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#dilly is love dilly is life!

mvnsonner · 2 years

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there is times when i feel like im watching a whole city burn with shippers and character stans lowkey fighting while im just here in the middle wanting st*ve to have 47 boyfriends and to read people being in love

#loving harr*ngr*ve st*ddie m*ngr*ve st*dilly and both eds and b*lly so much the heart hurts #its just fun to me in the middle eating popcorn i love this website and i love people #and i swear its not in a negative way /gen #censoring shit bc this is supposed to be just my thoughts and i dont want to be in any tag fuck my life

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celcero · 2 years

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I GOT PURPLE/VIOLET ON MY LOVE COLOR SO YOU’RE MY YELLOW !!! it aaaaall makes sense now. . . kisses you passionately

OH MY GOD WAIT WE’RE SOULMATES !!!!!! ugh pls move away with me on a secluded island so we can have kids and a happy family !!!! >///< 😌💭 me imagining our future rn

#dilly <3 #THE LOVE OF MY LIFE

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134340am · 2 years

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yuna yuna yuna !! i love love loved your iwa fic it is like . my favorite thing in this world . the summer fic ever . the fic ever . the iwa . ever . i love you so much thank you for feeding me and turning me into an iwa simp ! I ADORE YOU !!

DILLY!!!!! DILLY MY LOVE T^T i was in a frenzy packing up stuff this afternoon and cleaning cleaning cleaning but when i finally took a break and opened tumblr and saw ur tags… i’m not kidding when i said all my fatigue just. DISAPPEARED 🥺 it’s crazyyyy and i love you so so so much!!! thank you for reading and for leaving me such lovely feedback in the tags as well — i can’t believe you got your glasses on for my silly little fic 😭 and i’m so glad you liked it <3 we are all iwa fuckers on the inside

i adore YOU baby!!!!!! brb i’m off to bring you pearls from the ocean and stars from the night sky 🌟

#i’m gonna give you the whole WORLD my darling T^T #every single day!!! i m immensely grateful to have someone as positive and as sweet as you in my life ; ; and i hope i can return the #positive energy to you tenfold because you deserve it so so much #i love you dilly baby!!!! kissing ur little face rn mwah mwah mwah i love you : (#beloved dilly #ask yuna #love letters for yuna

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pallastrology · 4 months

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observations on capricorn

art by sydney mortimer laurence

capricorn ascendants often have a kind of wild look in their eye. it's the one thing they lose control of; you can see the hunger in them through their gaze.

capricorn ruling the fifth house makes for someone who sees everything as work and work as 'fun'; they might make money from a hobby or treat their hobbies like a job, they're strict with themselves and have a lot of drive to do well, whatever that means for them. they tend to be introverted but not shy, and don't like to 'waste their time', so aren't usually big fans of casual dating; whatever their goal is, they want to achieve it without too much dilly-dallying.

capricorn moons are some of the most giving, no-questions-asked kind of people. whatever you need, you can go to them for it and they'll deliver. this leads to them getting burnt out, demoralised and used by people who don't deserve their kindness. it takes them time to treat themselves equally and develop their boundaries. in the meantime, look out for your capricorn moon friends!

capricorn ruling the twelfth tends to go two ways when it comes to dreams - either they suffer from nightmares and anxiety/stress dreams, or they never remember their dreams at all. i feel like saturn's influence here either inhibits the imagination and memory of the dreams, or channels all your stress through them...

i think that jupiter in capricorn is a really handy placement for dealing with setbacks in life. it is quietly optimistic and looks to solve problems creatively, so people with it are great in a crisis and can be real cheerleaders for their friends too, when things aren't going well for them. they're not the most emotionally open but they get shit done.

a lot of capricorn dominants have to grow up quickly, being shunted into a parent role in some way; it might be through being parentified, losing parental figures young, being the family's unpaid therapist or just living through a difficult home situation. this can leave them feeling sort of ageless; they never really experienced a normal childhood, but didn't get to grow up normally either, and can feel stunted or behind compared to their peers as an adult because of this.

people with capricorn on the descendant often find, especially in their younger years, that they have to 'manage' or even 'coach' their partners and relationships; they are in charge out of necessity and don't necessarily enjoy it.

venus in capricorn is one of my favourite placements ever; i think the way they express love is just beautiful, and you'd be hard pressed to ever find someone with the same balance of passion and patience. they have a sharp eye for what's beautiful and great taste, and will never settle either. if a capricorn venus loves you, a part of them will love you forever.

if you enjoyed this post, please consider checking out more of my work! thanks so much xo

#pallastrology #astrology #astro community #astrology blog #astrology post #astro notes #astrology observations #capricorn #capricorn observations

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yourlocalgrass · 3 months

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I know the brothers are like too crazy for normal people to comprehend since duh they’re demons but like I think the things MC would do for the brothers, as much as they would also do for MC, is also pretty crazy (obv why it’s a fictional game) but let’s just lay it out real quick: (uhm spoilers as well)

Try getting a sheep human who would be so stupid to jump in front of death just to protect you (and your chihuahua) even if they were helpless at the time

Try getting a human who would still love you even after you… literally unalived them… or attempts, in many other’s cases

Try getting a human who would stab themselves instead of sacrificing you because they believe you and your family should be able to live together so they’d be the ones better off dead

Try getting a human who would literally give up their life essence in order to help their loved one’s life who’s been shortened- even if they have much shorter life compared to theirs

Try getting a human who would curse themselves to the verge of death just because they understand you don’t trust them to at least prove themselves they only wish you and your family happiness

Edit: Don’t forget the insane amount of work every time one of the brothers brothers went out of control during S2, like they went deep under water for Levi which could have resulted badly with one wrong move (water pressure idk how they survived), and lowest circle of hell to get Lucifer which was even more risking and dangerous.

(warning this is satire please don’t try getting a physiologically ill sheep to be your lover- only the brothers and dateables who are also unhinged in their own ways handle them)

Like it isn’t even cute it’s concerning what this sheep is capable of or how fearless they are. Combine that with S3+ mc who’s become a silly dilly sorcerer and then they became unstoppable.

No no don’t give me that everything is okay cute face.

#yes this just came to my mind all of a sudden #obey me #obey me shall we date #obmswd #obmnb #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #obey me mc #the crazy sheep #that we’re supposed to be #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #I would be scared if I ever met someone like MC #yk I find it funny how the brothers would kill for mc when they’d rather kill themselves instead in a dire situation

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dnsbarbie · 3 months

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DEAR READER | C.L 16 (ONE)

Notes: (This involves an Original Character btw)

* English isn’t my first language and I’m still trying to get back my writing mojo ehehe

* No trigger warnings besides mentions of catcalling ??

