dobbie-doo

[dobbie-doo]

YESS SIIR

[dobbie-doo]

OHH BOY

[dobbie-doo]

[dobbie-doo]

Jealous reader x sub!arlecchino

(Poll result)

Hello I am so back.. again.

Guys genuinely I am SO sick it’s insane. I won’t go into details on this post because it’s a lot and it’s scary but I’ve never been this ill. It’s the fanfic writer curse, I say. To make up for the lack of writing, this one is LONG. Anyway, I truly hope you all enjoy Arlecchino being a sub because I giggled the entire time I wrote it. I wrote about half of it before I got sick again in December, and half of it.. today. Thank you for your service and patience, my dear readers

Word count: 2.9k

Contents: jealous reader, sub arlecchino, strap sucking, strap riding, you know what hell yeah

(I listened to blind eyes red by Minnie, touchin’ me by chandler leighton, pornstar by nessa barrett.. you’re getting where I’m going, yeah?)

Nsft utc!

“I don’t think you quite understand. I don’t like when you talk to other women that way.”

Your voice rings out in the bedroom you and Arlecchino share. Watching as she sheds the blazer of her suit, your jaw feathers at the little smudge of red on her white collar. The faint smell of alcohol wafts into your nostrils and you’re not entirely sure if the smell is coming from you or her, and you don’t think you really care.

“It isn’t like that,” Arlecchino murmurs, a slight hint of irritation breaking through her usual tone. “She was drunk, I was entertaining her. She talked, I listened.”

“You listened? I suppose you were ‘just listening’ when her hands were all over you, then?”

“She touched me, I did not touch her.”

“That makes it fine, then. You didn’t touch her, so it’s fine that she’s marked you with her fucking lipstick!” Arlecchino pauses, one hand on her tie. She isn’t sure if she’s ever seen you this angry before, it causes her eyebrows to furrow, a small frown forming on her face.

“My dearest, please, you must calm down. I am wearing a ring, the ring that shows I am devoted to you and only you—“

“Yet, I watched you entertain that woman the entire evening. Maybe that dessert had an aphrodisiac in, because you were all over her like you hadn’t had sex in months.”

“You and I both know that statement is false.”

“Then stop acting like it is. Do I not fuck you well enough? Do you not fuck me well enough? Is that why you let her put her hands on you?”

Arlecchino almost recoils at the vehement words that spill from your mouth. You have never acted this way, not ever. Of course, she’s used to women fawning over her and trying to get her attention, and you’ve never reacted this way before. With a barely noticeable tilt of her head, she responds, her usually commanding voice slightly softer than usual, filled with thinly veiled annoyance.

“You are very good at what you do, if that’s what you’re wondering. If we’re talking about who does what to who, however, I must make it clear to you that you do not fuck me.”

“I could.” Arlecchino isn’t entirely sure whether that was a challenge or something you were just saying. She stares at you for a second, eyes fixed on the way your eyebrows knit together and the way your lips downturn into an irritated frown. She scoffs bitterly, but she can’t help the slight amusement she feels at the thought of you trying to take control of her the way she so easily controls you. Her hands continue the act of undressing herself, letting herself slip out of the black blazer she saves for events like these.

“Ha. Unfortunately for you, my dear, you aren’t very good at taking control, let alone keep it. I can melt you into nothing but putty with a few words.” For Arlecchino, she knows she’s upset you, and she does feel guilty, but she can’t help the way she feels a small burning in the pit of her stomach at the way you’re so.. demanding. She wonders if you’d actually do it, she decides that you wouldn’t. She decides that part of you just isn’t in you, that you couldn’t, until she hears your voice, irritated, hard, and with absolutely no option to argue against it.

“Take off your belt, Arlecchino,” She freezes, eyes moving towards you once again. You cannot be serious, she thinks, except you are, and she can tell by the way you tap your finger impatiently against your thigh. “Now.”

“What on Teyvat is this?” She murmurs, one hand moving towards the buckle, expertly weaving the leather out of the buckle before pulling on it, letting it fall loose. Looking at you with furrowed eyebrows, she pulls the belt off, the sound of the leather moving through the belt loops. As soon as it rests in her hands, you move, snatching it with a speed she couldn’t have expected. You inspect it for a few seconds, turning it over to feel the material in your hands. You look up at her, jaw clenched before you, with mirrored motions, things you’ve watched her do so many times, create restraints with her belt, tying them firmly around her wrists. You don’t let her speak, your hands move quickly to remove her trousers and whatever else she has on under her waist. She tries to act like the sudden change isn’t affecting her, because it isn’t. Not really. Maybe a little bit. Arlecchino finds herself eagerly stepping out of her clothing, and you don’t miss the way the tall woman almost stumbles.

“I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen now,” you breathe quietly, stepping back to look at her. Her hands are retrained in front of her, and she’s bare, save for the loose dress shirt hanging on her body. “I am going to sit on this bed, and wear the strap you so love to use on me, and you, my dear, are going to get fucked. You tell me I cannot do what you do to me, but I think I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

“You’re going to— what? You can’t. You never have before. Do you even know how to use it?” Arlecchino seems to be biting back a chuckle, the look in her eyes tells you that she truly doesn’t believe you’re capable of it. But you’re angry enough, she knows that much. “This is ridiculous.”

“Sit.” You demand softly, and like clockwork, she steps back until she finds herself perched on the bed. No biting remark this time, not when she sees the look on your face. Her dark eyes track your movements as you move to That Drawer, hands moving over the harness. Your head turns and you glance at her from over your shoulder. Despite the many masks she wears, you can see the hard determination in her eyes— she doesn’t plan to fold for you. She has no idea that she will anyway.

Your hands fumble slightly as you remove whatever items of clothing you still have on before you start buckling the harness. She chuckles dryly, almost mockingly, as the harness nearly slips from your grip. You meet her with a look so dangerous her chuckle fades out into a sigh, her eyes drifting down to the belt tied around her wrists. She gives an experimental tug, but you’ve tightened it to the point she can’t seem to break free. She wonders if she even wants to, but then remembers that she’s not supposed to enjoy the lack of control. She doesn’t. She likes control, she needs control, and yet..

Her thoughts are interrupted by the feel of weight on the bed, the mattress denting slightly as you sit. Red crosses gazing over you, you watch as they land on the way your hand moves along the length of her strap. It’s an unfamiliar sight, usually she is the one watching the way your eyes widen slightly and the way your chest rises and falls slightly quicker in anticipation. Even with the unfamiliarity, you’ve touched the silicone enough to know your way around it, and just to annoy her, you let out a quiet airy moan when your fingers swipe over the top of it. She scowls, jaw tensing.

“Stop.” Arlecchino mutters, casting an irritated look in your direction as she shifts slightly, adjusting her position on the bed. She swallows, but doesn’t take her eyes off of you or the way your hand moves.

“Why? Are you finally feeling something?”

“Not in the slightest, dear.” The pet name is said with almost a growl, and the edges of your mouth quirk up in a smirk.

“Liar.” You return with equal vigor, standing up once again to stand in front of her. The smirk fades, and what returns is the angry look from earlier. Your voice, once soft, comes out sharp and commanding. “Get on your knees.”

“I will not.”

“Peruere.” Ah. Her eyes flutter at the way you say her name, and her fists clench in the restraints. After a few seconds of debating, her height slowly reduces as she moves from the bed to sink to her knees in front of you. Arlecchino looks up at you, and you swear for a second you see a look of need there before it disappears. A gentle hand of yours brushes her hair from her eyes before cupping her cheek, and on instinct, subconsciously, she leans into it, eyes closing for a second.

“You know what to do, don’t you, baby?” You murmur in a voice that’s suddenly so soft and sweet it makes her double take. She can’t figure you out, she knows you’re purposely switching tones the way she always does with you. She knows you’re aware of the small fire growing in her stomach even though she denies it vehemently. You hold the silicone in your fist, giving it a few experimental pumps (you swear you can feel it) before you tap the tip against her lips, her lipstick almost matching the colour of the material. “Come on, pretty girl.”

Her lips part as her eyes close, and she feels it against her tongue as her mouth closes around it. One hand stays cupping her face, the other moves to grip her hair, caressing her scalp before tugging.

“No, look at me,” you chide gently, your own head threatening to tilt back at the sight of her like this. You wonder if you’re punishing her for her actions still or just enjoying the fact you get to boss her around for once. Probably both. When she doesn’t open her eyes, and instead goes to squeeze them shut even more, your voice comes out slightly colder. “Now, Peruere.”

Reluctantly, they open, just as the strap slides and hits the back of her throat. You gasp quietly at the sight of it disappearing and the way her eyes are threatening to tear up with every movement, words coming out shakily. “Oh, there you go, I told you you could do it, didn’t I? Good girl, Peruere.” You think you hear her moan as her chin begins getting wet, and you wish you weren’t breathing so loud so you were able to hear every little noise that came out of her. You can count on your fingers the amount of times she’s made noise during acts like these, and now she’s on her knees in front of you, looking up at you with glassy eyes and spit covering her chin, moaning at the feel of you thrusting the silicone into her mouth. Your hand leaves her hair and covers your face, feeling the way your cheeks have heated up before you pull away from her, leaving her with an obscene noise that causes her to gasp for breath.

You move back to the bed with trembling legs, sitting so your back is pressed against the headboard. You gesture with a finger for her to come to you and she does without hesitation. Once next to you, she looks at you, both hands coming up to wipe the spit on her chin with whatever she can wipe it with— the skin of her hands or the belt, she doesn’t care, but she decides she won’t be seen as a fucked out mess before she’s even been fucked.

“Go on. If you plan on being a whore at the party, you can be a whore for me at home, yeah?”

