Latest Posts by ichxel - Page 2

BOYFRI3ND MAT3RIAL !

➵ tighnari, xiao, scaramouche

☯ love is real, and the proof was right infront of them

☯ genshin men + moments full of fluff ☆

☯ i was writing for albedo too but it came out so bad i just deleted it HELPSNLA anyways new theme slay

you had always disregarded TIGHNARI's affection and care for you as concern but even cyno thinks otherwise.

"i came here yesterday because i left my pen here but tighnari said it was too dark so i slept here" you shrugged, cyno was asking a bit too many questions and it was starting to feel weird.

"not ou of the ordinary, he's always nagging like a worried mother or something." you snorted hoping to brighten up the mood but cyno wasn't looking very amused.

perhaps it was because you had barricaded your heart or you were just incredibly dumb.

probably the second one.

tighnari walked in, his eyes landing on you with a cute smile before glancing over at cyno.

you paid no mind to their conversation, walking away to let them talk in peace.

it takes anyone around tighnari to notice how his voice is softer and less snappy when he's near you, maybe get a little closer and you'll see hearts in his eyes.

but unlike what others said, you knew.

you saw the way he always found some kind of excuse to have his hands on you, whether it would be to fix your collar or his hand on your waist to… help with stability, whatever that means.

he was obvious.

and maybe he wanted that.

his view of love was demoralized with his… work. but if that truly was the case, why is it that he's always behind you like some puppy?

literally.

"hey y/n." his hand was placed on your shoulder, squeezing lightly.

you responded with a hmm?, trying not to look at him in fear that your expression might give anything away.

"hey, have you ate yet? i told you to-"

and there he goes.

but as he's spilling out these random words out of his mouth, you realize—

he'd make a good husband.

more chars utc ➹

xiao had always said he found no interest in foolish stuff such as... love.

but he has buried his jealousy towards lovers with the same sentence he says when asked about the topic.

he's fully aware that getting too close to someone will only end with regret on the other person's side.

living for so long, he's long forgotten the sensation of tenderness, if he's ever felt it before... oops. don't say that around him.

but he wonders if this little bird that's chirping in his ear everyday will change that.

he loved seeing you with that same dopey smile but he dreaded that feeling in his chest whenever he left his mind wander off for too long.

finally, he gets a small rest from all of these intrusive thoughts when he sits next to you, watching the way your eyes twinkled, following the lanterns in the dark blue sky.

"it's super duper beautiful!! don't you think so, xiao?" he got startled when your head turned to look at him, who paid no mind to the big stars in the sky, as you called them.

thankfully, you turned your attention to the crystalfly that flew infront of your face, a gasp erupting out of you.

you were charming.

you knew about all the tragic events in teyvat, but you never brought them up to anyone, choosing to leave that in the past.

too bad his past is and will always be bound to him.

but he swats away his troubles so he could leave this chaos for even a split second, for you.

if you really did find crystalflies so beautiful, then he should call you a crystalfly-

"is it true that crystalflies die too early?" your voice was soft but he still flinched for some reason.

ah... of course.

something will always turn against him, huh?.

scaramouche was angry.

it wasn't uncommon to see him angry, but it was uncommon to see him be so childish.

you had refused his kisses because you were annoyed and exhausted but then it turned to him being annoyed and exhausted.

it was almost 1am and he was still sitting on the chair next to your bed, folding his ars over his chest while he puffed out his cheeks.

cute, you would call him if you weren't so tired right now.

"love, just lay down please..." your hoarse voice called out but he hmph-ed, looking away dramatically.

letting out a sigh you murmured— "fine then, i'll just sleep by myself."

you expected him to jump into the bed immediately but was shocked when the other side of the bed was still empty.

you were starting to get worried and turn around but was relieved when the bed sunk with his weight.

the little guilt was making your heart ache too much so you shifted closer to him, laying down on your back before pulling him closer.

"what are you-" his words were left discontinued when you lifted his head onto your chest, softly running your fingers thru his hair to lull him to sleep.

he wanted to pull the upset act a bit but was shut down when he heard your heartbeat, loud and clear, ringing in his ears.

the feeling was unexplainable, he felt envious yet joyful at the same time.

closing his eyes, he slowly placed his hand on his chest, where his heart would be.

not proofread pls forgive me for any mistakes lol

#-reblogs are greatly appreciated !

i think about this a lot

Traveler puts Scaramouche in the teapot with Raiden and Nahida as company.

3.2 had yet to drop at this time so these are just some of my hopes for Scaramouche's story <3

Masterlists of SMAU’s because i cannot keep up with it

i do not own any of this

Albedo -

adore u (literally) by fuyuobsession (completed)

Artificial. by yuzuricebun

clash of hearts by zephyrxiao

dar + ling by togesgf

Xiao -

Good 4 u by ilkuni (completed)

be my mistake by aequha (completed)

cynosure by starglitterz (completed)

someone you like! by rrinsluvr

up turn! by kaz3yo

call it what you want bye aequha

10 things i hate about you by x-xxiaos

Childe -

Upper Side Dreamin’ by fuyuobsession

february! by rrinsluvr

Second Choice by sataroi

Scaramouche -

Love is a song by thomacrumbs

abyssal love by calxide

pulled by an act by bobachiibaka

Kazuha - 

earworm by himekuwu

clear weather all around brightens the heart by apotatouwu

favorite poet by arminsbimbo

Ayato - 

lowkey by ilkuni

Toge -

Like you meant it by tbhbee

scaramouche as your top artist !

soloist scaramouche x model g!n reader

synopsis: you modeled for scaramouche’s album cover, unaware the songs were written about you

warnings: dense reader, opposite of slow burn cus it’s a oneshot, wont do a part two so don’t ask 🙏 i’m sleep deprived will fix any typos later

masterlist

✰ you’d been a fan of scaramouche and his music for quite some time, following him since he debuted

✰ after getting a model contract you were even able to run into him a few times at networking events, exchanging pleasantries and curt nods

✰ eventually, your manager got into contact with his after scara garnered a liking for your portfolio

✰ his company was preparing beforehand for his album, asking if you’d be okay with taking a few promotional photos for careful consideration

✰ obviously, you accepted the offer. you were happy to even be considered as a potential album cover

✰ scara was with you during the entire process, directing the photoshoot and even spending time with you one on one. you didn’t realize he was so immersed in his work

✰ during preparation for his comeback you went on outings with him, getting to know him a little too well. was he like this with all his workers?

✰ you tried to not think too much into it, knowing you had absolutely no chance with your idol, let alone an international star

✰ you thought that after getting picked to be his album cover a few weeks later that your friendship with scaramouche would come to an end

✰ but, surprisingly, he commented on your posts and went out of his way to find you at events

✰ you couldn’t help but catch feelings for him

(yeah ik the album cover is basic but i don’t wanna show a face to keep it g!n !! sorry if it isn’t your body type </3 and y/n pfp is a zoom in of a model holding a book)

✰ eventually, his album released and it was all everyone could talk about. it was the only thing you listened to for hours on end. his voice haunted you everywhere you went

✰ apparently during the course of the album he had scrapped multiple songs, rewriting them after getting to know you

✰ you stayed in contact with him throughout the year, cheering him on during events and calling him to let him know your thoughts on his music

✰ eventually, spotify wrapped rolled around and called you out

✰ you didn’t expect him to actually be serious and were pleasantly surprised when he actually picked up

✰ “did you actually enjoy my music?”

✰ “obviously, but looking at myself was a good bonus.”

✰ “yeah? what about the lyrics. they were clearly about you.”

✰ “what.”

✰ “why else would i make them choose you as the album cover in the end?”

✰ “because i’m hot?”

✰ “i’m not going to deny that, but it’s because you’re fucking dense and kept assuming everytime that i asked you out on a date it was a hangout.”

✰ “to be honest i assumed they were business meetings.”

✰ “WHY THE FUCK WOULD I RENT OUT AN ARCADE AND DINER FOR A BUSINESS MEETING?”

✰ “I DIDN’T WANT TO QUESTION YOUR METHODS!”

✰ “…”

✰ after that embarrassing phone call, with his voice low in your ear, you both went out on an actual date. one where you actually knew it was a date and acknowledge his feelings…

✰ he takes you to the beach, the same one where you did the photoshoot for his comeback. you both have to wear masks and hats to stay discreet but it’s fun nevertheless

✰ he admits he had to postpone the album after getting inspiration from his feelings for you, grumbling as you tease him for it

✰ you react to the songs once more with him, now understanding the depth of the lyrics

✰ scara eventually grows sick of your incessant teasing and picks you up, threatening to drop you into the ocean as you screamed playfully for him to stop

✰ it takes a few weeks of sneaking around and dating before you eventually release photos and make it official ^-^

lyrics are from i wanna be yours, which is such a sexy song btw and mv thumbnail is my bf taehyung

author’s notes: i haven’t done a oneshot in a while and ik this is fast paced but i wasn’t about to bust out another smau 😭 spotify wrapped gave me brainrot about soloist scara !! i forgot who suggested model yn but shoutout to that anon 🫵

the fall

a quick one-shot I wrote after playing the new archon quest, about the only thing that kinda bothered me. so this isn’t particularly well-written or anything, just a quick, self indulgent little thing.

spoilers for the archon quest (3.2) ahead.

Watching Scaramouche, the so-called “False God,” desperately reach out for the electro Gnosis, hearing him beg with that heartbreaking expression on his usually resentful, cold face… And seeing Nahida, the Traveler and Paimon completely ignore his pleas in favor of using the Gnosis to save Irminsul, it made something twist inside your chest.

Keep reading

✨✨✨

the stars are prettier. - scaramouche

entry for @versadies ’s event farewell love !

warnings : gender neutral. angst. major character death. injury. slight spoilers for scaras backstory & use of his real name. spoilers for the aftermath of 3.2 archon quest. traveler is not specified. english is not my first language.

w/c : 1883

the inazuman night flowers have always been beautiful to kunikuzushi.

yet, as you sit there with him, their beauty dims in comparison with yours. the same could be said for you, as to you, he’s the most beautiful creature you’ve laid your eyes on.

“hey, kuni, i sliced some lavender melons. would you like some?”

he nods eagerly and scooches closer to you so you can share the sweet fruit slices. a gust of wind rustles the leaves of chinju forests’ trees and pushes the young boys’ veil to his shoulders, at which you chuckle.

reaching out to help fix it for him, he pauses his munching and looks at you with a startled look in his eyes. you finish your actions and glance over at his face, smiling softly when you catch him staring.

