#wanderer drabble

[minimujina]

wanderer in his season of healing makes me so happy. i love that he is safe enough to become softer again, that he is regaining some of his previously “weak” attributes and finding peace with them. he is becoming measured and introspective, and thinking before he speaks, perhaps a result of both his healing and his melancholy; i think it’s beautiful that he is finally able to safely feel his sadness and process the things that have happened. he is simultaneously finding peace and feeling all the difficult emotions he previously consumed with anger. it is painful, but right.

his sense of humor is still intact, certainly rough around the edges as you’d expect, though much less biting than before. it’s easy to tell that most anything aggressive he says is a front, a front that he is no longer concerned with presenting as absolute truth. perhaps the front is his sense of humor, and his affection is all thinly veiled behind jabs and sour grumbles—he is not willing to divulge the intimate details of that, however, preferring to leave it up to interpretation.

i just think of him and his healing and i feel like if he were to fall in love, it would be such a sweet and gentle and quiet sort of thing, just like his newfound peace. he ponders over many things, brooding by himself as much as he can, though he occasionally allows space for others to brood with him. that, i think, is something unique he may grow in. there are people who cannot tolerate strong emotions in themselves and certainly not in others—but he is the kind of person who can. he is the kind of person you could sit with and exist in your sadness and just be sad, and that’s okay. he’s not offering words of comfort or anything, but he doesn’t need to. anything he’d say would be useless anyways, he knows what it’s like and knows that a presence is enough and existing in your emotions safely is enough. he can appreciate someone who is straightforward about feeling unwell, who doesn’t seek pity, who is alright with sitting in the mud. he will gladly sit with you, then, as long as you don’t expect him to get all mushy about things.

he would do well falling in love quietly, not having to beat around the bush. naturally, pieces would fall into place, and he’d find himself yearning to be in the presence of another in a way he’d never before experienced. he had never really wanted to be around anyone, had never sought out anyone’s presence. but once he has been treated gently, has fallen softly into the arms of a likened soul who has the patience and understanding to touch his rough edges without recoiling, he finds his third space being with this new safe person.

and despite his reluctance to be anything but mysterious and nonchalant, i believe wanderer in his healing season would become quite the romantic. not in the sappy sense, but in the quiet love sense i’ve been talking about. firm and protective, subtle and gentle, almost gentlemanlike if it weren’t for his falsely rotten attitude he enjoyed projecting. romantic in a princely way, in a reverently respectful way, in a grotesquely wholesome way.

only the most chaste touches and kisses; he’s still getting used to affection, and would abhor pda. in private he’s much more open to being touched, because he is safe. if he is not safe, he is deeply conditioned to be conscious of his vulnerabilities, and it’s something that will take a lot of time to override, if even at all. but it’s a massive and beautiful step that he is even willing to receive affection at all, that he would want it from a partner in any amount.

hates eye contact, likes playing with hands. likes tracing veins and creases in skin and freckles and scars; he finds them fascinating, as he has nothing of the sort on his artificial body. one of his unique ways he shows affection is what could be called “studying” you. he likes to brood (with you there; perhaps it could be called parallel brooding) and take your arm and trace all the splotches, imperfections, veins, tendons he can find. he likes to touch more than he likes to be touched i think. perhaps he becomes amusingly selfish in this way. perhaps he is more averse to receiving than giving the affection because his disgust towards himself still lingers. perhaps he still has harmful core beliefs to unlearn.

i think he is full of a love that is strong and quiet, a love that he gives so sparingly, and only in pieces, never all at once. unless, that is, someone comes along and manages to drag it all out like a magnet—his carefully crafted exterior is in pieces, just like that! but oh, once someone is in possession of his love, he begins to know them so intimately, more intimately than he lets on. he so deeply knows who he loves and he knows how to give and to take action and so he does it, silently, for he is adept at perceiving the needs of his loved ones. reading body language and facial expressions is second nature to him at this point; nothing can get past him.

he studies you wordlessly with the expression of a cat who loves and reveres its human, except it’s the kind of cat who believes it owns the human, not the other way around. you’re his responsibility that he has taken on like an extension of himself because he loves you, and you have loved him, and now he hardly wants you out of his sight. his journey of rediscovery and learning self acceptance has been mentally and emotionally arduous, but ever since you came in and made loving him seem so easy, he’s felt much more at peace, and has had the capacity to reflect and process with much more freedom to sincerely feel.

stupid fictional character i hate him i hate him so much he is not real and i hate him

[yourlittlegoblin]

{A Story in the Stars} Wanderer x Reader

Felt a bit nostalgic because I was thinking a lot about... well everything that recently happened in the past 5 years. Its kinda crazy that its 2025 and I should be sleeping now but um... just had to kinda write this because I'm in that semi-gloomy nostalgic feeling right now... So anyways as per usual I hope you enjoy and its gn!reader and fem!reader today/tonight

The sun hangs mercilessly overhead, casting ripples of heat over the sand as your boots sink with every step. The dry air burns your throat, but you push on, determined. This commission wasn’t supposed to be this grueling, just a simple escort mission through the Sumeru desert. Yet here you are—parched, weary, and regretting every choice that led to this moment.

Beside you, Wanderer walks with infuriating ease, his feet hovering just above the sand as if mocking your struggle. His arms are crossed, and his expression—per usual—is a mixture of disinterest and thinly veiled irritation.

"You’re slowing down," he remarks, his voice cool as a desert night.

"Thanks for the observation," you huff, wiping sweat from your brow. "Want to make yourself useful and carry the supplies?"

He scoffs, a sharp sound that barely disguises the smirk tugging at his lips. "And let you trip over yourself without me watching? I’d miss all the entertainment."

You glare at him, half tempted to throw the heavy pack in his direction. "I’m beginning to regret asking you to come."

"No, you’re not," he counters smoothly. "If I wasn’t here, some incompetent idiot from the guild would’ve taken this job. And you? You’d probably be halfway buried in sand by now."

You roll your eyes but can’t entirely argue. "So you admit you’re here because you don’t trust anyone else to keep me safe?"

He’s silent for a moment, the only sound between you the crunch of shifting sand. Then, with a sigh, he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

"At least one of us has to be sensible," he mutters. "Two fools wandering a desert wouldn’t end well."

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it—warm and bright despite the heat. His words may be sharp, but there’s no mistaking the edge of care beneath them.

"Thank you," you say softly.

His eyes narrow as if trying to brush off your gratitude, but a flicker of something gentler softens his gaze. He looks forward again, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Don’t make me regret this," he grumbles, but the fondness lingers long after the words have faded into the desert air.

{A few long hours later}

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in hues of purple and indigo. Stars blinked to life as a cool breeze whispered through the desert’s edge, where sand met dry, twisted trees and sparse greenery. You push past a low branch, balancing the bundle of firewood in your arms, as the soft glow of your makeshift camp comes into view.

"Finally," you sigh, stepping into the clearing. "I was starting to think the trees had some personal vendetta against me."

Wanderer doesn’t look up from his work. He’s crouched by a crude structure of overlapping branches and cloth he’d managed to fashion into a respectable shelter. His hands move deftly as he secures the last knot with a precise pull.

"Maybe they do," he says flatly. "It would explain how long you were gone."

"Ha-ha," you deadpan, dumping the wood near the fire pit. "How’s the shelter coming along?"

"Finished." He stands, brushing the dust from his hands with a look of casual superiority. "Of course, since I’m the one who built it."

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. The shelter is… impressive. Sturdy, well-positioned to block the wind, and, dare you say, cozy. You tilt your head, watching as he kneels by the fire pit to spark a flame. His movements are measured, precise—controlled in a way that speaks of experience.

"Where’d you learn all this?" you ask, settling beside him.

He pauses, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face before he replies, "I’ve been around."

"You mean you’ve had to camp a lot," you guess, eyes never leaving him as he strikes the flint again. Sparks dance in the air, catching the kindling with a soft crackle. The glow of the fire reflects in his eyes, sharp and clear.

He doesn’t answer directly, but the silence feels telling. "Knowing how to survive isn’t exactly something to admire," he murmurs.

"But I do admire it," you say quietly. "It’s not just about surviving. It’s about being prepared, staying calm—knowing what to do when others wouldn’t."

He glances at you then, the firelight casting shadows along his sharp features. For a moment, something unspoken lingers between you—an understanding that needs no words.

Finally, he turns away, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Well, it’s a good thing I’m here to keep you from wandering off into a desert abyss."

"And it’s a good thing I’m here to remind you to eat and be a decent human being," you retort, grinning.

"Fair trade," he mutters, shaking his head as the flames grow steady and warm.

The fire crackled between you both, the silence stretching out as you poked at the mushrooms with your stick, trying to keep them from burning. The heat from the fire seeped through your clothes, a comfort after the biting chill of the desert night. You couldn’t help but glance over at Wanderer every now and then, noticing how the glow from the flames highlighted the sharp features of his face.

"Do you think we’ll find the way back tomorrow?" you asked, trying to break the tension that had settled between you both. His eyes flickered for a moment before he gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug.

"Eventually," he replied, his tone flat but with a hint of something unspoken.

You caught his gaze for a brief second, but he turned away quickly, refocusing on the fire. It was odd, this quiet between you. Despite the lack of words, there was a certain unspoken understanding in the air, something that neither of you were quite ready to address.

You sighed, poking at the mushrooms again, unsure whether to say anything more. The fire crackled, the only sound breaking the silence.

The scent of roasting mushrooms filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest floor and the crackling warmth of the fire. You sat cross-legged, the simple meal skewered on a stick held above the flames. Across from you, Wanderer remained silent, his gaze distant as the flickering light danced shadows over his face.

The quiet stretched, heavy and strange. You sneak a glance at him, as you had been doing for the past several minutes, eyes tracing the delicate lines of his profile. His expression was composed—impassive, even—but you could sense the restless tension coiled beneath his surface, a storm held tightly in check.

The mushrooms browned and sizzled. You shifted your grip, watching as Wanderer’s eyes flicked momentarily toward you, then away just as quickly. When you finally took a bite, the flavor was… unimpressive. Bland, slightly earthy, with no real seasoning or flair.

You chew thoughtfully before offering him a piece. "Want some?"

He eyes it, his lip curling slightly before he takes the food with a measured movement. A small, quiet bite follows.

"It’s bland," he remarks, voice flat. "But it’s a roasted mushroom. What else would it be?"

You fight back a grin at his predictably underwhelmed reaction. "Better than starving," you point out, turning your skewer over to finish the rest.

He hums, noncommittal, and the silence returns. But it feels different now—less uncomfortable, more familiar. You keep glancing at him, the warmth of the fire not quite matching the flicker of heat in your chest.

Finally, his eyes meet yours again, sharp and knowing. "You’ve been staring."

"Have I?" you ask, feigning innocence.

He tilts his head, gaze never wavering. "Why?"

"Maybe I just find you interesting," you say lightly, but your heart quickens.

"Interesting," he repeats, the word hanging in the air between you. A smirk, subtle but unmistakable, tugs at the corner of his lips. "You should be more careful. Staring too long at dangerous things tends to have consequences."

"And yet, here I am," you counter softly, the fire crackling between you both, "still staring."

His eyes narrow slightly, but there’s no sharpness in them now—only something softer, something almost amused, as he looks back at you.

.

.

.

.

The fire had long since dwindled to embers, casting only a faint, warm glow that barely pushed back the shadows of the forest. You lay cocooned in your sleeping bag, the fabric warm and soft against your skin, but your mind wouldn’t rest. Every rustling leaf, every distant call of the desert’s nocturnal creatures kept you awake. You sighed quietly, shifting for what felt like the hundredth time.