“That isn’t—“

“I didn’t tell you to speak. You know what to do, don’t make me say it, it is not in your best interest.”

“Oh.” She hums, trying to act nonchalant like her heart isn’t threatening to beat out of her chest. Either way, she moves, positioning the strap in the right place before taking a soft breath, her arms moving over your head until her bound hands are resting by the back of your neck. You glance down and scoff quietly, your voice nothing but a whisper of condescension and awe.

“You’re dripping, Peruere. I haven’t even done anything, you really ARE a whore, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“Answer me. Now.”

“..yes.”

“Good. Continue.” A command, really, not a request. She stares at you, and you stare at her, an unforgiving, unrelenting look in your eyes. Arlecchino’s jaw tenses and feathers before she sinks down, immediately gasping at the stretch she’s not really used to feeling. It takes a while for her to sink down fully, and you say nothing, but the hand that moves to her waist to stroke your thumb gently across the hot, marred skin is reassuring enough, even though you’re angry at her. Once she does bottom out, however, the noise you hear from her is something you didn’t think she was even capable of making. She whined. You blink twice almost in shock before she looks at you, face red as her head shakes gently.

“Don’t.” She mumbles, teeth grazing her lip. She doesn’t move, she knows exactly how she’ll react if she does, and quite frankly, it’s humiliating for her to have been so confident just a little while earlier.

“Move, Peruere, or I’ll move you. I can see that you want to. I can HEAR that you liked it, hm?”

Her jaw drops slightly as your other hand comes to her waist, and she knows the threat of you moving her is real (even if she almost wants it), so she takes it upon herself to control her movements. But she whines again, and can’t help but bury her face into your neck. You let her, for it’s only the first time she’s been like this with you, if at all, and you’ve embarrassed her enough, you think. She’s tentative with her movements at first, almost testing what she can take and what feels like too much. You place kisses on her shoulder, whispering things that turn her even more into a pathetic mess.

“I wonder what the rest of the fatui would say if they knew you were riding me like a pathetic little slut, Peruere,” You whisper, hardly containing the breathless grin you have on your face as she moves, your hands guiding her whenever she loses rhythm. Your words register, and she slows, only to have whatever self control she had snap, and she speeds up, nails digging into your back. You hiss at the pain, but moan when it fades into a dull ache and you hear her whimper into your ear. “If only your god could hear you like this, all fucked and desperate to cum for me.”

“Don’t—“

“You don’t get to tell me what to do when I have the ability to take away the pleasure. Isn’t that what you always say to me?”

“You’re evil.” She gasps out, stifling yet another humiliating whine by biting into your shoulder. You groan, but let her continue when you feel her eyelashes getting wet once more.

“And you’re about to cum while you cry because of me.” You respond with such cockiness she’d snap at you in any other situation, but you’re right, and she knows it. “It really feels that good, huh?”

“Yes.”

It’s all Arlecchino says. She doesn’t think she can say anything else, she’s not even sure if she’s thinking anymore. She’s clenching around the strap and letting out strained noises every time the tip of it nestles itself into the spot that always makes her see stars. You’re making noise too, just the sight of her so undone like this, her dress shirt barely on her body now, only there because you like the way it looks.

“Please, I’m.. please.” She mewls, legs beginning to tremble.

“Words. Use them.”

“Let me cum. Please.”

“Do you think you deserve to after what you did tonight?” You ask, voice piercing through her. She knows the implications and she lets out a soft cry/moan, shaking her head, her hair tickling your shoulder, her forehead pressed onto your collarbone.

“No. I’m sorry, please. I won’t—“ she stops, gasping for breath again. She can feel it, a few more movements, but she knows she needs, or rather, wants, your permission.

“Won’t what?”

“I won’t do it again. I’m yours, always.”

“Good. Then cum, pretty girl.”

Mumbling a string of ‘thank you’s and ‘oh, archons’, she comes undone, her movements frantic before eventually stopping to a halt. She pants into your shoulder before raising her head half a minute later. Both of you are breathless, but her mascara has run, her cheeks are flushed and her lips are swollen. At the sight of you, Arlecchino lets out a shaking breath before hiding her face again.

You urge her to put her hands in front of you again, and she does, lifting them off of your neck.

“You did so well.” You untie the belt, letting it fall on the bed beside you both with a small clink. You find the edge of the bedsheet and move it so it covers at least some of her. For someone so ‘ruthless and violent’, she’ll need a lot of love and care after this, you think, even if she’ll grumble while accepting it. The poor woman is exhausted.

[dobbie-doo]

ayyy

[dobbie-doo]

˗ˏˋ ꒰JUST A LITTLE BIT OLDER꒱ ˎˊ˗ ballader

You know it's wrong. You know it, and yet you melt in his cold hands.

✧ warnings — MDNI + smut ! fem ! reader, loss of virginity, vaginal sex, scara has a dick, finger stimulation,, pet names : "Persephone" + "my dear", some fanon ! Scara, long foreplay, !! cringe !! sex with feelings and a quote at the end.. Sсara is 500 years older than the reader, so so… ✧ minors do not interact. !! ✧ a/n —I love this song (Isabel LaRosa - older) , so I'm writing a fic,, drawing inspiration from a pathetic fragment of the song. Originally, another work was supposed to come out, it's already started, but I decided that it doesn't fit the atmosphere, so… I'll finish it later.. 💋

With cold palms he goes down to your sunken belly, outlining the silhouette with his long, aesthetically thin fingers, and presses on your belly under the navel, forcing you to let out a loud sigh that fills the coastal silence in the bedroom.

Scaramouche is now a puppet master, and you are just a fool..

The divine puppet covers your thin neck with tangible, cold kisses that contrast brightly with your skin, heated with arousal. His kisses should cause you fear, disgust.. But you are silent, you enjoy. Scaramouche stops his deceptively gentle caresses, only to meet your eyes, his gaze is sly, but at the same time gentle..

You can't lie here..You admit to yourself that this puppet is incredibly beautiful, with eyes of a flawless shade - His eyes are like lightning, sparkling in the dark sky, a rich indigo shade that fascinates and attracts the gaze. Sparks of blue slip through them, as if in the depths of the ocean, where light breaks through the thickness of the water.. When he looks at you, it seems that time stops, and the whole world around loses its significance.

Scaramouche, chuckling, slowly intertwined your hand with his, bringing it up, above your head. You seem to get lost in the vastness when his other hand presses on your cheeks to force you to open your mouth, and you, of course, obey. In another kiss, you are caressing each other with your lips excitedly, colliding with your tongues, which migrate from one mouth to another, until the oxygen in your lungs runs out, Balladeer, as if feeling how you are suffocating, slowly moves away from you, smiling, What weak people are.. And even sweet in spite of, he thought.

"Every moment next to you is like a sweet sin that I want to repeat."

"You are my personal hell, into which I dive with pleasure."

You swallow nervously from these phrases, at first glance, these phrases should evoke tenderness and affection, and so it would be, if you did not know Scaramouche well enough.

You want to rise up, to bestow tenderness on his body above you, but the puppet does not give permission, whispers warm words in your ear, convincing that there is no need for that, of course, he is much older, more skilled, the puppet has lived a long life to know all the dark and pleasant corners of human lust. His hand, in the usual black glove on the wrists, with a purple puppet joint that shines so much in the dark bedroom - slides to your thigh, gently stroking. You are in love with his hands.. beautiful, strong, which you can’t tell at first glance.

"In your breath I feel the wind of change.. You are trembling so.. Is it from fear? Or from desire?"

And you are silent.. You do not answer, only moan uncontrollably, writhing under him, the Marionette makes a mocking hum, shaking his head, slightly waving his beautifully ironed blue hair.

"Hmm.. I thought so"

Your knees are shaking when Scaramouche spreads them apart, settling himself more comfortably between them, Scaramouche playfully clings to your right nipple with the pads of his fingers, in response he receives your moan, presses lightly on your pearl, caresses it with a circular motion, and enjoys your first full-fledged moans, playing a melody in his ears. He squeezes your second nipple between his thumb and middle finger, pulls it out experimentally - making sure that it does not hurt you, so that only pleasure splashes in your eyes. And you, not knowing where to place your limbs, so carefully hug Scaramouche's back with your legs. - He smiles. How charming you are.

Your left bud is in his mouth: Scaramouche licks, sucks carefully, forcing your hands to touch his shoulders. He torments your young body sweetly, with his skillful tongue and graceful lips. He wants a deep kiss - but he does not allow himself to raise his head, he retreats back to caresses, because it is too pleasant, it is impossible to tear yourself away, he wants to please you more and more.

Scaramouche is surprisingly incredible in his tenderness, bordering on frantic rudeness; all his actions are neat, thoughtful at first, but as soon as you react somehow, he begins to bite your lips playfully, squinting his fox-like eyes - he presses harder, strokes more noticeably.

You can't breathe when Scaramouche covers your lips, you respond to his kiss invariably, and you delightedly catch the fuse opposite, realizing that soon both of you will burn to ashes, both will turn to ashes. Only ashes.

"I love you," you blurted out as if in delirium, and again you reach for a new kiss, into which Scaramouche smiles with fangs.

"You are now mine, dear, until your very end," and this is much better than the insipid "me too"

The inside of your thigh is attacked by his lips, he kisses you with a loud smacking sound, and you are embarrassed by this, because in your thin underwear the excitement is clearly visible, which smears the fabric of your panties with natural lubrication. Scaramouche, finally settling between your legs, leaving the last kiss on the inside of your thigh, notices your "wet" excitement and praises you for it lovingly, looks piercingly, accompanying his gaze with a frivolous bite, and then the puppet unexpectedly presses his lips to your clitoris organ behind the thin, wet fabric, to which the reaction follows immediately: You shudder, groaning loudly, and your legs at the knees bend in convulsions. Your whole body is a solid erogenous zone; wherever Scaramouche touches, wherever he kisses, your body's responsiveness to every movement is colossal.

