#[💫] acaaai-t

[acaaai-t]

thinking about…

boyfriend scaramouche! who kept a cold and calm facade for years, that is, until he met you. It was only you who can take off his mask and take a glance at his true self. He had made you swear that you’ll never tell anyone about this softer side of him. If his friends were to ever find out…

boyfriend scaramouche! who accompanies you everywhere, like everywhere. Just a quick run to the nearest milk tea store? Oh he’ll just tag along— no reasons at all, really, he insists. It was like he was your personal bodyguard. He claims it’s only because he doesn’t want you to ‘get lost’.

boyfriend scaramouche! who may not seem like it, but he loves you very much. Although he doesn’t show his affection through words like most do, he showers you in love with his own personal ways. Oh your gaze lingered for a second too long on a jewelry you found pretty? Say no more, you’ll find that said piece of jewelry on the nightstand the next day. Someone hurt your feelings? Wait just a moment, he needs to have a word with them. No, ignore the bruises that appeared— he just accidentally tripped and fell.

boyfriend scaramouche! who has everything about you memorized. He could recognize you even if the two of you are spectators in a sea of people. Even if everyone dressed like how you do, he’ll still be able to pick you out just from your voice. How cute. You swear your boyfriend has a photographic memory, otherwise how is he remembering everything?

just boyfriend scaramouche! who already promised himself to you. It took a lot for him to make this decision, but he tells you that he’s devoted to you and only you. He will be your first and last lover, and likewise, you will be his first and last lover. Don’t break his heart, please.

>> a peek into life with husband! scaramouche <<

✩ ·┆masterlist

notes—

— back from my short hiatus! turns out I am exempted from re-taking the regents (yay) so I don’t have to study my ass off for it. ‘resurface, my love’ will still be placed on hold, unfortunately as I don’t have much motivation to continue it. there will be new fics posted to fill up the emptiness though !

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[acaaai-t]

and it was all yellow.

[modern au! scaramouche x gn! reader]

cw: angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of cheating, breakups, reader likes yellow

“Let’s live together when we get married! Oh oh, and we can get cat too,” you exclaimed. “Or a dog, if you prefer.”

“No kids?” a smile tugged at the corner of his lips at your bubbling excitement.

Your nose scrunched up at the mere thought of having children. “No, no kids,” you said, shaking your head.

Scaramouche laughed, the corner of his eyes crinkling up as he looked at you, eyes filled with just pure adoration and love for you.

“Our bedroom can be painted.. hmm..”

“What about yellow?” Scaramouche suggested. “It’s is your favorite color after all.”

You clapped your hands together, eyes lighting up with excitement. “Ooh yes! Great idea. Let’s go look at furnitures, please?”

“I still think you’re thinking too far ahead,” he mumbled, yet nevertheless, he took your hand and guided you out the living room.

“It’s never too late to start planning,” you said, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his lips.

…

“Mmm, no. Too… blue.”

“How about this one?” the sales lady gestured to a simple pastel couch placed upon a soft plush carpet. “This one just came in, part of out newest collection of furniture.”

You looked at Scaramouche, who had an unpleasant expression on his face. He didn’t seem to be a fan of the colors—nor the shape of the furniture itself. You turned back to the sales assistant and gently shook your head.

She looked slightly disappointed at your rejection, but she quickly led you to another set of kitchen setups, all the while explaining the benefits provided and how nice it looks. You ran a finger over the waxed surface of the wooden dining table. A cloth of yellow and white checkered pattern lay over the center of the table, a vase of yellow daffodils sitting atop of it.

Yellow.

For as long as you can remember, it’d always been your favorite color. You’ve taken quite the liking to sunflowers recently, and coincidentally enough, they were a beautiful shade of yellow too. Scaramouche knew—he somehow always knew—and made sure to surprise you with bouquets of fresh flowers every once in a while, the giant sunflower being the centerpiece.

Scaramouche knew you, inside and out. The good and the bad. He’s seen through with you through your worst and your best. He knows exactly how to cheer you up when you’re feeling down, via a long cuddle session; how you like your coffee, always black with a splash of vanilla creamer; the people you love and hate; that you adore the color yellow.

Never was there a day where Scaramouche would hear himself say that yellow was lovely color. For some odd reason, ever since he was a young child, he’d always hated yellow. But after meeting you, it’s as if yellow had been completely painted in a new light. Everything yellow he saw, he saw you in it. Splashed across the sunset, blooming in a field under the stars—you. You were always there.

“Do you like it?” Scaramouche asked.

You met his eyes and smiled. “Yeah.”

…

“Yeah, its… true.”

You said nothing.

Scaramouche shifted uncomfortably in his seat at your silence. You kept your eyes trained on the nearly dead daffodil leaning helplessly against its ceramic cage. The petals had begun falling off, you noticed. When had that happened? Just a couple days ago everything was fine. It was healthy and thriving. Happy.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Did he think that such a measly apology was enough to compensate for your broken heart? Nothing Scaramouche did or say could soothe the burning ache that hollowed you from the inside-out. He’d been playing with your emotions for nearly two weeks now. Had it not been Scaramouche slipping up, you would’ve never caught on that he was being intimate with someone else that wasn’t you.

Tears brimmed, the water tension so close to falling. You blinked, and it broke, tears trailing down your cheeks. Does he feel anything seeing you cry? Does he regret his actions? Will he hate himself for what he’s done to you? You gritted your teeth. Even if he begged for you to stay, you won’t waver. It’s his loss.

You sniffled and wiped away your tears. It’s useless. Crying won’t reverse what’s been done. “Whatever,” you muttered, pushing away from the dining table. Your heart aches, but you pushed the pain aside and slowly collected yourself.

The place that you’d once shared with Scaramouche—a place that you once dared called home, was now nothing more than a painful reminder of what once was yours. A place where you’d spent creating countless day and nights painting up a paradise where you’d raise your children with your husband. Everything you’ve done was futile. It’s over.

It was bitter. The process of packing your belongings as Scaramouche remained at the dining table was cruel. Everything you wanted to take only serves as nothing more than a taunt to your now dead relationship. Everything you ever loved you shared with him, and now, you don’t think you’d ever be able to look at them in the same light anymore. Your hands hovered over a pot of crocheted sunflowers sitting above the fireplace. Crestfallen, youfelt your heart twist once more.

In the end, your tiny backpack was only filled with everyday essentials. You swallowed back a cry and dialed a friend as you prepared to leave this god forsaken place.

“Hey Xiao,” your voice was quivering.

Scaramouche stiffened up at the mention of your friend’s name. You didn’t see it however, for your back was turned to him. He wanted to stop you from leaving, to stop you from stepping out the door. But he refrained from doing so. He chewed anxiously at his bottom lips. Don’t leave. Please. He wanted to say. I’m sorry.

Yet he did nothing, only squeezing his eyes shut, listening to the sound of the door slamming shut. When it was finally just him alone in the apartment, he buried his face in the palm of his hands and cried.

The yellow curtains fluttered gently, and the last petal of the daffodil fell.

✩ ·┆ masterlist┆ >> part 2 <<

notes—

— quick life update: haven’t played genshin in a year now, and it’s college application season so i’m going to start stressing; sorry if i disappear again it will keep happening, unfortunately

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[acaaai-t]

thinking about…

stranger! xiao whom you encountered through a unexpected bank robbery one sunny afternoon. It definitely was love at first sight for you, especially after he had tackled you— a mere stranger to him at the moment— down to shield you from the stray bullets being fired. It was chaos amidst the environment, but all you could think about was how close he was to you… archons he’s pretty.

stranger! xiao whom you practically had to chase after after the entire ordeal just to get his contact information. He had first denied your approach, but you just seemed far too determined to give up so easily. “Sir please,” you begged. “You quite literally saved my life back there, the least I can do is repay you with something.” … “Fine.”

— ༉‧₊˚ 🐈‍⬛ ༉‧₊˚. . 。！

companion! xiao who has a grumpy face on at all times no matter the situation. You had invited him out for lunch as a way to thank him for his heroic act couple days ago, and this would be your chance to properly introduce yourself to him. The weather was near perfect today with the temperature hanging around in the low 70’s (20°C) and the skies cleared of clouds. His intimidating expression was also enough to make you nervous, but you pushed through. “Hi! My name is [name], what’s yours?” … “… Xiao.”

companion! xiao who you took out on a little amusement park hangout on a bright sunny Saturday afternoon. You hadn’t been to one in forever, and considering the fact that both of you had nothing better to do today, you dragged Xiao out with you.

companion! xiao who went near deaf after agreeing to go on a rollercoaster with you— which was a poor choice. The ride was exhilarating, but if you hadn’t been screaming bloody murder throughout the entire ride, it might’ve been a better experience. “I’m sorry!” you exclaimed, hands clasped together in a praying motion. Xiao didn’t say anything. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. As an add-on to your apology, you treated him to a plate of almond tofu. Yeah no, he forgives you.

companion! xiao who gets an unwanted feeling of annoyance when he sees you occupied with someone else other than him. A stranger had stopped you to ask for direction to the nearest bathroom, and being the kind hearted soul you are, pointed to the map and gave the path to his destination. Too close, he thought. What? Why was he feeling like this? Is this what people called jealousy?

— ༉‧₊˚ 🐈‍⬛ ༉‧₊˚. . 。！！

Xiao is in denial. He’s only known you for a month or two now, and feelings are beginning to worm its way into his heart. Unwarranted feelings that he wants no part of— yet it’s constantly in the back of his mind. You’re always on his mind. He can’t get you out, no matter what.

Your smile, your laugh, your mesmerizing beauty…

Archons, what is he meant to do now?

— ༉‧₊˚ 🐈‍⬛ ༉‧₊˚. . 。！！！

lover! xiao who wrestled with his feelings for weeks on end before finally caving in to it. You were blabbering on about some drama unfolding at your workplace at a cafe he’d invited you out to when all of a sudden he stopped you. He couldn’t even pay attention to your words, for all he could do was stare at your lips moving. “Is there something wrong with my face?” you asked, fingers dragging across your cheeks. Xiao was quick to answer, giving a hasty ‘no’.

lover! xiao who kept stuttering his words when confessing his feelings to you. The sun had begun to set, and you had brought him to a secluded area of the woods, where there was a near perfect view of the sunset. Your heart was pounding so heavily against your chest— it felt like it could burst out at any moment. Although Xiao looked more of a hot mess than you did; his face crimson red.

“I.. I like— archons. Oh fuck it [name] I like you. Not as in just friends if you understand, you know what I mean right? No, it’s totally okay if you don’t like me back like—”

lover! xiao who you had to shut up with a kiss to his lips, arms wrapped around his neck to pull him closer to you. He seemed to had to take a moment to register what had just happened, and when it did finally process, he kissed back— hard. Is he dreaming?

just lover! xiao being the epitome of you fell first but he fell harder.

— ༉‧₊˚ 🐈‍⬛ ༉‧₊˚. . 。！！！！

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes—

— more xiao content coming soon

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[acaaai-t]

3 months and counting

[modern au! scaramouche x gn! reader]

cw: angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death, hints at suicide, probably unhealthy coping methods idk

The taste of bitter coffee and overly sweetened scent of dandelion tea lingered, lingered for a little longer than he liked.

Wilted flowers lay by a small vase of fresh ones. The pile of dead flowers seemed to grow bigger with each passing day.

The house was dim, with the only source of light being a weakly lit candle surrounded by empty dishes and untouched cutlery on the dining table. For a place that had felt so big not too long ago, it suddenly seemed to be so small.

Scaramouche hummed quietly to himself as he gently dusted at the debris that clung onto the picture frames. His touch was delicate as his fingers brush against the cold glass. The tune he has been singing echoed off the walls, traveling down the silent hallway.

How long has it been? He wonders.

Three days? A week? Two weeks? Scaramouche had long lost count.

Once he was sure that the picture frame was clean, he stepped back and admired his handiwork. In this empty house, the only thing that stood out most was the wall of what Scaramouche called ‘memories’. Golden frames surrounded photos of all kind, taken by you and hung by him.

He misses you.

On most days, Scaramouche would stay huddle in what once was a shared bedroom, buried deep beneath the blankets, scrolling through past messages. Dark circles heavily marked his under eyes, a stark contrast to his porcelain pale skin.

For the first month, he was a utter mess. Unable to process the tragic news of your sudden death.

It had just felt like yesterday, when the two of you were just out on a date, laughing and giggling.

The world was mocking him, taunting and laughing, watching the hallow shell of the man he once was as he stood there alone in the cemetery. Flowers previously placed by your grave was removed and tossed away, replaced by a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers.

The night you were buried under the willow tree, was the only night he had ever worked up the courage to sit by your grave, and wallow in the despair.

“I miss you,” the three words etched into his mind, quietly spoken into the empty void.

What about the plans you’ve made with him? The promises of a happy ending, a beautiful future.

Gone… all gone, far too soon.

“Will we get a cat too?” your voice was eager, full of hope.

Scaramouche smiled and pressed a small kiss to your temple. “Whatever you want.”

You giggled. “Let’s get a black cat then. I can see the resemblance between you and them.”

“Hey,” he whined.

You beamed up at him. “I love you.”

How he wished time could’ve stopped right there and then, allowing that precious moment to last for an eternity.

“I love you too.”

God, it was so fucking unfair. Why did you have to be the one to die?

It could’ve been anyone else, but you just had to be there at the wrong time.

He slumped down on the empty couch, cushions and throw blankets sitting in the same spot as before. Scaramouche didn’t dare touch anything. He was scared— terrified that if he even so as much move anything a centimeter away, he’ll lose the remaining parts of you that he had so desperately been trying to cling onto.

Scaramouche had already lost you once, he couldn’t lose you for a second time.

The soft golden glow of the ceiling lights flickered in and out for a brief moment, a sign that the electrical bill was long overdue. It was fortunate enough that the landlord took pity upon him and gave Scaramouche an extension to pay his bills.

3 months.

It’s been three whole months since the accident. Three months since he’s shut himself off from the outside world. Three months he spend crying and grieving, fantasizing scenarios of you and him. He knows it’ll never come true, but he can only hope.

Head barely above water, the bits of hope he has is all that’s supporting his weight, preventing him from drowning. Yet as the clock moves, he finds himself sinking lower and lower.

Two hollow knocks to his door startled him out of his trancelike state. “Who,” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

When the answer was delivered with another two knocks, he spoke louder. “What.”

“Scaramouche,” the muffled voice of Childe floated through the thick wood. “Open the door.”

He scowled, body already moving before his mind had even processed Childe’s words. The door cracked open with a soft creak, a silver of the sunlight spilling into the dark house. Scaramouche squeezed his eyes closed, momentarily blinded by the light. It’s been so long since he’s seen the sun.

Childe’s shadow stepped in and blocked out the light. He gave Scaramouche a tired smile. “Archons you look like shit.”

Scaramouche said nothing and kept his silent gaze on him.

The ginger sighed. “I was hoping you’d come visit… them, with us.”

There were no names mentioned, yet Scaramouche almost instantly knew who Childe was referring to. He felt his body tense up.

“Look, I’m not trying to force you or anything, but we all miss them, and you too, ‘mouche… you haven’t talked with any of us in three month now.”

Guilt gnawed at his heart, eating away yet another piece.

He hadn’t meant to neglect his friends. None of the things he was doing was intentional.

“… I’m sorry,” he whispered, lowering his gaze, unable to keep eye contact with Childe. He fear that if he continued, tears would begin to formulate, and there’d be nothing to stop them from flowing.

“Mind if I come in?” Childe’s voice softened.

Scaramouche felt tears prickling at his eyes. Childe placed one hand on his shoulder, gently giving a pat— and that was what finally broke him. The water droplets fell uncontrollably, rolling down his cheeks. A pitiful sight to behold.

Childe pulled him into a hug and remained quiet. There wasn’t much he could say to comfort Scaramouche’s pain. Everyone was still grieving, him included.

His quiet sniffles slowly died down. Just this one time, he thought to himself, wiping away at a tear. It’s the least he can do.

“Let me get my things,” Scaramouche’s voice was hoarse. A pain-like expression was scrawled across his features as he pulled away from Childe and step back into the shadows of his home.

There wasn’t much he needed to do to get ready. He’d given up on life the moment he was given the news that you didn’t make it. Why he had been fighting for so long, he didn’t understand.

He threw on a simple black cardigan, it was a handmade gift from you to him. In your words, it took you a week and a half to make it— “i hope you’ll like it,” you said sheepishly.

Of course he’ll love it. Cherish it even till death.

He took in a deep breath and went to look for Childe. The medications stored in his pockets jangled against the hard plastic with each step he took.

The last strands of hope snapped, and he sunk. Bubbles floating to the surface as his darkened silhouette slowly disappeared under the void of water.

Tonight, he decided. Tonight, he’ll be able to see you again.

The lights sputtered out as Scaramouche flipped the switch. With the last bits of power it has, the lights illuminated the series of letter sprawled across the glass coffee table— each one address to someone dear to him.

Then it all went dark.

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes—

— this was fun to write

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[acaaai-t]

thinking about…

>> a follow-up to boyfriend scaramouche! <<

husband scaramouche! who cried the day the two of your held your wedding. He couldn’t control the tears that spilled when the two of you exchanged your vows, his voice often breaking down as he read through his lines. Despite the embarrassment he’ll definitely have to face later on, it was all worth it when the two of you finally kissed, completing the last bits of the ceremony. Oh, finally— he was yours and you were his.

husband scaramouche! who is the sole reason why you’re late to work everyday— because no matter how hard you try, you just can’t seem to wiggle out from his grasp. The way he had his arms wrapped around your waist had you trapped with no way out, and he knew that it wouldn’t take too long for you to succumb to his wishes. He could only hide a sly smile when he feels you snuggling back into his embrace.

husband scaramouche! who take cares of the household chores while you go out to work. He doesn’t it mind it one bit if it meant that the need to communicate with others will be lessened. Grocery, laundry, breakfast, lunch, and dinner— he’s got it all, don’t worry. You weren’t sure when it started, but bringing a bento Scaramouche created for you had become a staple routine of your life. It was a surprise everyday to see what sort of creation your lover had conjured up for you.

husband scaramouche! who found a random stray cat while grocery shopping and insisted that you keep it. The charm from both him and the cat utterly broke down that wall of reluctance, and soon you welcomed your new friend into the family. Only that Scaramouche didn’t plan on stopping with just one cat, oh no. It was only when you did a quick head count of the pets you have did you realize you had somehow accumulated a total of 7 cats. Maybe it’s time to have a talk with him about it…

husband scaramouche! who loves to bake for you on your days off. The sweet aroma of freshly baked goods filling up the entire house as the oven worked its magic. You would be sitting off to the side, having a mini duel with your cats in an attempt to keep them off the messy countertops. The battle with your cats was coming close to an end, with sure sight of victory in your eyes— if Scaramouche hadn’t butt in and ambushed you with a splash of powdered sugar. The evening ended with a tray of cookies cooling to the side while the two of you cleaned up the absolute mess left behind, flour paw prints scattered all over the kitchen.

just life with husband scaramouche! who loves you to bits and pieces, who’ll support you through the ups and downs, and will 100% start a fight your cats if it meant having all your attention focused on him.

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes—

— since boyfriend! scaramouche did so well, I thought I’d follow up with some headcanons on how life would be like after he marries the reader! Literally screaming I want a man like that 🙏🙏

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[acaaai-t]

he and his sunflower

[gn! reader x modern au! xiao]

cw: fluff, bits of angst, hurt/comfort

>> a continuation to and it was all yellow. <<

You cried for days on end. No matter how hard you tried to stop the tears from flowing, it was all to no avail. It wasn’t easy getting over this breakup, no, this situation was completely different than what you had expected. Nothing like how the media has portrayed it. But then again, you never saw this coming.

The thought of Scaramouche telling someone else that he loves them made your heart hurt even more. You still don’t understand why he chose to go down that path. Everything you had with him was perfect. Sure, you’ve had your fair share of arguments, but they’re nothing more than maintenance for your relationship. And definitely not enough of an excuse to cheat.

Xiao has been by your side ever since you called to asked to stay for a few days. On the nights where your emotions become far too overwhelming and you break down again, he was there next to you, consoling you until you fall asleep. If it wasn’t for Xiao’s unrelenting support, you’d be completely alone and hopeless—and most likely homeless as well.

You grabbed another tissue, wiped your nose, and tossed it into the nearby trash bin. It was on the verge of overflowing. You took mental note of it to empty it out later, when you feel better. If you feel better.

You groaned, rubbing at your right temple. There was another headache coming. It was nearly two in the morning, inching closer to three, yet you still couldn’t sleep. You sat up from your bed. There was a soft yellow light spilling in from under the crack of the door. Xiao was still up.

Two soft knocks on the door followed by a muffled “hey” brought you back to your senses. The door creaked open slowly, and Xiao poked his head in. “Feeling any better?” he asked. “I brought some soup.”

You gave Xiao a weak smile. “Still feeling as terrible as ever, but I’m glad I have you here, Xiao. It’s nice to have company.”

He pushed the door further open and stepped in, carrying a tray of food. “I made miso. It’ll help you with your throat,” he said softly, setting the food down on the night table.

“Thank you Xiao,” you said.

“You should try and sleep soon,” he muttered, taking a seat on the bed. “Staying up so late very night isn’t healthy.”

You quietly sighed. The salty aroma of the miso soup was making you hungry. “I know,” you replied, taking the small bowl of soup from the stand. “It’s just… strange.”

He nodded, amber eyes sharp, yet soft, as he watched you take a sip from the bowl. “Do you want me to stay the night with you?” It won’t be the first time he’d done it, and certainly, he hoped, won’t be the last.

You down the last bits of your food and set the bowl back down. The salty flavor lingered on your tongue. “…will you?” you asked, meeting his eyes. The amber specks in his eyes glowed.

“Of course.”

Xiao’s POV:

He had pined for you for four years, closing in on five years now. The year he spent knowing you became two years of unspoken love, a sort of chemistry that you never picked up on. On the night of the fourth year, Xiao had finally gathered the courage to confess.