“you’re very pretty, you know that? it’s slightly unfair. how am i supposed to compete?”

Keep reading

❝cupid❞

៚ xiao, scaramouche, albedo

ᝰ genshin chars with an innocent reader + kind of school au?

꒦꒷ its 7am here and i am dying also suggestive at albedos part!!

xiao with an innocent kouhai, a sweet student who's oh so reckless, he needs to look after you at all times!! what do you mean you don't want him being so protective? theres so many creeps out there, the only one that could save you is him!!

"it's better if you leave now." xiao barked at the students cornering you, glaring at them with the same look he gives everyone.

well, except you.

when there was no one around, he squated next to you and whispered into your ear—

"tsk, i've told you before and this happened because you were so careless." his voice was husky and wasn't like the caring voice he used when he talked to you.

"i-i know.. i'm sorry, xiao." you sobbed as fat tears welled up in your eyes.

he rubs your arm in a comforting way, you don't even notice the way his pants tighten from watching you cry on your knees </33

he's the sweetest senior<3 you should listen to him at all times or there will be consequences.

scaramouche with an innocent kouhai, so dumb and too naive. if you don't obey him, he'll just have to leave you to deal with his gang. with the way the ginger and the masked freak stares you down like you're a prey, you don't have much of a choice anyways TT

"you're so annoying. always follwing me around like a lost puppy." his words were full of venom but the glint in his eyes says otherwise.

"fine then! i'll just go." you let out a hmph!! and walked towards the door until the door swung open, revealing two tall figures.

oh no.

you vividly remembered their names— was it... Dottore and Tartaglia?

you saw the way they would look at you when you dragged scaramouche away from them. the way they looked at you like a small bunny that they wanted to capture and keep forever ⊙﹏⊙

a squeak escaped your throat as you ran behind scaramouche, holding his waist tightly.

maybe inviting them wasn't a bad idea, scaramouche thought.

albedo with an innocent kouhai who's so kind and generous, always willing to help him with his dangerous experiments, you're the bravest!! so admirable he'll say. and with so much praise, it raises your ego a bit too much.

usually his experiments on you made you a little dizzy or numb on certain parts on your body.

but today was different.

your tummy felt so weird and your legs were shaking!! afraid of anything bad happening you told albedo—

"bedo... feel so strange..." you bat your eyelashes at him and he let out a small chuckle.

"no no, baby. it's okay. you're being so good for me you know.."

baby? you're being good?

with  that, you held your breath and laid back as he continued examining your body reacting to the strange liquid he gave you.

"what do you feel... here." you suddenly felt his fingers press on your inner thigh, a little too close to your sensitive flower<333

"d-dont!!" unfortunately, your whines only encouraged him to go further.

#-reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

You’re a healer in the Fatui, assigned to serve the Harbingers in Sneznhaya. This is a bit self indulgent but I promise I did my best to keep him in character! I enjoy Harbinger Scaramouche, so this is set before he went all AWOL xD reader is female. If you have requests for me I’d love that!

“Here you go,” said the eleventh harbinger with a friendly grin. “Your very own office.” He opened the door for you and you followed him inside. You set your things on the mahogany desk in the corner and turned back around to face him. 

“Thank you, lord Tartaglia,” you said, bowing your head. 

He laughed. “Call me Childe,” he said, waving lazily as he left the room, closing the door behind him. 

You looked around the spacious office—your spacious office. You’d been promoted as a healer for the Harbingers recently, and today was the day of your transfer. You looked in the cabinets to find supplies of various kinds. From splints to bandages, sutures, and medicine. 

After inspecting the contents of the cabinets, you wandered to your desk and sat down, opening a drawer. Inside, there was a notebook detailing every Harbinger and you read through every file carefully, determined to commit everything to memory. You learned that currently there were only 3 harbingers on active duty. Number 8, lady Signora, number 6, lord Scaramouche and number 11, Childe. 

It was your third day on duty when number 6 walked into your office. You stood quickly to greet him. “Lord Scaramouche,” you said, looking at him. He was even more striking than his picture, but at the moment, he was disheveled and injured. 

He didn’t acknowledge your greeting, merely eyeing you with fierce, violet eyes. You approached him, hands out and open. He had a nasty cut across his face that made you hiss softly in sympathy, and several cuts all along his arms. Your eyes assess him quickly, then you speak again. “Lord Scaramouche, may I remove this, to assess any injuries I can’t currently see?” You tug gently at his shirt. 

He nods sharply, slowly raising his arms like it pained him to do so. You lift his shirt slowly, trying hard not to scrape it over any of the injuries on his arms. You gasp at the wound on his side, your hands immediately going to work. Without warning him, your icy hand touches his wound, enveloped with your cryo power and he hisses loudly.

“I’m sorry, my lord!” you say, touching his arm, trying to comfort him with your other hand. This wound takes the longest, but as the bleeding stops and the skin beneath your hand becomes whole once more, his breathing becomes more normal. 

“My lord, what happened..?” you ask softly, your eyes meeting his. 

There’s suddenly static in the air around you, and his violet eyes flash. “I don’t recall being required to answer to the help,” he snaps. 

Your face fell. “Of course, I forget my place,” you said. You try to hurry now, not wanting to irritate him further. You finally finish the injuries on his arms, and move to the one on his face, still fresh and bleeding. His gaze meets yours and you break eye contact quickly, your heart pounding as you focus on trying to heal his face as quickly as you can. You’re so, so stupid! You scold yourself. 

Your hand is so gentle against him, and he watches you intently, almost evaluating your worth. You can feel his judgement and you silently pray for his patience. “I’m sorry,” you say, “for taking so long. I just don’t want any of these to scar…” 

He raises an eyebrow at you. Why would you concern yourself at all with scars? Your job was simply to make sure the harbingers’ injuries didn’t keep them out of the field. 

You took a step back, bowing to him again. “You’re all done sir,” you say. 

Scaramouche dresses and leaves without a word or even a glance in your direction. 

***

“He hates me,” you mutter to Childe, your only friend in this whole place as you finish his healing session. You’d told him the story from the other day, leaving out confidential information about his condition, merely telling Childe how you’d openly disrespected The Balladeer. 

Childe’s soft laughter rang in the air and you groaned. “I actually don’t think he does. If he didn’t threaten to snap your neck, I’d say he was just pissed from being in pain. He didn’t look good when he came back from his last mission.” 

“So you saw him,” you said.

“Yeah. He looked like he’d been in quite the battle,” Childe said, still grinning. “But hey, I’d say you’re one hell of a healer. He didn’t fire you!” 

“Is that why I was promoted?” You ask, your eyes wide.

“He’s fired the last three. I was going to tell you but I didn’t want to psych you out,” he said. 

You punch his arm. “Thanks a lot!” 

“Ow! Hey, okay, I’m sorry,” he said, and you glared at him. He didn’t look sorry at all. “Anyway, thank you,” he said sincerely. 

You smiled fondly at your friend, hugging him. “Come back in one piece,” you murmur.

“I will,” he said, wrapping your small frame in a one armed hug. “See you when I get back.” 

***

You sat at your desk, logging in information on your healing sessions with the harbingers, as well as the  agents who had come to you for sessions. 

You flipped to Signora’s file and you couldn’t help but make a face. She was so difficult and rude and you scowled, writing down the injuries she’d come to you with, disdain in her voice as she told you to hurry up, and how she didn’t have all day. She’d called you incompetent even and you’d had to bite your tongue to not tell her to fuck herself. You hated her. 

Your door swung open, making you startle slightly. You looked up to see Scaramouche walking into your office, closing the door behind him. You flipped your log shut, standing immediately to greet him. 

“Good afternoon, lord Scaramouche,” you say, bowing your head. 

He eyes you, saying nothing before turning his back to you, revealing quite the gash behind his shoulder. You wince when you see it, murmuring to yourself that it looked painful. Your hands flickered with your Cryo power as you make your way over to him.

“Ready?” you ask, making sure to warn him this time. 

“Go ahead,” he says gruffly. 

Your hands bring immediate relief to the searing pain. Your fingers press tenderly onto his skin, sliding into his shirt through the hole over the injury. An audible sigh of relief escapes his lips as the wound closes. 

Your hands leave him and then you speak softly. “Are there any more injuries I need to treat sir?” 

He turns around to face you, his amethyst eyes meeting yours. You fought the urge to look away from him. Archons, he’s beautiful…

“That’s the only one,” he said, his voice inflectionless. 

You nod, a small smile lifting the corners of your mouth. “You’re all set, then.” 

He smirks. “At least those fools down at the recruiting office managed to send a proper healer this time.” 

Your eyes widen in shock at his praise. You smile a little wider at him. “I’m pleased that you think so, lord Scaramouche,” you say. “I wish everyone did.” 

“Who does not?” he asked, raising an elegant eyebrow.

“Lady Signora…” you say, picking at the hem of your shirt. 

He snorts, the sound making your head snap back up to look at him. “She’s fucking useless. Stupid bitch couldn’t carry out her last mission without nearly getting our whole embassy kicked out of Liyue.” He made his way to the door, before half turning back to you. “Pay her no mind,” he said, then stalked out the door. 

***

It was late, and you stretched in your chair, you’d lost track of time. Several of the agents training before deployment had come into your office. You’d had more sessions that day than any other since your arrival and you wondered at the reason for the increase in new recruits lately. 

You leave your office. The hallways in  this wing of the palace were dark now. You adjust your bag, making your way down the hall to the grand exit. There was light coming from a room to your right and you’re suddenly curious. Who could still be here? 

You approach slowly and peek into the room. It was Scaramouche. He was sitting at a beautiful mahogany desk, ornately crafted, with a murderous look on his face as he poured over a massive stack of papers in front of him. 

You bit your lip. He hadn’t noticed you at all, and you hesitated to make your presence known. Swallowing hard, you knocked softly on the open door. 

He glanced up, his fierce eyes meeting yours. 

“Lord Scaramouche?” you murmur, a questioning look in your eyes.

“What is it?” he asks, harsher than he meant to. 

“My lord, it’s so late.” you stammer. You didn’t dare question what he was doing, so instead you ask “May I get you anything?”

His expression softens ever so slightly. He sighs impatiently, but you know it wasn’t directed at you. “Coffee.” he says. “I’m going to be here a while.” 

You nod, “I’ll be right back.” 

You return with coffee in the biggest mug you could find, knocking on his door softly before entering. You set the tray on the edge of the desk, away from the stack of documents he wished he could burn. 

“I wasn’t sure how you like it so I brought cream and sugar on the side,” you say. 