Prelude, prelude… stretched out for hours, pushing you to the edge time after time, and then returning to the starting point, returning, Scaramouche teases, mocks, does not let you finish. And you can no longer stand it - you whine shamelessly, you reach for the elastic on your underwear, but they squeeze your wrist, Scaramouche looks at you sternly, and you recognize this look.. Usually he looks at his subordinates like this, or some ordinary stupid people, and when you catch this same look on yourself, you involuntarily want to shrink back.. Scaramouche throws your hand back roughly, does not allow you to take control.

"Let me…" Scaramouche whispers, his gaze softening and he grins cruelly when he sees your obedience.

And you are still lying on the bed, your legs spread apart with force, you surrender to the excitement that is covering you. Scaramouche circles your virgin entrance with his middle finger, and presses very tenderly, you tremble feverishly, frown slightly, but you ask him to continue, because you want more.

Scaramouche touches your cheek with his free hand, stroking it with his thumb, kisses it softly, Scaramouche again makes his way into your tender entrance with two fingers, moving them rhythmically, smiling from the squelching sounds below, and your feminine moans.

"That's it, my Persephone, make those silly sounds for me, show me how you like it.. Show me how good my movements make you feel!

With your moans, and the feeling of wetness and tenderness of your flesh, which is squeezed around his fingers, Scaramouche feels how something begins to harden in his pants.. Hah, and he even forgot about his satisfaction, although, he does not even need it.. But he can not leave his woman in such a position, when she is already ready to give him her purity.. innocence. And he grins, how stupid you had to be to decide to give such a precious thing - your virginity, to a man like him.

You gasp when his fingers are replaced by a member, gracefully curved, and with a purple tip shining, half immersed in your pulsating heat. You scream loudly, letting the tears fall, and Scaramouche almost even vulnerablely presses himself against you, licks the tracks of your salty tears, and whispers in your ear tirelessly about how beautiful you are, how wonderful you are and how incredible. You promise him eternity, swear fidelity with all your being, and firmly say that you will never betray him.. And Scaramouche admits to himself that he wants to believe it.

His thrusts are slow, excruciatingly slow and rough, you can't breathe. At one point you even start to move your hips in response to his thrusts, and Scaramouche throws your leg over his shoulder, crashing into you at a new angle.

The slapping of skin on skin seems loud and vulgar, your loud moans and his quiet growl are lost in the depths of your apartment, and you involuntarily think that you are happy at this very moment. The man you love, exalted by you, looks like a work of art from above you, carved from marble as if by the archons themselves: his body, slender, beautiful, is hidden under the thinnest black turtleneck without sleeves with the golden emblem of the Shogunate on his chest; your man's face is unrealistically beautiful, it is incomparable to anything previously seen, it shines against the background of any celebrity in Teyvat and, in general, it cannot even be compared with the stars in the sky, because it is many times more beautiful. A lot can be said about your beloved, but is it worth it while his dick is pounding into you, tearing more and more moans from your lips?

"Ah..Kabukimono.."

Hearing his first name, pronounced from your lips, Scaramouche seemed to break loose - he began to move his hips into you harder, more passionately, more roughly, wanting to give you pleasure that you had never experienced before, you moaned in his ear so unbridled, loudly, that Scaramouche involuntarily shrank and even hissed, but did not stop pressing himself so close to you and did not slow down your thrusts.

"A-ahhhh..Kabu..Please.."

"Hmm? What are you mumbling about? Didn't you want to be mine completely? Now take me properly my Persephone"

Balladeer looked insanely pleased, fanatical in his desire to destroy and break your body, so that it could only twitch and tremble in endless orgasms, while the room was again filled with his beloved silence.

Real madness.. From the pain you have only an unpleasant memory, and the convulsions in your body are no longer from suffering - you feel too good, the feelings are too bright. It's as if you're burning before his eyes, your consciousness is losing you, already slipping away with every new wave of pleasure and with every cry that escapes your lips.

You seem to catch falling stars with your eyes when you bring your knees together and lose yourself uncontrollably and in orgasm.

And finally, he stops his thrusts and carefully pulls out of you, you're lying on the wet bed, you're all flushed, sweaty, and the balladeer doesn't give a damn! - not even a drop of sweat on him.. Scaramouche breaks away from you and slowly rises above you, his eyes gazing into every hollow of your body, every breath, every movement.

"Hmh..hmm? Hah.."

His gaze stops on a barely noticeable red spot between your legs, further testifying to the fact that you are now his. He lovingly strokes your ribs with his cold hands. Your bitten lips twisted into a satisfied smile, your head was spinning from a mixture of defamine and adrenaline.. So good..

"Are you cold, my dear?" Scaramouche softly pressed his lips to your temple when you nodded shyly, bringing your legs together. Scaramouche carefully put the sheet on you, ruffling your hair. Feeling how your consciousness slowly falls asleep, you calmly fall into the kingdom of Morpheus. Scaramouche, watching you, thought "what a wonderful creature", And even, not afraid of his thoughts, Scaramouche lay down next to you, looking at your relaxed face with awe and obsession, quietly saying;

"In a room full of art, I would still look at you.."

✧ Even the most terrible person, on the most beautiful night, says the most beautiful words..

@himasgod @shyentsfoundherink

[dobbie-doo]

Wanderer doodle dump vol 1 Enjoy~

[dobbie-doo]

OH WANDERER! THE MAN YOU ARE.. 🥴🤤😍

[dobbie-doo]

[dobbie-doo]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ YOUR GENTLE MADNESS꒱ ˎˊ˗ ballader/wanderer

pt I - pt II

Scaramouche loves you - incorrectly, abnormally. As if he were putting out cigarettes and licking burns, breaking your bones and knitting them in his own way..

✧ warnings — singer ! fem ! reader, dark content, stalking, dead (not reader ofc), unhealthy attitude, angst, psychological abuse n some yandere shit . ✧ a/n — I want to portray it not as psychopathological madness, but as selfishness and tenderness in one bottle and control of emotions over actions. On the victim's side, there is a heavy contradiction, doubts and Stockholm syndrome.

Enjoy and be careful reading!

Scaramouche is not one to sacrifice his time, running through the shadows of alleys and trying to be more attentive for the sake of a foolish mortal girl.

Someone inside him laughs sarcastically - a pathetic lie.

This is exactly what the harbinger does. At first, quietly, completely unnoticeably, he watches from afar, being carried away by the color of your eyes, or the shimmering ringing scattering of your voice. Scaramouche catches with his gaze the girl's half-smile, the sliding gait and the heap of unruly hair, braided into (your hairstyle)

You appear every shift in different corners of the island of Narukami and the main city, one way or another near the village of Konda, and for a long time you sing intricate tunes with a fairy-tale flair, while you are showered with mora

The balladeer finds it as pitiful as it is natural, because the ringing of the coins, their shimmer and shine when they are next to your slender legs, dressed in attractive stockings, all merge with your shining skin, your alluring eyes and interesting appearance, with an image worked out to the last detail.

A well-planned show. And one cannot help but notice how you, seemingly opening up to people, while your gaze is just as cold and far from participation, preserve your mystery.

Your little mortal soul sees him for the first time out of the corner of its eye and does not even attach any importance to it. He, leaning against the wall in a large hat and dark clothes, is erased from memory like a haze on the surface of the water. And Scaramouche can no longer deny himself the mischief and get to your hidden essence.

And more to come. He follows on your heels, finds you in all parts of Inazuma.

With each subsequent day, the harbinger appears more often. Now you can't just forget him, and now you allow yourself to watch him back, squinting invitingly as you shower everyone with your beautiful voice, moving to the music on stage. He smiles slyly back, a silvery glint in his gaze. You mistake it for curiosity.

Scaramouche is really trying to be gentle with you. As much as he can.

The lanterns are lit in Inazuma as you finish your song and, to the satisfied hum of the crowd, you gather your mora, disappearing between the houses and exiting the city onto the main path. His voice bounces off the expanses of Teyvat in a dull echo.

"Aren't you afraid of running into a wild kitsune at such a late hour?"

"What? Feel like keeping company?" - You immediately slyly respond to his mockery.

To all the sarcastic comments and stinging reproaches, you willingly echo him in the same way. Puppet laughs to himself: it is so funny that you perceive his words as a challenge.

Y/N…

Your name spills on his tongue like a viscous, bitter molasses.

And it is the only name in his entire life that he will carve into his memory until bloody scars.

Scaramouche is not one to place such a high value on mortals.

However, he understands that he is not so much captivated by your mischievous eyes or your melodious voice, as by all of you.

"I visited Ritou recently," you say casually.

Balladeer of course, knows.

You turn to him and slyly pull the corners of your lips.

Inside, Scaramouche trembles as the sun reflects off the chrysalite of your eyes and illuminates your face as brightly as you illuminate his darkness with a smile.

"I met a guy, he seems nice," he tilts his head in anticipation.

"Nice?" He looks falsely surprised.

"Do you really think so, sunshine?"

You shrug. - "His eyes are beautiful, like amber gold."

"It's stupid to play with fire," Scaramouche exhales into your neck, very close. "And don't even try to disappear, deciding to run away."

"I didn't plan to," you grin, but After a long look from Scaramouche, you add: "Okay, okay, I promise not to run away. Any more instructions?" You ask mockingly.

"Don't let yourself be shared with others."

You roll your eyes. You should take this more seriously, but you're too used to this kind of commanding tone from Scaramouche. You, stupid fox, perceive it as a game that tugs at the strings of your soul.