It was quiet. It always was just before the firework show started. Crowds of people dispersed evenly on the grassy hill, the faint glow of a firefly flashing every so often. Somewhere among the thick shrubbery, crickets chirped in quiet rhythms. Xiao trudged through the forest’s path and pushed a loose branch away, finally stepping into the clearing. He wondered if you were there already, set up for the watch party.

His heart began to race when he saw you. The thought of him finally confessing made him nervous—far too nervous for his own good. Xiao couldn’t focus when all he could hear was his own heartbeat drumming loudly against his thoughts. The small bouquet of flowers quivered. An assortment of your favorite flowers—sunflower being the center piece. The light in his life, bright and beautiful. You reminded him of a field of sunflowers.

No, there was no way he could back down now. He had to tell you.

Tonight.

“Hey—” Xiao began.

“Oh I need to tell you something!” You exclaimed. “Wait no, you go.”

Xiao shook his head. “No, you go first.”

There was a whistle, a shrill scream of a firework being released as it shot up into the air.

You beamed up at him happily. “I got a boyfriend!”

The firework exploded with a deafening boom into a rainbow of color, tiny gold sparks fizzing off to the side as it slowly died down. He felt his heart drop.

Oh. He was too late.

“So, what is it that you want to say?”

“…I forgot.”

But even despite the fact that you were in love with someone else, someone that wasn’t him, Xiao still chose to stay by your side. He didn’t want to throw away years and years of friendship over some guy.

Although he constantly wished that it was him there next to you, holding your hands, instead of your boyfriend. He didn’t understand what you saw in Scaramouche. But if that’s who you love, then he’ll accept it as it is.

…

The color yellow was something you never thought you could look at the same way again. The memories that were carved into them hurts. Hurts far more than you’d like to admit. You want to forget. Forget everything that ever happened. The good and the bad, everything.

But no matter what, you just couldn’t hate the color yellow entirely. Xiao seemed to make you like the color more and more. Xiao, the green hair boy with his yellow eyes. Eyes that watched over you the nights you fell into a restless slumber. It was him who had supported you throughout this time. And not just this tough time. There were countless situations where it was the same dynamic.

It made you realize that Xiao was there more than your ex ever was. Xiao showed a level of respect and love that was nothing compared to what Scaramouche had shown you.

The clock ticked on slowly, and still you lie there, wide awake. Xiao was fast asleep next to you, his arm lazily wrapped around your waist. You were so close to him, so close that you were able to feel the rhythm of his heart drumming along steadily.

He was so gentle with you, and it only made your heart break even more. Has Xiao always loved you? Even when you had started dating someone else? The once dark night sky began to pave way for the sun to rise, bits of lights slowly spilling in the room.

You shifted your body to face his sleeping form, tired eyes scanning over every tiny feature. Subconsciously, your fingers traced over his cheek gently. It’s only been two weeks since your breakup, was it acceptable to fall in love again? Were you moving too fast?

Xiao groaned and opened his eyes. He seemed to be unaware of what was going on. You quickly pulled your hand away, scared. He blinked and took notice of you. Without saying a word, he tightened his grip on you and pulled you closer, pressing you up against his body.

You tensed, then relaxed, and closed your eyes.

Yellow seemed to follow you everywhere you go, but maybe just this one time, you’ll allow that.

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes—

— angst yelan fic next, maybe a wholesome fic if i’m feeling up to it

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[acaaai-t]

don’t hang up, please

[gn! reader x scaramouche]

cw: angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death, usage of the petname ‘love’

“Mm I love you…” he muttered, pressing the old telephone closer to his ears. “Can you say it back?… please?”

The other line was filled with the loud crackling noise of static, but Scaramouche could still hear you. Your voice, so incredibly faint, whispering back the words he longed to hear from you.

“I love you too, dear…”

A tear rolled down his cheeks. He swallowed back a sob.

“Don’t leave me..”

This had become his daily routine, sitting in the corner of his bedroom, the rickety telephone clutched tightly in his arms. Every morning he would ring your number, and wait anxiously for you to pick up.

“Love, you know you can’t keep doing this,” your tired voice whispered.

“I know, I just—” his voice broke off. It took a while for him to regain his composure. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“… it wasn’t your fault, stop blaming yourself.”

His nails dug deeper into his arms, leaving tiny red crescent marks that drew small droplets of blood. It wasn’t— no, it was his fault.

If only he had arrived just a minute earlier, maybe then you would’ve been saved. If only he had gone with you, then maybe you would’ve still been next to him, arms hooked over his. If only… he had been quicker, then maybe you would’ve still been alive.

The light in your eyes dulling out as he grasped your body, your mouth forming words, but no sound coming out. The blood that seeped past his hands as he tried— tried everything he can, to give you a chance. He couldn’t even catch the person that had killed you.

He couldn’t even avenge your death.

The days without you he counted, the nights he wallowed in despair he counted. He cried, for god knows how long, going through your last few text messages, looking at photos of the two of you.

Scaramouche was at his wits end.

Attending your funeral was perhaps was truly broke it for him. The reality that he’s never going to be able to hold you in his embrace— never be able to see you again, collapsed down on him. He had held it in until everyone was gone, until it was just you and him.

It was only then did his calm facade broke, shattered into tiny pieces as the dam of tears flowed.

That night was the night he cried the hardest. Tears uncontrollably trailing down his cheeks, leaving a wet spot on the soft pillow.

For weeks he mourned. Coping your loss through cups of bitter tea he made, adding an unhealthy amount of sugar into it— just the way you liked it to be, and through his delusions, where he’d imagine you walking down the aisle, and he was standing by the altar, waiting for you.

Scaramouche had already planned to propose to you. The ring that sat untouched in the pocket of his jacket, left to collect dust.

Fate just seem to have different plans for him.

“…mouche? Love?” your voice, oh your voice. He miss listening to your mindless rambles, the way he’d take a seat next to you and offer you a cup of tea as you talked.

“I’m here,” he whispered, voice gone hoarse from the endless amount of crying.

“Love… have you been neglecting yourself again?”

He cracked a smile. “Of course not.”

“Don’t lie to me, I can hear it in your voice that you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

He’s really got to give it to you, being able to detect his tiredness even if the two of you were literally a dimension apart.

“I promise I’ll clean myself up after this, okay?”

Maybe the heavens had taken pity on him. Whatever it may be, he had found you again. Though he may not be able to see or touch you, it was more than enough.

“You better,” there was a teasing tilt to your voice. “Or else I’ll hang up.”

No, Scaramouche cannot lose you again.

“I know, I will… just don’t hang up… please…”

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes—

— as promised, one last drabble before I go on a temporary hiatus!

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[acaaai-t]

as the seasons change

[fem! reader x college au! xiao]

cw: fluff, lots of fluff, slow burn-ish, fluff, reader gets harassed, cursing, oh did i mention fluff? — [long fic ahead]

wc: 7.3k

⤷ ❝ ft song— 《小城夏天》 ❞

“rainfall, a storming encounter— spring.”

"Do you remember the night we first met? Or well, at least when I first met you?" you asked, snuggling deeper into the warmth your blanket, and your partner, provided.

Xiao smiled and pulled you closer. "I could never forget.”

>>—<<

The night was still young, light rain pattering against the windows. It was hard to tell if the sun was still up or not, for the dark clouds covered everything. It was only you left, still clearing out the store, handling the remaining few customers here and there.

“Your hot americano, sir,” you said, handing the customer their ordered drink. “Would you like a bag with it?”

“No, I would like your number with it though. Say, you’re single, aren’t you?”

“Wh— huh?”

“Oh, come on, a charming fellow like you is still single, am I right?"

You really weren’t sure how to respond to his advancements, so you stood there, dumbfounded. “Um—”

“Why don’t you leave her the fuck alone?” the voice of a random customer cut you off.

You looked over to the whoever it was helping you deal with this man. ‘Oh shit, he’s really pretty,’ was your first thought upon sight.

The customer glared at the interrupter. “Look, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but I ain’t going to listen to whatever the hell you say.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll have a fun time talking to the police,” pretty boy said, staring down at the customer. He flashed the screen of his phone, the number 9-1-1 on dial.

“You—” he stopped himself, took a deep breath, and turned his attention from pretty boy over to you. “Listen here, you bitch. Shits would’ve been so much easier if you just gave me your fucking number, yeah?”

You flinched. “I’m sorry?”

“Sorry doesn’t fucking do shit,” he yelled, lifting up his cup of coffee.

Your eyes widened. “Don’t—”

Too late.

You nearly screamed when you felt the burning hot coffee sizzle against your skin. The now empty cup rolled to the side. You hastily wipe at your face, crimson from where the coffee had made contact.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” pretty boy got up from where he was seated. The man turned to look at him.

You quickly took this opening to disappeared into the back kitchen, searching for a cold towelette to ease the burning pain. You could’ve sworn you had ascended to heaven there and then when you pressed the cool towel onto your face.

‘That feels so much better…’

A loud crash pulled your spirit back down. Keeping the towel pressed against your cheek, you made your way back to the front counter— just in time to see the customer that had harassed you flee the scene. Pretty boy stood there, arms crossed, rolling his eyes as the glass door swings shut.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” he asked the moment his eyes laid upon you.

“There’s no need,” you smiled at him. “Thanks for helping me, by the way.”

“It’s… nothing,” he adverted his gaze from you.

You finally got a good look at him. His facial features were mostly obscured by a black mask he wore, but his striking amber eyes was a prominent detail, you noticed. There was also a greenish tint to the edges of his hair and along his bangs. Peeking out from under his turtleneck, you saw a trace of some sort kind tattoo. ‘That’s hot,’ you immediately thought to yourself.

You must’ve been staring for too long, for his voice suddenly broke off your thoughts. “Can you please stop staring…” he sounded and looked flustered. Even with the mask on, you could faintly see the red of his cheeks.

“Ah, sorry…” you were quick to reply, embarrassment crawling in showing as the pink that lightly dusted your face.

The atmosphere of the cafe suddenly felt very awkward, with neither side willing to talk. You cleared your throat, hoping to break the silence. Perhaps you could treat him to a free coffee for helping you rid of that costumer. You put on a smile. Your cash register blinked red.

“Would you like a—” you glanced down at the register for just the slightest moment, then look back up, only to find the pretty boy gone. “Free coffee…” you finished.

‘Ah.’

“starfall, the sparkle in your eyes— summer”

“Oh FUCK.”

You scrambled about, hurriedly changing from the comforts of your pajamas to whatever you’d dug out from your closet.

“Why didn’t my fucking alarm go off?!”

“What the fuck?” the groggy voice of Aether mumbled.

Panic was racing though your body, you glanced at the clock as you stuffed your boots on.

8:57am

You have three minutes to spare. 180 seconds to make it from your dorm to your campus, from your campus to your lecture hall. Under most normal circumstances, you would’ve just skipped the exam altogether, but your professor just had to be a bitch and make the exam a major part of your grade— and if you wish to pass his class, you must take it.

Exam starts the moment the clock ticks 9:00, and nobody is allowed in anymore after— as your professor had specifically told the class.

“Sorry Aether!”

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you slammed the door shut and booked it.

8:58am

Two minutes was all you had left. You didn’t waste your entire high school life practicing in the track team just not make be able to make a 300-yard dash in two minutes. You can— no, you will. You will make it.

Your peripheral vision of the environment blurred together as the wind began to catch up, heart racing with every stride you take.

In your haze of sheer panic, you had failed to notice the boy you were gunning towards scrambling to move out of your way. You yelped when you absolutely bodied them. He managed to steady himself, but you on the other hand, found yourself sprawled on the concrete.

“Ow…” you muttered, rubbing your lower back regions. “I’m so sorry you see— oh it’s you!”

Pretty boy looked bewildered; his eyes trained on your figure sitting on the ground. He reached out a hand to help you up, but there was no need. You weren’t sitting for very long, for a quick glance at your watch had you up instantly.

“I am going to be late. Sorry about that,” you called out.

He stood there. “You dropped something…” he slowly said.

But you were long gone, leaving nothing but a slight breeze that tickled his cheek.

>>—<<

Just a little under a minute remaining. Your lungs felt like they were on fire. The sight of your class building was just in sight. Just a little bit more, you thought.

15…

You pulled out your student ID and swiped through the scanner, barley giving the poor machine time to unlock the door before you rammed your way through it.

11…

Scrambling up the stairs like a madman, you could care less about the student that screamed at the sight of you— going on all fours crawling up the stairs at an inhuman speed.

4…

You’ve finally made it to the third floor; your legs were uncontrollably shaking by then. The final stretch, and with the time quickly ticking away, you ran as if your life was on the line.

1…

The door to the lecture hall opened with a loud bang, echoing throughout the quiet room. Every head was turned to stare at you, even your professor stopped midway in handing out tests to look at you.

“I’m not late,” you panted, face flushed red.

You made it with barley a second to spare. The clock struck nine.

>>—<<

“Ugh, I for sure failed that exam…” Lumine grumbled, stuffing her reference papers back into her backpack. “You done organizing yet?”

“One moment…” you replied, zipping up your bag. “…okay, let’s go.”

Lumine hooked her arm around yours as the two of you exited the lecture hall. “You know when you slammed that door open, everyone jumped. I think the prof got scared too.”

“Don’t remind me. I nearly broke my back trying to get here on time… hey speaking of which. Why didn’t you wake me up?” you said.

“I tried; you were dead asleep… I accidentally woke Aether and Tao up trying to get you awake,” Lumine replied.

“Oh— ow, my back,” you muttered. The scene where you rammed into the pretty boy flashed in your mind. You suddenly frowned. “Wait a moment.”

You stopped in the middle of the hallway, realization catching up to you. “Wait a damn moment.”

“What is up with you today? Let’s go before they trample us over,” Lumine said, tugging you along as another current of students flooded your way. She led you out the school building. You winced and squeezed your eyes shut as the unbearably bright sunlight caught you off guard.

Now it was Lumine’s turn to pull you to a halt. You felt the hand grip around your arm tighten. “Ow,” you complained.

“Oh sorry— but look at that guy over there!” Lumine exclaimed, slightly gesturing over to someone.

You squinted, trying to see through the blazing glory of the sun. “Where?” you asked. “I literally can’t see, it’s so bright.”

“Over there,” Lumine hissed. “Oh, crap I think he saw us, let’s go let’s go.”

Lumine quickly began to usher you away, and you blindly followed suit. You felt her panic when she suddenly began dragging you as she sped walked away.

“Hey, wait—” a voice called out from behind.

Lumine stopped, frozen over. You turned around, using one hand to mask away the sun. “It’s you again!” you exclaimed.

“It’s me.”

“You two know each other?” Lumine quipped, turning over to look at you. Her eyes narrowed. “You aren’t stalking my friend here, right?”

“Lumine, relax. Remember what happened at work? He was the guy I was telling you about. Not a stalker.”

“Ohh— him?!”

“Why are you so shocked?”

“Need to have a word with you,” Lumine whispered, grabbing ahold of your sleeve. “Excuse us.”

She brought you over to a more secluded area— under one of the many oak trees and began talking in a hushed voice.

“Do you even have a clue as to who he is?” She lightly jabbed at your chest.

“No?” you replied. “All I know is that he’s the regular that appears and orders the same thing every day.”

“That’s Xiao?! Like the Xiao??”

“Oh, that super-hot guy that everyone loves? … THAT’S HIM?!” jaw dropped, you stared at Lumine in utter disbelief.

“Yes!” she hissed.

“Now I see why everyone was staring at him… you too.”

“How did I not know? No, how did you not know?! Your so-called protector is Xiao…”

You ran your fingers through your hair. “I didn’t think it was necessary, besides, you never asked.”

“Fuck you, let’s go back,” she said, sweetly smiling at you. You suddenly had a bad feeling. The iron grip she had on your arm slightly terrified you. Lumine led you back to where Xiao stood.

“Hi, sorry for keeping you waiting,” you said, sending Lumine a glare. She pinched you in response.

“It’s fine,” he said. “You dropped his, by the way, when you uh, bumped into me.”

“Ah.”

Bumped was too nice of a word to replace what had really happened. You laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry about that, you aren’t hurt, are you?”

He shook his head. “Here,” he said, handing you your keys.

“Oh, so that’s where my keys went,” you exclaim, taking your item back. “I was wondering where it went. Thank you!” You beamed at him.

He turned his head away. It went silent again.

Lumine took one look at the sudden mood change, then gave you a sly smile, and slipped away from the scene before you could even latch on to her. You watched as she ran away, her figure gradually merging in with the other students.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked once Lumine was out of sight.

“What?”

“Your cheek, where the drink burned you. Does it still hurt?”

“No,” you said. “Thank you, again.”

“It’s nothing.”

“And uh, last time you left before I could ask you,” you said. “I would like to treat you to a cup of coffee as my thanks.”

“There’s really no need.”

“I insist. Are you free this Saturday?” you asked. “I’m [name], by the way.”

“Xiao,” he replied. “I’m free anytime.”

“Wonderful! I’ll see you this Saturday at Angels Hall then,” you said.

You hadn’t given Xiao much of a chance to speak before you left, giving him a small wave as you disappeared under the bright sunlight to look for Lumine. If you had stayed a little longer and observed a little closer, maybe you would’ve seen the furious blush that covered his cheeks that he so desperately tried to hide.

“Ooh-la-la, my goodness Xiao,” a cheeky voice came trailing up behind him. “Who’s the lucky one?”

Xiao glared at the newcomer. “Nobody, Venti.”

The short boy in green placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt. “Oh Xiao, you won’t even tell me? That’s fine then, I’ll get Heizou to do it for me.” His voice had a slight tease to it.

“Shut it…”

The week passed by in a blink of an eye, and Saturday came faster than Xiao liked. You had told him the details when you— coincidentally, bumped into him while running some errands.

2:00pm, you had told him.

The clock was striking close to 1:45 and he was not ready to have a one-on-one conversation with you.

Xiao paced around his dorm anxiously, muttering incoherent nonsense to himself. His dorm mates looked at him curiously, but no word was said between them. Venti sat in one corner of the room, silently giggling to himself. He seemed to be the only one amused at Xiao’s demise.

“What’s got you so stressed out, Xiao?” one of his dorm mates asked. His green eyes glinted with interest.

“Nothing…” Xiao muttered.

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me. Are you meeting her?”

Xiao froze. “How do you know? Did Venti tell you?”

“Ah, so you ARE meeting up with her.”

>>—<<

“You did WHAT NOW?!”

Aether winced at Hutao’s sudden outburst. “Tao, volume please.”

“Did she actually do it? You saw her ask him?” Hutao gripped tightly onto Lumine’s shoulders, gently shaking her. Her bright red eyes widened.

“I don’t know,” Lumine sheepishly admitted. “I ran away so they could have some time alone, you know?”

Hutao looked miserable, the way her bangs drooped down and covered her face. She dramatically sighed and spun herself onto her bed, the mattress squeaking as she did so.

You got up from where you sat and began rummaging through your tiny closet for a bag suitable for today's meeting. You couldn’t find one to your liking, so you began searching through Lumine’s closet. “Hey Lum, mind if I borrow your bag for the day? It’s the black messenger one.”

“Sure, just don’t get it dirtied,” Lumine replied nonchalantly. She crumpled up a piece of scrap paper and threw it at Aether. It landed directly on his forehead with a tiny bonk.

“Lumine!” he whined, rubbing at where the ball had hit him.

You quickly slipped on a pair of boots and opened the door. “I’ll take my leave now.”

“Have fun on your date!” Hutao cheered enthusiastically, her voice muffled. It seemed her glum mood had just dispelled.

“It’s not a date,” you groaned, exasperated.

“Make sure to tell us EVERY single little detail when you get back,” Lumine said, her eyes boring onto yours. You shivered.

“Bye [name]!” Aether waved at you, stopped short when another paper ball hit him. “Lumine! Stop throwing those at me, you’re cleaning them up.”

“Bye everyone,” you said. “Be back in an hour or so.”

>>—<<

Xiao was incredibly nervous. He really should’ve said no to your offer. But… he squeezed his eyes a shut and groaned. He couldn’t bear seeing the disappointment washing over that sparkle of joy in your eyes.

Curse his feelings. To hell with them.

“Xiao!”

Your eager voice snapped his out of his thoughts. He looked up at you, and his heart began to beat a little faster.

It’s just a friendly meetup, not a date.

“Hey.”

“I didn’t keep you waiting for too long, did I?” you asked.

Xiao shook his head. “I just got here.”

“Great, let’s go in, shall we?” you said.

He nodded.

The door to the cafe opened with a jingle, and the ambiance of the environment allured you in further. Xiao followed closely behind you, his eyes darting around nervously.

A peculiar figure caught his eye, and he wanted to die right there and then at the sight.

Venti pushed his sunglasses up further and gave Xiao a shit eating grin. Seated around him was his dorm mates, everyone was there, watching him. Heizou gave him a wink, as if to say, ‘good luck’.

How they managed to get there before Xiao is beyond him.

“You fuckers…” Xiao mumbled under his breath.

You ushered him into a seat and handed him the menu.

“Order whatever,” you told him. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

When Xiao had made sure you were gone, he set the menu down and got up, making his way over to his friend group sitting in the corner.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” Xiao hissed.

Venti took off his sunglasses and gave Xiao an innocent look. “We just so happen to be passing by, didn’t know you were coming here too.”

Scaramouche scoffed, rolling his eyes. Heizou jabbed him.

“You know damn well…” Xiao said.

“Well Xiao, you shouldn’t stay for too long. Your date should be back soon,” Venti mused.

Speak of the devil, his sharp hearing picked up the sound of the bathroom door being open— despite the loud chatter of the cafe. He gave Venti a glare before returning to his seat and picking up the menu, acting as if nothing had transpired.

You reappeared, taking a seat across from him. “Chosen what you want yet?”

Xiao skimmed through the menu and quickly picked the one that looked the most appealing. “Yeah, an Angels Blessing, whatever that is.”

You called the waitress over and placed your orders.

“You really didn’t have to,” Xiao said, watching as the waitress left for the kitchen.

His words completely crossed your mind. Caught off guard by your silence, Xiao looked back at you.

Your eyes bore into his, an unreadable expression on your face. Xiao couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from you even if he tried. Something compelled him to keep staring.