*This was written to be intentionally a bit vague since it’s just the first chapter

next parts: TWO | THREE

THE AROMA OF FRESHLY watered plants hit her senses. She exhaled the nature-given scent, producing a wave of serotonin in her body. A hand came up to brush away the brunette locks flying across her face from the strength of the wind. Her eyes gazed upon the calm rhythmic waves of the sea, smiling as the floral fragrance mingled with the salty taste of the air.

She was aware of the consequences. The blissful silence she was feeling had a price and the piper would eventually come for the gold. Nonetheless, she chose to bask at the few moments that she had left. Later, she’d be back to scrubbing at a her boss’ expensive yacht. Getting a nice manicure had been long rendered useless at how easily they’d get chipped.

Glancing down at her hands, a grimaced presented itself on her mouth as she spotted the dirt clinging on the inside of her nails.

As she got lost in her thoughts, she raked at her fingernails to clean through the icky substances. She truly had no qualms working for the rich. Not only do they pay handsomely, they also handed her occasional gift apart from her daily salary.

The amount of times she’d been mistaken for a hooker were extremely unhealthy. She often recalls the eye rolls she’d give the old men who’d whistle at her across the port as if she’s some sort of animal.

Lucky for her, her present employer was far from the elderly rich men, sporting beer belly that prey on girls younger than their own daughters.

Her boss was not passed sixty years of age. Instead of bothering young girls, he has this lovely wife and son whom he never fails to show his unwavering devotion to.

One could only dream of a life like his.

“Natalia!”

And here we go.

“Yes?” She yelled back, turning her body to look at the direction of her boss. She watched his towering stature make its way to the harbor, steps creaking beneath the wooden surface.

He squinted at the glare of the sun behind her head. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”

Her eyes widened at the invitation, hands waving from left to right. “Oh! I couldn’t possibly intrude—”

“Nonsense. You’re not.” He silenced her worries. “Come on.” Lending an arm to assist her down the step she was standing on.

Natalia stared at him, her features conveying incredulity. “Right now?”

He peaked at her curiously, slowly tugging her away from the port, taking care not to step on her dress. “It’s passed 6 PM . . .” At his remark, she raised her arm to take a look at her watch.

The hands did indicate a 18:37. Her mouth formed into an “o” at the confirmation. She hadn’t realize she had been dilly-dallying for that long. Her break started nearly two hours prior. The thought to recharge her energy were originally to last only an hour at best.

“I’m sorry— I completely lost track of time,” She apologized, tilting her head up to her boss who simply chuckled at her hushed tone.

“It’s quite alright.” He hummed, returning her gaze. “You’ve finished everything, haven’t you?”

She nodded her head, eyes glistening with pride. “I did! The magazines are back inside the father right cabinet, scrubbed the deck and the body. And I swear— It’s so clean, I could see my reflection ever surface,”

Her enthusiasm brought joy to him, optimg to approve her hard work. “Very good, then.” Natalia spotted his wife by one of the many luxurious cars they own.

A kind smile graced her lips as the pair approached her. “Oh, look at you! What have you been doing?” The motherly scolding tone was anything but scary to Natalia as the blonde woman began to fuss over the her.

“You should really tell her to come inside when she’s done, Toto . . .” Your boss winced at his wife’s glare.

Her graceful hands worked through Natalia damp locks, untangling the knots the had formed on her head. “I must’ve gone for a short swim. . .” She released a laugh to cover up her growing anxiety at the glare she threw her way. “I’m fine, Susie! Just need a shower— if we still have time?”

She glanced up at Toto, who suppressed a playful eye roll, nodding at the smiley girl nonetheless.

“Great! I’ll be back as soon as a can!” Natalia landed a peck on Susie’s cheeks before waving a hand to Toto, running back to their estate.

“That girl. . .” Toto clicked his tongue, but the grin on his face betrayed his true feelings.

“Absolutely adorable,” Susie chipped in, eyes crinkling at her husband’s own glee. But as she stared at Natalia’s retreating form, her expression fell serious. “I thought I told you to tell her that she doesn’t have to work for us anymore,”

Toto strides along with Susie as he answered the question. “I will, later over dinner.”

Susie raised an eyebrow at her husband, arms crossing to her chest. “Dinner? The one you’re having with Fred?”

“Yes— but,” He got ahead of her disapproving look, lifting a finger up to soothe away her frustration. “I’m taking her with me to broaden her connections.”

The enlightenment brought recollection to Susie’s features, heart warming the generous gesture Toto was giving to Natalia. “It’s nice that she knows what she wants, no?”

The tall man agreed, tucking his hands inside his pockets. It had been a nearly a year since Natalia started doing minor tasks for them. In her own faith, when she arrived at their residence, a natural rhythm fell place in her actions. The chores that were usually done by the usual cleaning lady was finished by her.

In her persuading self, she tried to Toto that she could do some of the boat cleaning as well. Of course, he was quick to deny her insistence, stating that her studies are the only thing she needs to focus on.

Natalia Valle was an exchange student from the Philippines. She had passed the examination for the University of Monaco and had been staying in the dorms for the last 3 years. That was until a financial crisis arose between her parents and before she knew it, a wet sponge and a bucket of water was her saving grace to get by everyday.

Thankfully, Susie had found her by the harbor. She sat there, eyes falling close a few times. The bags under her eyes were impossible to miss, conveying her lack of rest. Her hands gripped lightly at a fishing rod. The wooden handle constricted at her hand instinctively as the pull of an object from under the water awakened her spirit.

She flinched, eyes flying open at the force. Susie remembers hearing her devastated groans as the string snapped from its hook, light splashes appeared at the large body of water, indicating the fish’s escape.

One would turn away and go on with their life, Susie would have if she hadn’t seen the distinguish cut on her palm. The one she later turned over to use her fingers as a grapple to dig for another hook and string in her bag.

Getting Natalia’s wounds treated by Susie Wolff was definitely not in her bucket list. But she sat there, trying her best not to look too nervous as Susie herself dressed the long cut on her hand.

Susie didn’t need to make small talk, Natalia thought. Unknown to her, the genuine intentions that harbored Susie’s questions.

From there, Susie struck a deal with her after hearing how she ended up on that port. Susie offered to pay off her last year as a journalism student and her dorm rent. All she wanted in return was for her to graduate.

Of course, disbelief was a natural reaction. To Natalia, she hasn’t done anything special to earn a free pass for her burdens to be lifted off her shoulders.

