#yes u have been with scaramouche for centuries. yes he will still blush when you make eye contact with him in public

[solsolace]

Heyoo, can I please request a one shot with scaramouche where the reader is known to be kind and respected, so he feels insecure and thinks he doesn’t deserve them. (Maybe the reader is some kind of immortal being like he is?) They’ve known each other since he was called Kunikuzushi. The other harbingers are surprised to see him care for someone so much. Ty :) (also idk how the anon name thing works, but I’ve seen people use emojis, so I’ll be 🌌)

a puppet loosely strung

✧ synopsis: [ hurt/comfort ] a oneshot in which scaramouche feels as though he doesn’t deserve to be with his much sweeter s/o. it is implied to take place before the inazuman archon quest.

✧ ft. scaramouche x gn!reader (the reader is immortal, but their exact origin is left ambiguous.) (also, la signora is here)

✧ warnings: general scaramouche things (honestly, just misanthropy), spoilers for scaramouche’s real name/lore, spoilers for la signora’s lore

✧ a/n: scaramouche will be so, so soft with you, but only after you’ve spent a couple hundred years together /j. it’s nice to have you here 🌌! i hope this is alright!

»»————-　 ✦ 　————-««

The Balladeer believes he knows what humanity is like. He does not have to be human to understand that they do whatever they desire, regardless of if it’s right or wrong, if only because they fear the repercussions of not doing so- he does not have to be human to understand that they have an innate drive to be vile, cruel, pathetic- not when he has seen it first hand, over, and over, and over again.

A puppet crafted by divine hands, Scaramouche was made to follow the will of others, to perform as he’s told to. And, when he was discarded, he found new hands to carry him, only for those hands to be slain for his own sake. When he was sought out by the Fatui, surely, any person would have recognized the pattern: humanity is worthlessly stupid. But, Scaramouche was not any person at all. He was a puppet who had grown bored of having his strings pulled. Humanity is worthlessly stupid, he agrees with the pattern- but that just makes them perfect pawns. Could he really be blamed, then, for seizing the opportunity to be the puppetmaster when it arose?

Seated on the balcony of a teahouse that had just recently opened in his homeland, Scaramouche scans the streets of Inazuma as his… “diplomatic partner” muses out loud on their respective missions.

“The Shogun here does not seem to be that disagreeable,” La Signora traces the rim of her tea cup with a clawed finger, not even bothering to look and see if The Balladeer was listening- she was aware that he wasn’t. “Why, I’d even go as far to say that her vision for Inazuma falls quite nicely in line with The Tsaritsa’s plans for all of Teyvat. I wonder if she’d even put up much of a fight for her gnosis at all, given how well her decree seems to be working.”

It’s rare for Scaramouche to wish that he actually had a subordinate here to take his place. Unfortunately for his patience, they’d all been scattered across the islands to prepare for the first act of his plan to weaken the resistance. If he were to consider it, Signora was definitely one of the least troublesome Harbingers to have been paired with in Inazuma. Oh, sure, she was just as annoying as the rest of them, carrying herself with an air of superiority that she hardly deserves, but her cold and heartless personality was-if he had to praise her-respectable enough. At the very least, he wasn’t sent here with Tartaglia or Pierro. Tsaritsa forbid, he would certainly lose his shit if he had to listen to their nonsense for any extended amount of time. With Signora, though, it’s easy enough to drown her out.

And that he does, resting his chin on his palm and tapping his fingers on the table, focusing on the life beneath him. It’s strange, he thinks, how different things are from the last time he’d been here. For an archon so strict about her ideals of eternity, the Shogun's new puppet has certainly allowed much to change in little more than a few months. The thought is almost amusing to Scaramouche.

Though, it would seem that some things will forever remain the same, he realizes when he makes out a familiar form in the streets. The figure is cheerfully reading a novel to a group of children gathered at their feet, turning the cover every so often to let them see the pictures. Of course, you had always been kind- inhumanly so. Perhaps the inhuman part should be stressed, perhaps that's why you’re able to look out at the world and smile. If you were human, Scaramouche wonders if you, too, would fall into the depravity that haunts their kind.

He does not get to consider it for too long, as your gazes meet.

You’re not supposed to bother him while he’s working- for your own safety, your lover has stressed time and time again- but the two of you are quite a distance apart right now, surely it would be fine to send him a perfectly friendly and unassuming greeting, right? If only so he knows that you’re thinking of him. So, you do, lifting your arm to wave happily at him, even adding in a wide smile.

Scaramouche nearly finds himself lifting his hand to mimic the gesture instinctively, but manages to catch himself and quickly drops his palm back to the table, dipping his head away and further into his other hand.

La Signora notices, of course, having seen her fellow harbinger make the exact same face as the one he dons now several times since arriving in Inazuma. The way he casts his eyes downward as he tries to fight the shade of red threatening to color his cheeks, how his mouth flattens into a forced scowl so he doesn’t accidentally smile- a part of her is angry, resentful, even. Once, oh so many years ago, she had made such a similar expression toward her own late lover. However, Signora’s bitterness is overpowered by a feeling of pity- though, for herself or for her companion, she cannot tell- and she decides it might be good to offer some advice to the lovesick fool in front of her. That, and, well, it’s funny to tease him.

“Your little Y/N’s out reading to the town's children again?” She purrs, glancing over the balcony to where Scaramouche’s eyes once fell. “My, don’t they ever get tired? It seems for the entirety of our time here, they’ve been out and about, chattering mindlessly with anyone who passes by. It’s not surprising they’re so well-liked.”

“Don’t say their name. Don’t even look at them.” Scaramouche growls, indigo eyes glaring into her icy ones.

“Come now, Balladeer, possessiveness is hardly an endearing trait in a lover.” She sighs with a plastic smile. Remarkably, he holds her stare in spite of an embarrassed flush snaking its way across his face at her use of the word lover. Another sour pang of pity hits her stomach at the sight, and she tilts her head. Her smile drops. “No, really, Scaramouche, I can’t help but wonder what they see in you. There they are, reading stories to kids, while you have a body count in the hundreds. They spend their free time caring for the sick, and you spend yours slamming underlings faces into the floor. Tell me, do they actually know who you are? Do you really think someone like them is content with someone like you?”

Shut up. Scaramouche wants to spew. You don’t know a fucking thing about them or me. You don’t know anything at all. The venom dies in his throat. Instead, Scaramouche slams his palms down on the table and stands.

“La Signora,” He declares, not bothering to tuck his stool back beneath the table. He gives her one last glare and adds, “Don’t fuck up your end of the mission.”

And with that, he leaves. It wasn’t an unexpected response, Signora knows. Still, as she lifts her teacup to her lips, she cannot help but hope her intentions did reach the Balladeer. It’s for the best, isn’t it? People like them were never made to survive the experience of love- yes, it would always be best to cut it off as swiftly as possible before the feeling overcomes you. After all, she would know better than anyone: Heartbreak is a dangerous thing.

It’s quite late into the night when your partner returns to your shared home. That’s not unusual, of course, you’re just glad he’s home at all. You’re already in your sleepwear, awaiting his arrival by the kotatsu table with a novel in hand. The same one you were reading to the children earlier, in fact- the prose is a bit flowery, but you’re rather fond of the artstyle within it. The story, too, is rather interesting. Perhaps Kunikuzushi would like to hear about it?

“Welcome home, my love.” You hum warmly, ever so slightly sleepily. He does not respond, instead yanking off his shoes and tossing them haphazardly by the door. Even the way he takes his hat off is rough, though he is more gentle when hanging it on the coat rack. Ah, he’s in a bad mood. Well, that’s not unusual, either. This isn’t the first time he’s come through the door grumpy, and it certainly won’t be the last.

What is unusual is the way he does not move to sit directly beside you, nor does he stomp off to your room to cool off from whatever is bothering him. Even in his worst moods, he has always been sure to inform you that he needs time alone. The only incident you can recall when this was different was when he’d returned from a failed mission a few months back, and was particularly shaken by something he’d discovered, choosing to sit in your back garden for hours into the night, just staring up at the sky. But, no, never has he sat on his knees across from you, fists clenched on the table, silently peering down.

It’s… certainly different, but, you decide, it is not the end of the world. You are patient. When Kunikuzushi is ready to talk, you trust that he will. He always has before. For the time being, you return to reading your novel- or, at least, you pretend to. You’re pretty sure if you were to continue reading on, you’d fall asleep. And you can’t have that! Not when your dear lover is upset about something.

You don’t have to wait too long, as you hear him release a sigh. “... Y/N.” Something about his voice causes worry to settle into you. It has been centuries since he’s spoken to you with such… hesitation? Much less with hesitation at the very beginning of a conversation. You gently place your book on the table and give him your full attention. Still, he does not look at you. His eyes briefly dart over to your novel before trailing back to the table in front of him. His hands… Are they trembling?

“Y/N. Why do you stay with me?”

The question alarms you. Goodness above, what happened to him today? Five hundred years and he has never asked you something so… insecure.

“Because I love you, Kunikuzushi.” You answer honestly. This causes his gaze to finally reach yours, and you feel your heart drop. His eyes were glassy, and, sure, you’ve seen him cry before, but given his previous question and current behavior, his searching stare makes your stomach twist anxiously.

“You shouldn’t.” He says lowly. “You shouldn’t, Y/N. I’m vile, and cruel, and-” he stops himself before he can finish with pathetic. Even at such a weak moment, his pride won’t let him admit that.

“-And, I love you.” You finish for him.

And. Not but, not in spite of. And you love him.

“I… hurt people. I enjoy hurting them. I could hurt you, too. Easily, too easily. Y/N, I could kill you right this instant and you wouldn’t even realize what I was doing before your head rolled on the floor.”

“And I love you.”

Kunikuzushi looks at you helplessly. He was well aware that you weren’t stupid, so why…

You reach across the kotatsu table, gently setting your hands on top of his, never looking away from him. Every part of him screams to rip away from you, disgust clenching his chest. He can’t. His hands are shaking.

“I love you,” you say once more. “I know you. I know what you are, who you are, and I love you. I trust you, with everything I have, Kunikuzushi. My heart, my body, my life- I have chosen to share myself with you, because I love you.”

You give his hands a soft squeeze before pulling away. He swallows thickly and nods, drawing his own hands to his lap and looking back down. You choose to get up from your position and move to sit closer beside him, giving him enough space to move away if he needs to… but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans into you, resting his weary head on your shoulder. Slowly, you move your arm behind him, rubbing circles comfortingly on his back. He takes your other hand in his and closes his eyes.

Tonight, he is unable to tell you that he loves you, too. He does not have to. After all, you know. You know just how you’ve wrapped his heartstrings around your finger, and he knows that your delicate hands would never cast him away. You know that he is yours, and he knows that you are his. And that is all either of you need to know, from now, until the end of time.