#kabukimono x you fluff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

raytoebiter · 14 days ago

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viv. kick me (written work)

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It's 4:37PM when the harsh beams of sunlight finally mellow down to a mere soft glow that blankets the whole interior in a delicate color. It's also 4:37PM when you finally reach the café and the bell chimes emit a pleasant noise you're accustomed to.

“Oh, dear [Name]!” A voice laced with so much delight greets you, and you can only return it with a grin of your own, “how was school today?”

You slipped the snoopy slippers on, already dragging yourself over to your grandma whose arms are prepared wide and open for the hug that you've always looked forward to.

It never fails to soothe the tension in your shoulders when she rubs a particular spot.

“School was fine,” you sighed absentmindedly.

“'Is that so? Speaking of school, where's your friend?”

Your gut squirms in annoyance, frowning at the way her eyes spark up so childishly despite being adorned with wrinkles.

Friend, my ass.

Irked, a groan left your lips, “he’s probably gonna be here soon.”

The word, ‘soon’ sounds so bitter in your mouth. You just fought with the guy earlier at morning classes because–who the fuck even throws a dildo at someone's face!?

Your face burns, unaware of your grandmother chuckling in satisfaction until she's already pulling you near to the counter, “I'll make you hot chocolate, and after this, you can turn the sign over.”

Okay, do not think about Scaramouche. Do not think.

You gulped, urging the damn Incident away from your weary mind, “swiss miss?”

She grinned with a blink, “of course! Now, hurry up and sit! you’re gonna have a long day today, missy.”

Save me, you clench your jaw, god, save me from this 6-Hour-Shitshow..

Sighing, you deliberately and slowly place the phone back to the counter, head tilting abnormally to peek at the entrance of the café—and there he is. All in his glory, the Almighty Twink-A-Fuck.

You gulp. Deep breaths. Step. Walk. Step.

“Hey,” you half-assedly smile, lightly knocking onto one of the square windows on the door.

His hair bounces when he perks up from his phone, imperceptible widened eyes catching onto yours before it shifts to those narrowed eyes you're more accustomed to.

“Why the fuck are your doors locked.” Not a question. You shrug, already reaching out to the lock.

“Cats often get in here because they know how to open doors,” a pseudo smile reaches your lips, sweetness lacing your voice, “and ‘sides, I forgot you were coming.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. A bell chime fills the silence, and you step over to the side as he enters.

A bright shine catches your peripheral as Scaramouche enters into the café without a care in the world, and holy–

Is that a fucking porsche!?

You abruptly whip your head to Scaramouche—who seems way too busy absorbing the interior of your café as if the asshole hasn't already been here a week ago—before whipping it back to the Shiny Glamorous Porsche. Because, what the fuck.

Okay, listen. You're not exactly an expert in The Damn Art of Cars but a Porsche had been on your wish list for years. God forbid the amount of times you've ratted off of your grandmother's ears as a child about how much you've salivated over damn metas and engines. At this point, you'd probably rather fuck a vehicle than a perso–

—A gasp. Then, horror. Absolute horror dawning in those indigo eyes. And.. and mirth? The fuck–

“You do realize you just said those outloud, right,” he deadpanned, voice tinted with indifference and amusement. Like what you said was the most appropriate thing. I mean, then again, you've said far worse things, but god–in the café? Where your dearest grandmother is quite literally just meters above your head? And could potentially hear you despite the thick hardwood floors?

That thought sends electricity to your body.

Pathetically, you sputtered, alternating between defending yourself, telling him to shut up because your grandmother is literally just upstairs and reasoning that, hey, can't you just let a girl nerd out? Only to end up giving him the Fuck-You finger when not even a coherent sentence ended up leaving your lips after a mere 3 minutes of full on panicking.

..Yeah, get that, motherfucker.

“Okay,” he drawls facetiously, after seconds of radio silence, “So, you want to fuck my car. Cool. My car's cool too.”

I swear I will haunt this asshole to death when I become a ghost.

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up. I don't want to hear it. Shut up.” resigned, your hand points to a double boiler, as he lets his gaze unceremoniously follow it.

Again, he snorts at the quaint sound of water boiling.

Then, he turns back to you with a sneer and a knowing lint in those fucking goddamn eyes, “well, whatever. I'll be in your care then, fruitcake.”

��

“Number 12 on the counter, please!”

Okay. So, even though you thought the Twink Fucker implied to be an absolute nuisance roughly three hours ago, he's actually surprisingly decent in the field. He knows how to do a few latte art, can brew an Americano correctly at least, and is mildly, overall experienced at it.

And admittedly, the way he moves around the area would what you call a fucking graceful dance shitshow. Listen, you're not one to exaggerate, but hell if you don't admit that the asshole frankly looks like he's dancing around while brewing damn espressos.

(You can feel bile gathering up in your esophagus when you ponder more over the damn poise he has.)

Presently, it's been three hours since the shift had started, and you've done nothing but scrutinising the Twink-Ass with keen eyes as your grandmother had given you the task to.

And embarrassingly enough, it seems you're not the only one, guessing with how much habitués has been ogling the mysterious new face at the counter. You're pretty sure that neither of them has the balls to ask, considering they linger quite a bit longer in favor of inspecting the asshole’s face instead of asking for his damn number.

However, as time ticked by, an old lady whom you recognize as that one lady who sells adult toys on a sidewalk manages the balls to ask. However, when she does ask, she doesn't ask the asshole. No, no, she comes to you. With the most expectant shine in her eyes and a girl’s name rolling off of her tongue.

And you, who have decided to be the kindest, offer the old lady 10 numbers with a note that you managed to write behind Scaramouche’s back, “tell your granddaughter to spam his phone; he likes those things in a woman,” followed by a wink. It's clear she's a bit perplexed, but she nods anyway.

That's revenge for the fucking dildo, asshole.

Four hours pass, and the café finally settles down as the end of the shift steadily approaches. And it's then that Scaramouche finally and unfortunately breaks the streak of not talking to you for four hours straight.

He approaches with the same pseudo smile he offers to the customers and with a patronising tone, he asks, “so? how’d I do?”

Absolute dogshit. I don't want you here.

“I’ll send my feedback to grandma later,” you sardonically smiled, avoiding the question as you tilt your head to the short stack of papers on the rickety table.

His attention flitted between you and the paper all the while having his lips pursed into that smile before dropping his facade and clicking his tongue.

“What? Don't tell me you were expecting flattery,” you snorted.

In return, he grimaced, “ew, god, no. I don't consider your flattery to be worthy enough to brood over.”

Your brows raised, “careful, now. your job is quite literally in my hands right now.”

The grimace only deepened before it twisted to a scowl, “I'll just find a new one if you ever do fire me from here.”

“As if anyone would ever accept your nasty ass.”

“Your nanny did.”

“That's ‘cause she doesn't know what you're like in school.”

Incredulity coursed through his features before chuckling, the sound itself bitter, “you sound like someone that I really fucking hate.”

“You do hate me,” you answered, simple and true. Not that you were ever bothered by it; you hated him too.

Then, in a fleeting moment, his gaze flickered to you, a confused glimmer in them as his brows raised the slightest bit as he reluctantly replied, “no, I fucking don't?”

The fuck?

Your stomach twisted, feeling the familiar sting in the back of your throat, “what?”

“Not as much as I hate that someone, anyway,” his voice silent yet so full of resentment before a newly complacent tone replaces it, “Also, I dislike you, asswipe.”

Oh, okay. You frowned. What's the difference? Did the word, ‘hate’ have a much deeper meaning? Weren't they just the same?

“..Well, I hate you,” you don't miss the way his face dropped to a deadpan, “that one's really obvious.”

“Yeah,” he rolled his eyes, leaning against the counter with an elbow propped on one of the sturdy machines, “really fucking obvious.”

This time, you respond with a glare.

In return, you get a disgusting tongue stuck out to you before he annoyingly decides to spare you the time and gazes off somewhere to the distance instead–blissfully ignoring your glares of daggers and muttered profanities.

Of course the peace doesn't last long.

"What's up with you and fucking Porsches anyway?"

A sigh, "please just shut up."

Then surprisingly, he does shut up. He did scoff though. Your gaze moved to the clock just right above the entrance.

9:47PM. Two hours left before your bedtime. You could wait it out and send the asshole home. But then again.. maybe you could overwork the asshole.

Under the guise of reluctance, you break the silence, “I’ll go clean up. We’ll switch from here, and then you can go home after.”

His head snapped to you, slightly tilted, “switch?”

“Yeah, switch. You go help grandma upstairs and I'll take care of the stuff from here. And, I'm pretty sure the pastries will be here at around..” you shot a glance at the clock again, noting the time, “twelve minutes from now, so off you go.”

As if contemplating, he narrowed his eyes before a smirk tugged at his lips and he tauntly drawls, “sure, whatever you say, fruitcake.”

A vein throbs in your temple. You could handle other names like dumbass, ass-kisser (???), fuckwipe, dickwad and other things you'd prefer not thinking about but this? It.. just sounds so..

“..Annoying. Fucking annoying.”

He rolls his eyes with a snort, already turning on his heels and heading to the staff room, “tell me something that's new, asswipe.”

"Back door's the exit for the staff here, by the way!"

The door clicked to a close, and you briefly wondered if he heard you or not.

..Well, nevertheless, you hope he wakes up with the most fucked up body ache known to mankind.