Suddenly the noises of the cafe blurred out, fading into nothing but a tiny buzz. It was just you and him, alone, sitting across from each other.

When had you become so pretty?

You smiled at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling up. “Xiao did you know?”

When did the butterflies began appearing?

“Know…” he swallowed the lump in his throat.

When did it happen? Why?

“You have really pretty eyes; they remind me of the stars glittering in the galaxy.”

Maybe that’s what had confirmed his skeptical feelings for you, because at that moment, Xiao felt like he fell in love all over again.

In love with all of you again.

“memoirs, anew remembrance— autumn”

Memories. Taken in the form on pictures, notes, anything.

Xiao could remember the time he first laid eyes on you clear as day.

It was on campus last year autumn, during the annual sports festival, where you were one of the many participants racing for the win. Xiao stood together with his friends, betting on who would come out victorious.

He wasn’t particularly interested in who won or who lost, in fact, Xiao didn’t even want to be here in the festival in the first place. It was only under the solemn promise of free almond tofu that he agreed to go.

“I’m betting on the one in green,” Venti said. “5 dollars he wins.”

“The player in purple,” Kazuha pointed to the billboard listing all the players. “How about you Scaramouche?”

“I don’t fucking know, the black one?” Scaramouche muttered.

“I’m calling the purple one,” Heizou said. “Who are you betting on, Xiao?”

“Uh, the blue one?” Xiao blurted out.

Venti clapped his hands in glee. “Wonderful! May the gods be on my side and let the green player win!”

“Venti that’s not how it works.”

>>—<<

“Nervous?”

“Of course I’m fucking nervous…” you mumbled, fidgeting with your gloves.

The pink hair girl laughed, her green eyes twinkling. “You’ll do just fine. Those months of practice won’t go to waste.”

“I really do hope so…”

“Have some faith in yourself.”

“Thank you, Fei,” you said, feeling the strings of agitation pulling away.

“Best of luck,” Yanfei said, sending you a wink just as the booming voice of the announcer came on.

It was your time to shine— or horribly embarrassed yourself.

>>—<<

“They’re finally starting!” Venti exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Oh there’s the green one!”

Xiao watched closely as each player began taking field. The player he had betted on stood in the far corner. He hadn’t expected himself to be so interested in the game. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to lose five dollars today.

‘And the players had taken field!’ the announcer shouted.

The crowd cheered.

‘A soon to be fantastic yet suspenseful game tonight, five players competing for the title of king. Only the best out of the best in the field tonight, this game surely will be an interesting one. And now without any further delays…’

Xiao held his breath, his eyes trained on the player in blue.

‘…may the game commence.’

>>—<<

The pressure was killing you. The eyes, the cheers, the lights. Yet none of those stopped you. All those months of ruthless training— not even a single second will be left to waste away.

You dropped into a trance, body moving on autopilot. The voice of your coach commanded your every move.

It was only when the stadium erupted into screams that you broke out from your daze, startled at the sudden outburst.

‘And we have a clear winner!’ the announcer broadcasted, her voice echoing over the crowd’s cries.

Lumine jumped over the railings and ran into to the field, successfully dodging the security trying to grab her. She body slammed you and engulfed you in a tight hug. “YOU WON! YOU DID IT!” Lumine screamed. “Oh my god I’m so proud of you. See I told you you’ll win.”

I won? …

Suddenly you felt weak, head spinning, vision blurring. “I won?” you muttered.

The rest of your friend group came running towards you too, and security didn’t even bother to try and stop the two kids barreling for you. Hutao smashed into you, one hand holding a small bouquet of flower. Aether slowed to a jog and brought out a spray bottle, showering cool water on you.

“Congratulations my dear!” Hutao cheered. “We all fucking told you you’ll win this. Dinner is on me tonight.”

“You did great,” Aether said, handing you a bottle of water.

The crowd of people was still cheering for your victory, and cheered even louder when you held up your hard-earned trophy high in air for everyone to see. You laughed, a tear of happiness rolling down your cheek.

I won.

>>—<<

“Aw damn,” Venti groaned. “I was so sure green would win…”

“Xiao got lucky today,” Heizou laughed, handing Xiao a five-dollar bill. “Twenty dollars and a free dessert.”

“Say, where are we going out tonight?” Kazuha asked, also handing Xiao a five.

“Thanks…” Xiao muttered. He wasn’t even paying attention to the group's conversation. His interest was driven onto somewhere else— someone else.

For some odd reason, Xiao couldn’t stop staring at you.

Enveloped by your friends in a giant bear hug, the trophy glinting under the stadium lights, you stood there, crying and laughing.

Xiao smiled softly to himself.

The second time Xiao saw you was during the week before midterms, and at that time, you looked like a mess.

You were in Angels Hall with your friends, paper upon papers scattered all over the table. The coffee you had ordered was left to the side was half drank, long gone cold.

“I can’t,” you whined. “This is so.”

Lumine sat next to you, head buried in her arms. “I agree.”

“How about we finish this unit then we go, because I don’t think I can’t last any longer either,” Aether said. “Right Tao?”

“It’s been 2 hours, not sure how much longer I can go for,” Hutao mumbled. “I feel like shit.”

You straightened up. “Let’s go back to our dorm. None of us here wants to be here any longer.”

“I second that,” Lumine said, downing the last bits of her drink in one go.

Hutao began organizing all the papers into a neat stack before stuffing it into her bag, regardless of if it wrinkles. The waiter dropped by and handed you the bill with a forced smile.

“Let’s go,” Hutao said, getting up from her seat. Lumine was already by the exit, impatiently tapping her foot.

You set down a twenty-dollar bill and left with the rest of the group, the twinkling of the silver bell indicating your departure.

Xiao couldn’t help but feel disappointed, watching you leave.

Kazuha tapped his arm. “Xiao, are you good? You seem distracted.”

“He’s probably got his mind on someone,” Heizou said.

“Xiao? Liking someone? No way,” Venti gasped.

“Can you all just shut the fuck up and focus?” Scaramouche growled, already fed up. “Especially you, Venti.”

“Aha, sorry…”

The third time Xiao ran into you was at the coffee place you worked at. He had just randomly chosen a cafe to get a breather, a break from his work and from the rain. He had figured that this tiny cafe was the best place to enjoy his time and peace. It was during the evening, when there were just barely any more costumers coming in.

You stood behind the cashier, a bright smile plastered on your face.

“An iced black coffee,” he told you.

It hasn’t even been two minutes after he had paid, and his order was already ready to go.

“…thank you,” Xiao managed out. He quickly turned away and found a seat in the corner of the store, the tip of his ears already tinted red. There was no way he could return that bright grin of yours without turning into a tomato.

The way you smiled at him… the way you looked with your hair tucked behind your ear. In his eyes, you’re the literal embodiment of the ethereal celestial being send from the skies above. He had never felt like this towards someone ever before, this was a first for him. But all the signs made it clear— the way his heart pounds abnormally fast, the way his words get caught up in his throat, the way the butterflies flutter around in his stomach— it was all enough for Xiao to know that he had developed a crush for you.

No. He does not have a crush on you, he just merrily found you attractive. That is all there is to that.

“… single, aren’t you?”

Xiao snapped his head up, thoughts interrupted. He glanced over at the customer who was leaned over the counter, trying to act cool. The way your shoulders were tensed up, the stutters in your words— it was clear you were uncomfortable with his sudden advancements.

“Why don’t you leave her the fuck alone?” he snarled, caught off guard by his harsh tone.

What transpired afterwards was history, but ever since that incident, he has been coming in every day. By then, you had recognized Xiao as a regular in the new cafe you worked at. Every day he would appear exactly at 3:00pm, and order the same thing— a black coffee, and leave minutes before you get off your shift.

You found it endearing, how a mere stranger watched over you so protectively. Although your friends begged to differ.

“Pretty boy?” Lumine snorted. “Oh please, what if he’s going to kidnap you one day?”

“As if,” you retorted. “I trust my guts.”

“crystalline, frosted confessions— winter.”

“Black—”

“— coffee. Got it right here,” you said, holding up the cup of freshly brewed coffee. “As per usual, that’ll be 2.35$. But since you’ve been a regular here for so long, I’m cutting the price down to 1.75$.”

“Thank you,” Xiao handed you two dollars and took the coffee, where then he proceeded to sit in the same spot he had been sitting in for past few weeks.

The store was completely empty expect for Xiao. As expected, you thought. Nobody would want to be out when the weather had predicted an snowstorm. Flurries of snowflakes bend and shaped by the wind covered the outside world in a softened blanket of white.

“It’s snowing pretty hard outside,” you thought out loud, elbow resting against the marble counter. “Are you cold? I could turn the heater up.”

“It’s fine,” Xiao replied. “Why are you still working today anyways? It’s snowing really hard out there.”

“Who’s going to run the store if not me?” you laughed. “The boss offered me a pay raise if I stayed to attend the store today. Obviously, I can’t turn that offer down.”

Xiao gave a hum of acknowledgment. “I’ll drive you back to campus. It’s too dangerous for you to walk out there alone.”

His words caught you by surprise. Never would you have thought Xiao would be offering to drive you back to the dorms.

“How kind of you, thank you Xiao,” you said. “I’ll be closing down in maybe a couple minutes. Then we can go.”

Hail had slowly begun to mix in with the snow. The tiny ice fragments pattered against the window, creating a clicking sound. You began cleaning up— there wasn’t much to be done, but you still liked the store to be spotless before you leave. Setting the dried towel by the sink, you took off your apron and hung it in the back.

Xiao finished up his drink and threw the disposable cup away, making sure to grab napkins to wipe the table clean.

By the time he had cleaned his table, you were ready to leave. Xiao narrowed his eyes.

“Where’s your jacket?” he asked.

“Oh, I forgot mines,” you said, pushing open the door. You shivered at the cold blast of wind. “Left in a hurry this morning... ha-ha.”

Xiao bit down on his lips. “Can’t be helped,” he sighed, walking out the door.

You locked the store and flipped over the OPEN sign to CLOSED. “Let’s go,” you said. Your nose was already turning red.

“Here,” Xiao muttered, draping his jacket over you. “I… don’t want you to get sick.”

You felt your face heat up and your heart race. "I— thank you, Xiao.”

Xiao turned away and began walking towards his car. His heart was pounding mercilessly against his chest as he unlocked the door to his sleek black Toyota. You stood by him, snuggled up in his jacket, and stepped into the car when Xiao opened the door for you.

What a gentleman, you thought to yourself.

The car reverberated to life as Xiao turned the engine on, and with it, the heater was turned on too. A blast of warm air surrounded you, and your body relaxed, taking in the warmth.

You felt yourself slowly dozing off as Xiao drove through the storm. You weren’t even tired, perhaps it was the environment that had lulled you into a dreamlike state.

Time passed by slowly, and when Xiao had parked by your dorm, you were fast asleep. He almost didn’t want to wake you.

“Hey,” he whispered, nudging your shoulder.

“Five more minutes…” you mumbled, shrugging his hand away. “Five…”

He stifled a laugh. “We’ve arrived at your dorm. I think I see Lumine up there.”

You snapped open your eyes and sat up straight. “Where?!”

The laugh he had been keeping in bubbled out. You looked at him, eyes half lidded, confusion written all over your face.

“We’re at your dorm, let’s go, the storms getting worse,” Xiao said, getting out the car. He jogged over to the other side and opened the door before you could. “Careful there, the roads iced up.”

Your movements were sluggish as you got out from the car, grabbing onto Xiao for support. “Sorry,” you mumbled.

You felt Xiao wrap one arm around your waist to support your weight, slowly guiding you through the path and up the stairs to your dormitory. The harsh wind that slapped you in the face was enough of a wakeup call, and you fumbled to fish your keys out your pocket.

Pushing the key into the lock, you turned back to face Xiao— but he was already down the stairs by his car. He caught your eye, and you hastily gave him a wave before disappearing indoors, where the warmth awaited you. “Thank you,” you mouthed, and the door closed behind you.

Xiao stayed outside your dormitory for a little bit, watching the shadows of your friends engulfing you through the sheer curtains that fluttered around. An unmistakable feeling of heat rushed throughout his body, and he smiled to himself, then sneezed.

>>—<<

“Wait, wait, WAIT,” Lumine grabbed your sleeve and pushed you onto your bunk. “You got home awfully fast today, and whose jacket is that?”

Hutao walked out from the bathroom, a towel slung over her shoulders. “I think I’ve seen that jacket somewhere before.”

“Oh, wait isn’t that Xiao’s jacket?” Aether piped in, setting his headset aside and spinning around to face the two of you.

“That’s where I’ve seen it,” Hutao said with a snap of her fingers. “That emo guy that everyone seems to be obsessed with, I’ve seen him walking around campus several times in that same jacket.”

“That emo guy,” Aether repeated. “Isn’t he your cousin?”

“Did something happen between you and Xiao?” Lumine asked, eyes glittering with excitement.

You laughed nervously. “Well yeah, sort of? I mean, he drove me back here…”

Lumine’s eyes went wide open. “Now that’s a first. Oh, girl he definitely likes you.”

“He did it because it was snowing like crazy out there and I didn’t have a jacket with me!”

“Excuses,” Hutao snorted. “I can tell you that Xiao never lets anyone else in his car other than his close friends. I’ve asked him for a ride once and I had to beg for it, EVEN though we were cousins, and I still had to Uber back home.”

Lumine nodded. “Can confirm, I was there to witness it all.”

You shook your head. “There’s no way. Anyways! To celebrate me getting a pay raise, dinners on me tonight!”

“Wooo!” Hutao cheered, throwing on a thick puffer jacket. “Where are we off to?”

>>—<<

“Is he… sick?” Kazuha asked worriedly.

The boys gathered around Xiao’s bed, listening to his coughs and sniffles.

“Leave me be…” Xiao mumbled, pulling his blanket over his head.

“He definitely sounds sick," Heizou commented.

"This is what you get for not wearing a jacket out yesterday... I'd say it's well-deserved." Scaramouche snorted, tossing yet another packet of tissues at Xiao.

"He wasn't wearing a jacket?" Venti echoed, his loud voice traveling from the kitchen into Xiao's room. "Didn't he leave with a jacket though? The green and black one?"

Heizou raised a brow, one hand under his chin. A quizzical look appeared, followed by a know-it-all one. "I think I know where his jacket went," he said, a sly grin dancing on his lips.

"Get the fuck out of my room."

>>—<<

“Tao, whenever you’re able to, can you help me return this jacket to Xiao? I haven’t been able to find him anywhere,” you said, hanging up your bag. Xiao’s black and green jacket hung next to your school bag, a scent of fresh laundry within the fibers.

Hutao popped a piece of gum in her mouth and chewed loudly. “I honestly have no clue where he is. I can help you get in touch with the pests he hangs around though.”

“That’d be lovely,” you replied, shooting Tao a grateful smile.

>>—<<

“Hey Xiao.”

“…”

“Xiaooooo.”

Silence.

Venti sighed in defeat and turned away from Xiao’s room, instead plopping himself down on the couch. Kazuha hummed to himself as he stirred the giant bowl of batter he had in his arms— as far as Venti remembers, he was making chocolate chip cookies. A classic favorite among everyone.

Scaramouche was out of town, called back home for a family emergency. Heizou on the hand, had locked himself in one of the many study cubbies in the campus’s library to study for his upcoming exam. And Xiao— well, he’s passed out sick.

Venti sighed once again, bored out of his mind. He lazily opened up his phone and was greeted by a text from Xiao’s cousin: Hutao.

[5:14pm] Hutao >> u available rn?

>>—<<

“Hey! You must be Venti, right?” you asked, standing up from the park bench you were just sitting on moments ago.

“And you’re the girl that Xiao’s been fawning over I presume,” Venti replied, smiling.

“My name— wait what?”

“Oh, it’s nothing— hey that’s Xiao’s jacket!” Venti pointed to the black jacket draped over your arms. “Right?”

“Yeah, I was hoping you’d help me return this to him,” you said sheepishly.

Venti pressed his hand to his chest. “Oh, I would love to, but I think it’s best if you do it!”

Puzzled by his response, you ask, “Why?”

He sighed dramatically and collapsed onto the bench, feigning heartache. “Well you see, poor Xiao had locked himself up in his room, burning up a fever— and wants nothing to do with me at the moment. If I were to try and enter his room, I’m afraid I won’t see the light of day again.”

You blinked at Venti’s performance, slowly soaking in the information given. Does Xiao hate him? Why? You wanted to ask. “He’s sick?” was what came out your mouth instead.

“Terribly so.”

>>—<<

“Xiao?” you called out softly.

A shuffle was heard as the sickly student attempted to sit upright. You quickly entered the room and closed the door behind you, rushing over to Xiao’s side the moment the door clicked shut.

“Hey,” you said, smiling. “Hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

Xiao blinked groggily, fighting against the sleep medication he had taken hours ago. “What are you”— he sneezed “doing here?”

“Came here to return your jacket,” you replied, draping his jacket over his pink gaming chair. An odd expression crossed your face, but you didn’t speak of it.

Xiao managed to sit upright despite being in absolute agony. His head throbbed painfully, an unfortunate side effect of his medication. You placed a hand over the small of his back and helped him ease into a more comfortable position. "Easy there Xiao..." you murmured. "Don't strain yourself too much."

"I'll be fine," he said. "You shouldn't be here— you know, with me being sick and all. You might get sick too."

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "You're the one here sick, and you're worried about me? Besides, I didn't see you for the past week and I miss your presence."

There was a tease in your voice, and Xiao caught it. Yet he couldn't control the way his heart sped up. He cleared his throat, adverting his body away from where you sat. Perhaps being sick isn't so bad after all, he could at least use the fever as an excuse as to why his face is burning a scarlet red.

You felt your smile grow bigger seeing his reaction. "Don't turn around now— we've known each other for so long now, it's weird being somewhere without you." You were confident, almost too confident with your words. But with graduation so close, you knew that there wasn't much time left for you to spill your feelings. It was like gambling, gambling time and memories away.

Outside, the sun began to dip below the horizon. Snow resting upon the frail branch of the young oak crumbled when a chunk of ice shattered against the trunk.

“Heizou!” the shrill voice of Venti shrieked.

Either you win, or you'll lose it all.

Xiao remained silent, unsure of how to process your words. He wanted to believe everything you said, but some part of himself won't allow him to. For all he knows, you could just be tugging on his heartstrings, playing it like a sick sort of a puppet show. But... he glanced at you. You weren't looking at him anymore, instead your attention was fixated on the scene happening outside his window.

The way the sunset created a golden aura around you made you look absolutely breathtaking, hitting all the right angles in all the right way. He didn't know there was a way for you to be any prettier than you already are. Would he have gotten to see you like this if he wasn't sick?

"Xiao." the seriousness laced with your tone made him tense up. You pushed yourself away from the window ledge and turned to face him. “Xiao,” you repeated. “Can I tell you something?”

Your heart was pounding. A year worth of buildup— he’s seen you at your worst, as you had seen him, how much longer are you able to hold it in for? There’s nothing you could really hide from this man; he was bound to find out about your crush sooner or later.

Xiao took in a deep breath. “Go on,” he croaked out. He wiped his sweaty palms on his blanket.

You bit the insides of your cheek. The words are at the tip of your tongue, but that’s the furthest they’re willing to go. “I— fuck I can’t say it,” you groaned, turning back to face the window.

"No," he said. "No, tell me."

That intense voice you knew all too familiar— now you know that there is no backing out. Xiao's stubbornness had been a constant pain in the ass for you, yet it was also a part of him that you found endearing.

"You promise this won't change anything?" you asked, voice small.

A creak followed by a shuffle, and you felt Xiao's arm wrap around your waist. His disheveled hair tickled against your cheek as he rests his head upon your shoulder. '"Nothing will change, I promise," he muttered.

Touch. In no way was this unusual for the two of you. But this time, it felt new. In this stifling environment, where the air was tense, everything feels unfamiliar. Xiao's touch felt unfamiliar. What if this ruins it all?

Fuck it.

"I really like you, you know that, Xiao?" you whispered.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment, and you felt your heart drop. This is it. The signs point to it all, it tells you that Xiao is the one, yet you can't help but think otherwise. Overthinking has always been a bad habit of yours.

After minutes of painful awkward silence (it was only a few seconds), Xiao replied. "I know."

"I really like you too, [name]. I've liked you since last year, since the moment I saw you on the field for the annual sports festival. And I fell deeper in love with you over the course of the year, seeing you around campus, at the cafe you worked— your very presence seems to bring comfort. I wanted to confess for so long, you know? But I didn't, I feared that it would've tampered with whatever we already had going on."

he paused to clear his throat.

"I like— no, I love you."

Through the window, the view of the night sky was in perfect sight. The stars above twinkled, and flashing by for just a second, was a shooting star.

Even the stars have spoken.

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes—

— the number of times i accidentally typed ‘ciao’ instead of ‘xiao’ is diabolical

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[acaaai-t]

drinks on me

gn! reader x kamisato ayato

✧ cw: mild angst, hurt/a little comfort, mentions of alcohol, implied cheating, miscommunication

One shot.

“Forever…” his voice— so low that only you were able to hear him. His gaze lingered on you as he slowly slipped the wedding ring onto your finger.

“Forever,” you echoed, a small smile appearing.

Two shots.

You didn’t know what compelled you to wake up so late that night, but you found yourself unable to fall back asleep. You glanced over at the sleeping form of your beloved, the slow rise and fall of his chest with every breath he takes.

You reached up and gently brushed a strand of his hair away, admiring your lover’s features. Your hand unconsciously cupped his cheeks, stroking it with your thumb.

The sharp and sudden chirp of a cricket outside startled you, and immediately you pulled back your hands. He stirred and you froze. A pair of startling blue eyes met your own. He blinked groggily, looking confused.

“Love?” he croaked out.

“Oh sorry, did I wake you?”

He shook his head. “No. Why are you still awake at this hour?”

“I… I just woke up and now I can’t sleep.”

He hummed lightly and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in. You happily snuggled into his embrace, warmth quite literally radiating off of him. “Come here,” he mumbled, his words just barely coherent.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself when you felt him press a light kiss on top of your head. The arm wrapped around you slightly slackened as he dozed off once again.