"And where do you even get the right to be jealous.."

Your feigned indifference and arrogance mix with bright flashes of sympathy and traces of embarrassment on your cheeks. You admit to yourself that you like him - not with a passionate hurricane feeling, on the contrary, routinely, but inevitably. This knowledge brings the harbinger to an exciting saturation.

He creeps up on all the bolts of your soul like a predator, and someone else's sincerity is a sweet poison. Help yourself, my dear demons in the dark. Demons willingly accept and ask for more, only everything suddenly falls out of their hands and bursting at the seams, seeing you with that worthless man. Again.

Wasn't he merciful to you?

Scaramouche takes his eyes, as if he were plucking ripe berries from a bush, and crushes them in his hands, melting this amber gold with his icy rage.

He wrings someone else's neck under the screams of the victim and your frightened look.

He is not one to forgive a mistake.

And despite this, puppet gently cups your face in his palms, leaving bloody streaks on your skin, and says irritably:

"I warned you, didn't I?" You look at him nervously and see nothing but blood stains and cruelty. You can't breathe in or out.

"Oh, so you can't say a word because you feel guilty?" Scaramouche adds caustically. His fingers slowly, almost lovingly stroke your cheeks, but you feel nothing. You yourself seem to be at the bottom, completely lost. You stop feeling your body and are left alone with a visual nightmare and a dry throat.

"I," you exhale with titanic efforts. "got it."

"I won't do it anymore.." You forcefully pull the words out of yourself as if with pliers.

"Ha-ha-ha!" His laughter, sincere, condescending, the kind that happens when a child does stupid things, thereby amusing you. You glance sideways and see behind Scaramouche, the lifeless body of a familiar guy. You feel nausea approaching.

"Don't act like an fool,little one, it doesn't suit you. We both know that I can't trust you anymore." You know, but you don't want to believe it. How could this happen? How could you cross paths with the wrong person. How could you — feel lovestick to him — how?!

Scaramouche brushes your hair away from your face, smearing blood across your skin and staining your hair, and peers into your face with his indigo eyes, which you used to look at so lovingly.

"Don't tell me you felt sick from the sight of blood and someone else's death," He sarcastically pulls and rolls his eyes. — "Forget about him and let's go, you look bad."

And he pulls you like an obedient doll. You are scared of what has fallen on you and chained you, but you are even more horrified by the familiar, harmless tone of the harbinger, as if everything is as before. He is just as kindly sarcastic and playful, and you — caustic and sharp-tongued. A stunning symbiosis.

Only the system was initially flawed - Scaramouche never tried to appear kind.

in the third part it will be… tough, it will be really tough.

@comesatimecomesashadow @anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance @ashyashylee

[dobbie-doo]

If you told a genshin player back in 2020/2021 that this would one day be possible, they'd call you crazy.

[dobbie-doo]

𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑲 𝑻𝑶𝑶 𝑴𝑼𝑪𝑯

wanderer finds a way to ease your insecurities after you overhear some rumors

⟡ content: wanderer x gn!reader ; established relationship ; reader is a student at the akademiya ; reader feeling a bit insecure about their relationship with wanderer ; but he knows a good counter :) ; the vibe i was going for was silly and sweet hehe ; 2k w/c

⟡ a/n: i did proofread and edit this, but i was a little sleepy in the process, so apologies for any glaring errors! i hope you enjoy, mwah !

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Just because the Akademiya was one of the leading institution for academics in Teyvat doesn’t mean that its students are all about studies. Gossip and rumors were some of the biggest sources of entertainment to come out of its lecture halls and labs.

Though many of these tales were unfalsifiable, students did not need to adhere to rigorous experimental principles when it came to coming up with stories. It all started with the story that the building Vahumana scholars studied in were haunted. Apparently, a Vahumana researcher had brought home an ancient relic they weren't supposed to from the ruins of one of their expeditions. This relic held a spirit who had been a revered warrior in ages long past. Angered at being removed from their station, the spirit now stalked the halls, trying to enact revenge on the person that committed this heinous act. If objects were knocked over by an unseen force, and the air grew chilly, it was said to be a sign that the spirit was near. From then on, many other stories began to rise, each to varying degrees of popularity.

Wanderer thought all of this to be absolute rubbish.

But, he did find the deliberate arousal of widespread fear to be quite amusing. Spread by the students themselves, no less. Mortals were certainly interesting creatures. He also loathed these rumors and tales popping up because he found himself to be wrapped up in one himself:

Hat guy is dating someone famous!

Someone had seen Wanderer on a date and, to everyone’s complete shock, being intimate. But, it was only from a distance, so they couldn’t figure out their identity. Thus, the speculations began. Wanderer wished everyone would just mind their own business.

As an Akademiya student yourself, you have also heard many of these stories during your time here. And as Wanderer’s partner, the ones about his romantic relationship was something you’d wish you heard less of. Unfortunately, you were now within hearing distance of an excited group of students talking about exactly that. They were seated at one of the public tables used for studying, though they were doing very little of it.

“Guess what?!” one of them exclaimed. “I saw Hat Guy the other day with his mystery partner.”

The rest of the group erupted into gasps. Is this some kind of Hat Guy fan club? you couldn’t help but wonder.

You stood innocently by the message board a ways from them, pretending to check and read if any new information had been added whilst your ears remained perked.

“No way! Did you find out who they were?”

“I had to rush of to class before I could sneak by them!” the witness of your date huffed. “I wouldn't have to do all this if he wasn't so secretive about this.”

Two days ago, you had indeed met up with Wanderer between classes, sitting by one of the more secluded gazebos in Razan Garden. You both weren’t actively trying to keep your relationship a secret, rather, you just enjoyed your privacy more.

One of them folded their arms rather decisively. “It has to be a celebrity. With how haughty he is, there’s no way that Hat Guy would settle for anyone who wasn’t some renowned star.”

Hey, that’s a bit rude! you protested internally. They don’t have to be a renowned star…

“That’s why he’s being so hush-hush about it, so it doesn’t become a huge scandal.”

“They must be jaw-droppingly gorgeous then. Only the best for the leading scholar of Vahumana,” agreed another, with loving sigh that made your eye twitch.

You pouted to yourself. Sure, you thought you were somewhat pretty, but not anything jaw-dropping… Hang on, why were you giving into these strangers’ silly speculations?

“Could they be a performer from Fontaine? I heard they have a grand Opera there.”

“They’re probably a vision wielder as well!”

“Yeah, definitely not some ordinary student like us.”

“Or maybe they’re a famous bard from Mondstadt—”

The group turned into a flurry of chatter as they continued with their guesswork. Your time here was up. You didn’t feel like listening any longer.

Some ordinary student… you repeated in your head. It wasn’t untrue, but the way it was said by them made it seem completely absurd for Wanderer to even consider dating someone like you.

Just as you turned to walk away, you jumped at a sudden noise.

An open door to an empty classroom had slammed shut. The sharp thud echoed throughout the space.

The chatter from the students immediately ceased.

They began to laugh uneasily. Surely that was just caused by a simple strong draft. The laughing faded when the books and loose parchment on their table were suddenly pushed to the side, the lighter of these items tumbling to the floor. They all stood up, horror frozen on their faces. The air grew noticeably cooler. Wind swept in, causing the papers pinned to the message board in front of you to flutter.

“I-it’s the ghost!” one of the students shrieked, pointing to one of the doorways that led into this central space. “The ghost of the Vahumana building!”

A figure loomed at the threshold, a sinister air surrounding them.

The group of students snatched their bags and rushed as fast as they could away, scrambling for the exit in the opposite direction. Their urgency greatly juxtaposed against your nonreaction.

There was just something about the figure that was all too familiar.

Stepping into the lit space, the figure ruffled a hand in his violet hair. Annoyance was twisted on his face.

“Using your anemo on Akademiya grounds?” you asked with a quirk in your brow.

Wanderer let out a huff, walking towards you. “For good reason. Not only were those students talking nonsense, they had the audacity to be loud about it too.”

Since there was no one around at the moment, you felt comfortable enough to bring up a hand to tidy his hair up. Though he gave a begrudged sigh, Wanderer leaned into your touch as you combed your fingers through it.

“I didn’t know you were the ghost of the Vahumana building,” you teased, moving an index finger down to poke at his cheek. “You seem pretty corporeal to me.”

“That ridiculous story again?” Wanderer responded, swatting at you to stop. “Humans seek out information that already confirms their previous beliefs. They saw whatever they wanted to see.”

Even though he shrugged as he spoke, Wanderer was unmistakably satisfied with the result of his doings. As he was heading to meet up with you to head home together, he heard that group of students yapping away about his relationship and saw your discomfort at their rudeness. He needed them gone and gone fast. So, he conjured up his most basic form of anemo. Even that was enough to send them scurrying away like mice.

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You both were bathed in the warm sun as you walked through the streets of Sumeru City. It was a lively afternoon, with people bustling about to run errands or savor the perfect weather. Usually, you’d also relish in a day like this, but your attention was elsewhere. The conversation those students had repeated frustratingly in your mind, as much as you didn’t want it to affect you. Your focus returned just in time for you to move away as a woman carrying several boxes of Harra fruit almost sent you toppling over.

“Be careful there!” she called before moving on her way.

You shouted an apology, shaking your head in an attempt to return to your senses. Wanderer frowned, tugging at your arm to pull you closer to him.

"Are you going to spit it out?”

Though you hadn’t done anything wrong, you still felt like you’d been caught.

”Spit what out?” you answered.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” he said, glowering at you. “You’ve been acting strange since we left the Akademiya.”

Turning the corner into the more residential area of the city, the streets grew less busy, save for the occasional resident tending to their garden outside or taking a walk with their family.

There was no keeping anything from Wanderer with his senses and hard-headedness. You probably had a better chance with hiding a Sumpter Beast under a blanket.

“I was just thinking about what those students were talking about back at the Akademiya. You know, about who you were dating.”

“They were saying: Oh, they must be some kind of celebrity, or famous adventurer with a really cool vision who’s super incredibly gorgeous and isn’t just some nothing student,” you mimicked with disdain.

Wanderer cocked his head to the side. “And that was verbatim?”

“Yes, yes it was!” you nodded emphatically, ignoring his pointed sarcasm. “It just had me feeling I don’t know…”

Wanderer didn’t say anything more as your sentence trailed off. He simply looked at you, expectantly. The sound of your feet hitting the paved road rung clear in the air, every step pushing you to admit what you were truly feeling.

“I just felt a bit insecure!” you blurted out.

Sighing, the words began to tumble from you.

“Like if this is the kind of image people have about who’s dating you, once they see me they’ll start to think: Why on Teyvat is he dating that person? Which will make me think: Why on Teyvat are you dating me?”

“And I know, it’s horrible to think like this, and I don’t want doubt your reasons for liking me, but I just can't help it. So, now I’m starting to worry whether you'd prefer someone else—”

Your rambling stopped short.

Not because you had lost your train of thought, but because there was something physically preventing you from continuing.

Your lips was being covered by Wanderer’s own.

Your mind finally registered that he was kissing you in the middle of the street, only a few blocks away from your home.

Protests of stopping him fizzled away as you relaxed in his hold. His hand moved up to rest at the base of your neck and you gave in to the soft coolness of his lips. Wanderer’s kisses always had a hunger behind them, but there was something else now too.

Frustration.

Like he was trying to send you some kind of message each heated movement. When he finally pulled away, your body was left with tingles and you were still enveloped in his gentle scent of linen and parchment.

Wanderer silently admired the flush he left on your lips—the colour of ripened Zaytun peaches. He lightly tapped the side of your forehead with a finger, almost in scolding.

“You’re really that affected by the stupid things other people say?” he chided.

You blinked at him, still slightly dazed by his previous stunt.

He continued, with a sincerity to his voice that gave you pause, “Isn’t the proof you need right here? I chose you. So no, I wouldn’t want some famous superstar, or whatever, because they wouldn’t be you.”

Your mouth parted at such an open confession. Wanderer couldn’t handle the joy swimming in your eyes and turned away, hiding his own buzzing feeling that rose within him with a long sigh.

“I can’t believe you’re feeling like this when we’re walking to our shared home together,” he muttered, starting to walk again.

You kept up by his side, hands behind your back. You almost felt like skipping now down this street.

“Do you think you could say all that one more time?” you asked, the question filled with mirth.

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“Nope,” Wanderer, again, immediately replied.

“But what if I need more reassurance?”

You angled yourself to try and meet his gaze, hoping that the pleading in your expression would better convince him. However, he seemed to be notably avoiding your eyes. Unconsciously, Wanderer’s eyes flicked over to you. In that millisecond, his own resolve crumbled. He groaned aloud.

“Later… then…” he conceded with a mutter.

For all of Wanderer's supposed unwillingness, he would always give you the reassurance you needed in his own mischievous way. Still, he didn’t like how those rumors had so quickly burrowed into you. Perhaps it was time to stamp them all out by showcasing to everyone who he was dating.

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[dobbie-doo]

To the stranger I knew too well

Summary: When your recurrent dreams about a puppet become out of hand, a reality check feels like the only way to get back to normalcy. Fate proves you wrong.

Pairing: Wanderer & gn!reader (post Irminsul), the relationship is heavily implied to be platonic

Content warnings: Reader is gender neutral, mentions of blood and murders but I don't go into details, slight angst, Wanderer is bad with feelings, platonic content

Word count: 7.2k | Soulmate AU

Comments: A special thank to my beta @ladyfocalors for always brainrotting with me about Genshin characters. We'll platonify the Genshin soulmate AU one work at the time /lh

It took you years to understand that your frequent lucid dreams about an Inazuman electricity-wielder leader were actually the memories of your soulmate.

To your parents' defense, every normal individual would have dismissed the idea. While your soulmate wearing an extravagant hat wasn’t impossible, your tales about a place shrouded in darkness and an Electro-user without a Vision sounded like a child's fantasy. There was no such thing in Teyvat.

You quickly got the reputation of an imaginative kid. Adults liked to ask you about your dreams.

"What a smart child you are!", they cooed once you finished recalling your visions. "You could write a storybook!"

Your younger self would shoot them the dirtiest glare they could muster. Unfortunately, adding that the protagonist was a puppet made hundreds of years ago was not the convincing argument you thought it was. To the layperson, your visions were nonsensical dreams.

But you knew what you saw. It felt real. Terribly, shockingly real. Most often that not, you woke up from these flashes with the taste of iron in your mouth, static filling your sight, your muscles locked into place. You were trapped in your own unresponsive body. Even your breath was stuck in your throat. But the worst part of your awakenings was the sticky feeling on your hands. No matter how many times you scrubbed, it lingered on your skin. You didn't know what it was at that time, just that it made you feel gross and that it would sometimes reappear if you washed your hands hard enough.

You learnt what blood was before you knew how to spell the color red. 

When one is repeatedly told that they're wrong, they will come to believe it. You were no exception. As the years passed by, you pushed those fantasies in the back of your mind. The adults in your life must have been right. You were just a strange kid with gruesome dreams, that was all.

Despite knowing that they were figments of your vivid imagination, the sights of snow-covered plains and bloody massacres haunted you well into adulthood. They had grown more complex. Details you didn’t notice as a child seemed obvious now that you had more experience. You could also recall conversations better. That’s how you learnt the name of the body you inhabited. Well, it was more correct to say you learnt multiple names for them. Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche, the Balladeer... It was like you could never make up your mind.

The puppet you temporarily inhabited was as elusive as the wind: no fixed name to call them and no face to match. They fled mirrors when they saw one, preventing you from seeing their appearance. The only thing you knew about them was their title: number Sixth of the Fatui Harbinger. A seat that was left vacant for centuries according to every Fatuus you asked.

Your constant daydreaming was annoying but manageable until you started having visions about Kunikuzushi taking over Sumeru. You saw them getting experimented on to become one with a robot, wincing in pain at the hands of a masked doctor, rambling about their birth-given right to access godhood, taunting a blonde traveler; a chain of events that could only make sense in a dream. The problem was that your reverie was affecting your daily life. You couldn’t go through a day without getting assailed by memories that weren’t yours. You had to stop halfway through any task, discussing became hard and sleep rarely came to you.

There was little you could do as you didn’t know what had worsened your visions. You were hoping it would go away by itself.

That was until a particularly haunting dream. As usual, you were but a spectator seeing through the Balladeer’s eyes. You saw a hand -their hand- reach for a chess piece, leaning forward as much as they could. Your blood went cold. They were about to fall over the edge of the platform! Your gaze darted everywhere. There was nothing on the distant ground that would break their fall. For the first time in your life, you realized that they could die. Scaramouche, the one you had observed for decades, could die.

You were the only one to realize how far they were leaning. They only had eyes for the violet pawn in front of them, begging and begging with a shaky voice. It had never sounded so frail, so raw with hurt and panic.

"Please, anything but the Gnosis!" 

It’s not worth it! you tried to scream. Stop! You didn't know why this Gnosis was so important to them but it was nothing dying for. Alas, no matter how hard you tried to move your mouth, the body refused to answer to you. You were nothing but a witness of a tragic scene, a powerless ghost with a bleeding heart. Your throat was thick with emotions you were not allowed to express.

Your dream ended in a snap, quite literally. A tearing sound erupted from behind you before you were sent falling down, pain flaring in your back. You bit down a scream as the world turned to blurry shades of blue and fluttering black bangs. The increasing speed made your eyes water and your body burn. You clenched your teeth. The fall was inevitable. Maybe it made you a coward but you couldn't bear to see it. You didn’t want to see Kunikuzushi die. Muttering an apology to the stranger in your dreams, you squeezed your teary eyes shut. 

The last thing you heard was a wet crushing sound, a mix between eggshells broken under the palm of your hand and a fruit being squashed. Your body jolted in your bed and you gagged, fighting the urge to throw up. You had never felt this sick. Not even when you dreamt of unfair massacres.

You sank to the floor, furiously wiping away the tears beading in the corner of your eyes. You couldn't do it anymore. You had to confront your dreaming problem. There was only one solution: if your brain was so adamant on obsessing over an imaginary character, you had to show it the harsh reality, to remind yourself that Kabukimono never existed.

Your trip to Sumeru was the most spontaneous project you ever planned. You were strolling through the busy streets of Sumeru city the very next day with barely enough money to get back to your nation. You had packed the bare minimum in your suitcase to carry it easily, meaning you wouldn’t be able to stay for more than just a few days.

That was, if you found a room for the night. You had no time to check what the usual prices were in the capital before leaving. Now that you were scouring the streets with your meager funds, unable to find a hotel within your budget, you were bitterly regretting your lack of foresight. You sighed. You supposed that the saying was right. Slow and steady wins the race.

As if it had felt your determination dwindling, the crushing sound echoed in your mind in response. You bit your lip, bile rising in your throat. You hadn't been able to forget about your last dream. It looped in your head like a broken record. Even if impulsively leaving your country was one of your worst ideas ever, the quicker you settled your daydream problem the sooner you'd be back to your normal life. 

Your weary steps lead you to an indoor bazaar. The smell of fried food filled your nostrils, making your stomach growl. You winced. The small homemade sandwich you had earlier couldn't compete with the appeal of street food. Unfortunately you needed to save your funds for a room. You let your gaze wander in the crowded marketplace, trying to distract yourself from the appetizing smell. Colorful stalls were full of fresh fruits, potted flowers and intricate trinkets. If you stood on your toes, you could even see a small theater representation in the farthest part of the bazaar. It was a lively place that perfectly encapsulated Sumeru’s charm.

You were about to turn back when your eyes stopped on a blue silhouette near a candy stand. You didn't know how you missed them earlier. In the brown and green crowd, their traditional clothing and their ornamented Inazuman hat stuck out like a sore thumb. They were in deep discussion with the merchant. Turquoise fabric trailed behind them, floating in the wind.

Without a second thought, you cut through the crowd, never leaving the stranger from your sight. Your heart leaped in your chest when they left the small stall. 

"Hey, you with the hat! Stop!" you yelled. To your dismay, the Inazuman did not even slow down. They must have been too far to hear you. Breaking into a sprint, you called again. "Hat guy!" 

You breached the distance in a few seconds. Just as you were about to grab their shoulder, they turned around. A cold hand snatched your wrist, making you wince. When you looked at its owner, you were greeted with a deep scowl and narrowed indigo eyes. 

"Don't." The man’s low voice warned you, his tone full of unspoken threats. You swallowed uncomfortably as your confidence melted away. He managed to be intimidating in spite petite stature and youthful appearance.

As he glared daggers at you, you were hit by a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You pressed your lips together, studying his messy black mullet and his glowing Anemo Vision. The word popped up in your head. Familiar. The stranger felt familiar.

Wiping the feeling of déjà-vu from your mind, you retreated your hand. "Sorry, I was just trying to get your attention." 

"Well, now you have it," he huffed. Annoyance was written on his face. He crossed his arms. "What do you want?" 

A good question, but not one you had an answer to. Running after the man was a spur of the moment decision.

Self-awareness striked you like a thunderbolt. Why were you even doing this? Your goal was to cure your daydreaming, not to throw yourself headfirst into the rabbit hole nor to annoy a stranger with the tales of an imaginary character.

He clicked his tongue. "Hurry. I don't have all day." 

You huffed. It was true that you were taking too much time to gather your thoughts but he didn’t have to be rude about it. 

"I'm looking for someone,” you said tentatively. It was the closest you could get from the truth without annoying him. Considering his foul mood, the stranger would have walked away if you told him you were looking for the lack of existence of Kunikuzushi, the Sixth Harbinger, the person who tried to become an Archon, someone that only existed in your mind.

The man didn't answer, encouraging you to continue with a movement on the head. His black bangs flew in the light breeze. Now that you had a clearer view of his face, the man seemed more bored than irritated. He wanted the conversation to be over with but he still had the patience to hear you out. This realization gave you the courage you needed to talk again. 

"Their clothes are quite similar to yours, but they're red and black. They also have a hat. A huge one." You opened your arms in emphasis.

He scrunched his brows together, looking at you like you were an idiot. "Right. Because the length of their hat is the most important detail you could give me," he deadpanned. 

You fight the urge to sigh. "I wasn't done. I don't know much about them, but they're linked to the Fatui." The stranger's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was back to glaring at you, his face closed. Unsettled by this sudden tension, you quickly added. "Probably. I'm still not sure about that." There was no Sixth Fatui Harbinger, after all. Your brain had made it up. 

"Of course." His voice was drier than earlier. What little interest he had in your discussion had melted at the mention of the Fatui. You scrunched your brows. You swore you could read another emotion than ire in his eyes, even if you didn’t know what. "Anything else I should know about that... Friend of yours?"

You racked your brain for more details. There was a lot to say about the person in your dream. Their lack of heart, their coup attempt in Sumeru, their bloody killings, the experimentations they underwent... Nothing you could talk about in public without looking crazy, in sum. The only thing you could still mention was... 

"Their name is Scaramouche."

The man went rigid. "What did you say?" he gawked, his eyes wide with shock.

"Scaramouche. I think that's their name?" Truthfully, they were given so many names that it probably wasn't their real one. But it was the one that came up most in your dreams. 

As if it caught onto the tense atmosphere, the wind abruptly stopped blowing. You barely noticed it, focused on the horror shining in the man's eyes. He couldn't believe what you had just said. His piercing eyes analyzed every inch of you with a newfound distrust. 

“Nobody should be able to-” He interrupted himself with a gasp. Recognition flashed across his face. "Wait. You...!"

His face went from surprise to disgust in the blink of an eye. You had barely the time to react before he pulled his hat down over his head, his scowl peeking from behind the rim.

"Of course fate would string something like this..." He let out a bitter laugh. "Has it ever made anything easy for me?"

You watched as crossed his arms, lifting his head to glare at you as if you had purposely wronged him. You tried to appease him by apologizing. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Despite your question, you knew you had done nothing worth this cold attitude. You didn’t know why he was overreacting, why he was looking at you like dirt under his soles.  It’s as if he was personally offended by your description of the Balladeer. You blinked as pieces fell into place. An Inazuman with a strange hat and dark hair, just like the one you were looking for. Could it be…?

"Is that you? Are you Scaram—" 

The man turned around before you could finish your sentence, the blue fabric tied to his hat smacking you in the face. You yelped in pain.

"Don’t use this name." You couldn't see what kind of expression he was making but his flat tone told you enough.

You were standing in front of the protagonist of your dreams.

Reality shattered around you. There were only two reasons for your dreams to be visions of the past. You either were a seer —which was unlikely considering you had no elemental affinity— or you were using your soulmate link. Realization sank in. You had a soulmate. Everything finally clicked together: why you had Scaramouche's memories, why he recognized you, why you never stopped having those dreams… It was because the universe had deemed you a perfect fit.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. You were not an anomaly without a soulmate, like you were led to believe. You just didn't pay attention to the signs.

"Wait a minute," you gasped. No matter how happy you were about your discovery, it came a lot of terrible implications. "Does it mean that everything is real? The Fatui, the taking over Sumeru part, everything ?" 

Kunikuzushi immediately clammed up. Not even bothering to look at you, he said without a trace of emotion. "This conversation is over."

Strong wind currents flared all around you with him acting as the epicenter of the small storm he invoked. You stared at him with wide eyes. He was getting away! 

"Please!"

You grabbed his sleeve and tugged hard, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The man gave you the dirtiest glare from above his shoulder as the miniature hurricane intensified. But you didn't let him go. You sank your nails deeper into his arm.

"Listen to me!” you said through gritted teeth. “I'm not gonna pretend I know everything about you because that's not true. I only know glimpses of you. Parts of your past that don't make any sense." 

You closed your eyes as the memories flooded your mind. The Gnosis, the laboratory, the crushing sound as he fell down... You didn't understand what those events meant to him. What kind of story they told. It was like you were in front of an incomplete puzzle where all edge pieces went missing. It was impossible to get the big picture no matter how many combinations you tried.

That didn’t mean the little bits of memories you had taught you nothing about him.

"You were hurt. That much is certain."

Your words only rekindled the fire of his ire. He bared his teeth at you. “Huh?! Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” He stabbed your chest with his finger, forcing you to take a step back. “Seeing glimpses of my past doesn’t give you the right to assume things about me, you worm.”

"But it’s not an assumption. You lived a very long and lonely life. A bloody one too.” You briefly wondered if contrary to you, he had grown accustomed to seeing his hands covered in crimson. You let out a shaky exhale. “But you cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago."

You had the experience to back yourself up. You still weren't sure what the Fatui thing was all about but if you could barely believe it after seeing his memories firsthand, no one else could.

"See, you’re just assuming things again out of pity," Scaramouche snapped. He tore himself from your grasp, sneering. "Guess what? I don't need you to feel sorry about me."

You shook your head. "I wasn't about to."

You were never going to forget the feeling of blood on your hands, the crackling of electricity as you saw someone charred alive, the coolness of a cadaver against your skin. You couldn't bring yourself to feel sorry for this man. It wasn't what someone like him sought. 

Pity was for those forced to live under the ruling of unfairness, not able to object to its cruel laws. Forgiveness was for those that were mothered by this tyrant and dedicated their life to preach its teachings. For now, the Balladeer deserved none of them.

When you opened your eyes, Scaramouche had tipped his hat down, obscuring his expression. His grip on his crossed arms was so tight you thought he was going to break his fingers. 

"You don't understand. You can't understand."

His voice was lower than earlier, almost like a growl. 

It wasn't enough to scare you.

"You're right," you admitted. "I cannot understand you. But I really want to." 

Maybe it was because you knew him on a deeper level than a stranger, but something had changed. You were starting to notice it. The hurt he masked behind a veil of fury. Until his words, you thought he was just an eternally angry man, bitter at the world and at his fate. Now, you wondered if he was just someone who lived through too much. Someone who was ready to beg and kill himself for a glimpse of a better future.

He snorted, disbelief written across his face. “A human like you, understanding someone like me? Don’t make me laugh.” He leaned towards you. You fought the urge to take a step back, withholding his stare with all of the courage you could summon. His mouth contorted into a twisted smile. “You’ve seen what I am capable of. Not only are you fundamentally unable to relate to a fraction of my existence, you’re also unable to withstand it. Understanding me will only bring you trouble.”

“You already do.” Scaramouche didn't utter a word, turning his back to you. You didn't let it get to you, instead squeezing your hand against your chest. "I spent my life stuck with visions I couldn't control. Seeing your memories at random moments robbed me from precious moments with the people I love. From enjoying a normal life, one where I don’t have to fear falling asleep."

Your hands were shaking. Whether from anger or sorrow, you didn’t know. Scaramouche was the one assuming things. You may only be a human, one similar to thousands that have come before you, but you knew how it felt to be misunderstood. How it felt not to belong. Nobody had believed you for decades, nor understood why you were so uncomfortable when it came to sleeping. Even your friends couldn’t wrap their heads about your constant worry of getting lost in the daydreaming. You might as well have been from a different species.

You took a deep exhale. Your anger faded away as quickly as it came. "I feel close to you, no matter how strange it sounds. You've always been a small part of me.” Determination seeped through your tone. “So I won't be able to move on as long as I don't know what's going on with my soulmate."

Soulmate. The word rolled strangely on your tongue. It was the first time you were saying it out loud.

Scaramouche gagged at your word choice. "I'm not looking for a lover." Disgust laced his voice. Seems like you were not the only one who felt weird about the whole situation. 

You shook his concern with a wave of the hand. "Me neither. I'm looking for an explanation. A timeline in a chronological order, if possible." 

Your attempt at a joke fell flat as silence fell between the two of us. Your face shifted into a frown. Had you been too insistent? 

"It's alright if you find the situation strange," you said, trying to save the conversation. "I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that you saw glimpses of my life. This is quite embarrassing...."

You didn't have the most exciting life but there were private moments you wanted nobody to see. Especially not your soulmate. 

He shot you an uninterested look, examining the dirt beneath his nails. "I could not care less about your mundane life."

You blinked. You didn't expect him to get interested in your life as much as you were in his, but was that supposed to be comforting? Unsure how to respond, your face contorted into a polite smile.

None of you said a word after that. You didn't dare move either. Weariness taking over you, you watched as the back of his hair fluttered in the breeze, joining the hypnotizing dance of the blue ribbons. The sound of animated conversations and the ringing of distant bells filled the otherwise tense silence.

You were about to leave when Scaramouche let out the heaviest sigh known to mankind. He finally turned to you, uttering a single word. 

"Wanderer."

Whatever you were expecting him to say, it wasn't that. "Come again?" 

He rolled his eyes but repeated it anyway. "Wanderer. That’s my name. Not Scaramouche or whatever name you heard in my memories." 

You felt your entire face lit up. You could recognize an olive branch when you saw one. "I won't call you anything else, I promise!"

He sighed at your sudden excitement, shaking his head. You were starting to recognize when he was truly irritated and when he was acting annoyed by habit. This time, the look in his eyes didn't match his bored pout. It was not soft by any means, but he did not glare daggers at you anymore.

"I still don’t think someone like you can handle the tale of centuries of existence.” He clicked his tongue. “That being said, I suppose it would be entertaining to see you try. Come to the entrance of Sumeru city in two hours."

Your eyes widened. You thought that you wouldn’t get more than his name, and now he gave you the opportunity to explain his life ? You had half the mind to pinch yourself awake.

"Don't be late Wanderer!" 

He scoffed, readjusting the position of his ginormous hat. “If I were, you'd scream my name in the streets of Sumeru until you get ahold of me. No thanks."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Oh, really?" A smug smirk took place on his lips. He cleared his throat before taking a high-pitched voice. " 'Hey, you with the hat, stop right there ! I really want to talk to you! Stop, I say !' "

You gasped in shock. "So you actually heard me! Do you not stop when someone calls you?"

"I do. I just don't typically talk to pipsqueaks."

His grin deepened at seeing your offended expression. He even let out a short laugh. You playfully punched the cheeky bastard on the shoulder, not putting much force in the blow. 

Wanderer didn't budge. He instead grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from him. His eyebrows were pinched together in irritation. "Don’t think you can punch me and get out unscathed, kid."

Despite his words, his grasp on you was light, as if he was careful not to hurt you. It was easy to slip from his hold. He was entertaining you, you realized. Considering how harsh he had been when you first had tried to touch him, a light scold was nothing. 

Mimicking a fighting stance, you started shifting your weight from left to right.

"You're the one who's gonna bite the dust! I can knock out someone with a single blow!" You punched the air to demonstrate, a smile blooming on your face. "I can take anyone in a fight!" 

Wanderer pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated by your playful attitude. "Celestia above, not another Childe..."

You pouted at his words. "Are you calling me a child again? I'll let you know that I'm a fully-fledged adult!" You may not be as old as the immortal puppet but you were no kid by human standards. You were only teasing Wanderer because you needed something light after your heavy talk. He couldn’t base his whole perception of you on a speech stemming from your sleep-deprived self…

He clicked his tongue in his mouth before looking at you directly in the eyes. "You talk big for someone I've seen fall in the stairs several times."

Horror washed over you. Every little embarrassing moment you lived flooded your mind. The fact that Wanderer had seen some of them sent warmth pooling in your cheeks. 

"You said you didn't care about my life!" you said, absolutely mortified. 

"It doesn't mean watching you was not mildly entertaining. Why would I focus on boring Fatui politics talk when I could be the witness to the mess of your teenage years?” Your expression was decomposing by the second, to his delight. "I especially liked it when—"

You cut him off with a nervous laugh. "Alright, alright, I get it. Aren't you busy?" 

His gaze fell into a small pouch at his sides. "I do, actually. Buer must be looking for me."

"Buer? Who's that?" You didn't remember hearing this name in his memories.

"The Dendro Archon," he said like it was the most obvious thing on Teyvat. 

"...Right. Of course.”

Maybe you were a bit too optimistic about his ability to open up to you.

Wanderer couldn't believe himself. Three betrayals should have been enough to teach him that closeness only brought pain. Whether because of misunderstandings, lies or the unpredictable and unescapable scythe of Death, the ending was always the same: he was fated to end up hurt. Alone. Cursing himself for loving too much.

He snorted. He knew all of that and yet here he was, wrapping his job up before his meeting with you. How pathetic.

Part of him was not surprised about this new twist of events. Fate liked to throw him in the most ironic situations. He was currently going on errands for Buer, the same Archon he had tried to supplant her months ago and who took him prisoner. Randomly meeting his soulmate in the middle of the streets was not the most unexpected thing to have happened to him. Far from it. At that point, he was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier.

When Wanderer entered the sanctuary of Surasthana, the Archon was sitting on her swing, humming to herself. The melancholic tune didn’t sound familiar but the lyrics in old Sumerian sang the tale of a love long gone. If he rolled his eyes at the song choice, he was polite enough to wait until the end of the song before clearing his throat.

Buer perked up, finally noticing him. She jumped from the swing and greeted him with a small wave.

"Hat guy!" He cocked an eyebrow at the oh so creative sobriquet, making her giggle. "I’m glad to see you. I was starting to think that you had forgotten about me."

"As if my memory would get faulty. I was held up by someone." Holding his hat to pin it into place, he sat on the lush grass. Reunions with Buer always took a while. He might as well make himself comfortable. 

Familiar curious green eyes landed on him. "Was it a friend from the Akademiya?"

He rolled his eyes. "I had never seen them before."

He had expected this flow of questions. Buer was very invested in his relationships with other people– well, rather his lack of. She had made him participate in social events like the Interdarshan championship to socialize. She even enrolled him in the Akademiya. Her argument was that it would help him understand humanity better, as well as himself. 

The results were arguably mixed. Wanderer admittedly tolerated people a bit better than before. They were predictable creatures but they could be entertaining. Sometimes. On the other hand, he had not grown close to anyone since he started attending classes. Sure, some students followed him around, gushing about the mysterious “hat guy” and throwing a birthday party for him, but he would not call them friends. They were classmates at most. It was for the best: it didn’t matter if Buer claimed he was progressing regarding socialization, talking to him was an experience he wished on no one.

She didn’t seem to agree with him. Excitement and pride shone in her eyes. "Every stranger is a friend in potentiality. That is what makes new meetings so exciting: you might be talking to your new favorite person in Teyvat," she beamed, taking place near him. 

"If you say so." 

Friendship was a human concept. Something he could neither fully understand or get. Melodramatic speeches and lengthy explanations meant nothing to him. That is why Wanderer didn’t try to counter her argument. There was no point in talking about something he knew nothing about.

What he did know was that Buer was wrong. You were no stranger to him.

His gaze fell to his hands. The first time he had seen your memories, Scaramouche had thought he was defective. He had never been able to dream until then. His creator didn’t see the interest in allowing him to do so. The only reason he knew what dreams were was because Niwa liked to recount his when they worked together in the forge. 

One second he was lying down in the laboratory of the Fatui, the other he was in a small bed. Piles of toys were scattered around him, decorating what seemed to be a child’s bedroom. Why on Teyvat was he here? Scaramouche tried to move his arm but it did not move an inch. He cursed under his breath. For some reason, his body refused to listen to him. If it was Il Dottore’s scheme, the man was dead.

Without a warning, his head turned. He was greeted by the reflection of a small child in the mirror of the wardrobe. You.

His mind had been pure madness when he had come back to his senses. He had the time to zap five machines before the Doctor arrived, complaining that his research was being destroyed. The Tsaritsa, the stars, fate itself... He had cursed everything he could think of for giving him a soulmate. There was no other reason behind his sudden ability to “dream”. Fate had decided to intertwine your destinies together. The thought only made him more angry.

He couldn't be mad at the child you were, though. You were barely five. No matter how much of an unfeeling person he was, Scaramouche was not about to hold the situation against someone as young as you. A small part of him, one he had tried to bury for centuries, had even ached to hold your chubby hands in his when he had seen you reach for your reflection.

With the impossibility of breaking a soulmate bond, the Fatui Harbinger had been forced to watch you as you grew. He learnt about your favorite color, the school subject you liked best, the names of your childhood friends, the color of your bedroom, all the details of your ordinary life. He was a spectator to mundane moments, to victories and horrific failures alike.

You had transformed from a kid with shining eyes to a determined adult before his eyes.

If Buer was right and that all friends started as strangers, it meant that you would never be able to grow close to him. You already knew him.

Wanderer plucked a few strands of grass, watching how they fell to the ground. No, hoping for you two to be friends was wishful thinking. You had seen the atrocities he had done as a Fatui Harbinger. Once he filled the gap in your knowledge, you would not want anything to do with him. His erasure from existence didn’t excuse the actions of his past life.

He would not blame you. He deserved your hate. At the end of the day you were another name on the endless list of his victims. Because of your soulmate link, you had lived your entire life plagued by visions you didn't understand, othered because of things out of your control. You were the proof that Wanderer brought suffering just by existing. That he wasn't a fundamentally good person, like the one Buer and Traveler insisted he was. You had every right to loathe him.

That was why he accepted your offer. If he explained everything to you, if he confirmed that every "dream" of yours was true, you would move on. You would forgive Fate for giving you such an unloving person as a soulmate. Maybe you would even want to settle down with someone else... At the end of the day, you'd be free from the chain of destiny. So would he.

The world would let him do a good thing, for a change. 

"While it's true that talking it out will appease both of your minds, you shouldn't only see them as a way to atone for the sins of your past life," Buer intervened. 

Wanderer gave her an unimpressed look, throwing away the rest of the grass strands. "One day, you will have to answer for all of those breaches of privacy before the General Mahamatra."

"Talking about your thoughts with someone else can help you sort them out and gain new insight. I felt like you could benefit from it."

Her growing smile told him that she didn't feel sorry for reading his mind without his consent. He huffed. She was lucky he had grown accustomed to this habit of hers.

She hummed as she stepped in front of him. "Agreeing to a meeting to ease your guilty conscience is not a bad thing in itself. The problem is that you’re assuming that they can only hate you."

“What other reaction could they have?” The answer appeared in his mind before he finished his sentence. “Pity?” Pronouncing the word made his insides hurl. Wanderer would rather feel your wrath than your pity. The former didn’t feel as disgusting as the other;

Buer shook her head. “That’s not it either. It’s alright if you don’t yet understand Wanderer, you will see in due time.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. He preferred it when she used complex metaphors. At least he had the opportunity to understand what was going on in her mind, contrary to when she used vague words of wisdom like a drowsy prophet.

"If I can give you one more piece of advice, you should give this relationship a chance." Seeing his scowl of disgust, she explained herself. "I'm not telling you to pursue a romance with them. Just don't assume that tonight is the only time you meet. Keep your mind and your heart open."

Despite her smile, she had a serious look in her eyes. It was the face of wisdom in all of its assured glory. Wanderer closed his eyes. It was easy for him to forget she was not a young child, like the one he took care of all those centuries ago. 

"There is a reason why they're your soulmate," Buer said. "Don't you want to discover why?" 

"Someone like them has nothing in common with me." 

Your memories told the tale of a simple life. In an ideal world, a normal person like you wouldn't have been paired up with him. How it happened in this one was a mystery. If he was inclined to pity others, Wanderer would feel bad for you. Being his soulmate only brought you experiences that you couldn’t talk about to anyone.

“You cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago.” Their hands shook as they lifted their head to meet his gaze. He stilled. He had expected to read loneliness and fire in their eyes. He only found the glow of loneliness. It was the same he had seen in your reflection all those years ago.

Wanderer hid his face behind his hand. He supposed he was wrong. He could see a few ressemblances between you and him. That didn’t necessarily mean you would become friends.

"Don't expect too much from this meeting. I only plan on retelling my story, not on learning more about them."

Gentle hands covered his, pulling them away from his face before lightly squeezing them.

“You don’t need to. You already know them better than anyone else.” Buer's voice was as soft as her expression.

He opened his mouth but no snarky counter-argument came to his mind. From what little insight Wanderer had gained on friendship over the course of his life, sharing experiences with a potential friend wasn’t enough. You also had to learn about the other person's personality, their taste, the little things they did… Such a process was too much work for a relationship that would eventually decay. But the man already knew you, more intimately than any person ever would.

If to be friends was to learn about someone, he had become yours a long time ago.

Wanderer fought the urge to shield his face behind his hat. It would be as good as admitting to Buer her words had struck a chord. No way he would embarrass himself like that.

“You're not going to give up, are you?" he sighed.

“While I do hope you will form a bond with them, I will not hold it against you if it doesn’t happen.” She took some time to think, trying to come up with a convincing imagery. “Fate is a tricky concept. It steers you in a specific direction but it cannot force you to follow it. No matter what, you can always make your own way.”

He let the words sink in as he laid down on the cool grass. From the Sanctuary, he could hear the entire city’s hustle and bustle. The sound of the streets mixed with the chirping of the birds and the rustle of the wind through the branches.

He felt Buer sitting next to him. Her voice interrupted his quiet reverie, sounding cheekier than usual.

"Don't I deserve something in return for my good advice?"

Her eyes were focused on the small pouch hanging at his side.  He had forgotten about it, their conversation had distracted him. Wanderer shook his head in defeat. The Archon didn’t need to use her mind-reading powers to know about the actions of her subjects. 

“If you want to be paid for giving lectures, you should think about becoming a teacher at the Akademiya.”

“I would deprive someone from the joy of educating young minds.”

His lips curled into a grin. “Right. Poor them.”

Feeling her gaze on him, he relented. He unclipped the package from his belt and gave it to her, not bothering to sit back up. Buer tried to open it carefully. It was so full that in spite of her efforts, morsels of candied Ajilenakh nuts spilled on the ground.

Wanderer frowned at the sight of the mess. Something churned inside him. If he had known it would be wasted, he wouldn’t have bought so much food.

“Be more careful,” he chastised her. “It’s expensive.”

Buer shot him a perplexed look. He scoffed in response, averting his gaze. 

"I didn't buy them. The merchant gave free samples to bystanders and he couldn't take no for an answer."

Another white lie from him. He had noticed that Buer didn't have much candy left and since he had to go to the Bazaar anyway, he had decided to buy some. He watched as she inspected a piece of candy, rolling it between her fingers. He didn't get why she was head over heels for those disgustingly sweet nuts but he had to keep her in good spirits. Otherwise, she might decide to lock him back in his cell. That and seeing her smile so much sent warmth running in his chest. 

Her eyes crinkled, amused. "A free sample? How nice," she said, popping one of the delicacies in her mouth. He supposed there was no fooling the Archon of Knowledge. She pointed at him. "Your friend hasn't had the opportunity to try food from Sumeru, have they? You could bring them to Lambad’s and keep some of the Ajilenakh nuts to snack on."

“We have other things to do than distract ourselves with culinary tourism.”

“It’s not a distraction! See it as a bonding experience that will allow you to grow closer.”

He arched a brow, unimpressed. “As if I needed something like this to become their friend.”

He stopped after his own sentence. He blinked, not believing what he had just said.

Wanderer didn't know how he ended up in this situation. Truly. He was never one to let Fate decide for him. He defied it at each opportunity, fighting with all he had. This shouldn't have been any different. He was a traveler, an outcast, an outsider. He had no use for a soulmate– a lover. Especially not a human one, one that would be gone in a blink of his immortal life. 

He had no use for a lover, but he supposed that if he had to befriend a single person in the world, it may as well be you.

If you liked this work, please reblog and leave a comment or an ask!

[dobbie-doo]

Aether your crop top will always be iconic🤩

[dobbie-doo]

MY MAN

Late birthday post for my boy, wanderer (love him, main him, cried for him)

I’m not sure if I can say it’s suggestive; more like non sexual nudity?? okay, maybe a little bit, but really sweet Just wanted to point that out so no one is surprised

gn reader

Soft skin meets porcelain. Warmth lands onto that cold body of his. It’s weird, but somehow, he feels welcomed. With every motion of his hands, you feel like you’re about to be devoured. There’s something endearing in that, though. How gentle he is, yet also bold. It earns a chuckle from you.

When that freezing feeling reaches a certain spot, you shudder. He stops. Eyes laced with worry meet yours. A silent reminder of care. “It’s fine, you can go on” and so he does. Your hands wrap around his waist, to steady yourself. Uneven breaths tickle his neck, you never feel his. It all feels eerily.

He leans in, beautiful eyes staring at you, with that pleading expression you rarely see. You let him, eagerly welcoming that sweet feeling of his lips on yours. It’s the only time you feel his body heat. Deeper and deeper, he ventures, as if you’re some unknown land. Hands roam, with so much devotion even the quietest whispers can’t convey.

For a moment, there’s no friction between you. That human body of yours yearns for more, but patiently waits for the puppet’s choice. With that smile, you seem like a god in his eyes. A god he once tried to be, a goal he hoped to achieve with so much effort put, and so little practice of how to be one. You didn’t need it; you don’t need a gnosis, a perfect body (which you do have, in his humble opinion), a whole palace meant for you, you don’t need anything at all. Just one follower who’d die for your happiness - that is, him. How ironic; faithful followers is what he needed the most (even if he saw them as pests), and now he is that, which he hated the most - someone in love.

Warm skin melts with porcelain, like a candle. Two people turn into one in a dance of gentle love and passion. “Happy birthday. I love you always, and forever. Remember that, okay?” He loved you twice as much.

[dobbie-doo]

HEEELP ITS SO REALL

@shyentsfoundherink

My OC i guess. Also hope no one minds, I'm gonna slowly start uploading my TikTok stuff here so all my work doesn't go to waste after the ban.

[dobbie-doo]

omg omg omgggg scara ???

Happy new yuri everyone!!!! ^u^