Beside you, Wanderer lay still, his hands folded behind his head, eyes half-lidded and focused on the endless sprawl of stars above. The silver moonlight kissed his features, sharp and serene, while his chest rose and fell with steady breaths. He looked peaceful—almost—but the subtle tension in his frame betrayed him.

“You’re awake too,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t turn to look at you. “Obviously.”

A small silence lingers before you speak again. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing important.” His tone is as cool and detached as ever, but there’s a weight beneath it, something distant and unreachable.

You roll onto your side, the fabric of your sleeping bag crinkling softly. “You know,” you say, watching him, “the stars are said to carry stories. Every one of them is a memory or a legend.”

His eyes flick toward you, a faint scoff escaping his lips. “Sentimental nonsense. Stars are just burning gas, light that reaches us from countless miles away. Stories are things people make up to feel less alone.”

You pause, searching his expression. “And what’s wrong with that? Feeling less alone?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. The silence stretches between you like a thread pulled taut. Then, his voice softens—barely. “Nothing, I suppose. If it works.”

The ground is cool beneath you as you shift upright, the stars above twinkling like promises waiting to be kept. Without a word, you shuffle closer, dragging your sleeping bag until it’s right beside his. Wanderer glances at you, the arch of his brow a silent question, but he says nothing when you settle next to him, your warmth brushing his side.

"You’re taking up all the space," he grumbles.

"There’s plenty of space," you counter, resting your head on your folded arms. "Besides, I’m comfortable now."

He rolls his eyes but makes no move to push you away. Instead, he lets out a breath that’s half a sigh, half reluctant amusement.

For a moment, the silence returns, companionable this time. The stars twinkle on, indifferent to the two of you beneath them. Then, a thought strikes you, and you turn your gaze toward him with a soft smile.

"Hey… could you tell me a story?"

He narrows his eyes. "A story? You expect me to entertain you now?"

"Not just any story," you clarify, grinning. "Something from when you were younger. Something you wouldn’t tell anyone else."

The request makes him pause. His eyes grow sharp, thoughtful, and something wary flickers across his face. His lips press into a thin line. "You’re really testing your luck."

"Please? I’ll keep it a secret." You hold out your hand, your pinky extended. "Pinky promise."

For a long moment, he stares at your hand as if considering all the ways he could make you regret asking. His voice, low and deliberate, murmurs, "If I catch you telling anyone, I’ll make you wish you never learned how to talk."

"I won’t," you vow, eyes wide and earnest. "I promise."

He sighs again, muttering something about foolish trust and human sentimentality before finally, hesitantly, hooking his pinky with yours. His grip is light, careful, but it lingers longer than you expect.

With a faint, resigned hum, he lays back down, folding his hands beneath his head once more.

"There was a time," he begins, voice softer now, words woven with distant memories, "when I thought I could outrun the world." A small, almost bitter smile curves his lips. "I was wrong."

He lets the words hang between you, his voice trailing off as if caught in the gravity of a memory too vivid to forget.

"I was alone then," he continues after a moment, his tone edged with a mixture of wistfulness and resentment. "I didn’t need anyone, or at least, I convinced myself of that. I traveled far from where I was made, through forests, mountains, and deserts. Everywhere I went, I thought if I just kept moving, the past would stop chasing me. I’d be free."

You don’t interrupt, even as your curiosity prickles at the weight behind each word. His voice is steady, but his eyes remain fixed on the stars as though seeing something far beyond them.

"There was a village," he says, his brows knitting together. "A small, forgettable place filled with forgettable people. I had no reason to stop there, but I did. Just for a moment." He breathes out slowly, as though releasing a piece of himself he rarely shares. "There was a boy—barely more than a child—who thought I was some kind of spirit. He wasn’t afraid of me. Most people would have been."

The corner of his mouth lifts, but it isn’t quite a smile. "He followed me everywhere, asking questions. What I was doing. Where I was going. If I could show him how to fly." His eyes glimmer with a fleeting softness. "I told him I had no wings to teach him with, but he didn’t care. He said, ‘If you walk on air, then so can I.’"

"Did he follow you for long?" you ask gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

"For too long," Wanderer mutters, his expression darkening. "He was persistent, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him to go away. He said I reminded him of someone—an old story about a guardian who watched over the desert winds." He shakes his head as if the memory leaves a bitter taste. "I was no guardian."

"But you didn’t leave right away, did you?"

A pause stretches between you before he answers, voice quiet. "No. He asked me to stay until he could learn to ‘walk on air.’ I didn’t think he’d manage it, but… he was clever. He built a kite with his own hands. It wasn’t perfect, but the wind carried it." He sighs. "It carried him, too, for a moment. And he laughed—like he had conquered the sky."

The silence that follows is heavy, laced with something unsaid.

"What happened to him?" you ask, dreading the answer but unable to stop yourself.

"He grew up." Wanderer’s voice is flat, devoid of the warmth that had briefly flickered. "He forgot about flying. People always do."

You watch him closely, sensing the ache buried deep beneath his words. Slowly, you reach out and rest your hand lightly against his, offering nothing more than your quiet presence.

"I won’t forget," you say softly.

His eyes shift toward you, unreadable but heavy with something raw and real. He doesn’t pull away. "You better not," he murmurs. "Otherwise, you’ll owe me more than a story."

I nod, offering him a small, tired smile. "I promise, I won’t forget." And then, almost without thinking, I lean over and loop my pinky around his again, a small gesture to seal my promise. This moment feels so right that a tale of my own feels right.

"Okay," I continue, shifting slightly, my words starting to tumble out in a soft, rambling stream. "When I was little, I used to—well, I was always the kind of kid who loved to explore. I’d run off into the woods behind my house, pretending to be some sort of adventurer. I’d climb trees and make forts out of old blankets and sticks, even though my parents told me not to. They were so worried about me getting hurt, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to find something—anything—that would make sense of everything around me, you know?"

I chuckle softly to myself, the words coming easier now. "One day, I found a secret spot, hidden by vines and rocks. It was this little clearing, like it was made just for me. I’d go there almost every day, and sometimes I’d bring snacks and sit there for hours just… watching the world go by. It was peaceful. And I used to pretend I was a princess or something—surrounded by magic and adventure."

The weight of sleep starts pulling at me as I continue speaking, my voice growing softer and slower. I feel the warmth of Wanderer's presence beside me, his quiet attention making me feel safe. My eyes flutter closed, my mind slowly slipping into the soft embrace of sleep, but I can still feel the connection between our pinkies.

"And, uh, there was this one time," I mumble, my voice barely audible now, "I… I pretended the wind was telling me a secret. I told it everything, hoping it would carry my words somewhere special. To someone who would understand."

The soft rustle of his breathing next to me is the last thing I hear before my body finally gives way to sleep, the weight of exhaustion pulling me into a deep slumber.

.....

Wanderer watches me for a long moment, his gaze softening at the sound of my steady breathing. He hesitates, just for a moment, before carefully pulling the edge of my sleeping bag up a little more to keep me warm. His fingers brush lightly against mine as he does so, and for a moment, he simply hovers there, as if unsure of what to do.

He sighs softly, barely above a whisper, "You’re... such an idiot." His words are a strange mix of fondness and frustration, but there's something deeper there, something he’s not ready to acknowledge.

Then, after another long, unsure moment, he reaches over and laces his fingers gently with mine, as if he’s afraid you’ll wake up if he does it too fast. He shifts to lie on his side, facing me, his movements slow and deliberate. The moonlight catches his expression, making his gaze seem distant yet tender all at once.

And there, in the quiet of the desert night, surrounded by the warmth of shared silence, Wanderer finally lets himself fall asleep, his hand still firmly holding yours.

[scarasimping]

wanderer x reader, fluff, wanderer unknowingly pining, hes bad at emotions its okay me too

note: so sorry for disappearing lovelies, have these wanderer crumbs as my apologies...not proofread im so sorry

wanderer, who cant seem to get you out of his head, thinks you put a curse on him of some sort.

something like this has never happened to him before. now, he's starting every morning wondering if you fragile human self remembered to eat breakfast. or if you like coffee or tea with your breakfast. or what your favorite food is. or if you would still feel comfortable eating with him around. or—

wait, why would he be around you while you're eating breakfast?? that would imply he spent the night there and why is he thinking about that??? hy is he even thinking about implementing himself in your life in the first place??

up until now, wanderer had simply talked with you because you were the only one around and weren't as annoying as anyone else. sometimes, you worked together because nahida asked you to accompany him on some mission. but that was it. he was sure he was always careful around you, and you wouldn't have time to put some spell on him that makes him want to wake up with you and eat breakfast together (even though he doesn't really eat. he'd probably just sit and watch you eat).

thats not all he's been thinking about either. some times he finds himself daysreaming about taking walks with you outside the sanctuary of surasthana, or what is it that makes that coy but knowing smile of yours appear on your face. what started the little habits that still present themselves in you now.

wanderer tries to do some digging on what kind of magic you used on him to make him start thinking about you so much, but all he gets is romance books and sappy poems about love. one time, he was forced to listen to some old doctor tell him about how he met and fell in love with his wife all because he went to see if what he was feeling was an illness instead.

wanderer who gives up trying to find out whats wrong with him on his own and, finally, asks nahida for help, because if she can't find anything then maybe it's hopeless.

all for her to tell him that he's not cursed or ill, he just cares about someone.

wanderer, now very confused, outright rejects the idea.

who cares if, now that the idea is in his head, he's wondering what you would do if he told you how he felt. or would you figure it out yourself without him even mentioning it. unfortunately, for a human, you were rather smart.

it doesn't matter that he's imagining you smiling brightly at him, or you leaning on his shoulder, or you trusting him enough to fall asleep in his lap, knowing he'll watch over you.

wanderer who now tries to avoid you, making it way too obvious and you notice it right away.

of course it's normal that he doesn't like being around people, but seeing him literally leave a room just because you, specifically, entered is a little worrying.

wanderer dodging your questions as you run after him, wondering what you did or if something happened, refusing to even look at you.

because when he finally does look at you and he sees that worried expression you have on your face, an unfamiliar pit in his stomach forms and he knows that nahida is right. that old doctor with his love story is right. all those stupid books and cheesy poems that made him gag were right.

wanderer cares about you and is stupidly, hopelessly in love with you. and he hates it.

[cecilxa]

peace at last

summary: scaramouche never considered himself to be changeable, until you came along

contents: fluff, flustered!scaramouche, softie!scaramouche, gn!reader, possible ooc (?)

cw: very small mentions of drinking, insecurities

recommend listening to : EVERYTHING by the black skirts

a/n: hi guys! 😍 thank you so so much for 300 followers, insane to me :) i've got some ideas for a special, nothing in the works as of yet (soon though, hopefully 🙏) any ideas, lmk!

Scaramouche never liked waking up in the morning. Or–more accurately–sleeping itself. He found it weak, the vulnerability that always came with it. Having to succumb to a darkness without knowing what was happening around you seemed foolish, even if he was tired out from a fight. Being a puppet meant that he needed less of it than a mortal, which–for once–made him somewhat glad of his creation. If he was in dire need of it, he would take all the necessary precautions. By which, he meant, becoming an extremely light sleeper. 

He would wake up multiple times in a night, sometimes drenched in sweat (although he’d rather not admit that he’d been having the same nightmare every time he’d managed to rest), from various noises. The chirping of a cricket, the hissing of a nearby stray, the incessant slurring of the drunks who still hadn’t managed to find their way home–Scaramouche’s hatred of sleep grew by leaps and bounds. And when the sun finally rose from its slumber, so too would his irritation.