He nods, reaching for his coffee and you note the amount of sugar and cream he pours into the mug. He looks at you critically after taking a sip. “What are you still doing here so late?” 

“Ah, well a dozen recruits came to see me right around when my day should have ended,” you said. 

He muttered something about the trainees Signora was most likely taking with her to Inazuma, probably to fuck up her next assignment. 

You hesitated to ask what he was still doing here, afraid to irritate him a second time. Your curiosity bested your better judgment though, so you took the chance to ask. “Why are you having to be here so late, my lord?” 

You prepared to be reprimanded for your insolence. He sips his coffee and scowls. “Because Signora is a fucking halfwit, and these,” he says, gesturing to the mountain of paperwork, “are the demands of the Liyuean government in order to allow us to continue operating there. There are reparations we have to pay for damages Signora allowed to happen, and the fucking head of their government wants us to pay—-“ he paused, making sure he had read the document in his hands correctly. “500 million Mora for her fucking floating chamber or some shit? What IS this??” 

“Did you say floating chamber?” you asked. 

“That’s what this fucking says,” he seethed. “We have to agree to follow all their terms. This is so stupid,” he mutters, angrily stamping the document for this floating chamber and slamming it down in another pile. You guessed that was the pile he’s been through already. 

“I’m so sorry you have to do all of this by yourself. You have to read ALL of this?” you ask incredulously. 

“Yup. Lucky me. Signora gets another assignment and I get stuck cleaning her fucking mess.” 

“Would…would you like some help?” you ask. 

He paused again, looking up at you. “You?” 

“I could read through some of that and give you the important details.” you offer. “Then you can approve them.” 

He stares at you for a long moment and you almost regret asking. He stands up, walking to the other side of the room and grabs hold of a chair, dragging it behind his desk, beside his. His nimble fingers then take a chunk off the stack of papers and he places it in front of the extra chair without a word. 

You smile as you both settle into the chairs and you start on your pile. It’s quiet for the most part, the sound of you both leafing through page after page is all you hear. He picks up the seal and you watch as he presses it into a pad of ink before pressing it onto a page. 

You clear your throat. “This part says the Northland Bank is expected to pay for the medical expenses for any injured Millelith due to the Osial incident,” you murmur quietly. 

He picks up the seal, handing it to you wordlessly. You take the seal, your cheeks blushing slightly as your fingers graze his. He doesn’t seem to notice. You stamp the document in the correct spot, and move onto the next section. 

You continue this way for a few hours longer, until your eyes begin to grow heavy. You tried hard to focus on the section you were on, blinking hard as you struggle to make sense of the words on the page. Sleepiness overcomes you though and you slump over to one side. 

Scaramouche startles when your head lightly lands on his shoulder. He looks at you, realizing that you’d fallen asleep. He sets down the document he was reading and looks over at the ornate clock on the wall. It was well passed midnight. 

His eyes linger on the stack you’d managed to get through and he felt a strange emotion tugging at his heart. Why was he pleased to have you in his presence? Why didn’t he want to move? 

He finished the section he was halfway through, and reached without looking for the seal to approve it. It wasn’t in the space on his desk between you and him and he scowled, thinking he’d misplaced it. “Fuck,” he hissed, turning his head to look for it. 

He saw it clasped softly in your hand. With gentleness he was not known to possess, he carefully pried it from your fingers, a twinge of regret in his heart as you stirred awake. 

It takes you a moment to realize where you are. Gentle fingers pull something out of your hand and a questioning hum leaves your parted lips. 

When you realize where you are, your heart stops. “We’re done for the night,” you hear him say softly. 

“My lord,” you stammer, quickly lifting your head from his shoulder. “Please forgive me, I’m so, so sorry.” You couldn’t even look at him. Embarrassment and fear washed over you in palpable waves. 

He frowns, his index finger going under your chin, lifting it to make you look at him. 

“There’s no need for that,” he says. 

You search his eyes and there’s no anger, no irritation. His expression looked almost questioning, but you couldn’t be sure. 

He stands from his chair, stretching before looking down at you, offering you his hand. You take hold and he assists you in standing, and the two of you make your way outside of his office. 

“Get some rest,” he says, his eyes lingering on you after he closes the door to his office.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur. “Goodnight.” 

He doesn’t reply, turning on his heel, heading towards the elevator. 

You make your own way to your assigned suite, barely staying conscious long enough to make it to your bed. 

The next morning, you’re still a little tired as you shuffle through your morning routine. You tie your hair up in some sort of semblance of a messy bun, motivation to do anything else with it completely gone today. 

You make your way to your office, mentally going through your to do list for the day. You started on your list, when you hear a knock at the door. “Enter,” you call. 

An agent enters, carrying a silver tray with coffee, cream and sugar in her hands. “This was sent for you, miss.” she says. 

You smile, “thank you so much,” you say, gesturing for her to set it down. She does, nods to you and takes her leave. 

On the tray, next to the cream, there was a small envelope. Curious, you opened it. You pull a long, slender key from it, and tied to it, from a silk ribbon was a note. 

Written in elegant handwriting was as follows: Wait for me in my office after work and don’t forget to bring more coffee. -S. 

You held the key tightly in one hand, a silly grin plastered onto your face as you read and reread his note. 

Your work day couldn’t end quickly enough. 

***

You balanced the tray with one hand and slipped his key into the lock with the other. Turning it, there was an audible click as you turned the door knob, opening the door. You pulled the key out and entered, closing the door softly behind you. 

He wasn’t there. On his desk, the stacks of papers were there just as you’d both left them last night, and so were the chairs. You set the tray down, and wondered how long he would be. 

His office was gorgeous. You hadn’t really paid much attention yesterday. It was furnished with pieces so ornate you didn’t even want to contemplate what they must have cost. You wandered to a bookshelf against the wall, pulled a random book from it and walked to the plush, leather couch in the middle of the room. 

You sat, opening the book, being careful with the pages. You read for about an hour, about ancient magic and ley lines before the door swung open, hitting the wall with an audible slam. 

Badly startled, you looked up at Scaramouche, who had a look on his face that spelled murder. You felt static in the air, the faint tingle of Electro sparking against your skin. 

You stood quickly. “My lord?” you question. 

He says nothing, slamming the door shut again. He remained facing the door, his shoulders tense as he tried to reign in his temper. 

You slowly approached him. “Lord Scaramouche,” you whisper, reaching out, slowly to touch his arm. 

He turned around to face you and your brow furrowed at his expression. You slipped your arms slowly around him. He didn’t resist, instead leaning into your embrace. He doesn’t hug you back but he places his forehead on your shoulder.

You don’t press him, you say nothing. After some time, he calms down and mutters that he was surrounded by idiots today, and what the fuck did he have to do to get underlings who could follow orders? 

Despite yourself, you laugh. He huffs against your neck and lifts his head to glare daggers at you. 

“It’s not funny,” he snaps. 

“It’s kind of funny,” you say, unafraid of him now. You reach out, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. 

His eyes pierce yours, his expression unreadable again. He moves closer to you and your breath catches in your throat when an iron grip wraps around your waist. His expression is suddenly superior. “You are playing a very dangerous game.” 

Your lips part and you feel your cheeks flush. You wanted to say something witty right back at him but words eluded you. 

“What’s the matter?” he asks, his face inches from yours. “You were so smug a minute ago.” 

You couldn’t speak when his lips found your neck. You gasped and your reaction spurred him to continue. 

“You will wear your hair down from now on,” he commanded, his fingers going on top of your head and breaking the hair tie holding your messy bun in place. “Say you will,” he said, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back to expose your neck. 

Your fingers go into his hair, raking through it as he kisses all over your throat. “I’ll wear my hair down, my lor—“ 

“Scaramouche,” he says, giving you unprecedented permission to call him only by his name. He kissess your jaw, then finally your lips. His kiss is yearning, passionate, and tender. 

You kiss him back, gasping into his lips and he smiles against you. Your heart pounds and you’re certain he can hear it as he slips his tongue into your mouth. His arms are possessive around you, in stark contrast to the sweet way he was kissing you. 

“Archons,” he whispers, his face going into the crook of your neck. He closes his eyes when he feels gentle kisses on the side of his face. 

He reluctantly pulls away from you. You look up at him, smiling happily. He smirks back at you, before flicking your forehead. “That’s for earlier.” 

“Ow!” you protest, covering the spot he’d flicked with your hand. 

“Oh, shut up and come help me finish this shit,” he says. 

You mumble incoherently as you follow him to your chair, but you’re not even halfway angry and he knows it. Damn him to hell. 

***

You twirl one of his pens that probably costs more than what you made in a month absentmindedly between your thumb and index finger. “I don’t understand this one at all,” you confess, taking the related pages and sliding them over to him. 

“It’s fine,” he says, taking them from you. “Let’s stop for today. I can finish this tomorrow.” He stamps the page he was reading and places some pages in the “done” pile and you’re so pleased to see that there indeed isn’t much left. 

He turns to face you, and a twinge of some unknown emotion pulls at his heart when he sees how tired you look. “I’ll make sure you’re compensated for your time here.” 

“What? No,” you say, shaking your head. “Don’t you dare, Scaramouche. I wanted to help you. I wanted to be here.” You lift your chin in defiance. “I won’t let you pay me for this.” 

“You act like you have a choice,” he says, and suddenly you’re in his lap, pulled out of your chair by that iron grip. Archons, he was so strong. 

“Please?” you said, caressing his angelic face. “Please. I don’t want your money. I didn’t—I’m not here for that. I’m here for you.” 

He scoffs, trying so hard to pretend like you weren’t stirring emotions in his heart. “Fine, whatever then,” he mutters. 

He kisses you back when you lean into him a moment later, and when you leave his office for the night, he tells you to keep the key when you tried to return it to him. 

***

Signora strolls into your office one morning, not even bothering to knock. “Get out,” she snaps at the young recruit, who you were just finishing up with. You grit your teeth in annoyance as the young girl scrambles out of your office like a terrified mouse. 

“Lady Signora,” you mutter, “good morning.” Your fingers reach for the pen tucked behind your ear. It was the one you’d—uhem—stolen from Scaramouche. “How can I assist you?”

“Begin packing your belongings immediately,” she says, looking at her flawless manicure. “You’ll be leaving with me the day after tomorrow to Inazuma.” 

“What?” you asked, your eyes going wide with disbelief. 

She glares at you with irritation. “What part didn’t you comprehend? You’re being reassigned.” She tosses an envelope at you before turning to leave your office. “Be ready to leave as instructed.” 

