⊹ synopsis ; since the very day you began working under fatui!scaramouche, you'd been fully devoted to both your diplomat work and to obeying his every command, yet you'd never suspect an underlying hypnosis at work to keep you up to protocol.
relationship ; secretary!genderneutral!reader x fatui!scaramouche / reader x canon
for you i hold my breath by lalleshwari me and your mama by childish gambino mind games by sickick desire by meg myers
⟢ tags ; dubcon , no smut , manipulation , unhealthy dynamic , unclear consent , worship , pure infatuation , brainwashing , unfair power dynamic , hierarchy difference , religious worship-like elements , angst , hurt/no comfort , tension , forced/or not kiss , toxicity
your breath hitched. the bitter aroma of his addicting cologne soothed the shell of your throat. the effect was immediate. the surface tension across what was your fragile, glass-like skin nearly snapped from when the trail of skin to skin contact left goosebumps along your sensitive, longing body.
every ordinary thing rearranged itself around him. the young-looking seventh fatui harbinger whose eyes never entirely crinkled when he gave his trademark snide remarks or enticingly sly smiles.
he, who was hauntingly aware of where to exactly push your buttons, to earn his desired reaction from you. to steer you to his wish under his leadership. to shield you from the scorchingly illuminating days that awaited you if you were to ever separate from him.
in your peripheral, hazy remnants of the atmosphere bent as your eyes avert themselves back on him. nothing else truly mattered in the world, except him. nothing else was as tangible as this very moment with your lord.
for some odd reason, however, you couldn't shake the thought that you were placed under a trance. but from which power would that hypnotic influence hail from? it surely didn't stem from scaramouche's abilities, for he was incapable of mind manipulation, you believed.
you two had set a tent in the outskirts of inazuma, back in his homeland, hoping to unveil insider information that would prove useful in further investigation instigated by the fatui diplomatic army. it was a special assignment from pantalone, which meant it took first place in the priority list.
however, since plans changed, you were positioned quite closely to the harbinger you were meant to serve. much closer than just any ordinary relationship between a boss and their subordinate.
your senses resented your traitorous body. your mind dared revere your accidental shaky breaths. and the glimt in your teary eyes betrayingly revealed your long-time concealed requisite.
and so, the realization dawned on you, like a dooming epiphany.
you've knelt for lesser gods.
you've begged mercy from archons who swore by empty promises of easing you of your burdens.
my god, have you bled for lesser mirages.
and you've surely pressed your forehead to stone altars until the skin split.
you have done worse. you have seen worse. and you've explicably laid down all pride, all reason, and logic to everything that has come before him.
so to gaze upon the breathing, true, and certain evidence worthy of worship in front of you, from the view of someone who has raised hands to empty heavens, brought strange offerings to altars, and worshipped the hunger prophets mistook as voices from the gods—every sense unmistakably changed forever.
the imprint of scaramouche's essence on you was everlasting.
here you were, thinking of recovering intel for the fatui and simply collecting debts with scaramouche. your lord. your boss. a comrade? something along those lines. no. not quite right. the taste of those words sickened you ill to your stomach. anything beyond those lines. actually, perhaps not.
to clarify your relationship with him felt neglectfully wrong. the actions displayed throughout your longtime friendship transcended the understanding of a normal 'subordinate' and 'lord' relation. yet, it couldn't be described with anything less than platonic, and quite not anything more than professional either.
still, he stood before you, alive, and the miracle was instantaneous, akin the impact of a whiplash.
scaramouche. the horrifying harbinger who recognized the devotion you caged within yourself, withheld from the world in fear of it being abused. you have shaped your loyalty under long seasons of silence, to the point of it being extremely hard not to seek the undeniable desire presented before you.
yes, you were his handpicked secretary. the follower he adored. so, to act accordingly to the honourable role you were bestowed, you obviously have to praise your lord like this. even when at times it feels as though the words slip out involuntarily. like something having wired your mind to enter such a trance of praise.
you remained his loyal subordinate of many moons. truly, the bond that had formed between the two of you was questionable, but no conclusion would come of questioning it. it was better not to ponder over it at all.
what you did know was that it was purely psychological on deeper levels. it ran warm and thick, like blood. you were always there for him, and so has he for you.
you noticed the strict prohibitions he issued to not let you stray too far. to not let you wander off alone. to keep you tightly close in his grasp, isolated from the outer world.
for you were indefinitely his.
and to say you weren't consumed by the ravaging flame that was his 'love' would be an ugly lie. because you were being consumed. and you would lie again if you said you hated it.
the precarious position you found yourself in, at the feet of your lord, was gruelling. you craved more. you needed more. as much as the air you breathe.
his hand suddenly cupped the slope of your cheek, making you blink out of instinct. meanwhile, his thumb caressed you so alluringly, as if to permanently chart the curves of your face into his memories.
"my lord," you held your breath before continuing, burying your head into your hands. "please..., please, please, please."
your words trailed off upon finding his infinitely deep gaze when you raised your head.
he clicked his tongue with faux sympathy, almost mockingly.
"tsk, tsk, tsk. this won't do. to have such a favourite follower of mine, placed at my feet—would that not be a pathetic notion of a noble lord like me?"
his words strung together like silk, waking every nerve in you to brace themselves for his oncoming psychological conditioning, conveyed through sweet words.
"i enjoy you like this. hm. it's been a long time since you've acted like this." he remarked on your state of abject worship, recalling the past. but to no avail, you continued to mumble incoherent speech.
"my lord...," you paused. "please... let me get closer to you. that's all i wish."
scaramouche's eyes flickered with surprise upon hearing this. what could've you possibly meant by 'closer'? he hummed in response, pleased, silently pleading you to continue your nonsensical ramble.
"i need to be with you." you heaved, knelt down. "please. please. please. every. single. sense of mine— everything's begging to be instilled with your love, my lord."
"love—that's what induces this? you want my love, huh?" he tested how the word tasted on his tongue.
"my dear [reader]. tell me more about this love you want."
"i don't know where to start, my lord. but—you make me wish that things were different. that we weren't only, y'know, a lord and his closest companion."
"[reader]." your name fills the aching silence, echoing in your head. and for an odd reason, it didn't exit his lips the way you wish it did.
"you, of all people, know we can't cross that border." he says flatly, and you can't say you were shocked.
in fact, you'd known this well before. it is what being his subordinate entails. even if you believe he wants you more than any other subordinate he has had, you can't just dive beyond the professionalistic aspect.
nonetheless, you still yearned for what could have existed between the two of you.
you pursed your lips and nodded as expected, but before resuming your search for the client's investigation zone, mapping out inazuman beaches, scaramouche unexpectedly connected your mouth with his.
the kiss was smooth, a little hot, and after he released his grip on your chin, he didn't let up. instead, he coated his lips with saliva and kissed you more passionately while bringing his hand to cup your cheek once more. nearly as if his hand naturally belonged there.
you felt the blood rush to your cheeks, and now, to your swelling lips. your heart pulsated faster to compensate for the dysfunction your brain was undergoing, but you longed for more.
his kiss signified the starvation of a man who had to wait for too long. the kiss' tantalizing tenacity was a stronger supporting proof of this claim.
finally, you let go first, to which his eyebrows scrunched.
"my darling [reader], did you not like it?" he frowned deeply. the moonlight that shone through the window of the tent cast a dim glow over his face, making him appear ever so painstakingly beautiful.
either you had gotten used to his facial expressions by working under his lordship for so long, or you were simply too infatuated with him.
"no—no, it's not that. it's just— you said we couldn't cross the line and ruin things."
"i did say that, didn't i?" he affirmed, "but i didn't say i opposed the thought of us being something more."
you perked up, eyes expectant. scaramouche brought your face closer to his through enveloping your figure in his embrace.
"furthermore... i believe i stated prior to this that i like seeing you like this. desperate for me." he grinned into your shoulder, twirling sections of your hair with his fingers.
"my lord...," you were in awe of your lordship's kindness, but something inside you churned and knotted tighter.
"nothing. nothing at all."
you were surprised nothing came of your mouth since you were certain you were about to blubber about something that stirred you the wrong way.
"have you caught on?" scaramouche lightly spoke, fisting your locks of hair tighter, to the point of it causing pain.
"caught on to what, my lord?" you winced while suspecting something at play, but shook the thought.
"in that case, it's nothing. moreover, drop the honorifics. you don't have to refer to me as 'your lord' when we're like this."
"of course, my lo— ah. force of habit."
he chuckled while inching his fingers under your uniform's blouse's collar. it was too close for comfort. but you'd typically enjoy it, would you not? after all, you're the one who wished to be 'closer'.
"what are you doing?" your voice sounded frail.
"you'll like this. shhh. don't be afraid of me."
resisting the urge to refuse, you complied with what your lord wished to do. but your discomfort was written all across your expression.
"wha—what's wearing off?"
then, he clasped the electro delusion on his chest tighter, causing electric sparks to form around the iron crest.
suddenly, your vision clouded, and pure desire coursed through your veins. this was the brainwashing he used that kept you from venturing too far away—beyond his control.
"nothing, my sweet, sweet secretary... nothing you need to worry about."
and nothing you needed to worry about, indeed. because in the end, you'll end up forgetting about this failed attempt anyway.
♡ ( 💌 ) a/n ; yeooo first post how we feeling... i'm a new writer, so this probably won't be my fixed writing style as i continue to write ! i love to experiment, and this was merely a braindump of an idea i had after rereading 'dirty little traitor' by kazukazuyas on wattpad! if any of you scara lovers haven't read that fic, then i truly recommend checking it out 🤤 and i just ADORE desire in the form of worship... if u guys didnt notice the elements of religious worship from the readers pov of scaramouche... ahem.. like js imagine someone just utterly infatuated with you 👀 PLEASE listen to 'desire' by meg myers for the feel of it...
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