But then he found out what it was like to sleep next to you. 

The first time you proposed that you share a bed, he vehemently denied anything even close to that, stating that beds were meant to be for one person only. You pointed out that those were single beds, and the one you were currently seated on was a double. He then argued back, saying he did not sleep, to which you again pointed out that you had seen him sleep multiple times. By this point, he had gone redder than you had ever seen him before, flush spread across his cheeks all the way down to his neck.

The thought of you trusting someone like him? It almost brought him to his knees. And it’s not like he didn’t want to; he’d go so far as to say that he craved it, longed for it. Because you trusting him so much that you’d put your ultimate weakness on full display, it almost made his heart explode. 

“Why?”

His voice sounded fragile, cautious. 

“Because you’re my lover. We’ve been dating for months; it’s a normal thing for couples to do. If not, that’s fine.”

Your voice sounded soft, understanding. His eyes met yours. And oh, how could he resist? 

“Fine. You’d pester me otherwise.”

A knowing smile crept onto your face as he struggled to contain a scoff. His blush still hadn’t gone away, and he hadn’t noticed that his hands were slightly shaking. All he could focus on were the palpitations of his thundering heart and the smile on your face that made it all worthwhile. 

He could never forget what it was like to sleep next to you for the first time. To hold you in his arms, although–could you even call it that? His arms were barely touching your body; he was too scared to cause even an unwanted imprint on your skin. But yours were around his waist, and he’d never felt so tense in his life. You laid there in that position for many minutes, and soon enough he could tell that you were slowly dozing off, your breaths slowing. Right before you did, you mumbled a tired goodnight, smiled up at him, and promptly went off to sleep. His breath hitched, and his arms tightened ever so slightly. 

He was grateful that you were asleep, because then you couldn’t hear his heart thumping at astronomical speeds. How did he manage to end up with someone like you? He scoffs, audibly this time. You’re so dumb. You manage to make him flustered without even knowing it. And he loves it. And he loves you. 

He kissed your forehead, letting it linger. 

“Goodnight.”

–

When Scaramouche woke up, he was greeted with your face, still sleeping. He hadn’t even noticed he had fallen asleep. He hadn’t woken up even once during his slumber, which startled him. The reason? You. It was you. Of course it was. Stupid, stupid you. This obvious realisation forced him to face the fact that, because you made him feel so safe, his body had not felt the need to wake up even once before what was a natural time. He felt something grow in his chest.

The sun was streaming through the window, casting a soft shadow over your face. It was still early, according to the clock on his wall, so the only noises he could hear were the sounds of birds chirping their songs. Everything was quiet. This was possibly the best morning he had had in a very long time. All because of you. 

Scaramouche thought that maybe he liked waking up in the morning.

a/n: can you tell i have a thing for tough guy with a soft side 😩 tysm for reading! likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💓💓

[wanderstarr]

𝐀 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐏𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬 : 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

wanderer x gn! reader ; no use of y/n ; 5+1 things format ; mostly fluff and humour

DISCLAIMER: i have never written an academic thesis before, but oh well.

brief cw for a scene where reader and wanderer beat up a drunk man :) also, it's implied that wanderer once had a past baby crush on niwa :]

[[ ao3 || next ]]

It started with aggravated assault. You know, as most love stories do. In the Wanderer's defence, he didn't instigate it on purpose, for once. Not that Buer would accept the excuse should he tell her such, but it's about the principle of the thing, after all.

It was a regular day in Sumeru, bustling with merchants and travellers alike. Buer had sent him to fetch her Candied Ajilenakh Nuts from the Puspa Cafe. Well, in truth she had just mentioned in passing that she was running low on her favourite snack, but it's practically the same thing, if you asked the Wanderer. He would have ended up making the trip either way. So really, it was a perfectly reasonable excuse if he was acting just a bit more irritable that day, thank you very much.

The room smelled of charcoal and a warm sugary scent, assaulting his nose the moment he stepped foot inside the cafe. He never was a fan of sweets. His footsteps fell soft against the carpet floors, the sound drowned out by the gushing water fountain and the chatter of customers. The message board was chock full of nonsensical scribbles and adverts as per usual, papers fluttering gently, held in place by their push pins. 

As he stands in line to wait for his turn, he vaguely notes down the other patrons; most he did not recognise, but some did frequent the establishment enough for him to know them by name. There was Nayab, the laidback matra with an odd fixation on card game strategies. Iris, the sharp scholar who seemed intent on studying all things King Deshret. Izem, the weathered old man who took his coffee bitter, who was awkward in the prospect of a peaceful life. Of course, he only knew as much about these strangers thanks to the chatty nature of Sumeru locals, and his numerous errand runs involving Buer's sweet tooth.

When he finally reaches the counter, an unfamiliar face greets him instead of the acting manager. Come to think of it, he can't seem to spot Gata either. The new cashier, you, beamed politely at him.

"Good morning, what can I get for you?" 

"Candied Ajilenakh Nuts." He drops a hefty pouch of mora on the register.

You carefully tilt open the bag, counting the amount he'd given, and your eyes go wide at the sight. "That much?"

He nods. A spark of recognition flashes in your expression.

"Ah!" you snap your fingers, "Enteka mentioned you might pop up. Candied Ajilenakh Nuts, coming right up!"

Just what has the acting manager been telling her employees? Well, it wasn't his business to know, and you seemed decently competent at your job. So long as he got the stupid nuts.

He was watching you work while he waited, when the doors of the cafe burst open. 

"Eyyya..enteka!" A man stumbles in, face flushed in a sickly hue. His words slurred together into an incomprehensible mess. Great, a fucking drunkard.

He hears you mutter quietly under your breath. "Fucking drunkard." 

Huh. Good to know someone shared the sentiment.

"Entekaaaarghfh.. whereryou.." The man wobbles up to the register. The other customers pinched their nose as he passed by; he reeked of cheap alcohol and dry vomit. 

The Wanderer watched the drunk man wag a finger accusingly in your face. 

"Yergh.. You're not Een..theyka!"

"Unfortunate for you, no. You must be the nuisance from last night." you smile tightly. The Wanderer sees murder in your eyes. The drunk man, however, remained oblivious as ever. 

"Where.. where's she..?" the man swayed back and forth, craning his neck as if looking for the woman.

"That's none of your business." you stare him down. "I'm afraid I must ask you to leave, sir."

And of course, because demanding drunk bastards are rarely ever cooperative by nature, the man slams a fist rather pathetically and starts to yell. Nonsense about being lied to, about being led on and calling Enteka all manners of names that weren't appropriate for a family friendly cafe. 

The Wanderer briefly considers intervening, but then you were all but leaping over the counter like a rabid dog, punting the man backwards with a heavy thwack. He, and everyone else in the cafe, stands frozen momentarily, bewildered by your sudden 180 from picture perfect employee to.. this.

"What the fuck?!" the man speaks clearer, sobered from the unexpected blow.

"That's for harassing my friend."

"I'll – hic – I'll fucken' report you!" 

"Go for it then, coward." you scoff, and point towards the door. "Go on, leave. Make your report."

The man shuffles his feet, indignant, and you turn your back to return behind the register, but then the asshole goes for a foul ambush, and the Wanderer watches you turning a split second too late, and–

He yanks the man back by his neck, hand closed tight. Anemo energy rushes to his fingertips in warning. The drunkard writhes in his grasp.

"Some of us have important things to be doing." he hisses, and lets the man drop to the floor. "Stop. You're an embarrassment to yourself."

You have your mouth agape, eyes blown wide from the attempted attack, but you snap out of it quick. As the man struggles to stand properly, you're already fisting the collar of his shirt, dragging him to the exit yourself.

The man bellows in a last ditch attempt at retaliation. "Is this how you treat your patrons?!"

"Oh, I don't actually work here!" you reply cheerily, glaring daggers at the manchild. "In no way do my actions reflect on the service quality of Puspa Cafe™!"

What.

"What??" 

"Bye now, you're banned by the way!" you chuck the man out onto the streets. An eremite from the corps of thirty seemed to appear from thin air, striding over to apprehend the man. You call out to the mercenary. "Thanks Rima!"

She nods back. "Nothing escapes my eyes."

You grin and shut the doors, turning to face the people in the room. "Sorry for the disturbance everyone, as you were!"

The customers relaxed, simmering back into their hushed chatter and quiet laughs. Whether they were grateful for your intervention or simply paralysed with bafflement, the Wanderer wasn't quite sure himself. You head back towards the counter, but pause in front of him.

"Thanks. For earlier." You dig the heel of your shoe into the carpet, somewhat sheepish. He catches the glint of a vision hanging delicately against your waist. He wonders briefly why you didn't use it earlier.

He huffs, looking away. "I just wanted the damn snack."

"Oh, right!" you gasp softly, snapping your fingers. "Oh archons I'm so sorry I'll get them right away."

True to your word, he has a large paper bag stuffed full of Candied Ajilenakh Nuts shoved into his hands within seconds. It smelled disgustingly sweet, just how Buer liked it.

"Thought you didn't work here." he comments.

"That's true, I don't!" you smile, and refuse to elaborate further. Not that he needed much explanation, he's guessed most of the story from your altercation with that drunkard. He supposes the acting manager would return to her work soon now.

He leaves, and thinks that would be the last he'd ever see of you. And if Buer commented  on his distant expression when he returned, then he's liable to the right to remain silent.

He's proven wrong that same evening, when he finds you lingering in front of the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

"You." he deadpans, because he can't quite think of anything else to say.

"Me." you beam, much more genuinely than the first time you smiled at him. You're carrying a large container in your hands. "Good to know I'm not forgettable after all."

"Hard to be with the stunt you pulled." he shakes his head. "What do you want?"

"Yeesh, Enteka wasn't kidding, you're a real grump. Here." you gesture to the box you were holding. "Figured I owed a proper thank you."

He looks at the thing warily. "You're not trying to poison Lesser Lord Kusanali through me, are you?"

You laugh. "Oh yeah. Totally, I'm attempting to harm an archon and her aide via homemade Havalmadz."

He raises a brow. "Considering it's Lesser Lord Kusanali's favourite dish, it's plausible, you know. That's just more suspicious, idiot."

"Wait, really?" you squawk, looking genuinely flustered. "I assumed.. shit, I thought the Haval addict here was you."

You started to ramble your apologies. As amusing as it was, he wasn't that much of a sadist as people would believe. He sighs and takes the gift from your hands.

"Wait–wait, you actually want that?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Buer would certainly want it. He didn't indulge in eating as much, but you didn't need to know that. "...thanks too, I guess."

You blink once, twice, and your lips spit into a blinding grin, eyes crinkled in joy. The Wanderer feels his grip falter momentarily at the sight.

"See you around then!"

You leave, and he's left with ringing ears and a flutter in his chest and oh fuck no he was not going to go through this again. He blasts himself in the face with anemo, leaving his hair swept back and his hat skewered wrong. Snap out of it.

He wasn't dumb. He's felt this ridiculous emotion before, back when Niwa would hold their hands together in unfamiliar places, back when Niwa taught him in his gentle voice, back when.. 

Back when Niwa was alive. 

He didn't know what it meant, back then. The feeling. Not that it made any difference, he was over it now, and all he can do is make peace with his loss. The loss of a companion dear to him, one of many.

Such was his curse, to lose the things he loved infinitely, watching them succumb to their mortality over and over through time. Such was his burden as an immortal puppet.

He clutches the Havalmadz in his arms. He's got Buer now, he supposes. A wise and intelligent conversational partner, an archon whom he was proud to assist, frivolous errands aside. He had his papers, his accidental academic career in the Vahumana Darshan. He had his awkward somewhat acquaintanceships with those people from the Interdarshan Championship, crazy event that it was.

Realistically, it was enough to fulfill him. He had no need for unexpected variables. He had plenty of things for himself now, plenty of theses to write.

In fact, he thinks as he retreats into the sanctuary, he'll write a thesis on exactly why he shouldn't involve himself any further with you, comprising the points he'd spontaneously thought of and will continue to think of. An antithesis, if you will (Archons, he should stop hanging around that Mahamatra). He'd like to think he was a man of reason, after everything he's been through.

Buer greets him from the centre of the room, her favourite spot to ponder.

"Hello, Hat Guy. You look like you had fun." She smiles serenely, though her eyes sparkle with delight.

He's stopped trying to get Buer to call him anything else at this point. He ignores the comment, and instead holds out the Havalmadz.

"Someone sent this for you." he says simply, but he knew Buer could read between the lines. He's heard that parents often have an instinct for that–not that he sees her as a parent or anything. She thanks him happily, and doesn't point anything out, to his relief.

He'll surely get over his fascination with you soon.

©wanderstarr..!!

to be cross posted on ao3! later bc its like 1 am rn and im tjred. i'll probably need to edit this later. this got too long to be a oneshot, but it's much shorter than what i have planned for the android scara fic. just a little something to get me out of writer's block, bc i love describing fantasy settings hehe. still working out how to make aesthetic tumblr fic posts,, enjoy!

[reixtsu]

Wanderer x guitar player reader Drabble!

Wanderer secretly admired the fact that you were so skilled with the art of playing guitar.

Whether it's fingerstyle, tapping, or traditional strumming, he found each style enchanting. The graceful dance of fingers plucking at strings, creating a subtle melody as the guitar vibrates beneath your fingertips. The distant yet majestic aura you carried. An aura of both distance and majesty accompanied by a faint glimmer in your eyes as you hummed a tune in harmony with the guitar's melody.

It was all mesmerizing. A tune calming his core.

Not that he would admit it. At least, not out loud

[miyaz6ki]

☆ wearing their clothes

synopsis. seeing s/o wearing their clothes for the first time :) (like shirts/sweatshirts or jackets/coats :pensive:)

the blade has spoken. erm... first draft being posted... i feel a little nervous after changing from reshinless to the user i use everywhere..

pairings. albedo, alhaitham, capitano, childe, wriothesley, diluc, neuvillette, kinich, xiao, dainsleif, wanderer

albedo felt himself heating up already. the red that crept up his neck was noticeable as you looked up. you were wearing his lab coat, and all cozy in the bed you both share.

"you're.. wearing.. my.." - "oh.. wow."

he had just come back from work and he couldn't wait to cuddle with you in bed, yet it was as if he wouldn't mind conducting another experiment with his new 'assistant' by his side <3

alhaitham when he suddenly walks into the empty home, tired of the work he's done for only archons knows how long he had been working. he just wanted to come home and tell you about all the things he's been- oh.

he was stunned. star struck. fuck. were you really wearing his sweater right now? the grayhead felt himself simply smirk at he adorable sight of you simply sleeping on the couch. a dinner made just for him, along with dessert on the side (ifykyk)

"maybe i'll tell you when i wake up, love."

capitano who simply lets out a chuckle, one out of love. he loves how large his coat looked on you. he handed it to you after going out for a while, asking you to simply hang it beside his desk. yet you had better ideas. and by better ideas? is to wear it of course!

"well what do we have here? you're so adorable my love."

he tucks strands of your hair behind your ear. adoring the way you tried your best not to fall over as you tried to spin. this was enough to keep you warm though. not to mention how he was already carrying you bridal style to bed.

childe laughs, seeing you try on one of his shirts, looking at yourself in the mirror before turning to see him.

baby, you look amazing! how about another spin?

even when you simply scoffed, he loved how you looked right now. fuck, he could feel himself reddening already. he definitely will let you have full access to his wardrobe. just take it all like how you took his heart too.

wriothesley just put his jacket over you to keep you from being wet while watching the melusines play with sigewinne, yet right now he was more focused on how much he admired your figure in his clothes. his jacket.

"what's wrong?" "...nothing. you look amazing today, yk that?"

he chuckled at your behavior, unaware of your own attractiveness as you told them to stop running around the fountain with the wetness of the floor spreading. you couldn't help but ease up and laugh as well.

a certainly crazy day at the court of justice- neuvillette was finally finishing up the last few cases, not to mention how absurd some of the cases were.

not realizing he ended up taking your jacket instead of his home, only realizing it when the melusines mention how different it look from his usual one. oh man. there you were. trying on his coat that just seemed a little too big (or small) on you. gosh were you cute.. what do you mean his ears are red?!

"i.. it looks better on you than me, doesn it?"

dainsleif who was there immediately as soon as the red wine was spilled onto your outfit. quick to spring into acting, he throws his jacket over it just as fast. scolding the person who jealously just oh-so accidentally ruined your outfit tonight purely because they wanted your significant other? oh please he wasn't having any of that!

but by the time his anger went away, he didn't realize how.. alluring you looked.. in something he wore all the time. it definitely suited you better, only noticing after he finally parked the car. he definitely had to give you more of his clothes.

"you.. uh.. i.. well.. you're beautiful. you know, you're welcome to keep that."

diluc's face was turning as red as his hair seeing how you quietly snored, sound asleep in his- no, your shared bed. seeing how closely you held his coat to your chest, as well as the shirt you wore.

"...I don't.. deserve you."

he simply took his boots off, letting his arms snake you close, one of his hands trailing up to your scalp, calmly stroking your head as he feels you smile into his chest. this was life.

kinich who always had an interesting wardrobe, you really just wanted to see how comfy his clothes were if he can swing back and forth that far!

and in which you did, spinning and looking at yourself in the mirror in his clothing. you loved it even more from how it smelled just like him too <3

"someone's having fun aren't they?"

you felt yourself blush out of embarassment of getting caught. but before you could apologize, he already had his lips on yours.

when xiao decides it'd be a good idea to give you a hoodie just to realize you never gave it back. is it just.. yours now?

and to find out the answer? yes! it is! and he finds out in the cutest way possible—by finding you sleeping soundly and wearing it all the same. almost indifferent about it as if it was normal.

"you okay?" "i-i've been looking for this y-you know.."

he only flushed more when you tell him you missed him so much.

finally coming home, wanderer, or scaramouche just wanted to cuddle. no words shared. just to hold you in his arms.

but maybe it was good that didn't happen. because now he was looking at the love of his life, and eating the food they made him. knowing how they made it with the knowledge on how he can't really taste anything. not to mention you were wearing.. that sweatshirt he lent you.

you.. look.. good.

[anantaru]

— flavored chapstick challenge

synopsis. you put on different chapsticks and make your boyfriend guess the flavor <3

including. alhaitham, venti, scaramouche

genre. making out & slightly suggestive, fluff, gn! reader

— alhaitham

as was expected from somebody like the scribe himself, the moment you have challenged your boyfriend alhaitham to such witty game, he, in return, will take it serious, extremely grave to the point where the more actual reason as to why you wanted to play this game in the first place, went straight down the drain.

notwithstanding the fact that such was the case now, the man will always kiss you slowly and passionately, each time, introducing you to how it felt when time froze, whenever he pressed his lips on you.

naturally, to savor the artificial taste on his mouth, he tenderly swipes the tip of his tongue over your bottom lip and hums, then breaths in as glitter and a faint rosy tone was sticking all over his mouth.

alhaitham opens his eyes and watches you struggling weakly at him.

you're holding yourself close to your boyfriend now, both hands around his neck, watching him with flustered cheeks and stars hidden behind your eyes, greeting him with your precious gaze.

alhaitham blinks and found himself holding the eye contact longer, his lips pressing together to voice a deep, low, pleading tone;

"sunsettia, i assume?" he whispers, almost cruelly, staring at your wet lips and like he didn't just tease the living hell out of you.

yet not so fast, since truth must be served in alhaitham's eyes— following his answer he assured you that in order for him to be truly certain, one hundred percent, he needed to repeat that kiss once again, that exact one, maybe use his tongue a little more while he was at it.

— venti

venti simply takes every opportunity to just kiss you while ignoring the entire purpose of the game, even once asking you about the rules again— this isn't him feigning innocence, or is it now?

ah well, you know your boyfriend pretty well, correct? it's not like he doesn't understand what the chapstick challenge was, in fact, when you proposed the idea to him, the anemo archon was utterly delighted, all impulses of soul and senses numbed when he started to become excited about it.

in a tizzy as he was, one of his most beloved hobbies was the secret art in teasing you, not to forget edging you on and playing sweet, miniature tricks on you while adoring the annoyed tone on your pretty expression.

venti gently props up your face with his hand before leaning in, his gentle dreams long subdued when he faces reality. you let yourself slit into his embrace when he begins to kiss your bottom lip, nibbling on the wet skin before tilting his head to let his tongue inside.

you felt malleable, as if all your troubles and worries simply had melted like snow in the sun, trickling away into pure nothingness— and ugh, he did it once again, making you forget about the game as well.

instead of saying something, you resort to letting yourself drift into his warmth, stroking one hand into his tousled hair before tenderly clashing your tongue against his own— yet before you knew it, venti was senseless once again, abruptly pulling away red-cheeked, "hehe, it's valberry, isn't it?"

— scaramouche

sometimes you wonder if scaramouche genuinely believes that you cannot pick up on what his secret plans are, especially when it came to a game you, in fact, controlled.

you were aware of your boyfriend and on how smart he was, not to mention knowledgable— so why, out of the blue, he pretends to not get the flavor right, even worse, not a single one was guessed correctly the entire day.

come on now, he clearly knows the answer, look at his handsome face blushed with love and that awfully sweet smirk plastered all over his lips, attached with residue of your chapsticks showing a little glitter on his face.

scaramouche was getting more clumsy the more chapsticks you tried out, even swallowing down the first two letters of the real answer before messily uttering the complete opposite.

perhaps, he believes you kiss all the grief and longing away from his flesh, and so this is why he wants to kiss you more, or make you kiss him instead— see it this way, he doesn't need to say it out loud and embarrass himself, despite his progress in trusting the people around him, scaramouche found himself struggling regardless.

even so, all his thoughts, all his passions, all his delights, whatever you stirred enclosed by his immortal frame, he refers to it as a bubble of love, and your touch alone calms his fiery flame within a dark spot in his body.

with gentleness crossing paths in your view, you admire kuni and purse your lips, remaining silent as his mind was long since lulled into soft calmness.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[fangdokja]

"You’ll love me," he whispered. "Even if it kills you."

❤︎ Synopsis. In a love that teeters between devotion and obsession, escape is futile—his jealousy isn’t just possessive, it’s a consuming force that leaves no room for freedom. With each calculated act, he dismantles your world, ensuring you’ll always belong to him, body and soul.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Ayato x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Childe x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Kaeya x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Heart's Chains - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 2,393

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats

♡ Ayato Kamisato – The Serpent Behind the Smile.

“Do not mistake my gentleness for leniency. My love is a silken noose—tender, yet unyielding. You’ll find there’s no escape from my devotion, no matter how far you think you can run.”

Ayato’s jealousy is a masterpiece of subtlety and restraint, a web spun so intricately that it feels like silk against your skin—until it tightens. The Kamisato Estate, with its pristine gardens and tranquil ponds, becomes your gilded cage, every servant’s eyes an extension of his will. Each step you take, each breath you draw, is under his meticulous control.