You closed your eyes and took a slow deep breath, waiting for the whispers of sleep to whisk you away somewhere far.

Three, four, five shots.

“Not enough…” you mumbled to yourself, pouring another shot of alcohol into your cup. The bartender gave you a worried glance, yet no words were exchanged.

It was the second time this week.

The first time it happened, he’d left all too hurriedly in the morning without a single word exchanged with you. And when the sun dipped below the horizon, he still wasn’t home. That night you waited anxiously by the living room, waiting for him to come home.

But when the clock struck 1 in the morning, when sleep threatened to overtake you, when Thoma— unbeknownst to you, who was still awake, urged you to go to bed, was when you finally gave up waiting. Feeling defeated, you climbed onto your shared bed and pulled the blanket over you, eyes drifting closed already.

The next morning, he would act as if nothing had happened. You questioned him, yet each time he would change the subject— as if it was his second nature. In the end, you gave up.

“When the time comes,” he told you, his lips brushing against your cheek.

You held onto that hope.

The sixth shot was when you’d finally felt the alcohol taking effect. The feeling of dizziness kicking in as your vision begins to blur. You never had a high tolerance for alcohol, yet tonight, you chose to drink your sorrow away.

To drink until you forget everything.

A lipstick smudge.

You’d noticed it while helping the maids organize the laundry. You tried not to think too much about it, chalking up to the fact that one of those stupid nobles had tried to seduce him again. Your husband was smart. Smart and loyal. You knew it in your heart that he’ll never cheat.

Yet all the coming home late… the lingering scent of sake… it was all enough to plant the seeds of doubt deep in your mind.

He… couldn’t be cheating on you right? Were you not enough?

Seven.

By now your world had faded into a blur of vibrant colors. Voices confused and disoriented.

He came home late again.

You wrapped the blanket around yourself tighter, eyes watching as your lover hung his coat and set his keys down. Your figure, hidden by the darkness, went unnoticed by him— his shadow gliding pass you without sparing a single glance. You caught onto a familiar scent wavering in the air.

saku night co.

A relatively popular perfume brand trending in Inazuma. Despite the smell of sake mixing in with it, you could recognize that scent from anywhere. It was your husband's least favorite. Yet having that very same perfume he claimed to hate lingering on him… your grip tightened on the blanket.

“Did I do anything wrong?” your voice was small, whispering aloud so that only you can hear. “Was I the problem?”

A tear slipped.

“Did he ever love me?”

Too far drowned in your sorrows, you didn’t notice a familiar face taking a seat next to you.

“Hey…”

You couldn’t hear him, memories— ones that you’ve been drinking to forget, resurfacing in shattered fragments.

“Are you cheating on me?”

You’d finally gained the courage to confront Ayato about this behavior. Yet your voice still trembled.

For a moment he was silent, and you feared the worst. He looked up from his documents and stared at you, eyes that use to look at you with adoration, now cold.

“I’m not cheating on you,” he began. “I don’t know where you got that idea from, but I’m busy right now. Let’s save this conversation for another time.”

His voice was faraway. You hadn’t even fully register what he had said before your body moved on its own. By the time you snapped out of your trance, you were lying on your shared bed, tears still streaking your face.

A bed meant for two people.

Two people, yet it was always just you. When did this start happening? When did the two of you began drifting apart like this?

A slight nudge to your shoulders drew you back. Neon lights danced across your tear-streaked face. It felt as if even the world was taunting you.

“Look I’m sorry…” he said. “I was just stressed.”

You refuse to look at him.

Biting down on your lips anxiously, you watched as Ayato scribbles away on the stack of documents on his desk. You wanted to ask him again, but scared that you'll be shut down again, you didn't speak up. You could only watch in silence, heart heavy.

What happened to forever?

What happened to the sweet promises he made during your wedding ceremony? When the two of you had snuck away, when he had held you close to him...

"Please... just look at me," his voice, edging on desperation.

You remained silent.

"Look!" your voice was bright, breaking through the silence. "This bird looks like you, don't you think so? Ayato?"

On the palm of your hand sat a small blue bird, its feather ruffled. Ayato silently crept up behind you and snaked an arm around your waist, placing a small kiss on your cheek. The bird, spooked by his sudden behavior, chirped loudly— as if voicing its complaints, and flew away. 

You gasped. "Ayato! You scared him away!"

"Did I?" he mumbled. "Maybe he was just too mesmerized by my beauty." There was a light tease to his voice.

You rolled your eyes, yet you couldn't repress the smile slowly appearing. "Sure sure, Mr. Handsome."

You pushed yourself up from your stool, hands gripping onto the edge of the table to steady yourself. From the corner of your eyes, you saw him reach out.

"Go away," you muttered. "Cheater."

The box of lunch you grasped in your hands fell, it’s contents spilling.

“Nobody cheats even if they’re stressed,” you said, pointing a finger at him. “Nobody…”

Ayato was silent.

“You left me alone for days, weeks even,” you continued, the alcohol clouding your mind. “I thought you were just busy doing commissioner things, so I didn’t pry.”

“Ayato, what’s the meaning of this?” you asked, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

He was frantic, stuttering over his words. The women next to him scoffed and quickly gathered her things. You felt your heart drop when she hooked her arm over Ayato’s arm.

Ayato shook her off and reached out for you. But you were long gone by then, leaving nothing but the mess of a lunch on the floor.

“I don’t want to see you,” you whispered.

For once, the commissioner was at a loss for words. The cunning and clever Ayato, couldn’t formulate any words.

He knew what he did was wrong. Archons, what had gotten into his mind? What is wrong with him?

“Look, the stars are so bright tonight,” you pointed up at the glittering river of stars. “They’re so pretty…”

You were sitting along the edge of a cliff, right next to your lover. He gently smiled and ran his fingers through your hair. “They are very pretty tonight.”

Nights where the two of you could hang out like this was rare, seeing as how he was almost always drowning in paperwork.

You rested your head against his shoulder, the light breeze tugging at your hair.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

His apologies meant nothing to you. You could only give him a pitiful look before gathering your things and leaving.

Ayato watched as your figure merged with the clusters of people under the rainbow lights. He didn’t try to stop you, he knew it was futile.

“Are you happy?”

The cold air was stinging against your cheeks, but you paid no heed to it. Tears threatened to fall again, but you hastily wiped them away.

“…”

There was no need to cry anymore.

The sky above rumbled, dark heavy clouds shadowing the moonlight. You came to a stop.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

The conversation you had with Yoimiya replayed in your mind.

“He makes me happy, that I know for sure. He gives me a sense of comfort— a sense of companionship I never really got to experience. Whenever I’m with him, I feel free, like the burdens that weight me down is gone.”

“And you still love him even after he… cheated?”

You laughed, a bitter taste in your mouth. “Yeah, I do.”

You hated him. You really do.

You hate how even though he neglected you for days, you still yearn for his touch. You hate how despite the fact that he cheated, you still long for his presence. You hate how this man captured your heart and locked it in a cage— and even when the lock had long rusted off, you still couldn’t bring yourself to fly free.

The rain had completely soaked through your jacket, yet you payed no mind to it. Thunder cracked and the lightning crashed, and for a moment, it elicited the world in a blinding flash of white.

Even the sky weeps for your broken heart.

The rain pattering down on you came to a halt, a image of a umbrella overshadowing you. You looked up, making eye to eye contact with your lover.

Can you even call him your lover anymore?

You immediately shifted your gaze and instead opted to stare at a sweet flower, who looked like it was going to snap in half.

“I’m… I’m really sorry,” he mumbled. “If you would just let me explain.”

“What’s there to explain?” you quietly asked.

Ayato took a seat next to you, not caring whether or not it’ll dirty his clothes. “Please, will you hear me out?”

“What’s there to explain?” you repeated.

He winced. “Love please.”

“…You have two minutes.”

He was speechless, hastily wiping at his lips. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Oh come on, you knew exactly why I did—”

“Stop,” he said. “If my relationship with my wife fails because of you, I’ll destroy your clan and wipe them off the face of Teyvat.”

Her face paled. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” his voice was low, taking on a threatening tone. The air seemed to have gotten colder.

“Why are you saying this when you kissed me?!”

“You. You kissed me,” Ayato hissed. He pointed a finger at her. “You, a lowly noble, attempting to seduce a married man— oh but not just any married man, but the head of the Kamisato. I’m sure all the reporters and journalists would have a field day with that information.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me.”

Almost in an instant, she was gone. Her stuff was a-strewn, left to collect dust in the private room of Komore Teahouse. Ayato sat down on the floor, face buried in his hands.

“I’m serious… I’ve just been so busy with work—” his voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what to make of that information. Your mind was still processing everything that had happened, and the effects of alcohol that still lingered.

“I… I need to think…” you mumbled, slowly getting up. The world swayed with your movement.

Ayato quickly got up, and carefully guided you away from the cliff side. “Let’s get you home first,” he whispered. “I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Mmhm…” you didn’t try to protest against his touch, mind already shutting down. Perhaps you shouldn’t have drank that much.

He brought out the umbrella and held it over you. His arm hovered protectively over your waist. You stumbled and would’ve probably fell had Ayato not caught you in time.

“Careful there, do you me to carry you?”

“No.”

The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, dark clouds finally parting way for the moon and the stars to peek through. From eastward, the glow of the sun had already begun to merge with the dark blue, coloring the entirety of the skies in a deep shade of orange and red.

Thoma was waiting frantically by the entrance of the estate, pacing around with his broom in hand. His eyes lit up at the sight of the two of you. “Oh my lord! There you are,” he breathed out. “Ah is that…?”

Ayato nodded. “Thoma, have you prepared their chamber?”

“Yes, yes it is. Should I bring her over?”

“No, I’ll do it myself. Thank you, Thoma.”

You were half-conscious, Ayato dragging you as gently as he can, across the estate. The sight was ridiculous, as you would say if you were sober. Ayato trying his very best to pick you up bridal style, yet each time you pushed him away and nearly collapsed on the floor. He felt that picking you up and bringing you to your room was the best option, but you seem to heavily disagree.

Ayaka watched from the corner, stifling a laugh.

“Brother, do you need my help?” her voice was quiet, a fluttering feeling to it.

“No— ah wait love, not that way,” Ayato steered you away from the closet. “I’ll do it myself. It’s the least I can do.”

Ayaka dipped her head. “I’ll leave you to it. They’re really angry at you, by the way.”

“I’m aware,” he whispered.

After what felt like forever, he has you finally tucked in your bed, layers upon layers of quilts covering you. By then, you had completely fell asleep.

He pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” he muttered softly.

I promise.

✩ ·┆ masterlist

a/n: have this short drabble while i continue to work on [resurface, my love] 👯‍♀️ I might do a part two where Ayato makes it up to you 🙏

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[acaaai-t]

resurface, my love

[fem! reader x villain! scaramouche]

✧ synopsis: you, the hero, disappears overnight, and the only person who looks is the villain. Not your friends, not your family, not the news reporter or any of the people who claimed to love you. Just him, Scaramouche, the very same person who claimed to hate you.

✧ cw: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, use of profanities, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of violence, human experiments, visions are a thing— [each chapters will have its own warnings]

✧ a/n: TAGLIST IS CLOSED> [50/50] — first post; sporadic updates. this prompt is taken from @writing-prompt-s

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . · 　　. . · 　. ˚ ✧

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ ✩’ season 1— come back ✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。

✩ — episode 0. eyes on you

★ — episode 1. whispers of the wind

✩ — episode 2. panic

★ — episode 3. clued

✩ — episode 4. that fucking bitch

★ — episode 5. russian roulette

✩ — episode 6. incoming

★ — episode 7. embrace

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . · 　　. . · 　. ˚ ✧

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ ☾’ season 2— resurface ☾⋆｡ ° ✩

✩ — episode 8. a cup of tea

★ — episode 9. yes mother

✩ — episode 10. new face

★ — episode 11. no buts

✩ — episode 12. gone

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . · 　　. . · 　. ˚ ✧

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ ✩’ season 3— spring has arrived ✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。

★ — episode 13. misunderstandings

✩ — episode 14. a turn of a card

★ — episode 15. finally

✩ — episode 16. will you?

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . · 　　. . · 　. ˚ ✧

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ ☾’ more to be added…

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[acaaai-t]

ethereal glow

[gn! reader x modern au! scaramouche]

✧ cw: fluff, mentions of alcohol, kissing, tiny bit suggestive, not proofread

“I like you.”

Such a simple statement, yet he somehow couldn’t bring himself to say it. He felt his heart erratically race at the mere though of confessing— confessing his feelings for you. His harbored feelings, ones that he thought he had planted and buried deep, was now sprouting.

You were slumped up between his legs, head nestled upon his collarbone as you silently dozed off, chest rising every once in a while. He swallowed a lump in his throat and stole a quick glance at your sleeping form. The feeling of you on him, the fact that you’re between his lap— it was driving him insane.

He felt you stir in your sleep and instinctively, he found his arms wrapped around you, holding you closer to him. You brought your hands up and rubbed your eyes, the nagging feeling of sleep still clinging on.

“Scara?” you mumbled, voice slightly cracking.

He was quick to reply, his voice soft. “Yes?”

“Where arewe?” your words were slurred together, perhaps it was because you haven’t slept the effect of alcohol off yet.

“On the hills of Starfell Park.”

You pushed yourself up, a black jacket slipping down from your shoulders. “How… how long was I out for?”

“A hour, maybe a little more.”

You groaned. “I’m never drinking again.”

He grinned. “You should actually. Seeing you drunk was funny.”

You swatted at him, cheeks dusting pink. “Don’t remind me. Last time I drank I woke up in the sewer system.”

Scaramouche laughed, something that you rarely hear.

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t do anything embarrassing this time, did I?”

His laughter slowly died down. “Well, you it depends if you consider it embarrassing or not.”

Scaramouche was dragging you out from the party, your slumped figure babbling nonsense. He was glad that he hadn’t drank a single bit, seeing now that you can’t even recognize who he is.

You giggled, lightly tugging on his hair. “You’re so pretty, you know?”

His heart raced at your words.

“Aw look at youuu, you’re blushing,” you said, a lopsided smile adorning your features.

Scaramouche looped into Starfell Park and took a seat in the clearings with you still clinging onto him. Drunken you really is a whole different person, he muses. No shame in what you do or say.

“Hey…” you mumbled, leaning your head against his chest.

“Hm?”

“Do you know this guy? He’s my best friend. Very short, dark purple hair…” you said. “And he’s really pretty too.”

Scaramouche froze. Your insult to his height completely flew over his head. “You… think he’s pretty?”

“Now that I think about it, you look kind of similar to him,” you shifted your body to face Scaramouche, noses nearly touching. “Are you him?”

“No?”

”Liar,” you whispered.

“Lia—“ he hadn’t even gotten the chance to finish his sentence before your lips captured his, effectively silencing him.

It caught him by surprise. You kissing him out of the blue was not something he had planned for the night.

Your lips tasted of strawberries— and there was also the slight bitter taste from the alcohol, he noted. One arm snaked around your waist and pulled you closer— the other tussling through your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss.

Euphoria. Pure bliss. Nothing could explain how he was feeling right now. Holy fuck.

Scaramouche was out of breath by the time the two of you finally pull apart. Though he wasn’t given much time to catch his breath before you slammed your lips onto his once again, pushing him down on the grass— your body pressed tightly against his.

He flinched just the slightest bit when you bit down on his lips. Your hands resting upon his chest, the wind tickling your exposed skin.

This was no longer a simple kiss. The two of you were full on making-out.

Part of Scaramouche felt bad for taking advantage of you in your drunken state, but then again, he just couldn’t help it. He had liked you for so long— dropped so many hints, yet you just never seem to pick up on any of his affection towards you.

Maybe finally he’ll be able to tell you how he felt.

“Scara?” you looked up at him, worried. “Why are you so red? You aren’t sick are you?”

“Do you want to know what you did?”

“What?”

“Do you,” he repeated each word slowly, eyes staring into yours. “Want to know… what you did?”

You chuckled nervously, unsure what to answer. “Um, yes?”

Just as you had done before, he leaned down closer to your face, noses brushing against each other. “Are you sure?” he whispered.

Now you’re really nervous. Just what had you done while you were drunk? Surely you didn’t accidentally hit a pedestrian with your car again…

“Yes..” your answer was hesitant, eyes adverted away from his piercing gaze.

“Then allow me,” he breathed out, dipping his head.

You didn’t really know what to expect, but Scaramouche kissing you out of nowhere was something you had not been able to predict. He felt warm against you, worryingly warm.

You didn’t push away, instead closing your eyes and leaning in. When Scaramouche broke the kiss, you suddenly felt yourself wanting more, yet you didn’t dare make a move. Your heart drummed against your chest, beating in an arbitrary rhythm.

The sun had begun to rise, touching the clouds in a tinted orange and red. Scaramouche sat in front of you, gaze adverted. You stared at him, unable to formulate any words.

It felt painfully awkward sitting in silence. You reflected.

He kissed me… OH MY GOD HE KISSED ME.

The realization hits harder than you expected. You felt your face heat up.

“Um,” you broke the stillness, a smile tugging at your lips. “That wasn’t what I had thought would happen.”

Scaramouche visibly relaxed at your lighthearted demeanor. “I’m sorry about that…” he muttered.

You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

“…”

“Scara, look at me,” you whispered.

He did so, very slowly. His eyes were focused on everything else but you.

“Scara…” you cupped his cheeks. “In the eye.”

Seeing that he had opted to squeeze his eyes shut instead, you could only sigh. Bringing his face closer to you, you pressed a light kiss to the corner of his lips. “You don’t need to apologize when you’ve done nothing wrong,” you muttered quietly.

You didn’t know why you had kissed him again, but it felt like the right thing to do.

The radiance of the ascending sun basked Scaramouche in an ethereal glow. Your heart thumped just a little faster. He opened his eyes, strikingly purple— a close resemblance to heliotropes, boring into yours. A furious blush painted his cheeks in a light shade of red.

“You—” he spluttered over his words. “Me… no, why?—”

“Why?” you echoed his question. “Maybe because I’ve been pinning for you for so long but you just never seem to notice? This is the perfect chance, the only chance I’ll get, Scara. Of course I’ll take this opportunity.”

A half confession.

“Wait so you—”

“I do, you idiot.”

“…Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“Hey,” you scooted closer to Scaramouche, brushing away the blanket of tranquility again. “Did I really do that while I was drunk? Or was it just an excuse to kiss me?”

Scaramouche pinched the bridge of his nose, far too embarrassed even at the mere thought of the events that transcended in one night. You giggled, seeing the tip of his ears flushed red.

“I see,” you tried your best to stifle a laugh, but ultimately failed.

“… I hate you,” he grumbled.

“I love you too.”

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes— [✩]

— two fics within a week??? 😨😨😨 anyways this’ll hopefully put a bandage over the previous angst I posted 🙏🙏 enjoy (I swear I’ll get chapter two of resurface, my love done soon after I finish all of my regents)

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[acaaai-t]

resurface, my love

00. eyes on you

[fem! reader x villain! scaramouche]

cw: mentions of bombs, terrorists attacks, dead bodies, a tiny sprinkle of both fluff and angst, kissing scene, mild cursing

Where did it all start?

When did all this happen?

Why you?

…

Scaramouche is pretty.

Yet his prettiness doesn’t match up with his aggravating personality. It was no wonder why he was always seen alone by himself.

In a way, you pitied him. Maybe that’s what drove your 8 year old self to approach the lone boy.

Grasping your boxed lunch in your tiny hands, you hopped onto the available seat next to the purple hair boy and set your bento down. He gave you a weird look, but said nothing.

You clasped your hands together and muttered a quick thank you before opening your lunch, revealing a row of egg and ham sandwiches neatly tucked against each other.

You picked up a sandwich and offered it to him. “Want one?”

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I don’t like ham,” he said.

“Where’s your lunch? Won’t you be hungry?”

“I don’t bring lunch, and no, I won’t get hungry,” he grumbled, annoyed by your questions.

You rolled your eyes and stuffed a bite of the sandwich into your mouth. “Whatever,” you muttered.

The next day, you brought in two separate lunches, each wrapped up in a different color cloth— one in royal purple, one in a sage green. When lunchtime finally came around, you immediately set out to find Scaramouche.

It took a bit of searching, but eventually you found the grumpy little boy hiding up on a tree secluded from others.

“Hey!” you shouted, waving to the small figure sitting on the tree.

No reply.

“Hey I brought you lunch!” you tried again, yet it was as if he was purposefully ignoring your presence.

“Oh whatever, I’ll just leave it here,” you said, setting down the purple bento by the base of the tree. “Just make sure to return the lunchbox to me by the end of the day.”

And with that, you ran off, nearly tripping over the sticks that litter the grass.

Scaramouche kept his eyes trained on your figure as you run off, all until you disappear under the blinding sunlight. It was only then did he slowly climbed down from the tree to retrieve the lunch you left him.

He hesitated. Nobody had ever treated him this nicely before, there must be a catch to this. There’s always a catch. His grip on the lunchbox tightened.

It would be a pity to let the food go to waste, but what if it’s all a trap? he stood there, his thoughts running wild. His self-consciousness— and his stomach, called for him to accept the food, yet another part of him screamed for him to throw it away.

In the end he gave in and took a seat under the shade of the tree, the cloth already unwrapped and folded neatly to the side. A slip of paper sat upon the bento— a note from you.

“HI. I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I did put some of my favorites in there. Enjoy your lunch :D”

He set the note aside and opened his lunch. His heart skipped a beat and his face flushed a light shade of pink.

You had made him a bento lunch art. Never in his life did he ever received something like this. It was so childish and so embarrassing.

It was a bunch of miniature rice pandas scattered about with egg rolls acting as flowers. Diced strawberries drizzled with dark chocolate sit in a small plastic container in the corner. There were tiny sausages sculpted in the shape of a octopus right next to the pandas. Sliced cucumbers laid aptly to the side, paired with two cherry tomatoes cut in half.

He nearly teared up. Despite how the art looked like it was made not by your parents but by yourself, he realized that nobody had ever put so much effort into him before.

He almost didn’t want to ruin it.