You sank into your chair as your shaking hands tore open the envelope. Contained within were your orders to relocate to Inazuma and in the corner, was the seal of La Signora herself. 

***

Scaramouche sat at his desk, diligently writing instructions to be sent to the agents stationed in Mondstadt, when the sound of a key sliding into the lock on his door drew his attention. He smirked, knowing it was you. It was so early in the day. Did you miss him that much? 

You opened the door, and the smile he wore left his face when he saw your stricken expression. “(Name), what is it?” 

“S-Signora…” you whispered. “She’s…she’s reassigning me to Inazuma with her in two days.” Tears stained your face, and you tried hard to hold back the sobs that rose from your chest. 

Scaramouche looked critical. Like hell you were going anywhere if you wanted to stay. He wondered why you were so upset. 

“Are you going to say anything?” you asked, wiping your tears with your sleeve. Does he not care one bit? 

Scaramouche blinked. He was baffled as he gestured you over to him. You complied, and you didn’t wait for his permission before you settled yourself miserably into his lap. He smiled softly when you tucked your face into his neck. 

He was quiet and calm when he reached into a drawer on his desk, for a blank document and for a pen. You heard the sound of a pen gliding against expensive paper and your heart ached. You didn’t look,  but you assumed he’d just resumed what he was doing before you burst into his office, a crying mess. 

He opened a different drawer and pulled an envelope from it. He shifted you slightly so he could reach for his seal across his desk. He then stamped whatever he’d just written. “You’re friends with number 11, are you not?” he asked. 

You sniffled, wondering why on earth he was asking. “Yes,” you answered, pushing yourself back so you could sit up straight. 

“Good. He can make himself useful today.” Scaramouche said. 

Frustrated, you were about to ask what he meant, but before you could, he startled you, barking for an agent. The same girl who had brought you your coffee the other morning rushed into his office. 

“My lord?” she asked, bowing deeply. 

“Take this to Tartaglia immediately,” he said, holding the envelope out to her. 

She rushed forward to retrieve it.  “Yes, my lord.” She bowed again before hastily dashing out of his office.

“Is Childe back?” you asked. 

“This morning I believe,” he replied, nonchalantly. He picked up his pen again and returned to his previous task, stroking your hair softly with his other hand. 

“I hate her,” you said softly. 

He hummed. “She is of no consequence.” 

“That’s easy for you to say, Scaramouche,” you snapped. “She can’t just make you rearrange your whole life with a snap of her fingers like she just did to me.” 

And then he understood. “Do you think I’m so incapable?” he asked coldly. 

“What?” you asked. 

“If you didn’t come to me because you know I’m stronger than Signora, why the fuck are you here, hm?” 

“Scaramouche—“ you began. 

“Do you want to stay or don’t you?” he asked, his eyes flashing. 

“Of course I do!“ you said, clutching the front of his shirt. 

“Say it,” he said, his voice low. 

“I want to stay with you. I don’t want to go to Inazuma with her.” You cupped his face with both of your hands. “Please don’t let her take me.” Your arms slipped slowly around his neck. “I’m sorry. Please, don’t let her take me.” 

“Don’t ever doubt my ability to keep that which is mine,” he said gruffly, one arm going around your waist at last. “Signora is nothing.” 

You nodded, softly kissing his neck. You heard the sound of his pen against paper again and you relaxed entirely against him. 

You’d nearly fallen asleep in his lap when the door to his office slammed open, startling you. You turned to see Signora, holding a crumpled document in her gloved hand.  You scrambled to get off of his lap, but he held you in place, murmuring softly for you to stay. 

“You have some nerve barging in here uninvited,” Scaramouche drawled, adjusting you gently on his lap, into a position more comfortable for him. 

“No, you have some nerve!” she shot back. “What is the meaning of this, Scaramouche?” She held up the parchment. 

“What do you think it is?” he asked. “I’ve countered your orders to relocate (Name), and so has Tartaglia.” He sounded positively bored. 

“My unit will need a healer,” she snapped back. “Inazuma is hostile. The girl will come. She’s not needed here just for you and Childe and a few trainees.” 

“You’re overruled, Signora,” he said, like he was talking to a petulant toddler. “Find another healer, or don’t. I really don’t care. Now, get the fuck out.” 

“Listen to me Scar—“ you heard Signora say, and then you felt the boy beneath you tense with anger. 

“You are one sentence away from dying where you stand,” he said softly, his voice low and deadly. “The girl is mine. I outrank you, bitch. And even if I didn’t, it wouldn’t matter because you’re no match for me. Now, if you don’t want proof that what I’m saying is the truth, get out of my sight.” 

Signora seethed, but she didn’t say another word before she stormed out of the office, slamming the door so hard, the walls rattled. 

Scaramouche sighed, agitated. “The fucking shit I have to put up with.” 

You looked at him, tears sparkling in your eyes. You straddled his lap, surprising him. Your lips found his, and he could practically taste the relief you felt as he kissed you. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. You were breathless and all you wanted was him. 

Possessive hands tugged you closer against him and he looked into your eyes. “No one is going to take you away from me.” His fingers moved to brush a strand of hair behind your ear when his fingers touched something slender hidden in your hair. He pulled his pen out from behind your ear and scoffed. “You little thief!” 

You laughed, and though he’d never admit it out loud, he loved how you sounded. “I wanted something of yours to keep with me during the day when I’m working.” 

He was speechless. He didn’t know how to respond or why what you’d just said made him so damn happy. How had you weaseled your way into his heart? He never let anyone so close; he never wanted anyone so close. 

“Archons,” he said at last, pressing the extravagant pen into your hand. You beamed up at him and took it, and he tightened his hold on you. “What have you done to me?” 

“Nothing that you haven’t done to me,” you replied. 

He tucked your head under his chin. “You better take care of that pen. That’s my favorite one.” 

You laughed again and he decided he’d do anything, deny you nothing if it meant he’d get to hear that sound. 

🎭 just playing the part !

a social media au | scaramouche x gender neutral reader

synopsis: you and scaramouche are both drama majors and have been at each other’s throats vying for the same lead roles since high school. but when you’re both cast as each other’s love interest in your second year you’re forced to be civil with your academic rival and see him in a new light. are his feelings for you true or is he just playing the part?

genre: modern college au, enemies/rivals to lovers, fluff, crack, angst if you squint

status: - ongoing, random updates, will try not to drag it out

warnings! time stamps don’t matter, unsupportive parents, mentions of alcohol and weed, will add more if needed, slight ooc?

ACTION!

the cast:

↳ y/n’s gang | scara’s “friends”

ACT ONE — new year same me cus i’m perfect !

01. the announcement

02. on the edge of my seat

03. beat me to it

04. the amigos

05. an unexpected companion

06. a one night stand

07. red flag

08. auditions

09. anticipation

10. monopoly ruins friendships

ACT TWO — the show must go on !

11. i won but at what cost

12. just admit you’re a virgin

13. i’m kinkshaming you

14. he’s a ten but he has mommy issues

15. grape lookin ass

16. enemies with benefits

17. will you be my bf? (totally not clickbait!)

18. wikihow perfect first kisses

19. with the taste of your lips i’m on a ride

20. bereal? id rather bedead / 20.5 confirm or delete

ACT THREE — break a leg !

21. is this what friends do?

22. twenty-one questions

23. walk him like a dog

24. free therapy

25. suffer in silence

26. kiss cam

27. falling for ya, literally

28. emails i cant send

29. yes or yes

30. loyalty tests

ACT FOUR — curtain call !

31. making it big

32. the it couple

33. after party; epilogue

CUT!

tag list — closed!

author’s note: i wanted to try smth longer tumblr needs more scara aus since we unlocked his heartbreaking backstory ,,, o(╥﹏╥)o i’m doing a college au! go easy on me this is my first long smau !! if u want me to continue it pls lmk i need motivation,,i’m also in college so i don’t have an update schedule lmao

ᵔᴗᵔ . . 𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝘀𝗼𝗳𝘁 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂 !

ᴖ.ᴖ . . fem!reader ⁝ wc. 895 ⁝ reblog

𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵𝗲 [𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗿]

it was only a matter of time before he got a taste of his own medicine. many yearned for this fateful day to happen, however, no one predicted it to occur with his lover. it was a curveball to discover the former harbinger had been hiding a sweet woman from the public and his colleagues for years now.

aether, for one, was still in shock no matter how much time passed since the two of you asked to join him on his return to mondstadt after the fiasco in sumeru. in the present circumstances, you three—four, counting paimon—were by mingyun village when nightfall arrived. seeking shelter in a small cave, he left you two alone to pick a few jueyun chillis to prepare the famous wanmin meal for dinner. 

though, apparently ignorant of the topic of your discussion, he can tell you were begging with your lover based on your body language. if he were to guess what, it must have been to gather firewood like he previously urges scaramouche to do and the young man refused because it was “beneath his status to do basic labor.”

your gentle demeanor might not say it outright but the glint in your eyes did. you are going to get what you want despite of the methods.

“please?”

“no way.” he turns his back on you and crosses his arms. he wasn’t going to fall for your schemes, he inwardly scoffs at you, his sudden change of heart didn’t mean he’s gone soft. your place as his lover won’t warrant any special treatment.

sniffle.

his shoulders tense. no. nope. he’s encountered your petty act one too many times. he knows far better than most how conniving you can be regardless of your deceitful appearance. he scoffed, and people call him manipulative…

sniffle.

“stop it,” he snaps with a hard frown, rolling his eyes, “that is not going to work on me.”

sniffle.

“ugh, when will you learn that i consider such theatrics from you tacky…” he turns around, intending to give you a proper scolding when he sees the visible tears streaking down your cheeks. “no,” he whispers, cupping your face.

his thumb tenderly caresses your cheeks, wiping them away as best as he can. “no. no, no. don’t cry,” he mutters, “i’m…” stopping himself before he can say the next word.

he was conflicted. half of him was sick at the slight pleasure he felt over your misty eyes. you were always a pretty thing. the other part of him aches over the giant realization he was the reason you were upset. his fault.

“alright!” he growls, as if it stings him to utter every syllable. “i’ll go fetch the damn fire wood, ‘just quit your crying.”

wiping away the tears, you wrap your arms around him. he was taken aback by the sudden show of affection but does return it nonetheless. his embrace warm, holding you tight against his chest. 

your eyes trail around your surroundings and eventually find aether’s. it didn’t take much for the traveler to grow uncomfortable after he got caught stumbling upon the very intimate exchange. you stay silent, playfully winking at him in the end.

aether gasps, archons, were you evil.

𝗰𝘆𝗻𝗼 [𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗺𝗮𝗵𝗮𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗿𝗮]

he was not an easily impressed young man, some might call him ‘difficult to please.’ it wasn’t hard to imagine. a member of the academe could make a revolutionary discovery and all they could receive is a short hum of approval. the closest to verbal praise might’ve been when tighnari briefed him on collei’s progress.

any situation beyond that? none. for you? more to count on both hands. it was the most amusing yet exasperating thing to see! you doing the bare minimum permits more applause from him than all of their efforts combined.

to be fair, it was difficult to call out these signs of favoritism when it gets him in a good mood in exchange. nobody needed to point it out, everyone can see he has ‘heart-eyes’ for you. in a matter of seconds, he was reduced to a simple-minded loverboy in your company.

today was unlike other days, the scholars were subjected to a front row seat of your relationship. it was utterly bizarre to see the general mahamatra grinning softly, sort of.

“cyno, my love! you promised!” you whine, pouting. he was unbelievable! you thought to yourself. downright ridiculous. he swore to make time for you and accompany you on your visit to the city.

“i know, but plans change, darling. i have urgent matters to attend, my love,” he dismisses. all lies. he’s aware you would think to stop and greet your friends as well. to be frank, he’d rather avoid them and their side remarks about him and your relationship.

you didn’t respond, simply choosing to sport your infamous puppy eyes instead. he sighs to himself, oh… not this again. you were a crafty young woman, using his weakness for you against him.

he was standing strong at first yet in less than ten seconds; he breaks a wisp of a grin, one that results in your audience turning wide-eyed, and closes the space between you.

“c’mere, silly girl.” he beckons for you to draw nearer to him, and you instantly follow to glide your arms around his waist. “allow me to finish reading through this last stack and we can go.”

the 7-eleven diaries

albedo, alhaitham, childe, scaramouche, venti x gn!reader

your job isn’t the best one out there, but it’s easy and keeps you from drowning in tuition fees and rent. working at a 7-eleven on a midnight shift was supposed to be peaceful, so why is it that you constantly find yourself being bothered by weird customers? (modern au)

fluff, comedy, crack, cashier employee reader, modern au, written for fluffvember!

ALBEDO

It’s difficult not to take notice of the perpetually tired college student (much like yourself) who always comes at the latest hours to order a cup of black coffee and a can of beer. The first time you saw him order that drink was a memorable one, if only because of the way your eyes had nearly popped out of their sockets when you saw him mix the two drinks in a large, empty slurpee cup and proceed to drink it all in a matter of seconds.

Another memorable time was when he came in with only enough money to buy a bottle of water, then took a seat at a table near the counter and took out a box full of what you initially presumed were cookies. It was a traumatizing memory you look back on with a shudder as you remember the way he crunched down on it like it was a piece of biscuit instead of a motherfucking spider.

“They’re surprisingly nutritional, full of protein and fibre. It leaves a strange aftertaste, but it’s a good substitute for dinner.”

Since then, you’ve made sure to keep some food ready in the microwave for him, free of charge. He just looked so pitiful sitting by himself with dark under-eyes and greasy hair — the very image of a normal college student — that you couldn’t help yourself from taking money out of your own pocket to help a fellow comrade.

One day, he came to the store with blown pupils and a sort of dazed look in his eyes, words slurring together as he tried to explain to you how he’s finally created an edible liquid that can keep sleep at bay for at least 120 hours…with some small side-effects, but it’ll wear off with time. That’s when you found out he was a bio-chemistry student well on his way to getting a PhD at his young age.

When questioned why he drank the liquid instead of having someone else do it, his response was, “To experience it firsthand, of course. The basis of research is accuracy and precision, how could I be remiss as to leave such an important experiment to someone who could, in their ignorance, fail to mention an important detail that their mind might have labeled as useless.”

You’re not quite sure how he’s still alive by this point.

But his weirdness aside, you resolve to take care of him in your own way, from a fellow tired college student to another. You remind him to get some sleep, steering him away from eating spiders and encouraging him to eat more meat.

“But I am eating meat?”

“Albedo, that’s a spider.”

“And are you saying that spiders do not possess meat?”

“Oh, for the love of—just eat the goddamn sandwich.”

You think he appreciates it, if the way he dedicated his latest thesis to you is any indication.

ALHAITHAM

You were in the middle of answering a math problem your professor assigned that morning, papers sprawled over the counter with you hunched over it, hand in your hair and trying not to pull at it in frustration over how difficult the problem was. And then he’d come in like an angel, all perfectly shiny hair and a no-nonsense look on his face, took one look at you and the papers scattered across the counter and said one sentence that saved your grade in math.

“You forgot to put a negative sign right there.”

That was the moment you decided that he must be an angel sent from heaven. He always grunts whenever you call him that, though whether it’s from amusement or annoyance remains to be seen.

He doesn’t visit the convenience store much, but when he does, he always spares the time to help you out with whatever assignment you were working on, sometimes even taking the initiative of asking if you need his assistance in answering a problem — though he says this on a much less nicer tone.

“Are you gonna make me do your homework again?”

“My professer didn’t assign me one today, surprisingly enough, so no.”

He seemed strangely disappointed when you told him no, but you chalked it up to him being some sort of math wiz who gets riled up by equations and the like. Seems like kind of guy too, what with all the times he’s made a subtle jab at your intelligence — or lack, thereof.

“How could you possibly need a paper to calculate the answer to four-hundred and thirty-two times fifty-eight?”

“Not all of us are smarter than Rukkhadevata like you.”

“Who?”

He’s not bad company, though that opinion stems solely from the fact that he helps you (solves it for you, more like) with all your homework. Not without making comments about you lazing about on the job and letting your customer answer your assignment for you. You respond in a mature way by making fun of him.

“I’ve never seen you without those earphones. Are you hiding a pair of large ears or something?”

“No.”

He refuses to elaborate more on the subject.

Sometimes you give him a drink, usually cola or juice, as thanks for helping you out. He takes it without question, taking sips from it as he tutors you about this and that, occasionally commenting about your job and how you’re only making yourself suffer by taking on midnight shifts. You don’t see why he cares. For all that you jokingly call him an angel, you know he’s far from actually being one.

You once saw him on campus reading a book by the library. It’s easy enough to come up to him and make conversation, handing him an unopened drink you just bought from a vending machine. It just feels wrong not to, more of a habit by this point.

It’s then that someone decides to dramatically drop his books to the ground and point at you and Alhaitham. The blonde guy gapes and asks how in the world Alhaitham managed not to scare you away. His eyes zero in on the can of grape juice on Alhaitham’s hand, and then he proceeds to laugh, asking Alhaitham since when did he decide to start drinking what he once called was an unhealthy drink composed of sugar and artificial flavoring.

You made a mental note of that response, and later that night, you decide to hand him a packaged biscuit. Nothing unhealthy there. Technically.

“Good. I was beginning to wonder if I should start taking medicine in case my stomach burst from the amount of cola you hand me.”

“You could’ve just not accepted, you know.”

“It was given to me. Not accepting would be considered rude.”

“Didn’t Kaveh say you threw a bottle of orange juice to his face after he gave you one?”

“I did.”

He refuses to elaborate more on the subject, but you’ve since resolved to only give him the healthiest thing you could find on the store—which isn’t much considering this is a 7-eleven, but hey, microwaved salad is still salad, right?

He grumbles about the radiation but eats the salad anyway. Another win for you, you suppose.

CHILDE

He came in near the end of your shift, lips busted and an eye swollen shut, blood splattered all over his clothes. The grin of his face should’ve hinted you at his lunacy, but you’ve always been blind to warnings and the like, so you went over the counter and helped him up from where he’s slumped over the chips and candies isle.

Aether, your co-worker and the one who’s about to take over from your shift, only looked at you with tired eyes, “It’s too early for this shit.” That was, of course, Aether’s way of basically saying, you’re on your own.

So you picked up the ginger lying on the linoleum floors, heaving his arm over your shoulder to drag him to the nearest pharmacy — never let it be said that you were just a bystander. He groaned as the movement bothered whatever injuries he may have, but he still looked at you with wide, strangely lightless eyes, as if only now registering your presence, and said, “Holy shit, you’re hot.”

After you finished dumping him on the pharmacy and leaving the people there baffled at what to do with an injured guy, he grabbed your wrist and, with a bloody smile he probably thought was charming, handed you a piece of paper containing his number.

You never text him. Or call.

He comes back to the store a week later with faint yellow bruises across his face and a far too bright grin for someone who’s visiting a 7-eleven at two in the morning. He pouts about not getting a single text from you, but before you can respond, he’s moving on to another topic, mindlessly picking up a box of tampons by the side and setting it on the counter.

He only seems to realize what he’s done when you give him a strange look.

“Tampons are, uh, great for bloody noses!”

“…Right.”

You weren’t convinced at all, but you decided to let it slide. He seemed like a genuine guy, if a bit too enthusiastic sometimes. His mouth never shuts ups, always going on about this and that, asking all sorts of questions that would’ve normally had most normal people backing away. But your brain isn’t exactly at its best condition and being sleep deprived for the better part of your life has made it less of a brain and more of an organ that just helps you get through the day.

You don’t know exactly why he stays to chat with you, buying ridiculous amounts of stuff that were frankly far too expensive just to have an excuse to talk to you. You don’t mind it much, especially when he’s a great deterrent for any unwanted petty thieves or middle school delinquents trying to rob your store every week or so.

Apparently, he’s got a reputation for being a bit of an adrenaline junkie and being willing to fight anything and everything that breathes. And apparently, word’s gotten out that he’s into you, like, really into you, so most guys who have less-than-well intentions have decided that robbing the local 7-eleven isn’t worth the trouble if it means having to deal with Ajax.

“Actually, it’s Tartaglia.”

“Tarantula?”

“No, Tartaglia. It’s my street name! Ajax just doesn’t inspire the same fear into other people’s hearts the same way Tartaglia does.”

“Whatever you say, Tortilla.”

“It’s Tartaglia!”

He never brings up the fact that you never call or text him back, even when he’s somehow gotten ahold of your number and started sending you memes and updates about his day. When asked, he just shrugs and says he’ll win you over eventually.

SCARAMOUCHE

It wasn’t intentional, and you’ll admit it was completely your fault, but did he have to be such an asshole about you dozing off on the counter?

“Have the standards really fallen so low that employees are now afforded to sleep on the job?”

Here was this guy at two in the morning, bemoaning society’s failure in raising the new generation to have a proper work ethic at a 7-eleven store. The guy had a rolex watch and clothes that looked like they were worth more than your monthly salary — you’re not one to judge other people’s appearances, but he’s the very image of nepotism. And frankly speaking, you’re of the opinion that rich people shouldn’t be entitled to an opinion on what the working class decides do with their life, like falling asleep on the job.

…And oh, you just said that out loud, didn’t you?

Oh well, your manager will understand.

The guy with a bowl cut leaves fuming, but not before slapping a wad of cash down the counter to pay for his stupidly expensive noodles, snarling at you to keep the change since you clearly need it more than him.

You do, in fact, keep the change. Money is money, whether it’s from your salary or a rich boy throwing a tantrum.

The next day in class, a bag slams down the seat beside you, and you’re met with the same rich boy from last night, a scowl painting his rather pretty face as he hisses lowly about how he’s surprised you can afford to go to college. Talk about holding a grudge, you would’ve forgotten all about him from last night if he hadn’t given you his change.

He fumes even more when you don’t give him any sort of reaction, merely nodding your head at him and turning back to the board to listen to your professor drone on about this and that. It’s rather difficult to focus, however, when he keeps muttering sarcastic comments and barbs to the teacher beneath his breath.

“If you even had an iota of charm about you, perhaps your wife wouldn’t have filed for a divorce.”

You choked on a laugh, hand coming up muffle the sound, but he clearly noticed, judging by the way he snaps his head to you, eyes wide and seemingly surprised you found it funny. You only smile at him, an amused little thing, but he quickly looked away and murmured something unintelligible beneath his breath, his fists clenched and the tips of his ears curiously pink.

He comes back to visit your job that night, still with that air of haughtiness about him but a bit toned down. Even more surprising was the fact he didn’t immediately leave the moment he handed you his money.

“Do you want the change?”

“Are you so desperate for money that you’d go begging a total stranger for some spare coin?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess.”

“Tch, fine. You can have it.”

He never fails to come back every night, always giving you the change for his bill, even when the amount is more than the items he paid for. Sometimes, he’ll even take out a snack or a drink from the bag and slide them over to you, cheeks suspiciously red as he did so.

“Don’t think this means anything. I’m only giving this to you because I know you can’t afford it.”

“It’s literally worth ten mora.”

“Would it kill you to at least give me a thank you?”

“Thank you, Kunikuzushi. I’ll be sure to treasure this can of cola that I would’ve never been able to afford without your help.”

“Shut up.”

He buys you a tub of ice cream the next night, the ridiculously expensive kind, to prove a point. The two of you eat it together at one of the tables, him grumbling about the stain on the table and the overall lack of quality and taste — at a 7-eleven — and you laughing whatever he says.

Well, you suppose he’s not as much of an asshole as you initially assumed.

VENTI

He’s a bit popular in campus, in the sense that nearly everyone is friends with him, which makes it impossible not to have heard about that one guy who’s really great at singing. You were, unfortunately, one of the few that aren’t well acquainted with him — aren’t acquainted with him at all.

So when he comes up to the counter, all boyish grin and ridiculously short shorts and a cute little pink hair clip keeping his bangs away from his face, holding an entire household’s worth of vodka and wine, you do what any rational semi-adult would do and look at him with a blank face.

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

He laughs at you like this is a common occurrence he faces on the daily before slapping down his ID on the counter. And huh, would you look at that, he’s even older than you are.

He then lights up once he gets a good look at you. “Hey, you’re Albedo’s friend, aren’t you?” He abandons his alcohol at the counter in favor of looking around your quaint little convenient store. “So this is that 7-eleven he keeps talking about…”

You’re not exactly sure what he’s going on about, but you do know he must be a friend of Albedo’s, which makes you ease up around him. He’s nice. Sort of. If you ignore the teasing and the jokes and the way he keeps asking you to give him a student discount. For alcohol. You’d given him what you hoped was your best imitation of Kunikuzushi’s stink eye. You think you got it on point, if the way he deflates is any indication.

He comes around the store every weekend, saying he’s here to get a little treat for the awful weekday he’s had. You never fail to remind him that he has class every Sunday, to which he responds by opening a can of beer (which he hasn’t paid for yet) and sitting on the counter, bemoaning the injustice of putting classes during the weekends.

You once asked him why he keeps hanging around this store when there’s a perfectly good bar right around the corner, owned by that popular red-haired business major from your university. Venti just laughed and said he prefers the quietness here — and the company, he added with a wag of his eyebrows. He always teases you, sometimes borderline flirting, but it’s easy enough to wave it away.

The day you discovered he was actually well known in campus was when your university hosted a local event. There’d been stalls and booths set up everywhere and even a little mock-stage put up near the center for any band or singer to perform in. It’d been nice to have a break from the monotonous routine of going to class and studying then working at your job and getting less than ideal sleep.

And then you heard your name booming out from the speakers, and you turn your head to see Venti on the stage with that little lyre he sometimes carries with him to the store, saying he’d like your opinion on a song or two he composed.

He dedicates the song to to you in front of the entire student body, then proceeds to sing the cheesiest, most gut-wrenching and cringiest love song of all time.

“Why did you have to pick that song?”

“Because it’s fun and cute!”

“I sometimes question your ability to distinguish cute from horrifyingly monstrous.”

There’s a mortified look on your face, but amidst the embarrassment and the teasing remarks of his friends, there’s a smile on your face that you can’t bring yourself to wipe away.

i’ll be doing a part two on this but with diluc, dottore, kazuha, xiao, and zhongli!

@maehemthemisfit @sonder-paradise @96jnie @komiyaa @scaramouchenumber1fan @linn-a-a @wisteriaflowersss @ineriris @yesntforno @serramii @shadowmist0706 @jmgrule @imeanwatever @c00kie-cat @serramii @xtodorokismistressx @ieathairs @endlessmari @strawberryclumsy @serenity-ren-bliss @scarasbaby

promise

[ scaramouche x child!reader ]

summary: promises are made to be broken. and scaramouche is a broken man.

note: this is purely platonic, i love feral platonic dynamics ueueue also damn this is slowly becoming a scara blog huh | m.list

words: 1054 | warnings: unedited because im lazy as fuck

"you want me to… leave?"

scaramouche stares down at you with a commanding look, arms crossed as he sits you down on the couch after claiming that he has an important task for you.

"that's right. leave this place the moment the doctor goes for sumeru, am i understood?"

"but—"

"no, that is an order."

your mouth shuts at the sparkle of crackling electro in the air.

to leave him brings you a sense of fear and anxiousness tantamount to the number of people's throat that you had cut in half. to leave him means to be alone once more. to be separated means to not follow behind him with watchful eyes, no more of his stories whenever he catches you awake at midnight, no more standing close to him under his hat when it rains as he drapes the ends of his sleeves over your head to keep you dry.

to leave him means no more home to go back to.

why?

why would he ask you this when you have nowhere to go? no family to go back to other than him?

is he?...

"am i… am i disposable?"

scaramouche visibly staggered at your whispered words, pointing his furrowed eyes at you.

"what? i did not say that, brat."

"but you want me to leave. am i being disposed of?"

"wha—listen, brat," scaramouche sighs loudly, "i'm not disposing of you. i'm telling you to leave this place—why are you crying!?"

silent streams of tears cascade your cheeks, your teeth chomping on the inner skin of your bottom lips to keep it from trembling. after all, scaramouche hates it when you cry. he hates it when you're being weak.

perhaps it is because you're weak that he finds you replaceable?

"i can hear your thoughts from the look on your face, brat," scaramouche sighs tiredly, pushing himself up to crouch in front of you. with one hand, he tilts your chin up to look at your teary eyes—something in his chest aches at the very sight of your crestfallen face. if he had a heart, he's pretty sure it would stop beating for a second, though he dares not utter such sentiments.

"stop crying."

"you don't want me here."

"that's not what i said, are you deaf?" he clicked his tongue with a glare, the hand on your chin coming up to flick your forehead—albeit painless, so unlike his usual flicks. "i'm telling you to leave because i won't be here if anything happens while i'm in sumeru. you're leaving this place for your own safety."

dumbfounded, you tilt your head in silent confusion.

"you're still stupid as ever."

"i'm not," you pout.

"if you're not then you should know why you have to leave, idiot," scaramouche leans a little close to speak quietly, a stern look in his eyes that speaks volume of how important his next words are, "listen carefully. i will have to stay in sumeru for a very long time and the doctor will be there. do you still remember the doctor?"

"yes," you nod, "the psycho man with a mask."

you're a psycho yourself, he thought.

"that's right, but he's not the only one i'm looking out for. the other idiots in the fatui are going to come after you if they see the chance to do so. i know you're capable on your own, but those are harbingers that can and will eliminate you if you give them the smallest reason to do so," his eyebrows furrow at his own words—mental images of the things they can possibly do to you shall you defy their orders and he resist the urge to shiver—"that's why you're leaving. run as far away as you can and never leave a trace. don't let others see you, hear you, or even have the slightest chance of getting to you," a hand cups your puffy cheek, eyes staring right into yours as if looking through your soul.

so… he's not throwing me out?

"am i understood?"

with a sniff, you nod your head, wiping your tears sloppily before he scoffs and does it himself, a pair of cold hands that's been tainted in blood now gently wipes the crystal pearls from your cheeks.

"what about you?"

"what about me?" he echoed.

"promise me you'll come find me?"

taken aback, his hand leaves your cheeks for a moment, eyes wide with a combination of awe and disbelief. he feels uncertainty and a sense of dejavu overcome his senses, a fear making itself known at the back of his mind despite burying it six feet underground and more. the fire that burnt bright in his chest begins to distinguish, flickers of flame wavering and embers diminishing. this only happens for a second, before he steels himself and searches for any hint of deception in yours. yet he finds none in those hopeful eyes that dares demand him of promises.

how audacious of you to ask promises from him?

"are you dumb? who says anything about

not coming back?" his hand holds your cheeks once more, distracting himself by pinching the skin. "you belong to the spot next to me first and foremost, i thought i made that clear the first day i dragged you out of the streets?" he clicks his tongue, squishing your already pouty cheeks. "what? do you think this is your chance to finally leave? hah! you can't get away from me no matter where you hide, brat."

"ow!" you whine, trying to pull away from his hand but he pulls you close by your shoulders. almost immediately, your head nestles itself on his shoulder.

"i'll do whatever you ask me for," you exhaled a shaky breath, "as long as you promise to come find me."

if he had a heart, he knows it would be aching at the way you instantly melt in his arms—you're already small, yet you still manage to hide yourself within his hold.

it almost seems like you're hiding from the world by snuggling in his arms.

"i'll come find you," he ascertained, a hand brushing through your hair, "i'll make sure to bring you back. so for the meantime, you better stay alive."

"i will, i promise."

scaramouche closes his eyes, feeling his stomach drop at your words.

he's heard those same words before.

marigold promises

pairing: albedo x gn!reader

genre: social media au, modern/college au, childhood friends to academic rivals to lovers, slow burn

summary: it was evident that you and albedo have changed in the five years you’ve spent apart, but you know better than to view him through the lens of nostalgia. with one goal on your mind – graduate valedictorian – who better to stand in your way than the studious, intelligent, ice-cold albedo? one thing’s for sure: he’s going down.

warnings: swearing, crack, light angst

status: ongoing

author’s notes:

my first smau hehe. i’ve been working on this for a while so i’m really excited! updates will be sporadic but i’ll do my best to update often.

the timestamps don’t matter unless i say they do!

written chapters are marked with (☕︎)

profiles:

coffee addicts ([name]’s friends)

donut disco (albedo’s friends)

act i —whetheri likeit or not... || playlist

01. finally, a worthy opponent!

02. why pay for netflix?

03. if looks could kill

04. impromptu cramming session

05. enigma (☕︎)

tba

act ii — it’s always been you || playlist

tba

taglist:@fvkkyu @mintreen@edreee @khyllynnn @xxmirrorballxx@aiikalvr@yaefics @ch35hir3 @aequha @alch3myy@lovely-althxa @nei-rinn @cridtiins @zestrya @skylions-den@moriiartt @theother-victoria@sunsethw4 @dazaisfavgf @serossidechick @koiir @lazy-sanns

— the taglist is currently open! if you’d like to be added feel free to reply or send in an ask! – if your blog isn’t highlighted it means i can’t tag you.

i feel very wrong, like i'm in a permanent moment of sensory overload. it's a debilitating experience; i'm currently immobilized and physically unwell, meaning i'm unable to provide for myself and i will be for a while.

that said, it's been days since i've eaten properly and i have no money whatsoever to speak of. the overload is probably worsened because of my physical weakness. so i'm really sorry to ask, but if it's not too much trouble, could you please visit my ko-fi and help me out so i can buy myself something that will hopefully last me through tomorrow?

if you can't help, that's alright — reblogs help just as much, and maybe someone else who sees it can help. i just really need help right now.

savior amidst snowstorms.

# — pairing: snow prince!albedo x gn!reader

# — characters: snow prince!albedo, gender neutral reader

# — summary: moments before it all ends, a figure comes to your rescue.

# — warnings: mentions of blood, death, near-death experience (reader)

# — tags: first meetings, implied violence, unspecified injuries, introduction to au piece, angst (??), reader is in LOTS of pain and wishes for death but no MCD

# — notes: SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGSSSS I FINALLY WROTE SOMETHING I LIKE ABOUT SNOW PRINCE!ALBEDO AAAAA I CAN'T WAIT TO WRITE MORE! reblogs and reactions are greatly appreciated, and i hope you enjoy this (and are curious about it, too!)

wanna join the tag list?

✧ — ❄️ + 🌼 — ✧

i'm going to die here.

that is all you can think as you watch the lawachurl shamble towards you. you did all you could. you put up one hell of a fight; originally you were faced with at least ten hilichurls, all of which you managed to defeat. you didn't escape from that confrontation unscathed, but they were dead, and you were still breathing. unfortunately all the commotion lured the attention of a lawachurl in the distance, and now you were staring down the cause of your inevitable demise. the hilichurls you faced earlier left you cut up and bruised, so you're in no state to take this thing on.

like hell i'd be able to anyway, you think as it lumbers closer. even in the cold, you can smell the stench of raw death wafting off of this hulking creature. how many adventurers has it feasted on? how many unfortunate souls have fallen to this thing? whatever the number is, you know in your heart that you're about to add onto it. a sharp sting of pain shoots up your leg as you try to step back and gain some distance from it. a hilichurl arrow pierced your thigh deeply, the point of which is still firmly lodged in there. only now, when the adrenaline has started to make way for fear, do you feel the acute agony of it all. all of your injuries seem to weigh on you now, the time when you need it the least.

boom. the snow-covered ground seems to rattle under your feet as the lawachurl comes closer. about ten paces away now. it's a miracle the thing hasn't lunged at you, else you'd have made a fine dinner by now.

boom. nine paces. it's almost tame in its demeanor. in its eyes, you see nothing but a predatory hunger. blood from your wounds hits the fresh snow with a soft plip-! and though you can't see its nostrils, you're prety sure they must've flared at the smell.

boom. boom. seven paces. dragonspine is about to become your icy grave. what did you even come here for, anyway? what could have possibly been so important that you'd put your life on the line like this? was it some silly commission? some old adventurer's tale? what does it even matter? nothing matters in the face of death.

boom. boom. five paces. this is it. you let your grip on your sword slacken and you hear the metal collide with the snowy floor. what use is it to you at this point, anyway? the lawachurl reaches out. you let your eyes slip shut and brace for a painful death.

but it never comes.

you count each breath you take expecting the next one to be your last. after the fifth one though, you hesitate to take a sixth as you're curious as to why you're still breathing. by now, the lawachurl should have you in its frosty grip, crushing your ribs. why are you still alive?

you open one eye and are surprised to see the lawachurl not even facing you. its back is to you and it's down on one knee with its head lowered. even with such a hazy mind, you recognize that posture. it's one of servitude, of submission. another surge of fear grips you by the throat. is there something that even a beast like this would bow its head to? what could possibly possess more strength than this creature on this icy hellscape? you hobble to the side to get a glimpse of the new arrival.

there's... nothing there. great. not only are there abominations on this mountain, but it would appear that it's haunted, too. you have half a mind to scream. how much longer will the universe dangle death in front of you? you don't like being teased, much less with your own safety. a frigid gust of wind nearly knocks you over, forcing your eyes shut. the blood that leaks from your head seems to crystallize, making it hard for you to open your eyes. you manage to pry one of them open to peer out into the distance; surely, you're imagining things. the mountain is many things, but haunted couldn't possibly be one of them... right?

the way forward is almost misty, the gusty snow obscuring the view of what's ahead. but through it all, you make out a figure of something. a silhouette of a person walking your way.

a person? that can't be right. a cryo lawachurl wouldn't be bowing to a human. you squint and try to focus, a part of you hoping that the figure turns out to be that of another, potentially more horrifying, monster. yet the silhouette remains the same. it's clearer now that it's closer. it's that of a man — his stride seems smooth, his body seemingly unbothered by the chaotic snow whirling around him. he appears untouched by the elements, almost.

you gulp. maybe you shouldn't rule out a haunting just yet.

you can't run, so you're forced to watch as the man comes closer and closer still. when he breaks through the mist, you take notice of how ethereal he looks amidst the snowstorm. his hair is a pale blond and reflects what little sunlight comes through the clouds. it reaches just below his shoulders and is almost neatly pulled into a braided half ponytail. his skin is pale and his eyes are a sharp teal that cut through the whiteness of your surroundings. his white coat bears navy blue and gold embellishments and his hands are gloved. he extends one to the monster and you see his lips move, though you can't hear his words over the whirlwind of snow. only when the hulking beast beside you moves do you realize what he said.

"arise."

you yelp and, for the first time in minutes, your body moves. you crash into the snow beneath you unceremoniously and with a loud groan. everything hurts. you're truly defeated. the man's lips move once more and the lawachurl approaches him with a bowed head. to your horror, it looks as though he's speaking to it — even worse is that it appears to understand him. if he were to give the order, that thing would tear you limb from limb. you don't know if you should waste your last breath begging for your life, or if you should just go back to accepting your demise with open arms.

neither of those choices are correct, apparently, because when the lawachurl faces you once more, gone is the intense bloodlust you'd felt moments earlier. it approaches you again, this time seeming calm. the man behind it comes closer, allowing you to see it better. maybe you're delirious with pain, but you notice that he's extremely attractive. there's a certain elegance to his features, his cold, calculating stare making you want to bow your own head in submission.

yeah. definitely delirium. you're losing your mind.

"if you're going to kill me," you say, your throat lined with needles, "then please, don't let me suffer. make it quick. i'm in enough pain as is."

those teal eyes regard you closely. there isn't a lick of emotion on his face. "do you need assistance?" he asks. his voice, too, is devoid of emotion.

you blink your one eye slowly and notice dark spots in your vision. it won't be long before you lose consciousness. and hopefully, your life, too. look at you; so badly damaged that you're wishing for death. the man before you doesn't move an inch as he awaits your response. you spit blood onto the icy ground away from you. "just... kill me." you rasp. "please."

"i do not wish to see you dead." his crystalline lashes seem to flutter. if you didn't know any better, you'd think him an angel. it's a shame there's no wings protruding from his back. "i wish to aid you. will you allow me to do so?"

you stagger. "please." you beg. "just..." the dark spots grow suddenly, consuming your world. you plummet into darkness before you can finish your sentence and collapse into the snow, never to see the sun again.

...or so you'd think.

you awake with a start, your body screaming at you with every frantic breath you take. you pat yourself down despite the aching of your wounds. all of your flesh is relatively intact — did you seriously survive that encounter? what the hell was all of that? the hilichurls, the monster, the weird angel-man—

wait a minute.

once more, you pat yourself down. you feel bandages in various places, each one meticulously wrapped around your appendages. you look down at your legs and find them buried beneath luxurious cream-colored silk sheets. come to think of it, the mattress supporting your weight feels like it's curving to meet your body — where the hell are you?!

you do a quick sweep of the room and an unknown emotion makes itself present. you're not sure whether to feel awe, fear, or curiosity. the room is fit for royalty: its floor-to-ceiling windows are crystal clear, allowing for a perfect view of the snowy mountain outside, the floors are marbled and polished, the furniture seems antiquated, yet grand all the same, the silvers and golds either woven through the cushions or embedded in the harder surfaces. this place, imposing and majestic as it might be, seems frozen in time — no one has touched this place in ages, yet it seems well-cared for. your head feels ready to explode. who in the archons' name would—?

"you've awoken."

you're not proud of the shriek that rips past your lips at the sound of the voice. (you're even less proud of the fact that you can hear it echoing off of the walls. was it really that quiet in here?) you turn to see the man from outside standing in your doorway, his features less illuminated, yet still regal in the dim lighting.

"i'm not going to harm you." his face remains as passive as ever. "please, don't shout."

"wh-why wouldn't i?" you retort. you break into a fit of hacking coughs. how did you not feel this ill a second ago? adrenaline sure works in strange ways. only now do you feel how flushed and clammy your skin is, how the banging in your head rivals that of a swordsmith forging a weapon, how painful it is just to take a breath. you ease yourself back into a lying position. you can't defend yourself like this. "you were communicating—" you pause to cough again— "with that monster outside! you could have killed me."

the man is at your side in the blink of an eye. an icy hand rests on your forehead and you feel a near instant relief. your eyes slip shut against your will. "you're running a high grade fever," he points out. "but i do not understand why you think me to be a threat when i saved your life. is gratitude lost on people in modern times?"

though spoken so evenly, such a biting response doesn't fit your image of this guy. who does he think he is? "you should have let me die." your voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. "let me die in peace." you partially mean it. the brief moments of clarity are nothing in comparison to the agony you're in. hell, you may as well be dead already. perhaps this is just what was waiting for you after you crossed over.

the man moves and you hear some shuffling. "i... don't want you to." he's whispering. it's almost like he's speaking to himself. "allow me to help you. please."

you can't make heads or tails of anything anymore. "water," you plead. your body is truly on its last legs. you're begging, though if you were of clear mind, you wouldn't reasonably ask this man for a thing; survival instincts have kicked in, and you're only trying to use what's been given to you. "give me water, please."

instead of the cold water you expected, you feel your head being propped up and hot water (tea?) slides down your throat instead. it's infinitely better than the ice water you had imagined — the relief is instant, and the spikes in your throat seem to clear almost immediately. before you can ask for more, some more is already being offered at your lips, and you drink eagerly, like a dying man in a desert. once you've had your fill, you're being eased back down, your body feeling just a touch better than before. words of gratitude don't make it out of you, so you settle for a sigh. you feel your consciousness slipping once more. dimly, you think there must have been a sedative in that drink. must be medicinal, you think, seeing as your throat doesn't hurt much anymore.

"the medicine will act faster if you rest." the man's voice seems so far away. "when you wake, please allow me the honor of knowing your name."

with the last of your energy, you breathe your own name in a whisper. you can almost hear the smile in the man's voice as you tread back into darkness.

"my name is albedo," he says. "it'll be my pleasure to greet you when you're fully conscious. get some sleep, now."

like you need to be told twice. almost on command, you fall into a deep, restful, dreamless sleep.

✦ oh my god. OH MY GOD??? SNOW PRINCE!ALBEDO INTRODUCTION??? WHEN'S THE FIC ZUZU???

✦ i actually am VERY proud of this. it's not the intro that i've been dreaming about for... what, a year? but i like the setup. i can't wait to build this au again.

Okay fuck it if this post reaches 666k notes by the end of 2023 I'll practise basic self care

Why 666k? Because it's funny and impossible so good fucking luck

not proofread dumb little drabble

-

scaramouche used to shove you around a lot

mentally, physically, he’d do anything he could to convince you to leave your rank among the harbingers, to convince you that you were better off seen as a traitor than part of them.

he’d hurt you whenever he got the chance, urging you to stay away from him or he’d do it again.

he hated the way the wind picked up your hair sometimes

how you were so fragile and weak, and how you looked ashamed every time he struck you.

the way your eyes still widened and you cowered away with every “GET AWAY FROM ME!” he could muster out of his venomous lips.

he hated the way childe let you sleep on his shoulder, and the way he’d play with your hair as he whispered praises to you

and the way that a recent mission had gone

you’d made it to mondstadt only for the knights to find you, drug you, and use whatever methods they could to pry information from you.

by the time scaramouche had arrived to you (only because he couldn’t allow a fellow harbinger to die), you were already drugged out of your mind.

he found the fact you could barely walk incredibly amusing

but oh he hated the way you just suddenly, in your foggy mind, had the idea to kiss him.

and the way you did it so tenderly

if he didn’t know better he may have thought you weren’t drugged at all, the way your kiss was so controlled, almost loving

he hated the way it didn’t taste like alcohol or odd substances, but instead sweet and heartfelt.

he hated the way… that he kissed you back, that he melted into you like salt into water.

the way that you avoided childe once you had finally arrived back at goth grand hotel, your shivering body opting to scaramouche instead, he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you

you smelled so nice, intoxicating almost, finally laying down in the bed, next to him, allowing him to wrap himself around you so you wouldn’t be cold or feel unsafe while you were so vulnerable

vulnerable enough for him to kill you

he’d thought about it, even gone as far as to bring his knives up to your throat, it would take one slash.

yet every time, he seemed to catch sight of your lips, the way your face seemed to be disturbed and afraid even in your sleep.

“s-scara…” you’d whimper through tears, even though you weren’t awake. the 4th time you’d cried in your sleep tonight, the 4th nightmare of the night.

the way you called out his name in fear but also desperation, “master scaramouche please…” you spoke in a way that drove knives into his heart and tore it open like paper “please don’t i…. im sorry sir” he watched you shift around and plead until you eventually jolted awake, sweat dripping from your forehead and tears running down your face.

he looked at you with wide eyes. shock and something else you couldn’t quite identify filled them. you turned away quickly, apologizing profusely.

“y/n.” he spoke sternly but almost calmly “look at me when i speak to you”

you looked at him without hesitation, expecting another slap or punishment for looking away from him when you weren’t supposed to, you flinched when his hand reached out to you but never met your skin, but instead met the back of your head as he pulled you into his chest before letting go and wrapping his arms around you.

a “hug” he had seen others call it. touch. touch in an affectionate way was unfamiliar to him, only leaving him room for combat and battle, but never to understand how your skin felt or the warmth it radiated, the feeling of your heart, the feeling of you beginning to sob against him.

“master scaramouche……..what did i do wrong?” your voice seemed to break more with every word, your fear of him rising with every breath you took and tear you cried. you tried to pull away, afraid you’d get a single teardrop on his clothing and he’d make you scrub it off relentlessly, but he pulled you back in, caressing your hair.

“kunikuzushi” he spoke softly, causing you to gaze up at him with glossy eyes and skin that burned red from tears. “my name is kunikuzushi”

he looked at you again, laying his forehead on top of your forehead, doing what you did to him, placing a kiss on your lips as if they were made of the thinnest glass.

“tell me what they did to you.”

“they tied me down, and asked me questions, and hit me and gave me some… pills i think they were… it hurt kunikuzushi, it hurt so much.”

whatever softness you had seen in him mere moments ago was gone. fire reignited in his eyes and lightning touched at his soul.

“i’m just… so tired..so cold”

“rest then, suppose i should rest too”

he watched you try to lay on the ground instead of the bed, being your usual submissive and selfless personality and allowing him to have the bed, but he grabbed your wrist gently and patted the space next to him

“i will deal with our little mondstadt issue tomorrow, okay?”

you nodded your head lightly

“however your cold issue can only be solved by… becoming warm?”

you nodded again, confused this time.

“forget it. come here.”

and you found your back pressed to his chest under the covers again, warmth almost immediately consuming you

thus you gained your name

12th of the Fatui Harbingers, The Puppeteer

I headcannon that when scaramouche is drunk or REALLY angry he starts speaking japanese (inazumian idk) just imagine drunk affectionate scara:

Him laying on top of you in a fit of giggles, he did have alot to drink because of a mission succsess or it was one of the harbingers birthday he didn't tell you. He is so intoxitated that he doesn't act like his normal grumpy self, he's so clingy not leaving your side always touching you not innapropriatly just like holding your hands, your cheeks or lightly kissing your collarbone/neck.

He would cuddle with you the whole night because he didn't want to go to sleep alone (he did reek of alcohol) looking up at you with a slightly blush on his cheeks he said the most sappy things that if his future self would see him he would strangle himself. Too much pride for such a short temper.

"Y..you look so softttt.." He slurred his words and hugged your chest laying his head on your collar bones "You even smell so nice!.. nice.." you smiled slightly "kiss.." He pucered his lips out for you "kuni.. you smell of alcohol, you should drink some water." You replied scratching his temple but his response was grumbling "noooo.. kisss~" he really wanted that kiss huh?

You kissed him lightly it did help and scara started giggling "yay.." you patted his hair it was messy and needed washing "You are going to have a such a hangover in the morning." Scara didn't respond but the only sound you heard was light snoring "well goodnoght kunikuzushi.." and you kissed his forehead.

You were awaken in the middle of night to scaramouche looking at you and speaking softly japanese "aishiteru.."

The next day was chaotic and for scara painful "I will KILL childe for taking so much alcohol... aaagh.." He vinced in pain and grabbed his forehead as you passed him water "I hope that bastard will choke on that hydro vision of his, fucking bitch." You laughed, this was going to be interesting..

A/N: I didn't write for so long, also I don't speak japanese so I didn't want to use too much japanese phrases and then be told I did them wrong 🥲 so I hope you enjoyed this little fanfic (drabble? Idk)

— 𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐘.

❝𝐈𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥.❞

SUMMARY. refers to a behaviour or way of thought peculiar to an individual; but in this case, it’s something that they do around you and only you.

CHARACTERS. tighnari, alhaitham, cyno.

GENRE. fluff, a moderate amount of crack, established relationship.

CW. mentions of cute aggression and affectionate bullying (in tighnari’s part), the reader is down bad for alhaitham and he knows it, one dad joke about cryo slimes (in cyno’s part).

THOUGHTS. finally managed to finish this draft while i was on my mini vacay >:) this is my first time writing sumeru men, so feel free to lmk what you think! <3

✰ masterlist.

TIGHNARI … likes to knock you on the head, very softly and lovingly.

No, no, don’t you go around thinking that you can escape his long and stern lectures just because the two of you are an item. Others may think that you’re the only one that has a privilege they don’t, but they can’t be more wrong.

Asking dumb questions? Flirting with him shamelessly? Want a kiss? You’d get a soft bonk to the head personally delivered by Tighnari himself first, if that even counts as a privilege.

Rest assured that Tighnari’s intent is never to hurt you, nor does it actually hurt when he does so. To him, it’s an effective way of hushing you nonverbally and it also, may or may not, be his extremely unique love language. Why?

Well, Tighnari kind of… and he stresses, just kind of likes how you scrunch your nose every time he flicks your forehead, how you would complain so adorably and how you would— ahem. Actually, he has some work to do right now, bye.

Keep reading

Tighnari and his ears 💚