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kinichval · 5 months ago

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when our paths cross again

missing your flight to inazuma and crashing your ex's place for the holidays is certainly not in your 2024 bingo card, nor is it your ideal way of celebrating the year-end. but here you are anyway.

content. ex!scaramouche x fem!reader, modern!au, angst, tension, YEARNING, profanities. | 3.1k words.

december 23rd, 20:34.

“i deeply apologize, ma'am. however, the earliest available flight to inazuma is 72 hours from now.”

great. great.

is the world punishing you for splurging the past three days before coming home to inazuma for the holidays by miscalculating your estimated time of arrival at the airport?

not only did you not have a place to stay, your wallet is tight on cash, and also the fact that you're basically stuck in sumeru for the rest of december unless you wait a whole three days ‘til you're flying back to inazuma. it wouldn't be a problem waiting if you didn't have businesses to resume after the twenty-fifth.

sighing in defeat, you could only offer your gratitude to the lady behind the desk for accommodating your concern. neither does she hold any power to twist your situation favoring the happy ending of eating a delicious buffet with your family, drinking wine all night, and unwrapping the gifts that were held in secret for who knows how long.

now, you sit by the window of a small cafe near the airport. a cup of warm americano accompanying your bummed out ass on this extra cold winter night. there's no snow blanketing sumeru city, but tonight puts you on the border of frostbites with this god awful truth that you won't be home for the holidays.

and then there's that additional layer of coldness that hits your skin when you stood up and was about to exit the cafe, destination still in progress, but all thoughts are cut off when you look up and find sickeningly familiar purplish, cool-toned irises staring at you with wrinkled nose bridge from that scrunched up expression that makes you want to slap the hell out of him.

what a fucking self-entitled bastard to be the one looking all disgusted at this displeasing predicament when he was the one saying “we should break up.” four years ago on a just as cold monday night in december.

“are you not going to apologize for spilling cold water on my shirt?” you hiss, shivering underneath as the multitude of glaciers penetrate your skin.

“why would i apologize if i meant for it to spill?”

an asshole he is, scaramouche is a fucking asshole.

except you're in this asshole's passenger seat because apparently you're too broke to afford a few more days of ‘vacation’, so you're—not by choice—accepting his offer to spend christmas with him at his place.

considering the menacing scheme he pulled, you're wary of other ill-intent motives he has tucked in under his visage of kindness.

you grit your teeth. great. this is not what you wrote to santa, sadly there's no return system and you have to endure whatever bullshit this man is envisioning in his mind.

december 23rd, 22:08.

so far, scaramouche is acting strangely kind after purposely tipping his glass of ice cold water on you. the drive to his apartment was quiet, except for the series of korean r&b songs he hummed along to; he opened the car door and brought up your luggage to his unit; and he asked if you wanted a meal or snack.

“you're being weird. what do you want from me?” your cold tone mirrored the air of december, your eyes narrowed in disbelief and pursued to unveil the mischief playing in his head. “you're in a situation, i offered help, you accepted.” he simply responds as if it's a common thing to do for exes, for exes who have never seen each other for four years.

“how are you so casual about this? we're exes.”

“would you rather get hypothermia out in the city looking for a cheap and open place to stay?”

“i—”

“if you did, you wouldn't be here right now. but look at us.”

he has a point. he only offered, it was you who accepted.

part of you wanted to walk away out of pettiness and embarrassment because you knew if this reaches your best friend's ears, you'd be sitting down and earning an earshot of a lecture from her about not reconnecting with exes regardless of the situation.

“okay fine, you win. i'll just sleep here tonight and i'll be on my merry way tomorrow.” exhaustion is already catching up to you, a yawn escapes past your lips. “you can sleep in my room, i'll be in the other bedroom.” there's that casual reply of his again, words spill out of him like this was just a normal, platonic conversation.

“it's even weirder sleeping in my ex's room, i'll just stay here.” you pat down on the soft cushion on his sofa, scaramouche shrugs and accepts your decision.

how odd of you to expect that he'll insist on having you sleep comfortably in his room?

december 24th, 2:21.

it's even odder and definitely out of character that scaramouche is still within your sight after declaring that you'll be sleeping a few hours ago.

but what the hell are you doing chatting and bickering with an abandoned christmas movie in the background?

somehow, you don't find it in yourself to push him out of your sight.

all those hours of biting back and forth had you writing notes of his life after you—the life that consisted of him being eligible for an exchange student here in sumeru city to which he proved he deserved that he was offered a scholarship to transfer in the esteemed akademiya, scaramouche will be graduating next year.

and you want to slap yourself for that one second of thinking what would be a nice graduation gift.

you also learned that scaramouche shares this apartment with a guy named sethos, he's currently on a holiday vacation which cancels out the wandering thought of why does scaramouche's apartment have two bedrooms.

and about his little stunt, he admitted to swearing to himself that when he sees you, he will pour water all over your top—with high hopes that you're wearing your favorite shirt—and see that horrified expression that he believes will satiate his reasonable amount of hate towards you (no, he doesn't hate you but he won't admit it.)

on the other hand, scaramouche now knows why you're stranded in sumeru and why your wallet forces itself shut in your pocket.

as one of the well performing employees in the company, your boss included you in his entourage for this business trip in sumeru. the schedule was a hassle, it was an almost three week business operation because christmas was in the middle of the whole thing so there's four free days to which your boss decided to go back to inazuma then return on the twenty-sixth. you followed his plan, come home for the holidays—you even spent the morning of the twenty-third buying presents for your family and peers—then fly back on the night of the twenty-fifth to continue your job.

but alas, you were late to arrive at the airport. underestimating the christmas rush in the center of the city, traffic clogs the road causing frustration as everyone was thinking of the same thing: it's christmas.

and you were old enough to know that santa wouldn't give you a miracle that someone was willing to give up their seat in the next flight to inazuma, not that the thought didn't give you a flicker of hope. but you end that idea with a bitter chuckle.

“why didn't you come home for the holidays?” you wonder, your mind traveling back to the last few christmas if he ever flew to inazuma to celebrate the winter holidays back home.

“i don't come home during vacations.” he avoids your curious stare when he answers, seemingly having more words stuck in his throat that he swallows.

you don't press it further, you know that scaramouche makes up his mind whether or not the reason behind a decision is substantial.

“is sumeru better than inazuma?” curiosity is getting the best of you, it's an innocent query to anyone. maybe you were just trying to gain insight because of migration plans or vacation ideas. “well, i like it here.” his response has you tilting your head, a subtle sign of wanting to know more.

“i don't know, i'm surviving here so i guess it's not that bad.”

“are you coming back to inazuma after you graduate?”

“no.”

the zero second gap between your sentences startles you. it intrigues you, a quiet voice telling you to find whatever truth he keeps inside his heart.

because despite scaramouche doing most things according to the law of just because and how he wants things to be, this one seems to bear a reason that he dares not to tell a soul.

there's a weighted silence draped over you, but you feel the tempting force to keep scaramouche here overpowering the former.

december 24th, 12:49.

the afternoon rays of the sun pierces through your skin as the wind gently blows the curtains allowing the sun's presence to grace over your slumber.

rubbing your eyes, you try to recover the memory of last night. oh, right, you and scaramouche… in his apartment on christmas eve, what a totally normal ex-lover reunion, truly.

hell no—

“how long are you sleeping? it's afternoon already.”

scaramouche's voice rings through your ears and suddenly you want to deactivate your sense of hearing. your brain cogs were turning, processing a remark that will hopefully crush his soul, his whole life, his dreams, his—

“lunch is ready. get up while (favorite dish) is still hot.”

and you're bolting to the kitchen, accidentally bumping on the corner of the wall, but all is well as you hide the pain in your knee under the dining table.

“you cook now?” you raise your eyebrow. four years ago, scaramouche only knew how to heat up food and modern era's favorite instant noodles.

“how do you think i survive?” he retorts back, handing you an ice pack before sitting down across you. “that must've hurt. deserve.” he strikes, you squeeze hard on the ice pack which quickly returns your pressure with the coldness it possesses.

four years later, scaramouche changed, but somehow you still feel the same scaramouche you loved lingering. you wonder if who you were four years ago would believe that this is what happens four years later—that you'll break up on a december night and find your ex lover again on a december night.

albeit the second night feels much more colder than the first fall of snow. ironic, because sumeru doesn't experience a snowy weather.

you flinch at the contact of the ice pack to your poor knee, your face contorts. scaramouche fights back a laugh, you hear the slipping sound of him swallowing it down, “just hold the ice pack, i'll feed you.” your brain freezes, unable to wholly process his words and he's already moved to sit beside you, grabbing the spoon and put in front of your lips.

you comply anyway, parting your lips to let him feed you. it's your favorite, you didn't want to pass up the opportunity even though your face is already heating up because why the fuck is scaramouche so close—you're already in his apartment, if that's not already an invasion of personal space (as exes) then you're at loss with the chaotic beating of your heart clouding your perception.

scaramouche continues to feed you, alternating his own portion in between. scaramouche is kind, but he hasn't pulled any mean gimmicks, there's the unfriendly remarks and triggers of annoyance—but he's not acting up. not yet, you suppose.

maybe he'll pull tricks on you on christmas.

a gift of revenge, you thought he would think of it as such.

december 24th, 17:31.

you're unable to read what exactly is going on in scaramouche's mind. is he carefully watching your steps align with his plan and waiting for that go signal to surprise you with the ultimate revenge or is he secretly still in love with you and he's trying to win you back through the little things he knows would matter to you?

either way, you couldn't reject his offer to drive down the city on the evening of christmas eve.

“is this how you spent christmas since you moved here?”

scaramouche pursues his lips into a thin line, eyes still on the road, he takes a few moments to respond.

“depends, last year i just slept through the whole thing.” he shrugs it off, your shoulder drops and a deadpan replaces your anticipating look.

“but i drive a lot at night.” he says, your eyebrow raises, “you're not from here so might as well make this a free vacation.” he finally glances at you, albeit teasingly.

“what kind of ex does that?”

“your ex.”

air gets stuck in your throat, why the fuck did it sound like he's still giving you the right of ownership? your ex. yours, even if he isn't.

“did you not date anyone in the akademiya?”

“why would i?”

“i don't know. did no one seem interesting or did you get rejected?”

“they're not you.”

scaramouche is charged guilty after all.

december 24th, 18:00.

scaramouche opens a can of carbonated soda, the fizz loud enough to turn your attention on him. the stars are twinkling bright over your heads and they hear your longing.

the stars know about your yearning.

the breeze of the night grazes over your skin, you flinch at the coolness, wrapping your arms around yourself. the two of you sit inside his car, windows rolled down; scaramouche brought you to where edge of sumeru.

the coastal highway, a familiar scenery.

ah, right, scaramouche has always been expressive of sitting down staring at the ocean beside the road.

“so—”

“i—”

eyes nervously look at each other, the enemy-esque banter is out of the window when you realize that the both of you aren't trying piss the other off.

scaramouche gulps, heaving a sigh.

“i'm sorry, yn. i'm sorry for leaving you.”

you're confused, why would he apologize after four years? you remember vividly how his last words before he turned his back against you was “let's break up, i'm sorry.”

your heart sinks, unable to yield a thought. it seems you're paralyzed as if all the suppressed feelings that you buried were resurrected and has you on chokehold.

“are you sorry because you still love me?”

scaramouche is silent, he doesn't look at you.

“i'm sorry because i didn't know what to do and breaking up seemed to be the only less damaging route.”

he reasons as his head lowers down, eyes fixate on the can in his hand, “i love you, but it didn't take rocket science to see that we were ruining each other.” you notice the bitter smile curve on his lips.

“yn, i know you were sacrificing too much for us. i know that any more of it will break you.”

“no—”

“you can't tell me otherwise when i saw it in your eyes that you needed to breathe.”

well, curse the fucking tears for ruining your supposed composed being. you hate believe his words.

“i needed you, scar.”

you did, you desperately needed your scar to save you from the chaotic world.

“but i needed me too, yn. and you needed yourself.”

oh.

“then, why do you hate me?”

your voice cracks.

“if i hated you, i wouldn't have looked your way back in the cafe.” he chuckles, “if it's because i spilled water on you, that was just me trying to get your attention.” he admits, your heart tightens.

“four years since we broke up and i still love you, yn.” he chugs down his soda, doing all that he can to avoid seeing your teary eyes, “it's not that i didn't fight for us, i did. but how can i let you suffer like that when i'm already short of what i promised you? i was compromising both you and my future.” he hears you sob and he breaks, his heart equally as broken as yours.

after all, you two truly were in love.

but love as it is will never be enough.

“if we stayed, i'm afraid i'll lose you in the worst way.”

“losing you is already the worst, scar.”

time is a lousely doctor, because until this moment, there's a silent plead for the other half to come back—to love again.

“i'm sorry, scar.” you cry, reaching out to hold him but fall mid-way. your memories flash before your eyes when the nights leading to the break-up consisted of more sincere apologies than the warmth of ‘i love you's.

it kills you to hear more ‘i'm sorry’s.

well, the last blow, the ultimate death was when you heard ‘let's break up’ because after then, you won't be hearing his voice.

you bitterly laugh to yourself, you realized it would've been more painful to hear apologies like it's your routine, a cycle of missteps that muttering a sorry is also part of the egg shells.

you knew no one was to blame, but someone had to cut that cycle. if it had to be scaramouche, then so be it, even if he had to suffer knowing that you suffer because of his loss from your life.

and he knows that if you had realized it sooner, it would've been you who saved your individual lives.

now, silence envelops you, the high tide moves the waves further to the shore allowing its crash to be heard from your position.

december 24th, 23:11.

you and scaramouche still love each other, there's a mutual hope for things to fall back into place. but time isn't the same as four years ago, neither are you and scaramouche.

for all that it's worth, you lay in his arms, his chest heave behind your back.

for what love can allow you to be, scaramouche settles his chin on the crown of your head.

for what you know should just be, yours fingers are intertwined and small bits of laughter blend in with the air as you share moments in your life that made you thought of the other.

you wish for scaramouche to come back as your lover and for you to love him unconditionally, without the constraint of losing yourself.

because you and scaramouche changed over the past four years, and if love allows a second chance,

“i will get to know the newer versions of you than ever think of meeting someone else.”

but alas, things won't be that easy for love alone can not hold a lifetime.

and so, as the seconds inch nearer to christmas, you only have one wish that you hopefully will come true the next year—

“i want our paths to cross again, and maybe then, we can start anew.”

“i'll catch up to you, yn.”

december 25th, 00:00.

merry christmas, please find me again.

#kval — unrated.#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact oneshot #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche oneshot #scaramouche fanfic

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xioterep-art · 1 year ago

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New POV! I got the idea all thanks to this playlist!

POV: you shock Scaramouche with your sudden dominance.. || 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♡

Bossy Scaramouche x obedient Subordinate Reader (what he thought)

Trigger warning: suggestive themes, violence, curses, slight nsfw (suggestive), bullying, dom reader.

Disclaimer: the art is not mine, it belongs to たなみ on pixiv!

You were the most obedient subordinate he could ever have, which was annoying him for some unknown reason. He finally got a brainless idiot human at his disposition, yet why was he so unsatisfied? Scaramouche couldn't understand the reason behind this. All he had to do was look at your dumb facial expression, and he would sigh deeply with his usual gloomy frown.

As usual, Scaramouche was sitting in his assigned office, working on some paperwork when you entered with some rapport in your hands, that dumb smile as always was on your face. Avoiding to look at your face, Scaramouche didn't want to get irritated more as he was already, all because of that arrogant bastard, Dottore.

"My lord, here's the rapport you asked for," you said quietly as you walked to his side. Humphing in response, he does not raise his head to look at you, and as his loyal subject, you understand very well what he wants. All he needed was to think, and you would already take action. From an outsider's perspective, it would look as if you two were communicating using telepathy.

Putting the rapport at his side, you stood silently next to him as you waited for an order, which was weird knowing that you were that talkative and annoying type of person who even in front of Lord Scaramouche would not shut up.

Scaramouche kept working without giving the order to leave. As he ignored your presence, you kept your mouth shut as you were strangely in a bad mood. Usually, when you are in his presence you seem to forget all your problems, yet, today, you feel annoyed, and it even surprised you.

Frowning slightly, you kept your posture straight, neither moving at all nor looking at what the sixth was doing. Just when you were minding your own business for the first time, you suddenly heard a sneer escaping his beautiful mouth that made you finally glance his way.

"This bastard! I am going to fucking kill him someday!" The Balladeer roared angrily. He is most likely talking about the second again, you assumed unfazed as you calmly stared at the scene of Scaramouche throwing things to the other side of the room.

You sigh softly with a smile that wasn't a smile, "quell down your anger, my lord..." You said as you walked up to the mess created by the almighty Balladeer and reached to clean it.

As you finished the cleaning, you stood up with the pile of papers in your hands when you suddenly felt a sharp pain in your forehead and soon enough you felt the hot red liquid sliding down your cheek. You froze while looking straight into Scaramouche's eyes. The pain became slightly unbearable as you squinted your eyes when the sixth lord stood up and walked up to you angrily.

"Put that shit away and fucking scram, stupid monkey!" He said as he kicked your side, venting his anger on you.

Now, you must admit that this got on your damn nerves. To be his stepstone every time someone messes with him is fucking annoying. Usually, you would take on his wrath gladly, yet this time you didn't feel like it.

What about you? Can't you feel anger or vent it? You don't even know what was wrong with you.

Snapping back to reality, you saw his hand flying towards you. He was about to push you but you grabbed it firmly, unfazed when your eyes met his deadliest glare.

"Fucking let go, now!" He articulates slowly, clearly pissed off. "No," You simply answered, which left him stunned for a moment.

Feeling the air becoming static, you sneered as you pushed him violently onto the desk. A loud noise was heard when he came in contact with the hard material, earning him a loud groan.

This completely took him off guard. His obedient dog was biting back! He couldn't believe that. Gasping slightly, he felt pain in his right side as it dumped into the edge of his desk.

That sure was painful.

Wanting to face you again, he put a hand on the desk for support, and as he was about to turn towards you, he was again being pushed against the flat surface.

Not understanding what was happening to him, he suddenly had to face you as you were looking down at him, sending shivers down his spine.

The way you looked at him left him breathless. This mean version of you was new to him. he had never seen this side of you, nor did he even give it a chance in his imagination.

The sixth Harbinger's stunned expression soon turned into anger, "what the hell you are doing?" he yelled, trying to push you aside, and of course, you were not budging at all.

You were a strong and talented Dendro swordsman recruited by the Fatui a long time ago, and you were assigned to Scaramouche on the first day since then you have taken all his anger and snarky attitude. Sometimes, he would treat you even worse than shit if you commit the slightest mistake, while some other times, he would act as if you did not exist.

If it wasn't for the admiration you held for him, you would have long ago snapped. Just like now.

You were between his legs with him pinned by you on the desk, one of your hands next to his head with your eyes squinted and a frown on your face as you kept looking at him intensely, stealing away his words.

Feeling the energy shift in the air, Scaramouche gasped as he felt something rolling around his wrists. It was your Dendro ability. Trying to fight back, Scaramouche squirmed under you yet the roots violently pinned both his wrists above his head in response.

"You are annoying, my lord," You said softly as you kept looking at him, "let go of me! you fucking dog!" He snaps back.

You chuckle as that free hand of yours caresses his white soft-looking cheek, "My lord is the prettiest, " you compliment him, "what a shame that such a beauty has a sharp and nasty temper..." You ease up the frown on your face as you lean more toward him, a dangerous glint in your eyes.

"W- What is wrong with you? back off!" He yells again, squirming around, his face flustered while looking away.

"You could've used your Electro power to stop me, Lord," you chuckled sarcastically, your breath now mixed with his, "I had enough of this, you see..." You vented as you bit his lower lip.

The frozen Scaramouche widened his eyes. The Balladeer seemed to forget how powerful he was and only used his legs to kick you off of him, his face blushing wildly.

Not letting go of his lower lip, you grabbed one of his flying legs and secured it by putting it over your shoulder.

"I think that lord Scaramouche needs some punishment, right?" You whisper in his ear in a dangerous tone, not caring anymore about the consequences to come.

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i-am-a-l0st-gh0st · 6 months ago

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Reader freezes terribly everytime they're asked/taken to dance. It's like their body refuses to move. They just get frozen in some sort of stage fright anytime someone pulls them on the dance floor, as they look down on the ground with their blood going cold, anxiety in their face expression.

I've got this problem- Scaramouche x gn!reader

And I tried to tell you

Warnings- Forced dancing, comfort, scaramouche being protective

Summary- A man trys to approach and dance with you, but starts to pull you to the middle of dance. Scaramouche will have none of that.

Notes- guys bear with me trying something, also gave up on flufftober, exams, sickness. The whole thing @keeyisbored lmk if you wanted one of these for lyney 🙏

The floor was crowded, which already made it awful. What was worse is a total stranger had made his way over to you and asked you to dance.

"Come on, darling. Just one dance."

"No. I dont like dancing." You stiffened with the weight of the mans glare.

Without a word, he grabbed your hand and took you onto the floor. The lights were warm on your skin, but you couldn't help but freeze. You could see the small triumphant smirk of the man. Even when he tried to make you move, you couldn't.

"Oh, come on." He snarled.

Before you could speak or even look at him, someone was standing right next to the both of you.

"I suggest you get your hands off them, or I may do something i regret." Scaramouche glared at the man.

However, you hardly heard his words. Everything felt too much, the light's , the other people. You felt so small, like you couldn't do anything. Despite wanting to be off this floor, it was like the cryo archon themselves had frozen you on the spot.

Your vision became blurry, and you could just make out the man leaving.

"Y/n?"

You snapped out of everything and turned to the blue haired man next to you. "Yeah."

His eyes softened with your tone. He could see how heightened you were. Scaramouch had asked you to dance back when you first started dating. You had freaked out a bit, so he noted that and never asked again. But seeing someone ignore your no, that really pissed him off.

"Let's get you out of here."

He clutched your hand, making sure he didn't lose you in the waves of dancers. As soon as you were off the floor, you started to breathe normally again. Something about a familiar hand in yours always made you calm.

"That bastard. He's lucky i didn't kill him."

"Scara-"

"I'm serious."

"That's the issue, i know."

He placed kisses over your forehead, as his hands crept up to cup both of your cheeks.

"I'm sorry i wasn't there."

"Still, you helped."

"Mm, but i could've prevented it."

There wasn't a moment where you didn't feel safe in his arms. Despite his temper, you weren't scared of him. He never aimed his anger at you but at the people who hurt you.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #gn reader #fluff #genshin fluff #genshin angst #scaramouche oneshot #scaramocuhe #scara #genshin scara #scara x reader #scaramouche #scara x gn!reader #scara fluff #scara comfort #wanderer #wanderer fluff #scara genshin

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lone-wolf-nergiganos · 2 years ago

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Scaramouche/Wanderer X Bullied Gaming YouTuber! Male Reader Modern AU

Scaramouche is always protective over you, sure he is a short little guy, but that doesn't mean he won't hurt someone who dares to harm you, even when you are online, his overprotective nature never depletes.

You are a gamer, and you often have to deal with people who thinks everyone should be perfect in order to win, and when you or someone else screws up, they'll scold you. Or even worse make mean comments on your streams. That's something Scaramouche do not tolerate.

You were currently streaming on YouTube while playing Call of Duty: Warzone, which is your favorite game to play. Unfortunately you kept dying despite trying so hard to stay alive, and the worst part about it is? It's that you have people commenting negatively on your stream, saying that you are a*s or trash at the game.

Scaramouche saw this negative thread of comments and quickly stepped in before grabbing the microphone and said, "you b*tches better shut the hell up, let him play the game without treating him like crap." This comments quickly stopped becoming negative, it was as if Scaramouche casted a spell on them.

"That's what I thought you b*tches, how about you all get a life instead of making fun of someone online?" He added before turning around to look at you, "turn off the stream baby, they're not worth it," he said before smiling at you. "Okay," you replied before ending the stream.

Scaramouche then walked up to you before kissing you gently before saying, "ignore them lowlives baby, they're not worth stressing over." You kissed him back before saying, "okay," and after that you two went to bed to take a little nap while cuddling each other.

#genshin impact x male reader #genshin x male reader #scaramouche x male reader #wanderer x male reader #scaramouche oneshot #male reader insert #x male reader #male reader #modern au #wanderer genshin #wanderer gi

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aenemix · 2 years ago

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Neko Scaramouche x F! Reader

What happens when you rescue a stray cat from its near death on the way home?

What happens when you wake up and found a strange boy with strange cat ears and tail on its back and looking at you with those grumpy looking eyes??

"Human! Feed me!"

"Sit or else no treats for you Scara!"

"How dare yo-wait! Stop spraying me with that! Fine I'll sit!"

"Good boy 😌"

"pathetic.... *purrs*"

You arch your back after the long hours of working non-stop in your office. It was finally your time to leave and maybe buy some necessary things at the grocery store while your at it. You grab your things and stuff it inside your bag and left the building of your workplace. It was around 10 pm and people can still be seen on the streets going here and there. Your apartment isn't far from your workplace so was the grocery store you were planning to go to.

You stepped inside the grocery store and immediately bought the things you needed and food to eat. After paying for the necessary stuff you left the store and was about to leave when you heard a soft meow.

"M-meow"

There it goes again. You glance around to find that sound and it brought you to the back of the store. It was dark and cold and smelled of rotten trash, you squint in disgust however it did not stop you from finding the sound of that meow.

"Meow.. Meow... Meow.." As if it sense your presence the creature cries its best to get your attention.

Alas, you find the desperate cry of a certain animal. It lay there weakly beside a dumpster. It had a dark fur and scratches here and there all over its body. Without hesitation you pick it up gently and place it in your jacket to give it a sense of warmth.

"meow..." it howls one last time before its head went limp.

Alarmed, you immediately run to your apartment. You got inside and quickly find the medicine kit.

"Kitty please don't give up on me" you desperately muttered as you place the young cat on the mat not far from your heater.

You did what you can do, search any wounds or injuries on its body and even cleaning its dark fur which you found out in fact, not a dark fur but a clear purple fur and white paws. The small cat was breathing normally after an hour of bandaging and cleaning.

You let out a sigh of relief and tidy up the medicine kit. You decided to prepare a meal for it, maybe a soft food, in case the small cat has difficulty in chewing its food.

"What a night" you whispered to yourself. After everything that has happened you lay in the couch, the exhaustion creeping up to your system.

You glance at the clock and saw that it was already 12 am. Good thing tomorrow is your day-off. You sigh again and let sleepiness take over you. Unbeknownst to you the cat open its eyes.

****SCARAMOUCHE POV****

Scaramouche waited for the right moment to open its eyes when the human fell asleep. It was around 10 minutes ago that he felt his surroundings, away from danger and clearly inside of a human home. He waited for the human to sleep and stood up. Four paws met the soft mat, his body was covered in white bandages and he reek of medicine. He could feel himself more light unlike earlier where he suffered a great deal of injuries from the fight he had with the other cats in the back store.

Scaramouche look around, scanning every nook and cranny of your house. It was warm and homey to say the least, out of dangers way. The human was deep asleep and she did not have the aura of that a dangerous person. In fact, when she stumbled at that back store Scaramouche could feel a massive warm aura that he couldn't helped but desperately call for it. Despite his hate for humans, this one, however, was unlike any other.

"𝘒𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦" he heard her say, and at that moment he could feel a sense of gentle caressed in his heart, a slight tingle that was strange for him.

"You're a strange human" he said, looking up at the sleeping woman.

**** BACK TO YOUR POV****

You woke up after a long nap, remembering the past events last night you quickly stood up to check on the cat however what meet your eyes was a different case.

There, across you is a boy, sitting there on that mat unbothered. Although he looks a little grumpy but what caught you off guard was the strange cat ears and his long, purple-ish tail, swaying left and right like a what a cat would do if they're interested on something. Nevertheless, it still surprises you that the moment you open your mouth he spoke, cutting you off.

"Scream and I'll scratch your throat human" he threatened showing off his claws.

You gulped, swallowing the attempt of screaming. He was right, you were about to scream but his threat made you reconsider.

"W-what are you??" you finally said, albeit stuttering.

"Obviously a cat" he looked at you deadpanned.

The boy obviously has an attitude. You rolled your eyes at him.

"I can see that but like, what kind??? Are you a half-breed perhaps??" you questioned finally calming your heart.

You glance at the little plate where you left the food last night empty and clean.

"If that's how human sees it, then maybe.." he replied while using his feet to scratch his cat ears. A weird position for a half-cat like boy.

It reminded you alot of a cat, well, he is an actual cat considering his tail and ears move like a cat would. Plus, he ate the food you prepared last night and made your heart warm.

Then you realize, he was supposed to rest, he suffered from many injuries last night.

"By the way, how are you feeling?" no longer surprise, you asked the boy in concern.

The boy look at himself covered in bandages and then at you.

"Your human medicine is making my healing process a little faster, it does take a while to heal considering I have to take up huge amount of energy to fuel my healing process but with your human medicines it made the process faster" he explained.

You nodded in understanding. In that case you'll have to prepare another batch of medicine to speed up his recovery. But first, you have to prepare breakfast.

"Well then, since you'll be living with me from now on. I hope that we have a peaceful cooperation" you said, walking towards the kitchen while the boy followed your movements.

"I can assure you human, I am far from what you think of me." he said smugly.

"Uhuh. I hope you do" you chuckled.

*** 2 weeks later ***

Far from what he said.

"Scaramouche! You better come down here!" you yelled at the cat whose figure sitting at the highest bookshelf that you have. He was in his cat form again.

"How many times had I told you human I don't want a bath!" he hissed looking away.

You glare at the little critter, obviously he needs a bath. Its been two weeks since you decided to keep Scaramouche with you. Although he's a self-centered, narcissistic cat, who often belittles you and your 'kind' but you still found this side of him cute and well... Bearable.

You also found out that he loves to be petted and praise, on one occasion when you have to change his bandage, it took a while to convince him before promising him something. In his cat form, you cleaned and re-bandage his almost healed wound. On instinct you gave him a pet on the head that he himself did not notice and let out a satisfying purr. With a laugh you praised him to be a good boy and Scaramouche let out a hissed and jump off from the table.

Now, here you are trying to convince him to take a bath.

"Come on Scaramouche its not that bad and beside the water is warm" you tried to coaxed him.

"Your coaxing doesn't work on me human" he replied. He was looking at you with a smug look after seeing you struggle to catch him.

Seeing that little smug on his face, you couldn't helped but be provoked.

"I see. So you want this the hard way eh?" you smirked.

Suddenly, chills sent down Scaramouche's spine. Something was telling him to run away however he choose to ignore it.

With a grin, you plant a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Let's say, after that. Scaramouche was covered in a big towel, fur wet and smelled of sweet shampoo.

You hummed in satisfaction as Scaramouche lay in your embrace with a look of a traumatized victim.

"I told you it wasn't that bad" you told him, drying his fur.

Scaramouche sniffles, looking at her with a wrongful face.

"Y-you EVIL WITCH!" he wanted to scratch but prevented himself from doing so after remembering the events earlier.

You chuckled at his whine and dry him off completely.

********

"Feed me human!" Scaramouche, in his cat form, bothered you while you prepared something at the kitchen.

"Behave then if you want treats Scara" you patted his head which he returned with a cute grumpy hissed.

"I said feed me!" he tap you like a bratty child.

"behaveee~" you uttered in a sing-song tone, amused by his tantrum.

"No. I want treats now!" he whined again.

"Scara, bad kitties don't get treats if they don't behave"

"Don't wanna" he look away with a hmp. He then started jumping up and down trying to get your attention.

"Sit or no treats for you Scara!" you warned while almost finishing the meal.

"How dare yo-wait stop spraying me with that! Fine I'll sit!"

You laugh after giving him a slight spray of water.

"Good boy" you pet him on the head

Scaramouche glares at you, nevertheless, he let out a purr.

"Pathetic" he whispered softly, letting himself bathe in your attention.

That night, when you were about to sleep, Scaramouche jump in your bed. Confused you ask him.

"You have your own bed Scara"

"I just want to make sure you sleep human, don't bother about me" he hissed softly and place himself at the center of your bed.

You grinned hearing his excuse. Afterall, he has done this numerous time, trying to act as a bodyguard while you sleep knowing fully well he would scoot over and lay in your embrace.

"If you say so" you shrugged pretending not to know his intentions.

You went to sleep comfortably. Scaramouche waited for your snores, he made sure you sleep deeply before scooting himself over to your neck and making himself comfortable. He won't admit it. But he loves his human. His human who cared for him deeply. He love his human that he would do anything for her.

That night the two of them sleep comfortably.

These pictures are found on Pinterest 😅

#genshin impact #oneshot #neko #Neko Scaramouche #Genshinimpact characters #tsundere scaramouche #cat scaramouche #Scaramouche x reader #Genshin impact fatui harbingers #Cute Scaramouche #scaramouche oneshot #Genshinimpact oneshot #Our cute Scaramouche #Scaramouche fanfic

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ventiij · 2 years ago

Text

clothes shop employee!scara x customer!reader

enstablished relationship | romantic | lemon | genshin au but kinda modern? since I implied existence of technology.

I just had this idea while shopping so like thank me later

of course you knew. he was always around you, save when he had to work. why get a job, though? wasn’t what you financially provided enough? did he trust you’d leave him, one day? no, nothing like that. he talked it out with you, he took the first good-paying job that didn’t take all of your time toghether, he just wanted to not depend on you too much and be a “burden”, thing you reassured him on multiple times, but still.

you decided to let him do his thing and keep his freedom, so to not to bother during his shift.

one time though, on a festive day, you decided to go on a shopping spree by yourself, since the shop your s/o worked at was a full time one (luckily he took care of everything during the morning) and you decided to pay him a visit.

there he was, carrying boxes around a deserted area of the huge building, you had to wander around for a bit to find him. “there you are, love..” you said, he jumped and turned around just to find you with three bags full of brand new clothing.

he sighed and laid the boxes on the ground, looking embarassed: “what.” you took a good look at him before thinking out loud: “that uniform looks good on you…” you litterally had heart-shaped pupils. “perhaps I should become a regular here.” he facepalmed and replied: “is it even possible to become a regular at a clothes shop?” while looking at you in disbelief. “for you, pookie, anything is possible.”

he facepalms again. “alright, love you and all. now go before someone catches me slacking off - I think I might even get a raise pretty soon.” your face shifts to a surprised one. “already? you must be the best employee, then… are you already part of your boss’ graces?” you got closer to him as you formed the question.

“yes, and I don’t want that to change.” you pouted as you finally hugged him from behind, then grabbing his chin and bringing it closer to you, making him face you. looking straight into his eyes, you demanded: “you’re so good for them, why not be even better for me?” he blushed and tried to squirm out of your embrace, as he refused to with all his will, just before you assured “no one’s around. are there any cameras?”

he though about it for a second and brought you along with him behind a couple of big boxes. “we should be out of reach here. make it quick though, whatever it is you want to do.” you smirked and pulled him in closer, dropping alm yout bags on the floor, just to start peppering his lips and cheeks with kisses, feeling the need to do so on such a happy day, on such a soft and cute thing like him.

But was that enough? HAHA not even close. So, sliding down to mark him, you made him shiver in a need for your attention he hid didn’t know he had. not today, at least.

“s-stop, you’re gonna get us caught, you imbecile!” he whined, kinda in an undertone. you kissed his lips once more, one hand up on his head, grabbing his hair just enough to keep him in position, sliding the other hand on his butt, squeezing it.

he didn’t have the chance to moan, but he did let out some pretty whimpers while making out with you.

he was a blushing mess. he pulled away to breathe and pushed you off of him.

“alright, you got what you wanted. now let me work in peace, you idiot.” he returned to his normal expression, but still tinted of red. “fine, fine.” scara turned to the opposite direction as you finished talking, forcing you to stop torturing him (and to leave asap unless you wanted to buy something).

hope you enjoyed lolololololol have a good day

(requests are open - check the pinned post - i’m new so any req/idea/anything is much appreciated love u all xoxo)

#scara #scaramouche #scara lemon #scaramouche lemon #scara x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche oneshot #scaramouche ff #bf scaramouche #bf scara

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brayneworms · 2 years ago

Text

fearful, wonderful.

featuring. scaramouche.

tags. kabukimono!scaramouche, trans!scaramouche, yokai!reader, gender-neutral reader, slowburn, general allusions to war and death, yokai lore/imagery.

word count. 4.09k

notes. MINORS DNI

synopsis. the both of you are missing pieces. you will never be human. you will be more human than anything that came before you.

masterlist. prev. next. ao3.

I. EVEN THE IRON STILL FEARS THE ROT.

There are spirits that live in your eyes.

They live, they dance, they die, all in the confines of your sclera. Sometimes when you blink, you see them imprinted even in your mind. Some of them are your friends, some your enemies. It doesn’t matter at the end of the day. They live and they dance and they die all the same. You watch decades go by in a blink. You watch a flower sprout and bloom and die before you can even think to pluck it. Beauty is something that escapes you, the longer the years go on. The stars blur together in silver streaks across the sky, unending glistening tubers counting the years of your misery.

You find something like solace in Tatarasuna. Your village nests itself at the bedrock of a cluster of mountains that jut up against the Inazuman horizon. You’ve lived through the war, now you reach peace. Peace is a house with a red door and a lavender-melon tree outside. Peace is a community of humans who are all kinder and more well-meaning people than you. Peace is the children that play in the flowery meadows, the elderly women who hang their wet linens on the wires outside their homes, the men who chop wood and manhandle iron.

Peace is laying down to sleep on your futon every night with the knowledge of all your days spent, and all the ones yet to come. Peace is dreaming of friends long dead and mistaking for a moment that they will be there to greet you when you wake, only to open your eyes to an empty room, a cold hearth. You keep your teacups out of the cupboard, hanging from little wire hooks protruding from the sugi wood. They’re seto, hardly finely crafted, but you think built with heart. That is something humans are good at. Building with heart. They stir love into their creations.

You have never known yōkai to do the same.

You make tea in the evening. The sun crests over the purple sky, dips behind the mountains, shading your village in fiery light. You look out of the window of your kitchen; the glass has become cloudy over time, built up with moss and condensation piling between the panes, but you can see out, far out, across the lavender field. Two children play there, throwing a ball made of cloth back and forward. As your water starts to boil over the fire, their mother wanders out, takes them both by the wrist and hauls them back inside whilst they cry and whine.

There is something so human in that, you think. They know the meadow will be here tomorrow, that the moths will not consume their cloth ball in the night. And yet they cry. It is so human to want everything to linger in the here and now.

They have no sense of future or past. They seek beauty in its extremity, hunt for it under every corner, drink it like lifeblood.

You’re beginning to see the appeal, the longer you stay.

Your tea is earthy. It’s made from dendrobium.

You drink it outside in the dying light, and it looks like blood, and it feels like home on your lips.

You find Katsuragi one evening on Nazuchi beach. You know that he sometimes takes off his shoes and walks along the foamy shore, looking for crabs or turtles that have wandered into water too shallow and tossing them back to the tide.

Katsuragi is a softhearted man. He slants his hand against the sun to see you properly as you approach. Your footsteps sink deeply into the purplish sand—further than they should, for someone of your size. It is one of the many things about you that you’ve learned unnerve the humans.

You slide your geta off your feet as you approach the shoreline, hold them by the woollen band between two fingers. Katsuragi bends down and observes a jellyfish trapped in a rock pool.

“Don’t touch that,” you tell him as he reaches. “They sting.”

“Do they?” He looks surprised. “I’ve never been stung.”

You shrug. “Maybe they sense your kind intentions.”

“Ah, well, I’m absolutely brimming with those.” Katsuragi grins, then leans down again. You tap his wrists sharply.

“Let me,” you mutter. “I don’t feel it.”

“Of course. I forget.”

You don’t know if that’s the truth. Most of Taratsuna knows that you’re a yōkai, even if only because you’ve lived in the same place for around a hundred years and not aged a day. They have no clue how long you’ve lived before that, though. And they never will.

You cup the water beneath the jellyfish with two hands. It squirms in your grip as you lift it into the air; its feelers wrap over your arm like pale ribbons; its body is soft and rubbery and achingly vulnerable in your hands. You wonder if it knows that its attempts to sting you are in vain. You wonder if all things hurt the people trying to help them, only because they don’t know aid from sabotage.

It slips from your hands back into the water and disappears beneath the surface.

“Thank you,” Katsuragi says earnestly. “You’re a good soul, Y/n.”

You don’t tell Katsuragi that there is a large part of you that doesn’t come alive unless you are hurting or being hurt.

“I’m not,” you say instead. “I’m tsukumogami. I have no soul.”

“Jellyfish have no brains,” Katsuragi shrugs. “But we care for them all the same, don’t we?”

One night—the night that everything changes—sleep escapes you.

Every time you close your eyes you see war. You are seto-taishō, and so it is all that you know. Rain pours down from the black sky in sheets, collects in the mossy gutters and pools on rooftops. The lavender meadow by your house will flood at this rate. You think of all those flowers coming loose from the topsoil like a hundred thousand frail purple corpses, awash downstream.

You keep a collection of scrolls tucked away inside a dresser drawer; they tell stories of your life, your past, your friends. All of it long gone and dead, yet their pictures remain. You unroll them tonight, loosening the velvet ribbons that catch them fast, lay out the worn parchment over your dining table. You run your fingers over the cracked and faded paint. What will you have left of them when even these scrolls return to dust? Your own memories? What a sick joke.

Their screams echo in your ears; you feel your skin press tight over your bones, like your heart is too big for your body, and you press your knuckles to your mouth to stifle a scream. Tatarasuna is good. The people here are good. You are not, and it is why you will never belong.

It is why you will never integrate yourself with them, because they are only humans, and their lives pass you by in a blink. You have loved and hated an uncountable number of humans, and they live and die just the same, and it hurts so badly that it’s all you can do to shut it all out. You’ve learned that it’s easy to become entranced with humanity, and their kindness, and their hope and resilience—but it is just as easy to become revolted with it. With their fleeting lives and their selfishness and their hypocrisy.

At first you think you hallucinate the knock at your door. It’s pitch black outside and howling a gale; lightning forks down from the sky habitually, blazing the landscape violet for a split second before it dissipates back into darkness. But then it comes again—more frantic, more urgent, and you set your scrolls to the side with a mounting feeling of suspicion.

You think about hunting for your weapons. It seems you truly cannot escape your nature, or you would have burned the things years ago. As it is, they lay stashed and growing dust under your wardrobe. In lieu of arming yourself to the teeth, you slip a delicate half-dagger into your sock as you approach to the door. You press your ear to the wood, hearing nothing for a moment but the dull roar of the storm outside.

And then another knock.

You crack the door open. A curtain of cold wind whips inside, making your lit hearth sputter and protest and choke out a plume of black smoke.

And Katsuragi says, “Hear me out.”

Your brow furrows. A crack of violet lightning splits the sky, and you see them. A figure so much smaller than Katsuragi that they were almost swallowed entirely. Head bent against the lashing rain, small and slender against Katsuragi’s thick corded-muscle arms. You blink, looking from the nameless figure back to Katsuragi. He lifts his eyebrows, beseeching.

Slowly, you open the door. Katsuragi sags with relief and steps over the threshold, and it's only as the both of them pass over it that you notice they’re holding hands. The sight of it looks bizarre. The figure behind him moves with both easy grace and childish uncertainty. Their lithe, pale fingers curl around Katsuragi’s fist.

“Thank you,” Katsuragi pants, swiping his dripping wet hair from his forehead. You close the door silently behind him, culling the howling gale. “You don’t know what this means. I barely do.”

“Explain,” you say quietly, eyes flickering from the man you recognise to the figure you do not. They stand quite still in the middle of your living room, dripping water onto the tatami flooring.

“Yes,” Katsuragi says, then promptly gets distracted. “Hey there, don’t stand so close to the fire,” he chides, seizing the figure by their wrist and pulling. “You’ll get burnt. Or your robes will set alight.”

They go without question, stumbling where Katsuragi’s gentle pull guides them. The longer you look at this figure in your living room, the more your hair is standing on end. “Katsuragi?”

“Yes. Sorry.” He hesitates, then jerks his head. You follow him into the hallway and he slides the door shut behind you; the figure in your living room watches, unblinking, until the very moment the door touches the frame. Wide blue eyes, like ice shimmering on a winter lake. “I found him at Shakkei Pavilion. Just wandering around. He had this on him.”

Katsuragi hands you something. Your eyes widen as your eyes come to focus on it—an elegant golden feather, unmistakable.

“Hung around his neck,” Katsuragi says lowly. “It’s a mark of the archons.”

“The Shogun?” you mutter, turning your head back to the closed door in disbelief.

“I see the resemblance alright,” Katsuragi says. “It’s strange. I don’t think he’s quite… human.”

Your spine stiffens. “What do you mean? He’s… yōkai?”

“No, not quite,” Katsuragi winces, looking awkward. “But… we walked in that rain for nearly an hour. I’m about to catch my death from the cold, and he was just… standing there like he didn’t even feel it. I don’t even think he was breathing.”

“I’ve never heard of anything quite like that,” you admit. “But… why bring him to me?”

Katsuragi bites his lip. “I can’t… in good conscience cast him aside,” he says quietly. “By the looks of things, he’s been abandoned once already. The—the look in his eyes, when he realised I was trying to take him with me… almost like he’d never even conceived of it before. But I also—I don’t have the time to look over him all day, not with my job. And yet… he hungers for it, I can tell. To be a part of something.”

“Is that so?” you say archly. “And how can you tell?”

Katsuragi’s eyes soften. “I see it on your own face often enough.”

Your jaw clenches. “Losing your sight in your old age, I see,” you spit. “Or maybe you’ve taken one too many hits to the head.”

A breathless chuckle. “But, see… I think him finding a place in this village will be good for him. I’ll pay a visit to my friend Niwa in the morning—he taught my niece to read and write, you know? He could learn to be a real person.”

You almost ask, why do you care so much? And then you remember that this is Katsuragi. Katsuragi who wanders the shores in his spare hours, finding sea animals who had wandered too close to land. All Katsuragi did was look out for lost souls. He collects them—things without brains. Things without souls. You cast a glance at the shut door again, picturing the figure behind it.

Things without hearts.

“So you want me to… what?” You look at Katsuragi in disbelief. “I’m not the one to raise him, Katsuragi.”

He shrugs. “He’s not a child. He is ignorant of the world, sure, but he seems to have lived much of it already. You wouldn’t be a parent. You’d be a friend.”

“A friend?” you repeat with derision. “I’m hardly fit to be anyone’s friend.”

“Well, I’m hurt.” Katsuragi grins. “All this time, I thought we were buds.”

“You’re hilarious,” you say acidly. “Be serious. Let Niwa house him. Do it yourself, if you care so much.”

“I can’t,” he begs. “Nobody else can. Don’t you see?”

And suddenly you do. You are the only one suited to look over him, because of one very specific thing you both have in common. You are not human. And neither is he.

“You don’t want him to be alone,” you say quietly. Katsuragi looks at you helplessly. “I think you’re making a mistake, entrusting him to me.”

Katsuragi gives you a crooked smile. “Who says I’m not entrusting you to him?”

The thing—boy?—has moved a little from where you both left him when you shut the door. His back was to you, and he was stooped slightly over your dresser, examining the small collections of kitchenware you had stored carelessly upon there.

“What are you doing?” you snap, striding over. The puppet doesn’t flinch, exactly, but his body sort of locks up in surprise, and he turns those wide indigo eyes over to you with the sort of innocence you’d once thought only small children or animals possessed. The seto cup in his hand trembles.

“I was… just looking,” he says tremulously.

“You’re touching,” you grit out. “Touching isn’t looking.”

The puppet looks down at the cup in his hands, and then he slowly sets it down on the dresser. His features—somehow soft and pointed at the same time—are taut with faint confusion. “Is it valuable?”

“To me, yes.” You snatch the cup up and hang it back on its hook. The puppet’s eyes follow you, hopelessly confused. You sort of feel like you’re pointing a crossbow at a deer that’s never been hunted before.

“Easy, now,” Katsuragi intervenes—he raises his hands as though about to place them placatingly on your shoulders, but the venomous look you shoot him cowes him. He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, instead. “He didn’t know, okay?”

You bite your lip, staying schtum. The puppet looks from you to Katsuragi uncertainly. The silence swells.

Finally, Katsuragi stoops down to talk to the puppet. “So… you’re going to be staying here for a while, okay? At least until we figure out what more we can do.”

The puppet’s lashes flicker in surprise. “Will I see you again?”

“Of course,” Katsuragi says warmly. “I’ll stop by all the time. I just don’t have the time to house you with me at the moment, okay?”

“I’m not going back to the Pavilion?” the puppet asks quietly. “I… get to stay?”

Katsuragi raises his eyes and looks at you beseechingly.

This is a terrible idea.

You’re going to ruin this poor puppet’s life.

You throw up your hands in exasperation and nod.

As Katsuragi says his goodbyes, you go to the closet and pull out a spare futon and some blankets. There’s a spare room, but it’s about the size of a large cupboard and currently is used to store your old armour and weapons. The puppet will have to share your room. You unroll the futon in the furthest corner from your own bed, right under the window. Muted strips of moonlight fall over the sheets, stifled by the rainfall.

When you wander back into the living room, Katsuragi is preparing to leave. You hesitate.

“Don’t want to dry off before you go?”

He shakes his head with a demure smile. “Not much point. I’ll get soaked either way.” He walks over to you with his dark eyes soft and open. “Thank you for this. I’m grateful.” His voice drops. “So is he.”

You don’t voice any of the things that rise to your lips instinctively. This is a mistake. I’ll mess this up. I’ll mess him up.

I can’t teach life. All I know is death.

Instead, you shrug. “Whatever.”

With another pat on the puppet’s head, Katsuragi departs. The puppet’s eyes follow him warily before turning to you. The expression on his face is expectant, like he’s waiting for you to tell him what to do.

You cast an awkward look around. “Are you… cold?”

The puppet blinks. “I don’t think so.” He looks down at his soaked clothes as though they don’t even belong to him. “That’s rain outside, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

The puppet looks thoughtful. “I heard it often, in the Pavillion. I always wondered what it looked like. What it felt like. But I couldn’t feel much of it.”

“Right.” You shift awkwardly. “Well… you should change into some dry clothes, at least.”

The puppet blinks. Tilts his head curiously. “Why?”

“Just… you know.” Your tongue feels too big and awkward for your mouth, and you have to bite back an irritated huff. “It’ll feel better.”

The puppet still looks confused, but he only bites his lip this time instead of answering. The skin there, caught between his teeth, is smooth and unmarred. The clothing in question is, indeed, so wet that it’s sticking to him. The plain, unembellished karaginu is practically translucent against his fair skin, his dark katsugi veil clinging to his long, dark hair. And what hair—it cascades like a dark waterfall down to his waist, stringy with rainwater, framing a thin, pale face.

He looks like a woman, in this light. Pretty enough to be one, you suppose. The feminine clothing and hair weren’t helping.

You rummage in your cupboards for a spare jinbei, hands curling over soft eggshell cotton. When you press them into his arms, he looks hopelessly confused, and you heave a sigh.

“Undress yourself, and put these on,” you tell him. “Your bed is in that room, under the window.”

You turn your back, wandering into the kitchen to make tea. You take a cup—not your seto ones, they never get used for something as prosaic as teamaking—and spoon dried curdled leaves into it, light a fire under a pot of water. It bubbles happily away as the flame catches and sputters in earnest.

You look over your shoulder, intending to ask the puppet if he would like something to drink also (do puppets need to drink? Do they need to eat?) but your voice dies in your throat. His veil lies in a wet pile of diaphanous lilac silk at his feet. He has struggled halfway out of his karaginu, the top half pooling limply at his waist as he works at his belt.

“W-what are you doing?!”

The puppet’s head snaps up at your near-shout, eyes wide. His fingers fumble at his waist, and the sharp jut of his shoulder blades and spine contort as he whirls around to stare at you.

“Don’t change here,” you tell him incredulously. “Go into the bathroom or the bedroom.”

The puppet looks utterly bewildered and a little hurt. “What? W-why?”

“For privacy.” You take a deep breath through your teeth. He lived alone in a domain for Archons-know how long. Of course he would be unaccustomed to the concept of shame. Maybe it’s not right for you to introduce him to it—but you can’t pretend the sight of his bare torso doesn’t rattle you in all the wrong ways. Strange markings carve into his skin at the elbows and shoulders. They look like weird shadows, but you don’t keep your eyes on them long enough to gauge their meaning. All you see is an expanse of smooth, unmarred skin.

“I don’t understand,” the puppet says quietly. “Is my body offensive?”

“It’s not that,” you get out through gritted teeth, eyes glued to the wall. “It’s just… decent. Please go and change somewhere else.”

There’s a pause—and then you hear a quiet rustle of shifting clothing. Silently, the puppet picks up his sleepwear and treads down the hallway to the bathroom. The door slides shut with a sound like a sigh behind him.

You turn back to your tea, trying not to feel guilty. The water in the pot froths and spits now, starting to bubble over the cast-iron rim. You wonder if you hurt the puppet’s feelings. You wonder if he has any feelings to hurt.

Things without souls. Things without hearts.

What a pair we make.

Katsuragi’s trust in you feels like a sick joke.

You pour the tea, and whilst it cools, walk over to where the puppet was changing. He left his veil in a sodden pile on the floor, so you pick it up and hang it on one of the coat hanger hooks. It drips sullenly and relentlessly, a steady dull tapping against the tatami flooring. You cast a glance at the closed door, the one the puppet undresses behind.

Aid and sabotage.

Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know the difference.

After another ten minutes, the door slides open in a soft rush. The puppet pokes his head around the frame. “Am I wearing it right?”

The shirt is backwards, and when you tell him so a frustrated furrow carves itself between his brows. He wriggles his arms back out of the holes and twists the fabric around his torso—and then he looks up at you, and you think that if he had the capacity to breathe his breath would be bated. He looks as though his every happiness clings to you telling him he’s finally done something right. His eyes are impossibly big, like night-blooming lilies, begging for your blessing.

He doesn’t yet know that you are unfit to give it.

You nod tersely, drain the last of your tea. “Give me your wet clothes,” you tell him. “I’ll hang them up to dry.”

He scrambles to obey, shoving the damp pile of fabric at you with haste. He watches you hang them up like it’s the most captivating thing in the world, rosebud lips parted in awe.

When you show him his futon, his eyes gleam. He sets his body down gingerly, spreads his palm over the sheets. Feeling the fabric to an almost obsessive degree, clenching his fists so the white cotton bleeds between his fingers, rubbing his cheek against the pillow like a cat. As you settle into your own bed, staring emptily up at the ceiling, you hear him shift, a rustle as he sits up.

“Why didn’t Katsuragi want me?” he asks.

“He didn’t have time for you,” you answer. “He works a lot.”

There is a short pause as the puppet processes this. “Why did you want me?”

“I didn’t,” you grit out. “But I have you now.”

There is quiet, broken only by the endless rush of rain outside. Then the puppet sighs, long and deep and mournful.

“I might have known.” His words seep into the darkness, a million miles from the neutral, curious tone you’ve heard so far. His voice sounds hoarse and much older, suddenly, weighed down with a hundred years of pain. “Nobody ever really wants me.”

With that, he turns on his side, pulling the blankets up over his head.

You don’t know if he sleeps. You certainly don’t.

When you close your eyes after a few hours, you see spirits. They dance and they live and they die. The smell of blood wakes you up. As usual, when you bolt upright, gasping for breath, they are not there.

Someone is, though. For the first time in you don’t even know how long, someone is.

The knowledge of that soothes you back to sleep.

#🫀.scribes #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #kabukimono x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin impact oneshot #scaramouche oneshot #wanderer oneshot #genshin impact x you #scaramouche x you #kabukimono x you #wanderer x you

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hoonnn · 2 years ago

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The new member

scaramouche x female reader

You are a new member of a fatui and you have been called to the balladeer's office. You dislike him and have no idea as to why everyone is so afraid of him. He's only the sixth of the eleven fatui harbingers, so what makes him so special?

You enter his office and were greeted with an already irritated face of the balladeer. You present yourself as one of the fatui's new members and you could hear him chuckle. “Do you think I care? I don’t speak to mortals like you.” Then why did you called me??

You were so enraged that you wanted to smack him in the face. Is he always this rude? Well, if most of the fatui let his rudeness slide, you certainly won't.

“Really?” you replied arrogantly, as if you were making fun of the man in front of you.

You notice him raise his brow, seemingly surprised by your response to him. “Are you mocking me? Don't you know I get violent when I'm annoyed?”

“Are you annoyed right now?” you see him narrowing his eyes and walking towards you “let's say I am” You observed how his lips formed to smirk “Would that bother you?”

“Why would it bother me?” you replied with a blank face. This man certainly puts your patience to the test.

The man raised his brows in surprise. “y-you don’t mind?” he takes a few steps closer to you, studying you carefully; you look as if you're really confident in yourself. “You’re not terrified of me? Don’t you worry about what I might do when I get upset? Or are you just that confident that you could kick my ass yourself” you can see him smirking, yet it swiftly fades into a more threatening one as he waits for your response.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

For a few long seconds, the balladeer stares at you. But he couldn't find any fear in your eyes. The way you stand, the way you gaze at him. You're not really scared at all. He despises admitting it to himself, but he really finds you interesting.

He’s lips turn into a snarl. He’s not used to being treated like this. He makes another step toward you, leaning in close and narrowing his eyes. “What?” he asks, his voice hissing “what are you trying to say? you don’t feel any fear when I look at you like this?“ he looks at you as if you're some kind of predator.

“Nope”

The balladeer blink in surprise, you said it so casually to him that it appears you don't really care who he is at all. His eyes narrow even further, yet something else lurks beneath the surface of his rage. Something… curious. Something almost… admiration?

“You are either brave… or incredibly stupid.”

He keeps staring at you, sizing you up. “You show no fear, you don’t care that I’m threatening you, you don’t run or cower…” you heard him chuckle, softly. “I am almost amused. Your completely lack of fear is… intriguing to me, It is rare to find someone who is so bold. I’m half impressed by you.” He took another step towards you, and you were almost face to face. His lips curl into a sinister smile. Not often that he’s confronted with someone like this.

“What are you going to do about it?” you asked as if you were trying to provoke him.

“I could beat you to a pulp right now and it wouldn’t cost me a thing.” his smile widens, an aggressive, violent little smirk.

“Really?”

“You’re really quite irritating with your constant “really?”” The man frowns, yet you can see a glint of admiration in his eyes as he looks at you. You had no idea that the man in front of you was struggling with his own emotions right now as he looks at you. Despite the fact that his words are unpleasant, underneath it all, he feels like his blood is rising and his adrenaline is pounding. He is enthusiastic about you and does not understand why. Perhaps it's because you make him feel alive in some way… but how can mortals do this to him? He tilts his head slightly and smiles widely.

“Why are you smiling like that?” you can't help but wonder what's going on inside this man's mind. His moodiness keeps on surprising you for sure.

He smirk “what’s wrong? don’t you like it?” His eyes flit down to your lips and linger for just a moment. You can feel him getting closer to you. His eyes now shift from your neck, down to your jaw. The tension between you feels thick and heavy.

“And what will you do if I like it?” you have no idea what has happened to you, but you seem to like provoking the balladeer.

Your response seems to caught him off guard but it somehow made his adrenaline rush even stronger. He chuckles… he likes it. “What are you hoping I’m going to do?”

#scaramouche #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche oneshot #genshin x you #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x reader #wanderer #genshin imagine #genshin x y/n #genshin fluff #genshin impact

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raytoelicker · 2 years ago

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Grumpy Scaramouche x Reader

Summary: A certain someone feels honoured to be hated by you, however, he secretly wishes it was the other way around.

A/N: I hope to never do anything impulsive in 11:00pm again. Period.

Hatred was foreign to you. an unfamiliar experience as you were forgiving and kind, your understanding personality was incapable of carelessly showing your hatred. Throughout the years, you've learned to suck it up and let it rot.

You loved and you still do, you pour your love carelessly to others, get attached, then cry it out. Eventually, you'd move on. It was a cycle. Everyone told you that you were a fool. Indeed you were, but that didn't stop you from being loving and forgiving.

Admirable you were, loveable you were, how amazing you would be as a lover. Men and even women loved you, yet never had the patience to continue courting you, thus it resulted in you having a few exes.

You've practically never hated anyone so, why do you hate him so much?

Your bestfriend, Kazuha, had currently abandoned you in your classes to assist his father leaving you with a grumpy friend of his to deal with.

"Um, hey?" The attempt was a fail. He simply gave you a glance then went to his phone. Ah, he's not talkative, I see.

Not a single available seat was nowhere to be found, and he's also new anyway, what's the worst thing that can happen with being seatmates with him?

His preposterous personality, apparently.

The first time you had your conversation with him was when he wanted to ask for your notes, as the kind person you were, you lended him some. "Your handwriting sucks." While casually flipping through the pages, your eyes widen at the comment, "Excuse me? You borrow my notes and have the audacity to complain?"

"I'm not complaining. I'm merely commenting on your hilarious notes." A twitch in your eye gave you the realisation, i hate this guy. "Then give me back my notes." You retort, extending your arm to grab your notes but he simply moves it away and sends you a smirk.

"No. It's fine. Whatever."

"What an ass.." You mutter.

The first week passed and god, you never wanted to throw somebody out of the window so bad. Mona was apparently his cousin, which was a shock to you because you were friends with her.

But even Mona complains about his crass mouth and rebellious attitude.

"I pity you, [Name]. He's incredibly annoying and irritating that even you would want to punch his face.*

You only chuckle, finding it laughable because it was true. She celebrated your first hatred for a real living person.

Typically, the two of you would be bickering around the classroom, doesn't matter if it was class hours or on break. Teachers wouldn't let this slide however, you were one of their students that feigned diligence and elegance as Scara was an upper class student with brilliant academic performance, so the only choice left was to simply separate the two of you.

And so you two did separate for.. only a day.

Somehow, just somehow, the adviser put you back together with the excuse of, "You and he are compatible! Great representatives of the school."

You stood there looking like a question mark wondering what kind of tricks fate played on you, but unbeknownst to you, a grape-haired man grins at your stiff figure.

Teachers often paired you two in contests and quizzes held by other schools, surprisingly, both of you actually worked together and passed quite alot. However, inside your classroom, both of you are intense rivals. Constantly bombarding the teachers with question from both of you two, participating in heated debates, comparing scores that was normally perfect, and even if the two of you were groupmates, you'd still battle on who's the better at leading the group.

"No, it's better if we do this before the week of the deadlin–"

"I disagree, I say we do this before two weeks of the deadline."

"That is too early, give mercy to our groupmates!"

"Ugh."

He rolled his eyes and sighed in defeat.

"Oh, thank you [Name]!" Your classmate sigh while clinging to your arm. "I can't believe that jerk! We literally have a month to do this and he expects us to finish it before two weeks!?" You furrow your eyebrows at her remark, feeling an awful need to defend your seatmate. A laugh escapes your lips as you meet a pair of blue eyes.

"C'mon, just leave it. I'll handle the research, alright?" The girl clinging to your arm jumps happily as she hugs you tightly. "Thank you! I'll deal with the presentation." I feel like a mother. "Sure."

"I'll join in on the research." A familiar voice says, leaving you shocked and baffled. You whip your head to question the indigo haired man.

"What?"

"I said, I'll join in on the research."

A murmured 'oh' was all you gave him before raising an eyebrow, "but why? I'm perfectly capable of handling this research."

He leans in more to his chair while keeping eye contact, "i just want to."

"You two have been hanging out quite alot lately." It was clear that Kazuha was referring to your seatmate. "Kazuha, we're seatmates." That didn't convince him however. He leaned in closer to you as you simply stared at him with a frigid expression

"You're not being convincing, [Name]. You know what, I always thought you weren't gonna hate and was patient enough to deal with him, but," He chuckles, "who would've thought you'd hate him?"

Yeah. You wondered why you hated him too.

He did make you furious quite a lot with his snarky remarks and actions, but he never really did anything wrong, did he? But then again, it would be weird if I didn't like him.

So you shrug your thoughts and attempted to change the topic, in which you succeed.

(A disappointed sigh slips from Kazuha's lips when you don't notice his sarcastic tone.)

Ah but there is a saying that, "there is a thin line between love and hate." And god, you hated it.

The way you notice how his eyes widen when he listens to your playlist, the way you notice how his cheeks flushed when you hugged him for the first time, the way you notice how his ears perk up when you mention his favourite artist, the way you notice his sweet messages behind his mean comments, the way you notice how he lets you sleep in his shoulder when you're tired, and god you hated how you notice everything about him.

One week left, and you two are no longer seatmates. You should be happy, this is what you wanted after all right? For him to stop pestering you about his mother's sly girlfriend, for him to stop stepping on your foot whenever you tease him, for him to stop sending mean comments about your notes, for him to–

Are you really happy about it?

Two days.

Two days left.

"Kazuha," the soft call of his name causes him to turn and look at you, "I think I like Scara."

...

"I knew it," A laugh was all to be heard, "Heizou owes me 70 mora, Itto owes me 100 mora, Ayato owes m–"

You were now flushed deep red.

"What!? You made bets?" He cackles before he stares at you seriously in the eye. "Also, [Name], you should confess."

Scara, who you've hated basically almost the entire school year, was now napping on your shoulder and as someone who claims to hate him, awkwardly shifts so he wakes up and adjusts his sleeping position.

"Stop moving." He whispered softly as he furrowed his eyebrows. A sigh left your lips. "Whatever." You sneakily slid the letter you wrote in his bag.

The serene atmosphere makes you ponder and go back to all those times you swore to never, ever like any trait of his. How nostalgic. You gaze out the train window, looking back at memories that amused you.

A deep hue of blue painted the sky as your grumpy seatmate nuzzles yet again in your shoulder. A strand of his hair prods at your ear and you grumble at the sensation.

"Mhm.." You shift your attention to him. "I'll confess.. tomorrow..

That alone, crushed your heart.

What if he was seeing someone?

You never thought of the possibility, considering he barely gets any friends, let alone a crush. But then again, he never really speaks of his love life, does he?

An unsettling feeling crawls through your stomach to your chest, not allowing you to breathe at ease. You hoped your stop would be here soon.

It felt as if years passed by although it was simply 30 minutes. You shake your seatmate to wake him up. He didn't wake up. "Scara.. wake up. I gotta go home." He groggily intertwines your arms together as your eyes widen in surprise. "Scara!" What's up with him today!?

"Ugh." He clicks his tounge before letting you go.

Love. Love, a feeling you experience everyday, even at the tiniest things. Everyone would refrain from calling you a judgemental person full of hate towards others. You love everyone and everyone loves you too!

Although one would feel honoured to be "hated" by you, and that very someone is currently sitting beside you.

At the bench of an amusement park lays you and Scaramouche, as a comfortable silence lingers in the air. You were quite nervous, I mean, the letter contains your confession and you had given it to him.. last week.

The silence was too unbearable, so you decided to break it.

"Haha, uh, well. How was your confession last week?"

Instead of even bothering to reply, he simply glances at you then props his head at yours. As you were about to comment on his sudden affectionate action, he made you still at his next words.

"I like you too."

Perhaps, you really are meant to love.

A/N: I hate this shit

#scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #genshin fluff #genshin modern au #genshin impact x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #scaramouche #scaramouche oneshot #never doing this again

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inc0gnitoo · 6 months ago

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repost from ao3- modern au!scara x fem!reader

CW… smut, scara is mean, AFAB reader, phone sex, etc etc..

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

it almost seemed fucking impossible to you that a day could go this wrong.

it started with the bus this morning. you chose to get up earlier than usual, wanting time to work on your assignment thanks to your procrastinating it til the due date. this wasn’t new for you, and it didn’t bother you either! it worked. it was your system. until you got too caught up with your articles, and when your eyes drifted to the time, you had under 4 minutes to scurry over to your bus stop. and you didn’t even pack your bag yet. rushing out the door, stomach empty and sweat beading down your forehead you ran to the bus and- it was late.

it only got worse from there.

university was a place to be. only good thing it had was food. after your first lecture, you decided to spoil yourself to a bagel which was your second choice on the menu, they ran out of your favourite. begrudgingly, you made your way to class. the people being even more poisoning than the source material. ignorant hallway dwellers, come on, we’re in university people! a classmate took your unassigned-assigned seat, your eye twitching in frustration. and it was only 10am. finally, after a long day of excruciatingly boring classes. you managed to get home, only after getting caught in traffic on the highway. just your luck, you kept saying, your mind twisted with rage.

body filled to the brim with exhaustion, you collapsed to your bed, lazily tossing your bag to the side of your bed with a groan. finally, your bed. tonight was for yourself, you decided. what better to do after a shitty day? you deserved a break, not having any assignments due for a while, you finally had the opportunity to just lay down, and do absolutely nothi-

bzzt.

“mm?” you hummed, peering over to your phone beside you. a text message, from scaramouche. a classmate of yours from highschool who ended up going to the same university as you for a separate major, engineering or something along those lines. raising a brow you leaned over, taking your phone and reading his message.

scara: Didn’t come say hi to me today

scara: Kinda rude, if you ask me

rolling your eyes, you sat up in your bed, clicking on your lamp on your bedside table before typing out a response..

you: i didn’t have a very good day today

you: everything seemed to go wrong

scaramouche, at home, let out a hum of agreement at your reply. he knew that feeling all too well. especially when it came to people. they made him so sick, he didn’t know why he even bothered on taking this degree.

scara: Mm, I see

scara: Wanna call and talk about it?

heart warmed as his request, you stared at it for a moment. you were really just going to stay alone tonight, play some games or something, occupy yourself in other ways that didn’t involve people but.. it was scara. he knew better than most people how frustrating life can get. and he’d listen too, maybe with a grumble or two. or a rant about humanity, but, he’d hear you out after a few.. maybe, rude comments.

you: give me 1 sec

getting up you turned off the big light, not understanding why you’d punished yourself by keeping it on in the first place, especially with your lamp on. now, your room had a warmer atmosphere, more comfy, and overall more relaxing. turning on your humidifier you let out a sigh of contentment, changing into a pair of pyjamas and relaxing yourself back into your bed. taking your phone, you texted scara-

you: ready :P

barely a couple moments go by before your phone begins to vibrate, picking up the phone, “hey.” scaramouche greets you, his voice tired and monotone.

“hi, how was your day? before i start bitching about myself, haha.”

a groan is heard from his side of the phone and a short shuffle through the mic, seemingly from a shifting position, “ugh, long. i’m really starting to get tired of a few of my classmates, such insolent people..” he replied, eyes rolling. you imagined, at least, just from his tone.

“ah, you’re telling me..”

and the monologue began.

you weren’t sure just how long you were talking for or how frustrated you felt about the day. but it felt good getting it off your chest. relieving yourself with a bit of bitching is always the best comfort, you thought. scaramouche on the other hand.. seemed a bit, distracted. it didn’t seem like much to you, him not being as responsive as usual, a bit of a shuffle or two coming from his end, an ‘mm’ of agreement. that wasn’t necessarily off limits when it came to the question of ‘is scara acting weird?’ it was when you began to settle down a bit, your emotions returning back down, your anger beginning to lower that you heard a muffled murmur, almost spoken under his breath, “_____..”

what?

you almost froze in place, pulling the phone closer to your ear in an attempt to hear more but, to no avail. pondering whether or not you should, you spoke, “scara?”

a hurried movement, slightly covering the mic, scaramouche spoke up, “yeah, yeah- i’m here.” he mumbled. physically of course he was, there to listen for her. but mentally, scaramouches mind had travelled to other places. his voice betrayed him in that way, sounding almost strained and the husk of his voice easily portraying just how distracted he was.

innocently, you spoke up, “y-you just.. sound tense, is all. are you alright?”

foolish you were, he thought. such an idiot, not being able to read his tone, understand the shuffling and the movement, the whispery gasps he’d been letting out unintentionally. by god, he was beyond grateful you were this oblivious, the excitement of your cluelessness almost encouraged these bad thoughts to begin with.

“yeah, i-i’m fine.” scaramouche stuttered, “you don’t worry about me..” a few sounds, another heavy breath, “just keep talking all cute like that.”

what..? (again.)

what was happening right now? he had befuddled you, thoughts rolling through your brain attempting (and failing) to find a reason for his odd behaviour. scaramouche was a very, very closed off guy. and not one for compliments. of course, you’d get one from him every once a while, earning a ‘wow, you actually managed to do that,.’ or a ‘yeah, good job.’

but, cute..?

your question left your head, coming out your mouth, “cute?”

a shudder ran down scaramouches body, a bead of sweat, and a wave of warmth down his groin. so stupid, he thought, so so stupid. he loved it, “ah- uh huh.” he affirmed your question, a small curse leaving his breath, a sound of readjustment, switching his phone to another hand.

your brows furrowed, starting to get a little frustrated now, “why are you being so-“

“stop asking so many questions, just fucking talk.”

he bit his lip, a sharp intake of breath before it, sounding restrained and almost.. uncomfortable. you had absolutely no idea the strain he was putting himself through, the cause of all this until-

it clicked.

was he.. masturbating?

“scara, a-are you..?” it was silent for a moment. the only sounds were not just of your own heavy breath, but scaramouches as well, heavy pants that you now realize were not just in your head. these, this time, did not go unnoticed.

finally, after a billowing and agonizing silence, scaramouche breathed in, speaking up..

“yeah..” he exhaled, finally accepting he’d been caught. part of him had a sick obsession with you being as lost as you were, but perhaps your knowledge of him getting himself off to your voice was enough too. if you’d just stay there, keep talking, he wouldn’t be a bother. except he was being a bother, gasping and breathing into your ear like that. over the phone, it almost made it worse.

your mind had begun to drift, and you spoke, softly, “i-i-..”you struggled to form words, a reaction, a response, but he spoke for you.

“cmon… speak up..” scaramouche whispered, breathy, so so breathy. it was almost incoherent from how sharp he was breathing. his hand sped up, you could tell, hearing the shuffling increase over the mic. your heart began to pound.

“do..” hesitating, you bit your lip. was this about to be a huge mistake? “do you want me to help you?”

a groan left his mouth, his head fell back onto his pillow, trying his hardest not to moan instead. “fuck, yes. please.”

nearly choking on your own spit you attempted to speak, placing your hand to your chest to feel your own heartbeat, pounding so hard in your chest. this all felt fake. like, you were about to wake up from some sick fucking fantasy. a dream.

pulse quickening, you parted your lips to speak, “y-you sound so hot right now..”

scaramouches breath hitched, a moan caught in his throat.

okay, maybe he was grateful you figured it out.

his hand pawed at his boxers, finally deciding to tug them off, stroking the tip of his cock. his anticipation was evident in how hard he was, the pre-cum sliding down the sides of his length. how fucking humiliating, he thought. he watched his own hand as he began to stroke himself, thoughts of it being your own. those pretty little hands of yours. the idea in his head had been haunting him. scaramouche was obsessed with you. and had been since highschool. you were so smart, so innocent, and oblivious to him. he swore he was going crazy, when he’d go home, masturbate to the thought of you.

“ohoh, yeah?” scaramouche whispered, his breathing only quickening further as he heard a shift from your end.

that shift.. was you sliding your hand into your shorts, teasing your clit with your fingers through your underwear, almost feeling guilty giving yourself the pleasure of touching it bare. “u-uh huh..” you murmured, shamefully. it was going to eat you alive.

“maybe..” scaramouche begins, his voice mellow and hushed, “maybe i wanna hear you too…” your heart stops, he heard you.

“i know what you're doing right now.”

your hand not daring to stop, even almost speeding up from his tone of voice, the movement was definitely heard over your mic. this made scaramouche smirk, a sigh of satisfaction as he continued.

“tell me, ____. what are you doing to yourself?”

moaning quietly, nervously, with much hesitation and an evident feeling of lust, you managed to speak, “i-i’m.. touching..” you cut yourself off, a whispered gasp as you rubbed at the sensitive nerve, an eye closing from pleasure. scaramouche, what are you doing to me? you kept repeating in your mind. you were a mess because of a fucking voice over the phone. is this how desperate you’ve become?

but it wasn’t just any voice. it was scaramouches. and if he kept talking to you like that you’d listen to it all day.

“yeah? ngh- s-slowly? or fast..?” scaramouche moaned, a bit of a whimper in his throat.

“slowly, slowly..” you echoed yourself, breathing out a held exhale of air, “w-wanna savour this..” admitting to your feelings, you found yourself forming a knot in your groin. this exhale, that erotic breathy noise from you, is enough to earn you a soft moan from scaramouche on the other line.

he stiffened at your words, eyes screwed shut at the image he’d burned into his mind of you. yearning to hear more, he spoke up again, his hand beginning a slow pace as he stroked his cock, “oh, fuck. you wanna savour me..” he grinded his teeth, jaw shifting, “how does that feel, ah? good?” his voice is condescending, low and almost.. degrading, picturing you beneath him as he speaks. believing you as something below him, both physically and sexually.

”ahg-mhm..” you breathlessly agreed, “feels good, scara.” slowly, you overcame that guilt. that fear, it didn’t matter anymore. he wanted this. he wanted you. that thought was enough to allow yourself to feel it too, slipping your hand into your underwear and sliding a finger between your wet folds, a gasp escaping you.

biting his lip so hard he could draw blood, he held back a soft whimper, the sound of his name spoken from your lips like that. it was driving him crazy how the only thing keeping him from you was this damn phone. a short laughter came from him, low and raspy, “nngh, yeah… so good. you sound so good..” he spoke, managing to keep his voice just at a level enough for you to hear him. hear his want. his need for you.

a curse fell out of your lips, “fuck, ah..” drawing a faster circle on your clit, your mind began to slip. slipping to places you wish you were, positions you wish scaramouche was holding you in. what his hand would feel like doing this to you instead. and the lewd noises being caused by him instead, not just you rutting weakly into your own palm. his voice was so hoarse, just a little whiny, sending a rush of blood to your head. he’d have you against the wall, slamming into you from behind-

“god, i’d give anything to be there right now. under my hands, fuck, all the pretty noises you’d make.”

immediately a moan exhaled from your chest, “a-ah, yeah.” you moaned, “want your hands on me..” in your head, they already were! all over you, his mouth too! saying more of those things to you, right in your ear, spoken through hushed whispers and gritting teeth.

scaramouche could feel it in every single bone in his body. every fucking last drop of his blood wanted to hear you scream his name. his grip tightened oh his phone, a scratchy moan coming through the microphone. “ohh..” he laughed breathily, stretching out into a whiny moan as his cock hardened to the touch of his hand, his pace speeding, “you sound so pathetic, such sweet sweet sounds..”

you could hear him, so lewd and filthy, his hips were bucking subconsciously into his own hand. in his mind too, you were there. not just in his ear, “fuck, i bet you look so dirty right now, fucking yourself on your hand.”

“please, scara,” you whined, rolling your hips, causing a muffle over your mic, an irritated groan comes from him. if you’re gonna be doing this, why aren’t you paying attention? he needs to hear every fucking word.

“can’t hear you. louder.”

“scara.” you moaned. god, that voice of yours was intoxicating.

“oh, the way it just rolls off your tongue-ughn..”

scaramouche whimpered, the sounds leaving his lips just above a whimper, words becoming impossible to form. his mind was blanking, fogging with lustful ideas and thoughts, possessed by his craving for you, “are you close? god, tell me you’re close. i can hear it.. the way you’re whining.”

responding with only a moan, your wrist beginning to ache from how vigorously you slid your fingers in and out of yourself, your other beginning to shake while holding your phone to your ear. you didn’t even consider the possibility of moving it away, wanting-no, needing to have his voice right in your ear. more than just in your head. it was here now, he was doing this. with you. just if only he was physically here.. but right now, that didn’t matter.

scaramouches voice alone was bringing you to the edge and he himself knew that too, utilizing his tone in such a way he knew it would tip you over. he wanted you to do this over and over and over, beg him to touch you, to do anything to you, and he’d do that til he was satisfied. maybe he’d even let you touch his cock if you asked nicely. having you do it yourself, instead of his hand.

grunting out a moan, you spoke, “mmfg, yes, scara,” whining, breathing, tears stinging at your eyes, “please-ngh, don’t stop talking.”

“ugh, i-i won’t, won’t-fuck.” forcing more harsh words out of his mouth, scaramouche lets his eyes flutter shut, pumping his cock like it was the last thing he’d ever touch, wishing it was your body instead. he’d be happy dying inside of you. feeling you clenching, tightening around him, grinding down on him in a needy, feverish manner. his grip fastened on his hardness, a guttural moan escaping his lips, “these fucking hands of mine would make you feel so good, ____.”

“y-yes! yes, please! need them so bad, need them instead-ah!” you gasped. now you knew your neighbors would be mad. this apartment was not thick enough for this. imagine if he was in your room now, too. your face pressed into your sheets, fuck, probably against your door knowing him. he wouldn’t give you the chance to lay down. you’d be scraping paint off the wall. and skin off his back. this was too much. all too much. too much too much-

“i’ll have you, ngh- screaming on my cock after this. just you wait-“ interrupting his own monologue with a hoarse moan, his hand pumping a delicious pace on his dick, he threw his head back, “cum, _____. do it already. do it with me.”

almost at his words, treating them like it was an order your body gave out on your, back arching in a cramp inducing position, cumming on your hand just like he instructed. that knot released, sending waves upon waves of a much needed climax, “pleasepleaseplease- scara!”

you were reeling in ecstacy, and from the sounds scaramouche was making, you were sure he was too.

scaramouche found himself reeling on his hand, his orgasm coming just as yours did, throbbing with cum. curses left his mouth, a mess of words and your name and other things you couldn’t pick up over the ringing of your own ears. his hand loosened its grip, weakly falling to his side as he panted almost erratically, a round of silence filling the call with nothing but breathing from both ends. it was scara that spoke first, his voice a bit weak, cracky, “was that good?”

breathing out, struggling to respond, “oh.. oh yeah. for sure.” you affirmed, sliding your hand out of your shorts. the exhaustion returned now, after the pleasure.

as if he sensed it, he spoke up once more.. “don’t get comfortable. i’m coming over.”

…okay. maybe your day didn’t go that wrong.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin scara #scaramouche x female reader #i need him so bad #i’m actually going insane #scara smut #scaramouche oneshot #scaramouche smut

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chiyoso · 2 years ago

Text

im deluded im so deluded

MOONDUST.

He is beautiful in the water under the caress of the moon.

Scaramouche / Wanderer x gn! reader.

genre/cw: pure fluff, lots of tenderness.

word count: 1.1 k.

tags: @bunny-rambles

The faint glow of the Violet Court and the small torch burning by your side reflect on the water.

Waves. What memories do they carry? He wonders.

Gentle ripples, lapping at the eons old coast in a tranquil ebb and flow.

If one were to rise their gaze, they would observe a stella of glowing rusty hues riding in the horizon, the clouds overhead mingling with the cherry blossoms scattered in the breeze from Amakane Island.

They’re perfectly visible from the wanderer’s vantage point, alongside with the distant city lights.

He turns away from that last sight; no corner of his hollow heart has space left to wallow in memories of a world that was shattered before him so early into life.

Instead, he’ll keep looking forward. After all, he always preferred the images before him, since you started occupying that spot often.

“Kuni,” you call him, turning your smiling face to him. “Dinner’ll be ready soon.” You gesture to the little fire before you, a pot of delicious smelling shimi chazuke cooking on a low flame.

Mirrored midnight eyes soften when you turn your back to him again.

When he was with you, Inazuma City felt so… distant. Akin to a soft silken cushion, your presence always tended to soothe his fall into the darkest pits this world has known.

Every time you were by his side, Kunikuzushi didn’t have to blindly search the endless night for the tattered pieces of a puppet without a heart.

You caught him mid-air, as if he had remained unbroken, a pristine doll everyone coveted.

Suddenly, the wandering eccentric feels a light weight on his foot, a pale red crab interrupting his rumination.

He gently picks it up, returning it to the humid sand.

“New friend?” A familiar voice laced with tenderness despite its amused lilt asks him. You offer your lover a bowl of his favored chazuke, still simmering. “I think he liked you.” You point out, following the retracing crab with your eyes.

“You think so?” The wanderer asks, hands brushing yours when he takes the plate from you.

“Mhm,” you lean your head on his shoulder. “You’re more likable than you give yourself credit for, you know?”

He chuckles, shifting his position so that you’re more comfortable.

Likable. That’s probably one of the last adjectives he’d consider himself to be, yet when you’re the one saying it, it doesn’t feel so off.

A balmy silence settles around the both of you, comfortable, dusk clouds sifting through the darkening sky. In the distance, stars seem to light up one by one. As a layer of deep indigo veils the firmament, your silhouettes are shadowed against the sand, the dawning moon bright above. Gentle waves caress your bare feet, a welcome coolness in the fiery summer breeze.

And much like the first time you journeyed with the eccentric wanderer through Sumeru’s vast rainforests, you take his hand.

“Let’s take a bath, Kuni.” You utter, a whistling melody of uncharted stars in the softness of your tone.

And maybe for tonight, Scaramouche will let himself believe in wishing upon comets.

Your lover’s hold on your hand comes in grounding ripples, the chill of his skin electrifying; the strong but tender grip he has on you, like the warmth of a flickering flame out in dark storms.

And because it’s you, the wanderer finds a certain calmness in letting himself be lead into the expanse of liquid moonlight right before you.

By silver light, you dip your body in the crisp water, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him into you. It’s as if, in this moment, instead of the puppet’s strings tugging in opposite directions, breaking apart damaged shards of him, they’re all being swayed in the same way, a flower scented breeze as the dancing partner steering him to sunnier shores.

Small waves crash against you two and the beach, their song a great soothing heartbeat that keeps the couple afloat.

Flecks of moondust seem to cling to Scaramouche’s lashes, cheeks and shoulders when you gaze at him.

His eyes glow almost magically in the mirrored sky he’s swimming in, akin to vibrant violet blossoms against a moonstone backdrop. Strands of hair that merge with the universe flutter around his pretty face, those lips of his a tantalizing dying star, you, the satellite forever spinning around him.

“You’re so pretty like this, Kuni.” You breathe, fingers combing through the horizon caught between the porcelain and ebony outlining him. “You’re always so pretty.” You add, after, forehead finding rest against his.

Your partner’s hold on your waist tightens. His touch once memorized you as if he was ready for you to slip through his fingers and vanish.

Now he knows you’re his constant.

Crimson butterflies draw on his masterfully crafted cheeks at your words, in a vicious flight through the set of his jaw and serious expression.

Cherished. The wanderer guesses that’s the word he’d use to define how he feels when he’s with you.

And yet, can he allow himself such indulgence? He may not consider himself to be on the morally good side now, if ever, but he’s aware of his less than ideal actions.

“I love you, Scara.” You spell in wisps of shifting starlight, a confession engraved eternally in the changing waters.

He lets out a sound in between a scoff and a derisive laugh.

“You remember everything I did, everything I’ve done, right?” Is his choked out question. And still, under the veiling ocean, his arms tighten a little more around your form.

“I do.” You state, your eyes level with the indigo enigmas caught in his. “And you could recount it to me, every horrible thing you did, every atrocity you committed. Nothing would change. I’d still love you, I’ll love you in spite of it all.” You seal your vow with a kiss to his sharp jawline, your head resting in his shoulder.

It feels safe, it feels right.

A melancholic chuckle curtained by cynicism rumbles through his chest.

Love. How many eons, lives, names, have passed since he last felt that emotion, and forgot about what it meant shortly after?

The wanderer sighs; maybe memories of the past are still too clear for him to recall them painlessly. And perhaps, looking forward and learning the meaning of ‘love’ anew is what the imaginary heart you made beat is trying to tell him.

Under the caress of the moon, he was beautiful.

Under your touch, his lips catch yours.

Salty with sea-water, and intoxicatingly addicting in the underlying sweetness he only used with you.

‘I love you too’ is written in molten moonshine when his eyes lock with yours once more.

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lmvari · 3 months ago

Text

do you mind? (repost)

summary. sharing a table with a stranger at a crowded café, only to realize they’re far more interesting than you expected.

characters. xiao, scaramouche, heizou, venti, kazuha x gn!reader (separate)

tags. modern au, fluff, crack

warnings. kind of ooc xiao and kazuha, alcohol in venti's

XIAO

Internally panicking, but he welcomes you to the table with a small nod. He’s the reserved type—the kind to look anywhere but in your general direction just to avoid eye contact. Archons, how many times has he glanced out the window just to stare at that decorative plant? He even counted the leaves.

Social interaction isn’t his strong suit. And it certainly doesn’t help that you’re attractive.

If he had his way, he’d sit in silence, letting the passing seconds fill the space between you. But his own discomfort betrays him. Hands fidgeting under the table, fingers tracing the rim of his cup, gaze flickering to anything but you.

He feigns indifference, arms crossed, posture rigid.

But then—you speak. Because, for some reason, you find him interesting.

You introduce yourself first, then ask for his name.

His heart stumbles in his chest. He’s unsure if it’s from nerves or the sheer absurdity of the situation. Someone willingly trying to talk to him, despite his obvious attempts to fade into the background.

Though his palms are slightly damp from tension, he keeps his voice steady, his expression unreadable. Flat tone. Unwavering gaze. A carefully maintained air of disinterest.

You frown. A subtle shift, but he notices.

That’s a cue, isn’t it? A signal that you’ll leave him alone now. That’s what he wanted… right?

Then why does something in his chest sink when you simply nod, pressing your lips into a thin line, offering nothing more?

He exhales quietly. Curses himself. He just lost the chance to get to know you.

But this is the first time someone’s been able to catch his attention. So he thinks of a way to redeem himself.

"Oh. Okay." You say in response to his answer, forcing yourself to sound indifferent. But truthfully, you’re embarrassed.

You spent a whole ten minutes bouncing your leg, debating whether or not you should make the first move, only to be met with disappointment after finally mustering up the courage.

You bite your bottom lip and tap your fingers on the table, falling silent. Now, all you can do is wait for the servers to call your order so you can leave. You seriously don’t want to embarrass yourself further in front of this stranger.

“I, uh...”

A voice cuts through your thoughts.

You don’t assume right away that he’s talking to you, so you keep your gaze averted, pretending not to notice.

Then, a cough. Loud enough that you instinctively glance up in concern.

Your eyes widen slightly when you find him already looking at you.

“Yes?” You ask, taken aback that he was referring to you. There’s a flicker of curiosity in your expression, maybe even a bit of hope.

He hesitates. “…I'm sorry.” His voice is quieter this time, almost unsure. “I didn’t mean to come across as cold earlier.”

The shift in his tone is subtle, but you catch it. Gone is the detached, indifferent edge from before.

You smile, relieved. "No, no, don't worry about it! I get like that sometimes too."

He exhales lightly. Almost as if… reassured. After a beat, he offers a small, hesitant smile in return. It’s brief, but it’s there.

It suits him, you think.

It’s cute that he chose to apologize instead of just letting it be. Most people would’ve moved on, unwilling to make things more awkward. But he didn't.

And then—

"I'm not used to people." He pauses. “…Especially ones like you.”

A beat of silence.

You blink. Wait. What?

His own words seem to register a second too late.

You watch as his shoulders tense slightly, his fingers curling into a loose fist on his lap. The tips of his ears are… pink?

Oh.

Was that supposed to be a compliment? Was he flirting with you? No way. He doesn’t seem like the flirty type. He’s definitely more socially awkward than you. Maybe he didn’t mean it like that.

But before you can overthink it—

“…If it’s okay with you, may I have your number?”

SCARAMOUCHE / WANDERER

Glares at you menacingly. Like a cat trying to hiss someone away.

Him? Sharing a table? With some random nobody? Absolutely not. This table is his.

Without breaking eye contact, he places his bag on the chair in front of him. A silent warning. Don’t even think about it.

"It's occupied," he deadpans before returning to whatever he was doing.

You, unimpressed, grab his bag and dump it on the table. Then you plop down into the chair, arms crossed, staring him down as if to say: "Try and get me out of this seat, you brat."

His mouth parted slightly, just for a second, before snapping shut. Did you just—? The audacity.

A scoff escapes him as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his glare sharper than ever. His fingers drum against his bicep as he mutters under his breath—something that sounds suspiciously like, "At least you're not completely spineless." Not that he’d ever say it directly.

But since the café is packed and dragging you out by the collar would be frowned upon, he begrudgingly allows it.

For the most part, he ignores you. Or at least, he tries to. You pretend not to notice the irritated glances he throws your way every time you smile at your phone or stifle a laugh.

Then a server approaches.

She sets your drink down and takes a brief look at the two of you. No food orders yet. Her eyes brighten as she leans in slightly, all smiles.

"We actually have a 25% couple's discount for two strawberry shortcakes!"

Silence.

His stare darkens.

He looks at her like she just personally insulted his entire bloodline. If he had one in this universe, anyway. His lips part, undoubtedly to say something cruel enough to make her rethink her entire career.

But before he can, you slap a hand over his mouth.

"That sounds great! We’ll take it!" you chirp, grinning at the waitress as if your life doesn’t currently depend on keeping Scaramouche from verbally eviscerating an innocent employee.

The server’s eyes sparkle with delight as she scribbles down the order. She even hums.

He looks personally offended.

You heave a sigh as the server finally walks away. Just as you’re about to relax, you feel a vibration against your palm. The glaring stranger is trying to speak, his voice muffled against your hand.

Then, before you can react—

His tongue moves.

He licks your palm.

Slow. Wet. Deliberate.

"Gross!" You yank your hand away, scrubbing it furiously against his sleeve.

He swats you off instantly, recoiling like you just infected him with the plague. "Get your germs off of me!" he snaps.

"You're the one who just licked my hand!" you retort, scandalized.

His scowl deepens. His expression alone speaks volumes.

"The hell was that for? First, you hog my table—"

"I wasn’t hogging it, we needed to share!"

"—interrupting my peace with your presence—"

"I was minding my own business!"

"—and then you have the absolute audacity to make us out as some kind of couple?!"

"Shut up, they might hear you! We’ll lose the discount!" you hiss, glancing around in case the staff overheard. The people in the vicinity gave looks of concern at your direction.

He scoffs. "You have some nerve."

You roll your eyes. So dramatic. Acting like you just ruined his life.

"I had to grab the opportunity. It’s strawberry shortcake."

He clicks his tongue. "That’s your excuse?"

"It’s strawberry shortcake," you repeat as if that alone explains everything.

He huffs, crossing his arms. "Fine. Go eat your stupid cake."

"You don’t want some?"

"I hate cakes."

You blink. Who the hell hates cake?

"Why?"

His eyes narrow. "Why? Because I hate them. I hate sweets in general. Life isn’t sweet. Life is full of bitterness and sorrow. I don’t get how people manage to laugh in this world. It’s annoying."

…Wow. That escalated.

How did a conversation about shortcakes turn into a monologue about the inherent misery of existence?

"What the hell? Who hurt you?" you mutter.

"My mother."

You suck in a sharp breath.

The words are so blunt, so casually spoken, that it takes you a second to process. Your lips twitch. No. You shouldn’t laugh.

But the longer you stare at his deadpan face, the harder it is to hold back. A chuckle slips out. Then another.

Hey, this guy is kind of funny. He's growing on you.

He gives you a baffled look like you’re the crazy one for finding humor in his trauma dump.

His brows furrow, and for a brief second, his gaze lingers—not in irritation, but in something else. Something almost mesmerized. He mutters something too quiet to catch before looking away, resting his head on his palm.

You inhale deeply, composing yourself. "Fine. I'll eat both cakes, then. I'm the one paying anyway."

He doesn’t respond, just glares at nothing in particular.

Minutes later, the same cheerful server returns with a tray of two servings of strawberry shortcake. Just as you reach for your wallet—

A hand beats you to it.

The stranger slaps down his own cash before you can even open your bag.

The server’s grin widens. "Ah, paying for the date? How chivalrous!" she chimes, her voice far too amused, before skipping away.

You freeze. Wait.

Did he just let her think that?

Your gaze snaps to him, utterly bewildered. He doesn’t even deny it—just grabs one of the plates and starts stabbing the cake with his fork.

"I thought you said you don’t like sweets."

"That’s right," he mutters before taking a grumpy bite.

You narrow your eyes. "Then why—"

He chews, swallows, and then shrugs, avoiding your gaze.

"Would be a real waste of my money if I didn’t enjoy it with you."

HEIZOU

Has been watching you since you entered the café. Not in a creepy way, just subtle, observant, like he’s solving a case. And wow you are stunning. The way your eyes scan the room, looking for an open seat, tells him you’re about to approach him.

He makes his move first.

"Over here!" he waves, voice warm and inviting, like he's an old friend waiting for you. You hesitate, confused. Do you know this guy? But with no other seats available, you accept with a small, grateful smile.

Big mistake. Or maybe the best decision you’ve made today.

Because once you sit, he talks. And flirts. And teases. And somehow, he already knows things about you.

Will ask you all sorts of questions: What's your name? Your age? Your birthday? Your favorite color? Any pets? Exes?

Even taking guesses as to what your answers might be. and he got them all right, if not, then close. But every now and then, he throws in something completely unexpected:

"What's your ideal type? Is it me?"

"Aside from being pretty, what do you do for a living?"

"Have you ever committed a crime before? Because now you have." He says while clutching his chest.

You nearly choke on your drink. Heizou just grins, clearly enjoying himself.

"Alright, your turn. You can interrogate me now," he offers, eyes gleaming with amusement.

And so you do. Because he’s interesting. Charming. Smart. Too smart. And when he leans in slightly, studying your features like he’s committing them to memory, you feel yourself getting drawn in, too.

Heizou hums in thought. "You’ve got the kind of face that belongs in a painting," he muses. "I’d describe it more, but I’d rather see how flustered you get first."

You roll your eyes, trying (and failing) to suppress a smile.

He'd be the type to reach out and take small bites of your food while chatting. He does it so shamelessly that you're impressed, so you just let him.

This boy is so confident with himself, flirting so casually like it's second nature.

He wouldn't go as far as to touch you, of course. He knows his limits and will keep his hands to himself. But he acts so relaxed and friendly with you that you think maybe he's just playing you.

You’re not dumb. You know he’s interested in you.

It’s not like he’s being subtle about it, either. The lingering glances, the teasing smirks, the way his eyes light up whenever you react to his words. It’s obvious.

And sure, you feel the same way. But still.

Is this how he always approaches strangers? Does he flirt for fun, or does he actually mean to follow through? How many people have fallen for his tricks before?

A thoughtful hum breaks your train of thought. Heizou taps his chin lightly, then suddenly snaps his fingers. A habit you’ve noticed ever since you sat down.

"Your expression tells me you’re doubting my motives. Correct?"

You blink in surprise. Then chuckle softly, shaking your head. Damn, he’s good.

"That’s right. A point for you, detective."

He lets out a breathy laugh, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Funny you say that. Being a detective is my full-time job."

Your lips part slightly in surprise. He never mentioned that before. But now it all makes sense. The way he reads you like an open book, the way he asks questions so effortlessly, the way he makes it feel like you’re being studied and he’s enjoying every second of it.

"That’s quite… attractive." You admit, cheeks warming slightly.

Heizou leans back in his chair, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself. "You think so?" His grin widens, but there’s a new glint in his gaze now.

"Then allow me to clear up any lingering doubts, sweetheart." He tilts his head slightly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip.

"I do plan on pursuing you."

Oh.

Your heart stumbles. You were not prepared for him to be that straightforward.

Heizou watches your reaction, clearly amused. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he shakes his head. "Only a true detective can crack the case of this heart theft, you know."

A teasing pause. Then, the final blow.

"And my prime suspect… is you."

VENTI

When you approach him, the faint yet unmistakable scent of alcohol lingers in the air. He’s drunk. In the middle of the day. At a café.

Wait. Do they even serve alcohol here?

His head rests lazily on his folded arms, eyelids heavy, lips slightly parted. If it weren’t for the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders, you’d think he was fast asleep. Beside him, a humble coffee cup sits suspiciously untouched. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you lean in for a peek.

Yep. It’s alcohol.

How the hell did he sneak that in? More importantly, how has no one caught him yet? You glance around, half-expecting an employee to scold him, but they just pass him by like he’s invisible. Maybe he’s a regular here.

Deciding not to wake him, you quietly settle into the seat across from him, giving him space.

Then, without warning, he jolts awake.

"Oh! Hello, stranger!"

He’s suddenly wide awake. No sluggish blinking, no groggy confusion, just pure, unbothered energy. You flinch at the unexpected enthusiasm.

He doesn’t ask why you’re here. He doesn’t even bother to ask your name. Instead, he jumps straight into conversation as if you’re an old friend who’s been here all along.

And somehow, you go along with it.

With an animated grin, he launches into the most ridiculous stories you’ve ever heard.

"Earlier, I saw this red-haired guy absolutely demolish some blue-haired guy in a fight. It was spectacular! Ehe~!"

You blink. Excuse me?

That’s just one of the things he shares. He never runs out of things to say. Wild, chaotic, oddly fascinating things. Like?? Does he see stuff like that on a daily basis?

And despite nearly passing out five minutes ago, he speaks so effortlessly that you start questioning if he was even drunk to begin with.

Like Heizou, he will also steal some of the pastries you ordered, albeit in a more subtle manner. He thinks you don't notice this lol.

"You've got fine taste in sweets, stranger!" he hums, twirling a fork between his fingers. "Tell me, what's your opinion on wine?"

You blink at the sudden shift in topic but answer with an amused smile. "I don’t really know much about it. I just drink whatever I feel like."

Venti gasps dramatically, "Hah, I thought so! I cou—"

His sentence is abruptly cut off by a hiccup. You barely suppress a laugh as you slide a glass of water toward him.

"Whoops! My bad!" He lets out a bubbly giggle, taking the water with a flourish. After downing a few sips, he clears his throat with an exaggerated ahem.

"As I was saying—" He pauses for effect. "If you're interested in wine, I’d be delighted to educate you! I’d say I’m an expert.”

You tilt your head playfully. "I can tell."

His eyes twinkle with mischief. "But if you're not..."

He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper.

"I'm still very interested in having a drink with you sometime. You’re quite the gorgeous stranger, you know."

Before you can fully process the compliment, he winks. Smooth, confident, entirely shameless.

"So," he muses, resting his chin in his palm.

“What do you say about keeping in touch?"

KAZUHA

Kazuha is probably the most normal one out of the bunch. No glares, no drunken ramblings, no interrogation-like questioning. Just a warm, endearing smile as he gestures toward the empty seat across from him.

He even stands up, gently pulling your chair back for you. A small but thoughtful gesture. One that makes your heart skip just a little.

"Please, have a seat." His voice is soft, and smooth, like a passing breeze on a summer afternoon.

As you settle in, he strikes up a light conversation, asking about your day with genuine curiosity. He listens intently, nodding along, occasionally offering small comments that make you feel at ease.

And unlike a certain maroon-haired flirt or a wine-loving bard, instead of stealing your food, he offers you his. With a slight nudge, he pushes his plate toward you.

"Would you like to try some?" His expression is hopeful.

You shake your head, feeling too shy to accept. "Oh, no, it’s yours. I couldn’t."

He pouts. Actually pouts.

"Come on, just a bite. Humor me." He even throws in the puppy eyes.

And damn it, how could you refuse that face?

Reluctantly, you take a tiny piece with your fork, just enough to taste.

He notices. And he’s not having it.

Without a word, he cuts a larger piece, lifting it toward your lips with his own fork.

"Say aah," he coaxes, his smile both playful and teasing.

Your face burns hotter than the café’s espresso machine, but you comply, letting him feed you.

His expression softens, eyes twinkling with quiet satisfaction.

But just when you think it couldn't get worse—

He leans forward slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips.

Before you can react, he reaches out, thumb brushing lightly against the corner of your mouth.

Then, with a casual grace that should not be allowed, he brings his thumb to his lips, licking off the stray bit of cream.

And smiles.

Innocently.

As if he didn’t just send your soul straight into the abyss.

You stare at him, utterly flustered, while he simply sips his tea, acting as though he didn’t just casually destroy you in broad daylight.

"You're acting awfully sweet to a stranger," you point out, tilting your head at him.

Kazuha hums thoughtfully, swirling his tea. Then, he gives you a small, shy smile.

"Am I? Well... how could I not, if the stranger is you?"

Smooth. Too smooth.

He gives you a shy smile. "We could fix the 'stranger' part. How about friends?"

You giggle softly. "Are you sure just friends?"

He gives you a playful look. "Well, we could be more in the future."

His laugh is light, airy. Like the whisper of wind through maple leaves. But then, something seems to dawn on him, and his expression shifts.

"But—" he pauses, suddenly looking sheepish. "If you're already seeing someone, being friends is enough."

Oh, that's adorable.

You giggle behind your hand, heartwarming at his sincerity. After all that flirting, he's still worried about stepping over a line.

"Don't worry," you reassure him, "I've never dated anyone."

His eyes widen slightly, genuine disbelief flickering across his face.

"Is that so?" He tilts his head. "That's surprising. I thought someone like you would be off the market by now."

You shrug, smirking at him. He leans in just a little, voice dropping to a gentle murmur, as if sharing a secret.

His gaze locks onto yours, warm, admiring.

“I get to find and keep the treasure, then? What an honor.”

note. ah yes the work i was most proud of back then lol anw i’m planning to make a part 2 for this idk when tho maybe when i feel like it. i improved a few bits from the original and this is not proofread! i literally just skimmed through the text and changed a few stuff hope u enjoyed say hi if u remembered this

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lavenderchqn · 2 months ago

Text

✧・| kiss kiss, fall in love

— favourite places to kiss with genshin men

content warnings: modern!au, hurt/comfort for scara & fluff for the rest, mentions of biting, mentions of night terrors, fear of abandonment

𝐕𝐄𝐍��𝐈

Cheeks. It’s both the simplicity and sweetness of kissing your cheek that does it for him. Not to mention how he can always feel your smile gracing your beautiful face the second his lips meet your face… And there’s another benefit for putting your cheeks first — your neck is right there, just mere inches away. If Venti’s feeling playful, he’ll lull you in with the tiny kisses just to strike at your neck at the last second.

Venti thinks he’s being so smug right now. Well, it’s both him looking so proud of his partner… and being completely smitten with their entire existence. His eyes scream nothing but love, as you’re doing the mundane things in life — currently settling on picking what sort of flower to add to your ever-growing crown.

The two of you have decided to spend the weekend out on a picnic, to just enjoy yourselves. Not to mention how it’s the first day after weeks of nothing but rain — it’s almost as if the universe itself wants you to have fun.

You carefully weave in another daisy as you feel a brush on your cheek. Venti’s lips are always soft — akin to the first snowfall or the best cotton candy in existence. A smile graces your lips, as you take a peek in his direction, so pleased with himself. “What’s on your mind, Ven?” You ask.

“Who, but you… hmmm?” He mirrors your smile, swaying from side to side as he takes in your surprised reaction. He moves on top of the blanket, picking the wreath from your hands to put it aside. He’d rather not have your hard work crushed, just because he has you go through a love attack.

Even though he’s allergic to cats, with his next movements he could be mistaken for one. Venti gets to you all nice and gentle until he pounces at you — sending both of you down. He proceeds to pepper your entire face with kisses, increasing the speed he covers you with them the second a giggle escapes your lips.

At one point, you can even feel him bite your cheek a little. “Sorry~” He giggles, kissing over the spot. “Had to confirm you’re not made of sugar there, Sweets!”

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐑

Lips. From tiny pecks to long, tender kisses he adores them all. The sheer satisfaction of how well your lips fit together… just like two pieces from the tiniest puzzle. If he had to choose his favourite way to kiss you, it would be deep and hungry — he’s making sure that you’re not only with him and in the moment, but also putting his entire feelings into each and every one of them.

Don’t think, take a deep breath, it’s just a nightmare. None of the usual remedies can shake off how terrified Wanderer is, getting up from another iteration of his night terrors. They usually came and went, not lasting more than a week at a time. His chest rises quickly, as his hand ruffles through his hair.

“…Hey,” He whispers into the room, overcoming his pride in trying to fight his bad dream alone. The silence he’s met makes him pat your side of the bed, growing even more worried the second he finds it empty. Surely, he wasn’t in another layer of the dream space. You wouldn’t just leave him, right… Right?

He’s quick on his feet, leaving the overwhelming space of your bedroom in search of you. He, physically, cannot allow himself to stay in your shared room any second longer, lest the negative thoughts bury him in self-doubt completely.

The stomps, mixed with some sway from still being laced with sleep, of his road down the stairs echo throughout the entire house as he stumbles into the kitchen. He breathes out with relief the second he spots you.

“…Hmm?” You murmur, nursing a glass of water. That’s right, you were still here. You didn’t abandon him like others. You must’ve gotten thirsty, that’s all.

Wanderer tugs on your hand, dragging you to meet your lips together — strong, yet still laced with anxiety. His arms wrap around your waist, deepening the kiss. He keeps at it, giving you mere seconds to breathe before continuing with an assault on your face. Only when his heartbeat returns to normal, does he allow you to leave his embrace.

“All better.”

𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄

Hands. Arguably the most polite way to kiss one’s partner, but it’s his favourite nonetheless. His love for your hands comes not only from pleasant memories of he had used to greet you back in the courting stage, but also from how soft they are. A small peck to the palm when you stroke his cheeks while cuddling, a dainty kiss to your fingers whenever he’s putting putting on your rings for you, Neuvillette adores them all.

It’s far too crowded for your liking. Normally, you wouldn’t even consider leaving your house during rush hour… But life clearly had other plans. You were on your way to pick up Neuvillette from work, and head to the jeweller’s afterwards. Your beloved ring had to be taken in for resizing, leaving you without the usual weight on your hand or something to fidget with the second you got bored. Truth be said, you couldn’t wait to get the ring back.

“Glad to see you’ve made it, Love.” He says, gently taking your hand to place a kiss before lacing it together with yours. Some of his coworkers are in the middle of leaving the office, noticing their senior being domestic with their partner in public. He’ll for sure be the talk of the ‘town’ tomorrow, and yet Neuvillette pays them no mind, cordially bidding them farewell, before heading to the shop.

You’re almost jittering with excitement, humming along to Neuvillette’s recounting of his day, void of confidentialities. You cannot say your day was as exciting as his was. Something he absolutely scolds you for, arguing that even seeing butterflies on your way to his workplace makes it fun.

You make it to the jeweller’s in no time. The shop assistant is pleased to hand you your ring back — shining just as bright as it did when it first came into your possession. Before you even think, Neuvillette takes your ring and places it back where it belongs.

It’s only where you leave the shop, does he takes your hand and places a dainty kiss on your knuckles. As much as it didn’t feel right to make a display of your love right in the shopkeeper’s face… there’s something that puts him at ease seeing you with the wedding band. Love, perhaps?

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

Shoulders. He lives for the tiny jerks your body makes as he sneaks behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, as you’re caught off guard. Not to mention how you tilt your head slightly to give him more access or don’t shoo him away as he picks kissing your shoulder as his preferred way of greeting you in the morning

Saturdays. Arguably the best day of the week. No school, no work — just comfiness of one’s bed as no ringtone is there to forcibly make you start the day. The one negativity Saturdays bring is that it’s too hot to laze in bed. You’re basically captured in the trap, courtesy of sunshine blinding you in the face as well as Wriothesley’s body heat.

You stick one of your legs out of the comforter, hoping to ease your suffering a little. Your shift, to try and escape the iron grip of Wriothesley’s embrace, however, does not happen. “Too early…” He murmurs, voice deeper from being laced with sleep. He drags your body right back, to where it belongs — his arms, now additionally held down by his face nuzzling into your neck.

“…so heavy…” You tilt your head, trying to slip out. His messy hair is tickling your cheeks as he snuggles even closer. Seriously, at this point, you’re better off using him as a blanket and ditching the heavy comforter entirely. It’s not like Wriothesley will mind.

“Wrio…” He hums, acknowledging your pleas for freedom. “I’m too hot…” You whisper, pouting a little. You decide against telling him how much you’ve planned today — he’d only retaliate that weekends are for recharging only. Wriothesley’s right, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that. “You sure are…” He agrees, using your suffering as a means to compliment you. With the way he chuckles slightly, it’s no given Wriothesley’s smug and pleased with himself.

“Alright, buttercup,” He shifts, releasing you from his grip. Wriothesley places a tiny kiss on your exposed shoulder. “How ‘bout morning coffee, huh?”

date of posting — march 27th 2025

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