ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 capri

hey hey hey! "extra, extra read all about it"

[capriluvr]

losers dni ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

╰┈➤ “I’m out of time”

» masterlist ✧ rules

requests are welcome and encouraged!

multifandom (haikyuu, jjk, genshin, aot, mha, csm, etc.)

» capri✧˖°. she/her filo im sleepy .ᐟ

ive been trying to stay consistent but its proving to be a difficult task.. ≽^-⩊-^≼

go follow rosieiscooler and tofpple !!

[capriluvr]

guys i did it. made a new account bc i dont feel interlinked w this one anymore. I’ll be posting the same things (chatfics, oneshots, headcanons, all that typa stuff) on my new one.

new account - @blehzzz

[capriluvr]

guys i did it. made a new account bc i dont feel interlinked w this one anymore. I’ll be posting the same things (chatfics, oneshots, headcanons, all that typa stuff) on my new one.

new account - @blehzzz

[capriluvr]

currently thinking about fratjo + nerdjo twins au and im actually going crazy. i need him…………….. and kenma, aki, scaramouche, yuta, and everyone else

[capriluvr]

what if i ran away from this account and started a new one.... would u guys like hunt me down and find me or something

[capriluvr]

Checked out your account after i read the sunarin texts and omg youre lowkirkenuenly HILARIOUS

Im trying SO hard to stay quiet cause it’s like 5am rn and my moms gonna shoot me if she hears me but whtvr😈🔥

oh my god u really think so 🥹🥹🥹 son im crine 😭✌️ thank you so much i’ll make more smau’s JUST for you! Luh yuh suh much!

[capriluvr]

im a nothing burger (* ´ ﹃｀*)

[capriluvr]

stargazing

includes scaramouche, childe, kazuha, thoma, diluc

stargazing with genshin men

tags fluff, established relationship

warnings none

a/n: hi guys im not dead!! i wrote this while i was at a party but then my draft deleted itself so i had to rewrite it.......... please forgive me for not posting every week like i said i would

scaramouche

he's the one that suggestst, which is a total surprise when he's the one that keeps claiming "the sky is fake".

he always sits just a little too far away. close enough that your shoulders nearly touch, far enough that he can pretend that it isn’t bothering him how much he wants to hold your hand.

he points out constellations like he’s naming kitchen appliances. he won’t admit how much he knows, but he explains the myths behind the sky anyways, voice low, almost gentle.

every now and then he’ll glance at you, like he’s checking if you’re still with him — and whether he deserves that.

the field is empty tonight, save for the fireflies lighting up the path ahead. the walk out of town took longer than you expected. the road (if you can even call it that) is uneven, the grass brushes against your legs, and the air seems to get cooler with every step.

scaramouche stays a little ahead. close enough that you can follow him, but far enough that he doesn’t have to call this "walking together” because god forbid he associates himself with someone like you.

when the field opens up, he stops. no comment. just a faint nod to the ground.

you spread the blanket over the slightly damp grass, ignoring the way scaramouche peers over your shoulder like he’s inspecting your job. you don’t even finish setting up the blanket before he bends down, fixing the edge with a quiet “crooked..” leaving his lips.

you lie down and stare up. after a while, he sits beside you, arms crossed, eyes lifted. he starts talking — not loudly, not emotionally — just matter-of-fact. he points to a constellation, says the name, then corrects it, then mutters about inaccuracies in the story behind it.

a breeze slides through the field. you tuck your chin under your collar, but he notices. wordlessly, his coat lands around your shoulders.

“you’re terrible in preparation,” he says.

“thank you,” you answer

scaramouche doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t take it back either.

you lean a little closer, testing the line. he tenses for half a heartbeat, then lets out a very small sigh, like he’s surrendering to some unnamed force.

the silence stretches between you two, yet it isn’t awkward.

he doesn’t look at you when he speaks again. “if you fall asleep i’m not waking you up.”

“okay.”

a pause.

“don’t go nodding off on me.”

you smile, even though he can’t see it. the night moves slowly, the stars take their time shifting above you. he stays where he is — which, coming from him, feels like the loudest thing he could do.

childe

childe treats it like an adventure. blankets, snacks, racing you up the hill — he laughs the entire way, teasing you about who spots the first shooting star.

he keeps pointing out random shapes. he’s not stupid, and he knows a little bit about constellations, but he acts stupid anyway just to make you laugh. “that one looks like a large fish, and that one is… a spear… probably.”

the suddenly, his voice softens. when the laughter dies down, his eyes roam over your face. “you know i grew up staring at stars like these. it made the world feel big. but somehow being here with you makes it feel small.”

he doesn’t realize just how intense his gaze gets. he talks about protecting you, about wanting you safe and by his side — playful tone gone, sincerity taking over.

childe insists on taking the steep path, yapping about how it “builds character” and how it’s “a good work out” or whatever, but he’s already halfway up and you’re still at the bottom.

by the time you reach the hilltop, he’s sprawled on the blanket like it’s his reward. he pats the space beside him, grinning. “prime seats.”

the sky is wide and clear tonight, it’s almost perfect. he points constantly — wrong constellations, wrong shapes, basically everything is wrong, and he probably knows that but he doesn’t seem to care.

“that one’s an asian woman.” he declares.

you glance. “how do you know she’s asian? she could be korean.”

“what?”

“nevermind.”

the two of you drift into silence after a while. the kind where breathing syncs up without trying. he folds his arms behind his head, watching the stars drift by, like he’s thinking about something he hasn’t said yet.

“when i was younger,” he starts, then stops. “it just felt so different. like the world was way too big, and i had no idea where i was going to end up… it was scary”

you don’t push him.

he turns his head to look at you. his expression hard to describe, but his tone is softer. “it’s not so bad now, i’m glad i ended up beside you.”

you meet his gaze — he leans in slowly. “okay?”

you nod.

the kiss is simple — steady, warm, unhurried. a breathless laugh leaves him when he pulls away, almost shy.

“not so bad for a star-watching trip, hm?” he says. then he settles beside you, shoulders bumping together, content to just sit there.

kazuha

kazuha chooses the best spot without even breaking a sweat. quiet cliffs, rustling leaves, the ocean crashing down below. he speaks softly, like raising his voice would somehow disturb the stars themselves.

he compares the stars to you, in his usual poetic fashion.

after a while he plays a calm melody on his flute. the sound floats into the night, delicate and wistful. he says music captures feelings the tongue cannot — and you understand exactly what he means.

he lies down and talks about dreams. about freedom, about finding peace, about a future where your paths stay intertwined.

the cliff overlooks the ocean, waves breathing against stone like a lullaby. kazuha’s lantern casts a halo around the two of you — warm against the cool night.

he sits with graceful ease against the trunk of an old maple tree.

“the sky is generous tonight,” he murmurs. “it must know we came with gentle intentions.”

you lie back, listening as leaves whisper above. he speaks of constellations not as shapes, but as stories — moments stitched together. his words aren’t dramatic, only sincere.

“each star,” he whispers, “is a thought someone once had about the future.” he glances at you, eyes hazy. “what thoughts will we leave behind, I wonder?”

a meteor streaks quietly across the dark. you inhale, startled by the beauty and by the way the night makes everything feel possible.

kazuha’s hand rests near yours, fingers relaxed in the grass. for a moment, neither of you move.

then he lifts his pinky first, it’s tentative, almost shy — brushing yours like asking without asking.

you take the liberty of  threading your fingers with his.

he exhales, slow and relieved, returning the hold fully. it’s not possessive nor painful, it’s gentle — safe. like he’s cradling something that he doesn’t want to break. his thumb traces faint circles against your skin.

“i often chase the wind,” he says quietly, “but tonight, it seems the wind has guided me somewhere i would rather stay.”

you squeeze his hand in response. a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, gaze drifting upward again — but you can feel his attention anchored to you, steady as the tide.

thoma

he plans everything carefully, making sure to have everything set up for you. he even checks the weather multiple times to ensure the night goes as planned.

if you ever get cold — he’ll offer his jacket without hesitation. even if he is also clearly cold, he insists. when you protest, he laughs: “please, i’d never forgive myself if you caught a cold.”

thoma listens more than he talks. he asks questions about your worries, your thoughts, your feelings — nodding thoughtful, never rushing.

when you’re tired, he guides you home. slow steps, steady hand at your back. before you part ways, he stops to look at you, “thank you for tonight… it meant a lot,” like you gave him a gift instead.

thoma overprepared… again. he didn’t even notice how heavy the load was until you offered to help him carry a few things, concern lacing your voice. that alone made him blink, look down at the bundles in his arms, and laugh at himself — sheepish, apologetic. which ultimately led into him apologizing for bringing too much.

“i wasn’t sure what you’d want,” he says, setting down a thermos, pastries, extra blankets. “so I guessed.”

you tell him it’s fine — more than fine — and he exhales, relief softening his shoulders. the two of you settle on the grass just outside the city lights, where the sky stretches wider than it does in inazuma proper. the ground smells faintly like salt and distant rain. above, the stars start to burn through the dark.

when the air turns colder, he notices first.

“you look chilly,” he says. “come here?”

you nod. he wraps the blanket around both of you, arms steady around your shoulders. no hesitation. no awkward commentary. just warmth.

you listen to his heartbeat, slow and even, and the faint sounds of night — waves brushing the shore, rustling grass, a distant night bird calling once. he keeps talking quietly, softer now: small stories from the day, a memory he never finished telling, thoughts he’s been carrying but never thought were important enough to say out loud. after a while, the conversation fades. he doesn’t let go.

“you still with me?” he asks softly.

“i’m still here.”

he smiles against your hair. “good.”

he doesn’t overthink it. he just stays there, patient, letting the world quiet around you, holding you like this is natural — like this is exactly where you belong, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

diluc

he acts like it’s a practical thing, but it’s entirely for you. he'll say the vineyard is peaceful at night and needs “watching,” yet he clearly arranged a stargazing spot between the vines.

diluc rarely speaks more than what is needed. so when he points out the constellations he remembers from his childhood, voice thoughtful and reminiscing, it’s as if he’s sharing pieces of himself he doesn’t show anyone else.

he notices every small thing. if you shiver, a blanket is suddenly wrapped around your shoulders. if you sigh, he quietly asks, “what’s on your mind?” it’s not intrusive, just curious.

when you lean against him, he crumbles. his arm sneaks around your waist, protective and warm.

the vineyard at night feels different. it’s quieter. the rows of vines stretch into the dark, shadows overlapping, leaves rustling only when the wind bothers to pass through. there’s the faint smell of earth and grapes, the kind that stays after a long day.

 diluc glances at the sky. “clear,” he says. “we’ll see plenty.”

you sit beside him. the two of you talk in pieces — little updates, quiet thoughts, nothing that needs too much gravity. when he does answer, he takes a second first, as if he wants to be precise without making things heavy.

a slow chill creeps into the air, settling across your shoulders. he notices before you even say anything. the blanket is already in his hands when you look up.

“let me know sooner next time,” he says, not scolding, just concerned.

you nod. “okay.”

you lean against him, testing. he pauses — then his arm settles around you, firm but heavy. it’s instinctive.

you sit together like that, sharing quiet. neither of you rush to fill it. sometimes he lifts his chin and points out a constellation he remembers from childhood, awkwardly explaining it, then stopping when he realizes he doesn’t need to. other times, he simply listens — to the wind drifting through the vines, to the faint distant creak of the farmhouse, to the night itself.

eventually, he admits quietly, “i don’t really do… nights like this.” a short pause. “i should, though.”

you tilt your head, resting more fully against him. “you should. we should”

he gives a small nod — one that means he’s actually considering it. “then… we will.”

nothing dramatic follows. no big speeches, no sudden confessions. just the stars overhead, the weight of his arm around your waist, and the quiet understanding only diluc knows.

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[capriluvr]

im gonna cry i had a draft ready to post and my page just reloaded and it got deleted. what if i just explode

[capriluvr]

Hi everyone !! Hope you’re all doing well ^_^ If any of you are interested in visual novels — my friends and I are making one! Follow us at brbstudios as we continue developing our game (only if you want ig…)

sorry for this shameless plug in, we’re just excited to share this with you all 😋

[capriluvr]

army dreamers

pairing kabukimono/kunikuzushi/scaramouche/wanderer x reader

following him through the years, even through lifetimes.

tags established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings none

a/n: wrote this like i don't have a test i need to study for (¬_¬") i'm prolly gonna go do that now

he doesn’t remember the first time he saw you. or maybe he remembers it so vividly that it pains him to think about it, like pressing on an injury you’ve tried to convince yourself has already healed. the memory sits in him like water in his lungs—something necessary, something he can’t live without even though it sometimes hurts just to hold it.

because everything begins back when he was still soft, easy to manipulate. he's gone by many names in his past, but everything starts from something.

kabukimono ── .✦

you met him when he still loved rain.

he stood under the eaves of an old house, sleeves soaked, watching the sky with the quiet wonder of a child who had never been allowed to grow into himself. you approached with an umbrella, eyes warm, voice gentle.

“you’ll rust if you stay out here,” you teased.

he blinked at you, curious. “i don’t think i can rust...”

you offered the umbrella anyway. he took it with both hands, unsure how to make use of this strange object.

you taught him how to eat sweets slowly, how to braid flowers, how to sit by a fire without flinching. he learned what affection looked like because of you. he learned what it felt like to be wanted—just a little—because of you.

and when he would look at you, sometimes he’d smile too hard, too bright, something too hopeful inside him sparking to life.

he didn’t know that hope was the first thing that gets killed. didn’t know everything he loved would be taken from him.

but he remembers you, standing right there, saying softly,

“you deserve to be cared for, you know? not used. not discarded.”

the kind of words that should’ve saved him.

the same words he carried into the next life like a curse.

kunikuzushi ── .✦

when you find him again, the world around him is ash.

he stands in the ruins of a life he thought would finally bring him peace, staring blankly at the remnants of everything he’d once allowed himself to love. the boy you knew is gone, replaced by something else, something carved out of pain and betrayal. grief hangs from him like a second cloak; it clings to his skin as if afraid to ever loosen its grip.

you call his old name. a name that belongs to a time before heartbreak—he jolts like you’ve struck him. when he turns toward you, his eyes are red and swollen, fury simmering beneath the devastation. he looks at you the way someone looks at a memory they want to destroy but can’t let go of.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, stepping toward him.

“don’t,” he snaps instantly, the word cutting through the air like a blade.

but his voice wavers, barely noticeable unless you know the sound of his breaking.

“i’m not pitying you,” you insist. “i’m mourning with you.”

those words land harder than any weapon. for a moment—just a fleeting breath—his expression cracks, revealing the shattered boy beneath the vengeance. he looks as though he wants to fall apart right there in your arms, to admit how scared he is, how lonely this rage has made him, how desperately he wants someone—anyone—to stay.

but he’s already convinced himself that softness is a sin he can’t afford.

“go,” he says, voice rough, raw. “leave before i pull you into the ruin with me.”

you don’t move. you reach out and touch his cheek the same way you did years ago, your thumb brushing the corner of his eye.

he closes his eyes. and for one fragile heartbeat, he leans into you.

“i can’t be someone you save,” he whispers.

“then let me walk beside you,” you respond, voice cracking, “until you learn how to save yourself.”

he opens his eyes again, and they’re cold, hardened by betrayal.

“i don’t remember how to be that boy,” he murmurs. “and i don’t think i want to.”

but even as he rejects your comfort, even as he chooses the path of solitude and steel, he carries the warmth of your touch like a ghost against his skin.

scaramouche/the balladeer ── .✦

when you find him this time, he is something else entirely.

gone is the boy who sought for love. what stands before you is barely even human—wild, godlike, furious with the world and everything in it… or was he human at all.

people bow, tremble, curse his name. he walks with the arrogance of someone who has spent too long being told he must become divine to be worthy. there is an emptiness in him that feels endless.

but when he sees you, he freezes.

your presence cuts through the walls he’s built surrounding him, slicing straight to the core. he looks at you with disdain, with longing, with confusion, with every version of himself flickering behind his eyes.

“you,” he says, as if choking on the word.

“me,” you answer quietly. “i’m still here.”

he hates that something in him softens. he hates that the walls he built tremble simply because you’re standing too close. he hates the memory of wanting, of hoping, of needing.

“don’t look at me like that,” he growls. “i am not yours to worry about.”

“you’ve always been mine to worry about.”

“i don’t need your pity.”

“it’s not pity.”

he looks at you sharply, eyes narrowed, waiting for the lie. but all he sees is the same quiet tenderness you gave him when he was young, when he stood alone in the rain and learned what comfort felt like.

“so what is it?” he demands, voice low. “what do you want from me?”

you breathe in shakily. “tell me how to keep you.”

he staggers back an unexpected step, surprised at your request.

“don’t,” he whispers. “don’t say things like that. you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“i do.”

he shakes his head. “i don’t know how to hold something that won’t disappear. i never learned how.”

“you’re holding more than you think,” you reply softly. “i haven’t left.”

but he’s afraid. terrified. not of you—but of himself, of what he might do to something that fragile, something that honest. so he turns away, choosing the familiar comfort of solitude.

yet this time, he looks back.

again.

and again.

because even as he leaves, he feels you like gravity.

the wanderer ── .✦

when you next find him, everything feels different.

he sits beside a quiet stream, legs drawn up, arms draped loosely over his knees. sunlight dances on the water, reflecting patterns across his face that accentuate his features.

he looks up when you approach, surprise flickering across his features before something gentler takes hold.

“you found me, again… how do you keep doing that,” he says, voice low, almost shy.

“don’t worry about that.”

he looks away, a faint blush coloring the tips of his ears. it’s such a small detail, but it tugs at your heart.

“i’m not who i was,” he murmurs. “i don’t know if i ever will be.”

“you don’t need to be.”

“i don’t remember everything.”

“i know.”

he hesitates, fingers brushing the grass before inching toward your hand. slowly, tentatively, he lets his fingertips graze yours.

“but i remember you.”

your breath catches. he looks up, eyes clearer than you’ve ever seen them—open, searching.

“do you regret it?” he asks suddenly. “loving all the versions of me? even the ones that hurt you?”

you shake your head, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

“i loved the boy you were,” you say. “and who you became. and the storm you turned into. and i love the person you’re trying to be now.”

he exhales shakily.

“i think…” he starts, voice faltering. “i think i want to learn how to love you back.”

you smile through the emotion in your throat. “you already do. you always have.”

this time, when he reaches for your hand, he doesn’t hesitate.

he threads his fingers through yours, leans forward, and presses his forehead to yours.

“stay,” he pleads.

this time, your answer comes with no fear nor distance.

“always.”

and for the first time in every life he’s lived, he believes it.

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[capriluvr]

to and fro

pairing xiao x reader

in which you guys go on a little walk in the spring!

tags established relationship, pure fluff

warnings none

a/n: i'm so coldddd i miss spring... also hi guys!?!?! a double post day?!?! i think i win

spring looks like it has a crush on him.

the sunlight drapes over his shoulder, the breeze runs gentle through his hair, and the flowers bend toward him like they’re trying to get his attention. xiao pretends not to notice any of it, standing a little ahead of you on the meadow path, arms crossed. you see the way his eyes soften when petals brush his boots, the way he listens a little too long to the rustling of leaves, the way he stills whenever you laugh.

you jog up to him, breathing out little giggles you can’t contain. “you’re not even trying to walk with me. you’re sprinting.”

he doesn’t look at you right away, but you see the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth that betrays him. “i am not sprinting. you are very slow.”

“oh really?” you tease. “then slow down for me.”

he hesitates like you asked him to move an entire mountain. then he gives the smallest nod, barely a fraction of an inch, and adjusts his pace so your shoulders touch. your heart melts instantly. he pretends not to notice.

you let your fingers brush his. once. twice. testing it. when he doesn’t pull away, you take his hand fully, weaving your fingers between his. his palm stiffens, then relaxes, and then squeezes. it's so gentle you almost wonder if you imagined it.

“you’re doing that on purpose,” xiao murmurs, staring straight ahead.

“holding your hand?”

“no. trying to make my heart act strange.”

you grin so hard you nearly trip. “is it working?”

he goes quiet, and when you tilt your head to see his face, you catch the faintest, pinkest blush blooming across his cheeks. he turns away so quickly that you burst into little happy giggles that float straight into the warm air.

the meadow opens wide around you, filled with pastel wildflowers that look almost painted. petals brush your ankles, the sky is the clearest blue you’ve seen all year, and xiao looks like he belongs here, among quiet things learning how to be soft.

“sit with me,” you say, tugging his hand.

he follows without a word, settling beside you in the grass. he sits cautiously, like the earth might bite him, but then his shoulder touches yours again and the tension fades from his posture all at once. he’s looking around like he can’t believe this place exists — like he can’t believe you exist.

you pluck a tiny flower, pale yellow and delicate, and lean close to tuck it just behind his ear.

xiao freezes.

completely.

you swear you hear his breath hitch, barely a whisper of a sound. the blush deepens, climbing up to the tips of his ears. he doesn’t move, like any shift might make the moment fall apart.

“what… what are you doing?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“decorating,” you say, smiling.

xiao touches the flower gently with two fingers, as if it might disintegrate under the slightest pressure. his lashes lower and his expression shifts. there’s something in the way he whispers, “don’t do that unless you mean it.”

your stomach flips in happy little circles. “mean what?”

“you know,” he mumbles. “that you… care.”

you lean in and press a quick, gentle kiss to his cheek. he stiffens again, then melts so subtly you feel it more than you see it — his shoulders loosening, his posture easing, his fingers curling back around yours like he needs the contact to stay grounded.

“i care a lot,” you say.

his golden eyes widen just a fraction, and then he looks away again, clearly overwhelmed. but he doesn’t let go of your hand. if anything, his grip softens into something warm and sure.

a soft breeze rolls over the hill. the grass leans with it. xiao leans into you.

after a moment, he speaks quietly. “i do not understand why being near you feels like this.”

“like what?” you ask, leaning your head against his shoulder.

he hesitates. then, in a voice that trembles with honesty, he says, “light.”

your heart melts into a puddle right there in the grass. “xiao…”

“it’s strange,” he says, staring straight ahead like the world is too bright to look at directly. “i don’t know how to hold it. or what to do with it. but i… want it.”

you smile against his shoulder, warm and soft and full. “you don’t have to do anything. you can just let yourself be happy.”

he considers that, chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s solving a puzzle no one taught him how to do.

slowly, timidly, he rests his head on yours.

for a moment, neither of you breathe. then he exhales, long and gentle, like the weight he’s been holding has finally softened.

“this is happiness,” he whispers. “right?”

“yeah,” you say softly. “this is happiness.”

xiao closes his eyes, fingers tightening around yours. “then… can stay a little longer.”

you giggle, kicking your feet against the grass. “i’ll stay as long as you want.”

he opens one eye, just enough to see you smiling at him, and the corners of his mouth lift in the cutest, shyest smile you’ve ever seen.

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[capriluvr]

eyes without a face

pairing scaramouche x reader

he opens up to you for the first time since you knew him.

tags established relationship, hurt/comfort, late-night feelings, internal conflict

warnings none

you don’t notice at first. you think he’s just quiet again, one of his moods where he drifts around the room like he’s borrowed someone else’s body. but then you hear it. the way he exhales like something inside him has cracked.

you turn toward him.

he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands limp. and his eyes—god, his eyes are somewhere you can’t reach. somewhere he’s spent years trying not to go back to.

"scara?" you whisper.

no answer.

you take a step. just one. he flinches like you slapped him.

“don’t,” he rasps, voice small and raw. “please. just… don’t come closer.”

your heart almost caves in on itself. he never asks like that. never begs.

“why?” you breathe out.

he let's out a sound that isn't really laugh. not really anything. he pulls his legs close to him, head lowering in defeat.

"i don't want it to happen again. i can't let it happen again."

you kneel slowly, keeping distance, but lowering yourself to the floor so you’re not towering over him. “can’t do what?”

he drags a hand over his face. “lose something i thought I didn’t care about.”

your breath hitches. he squeezes his eyes shut, and for a moment he looks like a child—terrified, furious, emotions to big to handle.

“scara, i’m not leaving—”

“yes, you will. you always do. everyone does.”

“i’m not everyone.”

“that’s what they all said,” he sighs.

his voice cracks at the end. not dramatically. not loudly. just enough to sound human in a way that terrifies him.

you move closer, only enough that your knees brush his.

he doesn’t move away this time. but he's trembling, it looks like it hurts to breathe.

“look at me,” you say, soft, pleading.

he does.

and the look in his eyes—empty, desperate, terrified of needing you—shatters something you didn't know could break.

“i don’t know who i’m supposed to be,” he admits. “i don’t know how to be… real. i don’t know how to exist without waiting for the next person to decide i’m not worth it.”

“i would never—”

“don’t lie to me.” he says it with tears in his voice, even if none fall yet. “don’t tell me i matter. don’t tell me you love me. don’t tell me things people say before they disappear.”

your throat tightens painfully. “i’m not disappearing.”

“you will,” he repeats, like he’s convinced the universe has already decided. “you’ll realize i’m too much. too broken. too wrong. and one day i’ll look over and you’ll be gone, just like—” his breath shudders. “just like everyone else.”

you climb onto the bed cautiously, your hands shaking. he watches with wide, frightened eyes, like he doesn’t know whether to run or fall into you.

you cup his face.

he stops breathing.

“i’m not leaving,” you whisper.

his voice is barely audible. “don’t promise that.”

“why?”

“because if you break it…” his mouth twists, trembling. “…i won’t survive it.”

the honesty hits you so hard you it hurts. this is scaramouche—sharp, cold words, storms in his chest—and he’s looking at you like you’re the last star in a sky that keeps burning out.

you pull him into your arms.

he resists for half a second. then he collapses.

not gently. not gracefully.

he just breaks.

his fists clutch your shirt. his forehead presses into your shoulder, so hard it's sure to leave a bruise, it's almost as if he’s trying to bury himself in your ribs. his breath stutters, catches, shivers—tiny, fractured sobs he tries and fails to swallow.

“i can’t lose you,” he chokes out. “i don’t know how to do this but i’m trying, i’m trying so hard—”

you hold him tighter. as tight as he needs.

“i’m right here,” you murmur, voice thick. “you’re not losing anything.”

“don’t let go.” it comes out strangled. “don’t let go of me.”

“never.”

you feel him shake harder. you feel the way he clings like he’s been waiting centuries for someone to hold him together like this. he’s crying silently now—breaths shaking, shoulders trembling, tears soaking your collarbone.

“you always see too much,” he cries out. “you look at me like i’m someone worth loving and i don’t understand it. i don’t—i don’t deserve—”

“stop,” you warned, pressing your forehead to his temple. “you deserve everything. every bit of love i give you. every soft thing in this world. every good moment you never got.”

he gasps—a sound of pain, of disbelief, of something inside him finally giving up the fight.

you wrap your arms around him, warm and reassuring, like arms he can actually come home to. the candle burns low. the night presses in. his breathing slowly steadies against your chest, still shaky, still wet with tears.

but he’s holding you like he’s afraid to let the world touch you. as if you’re the only thing keeping him together.

and when he finally whispers, “please stay,” it’s the most honest thing you’ve ever heard from him.

you kiss the top of his head.

“i’m staying,” you whisper. “even when it hurts. even when you push. even when you’re scared. i’m not going anywhere.”

he exhales, a long, shaking breath that sounds like surrender.

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[capriluvr]

totally random thought but my hair right now makes me look like the second coming of bachira… but if he had purple hair and was a girl. let that sink in.

[capriluvr]

hey wassup hello

includes: oikawa, iwaizumi, lev, kenma, kuroo

texts with your bf!!

tags, established relationship, comedy, fluff

warnings oh no profanity!?

a/n: hey guys (imagine me whispering) I’m writing this in class so there isn’t a lot of them… I hope that’s okay..

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[capriluvr]

im thinking of writing an actual fic..?? its prolly gonna be a kenma smau.. would you guys actually read it if i did that?

i mean sure ig

fuck you

lets kiss?

Voting ended onNov 30, 2025

[capriluvr]

will you stop that?

includes scaramouche, childe, diluc, xiao, and albedo

how genshin men react to you avoiding their kisses

tags fluff, established relationship

warnings i dont think there’s any worth mentioning..?

a/n: im currently writing this at a function bc i have nobody to talk to ; (◞‸◟) someone save me…

scaramouche

he notices immediately. scaramouche is hyper-observant, so the first time you turn your head away, his eyes narrow like you said something absurd.

he pretends he doesn’t care, but it gets to him. not in a soft, sentimental way—more in a “why is this happening and why am i thinking about it” way.

he tries to justify it logically at first: maybe you’re tired, maybe you didn’t hear him, maybe you’re just weird. but the second time it happens, he stops making excuses.

he gets uncharacteristically quiet around you afterward. not exactly, just waiting to see if you’ll do it again.

his pride makes him avoid confronting you directly, so his “solution” is to hover closer than usual. if you want to dodge him, you’ll have to work for it.

scaramouche isn’t someone who likes being kept in the dark—especially when it comes to you. he’d never admit it out loud, but he grew used to the small rituals between you two: the brush of your shoulder, the quick kiss he’d steal whenever he passed by. normalcy, in his own twisted definition of the word.

so when you step back the moment he leans in, it nearly stops him in his tracks.

he covers it quickly—eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable. “really?” he says, tone flat. “you’re avoiding me now?”

you shake your head, mumbling something about being busy, or distracted, or tired. none of it sounds real. he’s watching too closely for you to get away with it.

the second time it happens, he doesn’t mask the shift. his stare is sharp enough to pin you in place. he says nothing, just observes you like he’s waiting for a pattern to reveal itself.

the third time—when you turn your head slightly and his kiss lands on your cheek instead of your mouth—he steps back entirely.

not angry. not offended. just… still.

“what’s going on with you?” he asks, voice quieter than you expect. it’s almost as if he’s afraid of pushing too hard. “and don’t give me another excuse. i’m not an idiot.”

you open your mouth, close it again. you’re not even sure why you’ve been dodging him—maybe you’re overwhelmed, maybe you’re embarrassed, maybe you got shy out of nowhere and didn’t know how to explain it.

your silence seems to bother him more than the avoidance itself.

scaramouche exhales through his nose, jaw tight. “if you don’t want me touching you, say it. i can handle that.” he pauses, gaze dipping for a fraction of a second. “but i’m not going to guess.”

the vulnerability is so faint you almost miss it. almost.

you step closer, lightly tugging on his sleeve. “i wasn’t avoiding you because i didn’t want you. i just… got weird about it. i don’t know. i’m sorry.”

he pauses. a beat passes before scoffing under his breath. “unbelievable.” he grabs your chin gently, not forcing, just guiding. “you made me overthink for that?”

you manage a small smile. “sorry.”

“you should be.” but the way he leans in, slow enough for you to pull away if you want to, tells a different story.

childe

childe finds it funny at first. he thinks you’re teasing him, because honestly, why else would you dodge him?

but the second time you avoid his kiss, something flickers in his eyes—confusion first, then something a little heavier he won’t name.

he covers it with jokes and dramatic sighs, but internally he’s replaying the moment. he cares more than he lets on.

instead of backing off, he starts testing you: leaning in at random moments, dipping his head unexpectedly, catching you off guard to see how you react.

when he realizes you're actually avoiding him and not just being playful, he drops the theatrics immediately. his voice gets softer, calmer.

beneath everything, childe just wants honesty. if something’s wrong, he wants to hear it. he’s a fighter—give him a problem and he’ll take it head-on. but silence? that’s the one thing that rattles him.

childe isn’t a subtle person. he never has been, and probably never will be. so when he leans in to kiss you, just a quick hello, nothing serious—and you turn your head at the last second, he freezes for half a breath.

then he laughs.

“oh? playing hard to get today?” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows obnoxiously. it would’ve been easy to brush off if you didn’t feel your face burn immediately.

you mutter something under your breath and keep walking. he lets it go.

but the next day, when you dodge him again, he stops in front of you with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“okay, hold on. again?” his tone is light, but he studies you like he’s tracking an enemy’s movements. “did i miss something?”

you shrug, pretending you’re unbothered. and for a second, he lets you think you fooled him.

the third time, he doesn’t joke.

you two are sitting on a rock overlooking liyue harbor, watching the lights flicker in the water. it’s peaceful, quieter than childe’s usual pace. you feel him shift beside you before you see it—his hand brushing yours, his head turning toward you.

when you lean away on instinct, he stops moving entirely.

“hey.” his voice is low, gentle. “look at me.”

you do, reluctantly.

his expression isn’t hurt. it’s concerned. childe rarely gets genuinely serious, but when he does, it’s disarming.

“you’ve been dodging me for days,” he says softly. “if i crossed a line, tell me. i won’t get mad.”

your stomach twists. “no—it’s nothing like that. i just… got embarrassed, i guess.”

“embarrassed?” his brows lift. “of me?”

“not of you,” you say quickly. “just… the kissing part. i got shy. it was stupid.”

childe’s features relax immediately, tension melting into amused disbelief. he lets out a quiet laugh—not mocking, just relieved.

“that’s all?” he nudges your shoulder with his. “you could’ve told me, you know. i’m good at fighting, but mind reading’s not really in my skill set.”

you roll your eyes, but your shoulders loosen.

he leans in again, slower this time, giving you plenty of room to pull back.

“can i?” he asks.

you nod.

the kiss he gives you is nothing like his usual energy—soft, patient, almost careful.

when he pulls back, he taps your nose lightly. “see? nothing to be shy about.”

diluc

diluc notices immediately, but he pretends he didn’t. he gives you the space to do whatever you’re doing without questioning it… at first.

he starts watching your body language more carefully, trying to figure out if he made you uncomfortable or crossed a boundary without realizing it.

he overthinks in silence. instead of confronting you, he quietly adjusts his behavior—leans in less, gives you more room, softens his tone.

but the distance—your doing, not his—gets under his skin. subtle things slip: longer pauses before he speaks, hands clasping behind his back tighter than usual.

he won’t push you, but if it continues, he’ll bring it up gently. not accusing, not upset, just wanting clarity.

diluc has always been good at maintaining composure. emotions don’t show easily on him—not anger, not embarrassment, and definitely not insecurity. so when he leans in to kiss your cheek in passing and you take a subtle step back, he doesn’t react outwardly.

he simply stops mid-movement, clears his throat, and continues speaking about whatever task he was giving you. polite. steady. unreadable.

but later, when you’re not looking, he touches the back of his neck with a faint frown, replaying the moment.

the next day, it happens again. this time even more obvious. he turns toward you, meaning to press a brief, familiar kiss to your temple, and you shift just out of reach, pretending you needed to grab something.

his hand falls back to his side.

“…i see,” he murmurs softly, though you’re already walking away.

that night, in the tavern office, he sits with his gloves off and his thoughts louder than the quiet room. he doesn’t jump to conclusions, but he can’t shake the feeling that he did something wrong.

on the third day, he decides to address it—not confrontationally, just honestly.

you’re helping him close the tavern when he finally speaks. “may i ask you something?” his voice is low, almost hesitant.

you look up. “yeah?”

he exhales, steadying himself. “i’ve noticed you’ve been… avoiding physical affection. specifically, my attempts to kiss you.” he says it calmly, but his eyes soften in a way you’ve never seen. “if i’ve made you uncomfortable, please tell me. i don’t want to repeat the mistake.”

your stomach drops. “no—no, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

he pauses, searching your expression. “then why?”

you rub your face, mortified. “i just… got shy. i don’t know why. it was dumb.”

for the first time in days, something eases in his posture. the tension in his shoulders loosens. he almost smiles—just a faint curve at the corner of his mouth.

“it’s not dumb,” he says quietly. “but i would’ve liked to reassure you sooner.”

you step closer, cautiously. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize, you did nothing wrong. i just don’t want us to drift apart.”

xiao

xiao doesn’t realize you’re avoiding his kisses at first. he assumes he misread the moment, not that you pulled away.

once he starts noticing the pattern, he withdraws fast. not out of anger, but out of instinct. he doesn’t want to burden you with something you clearly don’t want.

he’ll start keeping physical distance automatically. if he used to stand a step away, now it’s two. if he used to lean in, he stops altogether.

he convinces himself that your avoidance is a sign he grew too comfortable, too human, too attached. he feels guilty for wanting something he thinks he’s not meant to have.

he won’t confront you—ever. the idea of asking “why don’t you want me to kiss you?” feels unbearable. he would rather fade out quietly than risk you confirming his fear.

xiao doesn’t kiss you often. he’s not someone who seeks touch or gives it freely, so the moments he does lean in—quick, hesitant, almost shy—feel rare enough that you treat them gently.

but lately, when he’s brushed close to you, you’ve stepped back. once because you were surprised. twice because you panicked. three times because you realized you were overthinking it and didn’t know how to stop.

the first time, xiao blinks, confusion passing over his face so fast you almost miss it. he draws his hand back, mumbling something about needing to patrol.

the second time, he doesn’t even try again. he just nods stiffly and disappears in a gust of wind.

by the third, he’s not the one leaning in anymore.

he stays near you, but not close. an arm’s length away. eyes lowered. steps lighter, as if he’s afraid of disturbing the air around you. every time you reach for him, he flinches, not because he doesn’t want you, but because he thinks you don’t want him.

you find him on the balcony of wangshu inn at sunset, staring out at liyue harbor with that carefully controlled calm he uses when he’s thinking too much.

“xiao,” you say softly.

he doesn’t look at you. “i shouldn’t have assumed,” he murmurs. “i won’t do it again.”

your stomach twists. “what do you mean?”

“you don’t want me to touch you. i understand.” his voice is quiet, clipped. “i crossed a line.”

you step closer, heart pounding. “xiao, no—you didn’t.”

he finally turns to you, golden eyes sharp with confusion. “you moved away.”

“because i got nervous,” you admit, cheeks burning. “not because i didn’t want you. i just… freaked myself out.”

a beat of silence.

xiao’s expression shifts—not dramatically, but enough. his shoulders drop. his jaw unclenches. the tension in his hands loosens like he’d been holding his breath for days.

“you were… nervous?” he repeats, almost disbelieving.

“yeah.” you take another step, reaching for his hand, slow and gentle. “i’m sorry if it made you think otherwise.”

he lets you take his hand, fingers trembling slightly.

“i thought you regretted it,” he whispers.

you shake your head. “never.”

after a long moment, he leans in—cautious, hesitant, a question rather than a demand.

“may i try again?” he murmurs.

“please,” you breathe.

the kiss is light, barely there, but it’s enough for now.

albedo

albedo notices the avoidance instantly, but assumes there’s a rational explanation—fatigue, distraction, discomfort with public affection. he doesn’t jump to emotional conclusions.

he quietly observes for patterns: timing, context, your expression, your tone. he’s trying to understand your change in behavior.

when it keeps happening, he begins to worry he miscalculated the level of intimacy you were comfortable with. this makes him retract affection almost completely.

he doesn’t take it personally, but he does feel responsible. his first instinct is always: “how can i adjust to accommodate you?”

he becomes gentler in his interactions: slower movements, softer voice, giving you as much space as possible.

albedo is a scientist before anything else, and scientists notice what others overlook. so when you pull back the first time he leans in to kiss your cheek, he pauses—not offended, just quietly surprised.

he offers a small nod, says nothing, and returns to the notes spread across his desk.

the second time happens in dragonspine’s lab. you’re handing him a vial, fingers brushing, and he leans in without thinking—habit, not impulse. when you tilt your head away, he stops immediately.

“apologies,” he says softly, taking the vial with perfect composure. “i wasn’t aware you preferred more space.”

you open your mouth to protest, but he’s already walked back to the alchemy table, expression unreadable.

after that, he doesn’t initiate anything. not a kiss, not a touch, not even the casual brush of shoulders he used to allow. he keeps a measured distance—always close enough to be attentive, never close enough to overwhelm.

and the worst part? he’s so gentle about it.

too gentle.

one evening, you find him sketching under the soft glow of a lantern, the pages filled with delicate lines only he could produce. you sit beside him, closer than he’s kept himself lately.

he notices, but doesn’t move away.

“albedo?” you say quietly.

“hm?” he hums without looking up, shading the curve of a flower petal.

“you’ve been… distant.”

his pencil stills.

“i believed that was what you wanted,” he replies. “i didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable.”

you shake your head quickly. “you didn’t. i just… got shy when you kissed me. i panicked. it wasn’t because i didn’t want you to.”

albedo finally looks at you, eyes softening in a way that feels like the first warm breeze after winter. “i see.” he sets the pencil down, giving you his full attention. “thank you for telling me.”

you fidget, embarrassed. “i’m sorry if i confused you.”

“there’s nothing to apologize for.” he reaches out slowly, giving you the chance to pull away. when you don’t, his fingers brush yours, warm and deliberate. “your comfort matters more to me than my assumptions.”

you squeeze his hand. “i’m okay with it. i was just… overthinking.”

a faint smile touches his lips. “then i’ll proceed more gently.”

“and now?” you whisper.

his voice softens. “now, if you’d like a kiss, you only need to say so.”

you lean in, barely a breath away. “i want one.”

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