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|| previous episode - next episode. ||

───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (50/50): @toekissers , @raineyun @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @feiherp , @scaraenthusiast1 @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @court-jester-stuff , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu @kazemiya @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari @saechiro @franaby , @swivi , @vixialuvs , @heusalettle @kunikissr @yomishen @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi, @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages , @okukura , @azzumei @lucid1tty @iloveescara @usagiarchive @kyouzki @theunhingedmf @kangyeonie @mi2ukiss @bubblebellaz @eternallykira-143 @lumiicch

• featured song - nothing's gonna change my love for you by george benson

authors' notes - i tried my best in writing scara as VAGUE as fucking possible while also keeping the brandname of him being a fake idgafer💜 also you know those people who tries so hard to wink but just can't? i imagined that with [name]'s grandma and i just fucking cackled at the image lmfao

p.s - if u don't know the meaning of the song scara had on the last pic then i suggest u do a google search😋😋😋 gonna be a big ass foreshadowing

(ask to be added or removed)

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himasgod · 2 months ago

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Scaramouche x Reader

Where you find him making a toy that looks like him

The sunset enveloped the horizon in orange and pink hues as you walked through Sumeru City. The usual bustle of the merchants was beginning to subside, leaving in its place a calm that was only interrupted by the sound of your footsteps. You knew where to find him: he always looked for the secluded places, where the noise of the world couldn’t reach him. This time was no different.

There he was, sitting next to a small toy workshop, watching an old man sew a tiny cloth figurine. The Wanderer, or Scaramouche, as you had known him long ago, had taken a break from his incessant wandering to learn something as simple as creating toys. But even in that moment of stillness, his countenance showed the constant struggle against his thoughts.

You approached carefully, stopping a few steps away before speaking.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” you said softly, trying not to break the fragile peace that surrounded him.

Scaramouche looked up slowly, his amethyst eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and caution. Then, he returned his attention to the cloth figure in his hands, handling it carefully.

“Why am I not surprised that you always appear when I least expect it?” he replied, his tone filled with that usual irony, but with a softer tone than he usually showed.

You sat down beside him, looking at the toy he had been making. It was a small doll that, although simple, had a sweet and detailed expression. There was something almost endearing about seeing him dedicate himself to something so mundane.

“It’s pretty. It looks like you” you commented, pointing at the doll.

“It’s just fabric and stuffing,” he replied, but out of the corner of your eye you noticed his hands holding it carefully. “Nothing important.”

“Why I get the feeling that you’re reflecting yourself? but you know that’s not true,” you replied, fixing your gaze on him.

For a moment, it looked like he was going to retort with one of his usual barbs, but his silence was enough to understand that you had touched something deep. He looked down, his fingers playing with the edges of the fabric.

“There are things that can’t be fixed, no matter how hard you try,” he finally murmured, his voice lower, laden with a vulnerability he rarely showed.

“Maybe not everything can be fixed, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying,” you told him, with a calm firmness.

“If you didn’t believe that, you wouldn’t be here doing this."

So, you grabbed the thread, some stuffing, and sewing materials from Scaramouche's hands. You brushed your hair out of your face and with a cheerful smile, you said to Scaramouche:

"Come on! Let's finish sewing that doll. I'm sure it will turn out perfect!"

The wind blew softly, carrying with it the dry leaves that decorated the street. For a moment, the two of you remained silent. Finally, Scaramouche looked up at you, his eyes shining with something you couldn’t quite identify.

“You’re irritating,” he murmured, but this time his tone was devoid of harshness. It was almost… an acknowledgement.

You smiled, knowing that this small gesture was his way of thanking you.

Just like you were sewing his doll now, you could also sew his heart, dont you?

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

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yuyinesque · 10 months ago

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everyone stfu rn — an alternative universe where dottore didn't stuff kabukimono with niwa's heart for his sick pleasure. instead of feeling his flutter incessantly and embarrassingly, his chest resembles the sounds of a running computer monitor LMFAOOOO. he's a mechanical puppet, after all. the more flustered he is, the louder it gets, and you'd think he's malfunctioning with the way it runs with you.

kabukimono didn't know what it was at first; it worried him a little, but the thrilling rush of emotions inundated him to the point where he didn't even care anymore. it's loud, but... not detrimental. besides, even though it's loud and humiliating, you found it adorable, didn’t you? you even compared it to heart beats or arrhythmic palpitations, which not only induced the poor puppet's desire for a heart, but his infatuation towards you.

unfortunately, scaramouche would deny every single whirling motion in his chest cavity; he even considered getting that specific trait removed by dottore himself a plethora of times. he'd gaslight you into believing that you're creating delusions in that pretty little head of yours, and as he ponders about that "pretty little head" of yours, his chest does that little thing again. just what is that ridiculous attribute mocking him at every given moment with you?

whereas wanderer would bluntly and condescendingly deny the fact that it's there, or even brushes it off as a part of his programming. by now, he accepted what it was, but still wouldn't tell you the specifics (even though he had a feeling that you knew anyway). instead, he insists that you should "figure it out yourself" while pushing your head towards his chest with a cheeky chuckle, allowing you to listen to the unidentifiable noise buzz louder and louder.

I WANNA WRITE SUM BASED ON THIS EUUUGHH help me.

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dizzyjaden · 11 months ago

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❝ all that is ephemeral ❞

Scaramouche x gn! Reader

♤ Summary: Relaxing fluffy evening after your husband comes home from work.

♤ Warnings: Implication of death, immortal x mortal, arranged marriage (but happy !), fluffy Scaramouche :')

♤ A/N: You are the world just as much as you are a small grain of sand. Accept where you are mortal, embrace where you are immortal. Scaramouche will love you anywhere <3

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　　　　　　 ✦　　

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　　　　　　 ✦　　

"Darling, what is on your mind?"

Your tender voice cuts through the silence in the room where you sit alongside your husband. His eyelids slowly lift, tired as he seems, he is ethereal when the light from the window of the sunset outside lays itself bare across half his face in his dimly lit home. But as his lover, you do not see his serenity, all you see is the stress in the furrow of his brow.

He does not respond to your question, only brings his lips to meet your cheek, and then asks a question of his own.

"How do you not find boredom while sitting silently?" He whispers, resting his head on your shoulder. "So many I know can't stand still for a second."

Your answer comes more naturally than you expect.

"Your latent presence alone is contentment. Everything that needs to be said between the two of us floats through the room without a voice to accompany it."

Scaramouche stares up at you in admiration, his eyes half-lidded and his lips slightly parted.

"Don't you find life far too short to not speak your mind?" He asks.

You smile sadly.

"I actually find it excruciatingly long."

He smiles back.

"Time has passed so much swifter since I met you." He speaks. His smile falters slightly. "I feel as though life with you will pass in the blink of an eye."

"Is that what was on your mind?" You ask, digging your heels in quickly. It is so uncommon for Scaramouche to talk about his own thoughts and reflections with you.

"Sure... Amongst so many other little things." He whispers.

"Some big Tsaritsa-issued assignment tomorrow?" You question awkwardly.

You don't like the nature of his work. He knows this, so he rarely talks about it. You'd rather he talk about it than attempt to pretend it isn't happening around you.

Scaramouche sighs.

"I don't want to discuss work with you." He mutters. "Everything but you feels akin to work nowadays. I'd like to keep it all separated in my head."

You shake your head in disagreement.

"I'd love to take some worries off your shoulders." You say. "That's it."

He blinks up at you for a few quiet moments before sighing.

"I don't want to discuss anything." He clarifies. "Everything that needs to be said... Floats. Like you said."

You nod, quickly accepting the challenge.

The rest of the evening passes quietly, simply. After a while, you go on to prepare dinner with him. When you first got married, you'd usually shoo him away from the kitchen. Assuring him that you were more than happy to make him dinner, eventually, he admitted he just feels awkward watching you work alone, and you allowed for his extra set of hands.

Your entire engagement was not the most ideal. Your marriage had been arranged. Apparently, it was obvious to the cryo archon that Scaramouche did not have roots in Snezhnaya or attachment to his position. Marriage was her idea for him meant to keep him in place. You were just picked out from all the other noble families in Snezhnaya.

While it was something both of you resented at first, you now wonder that maybe as the goddess of love, The Tsaritsa knew what she was doing. The two of you did fall in love. You were certain you knew what to expect from a marriage with a harbinger, The Balladeer no less. You emotionally prepared yourself to live a life as a servant or a maid, rather than a spouse.

But when you moved in with him, you came to the realization so quickly that he wasn't loud, arrogant, or demanding. He was just quiet. Peaceful, even. Irritable, but respectful when met with confrontation. At first, it seemed as though he was just too tired from work to make his time at home a warzone as well, but affection was born of the inconvenience. He made a habit out of finding where you were in the house and preferred being nearby.

Aside from the servants who assist you in housekeeping, his mansion is empty. Silent rather than quiet. Barren. Anyone would become lonely.

Scaramouche was truly easy to understand. Your observations in his day-to-day life made the pieces fall into place. He wanted to love. He wanted to be loved. He was never sure where to look for it.

You are unsure how anyone could describe him as cruel as he quietly apologizes for merely grazing your side when you begin to set the dining table.

The two of you eat quietly, he practically scarfs his own food down, which humors you. He is always famished by the end of the day.

"Would you like mine as well?" You offer your portion of food to him without a second thought, he glares at you as if you just insulted him.

"Eat your food [Name]." He says in irritation. "Your day was no shorter than mine."

You hum in agreement.

When you finish eating your food, you're surprised to see Scaramouche waiting, staring at you eagerly when you look up to him. You smile.

"Yes...?"

You prompt him, though you know why he's looking at you like that. But, Scaramouche just isn't the kind of person to shamelessly admit that he so desperately looks forward to the conclusion of each day, when the two of you are curled up in each other's arms holding one another tightly in the warm comfort of a giant luxurious bed.

"Nothing." He lies.

And yet, when you go to wash the dishes from dinner, his arms are greedily wrapped around you, hugging you from behind with his face buried in your shoulder. You choose to not mock him about it, he is rather warm.

After you finish the dishes, he follows you into the bedroom where the two of you resign to your usual sides of the room to change into more sleep-appropriate clothing.

You turn towards the bed once you're changed, and realize Scaramouche has already buried himself under the covers, his face deep in the plush of the pillows, obviously exhausted.

You smile, and climb in beside him. He blindly holds out an arm to pat the area you've taken next to him, when his hand finds your cheek his thumb affectionately rubs across it.

"I... Missed you all day." He professes, his voice muffled from the silk covering his mouth.

You can't help but blush at his honey-coated tone. You don't respond but shuffle closer to him, causing him to turn on his side to face you.

He brushes your hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear.

"Will you... Always be here?" He asks quietly. "You won't... Leave or anything?"

"What a notion..." You say in a low voice. "Where did that come from?"

"I want you to say... That you won't leave." Scaramouche said, a slight blush dusting his cheeks to signify his embarrassment.

"I won't leave you, Kuzu." You say certainly, without hesitation. "Ever. Trust me."

His eyes trailed off as he got lost in thought.

"I want to take you... And all that is ephemeral... And keep it for myself. But I can't... All I can do is be in this moment where you are here." He speaks.

Your eyes widen.

"I am telling you I will not leave-"

"You are mortal, [Name]." He whispers shakily. "You can't keep your promise, no matter how badly either of us want you to."

You are confused, but Scaramouche pulls you to his chest before you can speak again.

"Love you... I love you." He kisses the top of your head sleepily. "Get some rest, my love."

"...Goodnight, Kuzu..."

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jaynahh · 1 year ago

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# you confessed to kabukimono, scaramouche, and wanderer

(seperated)

# scaramouche

# kabukimono

"love?"

his doe eyes were blown wide at your confession, though it didn't take long for a smile to take over his expression.

"aw, you're so sweet. i wouldn't choose anyone else to be my companion!"

oblivious.

before you could explain yourself, he took your hand in his and lead you near a tree. he suddenly bent down and picked a flower. once he stood up, he held the flower with both hands, offering it to you.

"ah, i love you too..."

his mouth hung open, thinking of other words to say, but nothing came out. he clearly had no experience. after a moment, he spoke.

"i've heard that when two people love each other, they give each other flowers. oh, speaking of flowers, i've recently tried this one tea flavor made with this one flower–i should make it for you sometime."

um, he's quite innocent.

in conclusion, kabukimono does in fact love you too. he just doesn't have a full grasp of what love means yet.

(ooc, he is soft for u)

you did it. you finally admitted your feelings for him. not gonna lie, it was scary. in fact, you were borderline hyperventilating as you awaited his response, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

you two were next to each other. so close, yet so far. you couldn't see his expression from the way you stared at the ground in anticipation. the silence was eating you up inside, and you couldn't handle much longer.

"look at me."

his voice snapped you out of your thoughts, taking a moment to register his request.

"...just for a moment," he spoke.

though his voice was quieter than usual, it didn't help with your racing heartbeat and uneven breathing. you fidgeted with your hands, weighing your options, hesitating before lifting your gaze from the ground to his face. your body tenses subconsciously, preparing for his wrath and uncaring behavior.

his eyes widen upon seeing your expression. you were crying. why are you crying? he wants to ask, yet he stops himself. he notices you tense up. were you scared of him? he instead takes a different approach.

"keep looking, please."

he knew how you would always avoid eye contact. he hated it. it always irritated him how he'd never get to see your face, how you'd always hide when he wanted to see your expression the most.

"i'm not mad. i... i won't yell at you."

without much thought, his hand went up to your face–his heart broke at the sight of you flinching, regret filled his mind thinking of the times he'd been harsh towards you–his thumb brushing your tears away.

"i might," he stammered, "i might feel the same."

in conclusion, scaramouche never knew about his feelings towards you until he saw the tears on your face. he needs time to process his newfound feelings.

# wanderer

he wants to make sure that you know what you'd be getting yourself into. him, out of all people? are you out of your mind?

he pursed his lips, analyzing your expression and body language. inside, he really doesn't know how to respond. he doesn't really believe it.

"are you sure?" he asked.

"why wouldn't i be?" you respond.

his mind was racing with so many questions. "but, you know how i'm like." it's true, you two have hung out on multiple occasions. he had never put up a front with you–or with anyone, for that matter. you know his true self well. so, why?

deep, deep down, he may be a tad bit insecure. just a little. okay, he feels like he doesn't deserve love–he doesn't deserve you.

"do you really want to live with my annoying remarks for the rest of your life?" he crosses his arms and tilted his head, making him seem judgemental in a negative way–but he's worried. just a little worried about you.

he's not sure if he's able to trust someone to that extent, but with you... of course he loves you. he's just scared.

scared for one, that you'd get sick of him and hate his attitude, and two, you'd get taken away from him too.

he's warning you, but he's secretly hoping you'd ignore all his warnings. he needs a hug.

in conclusion, he always had an interest in you, though he hid it quite well. he never acted on those feelings in fear that you'd leave him.

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xinxiaogato · 2 years ago

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— snip! snip! snip...!

summary. the hairstyle of the guy with indigo eyes was very specific: a short jellyfish cut that ended at the base of his neck with wispy, sparse bangs lined up in the front. however, what would happen if your boyfriend gave someone free rein to a pair of scissors near his head?

love interests. gn!reader x kabukimono, scaramouche, and wanderer. (separately)

warnings. cursing, jealousy, unedited, and a lil spicy during wanderer’s part.

word count. 3,506.

note. let’s pretend both niwa and the nameless child (named “isamu” here) are alive at the same time for this fic… you are referred to as “reader” by the way!

꒰ 傾奇者 ꒱ — kabukimono

your cutie patootie of a boyfriend always burst through the door after working at the forge and embraced you as if centuries had passed since the last time you saw each other.

but today, for some odd reason, when you heard the familiar squeak of the front door, that squeak wasn’t followed by the usual croon of your name and a rush of footsteps toward you. instead, you listened to kabukimono wordlessly pad into the bathroom…

and he didn’t come out.

concerned for his well-being, you quickly made your way outside the room he barricaded himself in and knocked on the door twice. “kabukimono?” you called for him. “are you all right?”

silence.

and then you heard him sniffle.

“y-yeah, i’m okay,” his voice returned meekly. “please don’t worry about me…”

your heart squeezed tightly in your chest. “wait, are you crying?"

"..."

"kabukimono, please let me know what’s going on. we can work it out together. you know that.”

you prepared to give him space if there was no reply, but the door creaked open shortly after. you took that as an invitation to walk in but was abruptly glomped by him, his face buried into your chest.

“kabukimono!” startled, you tried to gently push your boyfriend off, but it was like the two of you got stuck together by adhesive glue.

“what happened?” you asked with what breath he hadn’t squeezed out of your lungs.

kabukimono was so, so embarrassed. half of the reason he refused to budge was the shame for not greeting you properly…

…but the other half was the atrocity that had become of his front bangs!

previously, niwa had noticed them getting a tad too long to the point they were poking into kabukimono’s eyes, so like a good samaritan, niwa suggested to give them a little trim.

kabukimono should’ve protested a little harder when he saw niwa take out scissors the size of gardening shears.

“n-niwa…!” quivered kabukimono as he gawked at himself through a shard of glass.

“i’m so sorry, friend; this is all my fault! but it doesn’t look too bad?”

“…niwa, reader is going to break up with me.”

niwa offered up his bandana for kabukimono to wear home, but kabukimono knew he’ll have to face this dilemma head-on sooner or later.

however, the closer he got to his and your house of wooden veneer… the more he dreaded your reaction.

“kabukimono…” you said softly, which turned his stomach. “…may i see your face?”

“…”

against his better judgment, the wandering samurai peeled his face off of your clothes and angled it so that you could glimpse his bangs, which were much shorter than you were accustomed to. your lips parted in mild surprise as you took another second to process this.

“…i look terrible,” kabukimono murmured in the silence, tears pricking his bluish-purple eyes. he knew he was seconds away from bidding his quaint life with you goodbye. “p-please don’t leave me…” he added underneath his breath, his fingers gripping onto you tighter like you were about to disappear.

…so this is what he was trying to hide all along.

you let out a little “pfft” that captured his attention and then smoothed back his short bangs to plant a kiss as sweet as summer fruit on his forehead.

“kabukimono, you look perfect,” whispered you with only love in your eyes.

for the first time that night, kabukimono looked up and donned a gaze of profound intensity that felt like it was sucking you in. he really loved it when you said his name with your voice; it made him melt into a puddle.

“i’m not gonna leave you over something this silly,” you continued, making him scrunch his face when you booped his nose. “besides, it’ll grow out.”

“really?” he croaked.

“really. now how about you wake up isamu while i get dinner ready?”

kabukimono blinked away tears that had threatened to spill down his cheeks earlier. you always dispelled his worries in a flash no matter how trivial they were. why did he ever have doubts in the first place? you were his sanctuary—the end-all to his anxiety of being abandoned. “okay!”

꒰ 国崩 ꒱ — scaramouche

slam!

that sound of the door to his bedroom was nothing to sneeze at, but the fact that the fatui harbinger didn’t greet you with a kiss on the lips as per usual was. hell, you didn’t even get the chance to see his face when he came home. that either meant he was really angry or really tired, and whether he joined you for dinner was up to you to test the waters.

tonight, you were feeling brave. how could he turn down your infamous chicken katsu?

“scara!” you exclaimed, wiping your hands on a towel before approaching the lion’s den. “i made dinner! or would you prefer a shower? or perhaps… moi?”

“…”

“i know you’re in there. at least give me a sign that you’re alive.”

“...”

“scaramouche! scaramouche! will you do the fandango?”

“...”

“sc-scara, there’s a fire in the kitchen!”

“…”

“seriously?”

well, you supposed you should’ve saved that one for later. you used that excuse last week to lure him out.

heaving a sigh, you turned on your heel to accept eating alone for the night when scaramouche suddenly whipped the door open and encircled his arms around you from behind, pulling a shocked you to his chest and locking you in place.

“if you turn around, we’re breaking up,” he grumbled into your ear.

“huh!?” you thrashed around in scaramouche’s grip to no avail. “that’s not something you can just decide on your own!”

“don’t care. if you saw me—!”

if you saw him, you would most definitely laugh, and the last thing scaramouche wanted to be was a laughing stock to his lover. of course he would cast aside his ego when it came to your reputation, but archons forbid you seeing him as something pitiable. not if he could help it.

“don’t you realize i’ll be more upset if i didn’t get to see your handsome face, darling?” you whined with futile tugs and twists at his wrists. “as to whatever happened, it can’t be that bad!”

oh, it was bad. really bad.

“the most important thing is eye contact!” declared his colleague with the irritatingly bright locks of orange hair. “after all, there’s a saying that eyes are the windows of the soul. how else are you supposed to communicate your feelings to them?”

“...dude, you don’t even have light in your eyes,” scaramouche responded. “why should i take advice from you?”

“what does that have to do with anything?”

sandrone’s massive puppet smacked tartaglia upside the head as she scowled. “stop making a ruckus, and just cut the balladeer’s bowlcut already. he looks homeless.”

“yes, i don’t think we can handle the sixth harbinger’s lamentation about his relationship much longer,” arlecchino grumbled, her eyes turning so far upward that they almost rolled right out of the room.

“none of you guys were even supposed to know about it!” scaramouche roared with fury practically emanating off of him.

this outburst had all the other partygoers of the tsarita’s banquet turning their heads. they couldn’t believe their eyes, but it was true. all ten executive heads of the fatui were gathered together in one place (fly high, signora). even the harbingers themselves never thought something like this would happen if it weren’t for you, who scaramouche had introduced and (to his dismay) had made them all smitten toward you. even the tsaritsa thought you were pleasant.

the fatui harbingers could not refuse your suggestion to have “team bonding events”—this gala being one of them—and the animosity between these lieutenants have actually lessened over time (by a hair’s breadth).

“i can use my water blades,” tartaglia offered, who thrusted his hands forward to summon them.

scaramouche’s hands balled into fists, ready to clock the eleventh harbinger before he even had the chance. “no. a thousand times no! don’t even get those things close to me if you want to live, you asshat.”

“what… transpired this?” whispered pulcinella, unable to keep up with the youngsters’ energy.

pantalone took it upon himself to explain the situation. “word is that our dear reader complimented the hairstyle of a subordinate working underneath the balladeer,” the regrator informed as he pushed his neck-strap spectacles higher up the bridge of his nose. “since then, he has failed to complete a single assignment.”

revealing his sharp canines, dottore snickered. “in spite of that, it truly is miraculous that the kid found someone who could get past his ironclad exterior.”

columbina hummed in agreement. “it is miraculous that anyone even likes him~!”

they eventually resorted to a pair of scissors that dottore had in his coat pocket (dottore was almost disappointed when il capitano reminded everyone that he carried one), and after some convincing and straight up fist fighting, it was decidedly pulcinella who got on a stool to give scaramouche a snip.

and pulcinella… doesn’t have the best eyes.

“if it’s about your dark circles, it’s okay,” you reassured scaramouche back in the present. “i’ll always accept you the way you are.”

“i don’t have dark circles!” in a fit of rage, scaramouche spun around to glare at you while blinking several times in quick succession and—lo and behold—gave you front-row seats to pulcinella’s botched job at cutting his bangs, which now ended halfway down his forehead. scaramouche felt his heart drop into his stomach at the sight of your widened eyes before he shoved his hat into your face and stormed off.

“w-wait, scara!” you chased after him to the living room, and he still refused to face you. “that was what you were worried about me seeing?”

following that was a silence that thickened the air. you walked up to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “hey… i like guys with short hair, you know?”

…

“...but that damn skirmisher had long hair,” your boyfriend grumbled.

ah. this confirmed your suspicion that he overheard you speaking to his underling. little did scaramouche know that you had just been asking about your boyfriend’s whereabouts that day (but of course the balladeer anxiously spying on you the whole time made it impossible for you to locate him).

“i also like guys with blue hair and blue eyes.” you went to stand in front of scaramouche and placed his kasa hat back onto his head before squishing his face with your hands. he furrowed his eyebrows and tried to pull away, but the almighty harbinger became weak before you very easily. “i like guys with red eyeliner. a big hat. a haughty attitude. i like you, darling. and nothing is going to change that.”

scaramouche clenched his jaw and looked down at the floor dejectedly. “...how can you stand it though? you just said my attitude is haughty. is that… fine?”

“i’m still here, aren’t i?” you smiled. “and i’m not going anywhere. even if you went bald.”

“...do not allow that image to form in your brain, reader.”

“it’s too late.”

“reader!”

but despite the irritation laced in his voice, his lips were curled into a smile reserved only for his lover’s eyes. he liked you, too, and nothing was going to change that.

꒰ 放浪者 ꒱ — wanderer

“lesser lord kusanali.”

the dendro archon whirled around and almost let out a breath of relief at the sight of you entering the sanctuary of surasthana, your fingers intertwined behind your back. “grand sage, it is good to see you,” nahida greeted earnestly. “i’m sorry for contacting you on such short notice, but you were the only one i could think of reaching out to.”

“really?” you cocked an eyebrow as you descended down the white stone walkway. not at all did you mind chatting with nahida when you had the chance, but if you were the only person capable of solving her problem, it must be serious. “what could be the matter?”

“well… it’s rather a long story.” scratching her cheek, the dendro archon recounted what took place that morning.

“what are you thinking about?” the little archon questioned as she and wanderer strolled along the outskirts of the city.

wanderer kicked a rock that had the misfortune of being in his path. “you and i both know the answer to that,” he stoically replied.

“has it been that long since you and reader have seen each other?”

those words made something in wanderer’s chest feel a foreign pang, one that only occurred when he envisioned your face.

“i know that they’re busy with official affairs,” he scoffed, coming to a full stop. nahida followed suit, looking back at him with a hand to her heart. “it just can’t be safe for humans to stay cooped up inside of their offices all day long.”

nahida knew the nonchalance in wanderer’s tone was just a cover-up for how much he missed you, and the archon was all too familiar with that feeling. “wanderer—”

“i’m gonna make them regret prioritizing their work over me.”

with a tip of his hat, wanderer started trudging back the way they came.

“hey, wait!” she rushed after him and clung onto one of the blue fabrics dangling from the back of his head covering, which yanked him back toward her.

“what?” he deadpanned.

“how are you planning to make reader regret it?” she asked her disciple, anxious about letting him out of her sight.

“...”

wanderer recalled overhearing a conversation in the grand bazaar. a woman was fawning over her husband’s new appearance, who shaved off his beard earlier that day because he wanted to surprise her, and it was like she fell in love with him for the first time all over again.

wanderer wanted you to fall in love with him all over again.

“haircut,” he grunted.

“haircut?” nahida echoed.

“i want a haircut.” wanderer blatantly pointed at his head.

nahida took a moment to process his request before breaking out into a smile antagonistic to his scowl. “leave it to me!”

“and that was my first time cutting someone’s hair…” concluded nahida quite dejectedly. “...so you can imagine his fury when he got his hands on a mirror…”

“oh, archons,” you muttered right in front of her, slapping a hand to your face. “where is he now?”

“i’m not sure… i think he grumbled something about curling up in a corner and never seeing a single person again before he flew away.”

the only place you could imagine he escaped to was your shared home together in sumeru city, which was the biggest decision you two had carried out together in your relationship so far. however, you had no idea that the house became such a lonely place for wanderer. anguish squeezed your heart as you pictured him eating dinner alone, pretending the food was satiating like you had suggested in the past because he had wanted to be more human. “like you,” he had said.

“please let the other sages know i am taking an early leave,” i said, pivoting on my heel. “lunch is on me tomorrow!”

“good luck!” nahida called out to you, and as you pushed through the doors of the sanctuary, you felt like you grew wings right there and then.

when was the last time you inhaled a breath of fresh air…?

you dashed home as fast as your little legs (that had been stationary for what? six days?) could carry you home. along the way, nilou stopped you to discuss performing for the people in aaru village, cyno wished to speak about dispatching additional soldiers to monitor trade in the caravan ribat, and al haitham wanted a vacation(?)

however, you had to direct each one of them to your p.o. box because there was one request that waited to be fulfilled for a long, long time.

“babe!” you exclaimed, stumbling a bit as you peeled off your shoes at the doorway. “babe, are you home?”

silence. every step you took further down the hallway entrance felt like stepping onto an eggshell, and your mind started to wonder. was he not actually here? where could he have gone then?

“babe—”

in a flash, you were tightly enveloped by a pair of arms that knocked the wind out of your lungs. you almost lost your footing if it weren’t for the wall right behind you while, in front of you, your lover’s shaking eyes were trying to immortalize every detail of your face onto the canvas of his mind.

“reader…” wanderer mumbled, his cold hands cupping your cheeks like they were made of glass. “you’re here.”

a complicated feeling began to creep up inside of your chest. you didn’t even have the heart to “pfft” at his bangs that looked like a kindergartener had cut it (which wasn’t far from the truth). the crooked ups and downs of his bangs were the least of your concerns.

“i’m so sorry, wanderer,” you whispered as you reached up and gently held his wrists. “i’ve been so busy with attending meetings and approving requests that—”

“shut it.”

wanderer leaned in and hungrily captured your lips with his, and it didn’t take long before they began to trail butterfly kisses down your jaw and to your neck. his grazing teeth coaxed small noises from your mouth as they made light work of your sensitive skin.

“wanderer, wait…”

he pulled back momentarily to look you dead in the eye. “i have waited far too long,” wanderer snarled. “just let me have you, reader…”

you could not risk losing the ability to walk like last time. an idea came over you in that moment to break the spell clouding wanderer’s eyes with lust and desire.

“i’M gONna mAke tHem rEGret pRioriTiziNg thEir worK oVEr Me!” you cried out dramatically as if you had been fatally wounded.

your allusion was so out of character that it completely caught him off guard. as wanderer pressed his lips into a thin line, he created some room for jesus between his body and yours and asked in a contemptuous voice, “did lesser lord kusanali make you come here?”

“of course not. i’m here because of you, babe.” you chuckled. “did you think i wouldn’t notice all the subliminal messages you planted in your works?”

wanderer’s eyes widened in light of that. “you read the scholars’ papers?”

“not typically, but i asked the sage of the vahumana darshan to provide me with yours,” you clarified.

you adored the way your partner wrote—even if he always acted like crafting those essays together was a chore. reading his dissertation on societal issues in inazuma was actually how you two crossed paths, as you voraciously sought the author behind it. who would have predicted that the aloof, cold stranger nahida introduced to you as “hat guy” became your clingy mess of a boyfriend years later?

“whatever, don’t pull that disappearing act on me again,” he snapped, flicking your forehead in an odd display of affection. you held back a few colorful words from the sheer strength he put into that finger.

“it’s not like i was trying to avoid you,” you stated. “plus, i would argue that you disappeared, too, babe. even our archon couldn’t surmise where you ran off to.”

“well, you knew where to find me.” and that’s all that matters, he chose not to add.

a soft laugh bubbled from your throat as you directed your attention back to what made him disappear in the beginning. “hey… there’s no need to doll yourself up to get my attention.” you gently swept his silky bangs to the side. “you are always on my mind and even more so when we’re apart.”

a hush descended over the world around you two as wanderer squinted his troubled eyes and averted them to the floor in deep thought.

he could not kid himself any longer. you, a measly and pathetic mortal, had successfully slipped past the outer shell he built to fool irminsul into believing that he was not an individual worthy of loving, existing, redeeming.

“...”

“wanderer?”

"...rea..."

reader, each day felt longer than the last without you by my side.

i never thought i would have a person in this world who wanted me as much as you do.

if i had to thank beelzebub for one thing, it would be creating me so that i could meet you.

you are the center of my universe.

“teyvat to wanderer…?”

but wanderer would rather die than say allat. hmm, maybe he’ll put those heartfelt words on paper so that you can read them in your office, giggling and kicking your feet.

in the meantime, he settled on dragging you to the bedroom. “you’re getting punished anyway.”

“wha…!? wait, wanderer!”

but on the inside, you were so happy that it didn’t matter if your boyfriend had to fly you to the akademiya every morning for the next several days. you wished for nothing to take away the beautiful smile you could see creeping onto his face.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x y/n #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #kabukimono x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #fluff #crack #comfort #angst #stella writes — !#snip! snip! snip...!

1K notes · View notes

kunikukitty · 5 months ago

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⛸️ WALTZ ON THIN ICE

a Heizou x Fem!Reader x Scaramouche SMAU

Synopsis. You were just in elementary when you had your puppy love, but he had to move to a different province and therefore losing contact. But you two promised each other for something. It has been ten years since then, is it possible to meet him again?

Status. ON-GOING [11/03/24 - Present]

Genre. social media au, ice skating, olympic competitions, modern au, fluff, slow burn

Warnings. flawed characters, reader is female, swearing, kms/kys jokes, characters are classified with their respective nationality

Taglist. OPEN! feel free to ask<3

❆ Meet the cast!

SKATERS || ACTORS

clubhouse

❆ Winter Countdown

00. Where is he? 01. Stay safe. 02. Shh!

03. Don't be suspicious. 04. Say what?!

05. Rest in dictionary. 06. Substitute?

07. SAY WHAT NOW?! 08. What's good in luck?

09. Intimidation and pressure.

10. Searching for way out. 11. I want you back.

12. I SWEAR I CAN'T 13. Need me an apple.

14. Gentler. 15. What did you say?

16. Confrontation. 17. Cost you a fortune.

18. What are they? 19. Wanna grab a coffee?

20. Unwanted reminder. 21. Intense.

22. No time to think. 23. Can't escape now.

24. Wish me luck. 25. Way to delay.

26. He smiled... 27. Should we celebrate?

28. Back to zero. 29. It can't be helped.

30. No sense. 31. Awkward. 32. Regret.

33. Recovery. 34. Comeback of romance.

divider is from kodaswrld !

173 notes · View notes

hellithides · 5 months ago

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An Invite to Temptation

Synopsis: Arlecchino invites Scaramouche to join in on the fun. Content warning: Dom!Arlecchino x Sub!Fem! reader, Scaramouche x Reader, making out, exhibitionism, threesome, cunnilingus, sesbian lex and scara watches.

4.5k words. NSFW under the cut

Scaramouche opens the door to your shared apartment, his footsteps pausing abruptly at the sight of you and Arlecchino lounging comfortably on the couch. Her arm is draped casually over your shoulder, fingers lightly tracing patterns on your arm. He glares, eyes narrowing as if he’s just walked into something profoundly offensive. With a heavy sigh, he rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Tch. You two are disgusting,” he mutters, the words sharp and biting as they cut through the quiet atmosphere.

You chuckle, completely unfazed by his attitude. Pulling Arlecchino closer, you rest your head against her shoulder. Her presence is warm and grounding, and you feel a sense of contentment despite Scaramouche’s usual sour demeanor.

“Welcome home to you too,” you reply smoothly, your voice light with amusement.

Arlecchino says nothing but shifts slightly, her hand lazily continuing its path along your shoulder, adding to the intimacy between you. Scaramouche, visibly cringing at the sight of the two of you all wrapped up in each other, scoffs loudly, crossing his arms as he leans back against the wall, a look of pure disgust etched onto his face.

“Seriously?” he huffs, eyes flicking between you two. “Can’t you save this revolting display of affection for a private room? Not all of us want to see you practically merged into one person.”

You snort softly, glancing over at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “It’s pretty private here. I mean, last time I checked, this is my home.”

Arlecchino nods in agreement, her expression unreadable but clearly comfortable with the situation. She shifts a little closer, her fingers brushing lightly along your neck. Scaramouche groans dramatically, his patience thinning by the second.

“Yeah, real private,” he sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s not like I just walked in and got an eyeful of... this.”

He gestures vaguely at the two of you, as if words are insufficient to describe how offensive he finds your closeness. Suddenly, Arlecchino leans in, her breath warm against your ear as she whispers something that makes your heart skip a beat. You shudder, feeling her hand slip beneath the hem of your skirt, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. Scaramouche looks like he's about to keel over. His eyes dart between you and Arlecchino, his initial disdain turning into a look of bewilderment as he catches the suggestive movement of her hand. He raises an eyebrow, clearly at a loss for words.

“You two are not seriously doing this in front of me, are you?” His voice is sharp, but there's an undeniable hint of interest creeping in. "Have you no shame?"

“You can watch,” Arlecchino says, her words dripping with playful provocation. Arlecchino smirks, her sly smile deepening as she shifts you further back into the couch until you’re lying on your back, head resting on the arm with her between your knees. The world around you seem to fall away as her fingers slide against your skin, spreading your thighs ever so slightly. Her movements are deliberate, almost daring, and you feel the heat of her gaze as she remains focused on you. Scaramouche’s reaction is almost comical—his eyes widen, his usual cold composure completely shattered.

“What?” he sputters, the word coming out in a strangled breath. “You’re kidding, right? You can’t be serious... right?”

His voice falters as he averts his gaze, looking anywhere but at the two of you. A light blush creeps up his cheeks, the uncharacteristic color betraying his embarrassment. He shifts his stance awkwardly, crossing his arms tighter, as if trying to form a barrier between him and the situation unfolding in front of him.

"Relax,"

Arlecchino says with a chuckle, her voice low and teasing, her eyes never leaving yours. “We’re just having a little fun. Unless you're interested in joining—”

"As if!"

Scaramouche cuts her off immediately, his face turning even redder. He shakes his head furiously, his voice a pitch higher than usual. “Mm… My already so wet, mon amour. Does the thought of him seeing you so debauched for me turn you on this much?”

“Yes… Fuck, Arle… touch me please.” You respond, unashamed despite Scaramouche’s eyes on you.

Arlecchino only hums as she begins to slip your underwear off. You shudder, anticipating her touch as her hands slide further up your thighs. At this point Arlecchino is between your spread legs, the angle is just right that your little skirt covers you from Scaramouche’s gaze. He lets out a strangled cough, his face now turning a deep shade of red. He tries to look away, but his eyes keep darting back to you and Arlecchino. He gulps nervously, trying to form a coherent sentence. “You... You're actually going through with this?” “Why not? I mean she’s too pretty a sight not to share.”

Arlecchino chuckles, lifting one of your thighs to her shoulder. The change in position allows Scaramouche just enough of a peek to your already wet folds that his breathing quickens together with the pounding of his heart. He’s rooted to the spot as Arlecchino begins to plant soft kisses onto your inner thighs making you whine her name softly. The sound causes him to throb in his pants.

“Why don’t you take a seat?”

Arlecchino regards him, nodding in the direction of the loveseat adjacent from the couch where the two of you lay. Her lips brush against your clit, earning her a shaky exhale from you. At that, she shifts her attention back to you and presses a kiss to your clit. Your fingers tangle into her silky, black and white locks, tugging gently as she inches even closer. Her movements are deliberate and slow, heightening the tension between you both in the way that she knows all-too-well drives you insane. Your breath catches, and when your half-lidded, dazed eyes meet Scaramouche’s, the charged atmosphere only intensifies.

Scaramouche, frozen in place, seems to struggle with the whirlwind of emotions now stirring within him. His breath hitches sharply, his gaze locked onto yours despite his earlier disgust. There’s something deeper in his eyes now—an unmistakable blend of embarrassment, flickers of desire, and even a faint glint of envy. The tension in the room feels palpable, thick with unspoken feelings. He shifts uncomfortably on the edge of his seat, his fists clenched tightly in his lap as he fights to maintain his composure. Despite his earlier protests, his body betrays him. His flushed cheeks and the way his gaze keeps darting back to you say more than his words ever could. For a moment, the air is thick with possibility, a crossroads between temptation and restraint. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, a brief involuntary gesture as his mind wrestles with the conflicting emotions surging through him. The cold, biting persona he usually hides behind seems to be slipping, and he’s struggling to regain control.

Arlecchino, sensing the charged energy, lets out a soft, amused hum. She doesn't look at Scaramouche directly, but it’s clear she’s aware of the effect the two of you are having on him. Her lips brush lightly against your folds as she speaks, her words barely above a whisper, but loud enough to slice through the tension like a knife.

“Looks like we’ve got an audience.”

Arlecchino says with amusement, noting the way Scaramouche looks at you, drinking in the sight of you as if he was a man who’s been starved for centuries. You feel a ripple of amusement mix with the heat rising in your body. Scaramouche tenses visibly, his jaw clenching as he tears his eyes away, his pride warring with the raw vulnerability that has been laid bare. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but no words come out, only the faintest, shaky exhale.

“Arlecchino—” he finally begins, voice low and strained, as if he’s fighting every word. “This... this is insane. You’re both insane.”

Arlecchino's chuckle is soft but dangerous, a sound that seems to vibrate in the air between you. Her hand slides down your thigh, her gaze never wavering from you, but the weight of her words is unmistakably directed at him.

“Insane? Maybe. But aren’t you curious, Scaramouche? How good your roommate would look cumming on my tongue? How heavenly she sounds? You should be honored I’m letting her sing for you.”

His breath comes out in a shaky sigh, and for the briefest moment, you see his composure crack. He doesn’t respond, but the silence speaks volumes. The room remains heavy with the tension of the moment, the air thick with the unspoken desires and the battle raging behind Scaramouche's guarded eyes. Your head tilts back, lips parted as you let out a moan that reverberates through the room, filling the air with a palpable sense of desire. Arlecchino’s tongue moves with deliberate skill, and her own soft moan in response only deepens the intensity of the moment. The tension between your bodies is electric, almost too much to bear. Scaramouche feels a wave of heat wash over him, his stomach tightening painfully as he grips the arm of the chair beside him, his knuckles turning white from the strain. He swallows hard, trying to ground himself, but it’s no use. The sight of you, so unashamed and vulnerable, moaning with reckless abandon, stirs something deep inside him—something he’s never allowed himself to think about until now.

You moan his name, soft and breathless, “Scara…”

The sound is like a spark, igniting something within him that he didn’t realize was there. Hearing his name roll off your tongue in such a needy, pleading way sends a jolt straight to his core, and he instinctively shifts in his seat, resisting the overwhelming urge to adjust himself. He’s not supposed to feel like this. Not toward you. Not while watching this. But there’s no denying it anymore—the way his pulse quickens, the heat creeping up his neck, the tension coiling in his body. His thoughts are racing, tangled between discomfort and the undeniable pull of desire that’s gnawing at him from within.

"Archons…"

He mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible, almost as if he's trying to convince himself that he's still in control. But even as he whispers it, the tension in his body betrays him. His gaze flickers back to you, drawn against his will to the sight of your flushed skin, the way your body arches slightly in response to Arlecchino’s ministrations.

Arlecchino, ever perceptive, notices the effect you’re having on him. Her eyes flick briefly toward Scaramouche, a predatory glint in them as she continues with deliberate purpose, almost as if she’s drawing him into this intimate dance, even from across the room.

Scaramouche bites down on his lip, hard, trying to focus on anything but the growing heat pooling in his lower abdomen. His breaths come quicker, shorter, and he feels a bead of sweat form at his temple. He’s never felt so conflicted, torn between his usual aloofness and this unfamiliar, overpowering desire surging through him. He tries to look away, to close his eyes and shut out the scene unfolding before him, but the sound of your voice, that soft, yearning moan of his name, keeps echoing in his mind, pulling him deeper into this vortex of sensation.

"Scara..." you moan again, your voice more desperate this time, and the last of his resolve crumbles. He can no longer deny what’s happening inside him—he wants you, needs you, in ways he never imagined. His hands clench tighter around the edge of the desk, his mind spinning as he wrestles with his own desires. In the back of his mind, he knows he should leave, should retreat to his room and pretend this never happened. But something keeps him rooted in place, watching, feeling, wanting—despite every part of him that’s screaming to stop. “Go ahead, you can touch her. Just not here. This pussy’s mine.” Arlecchino’s words hang in the air, sharp and possessive, as she punctuates her claim on you with a harsh suck that sends a surge of pleasure through your body. Your back arches involuntarily, hands pulling at her hair, a loud whine escaping your lips. The sound draws Scaramouche’s attention, his jaw tightening as he processes her invitation. His mind is torn, screaming that this is a line he shouldn’t cross, but his body betrays him, filled with a growing, undeniable desire to touch you, to feel your skin under his hands.

He takes a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. “Are you sure? I... I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.” His voice wavers, hesitant as he looks at both you and her for permission.

“Don’t make me change my mind.” Arlecchino growls, her tone brooking no argument. Her grip on your thighs tightens possessively, her head buried deeper between them, the heat of her movements sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“Haah… Arle, feels so good…”

Scaramouche swallows hard at the warning, knowing full well she isn’t one to be defied. But it’s your moans, needy and raw, that ultimately seal his decision. His feet move before his mind can catch up, standing from his seat and closing the distance between you and him. His gaze flickers between you and Arlecchino, heart pounding in his chest, hands trembling as they hover just above your skin.

You whine softly at him, the sound barely above a whisper, “Wanna kiss…”

At your words, Arlecchino growls softly, her actions growing more intense as her tongue works relentlessly against you. She sucks harshly, drawing a loud, desperate moan from your throat as her name tumbles from your lips. The sound drives Scaramouche to the edge, his body reacting to your every movement, to the way you squirm under Arlecchino’s touch.

His eyes darken as he leans in, his breath ghosting over your lips, tantalizingly close. “You want me to kiss you, huh?” he asks, his voice low, taunting. A smirk plays on his lips, but beneath the facade, the heat in his gaze is undeniable. “Ask nicely, then.”

Before you can respond, Arlecchino’s head lifts just slightly, making you whine ever-so-softly from the loss of contact. She glares at Scaramouche, her tone sharp with warning. “You have no right making demands of her.” Her voice is firm, unwavering, and the possessiveness in it is impossible to miss. “Do as she says before you anger me.”

Scaramouche’s eyes flicker with brief annoyance, the idea of being ordered around clearly grating on him. But one look at Arlecchino’s fierce expression reminds him of her power in this moment, and he knows better than to push his luck. He lets out a frustrated huff, his defiance melting under the weight of her authority. His gaze softens as it meets yours again, his resistance crumbling as he sighs.

“Fine. You asked for it.”

Without another word, Scaramouche leans down, kneeling beside the couch and closing the final inch between you. His lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s possessive, hungry, as if he’s been holding back for far too long. His hand finds your cheek, fingers trembling slightly at the first real touch, and he deepens the kiss, his body pressing closer to yours as he loses himself in the moment.

At the exact same moment, Arlecchino reminds you of her presence by sliding a blackened hand beneath your shirt, cupping your breast harshly through the lace bra. The world seems to blur around you, the heat of his kiss mixing with the relentless pleasure from Arlecchino’s touch and tongue, sending your senses into overdrive. Scaramouche groans deeply, the sound muffled as your moan vibrates against his mouth. His lips move against yours with an almost desperate hunger, the heat between you two igniting like wildfire. His hands slide down to grip your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you closer, wanting more. The need in him is palpable, his tongue flicking along your bottom lip, seeking permission to deepen the kiss.

“Fuck!”

Your gasp breaks the tension as Arlecchino slips two fingers inside you, her touch sending a jolt through your body. The cry that escapes your lips is raw and involuntary, your body arching into her, giving in to the sensation. In that brief moment of vulnerability, you part your lips just enough for Scaramouche to slip his tongue inside, deepening the kiss with a fervor you hadn’t expected from him. He groans again, the taste of you driving him wild, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth with a newfound boldness. His grip on your waist tightens, as if he’s afraid to let go, afraid to lose the connection. Every inch of your body is buzzing with sensation—Arlecchino’s fingers working you expertly while Scaramouche’s kiss devours you, his breath hot and heavy as his desire matches your own.

The room feels suffocating, heavy with lust and need, and the tension between the three of you crackles in the air like electricity. Arlecchino doesn’t slow her pace, her fingers curling inside you just right, making your hips buck in response, pulling her name from your lips once again.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you feel the pressure building within you, your body trembling on the edge. “A-Arle… m’close…” you manage to whimper, voice strained, the desperation evident in every syllable. Arlecchino hums against your clit, a low, satisfied sound that vibrates through your skin, only intensifying the pleasure she’s giving you. Her movements become more focused, determined, as if spurred on by the sound of your need.

Scaramouche pulls away for a moment to watch the two of you with a sharp, almost predatory gaze, his eyes clouded with lust and jealousy. His breathing has grown heavy and uneven, his composure unraveling as he witnesses the scene unfolding before him. His hand moves to cup your chin, tilting your head gently so that he can see the expression on your face—your flushed cheeks, parted lips, and the look of bliss etched in your features.

Hearing your voice tremble as you moan Arlecchino’s name fuels the fire burning within him. An unfamiliar flash of jealousy tightens in his chest, the possessive part of him wanting you to call his name instead. But he pushes that feeling aside, using it to fuel the intensity of his actions. His lips crash against yours again, his kiss desperate and consuming, his tongue dancing with yours as he drinks in every sound you make. He wants to taste your pleasure, to feel it resonate through him.

You moan against Scaramouche’s lips, your body wound tighter and tighter, your senses overwhelmed by both of them. Every flick of Arlecchino’s tongue, every curl of her fingers inside you, pushes you closer to the edge, and Scaramouche’s hungry kiss only adds to the intensity. His low growl reverberates through your mouth, a primal sound that vibrates against your lips, sending shivers down your spine.

Unable to control himself, Scaramouche grinds his hips against the edge of the couch he’s been leaning on, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He groans into your mouth, his tongue delving deeper, exploring you with desperation, as if he’s trying to claim every inch of you. His hand trails down from your chin, his fingers brushing the soft skin of your neck, tracing your collarbone and down to your shoulder. His touch is light but filled with intent, as though he’s memorizing every curve of your body.

Just when you think you can’t take it any longer, Arlecchino delivers a final, harsh suck, and it shatters whatever fragile hold you had left. Your body convulses, pleasure exploding through you in waves as you scream her name, your release hitting you like a tidal wave. Every muscle in your body contracts, and you feel yourself unravel under their touch, lost in the overwhelming sensation.

As you come undone, Scaramouche feels your muffled moans and cries reverberate through your shared kiss, your trembling body sending shudders through him as well. He’s completely enraptured by the way you respond, the way your moans seem to echo in his head, feeding the need within him. He watches, dazed, as Arlecchino pulls away slightly, but not before batting his hand away from you with an almost playful impatience. Without hesitation, Arlecchino swoops in, her lips capturing yours in a hungry, urgent kiss. You moan into her mouth, tasting yourself on her tongue, the intimate connection between the two of you heightening your sensitivity. It’s raw and possessive, her grip on you unrelenting, as if she’s reminding both you and Scaramouche that you belong only to her. Scaramouche, momentarily stunned by being pushed aside, watches the scene unfold with a mixture of awe and frustration. Arlecchino pulls away from your lips after a moment, her breathing heavy, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She holds up her hand, showing off her glistening fingers to both you and Scaramouche, a wicked grin spreading across her lips. The sight of your release coating her fingers sends a jolt of heat through Scaramouche, his mouth going dry as he stares, unable to tear his eyes away.

"Look at what you’ve done," Arlecchino purrs, her voice low and teasing as she holds her fingers in the air, taunting both you and Scaramouche. The slick forms webs between her blackened digits, making Scaramouche imagine what it would taste like. What you would taste like. He gulps the thought down.

“So beautiful, aren’t you?” Her gaze flickers between the two of you, daring him to react. You simply whine in response, unable to even think with how intensely your orgasm has overtaken you. You remain boneless, watching the exchange between the two through dazed eyes. Scaramouche’s chest tightens as he swallows heavily, trying to compose himself, but the sight of you and Arlecchino, the taste of your moans still lingering on his lips, makes it impossible to regain control. His fingers twitch at his side, itching to touch you again, but for now, all he can do is watch, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as the tension between the three of you continues to simmer. Scaramouche’s eyes fixate on Arlecchino's fingers, his breath catching as he takes in the sight of your wetness glistening on her skin. His face heats up instantly, a flush spreading across his cheeks that he can’t hide. The image sears itself into his mind, the raw intimacy of it making his stomach tighten with an emotion he can't quite place—jealousy, desire, frustration, all tangled together.

“I believe that’s enough for you now,” Arlecchino says coolly, her tone carrying a note of finality. “I’m sure you’ve got enough material to get you off for months.” She licks the wetness from her lips and fingers slowly, deliberately, her eyes flicking toward Scaramouche with a smirk as she does so. Every move feels like a taunt, like a reminder that she holds the power here.

Scaramouche swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry as he watches her, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight. His heart pounds in his chest, the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface as he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something rash.

“Excuse me,” Arlecchino adds nonchalantly, as though this entire moment hasn’t left the room charged with tension. “I have to take my girlfriend up to rest.”

With that, she effortlessly scoops you into her arms, cradling you as if you weigh nothing. Scaramouche watches, his muscles tensing as he sees the possessive way she holds you, the way she claims you with every gesture. There's an ache in his chest that he can't ignore, a raw, visceral longing mixed with resentment as you disappear behind the door with her.

He remains seated, staring at the now-closed door with a frustrated huff, his body betraying him as desire and frustration course through him. His chest heaves, breath unsteady, and his pants feel far too tight as he shifts uncomfortably. The room feels far too quiet now, the absence of your presence hanging thick in the air. His mind reels, trying to make sense of everything he’s just witnessed, emotions swirling like a storm inside him.

Before long, Arlecchino returns downstairs, her movements casual yet carrying the same air of dominance that seems to surround her. Scaramouche looks up, his eyes still darkened by the unresolved tension in him. His face is flushed, and despite his efforts to maintain his composure, there’s a hardness in his expression—a mixture of frustration and envy that he can’t quite shake.

Arlecchino meets his gaze with her usual steely confidence, her smirk ever-present. Scaramouche clenches his jaw, fighting the bitter retort that rises to his lips, but his emotions get the better of him. He lets out a frustrated huff, running a hand through his messy hair, glaring at her through narrowed eyes.

“I hope you don’t think this means you can touch her whenever you please.”

“I know my place,” he mutters, the words dripping with sullen bitterness. But even as he says it, the jealousy gnaws at him, an unspoken desire simmering beneath the surface.

“Good,” Arlecchino replies, her tone casual, but there's a dangerous edge to her voice. She takes a step closer, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she adds, “Maybe next time I’ll have you between her legs, servicing her instead.”

Scaramouche’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping open in shock. The possibility of a next time suddenly on the table. For a moment, he’s completely at a loss for words, his mind struggling to process what she’s just said. The boldness of her suggestion hits him like a punch, his body going rigid with embarrassment and surprise. His face flushes an even deeper shade of red, and he lets out a strangled cough, trying to regain his composure.

“W-what?” he stammers, his voice cracking slightly. “You... you can’t be serious.” His heart races, and the thought of what she’s implying sends his mind spiraling. He can’t tell if she’s toying with him or if she genuinely means it, and that uncertainty only makes him more flustered.

Arlecchino tilts her head slightly, her smirk widening at his reaction. “Maybe,” she says, her voice low and teasing, leaving just enough ambiguity to keep him guessing. “I’ll be off now.”

With that, she turns and leaves without another word, her footsteps fading as she exits the room. Scaramouche remains frozen for a moment, his fists clenched at his sides, his mind still spinning from her parting remark. He feels the tension in his body, the way his heart races uncontrollably, the way his breath comes in shallow bursts. Everything about this moment has left him shaken, and not just with frustration—there’s something else stirring deep within him that he refuses to acknowledge.

“Bastard…” he mutters under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he watches the space where she had stood moments before. “Who does she think she is, saying something like that…”

But even as he mutters those words, Scaramouche can’t stop the thoughts racing through his mind, the conflicting emotions that refuse to settle. His heart is still pounding, his body still buzzing, and as much as he tries to calm himself, the fire Arlecchino stoked within him refuses to be extinguished.

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kaahgyuya · 1 year ago

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JUST IMAGINE...

Use of pet names, rejection, and praising :3

Just imagine Scara eating you out so well. You just wanna sob and cover your face, but he hushs you down and hums on your oversitmulated cunt.. oh well, you aren't complaining though, are you? Just suffocating him with your thighs as he eats you down like there was no tomorrow.

Just flicking his tongue against your folds as you just wanna sob and cry out his name, but you're too embarrassed too!

just Scara eating you down like nothing, ready for seconds? Oh, he's always seconds away from pinning you down and eating you out! Scara mercilessly diving into your tired cunt trying to push him away but he just always comes back.

Grabbing onto a lock of his indigo hair made him groan into your cunt which made you squeal over him!! Sweet praises just echo through your ears and you blush and squirm. Scara's arms hug around your waist and hug your hips so well, suffocating him within your own thighs!

"You're doing so... mmph, so good for me." Scara groaned inside of your cunt making you squeal. He made your legs tremble uncontrollably, circling your cilt with his tongue and thrusting his head inside of you. Fluttering your eyes close and your eyes tearing up of how good he is at pleasuring you.

Oh how good he just makes you feel is unbelievable. His tongue swirling and twirling inside of you just makes you wanna cry already, but Scara's just teasing you!

"I'm so close'.." You managed to mutter out. Only slurring some parts of your own words as he just continued to eat you out, you were so, so close only to be rejected!

Whining for more, Scara stands up and pins you onto the bed, suddenly continuing where he left off of.

"I'm gonna make you scream my name until you lose your own voice."

Errrm anyway

@kaahgyuya 9/13/23 10:58 pm.

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fairykazu · 2 months ago

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got you under my skin

scaramouche was annoyed of how you managed to worm inside of his heart. how hard it was to detach from you like before. he didn't like the feeling of being attached.

he tried his best to tell himself that there wouldn't be anything more between you and him. but yet where did that lead him? a you shaped hole in his heart.

and despite the cautious voice lingering in his head, telling him to basically piss off. he couldn't stray away. before, he used to be so badass (self-proclaimed). he didn't give a shit about others-- all he ever needed was himself.

now he's all soft like pudding, waiting for the afternoon to creep over. waiting for your commissions to be finished just so he can have you in his arms again.

#softly spoken mini series #frank sinatra reference !!!#gender neutral reader #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin fluff #genshin impact x you #wanderer x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #scara x you #scara #genshin scara #wanderer genshin #wanderer #kabukimono

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galazry · 1 year ago

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Do you really view me as your older brother?

pairing: big brother's bestfriend!Wanderer x gn!reader genre: modern au, fluff content: he's your big brother's best friend who you may or may not have a crush on, but it seems like he only views you as a little kid... word count: 512 a/n: based on the CN Drama "Hidden Love" episode 15. there's also an animation for this! and... maybe there's a surprise underneath as well ;) also i know Wanderer is inazuman so let's pretend the reader is of Li Yue descent, okay? 😁

"[Y/N], here for you. Make sure you study hard for your exams, alright?"

"Mm... okay 哥哥."

Wanderer is your older brother's best friend, who you refer as 哥哥(older brother). Over the years, you've grown attached to him, harbouring an innocent crush on the man who has a 5 year gap with you. You did everything you could to get his attention and stay close to him, even planning to enroll in a college in his hometown. Although, as time went on, it seemed that Wanderer only viewed you as a little kid, occasionally calling you 小朋友(kiddo), and nothing more.

With that in mind, you decided to move on from him, doing all you could to avoid any interaction with him. It became all the more easier to avoid him when he graduated and moved back to his home town.

Although fate had a different plan in mind.

You still enrolled in the college in his hometown though to your luck, you never did once met him. Until one day, as you were out partying with your friends, you stumbled upon your darling 哥哥. As if nothing had changed between you both, he teased you asking why you had been ignoring all his text and has never even once called him. You only gave an excuse of being busy as your answer, which he didn't really take. Even so, Wanderer lets that slide.

He was actually really glad to see a familiar face in his hometown. Unbeknowst to you, he actually didn't have anybody there and is oblidged to stay to settle a certain debt. From then on, he continued to pester and tease you, and looking out for you like he always does.

As the days go by, even though you initially wanted to move on from him, it was getting harder to do so as you both constantly meet up. Little by little, your feelings for him resurface. Though it seemed like he still treats you like a little kid, even when you're a legal adult attending college.

Who knew that after one eventful day, he suddenly grew feelings for you, his best friend's younger sibling.

On the day of your birthday, Wanderer had invited you to his home, celebrating your special day on the rooftop together. As you both enjoyed the city night lights, a gentle breeze blew as he asked you a question.

"You always call me 哥哥 (older brother). Do you really view me as your brother?"

You were a bit taken aback by the sudden question. Avoiding his gaze, you fiddled with the fork in hand. All these years, even though you've sworn to forget about your innocent crush towards him, all the repressed feelings came back full force. Despite that, it wasn't like you were going to confess that you have feelings for him...

"Of course, I do consider you my brother."

Silence then enveloped you both, only the sound of running cars in the distance accompanied in the background. Before you could get another word out, Wanderer then exhales softly, before saying...

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maehemthemisfit · 2 years ago

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Thinking about sleeping beside kunikuzushi for the first time. He watches you so intently as you make your bed, hugging the pillow you gave him tightly to his chest.

kunikuzushi who stands there as you get settled onto the bed, not bothering to move until you look over and pat the spot beside you, ushering him to sit.

kunikuzushi who put on the change of comfortable clothes you gave him but doesn't take off the gift tethered around his neck as he idly caressed his finger over the iridescent feather.

kunikuzushi who's so delighted when you allow him to blow out all the candles, the flames twinkling in his night colored eyes.

kunikuzushi who continues to sit up while you lay down, content on watching whatever you're doing even after you closed your eyes

kunikuzushi who jumps at the sound of your voice when you catch him staring and ask him why isn't he going to sleep.

kunikuzushi who... is afraid of falling asleep, fearing that something bad would happen. What if he cries and you find him pathetic and useless? What if he opens his eyes to find you've abandon him? What if—

kunikuzushi who freezes when you cup his neck, running your thumb over the curve of his chin as your sleepy eyes gazed up at him. He blinks away the mist in his eyes, swallowing the fears so deeply sown into his chest as he nods.

kunikuzushi who slowly grabs your hand, weaving his fingers with yours as he lays on his side facing you.

kunikuzushi who waits until you're completely asleep so he can curl up against you, his lashes fluttering down as he recounts the wonderful day he had with you.

kunikuzushi who finally falls asleep, knowing you'll be there in the morning. Unconsciously, his mouth quirks into a content smile, his mind wondering off to the thought of cooking you breakfast, to prove how useful he is and as a thank you for staying with him so long.

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glitch-but-ya · 2 months ago

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To love the heartless, and for the heartless to love.

Pairing: Scaramouche x Reader

TW: Angst(?) + Fluff(?), mentions of death, Scaramouche backstory mentioned, bickering, slight cursing

Summary: What can one do when wounds run too deep for bandaids to cure? That is the shared fate of two souls, burdened by scars etched into their being—scars that mirror each other in color. Yet, despite all odds, the unlikely bond between you becomes the very salve needed for the healing to commence. Word count: 1,780 words

“And if the world condemns us for our sins, let us intertwine our fingers and raise our head in defense, for we would not have sinned if the world hadn’t torn us apart.”

When you met Scaramouche, he was resting beneath the shade of a giant ebony tree, perched on a sturdy branch from which he could observe the farthest lands. His body lay carelessly on the branch, an oversized hat shielding his eyes from the peeking rays of the sun, and his chest remained unmoving. A few leaves escaped from their places and swiftly twirled to the ground. You watched as they swayed before ending their journey on his porcelain face. His face, which glimmered with a serenity unbefitting his reputation, barely moved as the leaves slid past his cheeks. You wondered for a moment—was he alive? If so, why did he lie so still, as if he were nothing but a pretty doll perched on the branch of a great ebony tree?

To your relief, the figure stirred. Scaramouche raised his hand and swatted mindlessly at a bird that flapped around him. He opened his eyes, and a frustrated groan left his lips soon after. Eventually, his gaze landed on you. “You’ve been there for a while, haven’t you? Well, what were you staring at?” he mumbled sleepily, his eyebrows furrowed with irritation, almost as if you were the one who had disturbed his sleep.

You rolled your eyes. “Thinking about how embarrassing it would be to fall asleep under a tree. At noon. In a place where everyone can see me.” “I wasn’t sleeping,” he said, jumping off the branch and dusting off his shorts. “I don’t sleep.” You crossed your arms. “Sure. Then, Mr. Wide Awake, what exactly were you doing?” He turned to you with a blank expression. “Hiding.” “Hiding? From what? A squirrel?”

Scaramouche sighed. “You’re exhausting. Do you always let your curiosity run wild?” “Excuse me?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. I’m leaving. Don’t even think about following me.” You huffed. “Please. Why would I waste my time chasing after a lost cause?”

“Good. You're smarter than I expected." “Ugh. You’re helpless.” You turned around and began walking in the opposite direction. You prayed this would be the last time you’d ever have to interact with him again. Unfortunately for you, the gods did not favor your request.

You ran into him a total of seven times afterward. He was everywhere you went. A few times, you found him resting on branches of various trees. Once, you ran into him being swamped by a flock of wild kittens. Other times, you spotted him across the street in the grand bazaar as you shopped for your daily groceries. If it weren’t purely coincidental, you might have thought you’d gained yourself a new stalker.

Eventually, you learned that, besides being a lazy asshole, he was also a student at the Akademiya, much like you. You found out the day you saw him studying in the House of Daena late at night, long after all the classes had ended. Looking back now, you’re quite glad he showed up there, at that moment, for that reason. Because after that oddly intimate conversation under the dim light of the desk lamp, something sprouted between the two of you. A growing bond, perhaps. An unexpected affection.

But you couldn’t deny that, even after all those encounters, Scaramouche remained a figure shrouded in darkness. No matter how many times you ran into each other afterward, and no matter how many times the two of you deliberately met and conversed, you felt as if you were still farther away from his past than you’d ever been.

That changed when you came across him one day on an isolated hilltop, gazing at the stars in the vast sky.

Scaramouche had deep scars—scars that left scrapes across his porcelain skin. Many parts of him were shattered, and some parts of him were missing entirely. That was the first thing you learned that served as revolutionary progress for your mental databank about him. And although you could not see these deformations with your naked eye, you could tell that they were there, festering, rotting beneath the nonchalant facade he wore. He wove a mask to protect everyone from inhaling the stench, the noxious gases that poisoned those around him.

But his mask wasn’t only formed to protect the world from him—it also protected him from the world. If the world caught wind of the sins and the mass of corpses he carried to this day, it would not be kind to him. He would lose everything he had fought to rebuild. Scaramouche was abandoned, betrayed, and tortured beyond human comprehension, yes. But nobody was responsible for his crimes except himself. So, he was forced to carry the weight of his actions, to bear the foul odor until he had truly redeemed himself and beyond. Just as he was born to do with his "mother’s" Gnosis.

However, you would not be scared away. What he didn’t know was that you also hid a few wounds of your own.

When you told Scaramouche about your past, he listened. Not once did he interrupt you, mock you for the tears you held back, or let his gaze overwhelm you as you spoke. His eyes were glued to the flickering stars, the bundle of sparkling lies you found mesmerizing. You had no doubt he was listening because he truly was. For some odd reason, you knew he cared, showing it in his own way.

“I just wish I could heal, move on from all this, and start over one day. But these wounds…” You picked at your skin and laughed dryly. “They don’t heal,” Scaramouche concluded for you. You looked at him with widened eyes, staring as the pencil of moonlight illuminated his face perfectly. “You know what it’s like.” “And after a while, they begin to rot.” You nodded to his words. “And then…” you continued, “They leave a scar engraved upon your being, a scar that won’t heal. A scar that will torment you with every beat of your battered heart.” You looked down at your hands. Silence stretched between you two.

Scaramouche couldn’t love you. He was the toy soldier who didn’t know where his feelings came from. He was the heartless Harbinger who brought only the suffering of his past to those around him. His hatred spread like a disease. He could not risk infecting you with the same sins that destroyed him. And on top of it all, Scaramouche did not have a heart. Every fleeting emotion that had ever rooted itself in his nonexistent heart must not exist, either.

“You survived with your heart. Ruined, I guess. But real.” You looked at him. “Do you not have a heart, Scaramouche?” He tsked, but you knew his words held no bite. “Have you memorized my anatomy?”

He shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t have a heart. I never did. For five hundred years, I dedicated myself to a voyage to find and reclaim my missing heart. But I never got close to achieving my goal. And my journey… only resulted in the death of someone dear to me.”

Scaramouche was but a shattered porcelain doll. His bones rusted as his blood seeped through the cracks. He was a bloodied man, drenched head to toe in crimson. He did not deserve to heal.

You sat with him for a while, basking in the gentle night breeze. Your hair flowed with the same tranquility your face carried. After a moment to yourself, your hand slowly found its way to his. “Let us heal,” you smiled; genuinely, this time. “This time, we will rewrite our fate.”

Scaramouche turned his head toward the sky, his eyes flicking over the fake stars that hung proudly in the air. “Even if our fate was predetermined?” You nodded. He looked down at the spot where his heart should be. “Do you have what it takes to love the heartless?” “Does the heartless have what it takes to love?” “If I say yes?” His hand gripped yours. “Then I’ll show you how I love the heartless.”

Perhaps feelings truly can emerge from a heart that does not exist. Perhaps the right people can make a missing heart beat. Scaramouche was certain this time he would not be betrayed.

A/N: For a friend. If you’re reading this, I truly hope you could enjoy this fic.

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