𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫

I heart scara | she/her ♡

[scaraobsession]

Categorically Yours ⎯ ♡

⎯29. hypothetically

previous masterlist next

summary⎯ It starts with a note in philosophy lecture. They sit together once, then again. Now they’re texting, sharing notes, and maybe something else they won’t admit. Minor in philosophy, major in denial.

[pupuslette]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⋆ ۫ ໒. two fools or pulling a she's busy bro on your s/o with an odd reaction ! warnings: a bit of swearing + suggestive content. might be ooc. featuring:: kaeya, kaveh, kinich, lohen, lyney, mitya, scaramouche/wanderer, xiao.

pi note: where's da smaus series update😂 soon mayb, sorry im really lazy asf to write for lohen and for lyneys there no inspo gang, i need to see my king again in order to pull somethin from me BUT HEY mitya is so...soo ... gorgeous like wow, and he is tall and pretty and reminds me of my wife nagito komadreja

©pupuslette, 2026. All rights reserved, please refrain from using my work without my permission and as well avoid involving anything of my belonging to AI or similars. Genshin Impact characters are not of my belonging

[ivorywillows]

I really didn't think people would like the scara x escort reader... But rejoice part 2 is coming.. we haven't even met scara again yet and that is the word count...

[xsanichi]

Durins Birthday Gift

Durin asked you what you'd like for your birthday. He had heard that it's common for humans to exchange a token of appreciation when they know each other very well. So that must mean he should do the same for you, too!

You, however, told him that his presence alone was a gift in itself.

Durin took that literally.

[fenkko]

bug eyed creature / scruffy dishrag (drawing childe as a duck again) #ajax #tartaglia

[cbltblxx]

Rex Incognito

[scaraobsession]

HAYPASIA👹👹👹

NO👹👹👹

[scaraobsession]

“Wandereeer, I can’t sleep, you’ve been gone for too long”

“I’ll join you in a bit, I’m almost done with this.”

The whiniest whine ever leaves you. How can he be so heartless as to leave you all alone in the cold, hard bed?

"But Sweetheeeeart, you've been saying this for an hour now. I'm tired"

He glances over his shoulder, the sight to behold is truthly a pitiful one. Instead of the blankets, it should be him in your warm, loving embrace right now.

But his thesis paper is nearing completion, surely he can work on it for just a bit longer—

A tug on his sleeve makes him jump in his chair.

"Pleeeeeease Wanderer, I need you", you whine feebly, wiping a sleepy tear from the corner of your eye.

Your cute bedhead, drowsy expression, pleading eyes and cozy nightwear all make him want to pull you into a tight embrace and tell you that he's here for you to cling to all night if you so desire.

The thesis is almost completed.

But how is he supposed to resist you?

Surely it can wait another day.

♡ ♡ ♡

masterlist

[awhkaiy]

when u have to choose between your ex or your enemy. but it's childe and scaramouche.

childe's the ex who still acts like you're best friends. he calls u at 2 am, buys u ridiculously expensive gifts, asks to spar, and grins like nothing ever went wrong—except he’s still a bloodthirsty harbinger wrapped in a golden-retriever mask. u know he’d jump into a pit of fire for u, but his life is a whirlwind of violence and fatui madness that will inevitably collateral-damage your sanity.

and scara is the enemy: sharp-tongued, volatile, deeply insecure, and petty. he hates u, he’s hovering around u, and he’s constantly telling u how pathetic u are—yet he can't seem to walk away.

[ivorywillows]

Hellooooo!!

I was wonder if you could write a scara x escort readers

But like it's not him that paid for her it's childe?? And childes like going to set him up with the reader and scara kind of like judges us for a job and maybe you can tell he's not like into us and stuff or something and eventually we start drinking them get like a really drunk and it's like fluffy.. fluffy fluff

I'm so sorry I really don't know how to word this request I've just been like dreaming about it

Feel free to decline

Scara x Escort!reader ૮ ྀིᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀིა

PLEASE GIVE ME REQS

tw: mention of rape, scara is kinda mean but too much, alcohol use, uhh idk what else

૮ ྀིᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀིა afab reader

i reallllyyy hope you like this!! i tried not to make Scara OOC but i think i failed </3

Your job was basically walking the line between therapist and prostitution.

Yeah, it was a pretty rash comparison.

But it wasn't exactly wrong.

Being an escort wasn't just about dressing pretty, sitting across from some stranger, and letting him buy you dinner. Sometimes, the men wanted someone to listen to them. Someone to laugh at their jokes. Someone to make them feel desirable. Someone who would look at them like they were interesting instead of pathetic.

Other times, they wanted something more.

And sometimes, they didn't care what you wanted at all.

You'd learned that pretty quickly.

Becoming an escort had been a last-ditch decision after you dropped out of college barely a month into your first semester. You'd told yourself it would only be temporary. Just something to keep you afloat until you found an actual job.

At first, it had been fucking terrifying.

There was so much you didn't know. How to screen clients. How to recognize warning signs. What questions to ask. What information never to give out. When to leave. When to lie. When to smile sweetly and pretend you weren't scared.

There were rules to this kind of work.

Most of them existed because somebody else had already learned the hard way what happened when you ignored them.

Eventually, though, you got used to it.

You learned how to navigate the scarier parts.

You learned how to look confident even when your stomach was twisting.

You learned how to flirt without promising anything.

You learned how to make a man feel wanted without actually wanting him.

And, more importantly, you learned how to tell which men were worth the risk.

Because, honestly?

The job was kind of bad.

Really bad, sometimes.

It depended on the client.

Every once in a while, you managed to land someone wealthy. Those clients tended to be easier. They had more money, more to lose, and usually more awareness that hurting you could come back to bite them.

Usually.

Not always.

Money didn't magically make someone a good person.

But it could make them more careful.

And if one of those men decided to cross a line anyway, at least there was a chance you'd walk away with enough money to make the entire night feel slightly less pointless.

Not that being raped was ever worth the money.

It wasn't.

There was no amount of money that could magically make something like that okay.

But when you were desperate enough, sometimes you had to think in ugly, practical terms.

At least you'd get something out of it.

That was the logic you told yourself.

For girls who weren't as fortunate, things could get much worse.

They had to take whatever clients they could find, including men who couldn't afford much and knew they couldn't afford much. Men who thought paying for your time meant they owned it.

And when a client like that decided to get violent, there wasn't always much separating you from a very bad night.

Let's just say things got messy.

Fortunately, you didn't have to take that unfortunate of men.

You weren't exactly getting the most fortunate ones either.

Not yet, anyway.

You were somewhere comfortably in the middle.

And that was fine.

For now.

You only planned on doing this until you could find a job that paid better and, preferably, didn't fire you after the first two months.

You wanted something stable.

Something normal.

Something that didn't require you to memorize strangers' faces and keep your emergency contacts ready just in case.

But you didn't have time to think about your future right now.

You had a new client to get ready for.

This client was supposed to be like every other one.

At least, that's what you assumed.

There was one subtle difference, though.

He was around your age.

That was rare.

Most of your clients were older men with expensive watches, expensive cars, and enough money to make you overlook how little you actually wanted to be around them.

This guy?

Apparently, he was young.

Not that you minded.

You were only doing this for the money, after all.

At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.

You made sure your phone was turned on and within reach as you sat at your vanity, meticulously working on your makeup.

You put more effort into your appearance than you technically needed to.

But that was the point.

You wanted repeat customers.

Repeat customers meant predictable money.

Predictable money meant fewer desperate nights.

So you treated every appointment like it mattered.

You carefully fixed your eyeliner until the wings were twins, not sisters.

You checked your foundation.

You touched up your lips.

You made sure your hair looked effortless despite the amount of effort you'd actually put into it.

You even packed makeup for touch-ups.

Yes, it wasn't a date.

You knew that.

But treating it like one helped.

It made getting ready feel less like preparing to meet a stranger who had paid for your company and more like preparing to go somewhere you actually wanted to be.

It was better for your mental state.

After finishing your makeup, you stared at yourself in the mirror.

Then you started practicing your expressions.

A soft smile.

A teasing smile.

A coy little glance.

A look of genuine interest.

A quiet laugh.

You even practiced looking surprised.

Facial expressions were essential in this line of work.

You needed to be able to convey emotions whether you felt them or not.

Especially when you didn't feel them.

You had gotten surprisingly good at it.

A man could sit across from you and tell you the most boring story you'd ever heard, and you could still look at him like every word coming out of his mouth was fascinating.

That was part of the job.

Make them feel interesting.

Make them feel attractive.

Make them feel wanted.

Even when you couldn't wait to leave.

You were still practicing in the mirror when your phone finally pinged.

Tartag0011 - 8:32 PM

Hello, miss. Just checking in to make sure we're still on for tonight??

You raised an eyebrow.

Normally, men didn't ask.

They demanded.

Be here at eight.

Wear something nice.

Don't be late.

That sort of thing.

This was different.

Strange, even.

He was checking whether you were still comfortable with the arrangement.

You tapped your nails against the phone for a moment before typing.

Name (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠) - 8:35 PM

Yes, yes! No worries!

Actually, may I have a description of what you look like?

You bit your nail while waiting for his response.

Then you locked your phone and went back to your mirror.

You weren't going to stare at your phone like some lovesick teenager.

You had a job to do.

You continued practicing your expressions, occasionally checking the time.

The closer it got to the meeting time, the more restless you became.

Not nervous, exactly.

Just alert.

There was a difference.

Eventually, you sighed and realized you were running out of time.

You quickly shoved a few makeup products into your bag, grabbed your perfume, and stood from your vanity.

Right as you reached for your bedroom door, your phone pinged again.