His demeanor never wavers; he remains the picture of refinement, his words dipped in honey and laced with arsenic. He speaks of love as though it were a blessing, his soft-spoken reassurances masking the sharp edge of his possessiveness.

“You misunderstand, my dear. This isn’t control—it’s protection. Only I can safeguard you from a world so eager to take what isn’t theirs. They don’t deserve even a fleeting glance from you.”

When jealousy consumes him, Ayato’s retribution is chillingly precise. There are no outbursts, no vulgar displays of rage. Instead, he orchestrates a symphony of ruin for the unfortunate soul who dared to admire you. Their family falls into disgrace, their reputation shredded like petals in a storm. And should you inquire, Ayato’s response is delivered with a smile that never reaches his eyes.

“They should have known better than to covet what’s mine. It’s a lesson the world must learn.”

The evidence of his cruelty is as subtle as his touch. The faint scent of blood that clings to his silken haori, the way his hands linger just a fraction too long on your neck as he adjusts a piece of jewelry he chose for you—jewelry that feels more like a shackle than a gift.

His intimacy is a performance of devotion that borders on reverence, each caress calculated to remind you of your place beneath him. He presses his lips to your skin, tracing patterns of possession as though marking you invisible to anyone else. His voice, a low, lilting murmur, sends shivers down your spine, a blend of adoration and menace.

“Do you see now? No one else will ever touch you this way. No one else will ever make you tremble the way I do. They couldn’t begin to understand the depth of what I feel for you.”

When you try to resist, his laughter is soft, almost pitying, as though amused by the futility of your rebellion. His grip tightens—not bruising, but firm, an unspoken reminder of who holds the reins. His fingers trail down your jaw, tilting your chin upward until you meet his piercing gaze.

“Why fight it, little one? You belong to me. Every smile, every breath, every cry of defiance—it's mine. And I’ll teach you, again and again, until you understand there is no life for you beyond me.”

Beneath his polished exterior lies a storm waiting to be unleashed, but you’ll never see it outright. His jealousy isn’t an explosion; it’s a slow suffocation, a quiet reminder with every word, every touch, every stolen freedom, that you are his forever.

────────────

♡ Childe (Tartaglia) – The Predator’s Obsession.

“Love is a battle, and I have not once lost a fight. Don't make the mistake of underestimating me, girlie. In the end, everything you are will belong to me—your body, your soul, your every breath.”

Childe’s jealousy burns hot and wild, like an unrelenting inferno that consumes everything in its path. It is not quiet or restrained; it is raw, visceral, and unapologetically violent. Beneath the playful smile and teasing laughter lies a beast—a predator who thrives on the hunt, and you are both his obsession and his prize.

His jealousy is a storm that no one survives. Those foolish enough to stand between him and you are dealt with swiftly and brutally. He doesn’t care about discretion or leaving no witnesses; in fact, he ensures you see the blood he spills in your name. It’s not just a message to his enemies—it’s a warning to you, too.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice low and chilling despite the blood splattered across his face. “This is what I’ll always do to anyone who dares touch what’s mine. Do you understand now, love? You’ll never escape me. Not alive, at least.”

Childe’s possessiveness is feral, his need for you so overwhelming it feels like drowning. He pulls you into his world of chaos and carnage, holding you tight even as his actions terrify you. His kisses are feverish, desperate, almost bruising, as though he’s trying to claim you with every touch. Yet, there’s a softness in his desperation, a vulnerability that only emerges in these fleeting moments.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice breaking slightly as he buries his face in your neck. “Don’t you see? I’d destroy the whole world just to keep you safe. No one will ever take you from me. No one.”

When you try to resist, to pull away from the suffocating heat of his love, Childe only tightens his grip. His eyes darken, his expression growing colder, though the smile never quite leaves his lips. It’s a predator’s smile—a reminder of the danger you’re courting by testing his patience.

“You think you can defy me? That you can run from me?” he says, his voice soft but laced with menace. “Run if you want, my love. I’ll enjoy hunting you down. The thrill of the chase only makes it sweeter when I catch you.”

In intimacy, Childe’s ferocity doesn’t fade; it intensifies. His touch is demanding, his strength overwhelming, a physical manifestation of his need to dominate and possess you. But he doesn’t simply take—he devours. Every gasp, every shiver, every whispered protest is met with a fervent determination to make you submit entirely to him.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing your ear. “Is it fear or excitement? Don’t answer, my love. It’s both, isn’t it? You hate how much you need me, just as much as you love it.”

Childe leaves marks on your body—not just bruises and bites, but an imprint of his presence so deep it feels like it’s carved into your soul. When he whispers his devotion, it’s not a declaration—it’s a promise, edged with the quiet menace of someone who would tear the world apart just to keep you by his side.

“You can fight all you want, girlie, but it nothing will ever change. The moment I laid my eyes on you, you belonged to me alone. And you always will be.”

────────────

♡ Scaramouche / Wanderer – The Tempest’s Grasp.

“I was forged in hatred and despair, yet for you, I would destroy even myself. Do not test the limits of my love. There is no redemption for what I’ve done—only the eternal chains of my devotion to you.”

Scaramouche’s jealousy is a tempest, violent and unrelenting, born from centuries of bitterness and abandonment. His love is not soft or kind—it is jagged and cutting, a love that consumes, destroys, and rebuilds you in his image. He doesn’t just crave your affection; he demands it, needing every piece of you to prove he is not as empty as the gods once decreed.

“You belong to me,” he whispers, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “I don’t care how you feel about it, and I don’t care who stands in my way. You’re mine, and that’s the only truth that matters.”

He watches you obsessively, his eyes dark with a storm of emotions he doesn’t fully understand. Your every interaction is cataloged, dissected, and judged. His jealousy isn’t just a reaction—it’s a prelude to destruction. The poor soul who dares to come too close to you finds themselves caught in a maelstrom of wrath. Their screams are swallowed by the sky, lightning striking with surgical precision as Scaramouche erases their existence.

“Did you see how they looked at you? So shameless, so presumptuous,” he spits, his hands tightening around your wrists. “They thought they could take you from me. As if I’d ever allow it.”

Scaramouche’s possessiveness is suffocating, his love a cage built from lightning and despair. He doesn’t need to shackle you physically—his presence alone is enough to keep you tethered. His touch is searing, electrifying, a reminder that he could destroy you in an instant, yet he doesn’t. His hands linger on your skin, trembling with restraint, as though he’s waging a war within himself not to claim you in a way that would leave you irreparably broken.

“You think you can escape me?” he sneers, his lips curving into a cruel smile. “Run if you dare. I’ll hunt you down. And when I find you, you’ll regret ever thinking you could survive without me.”

There’s a fragility to his rage, a desperation beneath the cruelty. Scaramouche’s jealousy isn’t just possessiveness—it’s a manifestation of his deepest fears. He’s terrified of being abandoned again, of losing the one thing that gives his existence meaning. When he holds you in his arms, his grip is almost painful, as if letting go would shatter him completely.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he whispers, his voice cracking. “You’re all I have. You’re the only thing keeping me from falling apart. Don’t you dare take that away from me.”

In moments of intimacy, Scaramouche is both brutal and vulnerable. His kisses are fervent, his hands leaving trails of electricity across your body as he pulls you impossibly close. But behind the intensity lies a trembling need, a desperate plea for validation. He doesn’t know how to love without control, without proving to himself that you are undeniably his.

“Cry for me,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Let me see that you need me, that you feel this the way I do. Prove to me that I’m not alone in this.”

And when you look into his eyes, you see the broken boy behind the storm—the creation abandoned by his maker, desperately clinging to the one thing that makes him feel whole. It’s in those moments you realize that Scaramouche’s jealousy isn’t just dangerous—it’s devastating. It’s the love of a man who would burn the world down if it meant keeping you by his side.

────────────

♡ Kaeya – The Icebound Heart.

“Love is such a fragile thing, don’t you think? It would be a shame if someone… shattered it. Or, better yet, if I shattered them for even daring to covet you.”

Kaeya’s jealousy is an arctic wind, deceptively beautiful but cutting to the bone. He cloaks his obsession in layers of charm and wit, each word a snowflake hiding the jagged ice beneath. His playful demeanor is a mask, and beneath it lies a predator—calculating, relentless, and utterly devoted to possessing you.

“They looked at you as if they had a chance,” he murmurs, his smile as sharp as broken glass. “I almost admire their bravery. But bravery is nothing compared to what I’m capable of.”

Kaeya dismantles his rivals with chilling precision, each act of sabotage cloaked in plausible deniability. The merchant who flirted with you finds their fortunes mysteriously frozen. The friend who lingers too long is subtly discredited, their reputation unraveling thread by thread. Kaeya ensures you remain untouched by the fallout, presenting himself as your only solace amidst the chaos he orchestrates.

“Poor things,” he says, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “It seems the world wasn’t kind to them. But you have me, don’t you? And I’ll protect you from it all.”

His touch is paradoxical—cold enough to make you shiver, yet searing in its intensity. He presses you against the icy walls of his desire, his lips brushing your ear as his words cut deeper than any blade.

“You’ll never need anyone else. I’ll make sure of it. Whether you see it as love or obsession doesn’t matter. You’ll feel it either way.”

Kaeya doesn’t just want your body; he craves your mind, your spirit, every secret you’ve ever held close. He watches you with a smirk that hides his relentless need, his gaze following your every move like a shadow cast by moonlight on snow.

“Do you think you can hide anything from me?” he asks, his voice soft, almost teasing. “I see through you. I know every thought you try to bury, every flicker of hesitation. You’ll learn there’s no use resisting.”

When he kisses you, it’s with a fervor that steals your breath, his lips as cold as the promise of winter. His hands trace your skin like an artist memorizing their masterpiece, leaving behind a trail of phantom chills. There’s a desperation in his touch, a need to mark you as irrevocably his.

“I could freeze the entire world and keep you warm in my arms,” he whispers, his tone an intoxicating mix of affection and menace. “Wouldn’t that be poetic? You, my only warmth in an eternity of frost.”

Kaeya’s love is a glacier—vast, unyielding, and utterly destructive to anything in its path. He whispers sweet nothings as he tightens his grip, his gentleness a calculated act to lull you into complacency. And when you tremble beneath him, whether from fear or desire, his smile turns predatory.

“You’re so exquisite when you’re afraid,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing your lips. “But don’t worry, my love. The only thing you truly need to fear… is losing me.”

For Kaeya, love is not a gentle thing. It is a tempest, a winter storm that leaves no escape. And though his jealousy is a blade of ice, he wields it with such elegance, such devotion, that you can’t help but shiver at the realization: there is no thaw, no spring. Only the eternal winter of his love.

────────────

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General TAG LIST: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk-blog1

[sixosix]

wanderer can fly; you cannot. he makes it his problem.

“What? Giving up already?”

“Shut—” heaving, you barely have the energy to flip him off, “shut the fuck up. Fuck off.”

Wanderer chuckles, all low and mean, as if his entire purpose in life is to ridicule you. He continues ascending overhead, moving and looking like an angel, but the words that come out of his mouth are far from angelic. “Careful, now. I know you overestimate yourself, but I won’t save you if you continue to scale a mountain with one hand.”

“Stop agitating me on purpose then!” You nearly slip from the intensity of your yell, but thankfully, it isn’t your time yet.

“How can I? You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Grumbling, you focus back on the mountain. Cute when mad. He must think he’s goddamn adorable, then.

You’re starting to lose sight of dents or protruding surfaces to get a hold of, and the mountain is getting steeper. You curse under your breath. If only you had Geo or Dendro—that’d help a lot much more. Maybe even Anemo, but that would be admitting defeat to the man who’s currently watching you intently.

Wanderer scoffs when your breath hitches, the surface you’re holding onto crumbling. He descends until you’re eye level. “Idiot, I told you that it’d be safer if we didn’t climb this all the way.”

“I know my limit.” Maybe. You may or may not have gotten a little over-competitive and jumped a few times, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

“Not more than I do,” he says.

“Don’t say it like that, weirdo.” You appraise the mountain overhead and, with a sunken stomach, realize that he’s right. There’s still a long way to go, and it’s a long fall back.

“Damn,” you say. You turn to Wanderer and blink up at him with wide eyes, hoping he would take the hint without having to say it outright.

Wanderer sighs, holding out his arms. “Jump.”

“Are you serious?”

“I won’t let you fall—of course I’m fucking serious.”

You grit your teeth, wondering if it’s easier to humiliate yourself and jump into his arms or to let gravity do its work.

“Hey,” Wanderer says, gliding closer and hovering an arm behind your waist. “No stupid ideas. Just jump and hold onto me.”

It’s always unsettling when Wanderer is not acting all bratty, like you’re not quite sure if you should goad him back to being mean or watch him bristle when you point it out. It’s been happening too often recently. That must be saying something about him if his soft moments are scarier than his jabs.

Wordlessly, you reach out for his shoulder with one hand and hold back a yelp when the lack of balance causes you to slip. You hold on tight around his neck, eyes wide and heart jittery. Wanderer secures his arms, moving in one swift motion. Before you even know it, he has one arm on your back and the other under your knees.

“How convenient it must be to have a ride as your companion,” Wanderer mutters in amusement at your relieved face.

“Yeah. That’s why I keep you around,” you say as he glides upward, barely straining from your weight. He looks as unaffected as ever.

He looks as infuriatingly and devastatingly beautiful as ever.

“Ha,” his smile is all sharp, “and not because you have a little crush on me?”

“You follow me around because you do. Don’t get it twisted.”

He snorts, tipping on something a little more genuine. You wisely decide to stop ogling at his face and enjoy the view of the sky instead. The blue of his clothes and the shade of his eyes are much prettier, but you’d rather lose that than start squirming in his arms. Not when he’s carrying you bridal style and all.

Finally, he descends, hardly disturbing the grass with his grace. He sets you down, arms crossed, as you pat yourself off from dirt and stuff.

“Well?”

You eye him warily. “What do you want?”

“Some semblance of manners will do,” he says, then leans close as if he’s baring his face for you. He’s been less and less subtle recently, too.

Nonetheless, you find yourself smiling. The things he’d do just to get a kiss—it nearly makes you laugh out loud. But then he’d start getting all irritated like a cat, and you much prefer when he’s sweet like this. Sweet in his very Wanderer way, you mean.

You kiss him on the cheek. He puffs up like some proud peacock. He calls you adorable all the time, but he’s the one who’s acting like this. It’s no wonder you keep him around.

[staryuee]

HOW THEY REACT TO YOUR SILENT TREATMENT.

꒰warnings꒱ not proofread … sigh

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . you and your partner are having a “cooling down period”, a time of détente, after a recent argument. how do they deal with the lack of love from you?

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . diluc, eula, wanderer, ayato, gorou, tartaglia, lyney, wriothesley, neuvillette, arlecchino

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . as a psychology student ☝️🤓 i can safely say that the silent treatment is usually frowned upon due to its connotations with emotional abuse, therefore i tried my best to make it apparent that this sort of silence is within the boundaries of the relationship ( ･᷄ὢ･᷅ ) please communicate with your loved ones if you feel a certain way :)

you and your beloved recently had a pretty bad argument. out of respect for both of your feelings you both decided to have a period of détente to allow a gradual recovery of your emotions and logical reasonings.

there was no need to argue, and there was also no need to be hostile or petty; therefore your silent treatment wasn’t a way to maliciously gain control or make your lover come running back to you, it was a way for both of you to regain composure and come back to the topic when prepared.

that did unfortunately, lead to much less affectionate gestures from both of you. of course there was still the casual “i love you” every morning and night accompanied by a simple kiss, but it never went anything beyond that.

while your lover fully knew why this sort of peaceful coexistence was necessary, sometimes it’s sincerely difficult to not just reach out and kiss you breathless.

you’re so close yet so far, it’s unbearable.

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

master diluc has been rather restless lately.

constant muttering to himself, plucking the dried up skin that stuck out from his badly bitten lips, his gloved hands constantly scratching a non existent scratch; honestly, if the fellow residents of dawn winery didn’t know any better they’d think he was possessed and required an immediate exorcist.

adelinde refuses to see her precious baby sink his eyes into ruin purely because he’s out secretly patrolling once he wakes up in the middle of the night to clear his head. you’re always there with him throughout the night: but why does it still feel so empty regardless?

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST ?

diluc is no pushover or people pleaser; if you were guilty, then you’re guilty and he’ll wait all the time in the world till you eventually own up and apologise (please let that come sooner or later though otherwise he’ll give into ruin and sip alcohol for a breather). otherwise, if its his fault, or no ones and it was a mere misunderstanding, the silent treatment lasts for a day. not any longer not any less; he doesn’t allow it to.

he’s more than happy to wait forever for you but gods if he ever made a mistake that accidentally led you to elongating this supposed transient silence till the end of time, diluc would much rather swallow his pride and give his all to you. you’re worth more than pettiness, and he’ll prove that to you once you wake up and get greeted with all your favourite luxuries and a bright, relieved smile on his face.

EULA — 优菈

you’re beyond delusion if you think this woman won’t turn this into a healthy-ish competition of sorts.

you wish to avoid her for days on end? she’s already used to the world avoiding her mere gaze, she can withstand the somber feeling of having the one person who’s fully understood her as the complex person she is self-isolating from her for a little while.

never mind, no, she literally can’t. come back to her right now. we have problem right? lets talk about it, isn’t that what you taught her in the first place? what do you mean you need a break and want to clear your head for a while to not hurt her feelings? you think eula of all people cares about something like that?

she’d rather you spit at her than withstand another hour of this mindless nonsense.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

she doesn’t apologise unless she sees whatever caused this perilous argument in the first place truly hurt you and you ended up in tears; otherwise whats the use in pointless words when you can easily hug it out and call it a day?

she lets you apologise under the guise of “if you don’t, my vengeance towards you will be greater than my foes”, but in reality? eula is hardly paying any attention to the words slipping past your lips. all she’s thinking about is how she’ll be able to shake off this uneasy tension that’s somehow been created between you two.

WANDERER — 流浪者

you can’t tell which one of you needed this little breather more, after all, you’d hope scara would allow himself to soften after distancing from you after a while, and scara hoped you’d see reason within your argument and eventually, as always, forgive him.

but forgiveness is a two way straight in the way most people subconsciously ignore; does he and could he ever forgive himself? that image of your teary eyed face, the harsh puffs of breath you heaved to prevent any more molten venom to burn his plastic skin, the slight clenching of your jaw, fuck it hurt.

he couldn’t admit it at the time, but right now after being forcefully peeled away from you for about week and forcing auntie nahida to listen to his venting rambles? he wished he just gave it all up and did something: anything at all. kissed you, hugged you, consoled you, swiped your tears away with his thumbs, fluttered his eyelashes on your cheek gently as he whispered an i love you.

yet all he could do right now was wait.

wait until you hopefully came back, he couldn’t face you. if you abandoned him he’d deal with it. the petals on the floor and the hushed whispers of “they love me, they love me not” are just hallucinations from his worried caregiver, he swears.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

never would he stoop so low as to apologise.

verbally. that is. if he’s aware that he’s in the wrong (believe me that look on your face does wonders for trying to figure out whats on your mind) he’ll begrudgingly come up with some covert way of making it up to you. he doesn’t want to be stuck in this immortalised silence forever; believe me, he likes your talking more than he realises and this little test trial of abandonment was more than enough proof that your existence within his life is essential.

if you’re not there standing by his side, what even is the point in that fraudulent pacemaker of his? your laughter is in the same shape of his heartbeat; if you’re not here, he’s just back to being that dumb little puppet cuddled ashore in the slim darkness of the night.

K. AYATO — 神里绫人

bile builds up in ayato’s throat, eyes threatening to spill hazardous tears on his paperwork. he HATES being away from you. yes, you’ll be back comfortably in his arms with a kiss on your forehead soon…but time isn’t making that “soon” come any quicker and it’s killing him.

‘silence’ is only the act of not speaking, right? so he’s technically allowed to sneak in pastries onto your desk when you’ve gone to take a break — he’s also most certainly allowed to write down his frustrations about not being able to be overly affectionate with you and then pitifully sliding them under your door in hopes you’ll read them and maybe write one back.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

he desperately tries to convince himself that if he works long enough, he’ll forget the hollowing feeling in his heart that’s left in the silhouette of you. he puts down his calligraphy pen with an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples with rough motions as if to completely rid himself of any lingering thought of you.

that’ll never work, and ayato thinks you two have calmed down enough so therefore he trudged his way into your room, knocking of course, and sat down with you for a lengthy but beneficial conversation.

without a doubt, ayato will be the one to apologise first. whether it’s a conscious decision or not completely depends on how long he’s been away from you; at some point you just fall back into regular routine completely by accident.

GOROU — 五郎

he’s glad you’ve decided to take this sort of approach to your relationship instead of having a painful battle of the wits with him but right now, he’d withstand a thousand hours of scolding than the way his fellow soldiers worryingly clutter around their little general and ask about his well-being purely because those furry ears atop his bundle of bed hair decided to stay drooped down all week.

but he can’t help it! he’s utterly miserable! you didn’t even give him your complimentary “good morning, have fun at work, be safe” kiss before he left the door in the static quiet of your abode. to top this torture off? you haven’t pet him once, and while he’d normally revel in not being treated like an actual lap dog…you’re a huge exception in that rule!

unfortunately, it’s not like he can just outright demand attention from you merely because he’s feeling a bit down on his luck. you asked for peace, he’ll give it to you. he’s a war veteran but treats you like a flower thats sprouted on a ruined patch of sand.

ehem, but please come back to him soon. please?

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

whatever it takes to get your pretty hand to ruffle through his brunette locks he’ll do, he doesn’t care if the apology consists of him kneeling down on pitifully shaking his head near your thigh with his lips puckered into a pout. shame doesn’t exist within your relationship right? he’s more than willing to apologise first regardless of who was to blame.

if the argument was a little more serious however, he’ll sit down you on your couch that holds so many sweet significant memories within your mind, his head resting atop your collarbone and tail sneakily swishing from side to side now that your heartbeat was so clear to him. he’ll hear you out, talk through it, but more importantly, love and appreciate you.

TARTAGLIA — 公子

nuh uh. you think you’re getting silence with someone like him around? unless one or both of you fucked up really bad, tartaglia can’t see the point in silent ignorance; if you want to ignore him to personally calm down? sure, do whatever you want honey, you’re still getting treated like the other piece of his heart that you are.

if you’re genuinely annoyed he can leave you alone…for maybe two hours thirty minutes max. he loves you so much, talk to him, he doesn’t care if you insult him out of anger, lash out at him if you must. so long as you return into his arms so he can sway you around within his tender embrace and pepper your face with kisses, he’ll be more than happy and satisfied.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

him all day — call it the big brother complex with having to always apologise first whenever he got into a slight squabble or disagreement with his siblings when he were younger, or call it pure unadulterated love for you and the refusal to continue with this pointless staring battles whenever you guys were sitting across from each other.

whatever it is, just know he takes your feelings seriously regardless of the teasing grin across his face when you try not to squirm from the way his hand traveled from across your waist to the slither of exposed stomach. he just wants to assure you that his love won’t ever fade even if it becomes so deliberately one sided. he’s yours, after all.

LYNEY — 林尼

he’s used to eerie silence that bellowed icy winds against his ears, used to the tension that forced out his fight or flight response, but currently all he could do was freeze and overthink. how come this silence seemed so much more deafening than usual?

lyney doesn’t want this worse than capital punishment torture to continue without at least the slightest bit of laughter mingled into both of your days; he tries his best to curve your lips to even the slightest twenty degree lift using whatever he could. silly little flower reappearing trick there, a sneaky kiss to the side of your neck here; just any fleeting desperate attempt for some reciprocation on your part.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

lyney’s used to apologising first given his experiences within the house of hearth and the father herself. so imagine his surprise when you both incidentally stammer over one another as you two splutter apologies helplessly. god he’s so happy your relationship is built open gushes of giggles instead of the splats of tears because if it weren’t for that cute little accident? lyney was sure the second you opened your lovely lips to speak he would’ve teared up.

he missed that voice telling him constant i love yous, the affectionate cradling of his face against your neck and the way you wouldn’t hesitate to hold his flushed face within your cooling hands to comfort him after a particularly stress inducing performance.

WRIOTHESLEY — 莱欧斯利

you left the conversation with an “i love you.” so he knows that you’ll come back to him.

however, the last time he blindly trusted the comforting words of a loved one, it ended with blood on his hands and a lengthy sentence at the fortress of meropide. luckily for his heart and your own, he knows your charms and honeyed words aren’t for show and truly mean something.

wriothesley respects your boundaries and wishes to the t, he won’t speak to you like nothing at all happened but that doesn’t mean he won’t be overly cautious when it comes to your behavioural patterns. if he notices this sentence of silence is clearly taking its toll on you, he will, with no hesitation, talk everything out with you.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

depending on the argument, he’ll apologise first. if it’s rather undeniable that you were the one in the wrong however, he’ll explain his feelings thoroughly until you apologise — the standard. he doesn’t want this silence to end till the fortress of meropide overflows with primordial water so once you see multiple guards on your case more than ever, just know he’d like to talk to you.

NEUVILLETTE — 那维莱特

fontaine has been drenched in rain for the past couple of days. every hour, every minute, every second neuvillette spends alone in his office makes him realise just how grand and solemn it is. everything is so mundane and banal…even the cheerful mutters and chatters of the sweet melusines couldn’t bring a smile to his face — much to the dismay of the little sigewinne who even so kindly brought him a cake to cheer him up…

what makes it even worse is that everything reminds him of you…and oh god the muddied clouds have once again been cursed with rain. this unquenchable thirst for your presence cannot be ignored by a mere sip from his intricate cup and being the ever so carefully mindful iudex, neuvillette sees it more than fit to call this hopeless game of silence to quits.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

regardless of who’s in the wrong, neuvillette apologises first. he’s sorry for letting this go so far, he should’ve just trusted his gut and returned to your side even if it meant having to persuade you with his clever tongue or the coiling of his draconic tail around your leg to pull you sweetly closer.

honestly, if he could, he’d make this a punishment in the fortress of meropide for every couple. you committed a petty, technically non offensive crime? well instead of doing some charity work for the city, you’re not allowed by the side of your beloved for a few weeks.

ARLECCHINO — 阿蕾奇诺

a bunny within the jaws of a spring locked beast thinking it can persuade the tides in their favour with silence? arlecchino is amused you’d think such cheap tomfoolery would work to solve through your problems.

“darling, come here,” she taps her lap with her blood-stained nail, her eyes looking up at you greedily to soak up every single jitter of your movements as you alas fall onto your rightful throne, “my dumb bunny,” arlecchino coos at you with that devilishly low hum of her voice. “do you think the phrases ignorance is bliss, distance brings fondness, truly work within our relationship?”

arlecchino painfully grasps at your waist, that grip only loosening once you comfortably situate yourself on her thighs and lace your arms around her neck per routine. “i’d expect this behaviour from my children at the house of hearth, not you, angel.” she nibbles on your earlobe deliberately, forcing your lips to part just the way she likes. that perfect look of both surprise and desire; it’s a gorgeous display of your vulnerability.

“explain to me your problems, or else we can be at this forever.”

no such thing as the silent treatment when the very epitome of a wordless shadow has betrothed you.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[generalsdiary]

you brought your partner a flower bouquet. it isn’t something they often receive, and you felt a desire to change that. being a solemn, thoughtful person after thanking you they said;

“yes… it is sad that I’ll have to watch them die.” “they started dying the moment they were picked. kind of like humans, from the age of 25 their bodies officially begin to die.” upon hearing your words they look back at you, sharing a knowing look. “that is too short. I…” they clench their jaw for a moment. “humans have too short of a life span. we- I will find a way” soft, whispered words flowing between you two like a breeze on an early spring morning.

depending on the context behind their words, that perhaps brought you joy, that your loved one would go above and beyond to have as much time as possible with you. or it filled you with fear, knowing their history with such ways of life manipulation.

“no matter how much time we have, we will be alright. I cherish every moment I get with you. and once I’m gone-“

“please don’t say that.” their voice fell to a broken whisper. noticing the change in their body language, you moved closer, cupping their face, and matching their quiet tone you said, “let’s stay in the present. I’m right here, living and breathing. focus on me, on my heart,” you take their hand and place their palm on your chest. “on how it beats for you. for us.”

Dan Heng, Jingliu, Blade, Dan Feng, Neuvillette, Xiao, Wanderer, Scaramouche, Capitano

divider cr: @saradika

[chrollogy]

SFW; fluff ><, scara uses a term of endearment for the very first time which catches you off guard, implied established relationship, pet names mentioned. divider: cafekitsune.

── it wasn’t foreign to not receive terms of endearments from scaramouche—it was simple, really. he’d rather just call you by your name. you asked him about it once to which he flatly replied with ‘it’s a silly thing for silly humans.’ and you left it at that, of course not without a pout thrown his way but more times than not, you’ve always wondered how pet names rolled off his tongue, how they sounded with his dulcet voice, though, the biggest question in your mind was: what would scaramouche even call you?

given his personality, he definitely excelled in colourful derogatory nicknames when it came to enemies or people that lacked basic common sense, though, those words were never directed at you. of course, you’ve asked scaramouche to at least try calling you something, even a simple ‘baby’ would suffice but all you were met with was an unamused grumble before walking away, clearly he was more flustered than he let on.

you stared at your boyfriend across the wooden study table, a serene expression painted on his handsome face, his amethyst gaze slowly followed the inked sentences across each page of the book. the house of daena was filled with low murmurs from other students, and researchers, sounds of pages turning every now, and then turned into a calming melody.

bored, you let out an audible huff which not only gained scaramouche’s attention but also from other students in your vicinity, “i’m so bored.” scaramouche simply turned another page from his book before replying, “last time i checked, you have an assignment due tonight.” you didn’t bother replying, instead, poking your tongue out at him despite his eyes glued to the pages.

not wanting to let this conversation go to waste, you spoke up again, “what do you think are the chances of me failing this assignment?”

scaramouche didn’t reply, not even having the heart to lift his gaze towards you. he knew what you were doing, making pointless conversation just to satiate your boredom, unfortunately for you, he actually had matters to tend to, and supposedly, so did you. scaramouche knew better than to engage in your silliness.

oh, but you were determined to get his attention.

“not even going to speak to me? how mean,” you feigned hurt, dramatically placing a palm over your chest even though he wasn’t looking.

“heeeeeeeey, don’t ignore me.”

this carried on for a few more seconds, calling out to scaramouche with a hushed tone but to no avail, his expression remained indifferent, still focused on the task at hand—definitely an expert at tuning out your silly antics, you had to give it to him.

“hat guy.”

scaramouche let out an annoyed sigh, it was a silly name that other students at the akademiya called him, he wasn’t fond of it but he didn’t necessarily despise the name—he just wished others had the creativity to at least give him a better one. nonetheless, you successfully gained his attention, a celebratory smile crept up your face.

you watched as scaramouche closed the book with a light thud before turning his sole attention to you, with an annoyed huff, he spoke, “yes, my love?”

your eyes widened, the smile you wore seconds ago unceremoniously falling off your face, heat blossomed from your chest, kissing its way up the column of your neck, and onto your cheeks. my love. were you hearing things right? did scaramouche just call you my love? you weren’t dreaming, were you?

he snickered at your unexplainable expression, brows knitted, and amethyst narrowed at you, “cat got your tongue now? you were just begging for my attention seconds ago—”

scaramouche cut his sentence short upon realising the words that slipped past his lips mere seconds earlier. oh. that was definitely not meant to come out. he clicked his tongue before looking off to the side, to avoid your wide-eyed stare. he hated that expression (not really), how it was able to bring out such humanly emotions from him, how it rendered him completely speechless.

you held the cosmos in your eyes, and scaramouche thought you were the most beautiful person in all of teyvat.

crossing his arms over his chest, he closed his eyes, and let out another annoyed sigh, “what? now that i’m finally giving you a pet name, you’re not even going to acknowledge it?” scaramouche clicked his tongue once again but didn’t dare meet your gaze.

“no, no. it’s just that . .” you trailed off, still trying to process his words.

my love.

you smiled, letting out a soft chuckle, “my love, huh? you’re adorable, did you know that?” this earned another grumble from scaramouche, paired with a roll of his eyes,

“i’m taking it back.” “you don’t mean that.”

he didn’t at all. in fact, my love was what he had been wanting to call you since then but he just didn’t have the guts to—it made scaramouche feel all weird inside whenever he imagined a scenario where he’d say it to you. he guessed there were consequences for keeping such thoughts to himself, seeing as how it accidentally rolled off his tongue.

though, the words felt oddly natural. like it was meant to be.

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum !

[yandere-daydreams]

Black Cat!Wanderer, who you find in an alleyway behind your apartment complex, badly bruised and barely conscious. He's poorly dressed, even for a hybrid, shivering and deathly pale, but he still finds the strength to snap at you as you approach him. You have to bribe him with fish you can't afford and a blanket nicer than anything you'd buy for yourself before he lets you so much as touch him, and even then, he's quick to growl and tell you to get away from him as soon as you try to pet him. He's a temperamental kitten, but considering the state he's in, you can't say you blame him for being so defensive.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who lets himself into your apartment after a few weeks of alleyway visits and offered meals. He doesn't scratch at your door or ask to come in. You find him splayed out on your couch when you get home, muttering that it'd been too long since the last time he saw you and scowling into a clawed-up pillow. He still comes and goes as he pleases (you wouldn't try to keep a hybrid so clearly used to being on his own contained), but he spends most of his time curled up on your bed or trailing after you around the house, still pretending he'd rather be anywhere on earth other than in your lap. He says that you're just like every other human, that he only hangs around you for the food and a warm place to sleep, but the way he purrs when you scratch at his ears says otherwise.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who doesn't just visit you at home, either. He always seemed to ""coincidentally"" be passing by your office just in time to walk you home from work, and doesn't seem to consider a quick grocery run or shopping trip to be a good enough excuse to get rid of him. You're lucky he's a cat, rather than something bigger, something more difficult to pass off whenever he follows you into a cafe or bodega. He's lucky that he's so cute, or else you might call his bluff and start treating him like the housecat he won't admit he wants to be.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who doesn't know that you know he likes to cuddle up to you while you're asleep. Most of the time, he'll wait until you go to bed properly before curling up against your side, but you've found him laid out on top of you after passing out on your tiny couch, fast asleep despite his best efforts to always scurry away before you notice he's there. You never considered yourself a catperson before you met him, but god, sometimes you feel like you could spend the rest of your life fawning over your shy little alley cat.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who's been with you long enough to be hyper-aware that there are people - humans, nonetheless - you'd rather spend time with than him. He doesn't need your attention, he doesn't need you, but he's not going to lose you to a human, either - not when you're the only person he can stand to be around.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who might just be a cat but still has teeth and claws as sharp as any predator. Following the coworker you've mentioned just a few too many times home is child's play, and it only takes a few seconds to drag his claws across their throat, to dig his teeth into their jugular and shut them up before they can scream. It's just like killing a rat, something you've praised him for a thousand times, even if he still cringes when the taste of iron hits his tongue.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who spent enough time as a stray to know the best places to put something he doesn't want anyone else to find. The body is dropped into a gutter with a loose grate, the blood washed off of his face in a relatively clean drainage canal. He's home by sunrise, and he can't control the way his chest rumbles as he slots himself against your side - happier than he's ever been before.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who'd do anything to make himself the center of your little world.

[iceunhie]

indirect kiss moments !

summary: you drink from their cup on accident = the realization that you may or may not have shared an indirect kiss. how do they feel about that? too flustered beyond belief, it seems....

featuring: part one (here) - kazuha, wanderer | part two - albedo, neuvillette, alhaitham

notes: not exactly established relationship, crush crush hehe, fluffy, my two anemo faves in one post.... loud gasp effect in the background (pls don't perceive this as my betrayal to the other anemos they'll have their turn soon i promise 🫡)

WANDERER — (in/ex)ternally flustered as fuck + has stopped working

wanderer doesn't think he has a heart, but the way the void in his chest thumps for but a flicker of a moment proves him quite wrong.

why, you ask? it's all because of you.

he resists the urge to snap, terribly so, but out of being flustered more than anything, not irritation. because there is absolutely no way for him to properly process these turn of events with even a hint of rationality. you seem to be promptly ignorant of the whirring of thoughts in his mechanical head. ignorant of his rather foolish situation of going irrational and borderline idiotic.

all because of a damn indirect kiss.

his eyes lift from where he's burning holes onto the cup you're holding—his cup, he corrects, and lingers embarrassingly long (too long) on your lips. he tries not to fight the way heat creeps up his skin, synthetic yet all too real (perhaps like his own, untouched feelings); he thinks he might be red in the face. horribly red, thinking that oh no, he’s faced with the egregious notion that he may be too (very) obvious with how his reaction to your simple action betrays his secret fondness for your existence. most troubling.

it's fine, he tries to rationalize, he's got to relax. it was but a sip of tea. tea he so carefully procured and offered with much reluctance that was more feigned than anything else. tea he only drank because he heard in passing about your preference for it, very, very sweet tea he wouldn't normally drink, he notes with faint distaste—the things he lets you get away with—

….and then you lick your lips to savor the taste.

if the traveler hadn't showed him a taste of an almost death, then he thinks this might just be how he falls.

[ spoiler alert: he ends up hastily getting up to leave after pouring you another refill, muttering curses that would certainly alarm the average civilian. fast as light; if only to hide the utter mess that was his face. red, breathless (even though he doesn't need to breathe) and disgustingly, horribly flustered.

you’d better do your best to calm his self-imposed brooding— he isn't going to tell you anything about what exactly made him fluster this much. best of luck. ]

KAZUHA — flustered, but smiling like a lovesick fool (wants to write endless haikus about this)

kazuha is drunk, both in love and on the sake that burns his throat in a pleasant blend of sweet and strong.

it all started with your request to drink from his cup. you ordered a different drink from him while the crew of the crux were celebrating beidou’s birthday. even now, the sound of laughter and drunken slurring fills the night, a slow and, if he has to be frank, tone-deaf melody of a simple happy birthday echoing in the air. of course, being as drunk in love (beidou’s words) as he is, kazuha didn't even hesitate at all to give you a sip.

…and it just so happens that you managed to drink at the exact place he drank from earlier.

small mercies come in the form of playing off the intense blush of his face and chalking it up to the effects of the wine and sake. kazuha isn't one to be flustered easily, but he must admit this one elicited no light reaction from him, no matter how much he may downplay its impact.

perhaps it was delusional, but was there not a tradition about drinking from each other's cups like this that could symbolize marriage….?

oh dear, the alcohol was getting to him, and fast.

[ spoiler alert: the next day, when you wake up with a sore headache and an achy body and an extremely clingy kazuha, try not to be confused when he mentions something like kissing you in the haze of his sleep.

the following week will also make you subject to two things: 1) an increasingly clingy kazuha (see above), and 2) dozens upon dozens of haikus left at your home, along with silkflowers of innumerable count you’d think he'd plucked the entire lot of them. you never did know why kazuha had become even sweeter (was that even possible...?) all of a sudden. ]

[९] 2024 © iceunhie :: do not copy or use my works.

[wanderstarr]

𝐀 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐏𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬 : 𝐈 ‧₊˚✩彡

wanderer x gn! reader

[[ prologue || ao3 || next ]]

'A HYPERSPECIFIC CASE ANALYSIS ON INTERSPECIES RELATIONSHIPS AND THEIR INHERENT INCOMPATIBILITY : A GROUNDED THEORY STUDY'

The Wanderer tapped his pen against the table. The title was very persuasive in its own right, if he did say so himself. Still, he would need convincing points to support his claim. Curse the Vahumana pricks for drilling this damn process into his head. He starts to map out his arguments in inky script.

His hands practically glide across the piece of paper, leaving neatly scrawled loops in its wake.

A list of reasons to deny his wavering inhibitions.

1. You were a puppeteer. 

That in itself should have been an omen, given the nature of his existence. How foolish would it be of him, to be abandoned by a creator of puppets twice? To be fair, he didn't quite know this little fact about you until the second time he met you.

The Zubayr Theatre. Scholar he may be, but the allure of a stage had always caught his eye, even when his memories were incomplete. He did have a penchant for theatrical names, after all, in his past incarnations. Still, he never took the initiative to go near of his own volition. As often as he visited the Grand Bazaar, he usually stayed a good distance away from that corner of the market.

He finds himself hovering from a distance, again, when he spots a familiar face in the crowd. You, waddling in front of the Zubayr stage with a comically tall stack of fabric in your arms blocking your view.

In any other case, he would have minded his own business. Hah, he should have minded his own business, even in this case. But his legs seemed to move faster than his mind could process it, and next thing he knew he was by your side, swiping a good chunk of the fabric from your grasp so you could actually see.

"Wh-HEY!.." you whip around at him, and he catches a glimpse of your vision aglow as bright as your glare, but it fades away when you look at him. "You!"

"Me." he says in reply. He casually rearranges the fabric he'd grabbed into a neater pile.

You look at him funny, and your confusion melts into a warm smile. You seem to do that often, shaking off confusion like the morning dew rolls off a leaf. 

You laugh quietly, nudging him in his ribs. "Aren't you such a gentleman, always helping me out?"

He scoffs, turning his face away from you. "Not my fault you're always in need of help when I'm around. I'm not an asshole, you know."

"Could've fooled me, Hat Guy."

He cringes. "..who told you that name?"

You laugh again, gleefully. "Didn't know you were so popular around here. Y'know, outside of the whole Archon's Right Hand Man you got going for you."

"I'm just making the most of what I'm capable of." he huffs. "If people find it such an interesting topic, then that's their problem."

"It's admirable." you grin. "You're amazing."

His knees almost shake for just a split second. He coughs awkwardly, and hides behind the shade of his hat.

"Flattery won't get you any extra favours." he says, and starts to walk.

You chase after him, and fall into step by his side. "Oh? But you're doing me a favour now. Checkmate."

"I won't hesitate to drop all this back onto you."

He wouldn't, he thinks.

"You wouldn't," you laugh.

Damn it.

He asks you a question in lieu of a reply. "In any case, isn't it unfair that you get to know my name?"

A roundabout way to ask for yours.

"Hm, is it?" you glance at him cheekily. "But I think I earned that knowledge fair and square, after all the asking around I did."

His brows furrowed in thought, and he felt a tug in the corner of his lips. "You asked about me?"

This time, you're the one whose footsteps stutter, looking at anywhere but him. Part of him takes glee in knowing he could have the same affect on you as you did on him.

"W-well," you clear your throat, "I was just.. you could call it getting to know my new home. Yeah, that!"

He would tease you more, but his greedy mind grabbed at the chance of learning something about you. "New? You're not from around here?"

"I've travelled around so much I can barely remember where I'm from," you shrugged. "But yeah, I'm finally settling down here."

"I see."

"Yeah." you nod. "I met Enteka last night, and when I helped her out with that psycho guy, she offered to introduce me to Nilou."

A lot of thoughts race through his mind as you talk. For one, he's a bit bemused at the notion that you would be so invested in helping a woman you just met the night before. He had assumed you were lifelong friends, the way you defended the acting manager that day. On the other hand, it did seem like something you would do, from what he's gathered of you. But more importantly..

"Nilou?"

"Yeah! I got myself a job here thanks to her. Apparently, Nilou mentioned to Enteka that the theatre needed more people around, so here I am!"

 "Oh? And what do you do, then?" he tilts his head. "Besides flailing around blindly and carrying things like an idiot?"

"Hey!" you punch his shoulder lightly. "I'll have you know I'm very skilled at craftsmanship!"

"Really?" he drawls.

"Yeah really! I'm like, super popular. All the rage."

"It's weird that I've never heard of you then."

"What, you've never heard of the amazing–" 

From the top of the Zubayr stage, a middle aged woman yells out a name, cutting you off. You whip around to look at her. Huh, that's one way to learn what you're called, he supposes.

"Rekhar!" you call back. "Need something?"

"Yeah, would you mind bringing the materials up here instead?"

"Sure thing!"

"You're a dear, thanks!" the elderly woman smiles, and retreats towards the back of the stage.

The Wanderer nudges your foot with his own, and says your name. It tumbles from his lips easily, naturally. He quite enjoys the way it sounds, he thinks.

You chuckle. "Guess I've been exposed."

"Like you could've kept it hidden."

"I could have!"

"With how much you talk? I doubt it."

"I guess that's true; it can't be helped," you sigh dramatically. "I do like talking to you."

"To me, or just in general?"

"In general too." you flash a wicked grin. "But mostly, you're just fun to be around."

That's.. certainly new. To be fair, you had incredibly odd taste in company.

You both reach the stage, and set down the bundles in your arms on a nearby table. Rekhar beams her thanks, and sweeps the fabric off to who knows where. 

"I hear she's working on a new prop mechanic for the next show." you comment.

"You're not helping? I thought you were a craftsman."

"Me?" you laugh. "Oh, I'm not as well versed in prop engineering. My specialty lies more in puppetry." 

His chest drops to a jolt, and he feels his throat run dry. "Puppets."

"Yeah!" You don't seem to notice the change in his tone. "I could show them to you, sometime."

"No thanks." he backs away abruptly, movement stiff. You look worried for him. He looks away from you.

"Are you okay?"

"I got something else to do," he says. You both knew it was a lie. "And you don't need my help anymore."

You don't need a puppet like me.

You reach out to him. He flinches away.

"..okay." you clasp your hands together, hold them close to your chest. "I'll see you around."

He leaves you standing alone without an answer.

©wanderstarr..!!

me: haha yeah this is gonna be fluff/humour yk

also me: