, turning his head away from you as his voice became high and breathy, so desperate for answers, “What did I do wrong?”

You stood in his office awkwardly, even this display from a person you hated, this display of agony was hurting you as well. You thought it would be funny. Seeing the man who pulled you from your home and forced you into marriage in pain was supposed to make you happy, but you felt your own chest clenching, felt your hands tremble.

“I-i suppose…I was stressed, my lord,” you muttered, his already labored breaths hitching at those words. The few months you were carrying that thing inside your body, was when he asked for less from you. He expected you to laze around all day and relax. For your body to fall into a daze like trance of naps and delicious food. He wanted happiness for both you and his child that you carried, yet you were still the most stressed you'd ever been in your entire life, knowing that he had something inside you. Something that would continue to fester and grow, until it eventually ate you alive.

He sat bad in his office chair dejected, hurt, and empty. Scaramouche's normally sharp, glaring eyes were wide as he stared at the ceiling, body limp as he bit his lip, “Leave me,” he sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. Had it not been for the quietness of the room, you wouldn't have heard him.

Leave him you did, closing the door as silently as possible and not lingering behind. You felt yourself finally stop tensing, telling yourself that all your woes were over, for now. The thing was gone. You were happy. For once, even if unintentionally, you'd won over your captor.

Scaramouche is not as delusional about the nature of your relationship as he is in his contempt towards everyone and everything that surrounds him. He has his share of grudges, prejudices, and deeply rooted reasons for seeing things the way they are distortedly reflected in his eyes, but he is certainly not blind to the veracity cleverly embedded in your serene front.

He does not expect you to be enamored with him and neither does he fool himself into thinking you would pretend to be smitten with him upon the very first glance cast. If anything, he is perfectly aware that you are either indifferent or outright hostile toward him, but you know what? He couldn’t care less about your words and actions. He has no concern for your feelings because his own ones – those sentiments he worked so hard on shutting out of his system – shall always be the first and only priority to focus on. After all, you made him like this. You made him weak, cornered, in a stalemate with no solution, and he will be inclined to detect and analyze what exactly made the thought of you appear in his brain, let alone the need to interact with you directly to course through his frigid body.

You have no affection for him? Fine. You fear him? You better do. You somehow read his mind and reciprocated the contagiousness of the plague that is his obsession with you? Whatever. It doesn’t matter if you hate him or are that depraved to sincerely love him, of all people. You don’t matter at all; your emotions and reactions have zero importance to him. What really matters is why he feels so weird, why he wants you to himself and why is he stepping into the same mousetrap that is humanity over and over again. His injured hubris quells his self-hatred quite efficiently, otherwise he would have been a sight pretty pathetic to behold – at this point, he is so engrossed in denying his innate urges that one might almost pity the divine instrument that, by design, was not supposed to host any cravings inherent in mortal beings, and those same urges overlap with his artificial origins to produce an individual of impressing callousness.

Extremely self-absorbed, vindictive, and lacking a great deal of empathy, Scaramouche, as a result, is unable to perceive you as a person. To him, you are more of a breathing mannequin on whom he unleashes all frustrations and resentments to maintain his mask of sanity and faux affability; a convenient fantasy he shapes and molds as he pleases without the least compunction. Yesterday, you were his mother. Today, you are his older sister. Tomorrow, you will be his lover. You are a mere human; a female of her species, but you are also a tool – just like he is – stolen from celestial influence to serve his cause. Of course, he knows that you may have your troubles and all of that stuff, yet… Does he comprehend the value they hold? Does he consider that your desires are as valuable as his – that you, too, have a right to form and express your opinions and that they hold no less weight than his? That you have a right to do what you want and ignore the discreet woes of the spurned doll?

Keep reading

more of dependent scaramouchie please??

CW: Yandere content, attempted suicide

--

"What's with that mopey look? I brought you tea, didn't I? The least you could do is drink it."

You didn't have the energy to glare at the one keeping you captive. You were sick of this. You can't keep living like this, stuck under his thumb.

Eyeing the teapot on the table, the gears in your head started to turn. you grabbed the teapot and threw it onto the ground, sharp shards and hot tea spilling onto the floor.

Before Scaramouche could do or say anything, you took one of the shards into your hand and brought it to your throat, intending to use it to end your miserable life.

"NO!"

He immediately leaped forward and grabbed your wrist before the shard could slice through your skin.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" He yelled at you in desperation as you two became locked into a battle of strength. In with each of you trying to move your hand either towards your neck or away from it.

After much struggle he managed to snatch the shard from your grasp. "What were you thinking?"

"Why won't you let me die, damn it?"

"I am not letting you go, hear me. Not now, not ever." His lip quivered at the thought of you leaving him behind, betraying him like everyone else. "You're mine. You can't go."

--

Scaramouche seems to only be able to treat you in two different ways - excessively harsh or excessively infantilising, neither of which you particularly enjoyed, though you could say you preferred the latter because it meant you weren't at active risk of punishment.

Today, he appeared to be in a good mood, if the scent of iron on his scarlet-drenched outfit was any indication. You clean his eyeliner from his face - trying to keep any thoughts of blood and gore away - and help him out of his clothes as you were taught to do, stepping back and lowering your eyes as he selects something more casual for the night.

He never has his servants dress him anymore - he always preferred it if you did.

He clicks his tongue sharply and you look up, surprised.

"Come here," he says, giving you a look that to others might have been a glare, but you have long since learnt to be the closest thing to a smile you have seen on him. "Or do I have to-?"

You waste no time in obeying, moving into his embrace before he can finish his sentence. Best to soften him a little while he's feeling warm - no telling when his mood would turn cold again.

"Hmph." He utters a sound of satisfaction, running a hand down your arm in your nightclothes. It isn't often he initiates physical contact, expecting you to know when and where he wanted your affection ("as spouses are supposed to do", as he puts it). Usually he liked you to give him a massage before bed or read something to him, but he reclines on his pillows tonight, holding you in the curve of his arm.

"Did you have a good day today, Scara?"

The nickname feels heavy and unfamiliar on your tongue, an illusion of closeness that could make or break you depending on when you used it.

His hand slides down to grasp your wrist lightly, and you tense.

"What a surprise," he chuckles. "You're behaving so well today."

You bite your lip, knowing it would be unwise to tell him that your conduct is the same every day, and keep still as he raises your hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

You hate how fragile you feel next to him. You know you can do nothing to take him on physically, not when you've felt the effects of his electro vision firsthand. Politically is certainly out of the question, what with him being a Harbinger and all. You feel so helpless, despite being no smaller than him, and it infuriates you.

But you do not stir, not even when he reaches to switch off the lights and falls asleep, running a hand through your hair with your head resting on his chest.

— word count: 463. thank you for reading!

"kunikuzushi, if I asked you to kill someone for me, would you do it?"

warnings: offscreen murder, light gore, yandere ish but not really imo, reader is implied to be a kitsune (reader is gender neutral)

@edenialucas, @huboi, @nejibot, @lovediluc, @yumixxn, @teallapril, @midnxght-sweet-time, @barbatosfavouritenun

“What?”

“You’ve ended lives for my sake before,” you say, not lifting your head up, hands focused on stitching the garment on your lap. “would you do it for me again?”

The balladeer puts his quill aside, a smirk on his lips as indigo eyes centre on you. “For my stoic fox to go so far as to demand for this person gone, they must have committed a major transgression against you.”

You made a sound akin to an aggrieved hum, pulling particularly hard on the thread before stabbing it into the fabric. It’s true; one of the things you share with Kunikuzushi is your hatred for humanity. Unlike the harbinger who pours all of his hatred to his lackeys, forcing them to endure the brunt of his cruelty, you’ve always preferred to keep yourself hidden from others. The lesser you have to interact with those phoney people, the better it is for your wellbeing.

There are times when you have no choice in the matter, and you’re reminded of why you despise being around others so much. Normally, you’ll silently wish for them to disappear, praying to nobody for the second you’re able to return to your room. But in this instance, they’ve accidentally ignited your ire: cold and seething and you’re unsatisfied with anything less than hearing news of that person’s dead body strewn atop a bloody icicle on a cliff somewhere deep within the Snezhnayan mountains.

“Won’t you tell me what this person did to offend you?”

“What if I said no?”

“Then I won’t press.”

“...I’m done.” You cut the thread before lifting the shirt up to inspect for any more loose seams or tears. “I’ll hang it up for you to wear tomorrow.”

You fold the shirt on your lap, standing up before pausing. “Kuni, would you do it for me again? For my sake?”

The balladeer regards you with an unrecognisable expression on his face. “How would you like it to be done?”

“Painful and slow,” you say without missing a beat. “I don’t want to witness it. You can tell me how it went.”

Kunikuzushi could only laugh at such a macabre response, nearly to tears before he recollects himself. “I need a name, you know.”

Your steps echoes throughout his office as you walk towards him, bending down to whisper in his ear before leaving a quick peck on his lips.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

—

“(Name), come here.” 

You sit on his lap, snaking your arms around his neck as you nuzzle against him. The harbinger’s voice is gentle as he hums an Inazuman lullaby; one that he usually catches you singing to yourself when you’re alone. He finishes his tune, smiling to himself as he smoothes his palm up and down your back.

“He’s dead.”

You nod. Ah, now that you think about it, that iron scent is especially pungent today.

“I handed him to Dottore. Or whatever was left of him. I don’t even know if his brain is still intact after what I did to him.”

You mutter something intelligible before planting a string of kisses from his collarbone to his jaw. As he strokes your tails — swishing slowly from side to side — he hears a whispered “thank you” and an “I love you” next to his ear, coupled with a quiet purring noise, and he knows that you’ll be sleeping well tonight.