Tartag0011 — 8:41 PM

Oh sure 😄

I have navy-purple hair and rbf

Not hard to miss.

You stared at the message.

Then you let out a small giggle.

Navy-purple hair and Rbf?

You'd never seen someone describe himself like that.

It was ridiculous.

Silly, even.

But oddly memorable.

You shook your head.

It wasn't your business whether he was cute, interesting, or strange.

You weren't planning to get attached.

That was another rule.

Never get attached to the client.

You grabbed your keys and walked toward the bedroom door.

After opening it, you stepped into the hallway and shut it behind you.

Your house was tiny.

Embarrassingly tiny.

Calling it a house was almost generous. It was so small that it might as well have been a glorified shed.

At least the rent was cheap.

You made your way through the cramped little place toward the front door.

Maybe it was dangerous to walk to your appointments alone.

It probably was.

But you couldn't afford a cab, and you didn't have a car.

So you usually met your clients at the bar down the street.

Dangerous?

Yes.

Cost-efficient?

Also yes.

You walked slowly, deliberately taking your time.

You didn't want to arrive before him.

You preferred getting there afterward.

That way, you could see him first.

Evaluate him.

Watch how he moved.

Watch how he looked at people.

Watch whether he seemed nervous, aggressive, drunk, arrogant, or simply creepy.

You could learn a lot about a man before he even noticed you were watching.

Sometimes dinner led somewhere else afterward.

Another bar.

A hotel.

An apartment.

Somewhere private.

And if you were going to potentially follow a stranger somewhere private, you wanted to know exactly what kind of man you were dealing with first.

Escorts didn't normally have sex with their clients.

That wasn't automatically part of the deal.

But you weren't naïve enough to pretend it never happened.

You weren't completely against it, either.

If someone offered enough money to cover your bills, you'd at least consider it.

And if the man happened to have a pretty face?

Well.

That certainly helped.

You weren't made of stone.

Normally, though, you weren't interested.

You made enough money without crossing that particular boundary, and most of the men you met weren't attractive enough to make you want to blur it.

Money was the point.

Not romance.

Not affection.

Definitely not love.

You continued walking, thinking about all the things you could be doing instead.

You could've been in college.

You could've been worrying about exams.

You could've been working some boring nine-to-five job.

You could've been complaining about coworkers instead of memorizing strangers' faces.

Instead, you were walking down the street to meet another man who had paid for your time. 

The distant music from the bars and clubs gradually became louder as you approached the main street.

You passed the rowdier clubs without giving them much attention.

You weren't going there tonight.

You were heading to the quieter bar down the street.

The one with dim amber lighting.

The one that played jazz instead of obnoxious club music. 

The one where the atmosphere was warm enough to make you forget, for a little while, exactly what you were there for.

But the atmosphere wasn't the only reason you brought clients there.

You knew the woman who owned the place.

She knew what you did.

She knew the risks.

And, more importantly, she knew you well enough to notice if something went wrong.

That made the bar safer than most places.

Eventually, you reached the entrance.

There was no need to check in with security.

They'd known you for a long time.

You walked inside, immediately scanning the room.

You weren't expecting to see your client downstairs.

You'd specifically told him to go to the second floor.

It was quieter.

Less crowded.

And easier to keep an eye on someone when there weren't dozens of drunk people surrounding you.

You walked through the bar, listening to the sounds around you.

Glasses clinking.

Music playing softly in the background.

People talking.

Men laughing.

Women laughing, too.

Except you could recognize the difference between genuine laughter and the fake kind.

You heard several women who did the same job you did laughing with their clients.

Those airy, breathy little laughs.

The ones designed to make a man feel funny.

Interesting.

Desired.

You knew that laugh.

You used it yourself.

You slowly climbed the stairs.

Halfway up, you discreetly checked your perfume.

You smelled good.

Perfect.

You pulled the compact mirror from your purse and gave yourself one final inspection.

No smudged eyeliner.

No lipstick on your teeth.

No obvious flaws.

Good.

You slipped the compact back into your purse and continued upstairs.

The second floor was noticeably quieter.

You looked around.

Your eyes moved from table to table until they finally landed on someone with navy hair.

You paused.

That had to be him.

For a second, you simply stared.

He wasn't what you were expecting.

The profile hadn't lied.

He really did look around your age.

His hair was a deep navy-purple, exactly as he'd described.

His face was sharp around the edges but somehow soft at the same time.

Pretty, in a way that didn't immediately scream pretty.

And then you noticed the red eyeliner at the corners of his eyes.

You almost smiled.

Those were definitely twins.

Not sisters.

You couldn't help the little giggle that escaped you.

It wasn't the kind of giggle that meant oh my God, he's so cute.

It was something else.

Something much more practical.

A quiet, almost wicked little thought slipped through your mind.

This is going to be easy…

It was time to work.

You  made your way toward him slowly, taking your time as you looked him over before you reached his booth. He was attractive, you couldn't deny that. The kind of attractive that made it annoyingly easy to stare. His clothes looked expensive, his posture was effortlessly confident, and even from a distance, you could catch the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

You were still eyeing him when he finally noticed you walking toward his table.

For a brief moment, you expected him to look interested.

Instead, his eyes flicked over you once before he looked away, barely giving you a second thought.

That stung your ego a little.

You would admit that much.

Still, you kept walking.

Your heels clicked against the floor as you approached his booth, your confidence returning with every step. Once you reached the table, you placed your fingertips against the cool marble surface, letting your manicured nails make a quiet clicking sound against it before you slowly lowered yourself into the seat across from him.

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

You opened your mouth, ready to introduce yourself and figure out exactly what kind of evening he wanted.

But he spoke first.

"No offence, but I'm only here because my friend forced me to be here. I don't actually want a prostitute."

He rolled his eyes as though he'd already grown tired of the conversation before it had even started.

You froze for half a second.

You were caught completely off guard, and judging by the faint shift in his expression, he could see it on your face. His eyes traveled over you from head to toe, almost as though he were judging you for having the audacity to be offended.

"I'm not a prostitute," you said with a scoff. "I'm an escort."

Of course, he had a resting bitch face.

Or maybe it wasn't resting.

Maybe he was simply a bitch.

Either way, you weren't particularly concerned. You were being paid to sit here, and you had already been paid. His attitude wasn't going to change that.

"Isn't that like the same fucking thing?"

He scoffed, looking at you as though you were the stupid one for making the distinction.

You stared at him for a moment.

You knew what your own job was.

"No. A prostitute is paid specifically for sex. An escort is paid for her time and companionship. Sex isn't automatically part of the arrangement."

You gave him a completely deadpan stare.

You didn't even bother using any of the seductive expressions you'd practiced in the mirror earlier. There was no point. You already had the feeling that this man would somehow find a way to insult you for blinking incorrectly.

Then you caught the scent of his cologne again.

It was expensive.

Not just expensive-smelling, either. It had that subtle, polished scent that immediately reminded you of the wealthy students you'd gone to college with before you'd dropped out.

Typical.

You were annoyed by what he'd said, but you couldn't exactly blame him for not knowing the difference. Most people didn't.

"Well, you're kind of a bitch. No offence."

His mouth curled into a snarky little smirk as he looked at you.

"There's no way this job pays well for you."

Your eye twitched.

Yes.

He was pissing you off.

But what exactly were you supposed to do about it?

You leaned back slightly and crossed your legs beneath the table.

"Well, let's get this over with, then, since my..." He paused, deliberately emphasizing the word. "Friend is paying for the food."

He picked up the menus and tossed them across the table toward you.

You caught them and immediately slid one back toward him.

"I already know what I want."

"Of course you do."

He shook his head and looked back down at his menu, apparently finished entertaining you.

You sighed quietly.

Then you stared at him.

You couldn't really help it.

Watching people was practically part of your job. You were supposed to pay attention to them, to their expressions, their body language, the little things they did without realizing it.

And, admittedly, he was interesting to watch.

Eventually, he looked up.

His eyes met yours.

His brows immediately furrowed.

To him, you were strange.

Really, really strange.

You didn't look away.

You didn't even realize how intensely you were staring until his expression became increasingly uncomfortable.

Then, beneath the table, his shoe lightly nudged your ankle.

You didn't react.

He stared at you.

You stared back.

A second later, he kicked your ankle again, harder this time.

It still didn't hurt.

You finally blinked and shook your head slightly, as though waking yourself from a thought.

"What?"

"You're staring," he muttered.

You looked away.

"Oh."

A brief pause.

"Sorry."

You turned your attention toward the restaurant instead.

Something about tonight felt different.

Normally, you knew exactly how to behave. You knew when to smile, when to flirt, when to laugh at a man's jokes, and when to lean close enough to make him feel desirable. You knew how to make an evening feel intimate without necessarily making it personal.

But this?

This felt too much like an actual date.

And that made you uncomfortable.

You weren't supposed to be dating him.

You were working.

You reached toward the side of the table and pressed the small red button that summoned a waitress.

While you waited, you decided you could at least attempt some small talk.

"So, I'm guessing you aren't... Tartag0011?"

You said the name hesitantly, looking directly at the man sitting across from you.

His expression changed immediately.

He looked almost offended.

More offended than when you'd corrected him about being an escort.

He shook his head.

He clearly didn't even want to discuss it.

"That idiot..." he muttered under his breath, looking away.

You raised an eyebrow.

"Okay."

Awkward.

You could tell he didn't want to be there.

And, honestly, neither did you.

Eventually, the waitress arrived and took both of your orders.

He was surprisingly polite to her.

Almost strangely so.

His entire demeanor changed when he spoke to her, his voice becoming noticeably more pleasant. For a moment, you wondered if he knew her.

You didn't particularly care enough to ask.

Once the waitress left, you saw no reason to keep pretending you were desperate to entertain him.

You rested your arms against the table and leaned forward, letting your head settle into your palm.

He might have been a dick, but at least sitting here was a nice break from your usual work.

"So, aren't you supposed to, like, entertain me or something?"

His elbow was propped against the table, his cheek resting against his palm as he looked at you.

You glanced up at him.

"Well, yeah. Kind of."

You shifted your head in your hand, unconsciously mimicking his posture.

"Most of the time, men just talk to me."

You studied him from across the table.

He studied you right back.

For once, neither of you seemed particularly interested in pretending this was anything other than what it was.

A paid evening between two people who didn't really want to be there.

“I don't think I have anything to talk about,” Scara said.

He still looked at you as though he were quietly judging you, his indigo eyes lingering on your face with an expression you couldn't quite decipher. But there was something different there now. Something softer, perhaps. You couldn't tell if it was pity, curiosity, or something else entirely.

You decided to ignore it.

Maybe it was better that way.

“Well, maybe you can explain to me why your friend is buying you time with an escort?” you asked.

The question left your mouth before you had the chance to reconsider it. The way he went quiet afterward made you wonder if you had been too blunt.

It wasn't exactly an unusual situation for you. Friends paid for their friends' appointments all the time, especially when they were convinced the person in question needed a little help in the dating department. Still, you had no idea whether he had ever had something like this happen to him before.

“I'm not actually sure...” He scratched the back of his neck and glanced away, looking mildly embarrassed. “Normally, he just sends me on blind dates with his friends, but it seems like he ran out.”

There was clear annoyance in his voice when he mentioned it, as though the mere thought of all those failed setups was enough to irritate him.

You watched him for a moment.

You weren't sure whether you wanted to keep asking questions. Part of you felt like you were prying, but then again, getting him to open up was quite literally your job. You were supposed to make him comfortable. You were supposed to get him talking.

“Do you have trouble dating?”

The second the question came out, you realized how backhanded it sounded.

You almost winced.

He, however, didn't seem offended. He simply sighed, long and heavy, as though you had managed to touch upon a subject he was already tired of discussing.

“Stupid...” he muttered.

He rubbed his neck again before looking back at you.

“I just haven't found anyone yet. I don't even know if I want a girlfriend.”

And suddenly, you understood.

It was another case of a man's friends deciding that he desperately needed a relationship and taking it upon themselves to find him one.

A classic.

“I see...” You leaned back slightly, studying him. “Then don't rush yourself into finding someone. It usually ends badly.”

The words came out more seriously than you intended.

You were speaking from experience.

Nobody deserved to be pushed into a relationship simply because everyone around them thought they were lonely. Nobody deserved to end up trapped in something they weren't ready for.

After that, the conversation fell quiet again.

But this silence was different.

It wasn't as tense as before.

There was something almost comfortable about it now. The two of you sat across from one another, occasionally looking at each other before quickly looking away. Every time your eyes met, however, you caught him staring just a second longer than necessary.

You weren't sure whether you were imagining it.

Normally, you didn't drink while working.

It was one of the few rules you actually followed.

But tonight felt different.

Maybe it was the awkwardness. Maybe it was the strange chemistry between you. Or maybe you simply wanted something to take the edge off.

Either way, you reached toward the small red button on the table and pressed it, signaling for one of the women working the floor to come over.

He didn't say anything.

He simply watched you.

You suddenly realized something.

You didn't even know his name.

It was strange when you thought about it. You had already spent enough time sitting across from him to have a conversation that was considerably more personal than most first meetings, yet you still knew practically nothing about him.

You wondered if it was even worth asking.

It wasn't like you were going to see him again.

At least, that's what you told yourself.

For a moment, you looked at him, and something about his expression made you wonder if he had been thinking the exact same thing.

Then, unlike you, he actually acted on the thought.

“What's your name, anyway...?”

His voice broke through the silence.

He was looking directly at you now, although his attention occasionally drifted past you toward the room around you. His gaze returned to your face, lingering there.

You hesitated.

It was such a simple question, yet for some reason, you found yourself strangely reluctant to answer.

Eventually, you parted your lips.

“Oh, it's {name}.”

You gave him a small smile.

“Yours?”

He nodded, almost as though he were pretending the question didn't matter to him. Then he looked away for a second before answering.

“Just call me Scara, I guess.”

You blinked.

That was... weird.

The way he said it made it sound like Scara wasn't actually his name. More like a nickname he had decided was good enough.

You could have asked.

You didn't.

Who were you to question him?

Besides, in his eyes, you were probably nothing more than an escort doing her job. Whatever mysterious little details surrounded him weren't really your business.

You had been waiting for the woman to return for what felt like forever. You were just about to glance toward the entrance when you finally spotted her approaching the table.

And, to your surprise, she was carrying your food.

You immediately perked up.

At least you wouldn't have to sit there pretending you weren't hungry anymore.

She approached the table and carefully set the plates down in front of both of you. When she finished, she smiled directly at you.

You found that a little strange.

You weren't sure why she was looking at you like that.

You ignored it.

“Oh, miss,” you called before she could walk away. “May I get a bottle of... tequila?”

You smiled sweetly at her.

She nodded and quickly shuffled away to retrieve it.

Across from you, Scara stared.

He didn't say anything.

He simply began picking at his food, eating slowly while occasionally glancing in your direction.

Your own portion was noticeably smaller.

You didn't like eating much on nights like this. Especially when you were working.

Your appetite tended to disappear when you had to spend hours sitting across from strangers, smiling and pretending everything was perfectly normal.

Eventually, the woman returned.

She placed the bottle on the table and asked whether you wanted anything to chase it with.

You shook your head.

“No, thank you.”

She nodded and walked away.

Your attention immediately returned to the bottle.

You reached for one of the glasses sitting at the side of the table, the kind that was usually kept there for customers, and pulled it toward yourself.

Scara watched you.

You uncorked the bottle.

Then you poured.

And poured.

Until the glass was nearly full.

You could practically feel his eyes on you.

For the first time that night, he looked genuinely caught off guard.

His eyebrows lifted slightly, his attention fixed on the glass in your hand before shifting back to your face.

Still, he didn't say anything.

You raised the glass.

The alcohol caught the light as you tilted it slightly, and for a fleeting second, you caught Scara's gaze again.

There was something in his expression now.

Curiosity.

Interest.

Maybe even concern.

You couldn't tell.

And you didn't care enough to ask.

You brought the glass to your lips.

That was the moment you stopped being careful.

The moment the night began slipping out of your control.

[Scara's POV]

Originally, I had planned to leave the moment I finished my food. There was no reason for me to stick around. I'd already eaten, I'd already paid, and frankly, I had better things to do than sit around in some miserable bar watching strangers drown themselves in alcohol.

Then there was her.

I watched as the woman slowly drank down a glass of what looked like pure tequila, taking tiny, distracted nibbles of food between each swallow. She wasn't even really eating anymore. She was just picking at it, staring blankly at the table as though she'd forgotten what the food was supposed to accomplish.

It was pathetic.

Not that I cared.

At least, that's what I told myself.

I wasn't enough of a bastard to leave a woman alone at a bar when she was obviously drunk. An idiot, perhaps, but not that much of an idiot. She'd already been crying for God knows how long, and at some point, she'd stopped even trying to hide it. Her head was nearly resting against the table, her shoulders occasionally trembling with quiet sobs.

I'd finished my meal ages ago.

I shouldn't have still been sitting there.

It wasn't my problem. Whatever was going on with her had nothing to do with me. Besides, if she was working, getting this drunk on the job was incredibly unprofessional.

Then again, judging by the state she was in, I doubted she cared much about professionalism anymore.

Eventually, she seemed to forget where she was entirely.

She pushed herself up from her seat, leaving her bag behind, and began wandering toward the exit with the unsteady determination of someone who had no idea where they were actually going.

I stared after her for a moment.

No.

Absolutely not.

I wasn't about to become responsible for some drunk stranger.

...But leaving her alone wasn't exactly an appealing alternative, either.

"Unbelievable," I muttered under my breath.

I waited a few seconds before getting up. I didn't want to follow her too quickly and make myself look like some creep stalking a vulnerable woman. I grabbed her bag from where she'd left it and followed her outside instead.

By the time I caught up with her, she'd already made it out of the building.

"Hey."

She didn't stop.

I reached out and caught her by the arm before she could wander any farther.

"You've gotta be careful," I said, keeping my voice firm. "You're drunk."

I might as well have been speaking to a wall.

She turned toward me, but her eyes were completely glazed over. Whatever I'd said clearly hadn't registered. She was far beyond tipsy. She was completely gone.

I sighed.

"Where do you live?"

She mumbled something I couldn't make out.

"What?"

She tried again, words dragging together as though her tongue had stopped cooperating.

"One... two-six-four... down the road..."

I stared at her.

"That's it? That's your entire explanation?"

She only blinked at me.

I honestly hadn't expected her to be stupid enough to bring clients to a bar this close to her own home. That seemed like a spectacularly bad idea.

Unfortunately, I was proven wrong almost immediately.

I walked her to my car and drove the short distance she had indicated. When I stopped in front of the house, she immediately reached into her pocket and pulled out a key.

I stared at the house.

Then at her.

Then back at the house.

"You've got to be kidding me."

She stumbled toward the door, barely managing to keep herself upright. I watched her unlock it and push it open.

She walked inside.

And, naturally, she didn't bother closing the door behind her.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the open doorway.

"Of course."

I grabbed her purse and followed her inside.

The first thing I noticed was how small the place was.

Not cozy.

Small.

There was barely enough room for one person to move around comfortably. The furniture looked inexpensive, the space was cramped, and the entire place had the unmistakable feeling of somewhere someone lived because they had nowhere better to go.

It was... depressing.

I hated that I felt pity for her.

She didn't even notice me enter.

She simply stumbled over to the couch and practically collapsed onto it, curling into herself as if she'd finally run out of whatever strength had been keeping her upright.

I sighed and shut the front door behind me.

"You are seriously lucky it was me," I muttered, walking around the couch and setting her purse on the coffee table. "It could've been some fucked-up old man with much worse intentions."

She lifted her head slightly.

"I wouldn't be drunk if you were a regular client," she mumbled between hiccups.

I stared at her.

"That's your defence?"

She didn't answer.

I stepped closer, and the moment I did, her eyes widened. For a second, genuine fear flashed across her face.

I stopped.

"Relax."

I crouched slightly so I wasn't looming over her.

"You're fine. I'm not trying anything."

Her expression remained wary.

"I'm just taking these Bobby pins out," I explained. "Your head's going to hurt like hell in the morning if you sleep with those digging into your skull."

She blinked at me.

Then, apparently deciding I wasn't about to murder her, she relaxed against the couch.

I carefully removed the pins from her hair one at a time, making sure not to yank any strands. I placed each one into a small pile on the coffee table.

"There."

Once I was finished, I looked down at her heels.

I sighed again.

"These too."

I crouched down and carefully removed her shoes before setting them aside.

Then I stood.

"Where's your room?"

She blinked at me several times.

For a moment, I wasn't convinced she'd understood the question.

Eventually, she lifted one hand and pointed vaguely toward the hallway.

I followed the direction of her finger.

"Very helpful."

I walked over and opened the first door I found in that direction.

A bedroom.

I scanned the room before walking over to the bed. I grabbed a pillow and a blanket and carried them back into the living room.

She was already half-asleep.

"Seriously?"

I knelt beside the couch and gently lifted her head enough to slide the pillow underneath it.

"There."

Then I unfolded the blanket and draped it over her.

Once I was certain she was comfortable, I sat down on the floor beside the couch.

I didn't particularly want to stay.

But I wasn't leaving yet.

I watched her breathe, keeping an eye on her chest as it rose and fell beneath the blanket.

Slow.

Steady.

Good.

At least she was breathing normally.

I leaned my head back against the couch and stared toward the ceiling.

This wasn't a job anyone should have to do.

Risking your body just to barely scrape by sounded miserable.

And somehow, I doubted she had much choice in the matter.

"Hey."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of my mother's business cards. She'd insisted that I keep a few on me at all times, despite how unnecessary I'd thought it was.

Apparently, she'd been right.

I picked up a pen from the middle of her coffee table and turned the card over.

I wrote my number on the back.

"If you ever want an actual job," I said, though I knew she was barely awake enough to hear me, "call me. Or call the number on this card. We might be able to arrange something."

She didn't respond.

Of course she didn't.

She was drunk out of her mind.

There was no way she'd remember any of this tomorrow.

I stood up and headed toward the door.

I'd barely taken two steps when I felt fingers wrap around my hand.

I looked down.

She was staring up at me through half-lidded eyes.

"You..."

Her voice was barely audible.

"What?"

She raised her other hand and pointed vaguely toward her forehead.

"Kiss me here."

I froze.

"No."

I immediately looked away.

"I can't-"

I didn't want to disrespect her.

Not when she was like this.

She tightened her fingers around my hand.

"Please..."

Her words were slurred and broken.

"I just want to feel loved..."

She swallowed, her eyes beginning to close.

"Just... for one second."

I stared at her.

Then I rolled my eyes.

"You're unbelievable."

I bent down slowly, making sure she understood what I was doing, and pressed a brief kiss against her temple.

Nothing more.

I straightened again and looked at her.

She was already drifting back to sleep.

"Idiot," I muttered quietly.

I walked to the door and locked it behind me before shutting it properly.

Then I left.

I doubted she'd call.

Honestly, that was probably the last time we'd ever see each other.

And, for her sake, I hoped it stayed that way.

But as I walked away, one thought stubbornly refused to leave my mind.

I just hoped I would never see her face on the news.

Made by ivorywillows. Do not repost ANYWHERE

[yeiwo7]

Wanderer x Reader | 2.6k words | Fluff, slight angst<3 | pt1 | pt2 here

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟

He's a coward, and he knows it well.

Facing his wrongdoings? Nah, he'd much rather delete his ENTIRE existence to restart his life. He's afraid of that guilt, the one that will consume him whole before he gets to live the life his mother had originally intended him to live.

The one he misinterpreted. Perhaps his first betrayal was really himself all along...

no

nononono

it was his creator, "My mother..."

Not that he cared for the electro Archon. But he understood that woman was more machine than him. She had no grasp of raising a sentinet young one. Muddled by grief and towering responsibilities, she was no better. She wasn't even herself.

Out of the goodness of her heart, she set him free. He wasn't supposed to bear the burden of the gnosis. He was too human for that. She made him perfectly...perhaps a little too perfect. It became his flaw. A fatal one. He wasn't supposed to bear the burden of the gnosis, but he was manufactured to. And that's the problem.

He was born to crave something he'll never get. Only a whiff and taste, but never fully his.

The realisation dawned on him that instance. The second his insticts told him to bolt. He's a fighter and you're just some human with a bouquet...some human...

The wind caressed his dampened cheeks, as he flew out of city walls, somewhere into the forest for solitude and peace. Somewhere to be alone. This is why he hates humans. They're too mushy and gooey with their affection seeping through their eyes. He's different. He's got a heart, yes, but not like yours.

He can't be yours.

That bouquet in your hands? You'd probably recieved that from another lover or suitor of yours.

He's never felt such distaste for some unworthy male mortal before today. This, this is all beneath him! You are a mere distraction. He hates it. He welcomed change, yes, but this is hideous.You made him hideous. He hates this burn. Can't even cure it.

He fucking hates you.

Before he knew it he ran out of stamina, crashing into the canopy below. Caught and cradled by the branches.

He shouldn't have ran. You are not a threat.

Wanderer was always one to observe from the shadows, not to be seen. Not like this, not when he doesn't want to be seen—AND ESPECIALLY NOT BY YOU!

But you saw him. He felt seen, bare, naked, exposed in a room packed with people.

But why did he run? Why? This is so unlike him.

'Who am I tonight?' He thought.

You began to feel like the electro gnosis.

The one that's probably resting in the palm of Her Majesty. He can't have you. He doesn't even know you. What if you're already someone elses? In the palm of another's hand.

. . . 𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯. . .

You stand there, still blinking at his vacant spot.

What the fuck???

Guess that IBS must've kicked in, because he is gone. You tried to forget him, really. To focus on your friend who's performing. Or the other familliar faces you have spotted.

But he lingered like the aftermath scent of a waist-slimming shartfest that definitely consisted of the fragrances you ate.

Why was his face so pleasant to look at? Why did he seem offended, angered and betrayed? For fucks sake! You glanced at hin for a second, what the fuck is his problem?? (you)

You really did your best. By the end of the performance you really did forget about him. Entranced by your friend. Meeting with Dehya, Nilou and Collei was a blast. However, they ushered your irresponsible ass gome after you told them about your soon to be overdue due-at-midnight-but-actually-next-morning 3 page essay with a proper fucking thesis.

And all this is a draft for the ACTUAL FINAL ESSAY.

Yeah. You're dead meat.

Like real dead meat.

But, as human as you are. After you finished with you 3 pages and numerous cups of stay-awake-for-this-PLEASE bevarages your mind meandered to that man.

He seemed well built. Lean, but still muscular. He's got a vision, anemo too at that...aaand that funky hat of his. You giggled at the library memory of watching his sorry ass scurry away like some cockroach.

But a pang of guilt flashed across your face as you thought about the most recent interraction. He seemed so sad. Why? Was it because you didn't run after him to give his books back? Who is he anyway and why are you still thinking about him?

Crawling over, you reach for your bookbag and pull his out. Searching through his notes, which were pretty well written...pretty useful stuff...and—oh.

His explanation of the concept and timeline made more sense than whatever jargon you were trying to cram from your textbooks.

To feel a semblance of closeness to this pretty man, whom you've never met and probably never will after today, you begin to read through his notes. Giggling at his occaisonal doodles and snarky commentary.

It's been almost an hour, or two who knows how tines works at night! And you've gotten to the final few chapters, still halway through the actual notebook, and a certain comment catches your attention before you pass the fuck out.

'Who's that fucking annoying person in the corner doing nothing.'

You, being a half-awake, half-asleep idiot. Giggle at the comment and, as a joke, wrote 'Me <3'. That's not even the worst part.

...

You wrote your fucking signature there too. Signed your own bullshit reply and closed the book shut with naive satisfaction.

Ohhh, you fool.

. . . 𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯. . .

Scrunching his brows, Wanderer stirs awake. Sunshine glimmered on his face. His hat felt heavier than usual. Gently taking it off to reveal a few baby birds still sleeping on his hat.

Perhaps taking a random 'sick day' won't affect his studies. Not like it'd be a problem. This morning is the deadline for an important draft the students had a whole week to work on. And of course he had submitted it as early as that day. The professor sees him as diligent and studious, but Wanderer's just too lazy to deal with it later. He'd much rather get over it quicker.

He muttered to himself, breathing in the fresh forest air. He groaned out in an exhale. "Fucking idiots, those scholars. Submitting papers last minute." Chuckling to himself as he watched the birds rest.

Now he begins to wonder. Why did you approach him? What did you want to talk about? And now it finally dawns on him as he lefts out a treacherous groan that definitely woke up the birdies. "Fuucck, she probably just wanted to talk like a normal person and here I am running amok with my own thoughts." He bashed his head against the bark of the tree. Loosing balance and falling down into the bushes. Soon after distant chirping could be heard and his hat tipped over and fell onto him too.

This is already a fantastic morning.

. . . 𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯. . .

You weren't faring any better. Barely made it in time. Didn't even have a proper breakfast; just drank a cup of whatever, honestly, and scooped up every book in your vicinity, threw that into your book bag, and here you were, by the grace of the Anemo Archon, you weren't late. Submitted the hell draft on time. After reading through extra material last night (this morning), your productivity in class was quite noticeable. With the established yappers all called out sick, you basically blurted out answers with this newfound confidence, and even the professor praised your efforts!

Until it was the end of class, and as you scanned the seats in the classroom, the weirdass hat guy was not here. But he does study the same subject as you, so you thought to leave it with the professor.

"Uhm, uh, Professor."

"Yes? Do you have any questions? You did pretty well today."

"Ah, thank you, but my question is unrelated to Rainforest region history."

"Oh? Go on..?"

"Do you have a student with a weirdly circular hat?" She looks at you weirdly. Shit. He's probably wearing a uniform. "Uhm, pale skin, male, has this indigo coloured short bowl-cut hairstyle?"

She looks at you like you're speaking Liyuen to her or something before it clicks and she laughs. "You mean Hat Guy? Yes, he's a senior student of mine. Why do you ask? Would you like for me to set him up as your tutor?" She smiles, giving you those eyebrows. You pause, perhaps short-circuit. Tutoring??? First of all, that would either kill you or make him kill you. Second of all, are your grades that ass that the fucking professor is offering to set you up with a tutor? Damn, have other people hit on him before? He is very beautifully handsome.

You show her his thick notebook. "He left this in the library yesterday. I tried to run after him, but he just disappeared, so I thought I'd give it to him today, but I realised a little late that he's probably not in my class." You pause. This is embarrassing, okay? Okay, deep breaths now; you already look like a weirdo, it can't get any worse than this. "Could you please give this to him the next time you have class with him?"

She nodded and smiled. Receiving the book. Now that your only anchor for a possible future interaction has been discarded, you set sail for the hallways and off to the library to finish up some more work before another lonely lunch break. But instead of feeling free, there's this pout that dances on your lips instead.

Disappointment?

. . . 𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯. . .

The next day, he entered class and received his notebook..? Huh, the professor said some other student of hers had found it in the library.

The whole lecture was sacrificed. His mind could only handle one thing, and he chose you without fail. Was it you? Oh, oh... could it be that this is what you wanted to approach him about?

Wanderer groaned a bit too loudly, causing some students to glance over at him, confused. Dragging his face in his hands. He's the fucking idiot. But he feels shame, guilt, and undeserving to be near you.

You deserve someone better, but then again, who is better than him?

No one.

Exactly.

Oh, God, this is the worst time to have an identity crisis. Crippling self-esteem or god complex? Pick a struggle, for fucks sake.

Throughout the day, he'd caught glances of you. Throughout the week, he'd done his own PhD on you. In the house of Deana, you sat in his favourite spot many times; it's basically yours now. But he decided to go out for a walk instead of facing you...confronting his own feelings, his own cowardice. In the afternoons, you would catch the cold breeze atop the city branches. In the evenings, you went out on walks outside the city. Sometimes you would simply run around in nature; other times you'd be hunched over another book, losing your sanity. You're his favourite form of entertainment.

Later in the week, like five days after that first, fateful encounter, for lunch, he'd been meandering the streets before the afternoon sessions when he spotted you having lunch, alone. At a table meant for two.

His feet went without another word. He doesn't even get too hungry. Why is he doing this? He walked past you from behind. He's too much of a coward, a fool dressed in yellow, to sit before you. The most he could do to satiate his greed is be as near as possible.

"Hey! Mister with the Hat! Hat guy?" Your voice followed after him. He was ashamed of whipping his head around as fast as he did. Eyes blown wide. And oh, he'd never felt the Sun's gentle warmth before today, before he happened upon your smile. For him. "Did you get your notebook back?"

"Yeah." Fuck fuckfuck, use your fucking vocabulary, Wanderer! Five hundred years of learning communication and etiquette only for a measly, constipated yeah? YEAH?? "I did; the professor gave it to me. Thank you for returning it." He nodded, curtly.

Technically, the interaction has ended. That's all you wanted, it seems. But your body still faced his; you were looking everywhere but him. Soon narrowing your gaze to the vacant seat before you. You look at him. Then the seat. Him. Seat. Him. Seat.

Even an infant could understand the insinuations you were making.

He sighed. Ready to walk away. He was already burning from the way you smiled at him. Any more of this and he might die.

"Mister, would you care to join me for lunch?"

He would rather die the happiest man in Teyvat if it meant he got to sit with you. With you noticing him.

Walking over, he placed his bookbag there. Wordlessly, he walked into Lambad's tavern and ordered some food, nothing much. A small plate of biryani, extra-spicy, and a salted lassi. Returned to you like he was meant to from the start.

It felt awkward.

What was to be said? That he's seen you everywhere? That he's memorised the faces of your few friends? That he knows what you're studying? That he knows your name now, because he felt that you went through his notes? That he knows your routines, your favourite drinks? Your hobbies and study times? He is the brittle breeze you wish for atop the city branches, often were lover sit. He's always there, with the wind; you just haven't noticed. There for you.

"Honestly, I hate this midterm draft essay shit.' You began to speak, still chewing on some food.

"How so? Oh, hah" He laughed, leaning back in his chair. "You submitted it late?"

You looked at him, offended, and for a second his confidence faltered. Did he upset you? Shit shithshtikhist—

You pull out your index finger and point it high to the sky. "Actually, I submitted it on time." You state in a snarky, matter-of-fact tone.

"So last minute?" It dawns on him. You're that type of fucking idiot.

"No need to call me out, mister." You add a little flirtatious touch to it. For shits and giggles.

"Hat guy works fine, no need to be formal." He chuckles. Until he feels that funny feeling again.

And—Oh my god, you're making him sick—he wants to throw up flowers and his fucking breakfast.

Poisoning him during lunch is foul play.

He hates this. His skin crawls with foreign warmth. His heartbeat races. He wants to run. How unlike him. Did his creator have all this in mind when she was making him? Was he supposed to feel this? Was he born with a heart?

What have you done to him?

What did you do?

God, he hates your smile. Your cheeky tone as you match his banter. Abhors how tranquilising your voice is. He's fallen prey to your harmless trap. He hates how you've got him wrapped around your finger. He's the fool. And yet he still lingers for another dose of warmth upon his otherwise cold skin. He doesn't produce body heat, so what is this? malware??

Worst of all, he wants to stay. Stay by your side till you discard him too.

If only he could continue with you tomorrow. If only he could be with you a little longer in this lonesome moment.

If only...

He could be yours.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟

©Yeiwo7 Do not use my work as your own or feed it to AI. I will personally find u fucks and skin you alive if you do.

[scaraobsession]

I have no idea if reqs are open or not so if they aren't uhh please ignore this but how would Lohen, wanderer, chiori and Arlecchino react if reader told them randomly that they were planning to propose but they can't find the ring in their room so they're asking the character help find it

(bonus points if the ring was just sitting in their drawer and they didn't realize 💔💔)

"Will you marry me once I find the ring?"⋆｡˚☽˚｡

Genshin Characters helping you find the ring that you were gonna propose to them with

Includes in this order -> Lohen, Wanderer, Chiori and Arlecchino

a/n: THEY WERE OPEN im just a slow ahh writer sorry </3 this was rlly fun to write tho I like your brain

links: masterlist | nav

Lohen

WAY too excited over the fact that you were gonna propose

So much so that he initially forgets about the little detail of you losing the ring

Says something like "You? Proposing to me? I'm flattered~" and stretches out his hand all dramatically elegantly for you to put on the ring

So you remind him that there is no ring to put on him as of now

"Wait what?? Whyy? :(" Does this man ever listen?

Ofc not, all he heard was that you wanna marry him

His first instinct is that you don't need a ring to marry and to just drag you to the cathedral to get married on the spot

That is NOT happening on your watch though.

So you tell him that if he wants to marry you he has to put in the work for it (help you find the ring)

He begrudgingly agrees

Will be super annoying while searching for it

Say shit like "My, my, who would've thought that you of all people would be sloppy like that?"

This man loves to feel your wrath and will do anything to provoke it

Your glares are hot

Bonus points if he gets a slap across his face at some point

Threaten to not propose after all and he will get his shit together and actually search for the ring

You end up finding it without him noticing so you call him over and put it on his finger

He just stares at it

Still flabbergasted you actually wanna marry him and it's only now sinking in

Whatever the ring looks like, he'll think it's the prettiest one he's ever seen

Will not let you hear the end of it, in fact no one will hear the end of it

Brags to everyone about how he got proposed to while they're still sad and lonely

Annoys you by saying stuff like "Of course you were the one to propose first, you couldn't possibly resist me"

Put him in his place pls

Wanderer

Another one who is very affected by the fact that you want to marry him

Like you really want to spend the rest of your life with him?

He tells himself that it's foolish to get so worked up over the idea and that everything is fleeting but he can't help the flustered feeling that overtakes him

Exasperated with himself for falling in love with such an idiot though because what do you mean you lost the ring somewhere??

Knows that you wouldn't ask for his help unless you actually tried finding it yourself first

So of course he'll help you find it, it's on top of his priority list now

He had a paper to finish? Too bad, that can wait

Acts like you'll never get married if you don't find the ring. Won't admit to it though

But you see how adamant he is about finding it

He's cute when he's trying to hide that he's fussing

If you weren't tearing apart the place for the ring before, he certainly is now

Will act all annoyed at you for losing the ring but then remembers that you're gonna get married and shuts up because now he is flustered again

"I can't believe you're seriously making me look for... forget it"

And yes, he's absolutely planning to accept your proposal.

Because how could he possibly decline it?

He finds the ring in your drawer and he doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry because this is so stupid

His eyes do get a bit glassy when he looks at the ring for a while longer

He still has a hard time believing all of this

You see him holding the ring and pop up behind him, asking if he likes it and he just pulls you into a hug

Partly to hide his glassy eyes and partly to hide his blush

He does nod into your shoulder though so mission success?

Chiori

Judges HARD

"I refuse to believe that you're being serious right now."

This is why you should've left the proposal to her

Seriously though, she would've loved to spoil you with the most luxurious looking ring that conveniently fits with all the clothes she personally designed for you

A pity, but that's what she gets for waiting for too long. Though you could've been more patient and let her handle it

An artist that lets their muse spoil them is nothing short of unworthy, she thinks

So of course she helps you find it, it's the least she can do to fix this injustice

She will not complain all that much while looking for it

There will be some remarks here and there though

"The ring better be worth the search"

Already pictures what the wedding will look like in her head

She WILL be in charge of the decorations

And you better believe that you will look absolutely stunning on your wedding day, she will personally tend to that

Her lover in her wedding dress that she designed for her wedding day, she really has it all

When she finds it in your drawer, she can't help but sigh in disappointment

It was put away neatly and you "lost" it?

Simply calls you and hands it over

Since you decided that you want to propose, she will let you see it through

It might not end up looking quite like she would have done it, but anything you do for her is precious nonetheless

Her spoiling you will have to wait for the actual wedding day, she presumes

Arlecchino

"You lost the ring?" she repeats as if she misheard, the tone is a bit pointed though

You start fussing over losing the ring and she straight up gentle parents you to find it

"Okay so where was the last time you saw the ring?"

Same strats she uses on the children btw.

Though she's more kind with you

Genuinely doesn't mind looking for it with you, loving someone means being fully prepared to deal with their shortcomings

She likes the fact that you knew you can rely on her

Wouldn't want you to ever hesitate to ask her for help, no matter how trivial the problem may seem.

Goes fairly strategic about trying to find the ring, looking for it in recently visited locations

And who would have guessed, it worked!!

You found the ring fairly quickly with her help

She was certainly amused with the fact that it was just laying in the drawer

Might make a subtle remark about it

"I certainly didn't expect to find it in a spot like this"

Your fretting did make her think that she'll have to tear apart the place looking for it

Glad she could avoid that

Would absolutely have done it though

You will be the children's second father.

No, there's not a mother.

[yeiwo7]

Wanderer x Reader | 1.5k words | Fluff | pt. 1 here

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟

Strangers in the night. That's all you two were. All you were to him. Just...just another stranger.

Bursting through the sanctuary doors, past the guards who got slapped in the face by his after wind. They couldn't stop him.

None can stop a man in love. Especially one who hasn't ever been.

Startling her, she whips her head behind. A warm smile graces her face. A warm embrace shivers over his frantic self. Nahida hasn't seen him so stirred since he'd woken up after falling from his mecha. Having his heart, the gnosis, ripped out of him.

"I'm sick." Wanderer states. Hurling over, hands on his knees as he glances up at her. Stray strands sticking to his forehead. She's thrilled by the look of fearful wonder in his eyes. She's seen that before in the eyes of others.

In the eyes of young lovers.

She chuckles. "That's strange, how so?"

Befuddled, he stands up straighter. Tensing his shoulders, eyes fixated onto the ground. Yeah, she's right. How the fuck so?? He groaned, pulling his hat down to hide his bashful face. This is so unlike him. What have you done.

"Buer, do you find this amusing?" Even he's ashamed. This is the weakest threat he's thrown in his entire career of being a hater.

She only nods, sitting onto her swing. Swaying back and forth. "Tell me about her."

Wanderer was be-fucking-fuddled. Head shooting up to look at her, muddled. "Wha—How did you know? I told you to...but you didn't..."He trailed off. She didn't even use her fingers to read his mind...ugh whatever. Archon of knowledge must know something? Am I right?

So, he began. Pacing back and forth before her. Taking up her whole afternoon. His hand motions becoming exponentially more expressive the more he spoke about you. Framed in hatred and defiance of natural law and order—to any script reader, yes his words are birthed of genuine hate. Oh, but to the trained ears and eyes, to the expirienced and the first hand witness to such tears.

He's far gone. Infected.

"And, and she took MY spot at MY usual table! I-I mean c'mon? Can you believe her? The fucking audacity! How dare she?" With her warming smile and the fucking face. Oh, archons! I hate her face. It's so...so—" He glances at Nahida who's giving him the look of 'Be nice, boy.' In defeat, he hides his reddened face behind his hands. Muffling his own words."—so pretty."

She spoke with the sweetest tone of a caring mother. Truly, she wishes to ubderstand him better. To the unfamilliar, it's a genuine question. But Wanderer knows. This is her way of understanding the concept of teasing. She's fuxking teasing him. HIM. The all mighty Hat guy, representative of Vahumana. "Huh? What did you say?" Nahida leaned in closer.

"Her face is the most distracting thing I've seen in a while."

"So...she should hide it?—"

"NO! I mean-hah, No? That's a preposterous! Everyone has the right to freedom and, and self expression! She should flaunt her beauty, if she so desires."

"She's not flaunting. You only percieve her like that." She giggled. This, by far, is the most normal and riveting conversation she's had with the guy she adopted. (The guy who almost squashed her like a fucking bug onto the ground and kept her jailed in her conciousness.)

. . . 𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯. . .

You were snapped out of your thoughts when the dude in front of you—who'd just graced the seat with his ass—decided that it was time to go.

Left his book open on the table. Haphazardly grabbed whatever, but his dignity it seems, he took himself to the nearest exit.

Weirdass dude with an even weirder hat. "Fuuuckkkkkk" You groan, leaning back in your chair. Your coffee having the opposite, of the advertised, effect on you. You'll forget him. He's just some weirdo with IBS. No biggie.

Y'know what's a biggie? The fucking 3 page essay due tonight. And you've only done the draft. THE FUCKING DRAFT.

...

The rest of your study session was haunted by his departure. You wished he came back. Not for you. But for the book he left. To come back before the afternoon ends. Before the night begins. So you could get a better look at him.

But, alas. Just like your motivation, he never returned. You gathered his book and took it home. The next time you run into him—whenever it be, perhaps never—you'll give it back to him.

—Wait what?

No.

Nonononono—

Why do you care about some strangers book? This weirdass hat fucker with IBS ran away. Probably shat his funky pants midway. Distracted you from your studies. Well, at least you got done with half of it. Most of the planning and gathering of evidence and information was done. Now comes the easy part, writing it.—Well, not so easy, since your handwriting has been critiqued worse than your essays themselves.

Regardless. The grand bazar has a performance planned for tonight. Perhaps a little break won't be so bad. Your sleep schedule's fucked either way! Not much is being sacrificed. Suprising your dear friend, Nilou, will lighten your demise.

. . . 𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯. . .

The sun's long set below the horizon by the time he exited the sanctuary of surasthana. Looking like he's been through some shit. Nahida bluetooth connected herself into his head.

"Go watch the performance in the grand bazar, in my stead." Her voice is too sweet and gentle, but he knows what she means. The translation for unfamilliar folks: 'Hey, you look like shit. Go entertain yourself and take a fucking hike.'

To be an Archon, it seems you need to be a politition too.

So he went without protest. Drained of vitality. You killed him. Worst of all? You didn't even lift a finger. Not even a glance his was and he's dead. Wanderer, born by the hands of an archon. Wrangled like a rag doll by some—some random fucking woman with a distracting face.

God I fucking hate her. Next time I see her I'll plant my muddied shoe onto that pretty face and pummel her—pretty face??

Halting in his tracks, down the spiraling streets. He pauses. A hand flying to the side of his forehead, slapping onto the realistic skin. His face melting lower in disbelief, pulling at the hyper-realistic skin. "Holy fuck, I do not know who I am today." Groaning into his palm.

Courtesy, you. Of course. Who else?

By the time he gets there a crowd has already formed. It's not as if he was dying to be front and centre, close enough to lick Nilou's toes or anything—EW—but the view from the back if good enough. After his previous life of being the main actor front and centre stage he wants to step back into the shadows of the crowd. Melt away unto the abyss of faces.

But that feeling so scraps its own hide and turns to its heels to run far, far away. For his glazed eyes, which were scanning the crowd for whatever reason, had happened upon your face.

Fuck merging with peoples faces, he wants to merge with your soul—WHAT THE FUCK IS HE THINKING???

But, oh it's all too late. Such a cruel twist of fate. His gruel for being a pain in the ass in his previous life.

. . . 𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯. . .

Enterung through the back doors a little late. Mentally noting to apologise to her after the show. You'd bought her flowers on the way, wound up getting distracted on the streets seeing all these cute couples. "Its all propaganda." You groaned in the evening.

With your deadline pending the singleness was amplified. The professors say midnight, but they really mean by the next morning.

Regardless, by the time your mind stopped wandering about that weird Hat wearing IBS guy you were a little (very) late.

So, entering and finding a spot was hard enough. In the back, visibility was for the giraffes. Glimpses of her shone through silhouettes.

'Oh! She's there, I can see her! Oh my god such beauty—aaand she's gone again.' You groan to yourself, looking around the room for a better spot...

Until you caught his eye. You'd come late as well. Seems he did too. The two of you froze. But before you could defrost and grow some balls to walk over he'd whisked away with the wind.

Perhaps you've imagines it all. God you're so pathetic.

. . . 𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯. . .

Something in my heart told me I must have you, Strangers in the night, two lonely people, We were strangers in the night.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟

©Yeiwo7 Do not use my work as your own or feed it to AI. I will personally find u fucks and skin you alive if you do.

[a/n: Pleaaseeee somebody get the Frank Sinatra referenceeeees]

[a/n:Somebkdy get the Khoi Dao, amongus referenceeeeeee 'The fucking audcatiy' guys cmonnnnnnnnnnnnnn]

[moccacat]

[waywardprintmaker]

"What a shame, you always had such beautiful hair"

[mimi-sunny]

ENEMIES TO LOVERS PROMPTS ─ genshin impact

characters ─ tartaglia, albedo, xiao, kaedehara kazuha, scaramouche x f!reader

content ─ angst, a lot of angst, also a lot of blood, weapons, fighting, reader is lowkey a bit insane in the first two ones, not proofread, a little bit of fluff if you squint enough, if i feel inspired i might write a second part with other charas so lemme know which ones you'd like to see !! i hope you guys like it <3

genshin m.list ❀ each part is about 600-1,000 words long.

𝖳𝖠𝖱𝖳𝖠𝖦𝖫𝖨𝖠 | “𝗂'𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗎𝗉”, “𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅”

a victorious smile painted your lips at the sight of tartaglia’s body slamming onto the ground, delighted at the way he winced, all his oxygen was kicked out of his lungs. incredulity was written on his face, eyebrows furrowing as he looked up at you with crazed blue eyes. 

not sparing him even a second of respite, you pressed your shoe into his chest, keeping him down and below you. right where you needed him to be. 

you took your time watching his face morph into what seemed like defeat, satisfaction curling in your guts as he hissed when the point of your dagger traced down the pale skin of his cheek. you’d hoped a harbinger would be stronger than this, really, given how this very one almost drowned your entire nation barely a few days ago. 

no amount of following him down the bustling streets of liyue and attempting to guess what his plans were would have prepared anyone for that catastrophe. yet it was stupidly easy to find him in the aftermath. you found it almost suspicious, how you so quickly tracked him down on his way back to snezhnaya. 

as if it was on purpose. 

it didn’t matter to you at the moment, not when you finally had him in your hands. 

your heel dug into his sternum. “not so cocky now, are you?” you taunted.

despite his disadvantageous position, tartaglia only wrapped his fingers around your ankle, a smile pulling at his lips through his pained expression. as if your wrath only delighted him. you kicked his hand away, using your knee to cut off his air flow this time. 

you hated it. you’ve always hated him, really, since the moment he stepped into liyue and chose to make it his playground. the mere thought of it made you press down onto his torso even more, hands shaking with anger that you couldn’t hide from him.

“i’d rather enjoy this while i still can,” he chuckled between coughs, mirth swirling in his gaze. “it’s not every day i find myself under such a pretty thing.” 

your eye twitched in disgust at his words, nose scrunching at the sight of his ever-so-proud smile. you wanted to rip his tongue off. that would quiet him up. 

or maybe his eyes, you thought, catching that oddly familiar flicker of softness in them. you wondered if you imagined it, wondered if you made up all the times his facade crumbled for a split second in your presence. and it irked you, how he always caught you off guard with nothing but simple looks and words. how you never managed to do the same despite all your tricks and threats. 

not even now, not even when you pressed the weapon into his neck, enough to draw blood and make him hiss. enough to have him pull your hand even closer, to cut even deeper, a pained noise tumbling past his parted lips. 

your eyebrows furrowed, unsure whether you should tap out and let him find a way to die that didn’t involve you or not. despite yourself, you tried to get away from him, muscles straining against his iron grip. 

“i’ll slit your throat,” you murmured into the quiet night. you stupidly hoped it’d sound like a warning. but it slipped out before you could think about it, like an admission of something you didn’t mean to make. far too prideful to go back on your words, you let him guide your weapon a little bit deeper. 

you watched as his mouth opened and closed, the corner of his lips curled up in pleasure. your eyes slid down the bruises and scratches you’d left on his face, following the little red droplets caressing down his neck, hitting the ground beneath him. 

“that’ll shut you up,” you mused, distracted almost. 

when you directed your gaze back at him, you noted the flush on his cheeks and the almost amorous way he looked at you. like he could barely believe you were real. like he couldn’t register that you even deigned touching him, even if it was to kill him. 

you felt your heart leap to the tip of your tongue, nauseous with the sense of pure rapture taking hold of you. 

“you’re so beautiful.” 

he looked so dazed when he spoke again, small puffs of breath leaving his mouth. and you tried to not think much of it as you leaned closer, as you stole the little air he had left.

𝖠𝖫𝖡𝖤𝖣𝖮 | “𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾?” ─ 𝗋𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗅 𝖠𝖴

it wasn’t often that the royal family hosted balls. it was so, so rare, that wherever you went, you would hear talks of the queen intending to find a consort for her son. since the news came to town, you could barely walk out of your house without being the topic of every conversation. wherever you went, you would feel countless pairs of eyes follow you. some filled with pity, others mocking. 

none of it mattered to you. nor did your parents’ reaction when you chose to attend said-ball uninvited. 

“i thought you’d moved past that,” your mother said, concern wrapping around her words.

you sat in your carriage, not even bothering to spare her a glance. you didn’t respond with anything, simply wishing her a restful evening, leaving her standing at the gate of the estate. 

the thought of her being right didn’t linger too long in your mind before you brushed it off. you didn’t allow her words to shake you up. 

it’s been months since he’d thrown away decades of friendship. months since he’d betrayed the trust you’ve given him. since you’ve last seen him. long, endless days you’d spent livid and sorrowful, trying to make sense of what had even happened. the mere memory of how disoriented you’d felt, how you could barely down a bite without spitting it back out was enough to steel your resolve. nothing could have prepared you to the way he had humiliated you before the court. 

and nothing really prepared him to the sight of you, walking up to the dais. 

the music was drowned out by the murmurs and whispers of the ladies and lords, confusion plastered on their faces, perplexity twisting the queen’s features. 

satisfaction curled in your chest at the disorder, at the bewilderment painting albedo’s expression. his mother didn’t budge from the throne, although a few guards blocked your path, preventing you from reaching the bottom of the stairs. 

your eyebrows shot up in surprise, not really expecting such a warm welcome. 

to the guards’ displeasure, rhinedottir ordered them to step away. going back to their posts behind the royal family, they followed each of your movements. 

“your majesty,” you greeted, your eyes never leaving her son’s wide ones as you curtsied. 

the same ones that once melted with affection at the simple mention of your name. the same ones that gazed at you with such deep devotion you could have drowned in it. that peered at you with concern and wrinkled with every rare smile and had you fall so, so deeply for him.

the very ones that avoided yours, that didn’t even spare you a glance when he’d called off your wedding before the court. that dismissed the years you both spent dreaming of the day you’d finally walk down the aisle. 

a bitter taste filled your mouth, all the anger you’d carefully hidden in the depths of your soul crawling to the tip of your tongue. so ready to spill out everything you’d carried since that day.

reigning yourself in, you straightened up, hands folded over the other. you shuffled on your feet, squirmed in your place, almost unsure. 

you tilted your head to the side, lips curling into a shy smile. “may i have this dance, your highness?”

you found it difficult to hold back your laughter at the way the room erupted stifled gasps and whispers, the voices getting louder as albedo made his way down to you. instead, you lowered your head, as if afraid of experiencing rejection a second time. 

when he finally was close enough, you looked up at him. 

his face was as unreadable as always. in the months you haven’t seen him, you’ve forgotten how to decipher it. or maybe you refused to even try, afraid to find the same traitorous affection you fell for. 

albedo’s fingers were cold when they wrapped around yours, sending shivers up your arms and down your spine. your skin felt like it was set ablaze where his hand rested on the small of your back. like he was branding you.  

he glared at the sight of the delight on your face. “what are you playing at?” 

a smile painted your face as you both waltzed in the midst of the chaos you’ve created all by yourself. you let him pull you into the dance, let him set the pace and rhythm. he guided you through each step and twirl, blind to the illusion of control you’d given him. 

“why, i missed you too,” you chuckled. 

albedo didn’t look so amused. his hand nearly crushed yours, barely contained frustration twisting his pretty face. your wince earned him disapproving murmurs, making him ease his grip. 

“i thought you wanted me dead,” he said, words uncharacteristically rushed. 

“oh, i still do,” you reassured him.

his eyebrows furrowed. you could clearly see he wasn’t convinced you could pull such a stunt and get away with it. but his expectations of you didn’t matter anymore. 

if you couldn’t get back at him, you’d rather ruin his life.

as the music reached its climax, you brought albedo’s hand closer to you. your bodies inched closer, the hand at the small of your back tightening when he dipped you, your mind drowning out the sound of applause and the whisper of his belated apology murmured against your lips.

it doesn’t matter.

you watched his eyes widen as he registered the cold metal materializing in your palm. he couldn’t escape your iron grip, and you didn’t let his quiet plea deter you.

the room fell quiet for a long second. the deafening silence was broken by a cough. 

a second one shook your body, blood splattering over albedo’s face. he remained unmoving as you fell down the marbled floor, as people gathered around your spasming form. he could barely breathe, chest heaving as he watched yours spill out in deep reds. 

he barely processed your body being carried out of the room, the dagger in his hand feeling impossibly heavy. yet nothing compared to the crushing feeling of your eyes following him.

𝖷𝖨𝖠𝖮 | “𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎?”

you leaned against a tree, your legs barely capable of carrying you any longer.

one hand gripped your side, pants spilling past your lips, unable to bring yourself to look down at your injury. your head hit the trunk, teeth gritted out as sharp pain overwhelmed your senses. 

all the adrenaline you’d felt earlier in your fight had left place to the unbearable feeling of your insides spilling out. and they might have been, really, judging by the alarming amount of blood coating your hands. so warm and thick and its scent so nauseating you nearly puked your guts out. 

your chest heaved with a bitter chuckle, eyes catching the glowing lights of wangshu inn a mere few miles away. so cruelly close. your laughter morphed into a quiet sob, your body screaming when you tried to sit while your legs begged for a break. 

injuries weren’t anything you weren’t used to. hell, it was part of your job as an adventurer. 

and what were the odds of running into an abnormally large group of treasure hoarders right after shooting down three ruin guards? in the middle of the night, too? 

very high, seemingly.

the exhaustion you’d accumulated from your month-long commission had taken a toll on your combat ability. besides, it was absolutely ridiculous to be ganged up on by a dozen hoarders. and while you managed to teach them a lesson on not bothering you when you were already on your last thread of patience, they somehow still managed to impale you. 

you couldn’t stop your tears from falling, the salty pearls stinging as they ran down the cuts on your face and merged with the blood dripping from your face. 

if you could just force yourself to get to the nearby lake and wash up the grime on you. if only your body would cooperate with your brain for a short minute. 

and if only you weren’t such a joke to fate. 

your eyes caught sight of a familiar figure strolling along the body of water and the little color you had left on your face drained. 

maybe death would be sweeter than the commission’s generous reward.

of course, the adeptus easily sensed your presence and of course, he chose to approach you. you wiped furiously at your eyes with your clean hand, a frustrated sigh escaping you. the sheer mockery of care in his eyes made your nose scrunch in disgust, momentarily forgetting about the crushing pain on your side when his voice reached your ears. 

“what happened to you?” 

you bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to answer. you didn’t acknowledge the lack of bite in his tone and the hint of concern coating his words. you probably lost so much blood on your way back you were imagining things. 

yeah, that had to be it. 

“nothing that should matter to you,” you said, cringing at how embarrassingly weak your voice came out to be. 

your mortification was short-lived when you finally looked up at him. a sense of confusion overcame you, eyes narrowing at the wrath burning behind his amber pools. nothing about this situation made sense and it only intensified the headache throbbing at your temples. 

when xiao spoke a second time, his voice was laced with something your tired mind couldn’t decipher. low. almost menacing. 

“who did this to you?” 

“xiao, it doesn’t ma–”

“it does,” he cut you off. 

when he inched closer to you, he finally processed the worn out expression on your face and the puffiness of your eyes. all his senses screamed at him to do something, to hunt down any and every person who had anything to do with your state. 

his fingers gripped his polearm tighter, knuckles turning white beneath his gloves. 

you watched as his eyebrows furrowed, as his eyes raked over every injury, every wound. as he sighed, resigned and unwilling to argue with you when you could barely even stand straight. 

“at least let me help you.”

and something within you gave out barely a second later, knees giving up beneath you as you finally let go of whatever wisp of strength you had left. your hazy mind barely registered the arms slipping under your legs and back and the shakiness of xiao’s voice.

𝖪𝖠𝖹𝖴𝖧𝖠 | “𝗂 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈”

kazuha’s mind went on autopilot the moment he got ahold of his friend’s vision. 

he left his lifeless body behind, left tenshukaku before the shogunate could even notice its absence. he barely paid attention to the way it scorched his hand. his legs carried him as he ran from his hometown and the threat it now posed on him. 

the only thing playing in his mind was tomo’s body hitting the ground, his sword splitting in half, the smile pulling at his lips as he’d finally witnessed the grand display of the shogun’s sword art. 

a sense of selfish anger overcame kazuha as he slowed his pace down. every rational part of him knew that he shouldn’t throw the blame at him, that he should honor his decision and search for a way to find closure. but it was so, so hard. something close to betrayal wrapped around his throat as he bitterly thought of how his friend had chosen to leave him behind.

and for what exactly? a false sense of glory that cost him his life? 

perhaps that was how you felt about him too, kazuha thought. 

before he knew it, he found himself in front of a familiar door. one he hadn’t seen since the hunt decree was set in place and since he’d chosen to take off on his own. 

the sky had taken a dark hue, the moonlight slithering through a sea of clouds, caressing the sorrowful twist of his features. his heart felt too heavy for him to even regret showing up at your place, hand even heavier as he lifted it to weakly knock on the wooden surface. 

coming to you out of all people to mend his shattering heart might not be the smartest decision he’d made. 

yet there was no soul in inazuma that ever got him the way yours did. and a part of him hated that fact. 

“what are you doing here, kaedehara?”

kazuha blinked in surprise at the sound of your voice reaching his ears. you stood at the doorway, sleepy, droopy eyes glaring up at him. he almost felt bad for disturbing your sleep. and you almost closed the door in his face when he took too long to respond, until you took a better look at him. 

you noted how bewildered he looked, like he was just as confused about him being here as you were. your eyes raked over the dried tears streaking his cheeks and the vision in his hand, his skin burned from holding it so long and so tight. 

your disdain morphed into concern. you didn’t have to wait long to get the answer to your questions. 

“tomo,” kazuha breathed out. 

he couldn’t bring himself to explain the situation. and you didn’t need him to. your heart dropped as realization hit you, your mouth opening and closing, unable to find the right words. 

you barely recognized the man before you. all the quiet confidence he carried, the serene aura surrounding him, the carefree attitude you’ve come to love and loathe when it drove the two of you apart.

instead, he was but a shell of who he used to be, carrying the last remnants of hopes of the dearest friend he had. 

kazuha swallowed harshly, looking down, incapable of holding your gaze any longer. he didn’t wish to feel pitied. he simply desired for you to care for him again. at the very least, just for this one night. 

“i didn’t know where else to go.”

tears gathered at your waterline. he’d never looked so fragile to you before. never sounded so close to breaking down. without a word, you opened your door wider for him to come inside. 

none of you spoke as you bandaged his injured hand, as you both laid on your mattress. as your arms wrapped around his shaky form, you pretended to be deaf to his cries.

𝖲𝖢𝖠𝖱𝖠𝖬𝖮𝖴𝖢𝖧𝖤 | “𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍”

a part of you knew you were lying to yourself when you claimed to bring back your lord harbinger after he’d deserted the tsaritsa’s ranks in order for him to receive proper punishment. 

his retrieval of the gnosis he so desired and his lack of reports back arose suspicion within you. and the talks of a false archon made by sumerian scholars had given you a rough idea of what was happening.

it didn’t matter that you were a mere subordinate and that you were acting just out of line as scaramouche did. something within you couldn’t accept that he’d betrayed the harbingers. that he’d betrayed you. 

but what could you have expected from an unfeeling puppet? 

none of your thoughts rang true to you. you knew better than anyone that he was anything but as empty as he claimed. knew that the shell he was was overflowing with feelings he tried so, so hard to reign within him. and it pained you that after spilling all of his secrets to you, that after he’d somehow chosen to lean on you, he disappeared barely a day after. 

and maybe it was the pitiful look on your face that had the dendro archon allow you into his hideout. 

your steps were slow, walking up to the bed quietly, as if he could hear you in his deep sleep. your brows furrowed when you finally took in the sight of him. his chest was unmoving, despite nahida assuring that he was very much alive. his bangs fell around his face, the permanent scowl he usually had on softened by the peaceful state he seemed to be in. 

the fair expanse of his skin was marred with cracks he’d sustained from his fall. you kneeled beside the mattress, fingers tracing along the split porcelain. 

all the anger that had brought you here morphed into something else. something a part of you knew he would hate you more for. something he’d always despised you for. he never liked your curiosity and invasive questions. nor did he like your stubbornness and the way you seemed to constantly hover him. 

he especially loathed the pity in your eyes as they raked over his broken parts. 

“why did you even come?”  

you jolted where you sat, your hand flying away from his face and falling on your lap. the lesser lord never told you he’d awakened. or perhaps he hadn’t and you simply came at the perfect moment. your shock subsided as quick as it appeared, replaced by a string of emotions you couldn’t name.

close to sorrow, far from the wrath you’d felt. a bit of relief too, you thought.

you swallowed down the snarky remark you intended to shoot at him, judging that it wasn’t the appropriate time to rile him up. if anything, he didn’t look as full of rage as he’d always been. 

like the way he carried himself had changed. he looked calm, in a way.

“i don’t know,” you lied in a murmur. 

scaramouche didn’t answer. he sat up on the bed, hands tracing over the ghost of your touch, registering the cracks on his face. a sigh spilled past his lips, hands dropping on his lap. he looked defeated, like all the past centuries he’d spent fighting against the essence of his existence turned to dust. like he couldn’t make sense of them anymore. 

his bare back was hunched where he sat, hair falling around his fissured face. yet you couldn’t sense any anger in him. 

for the first time since you’d been working under him, scaramouche had surrendered to his fate.

he didn’t need to turn around to read the look on your eyes. “stop looking at me like that.”

your throat bobbed, unable to fire back at him. and maybe that hurt him more than anything else, the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to act like usual just because of how frail he looked. he’d never felt so pathetic, not even when he was discarded. 

“i’m sorry,” was all you managed to utter out.

wordlessly, you stood up, eyes cast to the ground. you closed the door behind you, taking a seat behind it, hands furiously wiping at your face. and scaramouche made it so hard for you to stop the flow of your tears, his stifled sobs reaching you through the wooden surface. 

© mimi-sunny — all rights reserved. do not translate, plagiarize or feed into ai.

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[imanwithoutbowie-deactivated202]

Continue✨ Keep going✨

[tartrazeen]

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[kukoyi-deactivated20210512]

The Nigerian accent. God. She reminds me of home...

[everybodywantstorueltheworld-de]

Always grateful when this makes the rounds