When classes had finally end, you skipped back to your seat with your friends still chattering as they followed. There sitting on your desk was your other bento box, neatly wrapped in the royal purple cloth. Laying on top of the bento was a folded piece of paper. You picked up the note.

A small thanks was hastily scribbled on with terrible handwriting. You smiled.

From then on it became a routine.

Everyday you would come in to school with an extra lunchbox to give to him, and everyday after school he would return the empty lunchbox back to you. Sometimes you’ll find a snack with a note, sometimes it’ll be a keychain.

Scaramouche never approached you directly to give his thanks, but you felt that an empty lunchbox and his small gifts was already more than enough.

This habit continued all the way through elementary and into your last year of high school. By then your collection of keychains had significantly grew. From a cat keychain to a air conditioner keychain— whatever it may be, there’s a chance that Scaramouche had gifted it to you already.

“Yoi look at what he gave me this time,” you giggled, dangling a badly drawn George Washington keychain in your hands.

Yoimiya stared at the keyring, dumbfounded. “That… how did he even find that? No, where did he even find that?”

You laughed. “He has his ways.”

Fire. Screams.

The sound of the late bell echoed through halls. You found yourself running around different classrooms, searching for Scaramouche.

“Where did Scara go?” you muttered angrily.

“Oh Scaramouche? He left early today,” your seatmate, Lumine, said.

“Already? He hasn’t given me my lunchbox yet…”

…

Where did your title as a hero come from?

“Hurry this way!” your voice hushed, urgency laced within.

Another explosion rocked the entire building, and you stumbled, just barely catching yourself. Your felt the grip on your hand slackened. Fear took a hold of your heart when your hand closed around nothing but the ashy air.

Immediately you turned back, adrenaline coursing through you as you search amongst the rubble and corpses. A faint glint of a jewelry caught your eyes. Nearly tripping over yourself, you scrambled over, taking a hold of the little girls hand once again before running for the exit. You didn’t dare look back, for you knew what awaits you. The walls collapsing one after another as the roaring flames blazes through.

A fiery death.

Shredded newspaper littered your room. Remnants of articles lay in the corner of your room in a pile of ash. Angry slashes marked the walls. Clothes a-strewn, curtain torn apart— the window shattered and boarded up. Noises of a news report filled the silence of your room, its voices blurring into static.

It mimicked your feelings.

A torrent of unquelled fury, one that screamed, raged.

A terrorist attack.

That was what the media called it. It was still unsure who was behind this attack despite the many claims as to who had done it. Proofs in form of photographs or surveillance videos of said suspect were all either too blurry to fully depict or it was just really badly edited.

During the attack, you had stayed behind while the bombs shook the building and the fire raged. And you ran, covered in ash and debris, carrying a unconscious girl in all the while leading a group of survivors— all the way until the promise of a safe haven was in sight.

Perhaps that rescue was what gave you the title as a hero, although for you— you didn’t deserve all that fame and glory.

In fact you hated it.

It was the media’s fault.

They had painted you as a hero, yet they had washed Scaramouche as the one that was behind the attacks. It was because of them that the public now flamed him as a villain.

They had painted an innocent bystander in red all because they needed a scapegoat, someone to shift the blame to because the police couldn’t do their damn job properly.

Had you known this would’ve been the outcome, you would’ve never cared for the lives still ghosting the halls.

Had you known, you would’ve just let them burn.

“Eye witnesses claimed that it was this… boy, who had done such atrocious acts. Any word on it, Ma—”

Click.

“It was terrifying… the look in his eyes. It.. was murderous, like he wanted everyone to burn. If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve have been able to escape…” her voice broke off into a sob. You switched the channel again.

“WANTED ALIVE—”

You threw the remote control at the television in a fit of rage, the screen immediately going blank. You didn’t care. It only adds on to your canvas of unfolding bitterness.

Your phone rang again. A string of calls and messages you chose to ignore. It’d been days since you’ve stepped out from your house, let alone answer any of the calls and messages.

A loud abrupt knock to your door jolt you out from your trance. You draped a light blanket over yourself and went to answer the door.

There standing in all his former and glory, was none other than Scaramouche himself.

Your breath hitched and the blanket slipped.

“Hey idiot,” he smiled, something he claimed to reserve only for you. “Mind letting me in?”

…

You pushed the piles of dirty dishes from the counter into the sink, not caring whether it breaks or not. The once quiet house was filled with the noises of dishes clanking against each other and Scaramouche— who was rummaging through the pile of buildup items.

“Quite the mess you’ve got,” he muses, holding up a piece of a broken mug.

“Where the hell have you been? I was worried sick,” you said, filling up a tea kettle with water.

“Hiding,” he simply replied.

“You didn’t attack the school, so why would you take the blame for it?” you slammed the kettle down onto the stovetop.

Scaramouche shrugged and plopped down on your couch.

“Now everyone is after you,” you continued, turning to face him. “And they even expect me to find you and bring you to the police.”

“They can’t find me, they won’t be able to,” Scaramouche said. “I’d say I’ve been hiding pretty well for these past few days.”

“And you didn’t even tell me? I was worried sick—” your voice broke off, hot tears welling up in the corner of your eyes.

Scaramouche could only sigh as he got off the couch. He came up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, his body leaning against yours. “I’m sorry,” he said, resting his chin on your head.

A tear slipped.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled.

You broke, pushing your full weight against Scaramouche as sobs racked through your body. He brought a hand up to your head, gently tussling through your hair— the only source of comfort he could bring for now.

Why me?

Why him?

“I hate you,” you said, your fists weakly hitting his chest. “I hate you so much…”

He swiped a tear away. It was futile. The storm had already begun. “Hey…”

You sniffed, wiping the tears off your face.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

You looked up, his purple eyes meeting yours. His thumb brushed against your lips, his face impossibly close to you. You could see every angle of his face, all the flawless imperfections he tries to hide. A light shade of pink dusted his cheeks.

“May I?”

All it took was a small nod from you for him to capture your lips in a kiss. A slow passionate kiss. Time slowed down. You felt the blood rush up to your head, your heart pounding against your chest.

His lips was soft, you noted, and slightly tasted like chocolate— could it be from the chapstick you gifted him before? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. It was only you and him and that was enough. You closed your eyes and deepened the kiss, lacing your arms around his neck.

It was electrifying— your back arching against the counter and him pressed on top of you.

It felt so wrong yet so right at the same time.

He was the first to break the kiss. You already missed the taste of his lips against yours.

“It’ll be okay, I’ll be back. I promise,” he murmured.

In the kitchen, just two to-be graduates, confessing their unspoken feelings not through words, but with their action. Feelings that amassed over the years, finally spilled.

“You promise?”

It was on that faithful night that your relationship with him blossomed into something more intimate.

“I promise.”

It was also on that faithful night that he left.

He’d disappeared, no words— he left nothing.

Not a single trace.

You had foreseen this coming, yet you didn’t realize how much it hurts to have him gone. More often than not, you found yourself unconsciously making an extra bento box for him. More often than not, will you take out everything he had ever given you and stare at it for the hours to come.

The painful pang in your heart was a constant reminder that he’s gone.

He’s gone.

Perhaps his disappearance was what encouraged you to major in criminology and criminal justice after you graduated. It was your fuel of both determination and delusions.

Years passed by in a flash, and before you could even process everything that had happened, you found yourself with a position as a detective in Tenryo Detective Firm.

Yet even after all those years, you haven’t seen or heard from Scaramouche. The last time the two of you had ever interacted was when nearly four years ago, when he had promised you that he’ll be back. And even despite the fact that you’ve been waiting for his presence for year on end, your feelings for him never wavered. You still firmly held onto the promise he had made you, after all Scaramouche is a man that never goes back on his words.

Even if you had to keep waiting. But that’s okay— you’re patient.

“Hey hero, got anything?” Heizou asked, poking his head into your office.

You groaned— both at the stupid nickname and the frustration building up. “Heizou stop with that ugly name, and no, haven’t gotten anything yet. I swear, I’m going to bash my head into the wall.”

“Ahah, I don’t think Sara would like that our hero tries to kill herself. Besides, I’ve got good news. You just got a small tip about the case you’re working on.”

You immediately sat upright in your chair. “What?! When? How come I was just informed of this?”

“The tip just came in, come on, Sara’s telling you to check it out it,” Heizou said, disappearing as he turned away.

You got up from your chair and flung your jacket over your shoulder. “Hold on wait for me! Heizou!”

Hero.

That nickname always brought up unpleasant memories.

Hero.

Solving cases, catching criminals, helping people. It’s what you’ve been doing ever since you graduated, long before the Tenryo Detective Firm took you in.

Could you even be considered a hero?

Gaining a position in this type of job was what allowed you to figure who the real arsonist was behind that attack. But even after the truth had come to light, it was by far, still too late. The damage had already been done, the paint cannot be washed away.

A light breeze from your office window blew at your orderly pile of documents, a couple pages fluttering to the side just as the door closed behind you with a loud slam, your voice screaming for Heizou quickly fading away.

It was silent in your office.

Two sparrows flew to perch on your windowsill, their loud chirps indefinitely breaking the silence. They weren’t staying for long before they flew off— perhaps something had spooked them.

A figure emerged out from the shadows. They scanned their surroundings around for any onlookers, and when they’d made sure that was nobody, they slowly approached your window. With quick and precise movements, they unlatched the window screen lock and slipped in unnoticed.

“I’m in, what now?”

“Get all the documents regarding him.”

“On it.”

They moved with ease, gliding around as they searched through shelves, drawers, anywhere for the required documents. A locked drawer in the corner of your office caught their eyes, and it wasn’t long before the lock was popped off— revealing the stack of documents you’d classified as “IMPORTANT.”

A quick sift through the papers confirmed his needs. “Think I may have found it.”

“Good, did you gather information regarding her too?”

“Hold on, let me check… yeah I think I’ve got that too.”

“Okay, now get out of there. She’s coming back.”

“One moment…”

They carefully stored the documents into their bag and began fiddling with the lock before latching it back onto the drawer. To avoid arousing any suspicion, they had also arranged the room to the way it was exactly how it was before. Books were pushed back into the shelves, the documents on your desk were neatly stacked, thick folders filled with random case documents were inserted back into their original drawers.

Your voice traveling down alerted them. Giving the office one last look, they opened the window and hastily jumped out.

A tiny pin with their insignia fell onto the floor with a quiet clink.

The window dropped shut just as you pushed open the door with Heizou trailing right behind you.

“What kind of tip was that?” you exclaimed. “That was a utter waste of time.”

Heizou shook his head and sighed. “Twisted sense of humor, hate them.”

You plopped down on your chair and spun around. “Riddle this, riddle that. Now I have to stay up to decipher that stupid code. If it’s some dumb message like, ‘I like ice-cream,’ I’m gonna strangle someone.”

“I’ll just leave it on your desk,” Heizou hummed. “I have another case I need to catch. Heard they’ve got a new lead.”

“Finally a new lead for you,” you rolled your eyes. “It’s been weeks.”

“I better come back with a closed case.”

“Come back?” you echoed. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, they found the new lead in the city of Watasumi, so they’re asking me to travel there to further investigate it,” he replied. “I’m going to pack my bags, see you next week!”

“Have fun! Don’t die.”

“I’ll try not to,” Heizou grinned. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

You reached for the small slip of paper Heizou had left on the corner of your desk. Scribbled on it was a string of random code. By no means was this discovery unfamiliar to you. Throughout your career, you’ve dealt with far too many undeciphered codes. And you’ve managed to break through it each time.

This looks easy.

You turned on your monitor and set to work immediately.

When the sun had dipped far below the horizon, when the glow of the moonlight shone into your office— you were still clacking away on your computer, muttering nonsense to yourself as you racked your brain trying to break the code.

The clocked ticked on.

“If delta means this… then hexa should be this… oh shit that’s what it means? Wouldn’t that also change the way hexa is translated? Oh my god… do I really need that again?… fuck I do.”

Groaning loudly, you pushed your chair over to where your locked cabinet is. Your keys clinked against each other as you pushed a small silver key into the lock hole— where all your important files were supposed to be stored.

All the files regarding the disappearance of Scaramouche— and all the documents you’ve written about the various code you’ve solved.

Gone.

Where the fuck did it go?

You stood up, panic prickling at you.

“I didn’t misplaced it right?” you muttered to yourself.

So you searched. Every shelf, every corner, every nook and cranny. You took out folders packed full of other documents and sorted through each one individually, yet even after all the endeavor put into it, you just couldn’t find it.

Dawn was quickly approaching.

You sat back down on your chair— sinking into the plush and took in slow deep breaths in an effort to calm your erratic heartbeat.

Maybe a co-worker took it. But they couldn’t had the keys to it…

You blanked out, lost in your thoughts. A sudden minor detail caught your eyes. You frowned.

When did I close the window?

You got up from your chair, only then a sudden flash of red on your monitor screen recaptured your attention. You sat back down and turned to face the screen, but it seemingly returned back to normal… no, something was wrong.

Your contents had changed, for a canvas of white had replaced the endless amount of tabs you’d opened beforehand. Slowly, words began to format, each letter slowly appearing.

The first rays of the morning sun peeked through your window, consuming the shadows of your office. It was quiet, the only source of sound being your quickened breathing.

Your stomach dropped. You stared at the screen, the cold grasp of fear slowly worming its way into your heart.

It’s over, the eyes watches— it knows.

The clock stopped ticking. The slip of paper on your desk, long forgotten.

series m.list || next

synopsis— [✩]

— you, the hero, disappears overnight, and the only person who looks is the villain. Not your friends, not your family, not the news reporter or any of the people who claimed to love you. Just him, Scaramouche, the very same person who claimed to hate you.

notes— [✩]

— this chapter was meant to be a quick run through from the beginning of you and Scara’s relationship to the “end.” hopefully this hero x villain dynamic makes sense lol 🙏 (the ending kinda sucked ngl)

taglist— [✩`·CLOSED]

@akairaindrops @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @elernity @shayewrites @angel-suicides @magica-ren @kyouzki @nana-bri @avxntxrine @bleedingwhiteroses222 @rainingduringsummer @darthvada @dan9a-00 @omgblade-starrail @kichiyoshi @inufinuf @vvyeislazzy

[acaaai-t]

resurface, my love

02. panic

[fem! reader x villain! scaramouche]

cw: mild angst, sprinkle of fluff, minor character death, cursing

“I thought I said that I wanted her in one piece.”

“Ah sir… she is in one piece…” the voice of the underling trembled.

“Untouched.”

“Please sir, you have to ask the Lieutenant about it. He was the one that delivered the final blow…”

“…Get the Lieutenant. I need to have a word with him.”

“Right away sir,” he dipped his head and quickly exited the room.

He brought his attention back to you. Your still unconscious body lay on a cool metal table, covered by a thin veil of a dress. He stared at the bandages wrapped around your wounded torso. A smile tugged at his lips.

“I’ve finally got you,” he whispered, trailing a slender finger down your thigh.

You shivered.

…

Scaramouche was bored out of his mind.

Being pulled into a sudden meeting in the middle of his break was not something he wish to be dwelling in. He’d rather be out there training— hell, he’d rather be attempting to converse with people than be stuck in the cold and empty chamber they called the conference room. Having all 12 of the Harbingers in the same room was dangerous, he quietly hummed to himself. Someone always ends up in the infirmary.

His eyes wandered up to the crystal chandelier, thousands of tiny precious gems sparkled with even the tiniest bit of movement. It was the only thing that made this place look alive— habitable, even. Everything else was in a cold and mundane black-gray. Even the windows had a dull spark to it despite the sunlight filtering through the thick glass.

“I apologize for this sudden meeting, but it is urgent,” the booming voice of the first Harbinger echoed throughout the empty chamber. Every head was raised to face the speaker. “I’ve just received terrible news that the Fair Lady… she has unfortunately lost her life during her travel to the foreign country of Inazuma.”

Columbina gasped, the tiny angel wings floating around her head fluttered in distress. “Rosalyne is dead?!”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes. He could care less for the death of his co-worker. The type of job they were taking on was incredibly precarious, everyone was aware of that. The cold grasp of death could be just a simple step away if they weren’t careful enough.

Sandrone giggled silently to herself. Her animatronic creaked. “How risible..”

“We warned her not to go on that mission,” a young man with hair of striking deep orange spoke up. He comfortably propped himself up against one of the many pillars for support. “She was too stubborn.”

“Childe…” the women to his left hissed. Her short silvery hair hinted with accents of black was swipe to the side, perfectly framing her sharp features. The red x’s in her eyes flashed dangerously.

“Sorry,” the ginger shrugged. “I’m just saying. Signora should have been more careful.”

“Show some respect for the dead, wouldn’t you? Rosalyne died in a foreign land.”

“I know— I am showing respect, I was just pointing out facts.”

“You—”

“Arclecchino, Tartaglia. Cease fire, please,” the first Harbinger sighed.

“Sorry Pierro…” the two muttered.

Scaramouche snickered.

“Everyone, please. Take a seat,” Pierro gestured to the large throne-like chairs wrapping the rectangular table in a circle.

Once everyone had taken their respective seats, he cleared his throat. “The Fair Lady’s funeral will take place in exactly a month from now,” he began. “We will have…”

Scaramouche zoned out, drowning out the voice of his boss as he stared off into the distance.

“… now The Doctor can handle the process of… where’s The Doctor?” Pierro frowned, eyes flickering over to the only vacant seat.

“The Doctor is busy gathering medicinal supplies out in the garden, he’s given a message that he’ll be late,” Sandrone said. Her voice was small, yet it held an ominous feeling to it. The automaton she sat on sounds like it’s in desperate need of oil.

The Regrator chuckled, the thin frame of his silver glasses glinted. “Always busy with something. I can pass on the message to him later. I have a meeting with him anyways.”

Pierro nodded. “Thank you Pantalone. Now as for the rest of you, I expect all of you to attend Rosalyne’s funeral.”

Scaramouche felt multiple lingering stares on him. He huffed in annoyance. “I’m aware.”

“Good,” Pierro looked around the table one last time, his eye flickering over to each face. “Any questions?”

A collective response of ‘no’ resounded throughout the chamber.

Pierro adjusted his eyepatch before giving his final statement. “Council adjourned.”

…

Everything was dark. Dark and cold.

You didn’t know where you were. You couldn’t talk, nor could you move.

It was quiet, the only source of noise was your steady rhythm of your heartbeat. And if you strain hard enough, you could hear bubbles faintly popping in the background.

“How is she doing?”

A distorted voice. You perked up.

“Her vitals are steady, her stab wound is slowly healing too.”

Stab wound? ...Oh right.

You vaguely remember being stabbed before awaking in this empty space. The wound was still painfully throbbing. Questions race through your mind. Why were you stabbed? What had happened beforehand? Where were you?

Why can’t you remember anything?

“Good, good. Keep watching her until she gains consciousness. Make sure to immediately call for me if she wakes up.”

“Yes sir.”

‘But I am awake.’ you wanted to scream.

But just no matter how hard you try, there’s no sound that comes out. Not even a single peep. You were alone in this tiny shell of an empty space.

…

Scaramouche shuffled through his paperwork, trying to sort each into different categories. Even though his meeting with the Harbingers had been long over, he still wasn't free from the work he was bound to. "Meeting to discuss the next factory expansion... that can wait," he mumbled, placing the parchment onto the growing pile he deemed 'unimportant'.

A knock on his door drew his attention away. "Come in," he said, placing another contract onto the 'unimportant' pile all without sparing it a single glance.

The large wooden door creaked open— Scaramouche really needs to get someone to oil the hinges, it was going to drive him insane long before his work does. He didn't bother to look up to greet the guest, his pens scribbling down his signature wherever it says ‘sign here’. "State your name and business," he grumbled.

"Ah, Scaramouche, is this how you greet old friends?" a light chuckle followed his words.

His pen stopped writing midway as he looked up to face his guest. A rare smile appeared. "I was wondering when you'll be back, wandering samurai."

The samurai returned the smile. His white hair, still streaked with that familiar shade of red, was mussed up— perhaps it was from the wind. Scaramouche could've sworn he saw a stray leaf tangled up in his hair. The small white cat tucked in between his black haori jacket swatted at his low ponytail. "It has been awhile," he replied. "Ow Tomo, don't do that."

“Take a seat, Kaedehara.”

“I thought we would’ve dropped the formalities by now. Please, call me Kazuha,” the young man said as he pulled up a seat by Scaramouche’s desk.

Scaramouche folded his hands together and leaned forward. “Well Kazuha, what is it you have to tell me?”

The atmosphere thickened.

…

A jolt.

You opened your eyes, startled.

It was still dark. Trapped in an empty space of nothingness was eventually going to drive you insane.

“Hello?! Anyone there?!” you called out, streams of bubbles trailing upwards with every words you speak. You were trapped underwater, that you could confirm.

You received no answer. Was that jolt you felt just a figment of your imagination? You don’t know how long you’ve been stuck in here. Have you already gone insane?

…

“What?”

“It happened just two nights before, when I was taking a nice stroll with Tomo here, in the evening.”

Pen down, papers casted aside. Scaramouche stared into the crimson of Kazuha’s eyes. “And you didn’t do anything to stop it?”

“I couldn’t. By the time I saw it happen, your beloved had already been transported away.”

Scaramouche visibly cringed at the nickname Kazuha used for you, but he didn’t say anything. “Do you know where— no, who took her?”

A shake of his head. “Unfortunately not. I can however, provide you with the information of her last whereabouts.”

“Write it down,” Scaramouche said, handing a blank sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen to him. “Everything you can remember.”

Anxiety crashed upon him. Never in his life has he ever felt this kind of fear. His finger tapped against the wooden table, a repetitive noise filling up the silence of the room as Kazuha writes.

“Here,” Kazuha said, handing the paper back to Scaramouche. He snatched it away, nearly tearing the paper in half.

“You know…” Kazuha continued. “I could always get my team to investigate… her disappearance.”

“You’re sounding like you were the one that took her.”

Kazuha laughed. “You’ll kill me. Besides, my team is good at these kind of things.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just come to you if I need the extra help,” Scaramouche got up from his seat. “I’ll go talk to my boss and request a break.”

“What if he doesn’t approve?”

His grip on the door handle tightened, then relaxed. “He can’t tell me what to do. I’ll still leave even if he says no.”

“Then what’s the point of asking…?”

“So he doesn’t come for my ass.”

…

They were back. You could hear them. Their barely coherent mumbling traveling through the thin space your floating in.

“… files regarding her?” it was that voice again, the one that had asked how you were doing.

“It should be in that cabinet to the left, third drawer,” a new voice.

“Go get it.”

“Yes sir.”

“Oh look, she’s conscious.” he sounded amused.

You hated that condescending tone laced so deeply within his voice.

“Should we open—”

“No no, I would like to study her more.”

Study?! You clenched your fists, anger surging through your veins. You were no animal to be poked and prodded at, not a strange creature need to be studied and experimented on.

“Sir her pressure is spiking, should I be concerned?”

You were you. Just a commoner working as a detective in the Tenryo Commission solving minor crimes. Could one of the cases you’ve broken through provoked the Fatui?

…

The Fatui.

That must’ve awaken something inside you, for suddenly you didn’t care about escaping this place as much anymore.

You had shifted your priorities over to The Fatui, trying to dig up as much information as you have on it. You hazily remembered researching about this strange organization before, but you had put it all aside when your boss had presented you with a new case.

Though you may have lost your memories on the events that unfolded beforehand, it didn’t seem to block away the information you’ve gathered years ago. Closing your eyes, you allowed your consciousness to open up the path of memories regarding the Fatui.

“Never mind… it went back down to normal.”

“Note that down. Note every change down.”

‘There are 11 Harbingers, each one controlling a part of the organization. They all rely off of given codenames, their real names remains a mystery. If my memory serves, the ringleader should be going by the codename of The Jester…”

“A break? For what?” Pierro asked, his brows furrowing. He set his feathered quill back into the tiny ink bottle.

“What do you mean why? I want a break because I want to rest,” Scaramouche retorted.

Pierro sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dealing with The Balladeer gives him constant headaches, headaches that lingers for the rest of his day. “Fine. How long?”

“A month.”

“2 weeks. You still have plenty of unfinished duties.”

“A month and two weeks.”

“… a month.”

Scaramouche grinned. “Thanks Pierro.”

“Yes yes, whatever. Get out of my office,” he hadn’t even finish his sentence before Scaramouche was gone, leaving his office door swinging. “Could’ve atleast closed the door…”

‘The second of the Harbingers, The Doctor. Infamously know for the rumors circulating on about his experiments on humans. Not much information was found about this strange individual, classified him as dangerous.’

“Well, if it isn’t the Balladeer.”

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes. “What do you want, Dottore,” he spat out. This was the last person he wanted to see.

“Nothing, just heard that you’ve requested for a month long break. Quite unusual, no?” Dottore smiled, his rows of sharp teeth glinting.

Scaramouche laughed dryly. He really wanted to punch this man in the face. “The decisions I make in my life has nothing to do with YOU.”

Dottore clicked his teeth. “Ever the sharp tongue.”

Scaramouche muttered an angry fuck off and pushed him away, making sure to send a hateful glare at the Doctor before he rounded the corner.

Dottore stood there, looking amused.

‘The third, fourth and fifth. Damselette and The Rooster. Whereas official reports had spoken of the fifth as a kind and caring man, the third however, was the opposite. Little is known about her, records have it that while she seemed like the weaker type, it is better to not underestimate her ability. I have placed her into the dangerous category. The fourth still remains unknown. I have searched everywhere I can, there is little to no information regarding the fourth.’

“Oh shit—”

“Ah!—” Columbina stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over her cloak when Scaramouche quite literally ran into her.

“Scaramouche, please. I’ve told you so many times to be careful,” Pulcinella scolded, his mustache quivering.

“Sorry…” he hastily mumbled. “Are you okay?”

Columbina nodded, readjusting her mask. “I’m fine.”

“Good, bye.”

“Scaramouche wait,” Pulcinella called out. He held out a cloth covered basket. “If you see Arclecchino, please give this to her.”

Scaramouche took the basket from him and disappeared. He could care less if a bomb was ticking away in there.

‘The sixth harbinger goes by the codename The Balladeer. He is widely known inside the Fatui for his terrible mannerisms and snappy attitude. While it was rumored that he was a puppet and not human, that claim has long been proven to be false. This man reminds me of him, I do not know why. I could not find any more information regarding this member.’

“Fucking dammit,” Scaramouche huffed angrily to himself. “Why get me to do his shit? Couldn’t that old man just gotten someone else to do it? Wasting my fucking time…”

‘The seventh is a strange one. Marionette, or as most popularly known as, The Puppet, was a peculiar women. Research had surfaced that Marionette herself is one of the brilliant inventors that holds a fair share of power in the technological world. Her most famous works is the remodeling of ruin guards, designed to destroy and kill— popularly used during wartimes. Many military officials and even the government look up to her works. A small figure, a large power holder.’

Scaramouche felt the ground just slightly tremble. He groaned. The ground shaking in the base of operation could only mean one thing— one of Sandrone’s stupid robots was stomping his way.

Sandrone sat on the palm of the outstretched robotic hand, her gaze was cold as she stared down at Scaramouche.

“What?” Scaramouche sneered, already fed up with her presence.

She didn’t reply. With a quick flick of her wrist, the robot began moving once more, creaking with each step as it trotted down the hall. Now Scaramouche was confused and even more pissed.

‘Eighth, ninth, and tenth. The Eighth, named the Fair Lady�� was a powerful figure. The last she was seen was when she ventured into the empire of Inazuma, perhaps to negotiate with the Shogunate. There has been no traces of her ever since. The Regrator holds the ninth position and the Northland Bank. He was the one who controlled the flow of money between the Fatui. A calm and serious man who just seemed to be interested in the political state of the city— although there might be something more to it.

In stark contrast to the stoic man, the tenth Harbinger was an enthusiastic being. I have met him while researching a case on a missing girl. He seemed to be the least hostile out of all the Harbingers presented. Though he seemed to pose a problem for bloodlust, always eager to shed blood.’

“Hey ‘moochie,” Tartaglia called out, waving Scaramouche over.

Scaramouche paid the ginger no mind, instead choosing to remain silent as he passed by.

“Not even a hello? You’re too mean, Scaramouche.”

“Now there, Childe. Let’s not provoke him. Lest you want to end up with a black eye again,” Pantalone said.

“I’ll take any fight I can get,” Childe grinned. “Come on, ‘moochie.”

That infuriating nickname was really getting to him. Scaramouche’s grip on the basket tightened. “Tartaglia, why don’t you kindly shut the fuck up?”

Pantalone sighed, slightly shaking his head. “Childe…”

Childe’s grin only grew bigger. His left hand twitched just slightly, yet Scaramouche caught on to it. He saw it as a sign that he was itching for a fight, a habit he’s seen Childe do whenever something seems to aggravate him.

“Ah, your words hurt me, comrade,” Childe laughed humorlessly. “Let’s spar whenever you have time. Anyways Pantalone what were you saying?”

“I’m cutting off your funds for the time being…”

“What?!”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes and quickly walked away, the exasperated voice of Childe echoing in the background.

“Child you spend nearly 1 and a half million Mora on a bowl…”

“… that’s… gift…”

‘The last Harbinger, The Knave. Her position in the Fatui still remains unknown, but while it was rumored that she was a low ranking, it is still best to not belittle her. I had the unfortunate experience running into one of her many spiders planted within the barricaded city of Snezhnaya. From that I could only conclude The Knave controls the communications between the winter wasteland and the world around them. The spiders— spies, are her eyes and ears.’

“For me?” Arclecchino said, arching a brow.

“Yeah, the old man said it was for you.”

Arclecchino carefully took the basket from Scaramouche. She flipped open the cloth and took a peek inside. “Oh,” she huffed, lowering the basket to the side. “It’s snacks he made for the orphanage.”

“That’s nice. I’m gonna go now,” Scaramouche was quick to cut the conversation short. He really didn’t want to see another one of his coworkers again, let alone anyone else.

Kazuha was still waiting patiently back in his office, playing with his cat. He looked up, momentarily distracted when Scaramouche banged open the door.

He opened his mouth to greet Scaramouche, but was quickly cut off. “Get your things, we’re leaving,” Scaramouche said curtly.

“Rush not, my friend,” Kazuha hummed. “The sun is still high.”

“Fuck that, get your cat.”

“Tomo, come here,” Kazuha scooped his cat up into his embrace and tucked him back inside his haori. “Say, where’s our destination?”

A pair of keys clinked against a black moon keychain as Scaramouche twirled it around his finger. “To her house.”

The sunlight disappeared, covered by the rolling gray clouds. Suddenly the room felt cold.

…

‘There’s no way I could’ve done something to wrong the Tenth with his relaxed personality. And I’m sure I haven’t committed any crimes against the Jester for him to take such an audacious approach. As for the rest…

… no, that wouldn’t make sense. I’ve never seen, let alone interacted— with any of them. The only possibility is that one of the cases I’ve solved must’ve disrupted them. Now the question remains. Which one?’

Your thoughts were interrupted when a knock resounded through your space. You immediately picked it up as metal, a thin one. You were trapped in a metal container filled with water? What the fuck?

“Still alive in there?”

Footsteps pattered towards the unknown speaker.

“Course she’ll be alive. My inventions are second to none.”

“After many trial and error, that is.”

Trial and error?

It was getting more and more confusing by the second.

“Yes yes, have uh— oh you’re here. Come, I need you to watch over her for the next couple hours. And you, come with me.”

“Next couple hours?! Can’t you just like, put her to sleep or something? I’m sure your brilliant technologies can do that.”

“Turn on the anesthesia then. You’ll still have to watch over her either ways.”

‘Wait no.’

You could only panic, unable to move as you felt the effects kick in. Your eyes drooped heavily, your breathing gradually slowing down.

You knew it in your heart that there was no use fighting it. It was a losing battle either ways.

…

“What the fuck?…” Scaramouche said, pushing open the door to your house.

It was pitch-black. All the curtains and shades were tightly drawn closed. The moment Scaramouche stepped into your abode, he felt something amiss. Something felt very wrong.

His eyes darted around, scanning the environment. He flicked open the light switch, and your house brightened to life almost immediately.

“You know, it’s quite concerning about that fact that you have keys to her house,” Kazuha spoke up, stepping up right behind Scaramouche.

“Not concerning. She gave me the permission to do so,” Scaramouche went into your kitchen. Kazuha followed suit.

“Years ago, that is.”

Scaramouche ignored him.

Everything looked tidy. Dishes were neatly stacked, pots and pans hang next to each other, and your fridge— oh god your fridge. Perhaps that was the only thing standing out the most.

Covered in various magnets and crumpled up sticky notes, it made quite a sight. Scaramouche took a closer look at your notes.

‘Buy eggs!!’

‘Age 32, 168cm tall female gone missing, ask Sara about it.’

Ripped up newspaper clippings were held up by the magnets, each one with different bolded headline labeling it. It was all the news about the crimes you’ve solved, mysteries you’ve cracked— all your accomplishments accumulated in this one tiny place. He smiled softly to himself, old conversations pooling up.

“I’m going to be a detective when I grow older,” you announced, beaming happily.

“No way,” he retorted.

You crossed your arms and puffed out your cheeks. “Yes way. Just watch.”

“Uh-huh… last time you said you wanted to be a firefighter, and now you’re changing it again.”

“I’m being serous this time!”

“That’s what you also said last time.”

He took one of the newspaper clipping and tucked it into his pockets and left the kitchen, heading upstairs for your bedroom. The stairs creaked loudly with every step he took. Meanwhile Kazuha continued to look through your belongings downstairs.

“Holy shit,” was all he could muster out.

The sight that greeted him when he opened the door left him speechless— speechless and scared. Eyes wide, hands shaking… he was scared. Scared to even see the mess of what was left.

It was the only room in the house that was absolutely trashed. Your desk was overturn, chair firmly wedged between your bookshelves. Files, books, papers— scattered. Even your clothes weren’t left unharmed, tossed carelessly to the side. Traces of blood on the fluffy white rug left his heart thumping. The only thing left intact was the acrylic shelves tucked against the corner of your closet.

His orderly composure wavered at the sight of it.

After all those years, you’ve been secretly safely storing away every one of the little gifts he gave you. All those times, he had thought you thrown them away.

Scaramouche pulled out the shelf, years of nostalgia finally catching up to him. He remembered the first keychain he had ever gifted you was a matching one. You were the sun, and he was the moon.

“It’s a matching one!” Yoimiya exclaimed. “That’s so cute! He definitely loves you.”

“Yoi stop. You and I match all the time too, doesn’t mean we’re lovers,” you rolled your eyes, placing the empty lunchbox and the keychain into your bag.

“Uh-huh, keep lying to yourself.”

Scaramouche stood outside your classroom door, one hand over his face. A deep blush dusted his face red. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation, he just so happened to be here earlier than usual to pick you up.

“Hey lover boy,” Kazuha smirked.

“Shut the fuck up.”

He wondered if you kept the sun with you too.

Along with the keychains were also the note he had often left you with after returning the lunch box. There was also Polaroids of him, all in embarrassing situations taken by you.

“Throw that away.”

“No, I’ve used a film on it. Not going to waste,” you said, tucking the photo away. “Besides, it’s a good picture.”

“Me tripping is not funny,” he grumbled, dusting off the dirt clinging to his pants. “How is that even a good picture?”

You snickered. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Moments caught when he tripped on air, memories frozen in time when the two of you hung out together— to eat, to have fun, or to stargaze. It was years worth of memories, all preserved by you. He really couldn’t believe the fact that you’ve kept everything.

Kazuha silently appeared by the doorframe. There was a mournful look in his eyes as he watched Scaramouche look through everything. Even his cat was silent, his amber eyes peeked around curiously.

Scaramouche took a deep breath. He placed the shelf back to its original position and stood up. There was no time for him to be moping around all sad and lonely.

“Help me look,” he said.

Tomo jumped out from Kazuha’s jacket and clambered on to your bed, where he proceeded to loaf up and stare at the two.

Kazuha began with organizing your clothes, carefully hanging everything back into the closet, even if it was shredded into strings of rag.

Scaramouche looked through the mess of the papers on the floor. Files and documents you’ve kept on cases that’s either still ongoing or has long been solved. He looked through every file individually, scanning through the messy documents sorted within.

He had never been this deliberated with anything before— other that that one time when Pierro had threatened him if he hadn’t finished his work within a week. Scaramouche swears he’ll never let that happen again. Useless folders were stacked to the side, things that may be of help was placed into a different stack.

One particular document caught his attention, a document buried under everything else. He picked it up.

It was stained with a big blotch of what looks to be a coffee— or tea, spill. The words you’ve penned was blurred into a blob of ink where the liquid had dried. Despite that, he could still just barely make out some of the writings.

His heart dropped.

…

You didn’t know how long you were asleep for, but everything had gone silent. No voices talking, no humming of the machines. Groggily, you opened your eyes, only to immediately squeeze them shut when the unnecessarily bright light blinded you.

‘Light?’

“You’re finally awake.”

You jumped at the sound of his voice. Footsteps echoed throughout the room as you listen to him closing the distance. He stopped just short of where you were.

“Guess the numbness still hasn’t fade away just yet,” he laughed.

‘What do you want,’ you wanted to ask, but found yourself still with the inability to speak. Paralyzed, you realized. You could not move a single muscle. This man must’ve done something to fry your nerves, rendering you useless.

“Now now, I don’t have enough time to waste. I am a busy man, you know?” he spoke, snapping on a pair of gloves. “So it’ll be very nice if you could cooperate with me.”

He pushed something towards your way. Horror-stricken, you came to the realization of what he was going to do to you. Your breathing quickened.

‘No, oh god no.’

“Not like you do could anything either way,” he cackled, delighted by your terrified expression. “I’ve waited so long to get my hands on you, now that you’re finally here… I can’t wait to confirm my suspicions.”

You would rather be trapped in whatever you were in before for the years to come. Anything. You would do anything to get out of this situation.

A shadow came forward, blocking the light. You felt a tear rolling down your cheek.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

previous || series m.list || next

synopsis— [✩]

— you, the hero, disappears overnight, and the only person who looks is the villain. Not your friends, not your family, not the news reporter or any of the people who claimed to love you. Just him, Scaramouche, the very same person who claimed to hate you.

notes— [✩]

— had to finish all my regents omg this took forever, I’m so sorry for the late update 😭 sorry if there’s any errors lol

taglist— [✩`·CLOSED]

@akairaindrops @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @elernity @shayewrites @angel-suicides @magica-ren @kyouzki @nana-bri @avxntxrine @bleedingwhiteroses222 @rainingduringsummer @darthvada @dan9a-00 @omgblade-starrail @kichiyoshi @inufinuf @vvyeislazzy @alatusorrow @franaby @mellowberrie @sketcheeee @etherisy @crmnic @arizzu @vrisso @id3ru @mochicurls21 @kairuthewriter @suqarlaced @saetorii @anura100000 @divinechicha @starlightaura @karablueyt @supercoolusernameomg @uhh-traashyy @kazuuhhaaaa @lumpywolf @chaosinanutshell @ariilovesmoney @hamsuigok @pooonyo @sweetsthetik @i-luvyuu @kunikissr

[acaaai-t]

resurface, my love

01. whispers of the wind

[fem! reader x villain! scaramouche]

cw: violence, blood, kidnapping, usage of guns, mentions of illegal drug trades, lots of cursing, bits of fluff and angst

Scaramouche was pissed.

It was evident with the grip he had on the newspaper.

His subordinates stood in the corner of the room, heads downcast. No words were spoken, for none wishes to be the one suffering under the wrath of the Balladeer.

On the small HD television hanging above his desk, a news broadcast began to play. Scaramouche brought his eyes up to watch it, his interest piqued.

"Our ever reliable detective has once again solve another puzzling crime! This breakthrough of the undergoing illegal drug trade has finally been stopped. So how did you do it, young detective?"

The camera panned to your face. He narrowed his eyes.

"Well, someone gave an anonymous tip about the whereabouts of the drug trade. All I did was crack the code and—" he switched the television off.

The silence was deafening.

Scaramouche slammed the newspaper to the side, the sound resonating around the too-empty room.

"How the fuck did you guys mess up this badly?" he growled. "I gave specific instructions and none of you were able to follow it?" His voice had an dangerous edge to it.

The room was still.

"You," he snarled, pointing at the male agent trembling in the corner. "Tell me everything that happened."

…

"You look worn out, are you alright?" your boss, Kujou Sara, asked.

You waved your hand. "I'm fine, it's just being surrounded by cameras all day drained me."

Sara laughed and patted your back. "I wouldn't be surprise. This case has been ongoing for years, you're the only one who've managed to close it."

"Well it was mostly thanks to that anonymous tip. If it wasn't for that, I feel this would never end," you said, a tired smile appearing.

"You are our best decoder here, couldn't replace you even if I tried," Sara said. "I'll take my leave now. You should quickly finish up too, everyone left already. Don’t tire yourself out too much.”

You nodded. "Night Sara."

The door clicked shut.

What was that message suppose to mean? Was it meant to be a threat? Should I tell Sara?— what if it was just a harmless prank?

You mindlessly typed away on your computer, yet you just could not bring yourself to focus on your work. It was unrelenting with the way it kept repeating over and over again in your mind.

The typing stopped. You couldn't bear it any longer. This continuous heavyweight of stress will only keep growing, festering until the host, you, finally suffocate under the pressure. It begs— screams to be free.

Pushing your chair back, you walked over to your window and nudged it opened it. A puff of the chilly autumn air gently tugged at the collar of your shirt.

The light glimmer of the moonlight was a dull comparison to the galaxy of clinquant star, the glittering white specks stretching across the vast skies of Teyvat.

"Stars..” you breathed out.

The two of you use to stargaze. It was a monthly routine, whenever the skies cleared the clouds for the river of stars to sparkle— was when the two of you lay next to each other on the grass, facing the deep blue empyrean.

He would point out the various constellations to you, rambling on about what it was and what it meant.

"I never thought you would be the one into astrology," you said. "Thought it was just a me thing."

Scaramouche rolled his eyes. "I'm a man of many things, what did you expect?"

You laughed.

No, he would never admit it.

He'd rather die than tell you that he'd learn about the stars of the sky just so he could tell you everything about it. He'd rather die than tell you that it was all because he wanted to see you smile, to hear your laughter. To see the surprise that lights up your eyes.

You wiped away an unsuspecting tear rolling down your cheeks. Everything was a constant reminder that the boy you once love is gone.

You hated it.

You could only drown yourself in work, taking on more cases than you should in an effort to forget his voice, his face— everything. But no matter how hard, how much you try, it just doesn't work.

For you could still feel the ghost of his touch brushing against your cheek, you could still hear his voice, calling out to you.

The soft humming of your computer brought you back.

Right, there was still work needed to be to finish. You sighed and pushed yourself away from the window.

"I'll just finish this page up, then l'll clock out," you muttered.

You sat back down on your chair and spun around in a useless attempt to calm your mind. A golden glint in the corner of your room caught your eye. You stopped spinning.

What's that?

It was a tiny pin in a shape of a badge. You squinted closer, there was an insignia stamp on it. It closely resembled something, yet you couldn't placed your mind on exactly what it is. You took out your phone and snapped a picture of it. Sending the picture to Heizou, you had made sure to ask him if he knew what that insignia represented.

Plink!

Startled, you looked up to where the source of noise came from, but there was nothing. It just you alone in your office.

Plink!

There it was again. You frowned, tucking your phone into your back pocket.

Suddenly the lights dimmed. Someone had cut the power to the entire building.

There wasn't enough time for you to react, for you froze—words caught up in your throat. You could see it, the tiny crack appearing on the windowpane. Whatever it was, it was slowly breaking down the barrier protecting you from the outside.

Slowly backing off, you reached for the gun tucked under your desk. The crack grew bigger. A silhouette of a person came into view. Your hands curled around the handle of the gun and tore it away from the hostler. A quick click had your gun locked and loaded.

You held your breath and slid under your desk.

The spiderweb crack only grew bigger before it effectively shattered— a loud 'ouch' following suit. Whoever was behind it must've gotten impatient and opted to punch through the glass instead.

Your eyes mirrored the reflection of the crumbling glass under the moonlight.