As she expressed her hesitance, stating that she should not leech off someone else so easily with anything in exchange. Irises expanded at her sheer assertions to at least do something for them in return. To wrap her in solace, Susie agreed to the simple tasks.

Here they were, in the present. Natalia continued to work for her allowance despite Toto’s futile attempts to take the chores off the girl’s hands.

But tonight, he’ll finally be telling him a news that would make her, hopefully, drop all those cleaning supplies.

————————————————————————

Natalia clenched her hands in her lap, settling on admiring the silver bracelet adorned with the crystalline diamonds given to her by Susie last Christmas. Her fingernails chipped at her cuticles, watching the car pass through a series of establishments, deliberately crating a closer approximate to their destination.

The silk of her dress wrinkled at the spot which had had enclosed on her hand, leaving the mark of her worries.

“What’s the matter?”

Toto’s voice made spring her though back, choosing to return Toto’s waiting gaze.

“You didn’t tell me Charles was coming,” She sulked, her whiny tone caught a tug at the corners of Toto’s mouth.

“I knew you wouldn’t go if I told you,” The nonchalance of his shrug expelled a sigh from Natalia.

She tucked a stray curl behind her ear, twiddling with her phone. At the silence, her thoughts scrambled into one idea. One she couldn’t let go, electing to ask it.

“Are you switching teams?”

Toto didn’t seem astonished at her rash query, solely negating her with a soft “No, I’m not.”

The furrow of Natalia’s brows relaxed at his answer, shoulders sagging in defeat. She swore she had it.

The car came to a holt in front of a popular restaurant she was all familiar with. The bright lights twinkled in her vision as the valet opened her door. She tipped her head as a polite greeting, plucking herself from the seat. Her hand drew the rest of her dress out of the vehicle, proceeding to stand her full height.

Toto came to her side, patiently waiting to get herself ready. When she did, she strode with him to the cemented steps where he lent his hand as assistance.

Just one last step to spare before they’re at the door, but heavens had other plans.

“Toto!” An accented voice came calling from below. His joyful exclamation was accompanied by a chuckle similar to his expression.

Natalia found herself turning back as well. True enough, At the bottom of the stairs stood two figures. The jolly French team principal of Scuderia Ferrari, Frederic Vasseur and the team’s golden boy, Charles Leclerc were both wearing matching smiles.

Toto mirrored their smiles, extending a hand to Fred when the pair reached them. Natalia greeted the team principal as well, shaking his hand lightly. When she let go, her eyes wondered to the green eyed individual in front of her.

“Hi,” She chipped, giving him a soft grin to which he responded with a chuckle.

“Good evening, Natalia.” He roamed his eyes through her well-dressed figure. The silk on her body hugged her curves in all the right places. Charles realized he had been staring for quite some time. Fortunately, Toto invited everyone to come inside and start dinner.

————————————————————————

Dinner was going fairly well. The dimly lit hall invoked an air of ease, along with the delectable dishes that have been served. The candles illuminated her face, giving off a warmth through her skin.

She would go as far as to say it was perfect if it wasn’t Charles’ eyes burning into her face. Granted, when she would attempt to reciprocate his stare, he’d look away. Her consciousness made her click unto her phone’s camera, thinking there might be a peculiar substance on her appearance. However, after a few checks every little while, she found no disarray to her make up.

Why was he looking at her like that?

“Natalia,” At the sound of her name, she snapped her head towards Fred, who sat across Toto. “Toto tells me that you need an internship . . .”

The tone of his voice dripped of knowing. Natalia blinked back at him. “Yes, I am.” Was the only thing she could manage as she studied the expression on his face.

Is he? No, surely not.

Fred inclined his body, hands clasped together on the table as a smirk ghosted on his lips. “Well you’re in luck,” No way. “Ferrari’s currently accepting interns. Would you be—”

“Yes!” A hand slapped on her mouth as her voice resounded through the space.

Charles halted the chortle that crawled up his throat, concealing it with a bow of his head.

“Then it’s settled,” Toto clapped Natalia shoulder in a congratulatory amenity, a sense of pride flourishing in his chest. “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll drive you to the Ferrari headquarters.”

Natalia could barely contain her excitement at Toto’s claim. She stood up, reaching her hand toward Fred who gladly received it with the same enthusiasm.

“Thank you so much,” The heat of her eyes were beginning to burn, signaling her near waterworks. “This is such an honor, honestly. . .”

“Actually, we’re heading back to Maranello tomorrow.” Charles joined the conversation, peering up at her standing stature. “You can go with me, if you want,”

Natalia didn’t miss the emphasis on the last words, lips curling behind her teeth at the suggestion.

“That would be great,” She nodded, shooting him a grateful look. “Is 9 AM fine?”

Trying to catch Natalia’s gaze, he kept his on her. “Perfect.”

An indecipherable expression crossed Charles’ features, leaving as quickly as it came when Natalia blinked.

This is wasn’t a well thought idea. Natalia was aware of this fact. The thought of spending four hours in a car with Charles sent rippling shudders down her back. Perhaps the yearning to commit to her life long dreams were stronger than the impending discomfort she had to endure for a few moments.

After all, they both agreed never to speak about it ever again. A long car ride shouldn’t be so hard.

————————————————————————

NEXT PART: H E R E

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nanaminokanojo · 3 months

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Blue | gojo satoru x you

'Lavenders blue, dilly dilly, lavenders green...'

A pair of wondrous blue eyes fluttered open to the sound of your humming. Satoru immediately broke into a slow smile, gazing up at you in the glowing haze of the afternoon sun, the most content smile adorning his face. He breathed deeply as he leaned closer to your touch as you cradled him on your lap and played with his snowy locks.

'When you are king, dilly dilly, I shall be queen.'

And that you have become to him. You are his queen, the goddess who could single-handedly bring him to his knees, not with violence but with the force of your love. It was so profound that despite his belief that love is the most twisted curse of all, after all the losses he had to endure and the loneliness that came with being the strongest, you proved him wrong.

'Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so? T'was my own heart, dilly dilly, that told me so.'

Love wasn't twisted, at least not the love that you showed him. It covered him with warmth and security that transcended his Infinity, coursed through every vein in his body like an a healing elixir that made him look back to his fallen friends in a renewed light. You were the only one who made him feel safe in his most vulnerable moments without the fear that if he let his guard down the whole world he carried on his shoulders would crumble to nothing.

And if it was, then how was it possible for your love to have created life with him?

'Lavenders green, dilly dilly, lavenders blue..."

Another pair of gloriously blue eyes opened, slowly like the blooming flowers that surrounded you in your little garden. That life moved as it awakened in the warmth of his chest and the protection of his arms, small and seemingly insignificant but tethering him to the universe he had built with you along with his love for you – your child.

Satoru's tiny version also looked up to find you through your voice, a smile tugging at the corners of his tiny mouth when he finally saw you.

What he would give to make the moment last forever, to just be in your little world, just the three of you with nothing else in existence? What he would give to just spend everything that he was, his life, his strength, on all the love he could give you and your little one without expending it to keep the balance of the world?

Satoru would give his life to see such beauty every single day, and for you and his child to only see the better things for as long as you both live.

As if you were reading through his thoughts, you took his hand in yours, placing it against your cheek as if to tell him everything will be alright even as your eyes remained on the baby, eyes glossing over with unshed tears.

"Ma...ma..." your son babbled, making you giggle between singing, "If you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you."

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the-kr8tor · 6 months

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Can you write a small thing of the reader(Gn! Reader please) finding out Hobie is Spiderpunk? I just really wanna see what you think would happen honestly.

It's a-okay if you don't! Thank you!

Thank you for requesting l! 😘

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw injury, a dash of hurt/comfort, Fluff.

Wrote this as a sequel to this fic

A/N: a sequel to my first ever fic? I have come full circle 🤣

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You pace back and forth in your shared flat, the floors seem to leave indents of your foot falls from how much you're walking around. Your mind fails to wrap around the fact that Hobie and Spider-Man are one and the same. The familiar embrace and sturdy chest you fell on proves it. But you wouldn't know if your deduction is correct if you don't ask him yourself.

Not knowing how to react, you chew your bottom lip, your nose still aching from the impact. So you wait for him to finally get home, with the sound of keys rattling outside your doors, heart thumping loudly, you sit on the settee to calm your nerves.

Hobie doesn't waste time to come look for you nor take off his boots at the door, he speed walks over to you in a hurry after finding you sitting forlorn on the couch. Your eyes meet his, he immediately crouches in front of you, wrapping his arms around your torso, hiding you from the world. His palm guides your head over the crook of his neck, placing a weighted kiss over your temple; wishing, hoping the pain you feel will subside.

"Came as soon as I saw your message, 'm sorry. Are you alright?" He traces your spine with his hand, comforting and calming your lingering adrenaline. You feel the bandage over his hand through your thin shirt.

"Hobie?" You ask in a small voice.

"Yeah, love?"

You get to the point, there's no point in dilly dallying "Are you Spider-Man?"

His reaction wasn't what you expected, Hobie chuckles deeply like you just told him an inside joke only you two could know. You pull away slightly, hands still holding him, anchoring you.

"Figured me out, huh?" Hobie brushes his knuckles atop your cheeks, careful of your injured nose. "Knew you would notice"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tears threaten to spill over. A hundred questions fly past your mind, insecurity filling you.

He reads you like an open book, "I trust you with my life, hey" Hobie wipes a stray tear, you sniff, paying attention to every word. "Didn't want you to get hurt because of me, someone might get wind of you, and I wouldn't know what I would do if something did happen to you. That's why I kept it from you, 'm sorry" your shoulders relax, sighing in understanding.

Hobie takes your hands in his, you feel the scratchy cloth over his palm. You rub your thumb over it softly, reassuringly.

"You saved me, twice." Your eyes trail over the bandages. "Thank you" you finally look up at him, eyes soft, leaning over to peck his forehead. You hope your love permeates through the kiss.

He sighs, eyes closed in content. You lean back to Hobie's dismay. "I won't stop you from being Spider-Man, just be careful. Come home in one piece?" You smile at him, in return Hobie kisses your knuckles, each kiss longer than the last.

"For you, I will" He gently guides you over with his hand on the back of your neck, meeting your lips for a proper kiss. You move in tandem, hand squeezing his.

Needing air back in your lungs, you pull away, eyes twinkling. "Can't believe my boyfriend and crush are one and the same, is that why you were never jealous whenever I gush about Spiderman?"

"You were inadvertently feeding my ego."

You laugh, placing your forehead against his in affection.

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

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He Who Hides Behind a Mask.

Scaramouche x F!Reader.

Warnings: Scaramouche is a mess, Reader is honestly a mess too, implied not SFW. Word count: 6k.

Note: originally, this story was going to be lot darker (haha), but after the 3.1 cutscene... i decided mr. mouche can have a break just this once. as a treat. please handle him with care. he really needs all of it he can get. anyway here’s my love letter to my fav genshin character.

You are, without a doubt, the worst human in the world.

If Scaramouche was labeled an eccentric by his peers throughout the centuries, he wonders what that would make you. Whatever conventions you abide by are a complete mystery to him. Perhaps you damaged your head at some point in your life and are now living with the consequences. Or, your head has made it out mostly unscathed, and you really are just this foolish for no good reason. That miserable doctor might say there’s an explanation behind every phenomenon, but the charlatan surely would change his tune if he met you.

What else could possibly explain why you have the audacity to waltz into his office, entirely unannounced, scuttling about like you owned the place?

… And if that isn’t worse enough, why does he let you?

“I brought some reports from Yaroslav and Stepan,” you slap said reports on his desk, then stretch your arms over your head. Scaramouche purses his lips as he contemplates how wide open you’ve left yourself to attack. He considers chastising you but decides against it this time, feeling otherwise preoccupied with your words. He’ll save that lecture for another day. Lord knows he has plenty building up already.

“Did they offer any explanation as to why they sent you in their stead?” Scaramouche scoffs, straightening the papers out and giving them a once over. If memory serves, this time-sensitive information was supposed to be here hours ago. He would’ve hunted the two aforementioned slackers down himself had he not been so inundated with other matters. Really, he shouldn’t be dilly-dallying with you at all, he should just wave you off so he can focus again.

Emphasis on the word should. He knows he most definitely won’t. Not when he had to bite his lower lip to stop a smile from spreading upon you barging in.

You unclasp your standard-issued Fatui mask from your face and toss it aside. “Well, if you want my opinion—”

“I can’t say I ever do, really.”

“—Okay, I’ll be ignoring that comment. Anyway, back to my opinion. I believe they find your lordship unpleasant. Horrifying. The worst company anyone could ask for. Had it not been for the fact they were wearing gloves, those papers would’ve been soaked from how much they were sweating.”

Gross mental image aside, he laser focuses on the insults you so freely flung in his direction. “If my company is ‘the worst anyone could ask for’, why is it you seek me out like a pest so often?”

You help yourself to the chair in front of his desk. Scaramouche had never seen anyone aside from you use it, since the few trembling Fatui agents that managed to survive their encounters here never risked staying long enough to test the furniture. It might as well belong to you at this point. As does the windowsill you somehow manage to balance yourself on when the sun is beaming in, the couch, his bed in the attached room…

“What kind of pest are we talking about here? Bugs or rodents?”

He rolls his eyes. You’re so purposefully obtuse that it’s a wonder your back isn’t bent a hundred degrees. “A mutation between them that maximizes both of their worst qualities.”

“One, that’s too cool to be an insult,” you put a gloved finger up, “And two, I’m convinced that if I didn’t keep you company, you’d go crazy from loneliness and zap everyone to death. I consider this a community service.”

Oddly enough, you might be spot on. What was that phrase again? A broken clock is right twice a day? He mentally rephrases it so that the ‘twice’ becomes ‘once’. He can’t be giving you more credit than is absolutely necessary. While he doesn’t have definitive proof you’re a telepath, it’s too much of a risk to presume otherwise. Your ability to read him is just… uncanny. He has his suspicions.

“You’ve been slacking in your supposed community service then, seeing as you’ve been gone the past week.”

Oh no, that came out way more bitter than he intended. And oh no, now you’re smiling, not the kind he’d begrudgingly call cute should his enemies ever waterboard the information out of him, either. This variation is the worst. Malignance hidden behind a veil of purity. The stuff of nightmares. It’s the ohh-you’re-so-taken-with-me-aren’t-you smile that puts his reputation of being cool and composed on the line. He can’t have that, not with you. It does away with the telepath theory that he desperately clings to.

If you’re somehow not a mind reader, then the only other explanation is that he’s made himself vulnerable enough for you to understand him. He doesn't like the thought of that. Not at all. The possibility pricks at him like a thousand needles, jamming in from all directions. Sharp and digging so deep past the surface, that removing them would cause him to bleed out.

With far more confidence in your gait than he would’ve preferred, you stride over, slinging an arm around his shoulder. The touch fills him with warmth, and still, he shivers.

“Did you miss me?”

There it is — a final blow worthy of taking him out. He wouldn’t succumb to flesh wounds, time’s passage, or elemental attacks that could level nations. It was only the sweet words that left your lips that held the high honor of potentially doing him in. Scaramouche is left stupefied. He doesn’t think about the two bumbling idiots that used you to avoid his wrath, the workload piling up as each second passes, or how grating his fellow Harbingers are.

Absolutely nothing else in this existence registers aside from you.

How close you are, how right it feels when your bodies connect, the scent of pine trees and brown sugar that make up the shampoo he knows you favor. The very shampoo he uses in your absence to try and placate himself until you return.

Emotions brew within him like the tempest above Seirai Island in his homeland. He hides it by biting down on his bottom lip, somehow managing to keep the cracks of his porcelain façade from spreading further. Once the damage is done, he hasn’t the slightest clue on how to go about fixing it. All he knows is that you are the one inflicting the damage. Far more than you could ever know. Far more than any veneer could ever polish.

With a strained tone, he manages to free the words that were lodged in his throat.

“You’re so full of yourself. Of course I didn’t.”

ii.

Scaramouche never thought he’d be able to desire a human body as much as he does yours.

It wasn’t until he made your acquaintance that he could understand how scholars went mad in pursuit of knowledge they’d never obtain. They knew it was a fruitless endeavor too, as did he, and still, what other choice did they have but to continue their studies at the expense of themselves? He was a creation — you were created. A line separates you both that he would always pass if it meant he could get the slightest taste. The blame all lies with you. Had you not tempted him, he’s certain he would’ve had the wherewithal to resist.

Or maybe that was just another pretty lie he wove, for he’s more comfortable claiming you’ve trapped him when he’s every bit the willing prisoner.

He once found the human body to be a miracle, something to envy in his earlier days. An unobtainable treasure for a tossed aside husk like himself.

He’s since rectified that naive line of thinking. What was so good about blood that couldn’t clot itself fast enough to heal mortal wounds in an instant? Skin that inevitably withers and sags from brittle bones? A heart that could kill its host should it beat too slow or too fast? The design was subpar. His being triumphed over it in every conceivable category. In the same way a swan would never pause to consider the appearance of a worm in light of its own beauty, Scaramouche thought he lacked the capacity to admire anyone other than himself. He figured that if he’d gone five centuries without finding anyone worthwhile, such a mythological figure must never exist. His modus operandi remained firm. Distrust miserable humanity, mock the foolish gods who are far less omnipotent than they’d like to admit.

Then you stumbled into the picture. No grace, no poise, only offering whatever it is you offer that he apparently just can’t get enough of. Addiction would be putting it lightly.

He runs his fingers over the hand-shaped bruises forming on your hips, then the blotches he greedily left behind on your neck. He considers the faded bites he had left around your collarbone upon receiving news you were to be away for a week on a job. He shifts himself, allowing the light from the full moon to illuminate where you returned the favor in kind, only to find the skin had healed completely. He frowns and tugs at his yukata to hide the perfection.

Indeed, you were subpar in comparison to his own divine design, but he couldn’t help but take a liking toward what your body was capable of. Far from revulsion yet not quite envy. This new emotion that bloomed in his chest went unidentified on purpose, for he never wished to give it a name.

Your body told stories, whereas his scrubbed the words clean from the pages, lest anyone ever read them.

A soft exhale from your sleeping figure draws his attention. You help yourself to snuggling deeper into his pillows, a content little smile on your lips that were raw from his various ministrations. He fights back a laugh at the state of your hair, sticking in enough directions to rival a compass. Absent-mindedly, he smooths out what he can. He’s probably not in a much better state himself. You were such a hair grabber. Perhaps all his spoiling made you impatient.

After running out of good excuses to stare at and touch you, he lays back down. His bed is far more inviting now that you’re back in it. Even if you have an unseemly habit of hogging the blankets.

“I did miss you… a bit.”

He whispers it as if it were a confession he’d clung to his entire life, only letting go moments before eternal slumber so that he may know peace. Scaramouche isn’t sure why he’s so adamant about denying you the truth. Is it pride? The thrill of being chased and sought after? Or, more realistically, and far uglier, could it be cowardice? He thought he had removed the filth that is emotion from his being. He declared it to be so, reveled in it, found solace that stretched centuries because of it.

You’ve reawoken that which lays dormant within him. If there’s anything the discarded puppet understands, it’s the danger that comes from rousing things from their sleep.

Much to his alarm, you stir, and he freezes like a thief caught in the diabolical act. You mutter some words that he can’t quite make out. Then, seemingly content with your change in position, you’re out like a light once more. His tense shoulders relax and he almost sighs from relief. He decides it’s too early to entirely let his guard down, not until he can confirm you aren’t faking slumber for some insidious machinations. He wouldn’t put it past you.

“You irritate me,” he murmurs, using the same volume that he did before.

Nothing.

“Your plant died because I forgot to water it like you asked me to.”

Still nothing.

“... Personality aside, you have some attractive qualities.”

Nada.

Huh. So he was being paranoid for nothing. He huffs in frustration, whether it can be attributed mostly to you or himself, he cannot say for certain. What he does know is that the sun will be rising in a few short hours and he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep. The fault lies with you, he decides. If you weren’t so pleasant to look at, he’d have been well on his way to dozing off. Every anomaly in his life can be traced back to you like an elaborate tapestry. He’s thought about ripping it off from the hinges, igniting each thread until it frays, warming himself with the fire that he’d start and maintain.

While it might be difficult at first, in the long run, it should make everything easier. Get his focus back onto his lifelong grudges and goals.

But when he feels how your palm locks perfectly into place against his, he decides the warmth he gets from you as you are now is superior. Even if it means that he might possibly be the one to go down in flames instead.

iii.

“Hey, [First].”

“Hm?”

“If I said that I hated you, would you believe me?”

You take a pause from sipping on the tea he prepared. Your fingers trace the outer ring of the yunomi, eyeing the steam rising from the murky green liquid inside. Unfortunately for Scaramouche, you’d witnessed him preparing matcha tea in the classic Inazuman style, and often bugged him to make you some. He always complained about how high maintenance you were yet never refused the request. The one time you pointed this out, he hastily made the excuse that you talk less and are generally more bearable when your mouth is preoccupied. This earned him a wink that set his face ablaze.

“I think it’d depend on your reason for hating me,” you decide.

He raises an eyebrow at this. “Do I have to have a reason?”

“Well, yeah. Otherwise, you’re not putting your heart into it. It’s too tepid. Go big or go home, as they say.”

Who exactly says that…?

“And what if I don’t have a heart?” Scaramouche proposes. You’re giving him a weird look. He knows he’s being overly cryptic and searching for answers you could never give, but he can’t stop himself. There’s a certain satisfaction to be found in getting all passionate over a perceived wrong. Searching for offenses hidden beneath the reeds that simply aren’t there, yet settling on labeling the rough shape of it just that. He likes it when others make mistakes in his presence. When he has an excuse to belittle and berate them.

What that says about himself, he could care less. Very few have the power and or courage to call him out on it.

He’s scrutinizing your every movement. From the fluttering of your eyelashes against your cheeks to how you readjust your posture, searching and searching for the perfect opening for him to lunge at. He needs it from you, he realizes, in the same way lost humans in the desert need water.

Scaramouche starts drumming his fingers on the ground. Why are you taking so long to respond? Normally, you would’ve rattled off on some nonsensical tangent by now that he’d claim to only be half paying attention to when he actually soaked up every word. Could it be that you sense the underlying severity that he tried so hard to mask? Or is his telepath theory gaining newfound credence again?

He has to sever this connection with you. If he doesn’t, every time he tries to pull away, he’ll snap right back in your direction.

“The way I see it,” you start, five words that make him internally cringe yet lean in nonetheless, “Your heart is a work-in-progress. An ongoing project.”

“What?” He deadpans. Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t this.

“Hold on, I’m not finished yet. You can’t judge me until I’m done.”

He has reason to disagree but keeps that sentiment to himself.

You set the near-empty yunomi onto the ground and look him straight in the eye. “A heart is what guides you. It takes you in all sorts of directions, good and bad. You’ll think to yourself, ‘why did I do something so stupid, when I knew it was stupid’, and well, that’s because of your heart. So as far as I see it, anyone capable of messing up has a heart.”

You tap your head with your knuckles and he’s semi-amazed it’s not a hollow sound that comes forth. “See, if we only used this and abided purely by logic, we’d all be super boring and perfect. That’s where our heart comes in. It sends us spiraling all over the place and makes things interesting.”

“So you’re saying because I’m stupid and have the capacity to ‘mess up’, I have a heart?”

“Well, I would’ve gone for an artsier flare in trying to sum up what I said, but I guess that’s the gist of it.”

“I’ll be generous and overlook the incredibly foolish nature of your words that defy all sensibility—”

“Wow, thanks.”

“—And entertain your assertion with one final question before I drop the subject. You still haven’t elaborated on the work-in-progress part. Explain.”

“Oh, this one’s simple,” you nod with confidence that makes zero sense to him. “It’s only a work-in-progress because you haven’t realized you already have a heart. Once you figure that part out, you’ll be all set.”

You have the audacity to conclude this world-shattering statement with a thumbs up. Scaramouche gawks at you, vacillating between incredulity and sheer awe over your apparent nerves of steel. Grown men cower in his presence. Villages and settlements are razed on his command. He could very well ascend to godhood one day so that he might tear the false stars from the sky. And here you sit, speaking candidly with him, as if it was the most normal thing.

You interrupt his thoughts by holding the empty yunomi in his direction. “Would it be okay if I had some more of this stuff? It’s delicious.”

He yanks the yunomi with far more force than necessary, turns his back to you, and starts assembling the necessary tools while muttering obscenities under his breath. The matcha powder is all but flung into the bowl. Stupid woman with a stupid pretty face making him do stupid things—

Scaramouche freezes.

You make him do stupid things?

Oh no, this is really, really bad. Wait. There’s still hope. A light at the end of the tunnel that he must run towards. If he doesn’t believe your mad ravings, because that’s definitely what they were, no doubt about it, then he’s safe. In the clear. All good. Above reproach. The implications that would arise otherwise are too damning, possibly enough to rewrite his entire existence—

You wrap your arms around him from behind and rest your head atop his. “Are you okay, Scara? I’ve seen statues move more than you have in the past few minutes.”

He swallows thickly.

“... Kunikuzushi.”

“Huh?”

“My name isn’t Scaramouche, you dullard,” he can barely ladle the hot liquid into the bowl from how much he shakes. “It’s Kunikuzushi. Remember that.”

He feels you hum, the sound low and remarkably pleasant. “Ku-ni-ku-zu-shi. Kunikuzushi. Okay, got it. What a relief. That’s way better than what I thought your actual name was.”

“What did you think my name was?” He questions, momentarily forgetting that giving into his curiosity around you often spelled trouble for him.

“Balladeer,” is your instantaneous response.

He lets out a sound he didn’t think he was capable of making anymore. You must believe this as well, for you release your hold on him, swiveling around in front with wide eyes. Scaramouche covers his traitorous face to the best of his abilities, but it’s too late. You caught a glimpse and now he will have to live with the consequences. He swats you away as you try to pry the hand covering his smile.

“Oh wow, I made you laugh!”

“You did no such thing.”

“It wasn’t a derisive laugh or anything either! I thought you could only do evil little chuckles. This is a discovery worth celebrating.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Look who’s talking.”

For once, he doesn’t have a good response ready to fire back.

iv.

Fate is an unfunny joke, as far as Scaramouche is concerned.

He was destined for more than the hand he was dealt. A creation torn away from the higher purpose it was handmade for. Godhood, divinity, a seat amidst seven holy thrones. Fate had spat in his face and turned its back on him. Some — a certain pink-haired kitsune comes to mind — might label his various schemes a tantrum. That could be exactly what he was doing. What the fruits of hundreds of years' worth of labor ultimately amounts to. He doesn’t care if that’s the case. People could look down on petty revenge all they want, but at the end of the day, what matters is that it feels good. Vindicating, exhilarating. There is unrefined beauty in disaster when he is the orchestrator of it.

Yet for some reason or another, he doesn’t want disaster to rip its claws into you.

Your touch is different tonight and so is his. There’s a raw urgency behind it that he doesn’t care to conceal, whereas yours is sluggish, almost apathetic. It’s the antithesis of everything you are and he can’t help but find his mood soured because of it.

Scaramouche is doing everything he knows you like. Touching you in the places that normally produce such lovely noises, devouring you with his lips and body. He’s giving you everything — more than that, even — while you give him nothing. You don’t goad him on or push him away. This impossible to decipher situation has his head reeling. He wants you, he needs to have you, but not like this. Not when you aren’t yourself. For that is what he desires the most.

When he pulls back from his heated kiss, saliva connects your lips in a thin line. He grimaces at your blank expression. Why isn’t this working? In the past, when words failed him, he compensated with his actions. He’d encourage you to sing, make you throw your head back and abandon all sense of propriety, freely handing the worthless notion over to him without a second thought. You never refused to give when he went to take. So this drastic change is both abnormal and unwelcome.

“... What?” He demands, breathless. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Why does it bother him so much?

Scaramouche knows he could get up and leave. Perhaps that’s what he should do, and what he would’ve done years ago, but he’s paralyzed. You’ve injected your venom so deep inside him and he didn’t realize until it was too late. Death’s tolls are ringing in his ear to come claim him, with you standing as his executioner.

“You’re going to Inazuma,” the words come out slowly and in a tone that hardly fits you.

“Yeah? And?”

“You’re going to Inazuma without me.”

“I’m failing to see the issue here,” he grits his teeth. “Spit it out already. You’re testing my patience.”

You both glare at each other in silence for some time. A little voice in his head that he repeatedly tries to silence tells him he already knows where you’re going with this; you’re trying to give him the dignity of fessing up before he’s pressed further. You were an unrivaled master when it came to navigating the complex maze that is his existence. In any other instance, he might cave and give in. He can’t with this, it’s too imperative, the driving force that’s erred him on for countless years.

Scaramouche scoffs and moves himself off of you, settling on hanging his legs from the side of his bed. You don’t try to stop him or chase after him. You just lay there, your eyes burning on his back, ensuring that the atmosphere remains thick.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. There has got to be nothing worse than when one realizes they’re in the wrong. He can count the times he’s felt this way on a single hand, most of the experiences connecting back to you in some way. Conviction eludes him otherwise. He could shock sobbing and pleading individuals to ashes without batting an eyelash, but no, the moment you’re upset, it’s all too much and he can’t handle the pressure.

Fine. You want him to come out and say it? He’ll do just that.

“I’m going to leave and betray the Fatui,” he says as if he’s discussing the weather. “I want that deplorable Electro Archon’s gnosis. I’ve waited centuries for an opportunity like this to present itself. So, if you have half a working brain, you can see why I don’t plan on having you tag along. You’ll likely be labeled a traitor too for fraternizing with me.”

He’s grateful you can’t see his face, for he doesn’t have his hat to conceal it.

If he has little reason to stick around, you have infinitely less after a cold confession like that. He’s admitted to endangering you despite knowing his plan to one day betray the organization you both are members of. He selfishly embedded himself in you regardless, soaking up your warmth and everything good you had to offer. A parasite, he thinks. That’s what I am. A parasite that grew addicted to you and took more than it could ever hope to give back. He’s discarding you in the same way his mother did to him, once his existence was deemed unfit for its desired purpose. If he considered humans untrustworthy, what does that make him?

“... Is that all you want, Kunikuzushi?”

He’s never heard your voice so soft and delicate. What a shame that out of all the times he’s felt he deserved it, it had to come now, when he knows he doesn’t.

“It is,” comes his curt response. “You’re a fool if you think otherwise.”

He has no better defense other than to say you knowingly got entangled with a Harbinger. You could argue the point, call him on his bluff, hurl every insult under the sun at him. He’d let you too — it might as well be your right. You do no such thing. You don’t even storm out of the room in a huff. Instead, you pull the sheets up to cover your bare chest, fluff out your favorite pillows, and smooth out the wrinkled blankets. Scaramouche has to glance over his shoulders to confirm what it is you’re actually doing. Sure enough, you’ve closed your eyes, and are well on your way to falling asleep.

He shakes his head in complete and utter disbelief.

It would seem that he could never understand you, not even in your last night shared together.

You don’t come to see him off on his voyage.

His ego might be larger than any numerical measurement could hope to quantify, but not even that could make him believe you’d have any kind words left for him. That was the point of him pushing you away, wasn’t it? To enjoy you up until the very last second then make a clean break? Still, he can’t help but feel troubled by the dejection looming over him like storm clouds in your absence. What a pain. It appears you’re destined to annoy him no matter the circumstances.

Standing atop the upper deck, he overlooks the desolate landscape of Schenzaya that seemingly stretches on forever. Muted grays and blues blend together in a dreary canvas befitting of his current mood. Fatui soldiers rush around from all directions, though they do their best to avoid the space Scaramouche occupies, leaving him to brood in silence. The dark aura emanating off of him does well to warn others off.

Scaramouche doesn’t understand why this debacle is troubling him so when he knew it was coming. His ultimate goal has always been obtaining a gnosis or any other path to divinity, that didn’t change when you came stumbling along. He needs to get over this inconvenience promptly. For him to fulfill his lifelong dream, he must ensure his chest is a blank slate. He even abandoned his childlike longing for a heart upon recognizing this. Everything must be stripped clean for what is to come next. This mire plaguing him is no different — he’ll wash and drown it out.

Suddenly unable to stomach the view any longer, he pivots and makes for his private cabin. The mere thought that you’re somewhere out there, far beyond his grasp, where others take kindly to you… he could almost get sick. If you were likable enough for him to ease up in your presence, who else would succumb to your charms? He balls his hands into fists by his side. You could do so well for yourself and he loathes the thought. There’d be some admittedly petty satisfaction if he was confident you’d be alone forever after him, but it just isn’t realistic. Irksome woman. Damn you for being enjoyable company and easy on the eyes. Damn you for making him care in the slightest.

Those he strides past either scramble to occupy themselves with busy work or fixate on the floor. He pays them no mind, viewing them as insignificant as the chipped wooden planks beneath his feet. By the time he gets to his cabin’s doors, fatigue falls upon him, though his long journey is just beginning. He shoves the doors open with enough force that the hinges shriek in protest. His kasa is pushed slightly askew from the doors slamming shut, yet he cannot think to fix it or anything else. Not when he sees what awaits him inside.

Not when he sees you. Lounging on his bed as if it’s the most regular thing ever, a framed picture of yourself in your hands that he brought along against his better judgment.

“I’ve got to say, this shot looks pretty good,” you hum. “Although I have no memory of it being taken, so that’s creepy. Do I even want to know how you got this?”

… You probably don’t, but that’s beside the point.

Scaramouche all but stomps over to where you sit. He is a bundle of unsteady energy that is ready to explode at the slightest trigger. You smile at him as he leers down at you, his eyes twitching from how nonchalant you are about this intrusion. Yes, that’s exactly what this is, an intrusion, you’re entangling yourself into something beyond your scope. Beyond your comprehension.

“How,” He narrows his eyes, jamming an accusatory finger in your direction, “The hell did you get in here?”

His personal security might completely pale in comparison to him, but they should be competent enough to keep the likes of you at bay.

“The same way you did, I imagine. The door.”

Scaramouche growls and you put your hands up in defense. “Okay, bad timing, sorry. I told the guards that if they didn’t let me in, I’d tell you about the time they came back from town drunk and tried flirting with me.”

The lightbulb overhead flickers from the electricity Scaramouche exudes.

“They what?”

“Ah, sorry Grigoriy and Igor…”

He shakes his head, deciding to return to that egregious revelation later.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you overboard.”

You part your lips and then close them, eyebrows furrowing together. Whatever it is you’re mulling over, he doesn’t know why he gives you the time, or why he waits with bated breath. He longs to chalk it up to you being dense. How much simpler that would be, if he could insult your intelligence and call it a day. Deep down, he knows the truth is far more complex than that. You have your reasons for doing what you do. There’s intentionality interwoven into your being, no matter how casual you act. It’s what lures him in and keeps him trapped.

He never knows what you’ll do or say next — and he always wants to stick around just a while longer to see.

“Last night, you told me you only wanted the gnosis,” you set the frame down and fold your hands onto your lap. “I thought about that for a while. Not because it surprised me, but because you chose to stop at that. I couldn’t understand why. I know you’re greedy. I know you want more… you want me.”

You tilt your head, your eyes crinkling and full of mirth. It’s enchanting. “So be greedy. Want me as much as I want you. If your kindness is pushing me away, then I don’t care for it, because I’m greedy too. I only want kindness from you if we can both enjoy it. Talking for hours about the silliest things… arguing about topics neither of us really care about… you making me matcha tea in the middle of the night ‘because I whisk it like I’m trying to break your bowl’. That’s the weird, twisted kindness that I’ll accept.”

Scaramouche has never felt so light and heavy at the same time.

“You’re serious about this?”

“One hundred and ten percent.”

“I’m worse than you think I am.”

“That isn’t too surprising.”

“Way worse,” he’s breathless, his face is on fire, and he wants to kiss you senseless until you are too. “If you think I was greedy before, you haven’t seen anything yet. You can’t promise yourself to me without knowing that. I won’t stop at anything to keep you all to myself. If you betray me like my m…”

His voice threatens to crack, but he manages to smooth it over, “If you betray me, I might just destroy this world and everyone in it.”

Including himself.

Your hands are cradling his face. He sees his reflection in your eyes and it's a vulnerable sight that hasn’t stared back at him for centuries. It disgusts him, taunts him, and unearths memories that he thought he buried six feet under. He’s at his ugliest and you look at him as if he were beautiful. Despite himself, he leans into your touch. You were a priceless find. Some treasures were meant to be displayed for the entire world to envy; he decides that method isn’t for him. Your logic-defying ways were to be reserved for his viewing and no one else's.

“And if I never betray you?” You inquire, the pad of your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek. “What then, Kuni?”

His eyes are lidded when he responds. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t understand trust or the concept of depending on another. In his earliest days, when these imperative truths were beginning to take root, the world burned it to the ground. He always thought the soil was poisoned beyond repair and left it at that. For if tried only to fail again, he’s certain he’d doomed himself to a cycle of disappointment in others.

“Well, I guess that means we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

You make it sound so easy.

“... Fine. Suit yourself,” Scaramouche fights back a smile at the way you cheer in victory. “Something tells me if I threw you overboard, you’d just cling to the boat, anyway.”

You shoot him a wink. “I’ve been told I’m relentless at getting what I want.”

The imbeciles you surround yourself with might have a point.

Scaramouche knows the words were spoken in jest, yet he fixates on them. You want him. You want him. You want him. For better or for worse (he’s leaning toward worse), you’re still willing to put up with his endless list of negative qualities. He can’t remember the last time anyone offered him that, probably because no one ever has.

You start to move away and he holds you in place, stealing the kiss that’s been on his mind since you had the audacity to show up uninvited. His mouth slants against yours, his appetite voracious and demanding everything you could possibly offer. You reciprocate in kind, your lips curving upward, and your hands guiding his to settle on your hips.

You are the worst human, he thinks, pushing you back onto the bed and eliciting a gasp from you in response.

So it’s his job to see that you’re dealt with accordingly.

By him and him alone.

#scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #reader insert #genshn impact reader insert #fatui x reader #harbinger x reader #not sfw #my stuff

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