“Stupid lieutenants... always making me do the dirty work..." you heard the unknown muttering. A male— judging by the pitch of his voice.

There was the sound of glass breaking as the shadow of a man clambered in though the window, effectively blocking your only source of light.

He's in.

You dare not move.

"Anyone here? Hello?" his voice was gruff. "Hey little girl, I know you're in here. I saw you."

He stopped right at your desk and shoved the chair away.

You heard it crash into the bookshelf. A pair of dirty winter boots was all you could see.

Go away, you don't see me.

Much to your dismay, he didn't leave. You felt the blood rush up to your head when you saw him slowly bending down.

Fuck.

You came face to face with a man in dressed black and teal, a tall navy blue hat along with his black mask obscured his face. The only visible feature you could see was his golden orbs.

"Found you," there was a malicious glint in his eyes.

You didn't know what overcame you. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or it was purely on instinct— but whichever it may be had you aiming the gun at his face. You didn't think twice, squeezing your eyes shut and pulling the trigger. The resonating bang made you wince.

His figure went still, then slowly, he toppled backwards and crashed onto the floor— a pool of ugly red blood slowly seeping out.

I killed him.

"Hey Cor are you okay? I heard a gun go off," a new voice trailed over. The moonlight was once blocked again, a flashlight glaring over at corpse. "Cor— holy shit! Guys over here, hurry up! Cor?! Are you alive?!"

You wasted no time in scrambling away from the expired individual. The door nearly flew off its hinges as you bursted through. Fuck if the damages you've done would cost you a portion of your monthly salary, all it mattered to you was getting out. If you were fast enough, you could make it to the nearest police station to report the break-in— and attempted kidnapping.

The attackers were hot in pursuit. You heard the ever so familiar sound of a gun being loaded. A bullet whizzed by you, hitting the wooden structure of the building. You heard the wall cracked just the slightest bit.

The Tenryo House has never been so big before. Room after rooms, there just never seem to be an end to it. Your lungs burned. Everything seemed like a maze.

Suddenly a group of two blocked the only way you could escape. You looked back, the other band was also rapidly approaching. “Shit…” you mumbled. There were people blocking the only exit. You could only conclude that the perimeter of the building was also surrounded.

"Hey little girl," you could hear the heinous intent in his voice. "Now why don't you surrender? It'll be so much easier.

"As if,” you sneered, gun raised.

One of the bigger guys stepped forward. You tensed up, the rhythm of your heart beating in your head. He charged at you, his knife aimed for your eye.

Years of training kicked in. The gun was immediately lowered. You dodged to one side, barely avoiding death.

Scaramouche’s voice echoed in your head.

"You need to learn how to fight," Scaramouche had demanded.

"What? Why?" at that time you had complained. "I don't need to know how to fight. Can't you protect me?"

You frantically looked around, searching for anything that could be of help. Your gun was near useless, for you could clearly see the thick bulletproof vest strapped on tightly.

A knife, a wrench, anything you could use to defend yourself, to kill. You yelped as the knife whooshed by, just missing your head by a hairs breadth.

By this time the other group had already caught up, their weapons were locked on you. None dared fired yet, for why ruin a show spectacularly put on for them?

"I- I won't always be around to protect you," was his reply.

The front desk spilt in half, pens spilling everywhere.

Your opponent had long abandoned his knife— tossed away somewhere. Instead, he chose to use his fists. It was like playing tag but deadlier with a block of pure muscle.

You could only run. The only advantage you have over him was your nimbleness. You were a graceful swan drifting in the smooth waters, and he was the stark contrast— a giant stumbling through a cave too small.

There was no way you could escape from the Commission without him decking you.

You were beaten near unconscious. Bruises bloomed all over your body, specks of blood and dust dirtied your dress.

His fists were curled up into tiny balls. Dirt and grime covered his clothes in ugly splotches of brown. He wiped a bloody streak away from his face. His gaze was piercing as he stared down the two boys.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" he sounded insane.

When his fists made contact with your stomach, you could do nothing, your wind knocked out of you. The second hit came, then the third, fourth.

You stumbled backwards each time the blow came upon you. Blocking each hit was getting increasingly difficult.

The light flickered back to life. For just the briefest moment, everyone paused. Then the lightbulb promptly exploded, leaving the room once again pitch-black.

That seconds under the bright light was your newfound source of energy, for you had saw everything you needed to know. Pushing away the pain throbbing in your lower abdomen, you made a break for the blade lying on the floor.

He was upon you almost instantly.

You felt an immense pressure on top of you. Your breath was knocked out. Yet despite this, you still grabbed onto the dagger and wrenched it towards yourself.

Mere seconds was all you need, an opening of some sort. Perhaps the gods above heard your wishes, for he suddenly froze over.

Seizing this moment, you jammed the knife into the only opening you found— his eye. Blood slowly dripped down his face, the knife firmly lodged in. With minor difficulty, you pulled the knife out.

It was then that his cries of pain came. You were released from his hold, tumbling to the side. His comrades ran to his side, a roll of bandages already in their hands.

You took this chance to run. In a way you felt bad, but it was a life or death situation. It was either you or him, and there can only be one winner.

One of them barked out an order. You couldn’t exactly hear what they said, but their actions told enough. Seemingly fed up with your antics, they began pelleting you with what’s left of their bullets.

One grazed your cheek and another clipped your arm. You felt your arm burn. The pain wasn’t noticeable at first, but then it started to fucking hurt. You used your hand to cover the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. It was useless. Blood kept gushing out, staining your new shirt in a deep crimson.

The exit was right in front of your eyes. You shouldered through the two agents standing by the door, accidentally tripping one over in the process. Small droplets of blood trailed behind you.

The fresh air of Inazuma hits your face. It felt refreshingly cold— calming the burning pain in your arms for just the tiniest moment. You weren’t given enough time to relish it before the few remaining guys also came through, guns aimed.

You yelped and quickly ran behind a random building, only to encounter a poor straggler who seemed just as surprise to see you as you are to see him. No chances were taken though. With one fell swoop, you had knocked him unconscious.

You can’t rest, not yet. The pattering of their boots were heavy against the pavement as each spilt into smaller parties to search for you. Time was ticking.

Very slowly, you removed your hand from your wound. The bleeding had slowed, but blood was still dribbling out. You’d searched the unconscious person for any sort of first aid. As luck would have it, you found a small kit. In it was a small roll of gauze, a couple of alcohol prep pads, and bandages of all kinds.

You ripped opened the alcohol pads and took in a deep breath. It took every ounce of energy to suppress a scream building up. Your arms trembled.

“Now you see why you have to fight?” he was angry, yet not angry enough to leave you unattended.

“Yeah.. sorry,” you mumbled. You yelped when Scaramouche dabbed at your wounds. “Ah— Scara! A warning please.”

“Sorry.”

“You are not sorry, I can see you laughing— ouch!”

The roll of gauze may be short, but it was enough to temporarily patch your wound. You sealed it off with a Sailor Moon bandage. The bullet dug into your flesh, but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on the pain right now.

Not in this dire situation. Footsteps were slowly approaching, each step slow. You frantically took out your phone.

“And what,” your blood ran cold. “Do you think you’re doing?”

You froze, phone slipping away. The cool muzzle of a small pistol was pressed up against your temple.

“Put the phone down.”

You did as told.

“Both hands up.���

You raised one arm.

“I said both.”

“I can’t,” you rebutted. “Your people shot my arm and now I can’t move it without screaming in pain.”

You heard her scoff. “Fucking idiots. Couldn’t even follow a simple order. And you. You are really weak, do you know? Can’t even handle a little bit of pain?”

Your free hand slowly edged towards the pistol lying by the unconscious fellow. “Well miss, have you ever been shot before?” you replied through gritted teeth.

She grinned. “Plenty.”

“Does it hurt?”

“You’re stalling for time,” she said. A flying mirror next to her glittered. It suddenly flashed red. “Get up.”

“So it doesn’t hurt? Then I suppose another one shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

You smiled and pointed the gun at her. Two shots was all it took for her body to go limp. The mirror fell to the side, cracked.

“The Maiden— she collapsed!”

“She’s been shot! Get the medic here!”

“Is she dead?!”

She wasn’t dead, you hadn’t shoot to kill. You had only fatally wounded her, rendering her temporarily useless.

The unconscious fellow stirred. They weren’t fully awake yet, but just for good measures, you dropped a semi-empty crate on their head. They knocked out once again.

You grabbed the Maiden’s broken mirror and ran. Perhaps Heizou can analyze it for you.

More enemies emerged from the shadows of the alleyways. Bullet shells tinkled against the pavement. Standing out in the open was far too risky.

An huge explosion rocked the ground. You stumbled and looked up, the image of fire and smoke mixed together reflecting in your eyes. Horror dawned on you when your realized they had just bombed the police station.

Another explosion was heard, this time seemingly closer to you. With no other choices left, you began running towards your abode. That was the only place you could find temporary sanctuary in.

A wail of a baby filled up the silence of the streets, followed by hushed chatter from citizens who had opened their window to look at the commotions. You heard the patters of footsteps closing in behind you.

“Just run, don’t stop,” you whispered to yourself.

“The next time they approach you, just run to me. Or punch them,” he said. “Either way works.”

“I don’t want to hurt them…”

“Simple, I’ll beat them up for you.”

Ducking through closed shops and weaving around in narrow alleyways, it wasn’t long before you reached home, completely out of breath. You grew up running around the streets of East Side Inazuma, so every twists and turns you’re familiar with. They were definitely strangers to this land, no doubt were you given a head start.

Pushing your keys in through the lock hole, you pushed opened the door just as quickly as you shut it. After making sure that every window, every door, was locked, you climbed upstairs to your bedroom.

Grabbing your first aid, you tore open your hastily made bandages. It was the same grueling process all over again—the stinging and burning of it. You checked the severity of your wound in the mirror.

Oh shit…

You could clearly see the silver glow of the bullet firmly wedged into the tissue of your skin. There was no way to get it out unless you seek professional help or you self-operate.

You could only carefully patch up your wound and hoped for the best. Tossing your jacket to the side, you changed into a more comfy wear, something suitable for both running and fighting. You were just tying your shoelaces when the door to your bedroom flew off its hinges.

It nearly crashed upon you. Standing by the doorframe was a small group consisting of maybe 7 people. More people than you liked in your house. The one standing in front— the ringleader, spoke up. Her purple lantern cackled with electrical energy.

“Now, either we can do this peacefully or we can do this the hard way,” she said, holding up two fingers. “You choose.”

“How about we do this outside and not in my room?”

She laughed. “And risk letting you get away again? Sorry love, you don’t make the choice here. If I were you, I’d surrender peacefully.” She smiled, revealing a neat row of sharp teeth.

“I’d rather not,” you said. “All of you started chasing and shooting me without even giving a reason as to why. There is no way in hell would I follow you.”

She sighed and shook her head, green hair swaying. “Then I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“No it can’t be.”

“You’ve made a bad choice,” she smiled again and disappeared in a flash of purple thunder. Small purple bats radiating a purple aura screeched.

And then they charged.

There was only so many that can fit in the room and they had all stupidly gotten themselves stuck in the doorframe, trying to fit through.

One managed to squeeze through, heading for you. In her hand held syringe containing some sort of green liquid sloshing around. You were prepared for this. When she came close enough, you grabbed her arm— the one with the syringe, and easily slammed her to the floor.

You smiled, proud of yourself. You didn’t spend years leaning how to fight for it to go to waste.

Another one came at you, and you ducked him. He crashed over to your desk, scattering everything onto the floor. You took this chance to ram into him, promptly using his body to smash your window.

You picked up the syringe from the hands of the unconscious person and began swinging it around. The tip eventually found its way to someones neck and they collapsed, body convulsing.

The temperature of your room suddenly dropped. The crowd of people parted, allowing a large man dressed in icy blue to step in. Your collection of keychains jingled with each step he took. He held out a large machine of some sort and pointed the nozzle at you.

What the fuck.

The machine whirred loudly, and you slowly backed towards the broken window. Eerie white mist pooled out from it. You felt goosebumps running down your arms.

It doesn’t take an idiot to know that you’ll probably die if you don’t get away in time.

You threw your chair at him to stall for time. Then you carefully crawled out the window as best as you can without cutting yourself open. Jagged shards scraped against your pants.

The jump down from the second floor to ground level wasn’t too high, you noted. Maybe you can make it down there without breaking a leg or two.

You shimmied over to the edge and took a deep breath. The people behind you crawled towards you. It reminded you of that time when centipedes began crawling out in massive groups from a ventilator and scaring the ever living shit out of you. You shivered at that memory, cold sweat clinging onto you.

You jumped.

Something crunched, you heard it. You check yourself for any injuries, but there was none.

Then what?…

You turned back around and nearly screamed. It was the body of the unfortunate enemy that had slipped and fell, their back bent at an awkward angle. A badge of some sort clattered against the pavement, rolling to a stop by your shoe. You picked it up and scampered away.

The badge— or pin, was exquisitely designed. Yet the more you examine it, the more you felt like you’ve seen this before.

Isn’t this…

An arm wrapped around your waist, the other suppressing your terrified screams. You angrily thrashed around, eyes wide in horror. The badge fell.

You raised one arm back and elbowed them as hard as you can. Adrenaline rush through your body once again as the grip around you loosened.

He stumbled back. One hand clutched at his nose. You could see blood gushing out from it.

With his free hand, he whipped out a butterfly knife. He looked like an maniac, smiling with blood dripping down his chin.

The group of enemies caught up. He held a hand out, and they all came to a stop.

“I’ll handle this,” his voice was gruff. You eyed him. Judging by his attire, he must be one of the higher ranking ones. The badges and small medals says it all.

The moon was at its fullest tonight, stars gleaming in the clear skies. It would’ve been the perfect night to go stargazing. The sight was almost beautiful if you weren’t literally fighting for your life.

You kept a steady rhythm in your mind, keeping yourself focus on the glint of the weapon.

A slash to the right. You dodged to the left. He barreled towards you. You dropped to the ground and swung your legs out. He fell, but was up not even seconds later. It’s the same all over again, block, parry, hit, get hit.

Dimly lit lanterns swung from the chilly breeze. It’s soft golden glow basked the streets in a warm blanket. His attacks were speeding up. Your body was worn out from the entire night of fighting and running. You don’t know how long you can keep going until you finally collapse from the exhaustion.

He was a blur of colors. You just couldn’t keep up. Not anymore.

The wound in your left arm was raging up in pain once again. You lower your guard for the just slightest moment, trying to catch your breath.

There wasn’t time for you to move, let alone react. You completely blanked out.

By the time you’ve snapped back, he was right in front of you— his blade piercing through your lower abdomen.

You couldn’t breath.

Everything began to blur together into blocks of colors. You could feel the warm blood slowly tricking down your stomach. Blood began pouring out when he removed the weapon. You stumbled.

“Give me the sedative.”

His voice sounded so faraway. “Fuckyou…” your words were slurred together. “No...”

“Tell the lord we’ve got her.”

Your eyes were half-lidded, movements sluggish. The engine of a van could be heard pulling up next to you. A blurry face appeared in your vision.

“Sleep well… never… have… back.”

His voice was fading away. You fought the the drowsiness overtaking you, but alas, the sedative was just too strong. The shattered mirror in your pocket fell with a quiet clink.

The last thing you could remember was excited mumbling of the onlookers, the feeling of your body being poked and prodded at, and the giant title plastered on the van that read, “NORTHLAND BANK.”

It was then you finally realized who was after you. The familiar print on the badges… you could only pray that Heizou— or someone, would be able to see what’s wrong.

It’s the Fatui, you bitterly thought to yourself. Of course it was the Fatui.

It was all you could remember before sleep consumed your consciousness, pulling you into the depths of nothingness.

…

“A blade; light as a feather, delicate as a bird,” he softly hummed to himself. “That blade; weighted and broken... wouldn’t you agree, my dear friend?”

The small creature curled up in his shoulder nuzzled its head against his chin. His fingers danced along the hilt of his katana.

“The moon is gorgeous tonight,” he murmured. “Let’s go report our findings to him, shall we?”

previous || series m.list || next

synopsis— [✩]

— you, the hero, disappears overnight, and the only person who looks is the villain. Not your friends, not your family, not the news reporter or any of the people who claimed to love you. Just him, Scaramouche, the very same person who claimed to hate you.

notes— [✩]

— as you can clearly tell by this chapter, I am not good at writing fight scenes 🙏 (ANYONE WANT TO TAKE A GUESS AS TO WHO IT WAS AT THE END)

taglist— [✩`·CLOSED]

@akairaindrops @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @elernity @shayewrites @angel-suicides @magica-ren @kyouzki @nana-bri @avxntxrine @bleedingwhiteroses222 @rainingduringsummer @darthvada @dan9a-00 @omgblade-starrail @kichiyoshi @inufinuf @vvyeislazzy @alatusorrow @franaby @mellowberrie @sketcheeee @etherisy @crmnic @arizzu @vrisso @id3ru @mochicurls21 @kairuthewriter @suqarlaced @saetorii @anura100000 @divinechicha @starlightaura @karablueyt @supercoolusernameomg @uhh-traashyy @kazuuhhaaaa

[italicized usernames means I cannot tag you]

[acaaai-t]

resurface, my love

03. clued

[fem! reader x villain! scaramouche]

cw: angst, blood, scaramouche uses a sword, violence, cursing, death threats, bits of scaras past, attempted murder lol

‘The Fatui’

Scaramouche felt his blood run cold at the sight of the two words. The organization he works for was the last thing he wanted you to get involved in.

He scanned through the rest of the contents, hoping that it was an error in your writings. Scaramouche knew it was futile. You were bound to investigate The Fatui eventually. It was just a matter of time.

His heart only further sank when he saw the folder you’ve created, storing almost everything you knew about the Fatui. Which if presented to a Harbinger like him, even they would claim it was a dangerous lot.

Scaramouche looked high and low, searching for anything that might contribute to your disappearance. He dug through your desk— or whatever remains of your desk, yet nothing, nothing, was found.

Not a single clue as to your disappearance. Scaramouche punched the table in a fit of frustration, adding an extra hole to your already broken desk. He hated feeling like this.

Anxious helplessness tangled with his emotions. He bit down on his lips, the bitter taste of blood blooming in his mouth.

Kazuha seemed to sense Scaramouche’s restlessness. Even Tomo felt unease at Scaramouche’s presence, clambering back onto Kazuha and tucking his small form inside his jacket.

“Scaramouche.”

“What?” even he was startled at his sharp tone. “What…” he tried again, in a calmer voice.

“I was going to suggest asking her coworkers, maybe they would know something.”

Scaramouche frowned. Why didn’t he think of that? They were someone you see on a daily basis, if you were to suddenly disappear, they would be the one to notice first.

He got up, brushing the dust stuck on his knees away. Even though Scaramouche would have liked to organized your room back to how he remembered it to be, he figured it would be best not to temper with evidence.

“Let’s go,” there was no trace of emotion in his voice as he walked passed Kazuha and down the stairs.

…

The streets of Inazuma hadn’t changed one bit from how it used to be. It’s been a while since Scaramouche had walked through the markets filled with merchants selling all sorts of goods.

He missed the days where he would hold you in his embrace so gently, as if you were porcelain that would shatter in nothingness with the wrongest move.

Those days are long gone, he bitterly thought to himself.

A frightful yelp drew his attention away. Scaramouche scowled in annoyance. There was a person standing in his way, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“That’s him!” the old man screeched. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to stare. “It’s him! He’s The Balladeer, those crimes that happened in our town is all because of him!”

By now a crowd had gathered to see the unfolding spectacle. Kazuha squeezed his way through the crowd and grabbed Scaramouche’s arm.

“Gotta go, fast.”

Scaramouche didn’t need to be told twice. He shook off Kazuha’s hand and began running after him, but not without the citizens chasing after them with anything they could use to attack.

He scowled again when he felt something— it felt like a potato, hit the back of his head. Kazuha had somehow found his way up to the rooftops, and was now hopping over the gaps, following Scaramouche closely. It seemed that the townspeople was only targeting Scaramouche.

“Fucking bitches…” he muttered, drawing out his weapon from the scabbard. He skidded to a stop and pointed the sword at the crowd.

The mob of people instantly slowed, stumbling onto one another for support.

“Somebody really wants to fucking die,” he mused, the tip of his sword dug into the pavement below. It was an old fashion way to fight, but Scaramouche had long grown use to its constant company.

A tomato flew his way, and Scaramouche, with ease, sliced the vegetable in half with a flick of his wrist. “I’m not here to cause shit here. If I was, all of you,” he pointed at the crowd, nodding. “Will be dead.”

“Scaramouche,” Kazuha’s voice was urgent as his voice trailed down from the roof. “The Tenryo Commission is coming, we need to go.”

“To hell with them,” Scaramouche scoffed. “They’re so easily destroyable. Just a tiny step on them and they crush like a bug. Pathetic seeing them try.”

“You’re— you’re a monster,” a fearful voice cried out. It was the same person who had exposed him as the Balladeer.

“So I’ve heard,” Scaramouche grinned, sheathing his sword.

Those who hadn’t already fled the scene beforehand began to slither away. When the old man had found himself standing alone, he too, wavered and broke, scrambling away as Scaramouche stared him down. His purple eyes glinted with amusement and malice.

“How pitiful,” Scaramouche laughed. “Haven’t even done anything and they all ran.”

What once was the bustling streets of people was now empty, not a single soul in sight. Well, expect for the people dressed in black and purple running towards him.

Scaramouche clicked his tongue in disapproval. He pulled out his gun, aimed, and was about to pull the trigger when Kazuha stopped him, grabbing his arm. The serious look in his eyes told him no. Scaramouche rolled his eyes and set his gun aside.

“Whatever,” he said. “Let’s go before I feel the need to kill them.”

Kazuha dragged him over to an empty alleyway and pressed a finger over his lips, signaling for Scaramouche to stay quiet.

The group of Tenryo Commission members thundered past the two, with nobody noticing the two suspicious shadows crouching in the corner of the alleyway.

When Kazuha had made sure the coast was cleared, he motioned for Scaramouche to follow him. He deadpanned at Kazuha, watching him scale the walls and jump onto the rooftop.

“Hurry,” Kazuha hissed.

There really wasn’t an option for him to choose from.

“Why can’t I just use—” his words were cut off when a gust of wind started swirling under him before lifting him off the ground completely. Scaramouche froze, and didn’t move until he was down on solid ground again.

“There, that’ll get your slow ass moving,” Kazuha said. He threw a smile at Scaramouche and turned around, silently trailing away towards the direction of the Tenryo Commission. Particles of Anemo danced around him with every step he took.

Scaramouche rolled his eyes and scoffed. The lingering power of Anemo set his steps light as he sprinted after Kazuha, the slight breeze picking at his hair. Scaramouche glanced down at the empty streets. The pests the Commission sent out must’ve cleared the streets of everyone. Stalls were left unattended, the fire of some still left roaring. How hazardous, Scaramouche thought to himself. Would be a shame if I were to…

He snickered to himself, eventually deciding against his actions. There’s no need for Scaramouche to cause any more trouble for himself.

The sight of the Tenryo Commission building was getting closer. With the building being one of the fanciest things the city has build, it was hard to miss it, even if one was just passing by. It was by far the grandest thing the council had ever invest in.

Scaramouche leaped down from the rooftops and landed with a silent poof of air. The entrance to the Tenryo Commission beckoned at him. There were guards pacing around the premise, but they be easily taken care of.

The sky darkened, and the tingling feeling of electricity hung low in the air. Scaramouche took his time walking to greet the nuisances, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Meanwhile Kazuha began to investigate the surroundings. He was quite certain that somewhere around this area, he could find a trace of you. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Immediately he picked it up as Scaramouche doing something idiotic, again.

He didn’t tried to interfere with whatever Scaramouche had planned. Not only will Scaramouche beat his ass for interrupting him, but it’ll only add fuel to the flames that is already raging uncontrollably.

Kazuha sniffed the air. There was a familiar scent to the wind. He followed where to the breeze led him, and he ended up in an abandoned part of the town. There, everything was run down. Windows were boarded up, doors were bolted shut.

A glint caught his eyes. It was a broken mirror, with droplets of splattered blood dotting the ground around it. Kazuha looked closer at it.

Ah. So that’s what was familiar scent was.

…

The sparks of electro fizzled away into the air, and with that, the bodies of everyone began to drop, one by one. Weapons clattered to the floor as the numbness overtook their vessels. All expect for one.

Scaramouche chucked, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Oh relax General, they aren’t dead. I’m not that cruel.”

“Don’t move,” Kujou Sara’s voice was stern, unwavering as she stood a distance away from Scaramouche, her bow raised and aimed. Even with the room being near pitch black, she could still see as clear as day.

Scaramouche grinned. “And what are you going to do? Kill me? You know well enough that even if you tried, you’ll still lose.”

The electro vision strung up by her hips glowed fiercely, a sign that she was beyond pissed. Scaramouche’s grin only grew wider. He took a step forward, holding both hands up in the air mockingly.

“Shoot me,” he said. “Do it.”

Sara let an arrow loose at Scaramouche’s words. Infused with the cackling energy of electro, the power alone was enough to knock out four grown adults. The arrow zipped through the air, it’s tip aimed dead at his head.

A crack of Electro came slashing down, effectively slicing the arrow in half. Sara kissed her teeth and lowered her bow. As expected.

“Good try, general. Better luck next time,” Scaramouche laughed. “Now, I believe I came here asking questions, not a fight.”

“What could the Fatui want with us,” she spat out the word Fatui with distaste, hatred clearly rooted in her tone.

“Oh no, I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Scaramouche plopped down on the office chair, crossing one leg over the other. “I didn’t come here on the behalf of the Fatui. Do you by any chance…”

He folded his hands together and leaned forward on the messy desk. “…know where [name] is?”

The main entrance banged loudly, it’s hinges trembling with every slam. Muffled voices could be heard shouting from the outside. Sara narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Oh, General, don’t be so tense. I have no intentions of hurting her.”

“Who am I to trust you?” The lock keeping the door jammed cracked.

“I’ll offer you a deal, how’s that? “ he smiled. “You tell me where she is, and I’ll tell you where that girl of yours you’ve been looking for is.”

Sara’s breath hitched.

“Wonderful deal, isn’t it? I mean, you’ve been looking for her for almost what? Three years?.”

Silence.

“I don’t have all day, General. Pick. Lest you want me to go find it myself.”

Pick..

The lock couldn’t support the battering beating its been receiving, and it finally succumbed under the pressure, the doors crashing down with a loud resonating boom.

Sunlight filtered into the dark empty room.

Sara sat there, not a single word uttered. Her eyes bored holes at where Scaramouche had stood. Whatever remains of her bow laid by her feet, and in her her hands, held a crumpled up sheet of paper.

“General? Are you alright? Do you need to seek a medic?”

Gone with the breeze was he, leaving only papers slowly descending to the ground. The pattering footsteps of her underlings echoed in her head as they began scouting the area.

“… In the left drawer, the third one. It holds her resignation letter there.”

Scaramouche raised a brow. “Resignation letter?”

“It was left on my desk yesterday. No sign of [name] when I went to look.”

“Oh?”

“You can go check her office if you don’t believe me, last door to the right of the hall,” Sara said through gritted teeth. She had given away more information that she had intended to.

“Did the cameras capture footage of her handing in letter?”

“Someone sabotaged the security system a few nights ago, it’s still in the process of getting fixed.”

“I see,” Scaramouche mused, tapping one finger against his cheeks. “Mind sharing the footage of the night when it got sabotaged?”

“Now that I cannot give away—”

In a flash, Scaramouche was out of his seat and had Sara by her throat before she could even finish her sentence. “It wasn’t a question,” he hissed, his nails digging into her skin, deep enough to draw blood. “We can either do this the easy way, or we can go the hard way.”

Sara had known about the evil doings of the man holding her in a chokehold, the stories whispered held enough warning to steer clear, but to experience it herself was terrifying. Black spots danced in her vision as her air was abruptly cut off.

“I— I can get it for you,” Sara gasped.

Releasing the women from his grasp, he stepped back and crossed his arms. Sara rubbed at her neck and winced, trying to brush away the pain prickling at her tiny wounds as she clicked away on the computer.

“Here,” she said, handing Scaramouche a USB drive.

“Thank you, wasn’t that hard at all, was it?” he flashed Sara a cold smile before disappearing all together with a swift swoosh of the wind, leaving no traces of there ever being a second person in the room.

She was left alone.

“A resignation letter,” he said, waving the crinkled piece of paper in the air. “And footage of the night the cameras was messed with.”

Kazuha raised a quizzical brow. “A resignation letter?” he echoed. “That’s out of character for her. Oh yeah here, I found this while searching the area.”

He handed Scaramouche the broken mirror. “It was near the abandoned part of town— quite close to where I saw your lover get taken.”

Quite close to where you disappeared.

Scaramouche shoved the USB drive and the letter into his pockets. “Take me there,” he demanded.

Borrowing in the resonance of Anemo from his friend, Scaramouche surged forward just a few steps behind Kazuha. The wind played at his hair, tossing it to the left then to the right. In less than a minute, Scaramouche arrived at the scene.

“Here?”

He scanned the environment. This area does seem like the type of place where people tend to do the unspeakable.

“Here,” Kazuha led him to where he found the item. “Look, that’s the smell of blood.”

Scaramouche got on one knee and took a closer look. With all his years of experience, he should know better than anyone what a scene of crime looks like— and this place, even without there being actual evidence of what took place, aroused heavy suspicion.

What made it worse was that Scaramouche realized that this part of town is what one would call a ‘ghost town’, a place isolated from everyone else, even when it was so close to the lively city. There were no cameras, nothing to record down what had transpired the night you disappeared other than the small droplets of what Kazuha claimed to be blood. Your blood.

It wasn’t that Scaramouche didn’t trust Kazuha’s senses, he had placed full trust in his keen nose. It was one of the prominent reasons why Scaramouche had spared his life that day and allowed Kazuha to work for him. But the thought of you bleeding— wounded, brought up an uncomfortable sensation.

He checked both the front and the back of the mirror, hoping it would show him something he can’t see with his naked eye. Nothing.

“Let’s go back,” he had tried to mask his bitter disappointment, but it was evident. There was no use trying to hide it.

The journey back to your house was swift, thankfully having nobody starting up any more trouble than they were worth for the two. With the sky being dipped in a golden red hue as the sun slowly sets, Scaramouche pushed open the door and gestured for Kazuha to step in.

The house was cold despite Scaramouche having the heater turned on all the way. Kazuha sat on your couch with his cat curled up on his lap, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he read through the resignation letter you left.

“Kazuha.”

“Hm?”

“Did you bring your laptop with you?”

“…no.”

Scaramouche muttered a curse under his breath. “Well I can’t find a laptop in the house. The only one she had probably got destroyed.”

“It’s quite bold of you to assume I would carry such things with me at all times,” Kazuha chuckled lightheartedly. “I can ask for Xiao to bring it over.”

“How fast can he get it here?”

“Depends on his mood, really. But all in all, he’s pretty fast.”

“Have him bring it over. Tell him it’s urgent.”

“Mmhm.”

Scaramouche trailed back into whatever remains of your bedroom and sat down on the broken bed frame. There, his thoughts slowly began consuming him.

How did he manage to mess up? He was gone for only two days. Two days, and something happened to you.

Scaramouche was a careful man, he knew to steer clear of you as to not place harm over your head. If the past were to ever come to light, it’ll only further damage both of your reputations. He bit down on his tongue. Having to shroud the past wasn’t too difficult, Scaramouche had easily blocked it all out. But to bring it back up again hurts.

He buried his face into the palms of his hands. It hurts.

Meow.

Scaramouche looked up, meeting eye to eye with Kazuha’s cat. The tiny feline jumped up onto his lap and yawned, his sharp fangs peeking out. His claws dug into Scaramouche’s skin as he began kneading.

For the past 24 hours he’d been looking nonstop, searching nonstop— fighting nonstop. He hadn’t allowed himself to rest, no. His muscles ached, but that was nothing compared to the pain that had rooted itself deep within his heart. It hurts.

The night he chose to left was ultimately the hardest decisions he had to made. It broke him, but he knows that it’ll hurt you even more than it’ll ever hurt him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Sorry does nothing— nothing.

He wanted to stay. Stay in your tiny bedroom, cuddling with each other as the night gradually fades away into a new dawn. Sometimes he wonders, would things have gone differently if he had stayed?

Idiot, of course it could’ve gone differently.

He should’ve stayed. God, he hated himself for the decisions he had chose. He missed you.

“Scara,” your voice echoed in his head. “Scaramouche.”

He’s spiraling.

He wanted you to leave, to disappear from his mind— but you lingered there, bounded to be a ghost that roamed in his nightmares. No, Scaramouche cannot forget you even if he tried.

Even if his memories were wiped clean, he knows that somehow— just somehow he’ll still recognize you in the sea of strange faces.

It was unbearable.

“Scara…”

Love. Love hurts.

“… Scaramouche.”

His eyes snapped open. “What?”

Kazuha gave him a worried glance. “Xiao’s he— good god are you alright? You look paler than usual.”

He frowned. “I’m… okay. Just tell him to on leave the computer on the kitchen table.”

“If you say so,” Kazuha spared another worrying look at the violet hair man before disappearing downstairs, his cat trotting right next to him.

Scaramouche ran his hand through his hair and sighed in frustration. He can’t stand this anymore, now he’s more determined than ever to find you and tell you all the words he had meant to say before he left.

The USB sitting in his pocket jabbed at him, and his hands closed around it. First things first, examine the clues.

Scaramouche got up and hurried down the stairs, right into the kitchen, where the laptop Xiao had brought was placed on the island. Kazuha was nowhere to be found, but he was sure that the wanderer wouldn’t be gone for too long. After all, Kazuha does play an important role in his hunt for you.

The laptop brightened to life, and Scaramouche hastily plugged the USB into the port. It took a while for the technology to process the information dump, but eventually a file popped up on screen labeled ‘11/16’.

It was the night you disappeared.

His eyes narrowed as the video footage played on. For such a grand company, the quality of both the camera and the video was absolute shit. The time played all the way until near midnight, and that’s when Scaramouche noticed something amiss. He paused the video and took a closer look.

There was no mistaking it. The black shadow definitely wasn’t just the camera acting up— it was someone. Scaramouche felt his heart skip a beat as he rewinded all the way to the footage of two nights ago. He needed to confirm his arousing suspicion.

Pause.

Right there, at 4:21pm. Yep, that was someone, sneaking around the perimeter of the building, looking through windows. Scaramouche fast forward the video by just a little bit, and the camera screen switched, giving him a perfect view of the suspect.

Dressed in all black— not very conspicuous in board daylight, yet nobody seemed to noticed them. He watched as the stranger unlatched one of the many windows and slipped in, completely oblivious as to the fact that they were being recorded.

Scaramouche didn’t need to have footage to prove that the window the suspect had entered through was your office, it was obvious.

The video sped up once again, and the figure appeared back in the camera frame twenty minutes later, looking to be in a rush. In their arms were a duffel bag containing something— if Scaramouche had to guess, it could’ve been case files on something.

But what would they need with the files?

“Reviewing the camera footage already?”

Kazuha’s sudden reappearance made Scaramouche jump.

“Ah, apologies,” he said. “How’s it going? Got any clues yet?”

“Look,” Scaramouche said, pausing the video and pointing to the black figure. “That happened Tuesday morning. Just three days before she… disappeared. And then the next day, the footage crashed.”

Kazuha frowned. “Isn’t that… her office?”

“That is,” he nodded. “Now I don’t know who that person is, or why they barged into her office, but I know that that has something to do with her disappearance.”

Kazuha zoomed in on the stranger's face. While there were a couple of pixels of their face, it definitely wasn’t enough to do a full face analysis on their identity. The only prominent feature was the tiny tussle of blue hair peeking out from the hood. He paused. “What about their letter? Have you found anything odd about it?”

“Haven't checked yet, but I’ve read through it multiple times. The contents just don’t make sense.”

“Hold on, I’ll go find a recent file of hers. We can compare the handwriting. It is a handwritten letter, right?”

Scaramouche nodded, his eyes still glued to the screen. “Tell Xiao I said thanks.”

Tuesday afternoon, someone broke into your office— what they took was unknown. Their identity cannot be confirmed, for they were covered completely, head to toe in black. That was all he had.

He was at a dead end.

Scaramouche groaned in frustration, slamming the computer shut.

It doesn’t make sense.

Why? Why were they unable to see what went wrong? They’d been with you for years— they should know.

Nothing made sense.

What was the motive behind your kidnapping? The criminals you’ve caught is still locked behind bars, cut off from the outside world, meaning they couldn’t have been the one to sought after you. Could it have been the Fatui?

No… Scaramouche would know if it were to happen under the very organization he works for.

And why hasn’t anyone noticed? Even if you were to resign from your position as a detective, you would still be widely recognized if you were out on the streets walking.

According to what Kazuha had gathered over the past months, you were seen outside taking a stroll atleast once a day, even if you were down with the flu. The locals had long adopted your habit— yet nobody, nobody noticed. Not a single person called out on the strange anomaly of your disappearance.

Fucking dammit.

“Scaramouche,” Kazuha’s voice brought him back to the present. “So I did an analysis on both, and I thought maybe you’d want to look at it yourself.”

He handed Scaramouche two pieces of paper. One was the resignation letter, the other was a document written on about the Doctor. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Both handwritings matched near identical to each other.

Scribbled along the margins of both papers was Kazuha’s flawless penmanship.

“I’ve written down the differences I noticed, they may not seem very obvious, but it’s there,” Kazuha said.

Scaramouche scanned through the notes, and his frown deepened as he read through it.

“See what I mean?”

“Yeah, that’s really weird.”

‘Hope this finds you well and alive.’

‘Decided to resign due to personal issues…’

Well and alive? That phrase alone was suspicious enough, almost as if you were expecting death to deliver its final blow towards her. Why would you wish death upon someone who had been looking out for you during the years he cannot?

He reopened the computer and clicked on the footage, then brought out the broken mirror he had been given and placed it next to the computer. Kazuha followed by setting down the two documents side by side next to mirror.

Scaramouche took a hard look at the items placed on the table. While everything seemed to be connected in some way, there was just something missing. A good portion of it was still yet to be discovered, and if Scaramouche were to find it— it’ll connect the dots.

“Let’s get this straight, two nights ago someone broke into her office and took something away. We aren’t sure what it was, but I can always go investigate. The only feature we could find on the said suspect was the tiny pixels of blue hair, and that we can’t even confirm if it’s real or just a trick of the camera,” Kazuha said.

“And then on the night your beloved was taken, I didn’t see anything sort of suspicious, other than a couple of buildings exploding. Which leads us to the mirror I found in where I presumed she was taken,” he pointed to the broken mirror. “And the strangely phrased resignation letter she left.”

“The thing is,” Scaramouche spoke up. “Right after that we reach a dead end. Even if you do go to her office, it won’t be guaranteed that you’d find what’s missing. We’re still not looking hard enough, there’s a large chunk that we’re still missing.”

“Scaramouche.”

A soft thump follow by the light pattering of paws against the hardwood floor was heard as Tomo approached the two men. He dropped something on the floor and meowed as he stared into Scaramouche’s eyes.

Kazuha picked up the item that was dropped, and Scaramouche felt his heart drop and blood run cold once again. The look the two shared said more than enough.

He had hoped it wasn’t, but once the evidence was brought into light— there was really no arguing when the truth was placed right in front of him. Something inside of him snapped, and suddenly a turmoil of emotions raged within his mind. There was only one thought consuming his mind as he ran out the house.

He was going to kill that bitch.

previous || series m.list || next

notes—

— I HAVE SEASON ONE AND TWO PLANNED OUT FINALLY after two months of not updating this series 💀

synopsis —

— you, the hero, disappears overnight, and the only person who looks is the villain. Not your friends, not your family, not the news reporter or any of the people who claimed to love you. Just him, Scaramouche, the very same person who claimed to hate you.

taglist — [CLOSED]

@akairaindrops @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @elernity @shayewrites @angel-suicides @magica-ren @kyouzki @nana-bri @avxntxrine @bleedingwhiteroses222 @rainingduringsummer @darthvada @dan9a-00 @omgblade-starrail @kichiyoshi @inufinuf @vvyeislazzy @alatusorrow @franaby @mellowberrie @sketcheeee @etherisy @crmnic @arizzu @vrisso @id3ru @mochicurls21 @kairuthewriter @suqarlaced @saetorii @anura100000 @divinechicha @starlightaura @karablueyt @supercoolusernameomg @uhh-traashyy @kazuuhhaaaa @lumpywolf @chaosinanutshell @ariilovesmoney @ying-writes @pooonyo @sweetsthetik @i-luvyuu @kunikiss @childeishotasf @scaramochi-lover @eynnwwyjth @liliumaraneae @beriiov @cikolata-kozmozu

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[acaaai-t]

in another world

gn! reader x scaramouche

cw: angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death

The stars were cruel and unrelenting. He had come to learn the hard way.

There was nothing he could do, as he watched you link arms with someone else that wasn’t him. The smile you gave them was meant for him, not for the loser that captured your heart. His nails dug into the palms of his hands, skin on the verge of breaking.

But what was he to do?

He was dead. Gone.

…

Perhaps in another reality, he was well and alive, spending the precious moments with you.

He’ll still be yours, and in turn, you’ll be his.

The two of you will travel the world together, and he’ll take you to the highest cliff of Mondstadt, where he had laid out a small blanket upon the grass. Baskets and plates of food he had cooked himself sits neatly upon the checkered sheets, its aroma alluring you in. Cecilas dotted the plains, the white specks of floral inviting the presences of the butterfly and bees. “Surprise,” he said, giving you a crooked smile.

He’ll have to fight back a laugh as he watches you trip over a camouflaged root somewhere in the heart of Sumeru’s forest, only helping you up when he was done laughing at your clumsy mistake. You’d whine and playfully punch him, but he’ll dodge out the way and catch in a tight hug, muttering sorry’s and I love you’s.

He’ll be on one knee, the sand digging into his skin, a camera held up as he playfully shouts at you to stay still for the picture— the image of you standing underneath a canvas of the sunset in the beaches of Fontaine, wind gently tugging at your hair, giggling as you watch your beloved struggle.

Click!

He’ll be the one to paddle the tiny canoe that he had scrounged up in an old shed around the bioluminescence beach in Inazuma. And you’d be sitting across from him, eyes bright and curious, laughter spilling from your lips as you watched the stars dance along with the shimmers in the sea. The moon hung high in the skies, blanketing you with a soft white glow.

He’ll be the one to introduce you to his family, your fingers anxiously fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt as the two of you stand outside the large brass door, waiting. You tell him that you’re nervous, and he reassures you that everything will be fine. His family will adore you. And even if they don’t— which isn’t true— he’ll still take you as his lover, because there is nobody else in the entirety of Teyvat that he wants.

It’ll be the first night of the annual lantern rite, and he’ll take you to a secluded area within the trees to release lanterns of your own. Sweet promises scribed in the lantern that captures a glimpse of your future with him, the path that you’re willing to take down with him.

…

You were his first everything, just as he was your first everything. So when Scaramouche had suddenly departed from your side, it left you in a crumbling wreck of emotions.

He hated seeing you like this. Eyes puffy and red from all the crying, voice hoarse and body weak.

He hated even more the sight of you with someone else, all lovey-dovey.

Yet seeing you finally open up to someone new brought him a sense of relief. He may not like it, but if it meant that you’ll finally stop sobbing your heart out every night, that you’ll finally regain that bubbly personality of yours, that you’ll find that light to guide your path— he was willing to accept the loss.

Still, it was unfair.

Maybe in my next life, he whispered, words carried away by the wind, falling deaf to the wonders of nature.

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes—

— (it’s been a year daddy) :: jokes aside, junior year had been insane, and I’ve been stu(dying) for the upcoming SAT while also trying to write a book of my own WHILE looking for internships, maintaining good grades, stressing about EVERYTHING… you get the idea... ending was slightly rushed sorry 🫶

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate