Lilliane

[liuaneee]

Yep, it's me again, sooo there's this this scara fic where reader had a child with him and scara doesn't know and said child had been abducted, and I remember the last chapter of it to go like scara almost finds out abt the child, then reader gets sent a letter with the baby girls bloody tooth:(

I can't find it anywhere, I'm worried the og poster might've deleted it:(((

[liuaneee]

It's been so long since I've visited this tag— But, anyways, anyone here been long enough to have read a fanfic on wattpad of draco x reader? one where they sung little talks by of monsters and men... I could've sworn I've read it, since that's where I found out what the song was about. Man, my memory be tweaking.

I'm gon go look for it hollon

[liuaneee]

I'm a sucker for tom's spiderman, and the whole him being forgotten by everyone thing kinda reminds me of sum... Imagine Kuni as Peter/spiderman and us as MJ HWGDUAVSJABSJABA

[kinbedo]

It’s messy, but it’s still love- Kinich and Scaramouche

A/n: Inspired by @4barbatos' angst fics. The reader in your fics was so desperate and the guys never treated them properly and it pmo soo I wrote something that would hurt them more, ehe <3

Summary: He wants to live, he thinks. You want to die, you’re sure of that. You’re ready to die– no regrets left to be left behind. But you willingly take a few extra breaths because he begs you to. 

modern au, gn reader, wc: 1.2k each

Warnings: toxic co-dependency, trauma, emotional manipulation, suicidal ideation and sh (reader), the guys are lowkey gaslighting themselves into believing in love, mentions of their backstory.

Kinich

He never understood how the ‘love’ in the romance shows was… ‘love’.

Shattering glass, clashing cutlery, screaming curses, the strong scent of alcohol and lingering metal, purpling bruises, begging for the other to be gone— those were closer to ‘love’ than anything else to him. The yelling at least meant they acknowledged each other’s presence, they were aware of the other’s existence.  

It’s always been like this.

Or maybe not, he doesn’t remember.

Because trying to remember would bring up emotions to the surface that he can’t control, weaknesses strong enough to break him.

Maybe his dad brought flowers home, once upon a time. Maybe his mom’s skin was untainted, pure, once upon a time. Maybe he laughed with them, sitting on the couch, the TV humming in the background, once upon a time.

But now, all he knows is that ignoring is mercy, and pain is love. 

This is why he doesn’t question it when you walk past him in the corridor, laughing with people that you didn’t even remember the names of, pretending you didn’t see him. At least you knew his name, unlike the other people that you washed from your memories the minute you parted with them.

But do you ever mention him to others? Does he mean anything to you outside of your alone time? Is he a sacred secret to you? Or a thorny weakness that you’re not willing to let go of?

Your smile never reached your eyes around them. Not like you smiled at all around him. But at least he knew that about you. And that must mean that he’s closer to you than they ever will be, right?

You walk home with him, you always do. You wait for each other at the gates, matching your pace without a word. No greetings are exchanged, you don’t share anything except for silence, sometimes warmth, holding hands after they brush too many times.

You let go of his hand when you see a cat, black and superstitiously ominous. At the loss of contact, he feels like you’re slipping through his fingers, the tips of your fingers grazing his before they let go completely. 

You try petting the cat, following it into an alleyway. The last thing the cat does before jumping over the concrete is scratch your arms, blood dripping onto your uniform, blooming ruby gladiolus at the point of contact. 

You were surprised, but you didn’t express the pain. You stared at the wound as if it were art, bewildered.

He should have seen the signs then.

The next time he visits you, the smell of metal invades his nose before he even knocks on your bedroom door. He takes in a sharp inhale, breath hitching. It smells of blood, of the love he knows from back home.

You’re on the floor, bare thighs marred in red, tears streaming down your face, a sickenly satisfied smile adorning your features. 

He doesn’t hesitate as he locks the door behind him, coming to join you on the ground. He takes the blade from your hands, bunching up his sleeves and lining it against his own wrist. If he did it too, you could match, a sign that you are together, he thinks.

“Don’t.” You mumble, your words lacking any real protest. You just don’t want him to go down the same path as you. You don’t want him to be the one thing you regret, not when you’ve been running away from everything just so it would be easier to leave it all behind.

Kinich doesn’t meet your eyes, his gaze fixated on the sharp edge of the blade resting close to his skin. He’s trying to think. Somewhere deep down, he knows this is wrong, all of it is. 

He can’t think. His mind feels foggy, muddled with emotions he didn’t want to let up to the surface.

The blade pierces through his skin, a small cut blooming at the contact. Your hand reaches out to grasp his, to hold him steady, to make him stop.

With a sigh, he puts it away and climbs over you. He licks his own wrist first, kissing you to share the taste. Then he moves down to your thighs, kissing, kitten-licking your scars, rubbing around them to soothe the sensation. 

His stare pierces through you when he kisses you again. You don’t close your eyes either, not wanting to miss a single second of his blank expression.

When he breaks the kiss, all he says is “yours tastes better.”

.

He had seen this day coming.

He had seen it in the way you spoke less each day. The way you avoided all interaction, until he was the only one left. Until even he had to force you to talk to him, to look at him.

You had gotten him to stop, but you yourself never did. It went on and on until eventually, both of you destroyed each other.

He’s standing back, leaning against the rooftop door, contemplating everything that had led up to this point.

You leaned over the railing, gazing down at the world below. The scene had played in your head multiple times, until it became so clear that you could see it as though you were a mere bystander. You hunched forward, shoes long discarded to the side. A little afraid, a little sad, but determined. However, you didn’t dare look back.

The look in Kinich’s eyes would’ve been enough to break your resolve.

It’s quiet, too quiet. As if the world itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to take that final step. The sun hangs low, the rays reflecting off the clouds. Time flows by slowly, almost unmoving.

Right now, you feel more alive than ever.

You never wanted him to come. You didn’t even tell him about this.

And yet he came. It was like he knew. He always does.

He hasn’t stopped you, yet you hesitate. And he’s thankful for that, because his mind is running and he needs more time.

It was wrong. It was all so wrong.

His parents were the furthest away from knowing, showing, feeling love. And those romance movies and series that he watched with a straight face? The ones he thought were pure blasphemy? They were closer to love than anything else he had seen with his parents.

Unrealistic, but achievable.

He only had to try.

He steps forward slowly, carefully, like he’s trying not to chase a wounded animal away. Hesitantly, he wraps his arms around your waist, grounding you, holding you back.

There’s no strength in his hold, no pressure in his grasp. You don’t resist either. Just let him be there.

They say it’s never too late to start. So is it alright if he started now? Could he try living once more? Try loving you again? Could he try embracing life once more, truly and fully?

Now, as he stood with his chest to your back, anchoring you in place, all he could do was beg that you choose the same.

After all, you were the closest thing to ‘love’ that he had ever known.

Broken. Painful. Messy. Desperate. Dying.

Beautiful. Caring. Knowing. Yearning. Living.

To him, you were love itself.

Scaramouche

Survival is tough. When abandoned, it’s tougher.

“You’re too soft for this world.” Those are the last words he remembers his mother speaking, before she held him, lulling him to sleep. 

It’s the clearest memory he has of her.

Because after that, he woke up alone. The dust in the air choked him as he tried calling out for her. He wandered the streets, trying to find a familiar road that would lead him home. Instead, he stumbled into a street fight. He was about to turn around and run, fear clenching his heart, when one guy lifted him by his collar with ease, like he weighed nothing. 

In this moment, Scara realised exactly why the strong keep winning. No one cares for the weak. He tried kicking his feet to loosen the guy’s grip, but it was pointless. Everything always was.

If it weren’t for the blue haired guy, he wouldn’t even be alive right now.

Scara followed the boy to a huge mansion, not knowing that once he stepped inside, he could never leave. The guy— Zandik, as he learned later— didn’t seem to care. He didn’t rush over to save Scara, he just wanted to join in the fight for the adrenaline. Neither did he stop the starved boy from following him home.

That sealed his fate.

The rules of this house were absolute. And if he followed them down to each letter, he could rule the world. So he learned all that they were willing to teach him— from wielding a gun to lying like it was the sole truth of the world.

Outside, he would attend classes like every other kid. No one knew that the snarky lavender head at the back of the class had grown up with the mafia. He lied to the world. He lied to himself.

You were never supposed to learn of this either.

But walls have ears. And your ears only get sharper the more you learn to be careful. You start recognising footsteps outside the door, discerning the topic of the argument through mumbled curses. It was the only way to stay safe.

You never expected this little skill of yours to discern Scaramouche’s background. You were only here to ask him out as a dare. A joke.

“If I steal this pretty voice of yours, you won’t be able to snitch on me,” he says, pushing your head further against the wall, his grip on your throat tightening.

Your head feels both heavy and light, shivers weighing down your face. You can’t breathe, and he looks bored that you aren’t resisting.

“What? Not going to at least try and escape? Do you want me to choke you to death?”

“You can’t kill them right now. Some people know that they came to see you.” Zandik interrupts, exhaling a puff of smoke from his cigarette. “Keep ‘em for a few days, do whatever you want, then leave ‘em in a ditch. You could even pretend to cry to avoid suspicion.”

Scara huffs in annoyance, but his grip on your throat loosens. “You won’t get to see me cry, not even as an act.”

He tries to ignore the disappointment that creeps onto your face as he lets go. 

The next day, he hangs around you. The people who gave you that dare think you’ve won. They have no idea that the dare barely even left your lips yesterday.

He snarls at everyone who gets too close. How protective, others think. It makes you want to ask— is he protecting you? Or trying not to let his identity slip further? Of course, you sigh, it’s the latter.

Scara finds you alone during break, away from people. He watches from a distance as your hand snakes up to your throat, tightening around it the way his fingers did the day before, pressing near the pulse point. 

He moves without thinking, snatching your hand away. He had really wished that the disappointment he saw in your eyes was a figment of his imagination. But this just proved otherwise. 

You really did want him to end it.

He doesn’t acknowledge it. Just tugs at your arm, forcing you to stand up. “We’re getting food. Together.” 

He drags you behind him, and you follow silently. His expression is unreadable. Or maybe you just don’t bother trying to read it. You can’t tell anymore.

It becomes a routine. He’s rough, his words sharp, but he always forces you to get lunch with him. He doesn’t understand himself in the beginning. Is it because he sees that hopeless look in your eyes and remembers himself? He thought he had left that part behind him long ago.

You don’t try comprehending what he does. It’s safer to just play along, to follow behind, to take it all. It hurts less that way, and when you grow fond of it, you look forward to it, addicted to the feeling of rough, calloused hands, doing with you whatever they pleased, leading you around like he had won the world.

Because maybe he has.

“You look like you’re falling for me.” He states, projecting his own feelings onto you, twirling his fork in his bowl. 

“Maybe I already have.” Your reply comes quickly, no thinking, no hesitation. Being with him brings an element of danger in your otherwise dull life, and you think you’d rather follow him to the depths than return to the numbness of before.

If you are strong enough, you can rule the world. That’s what he was taught growing up. But right now, it seems like he didn’t even have to try. He had already won you.

.

“Looks like you never ended up disposing of her.” Zandik smirks, his metal rings screeching alongside the table as he draws closer to where you and Scara stand.

Scara’s grip on your hip tightens, bruising, desperate, possessive. “Shut up.” He spat, pushing you towards the staircase that led to his room.

It’s rough and messy and any outsider would think he’s crossing the line. But you let him. In the beginning, it might have been out of fear, but now, it’s because this is what ‘love’ seems to mean for the two of you.

.

“Wish you killed me that day,” you say plainly, eyes skyward, vision blocked by the bars of the windows of his room, looking at nothing.

“Keep wishing, it won’t happen.” He says, all bark and all bite, because he isn’t letting go now. It’s desperation, obsession, anything but love. 

You still don’t look at him, and he’s dying for your attention. So he steals it from the skies, tilting your head and crashing his lips onto yours. It’s chapped, making the kiss feel even rougher. He presses himself further onto you, and you respond by licking and sucking around his tongue piercing, tasting cold metal and smoke.

He doesn’t care that he’s probably going to lose you to yourself. He doesn’t ‘love’ you enough to bother, he thinks. He’s going to be selfish by longing for you, he tells himself, trying to convince himself that he’s only with you to satiate himself.

You both know better.

He has fallen in love with someone who’s dying. And you’re in love with someone who could kill. 

Yet, as you sit here, enveloped in his arms, his grip tighter than it should be, you think you are in the right place. You don’t want to be anywhere else, don't want to think of anything else.

All you knew was that his were arms you wanted to die in.

[whorerificstuff]

Part II: One Year Later

Continuation to that Genshin men x pregnant female reader

The house had grown quieter with time, not in peace, but in absence. Every sound that once belonged there, soft laughter, tiny footsteps, midnight cries,had long faded into memory.

A full year had passed since the day the rain refused to stop and the ground took in the person who once made life feel full. A year since a fragile child was placed into tired arms, the only piece left of love now buried. A year of learning to be both mother and father. A year of breaking and rebuilding. A year of enduring.

And then came the sickness.

It began as a cough, soft and occasional. Then came the fever. The labored breaths. The panic. The helplessness.

Hospitals had always been terrifying...more so now. White walls. Cold air. Machines that hummed indifferently while a tiny body lay still, fighting. He held those small fingers in his, watching the rise and fall of a chest that seemed to struggle for every breath.

He had whispered promises.

“You’ll get better.”

“You’re strong.”

“You can’t leave, not you too.”

But hope began to rot in his chest like something spoiled. The smiles from nurses were forced. The looks from doctors...careful. Hesitant.

“We’ll try everything,” they said.

They always say that.

The beeping slowed.

Then stopped.

The silence that followed wasn’t new. He’d known it once before, when love slipped from his hands like sand. But this one...this one shattered what was left.

He held the small, lifeless body. Rocked it. Begged.

“You’re just sleeping, right?”

“I’m here. I’m still here…”

No one answered.

He buried the child beside the one he had once shared a life with.

Two graves.

Two losses.

Too much.

He stood there under the heavy rain, no umbrella this time. He wanted to feel it all, every cold drop, every shiver, every ache that came with it. The wind howled like a grieving mother. The storm seemed endless.

Everyone else had gone. The concerned few stayed behind just long enough to make sure he didn’t collapse. But eventually, even they left. All that remained was him and the graves.

He knelt between them, soaked and trembling, running his hand across the carved stone.

“I did everything I could,” he whispered. “I loved her. I loved both of you.”

His voice broke.

“I was all she had. And I still wasn’t enough.”

His throat burned from crying. But the tears came anyway.

“I don’t know how to keep going.”

He closed his eyes, trying to remember warmth, laughter, softness. The way the baby used to wrap her fingers around one of his. The way her tiny body fit perfectly against his chest. The way she smiled...just like the one who gave birth to her.

All of it, gone.

The nursery was untouched, just as it had been the day she left it. The toys, the clothes, the soft scent of baby powder. Everything sat in waiting, quiet and cruel.

He sat in the rocking chair that was once his refuge during sleepless nights. This time, there was no bundle to hold. Just silence. Just arms aching for something they would never carry again.

The pain wasn’t loud anymore. It was a steady, crushing weight. Not sharp, deep, like drowning without water. Like screaming without sound.

He sat there until morning, blanket clutched against his chest, rocking slowly.

And when the sun finally rose, casting light through the window and across the empty crib, it felt wrong.

There should have been cries.

There should have been life.

But there was only one heartbeat in that house now.

One heartbeat.

And too much silence.

SUBJECT TO CHANGE

I honestly dont remember what happened in the prervious fic

Should I continue?

[whorerificstuff]

What if you and this male character had an argument or maybe they were just stressed or he was already pissed off and you manage to mess up a bit so he let out his frustrations on you. Words that he didn’t mean spew out of his mouth till he said the words he didn’t mean the most.

“I wish you would just disappear”

You were hurt well hurt was an understatement. It was the last thing you wish to hear from your husband’s mouth. So you left not taking anything with you. You weren’t angry you were hurt, you weren’t the type to slam the door shut. The last thing you told him was a soft “I’m sorry” as you closed the door softly. He never bothered to chase after you. He just went to your shared bedroom and slept expecting for you to come back, sleep next to him and the two of would reconcile tomorrow.

But that never came he woke up without you next to him. The home you shared feels off, feels eerie then he realised all your belongings are no where to be seen. He panicked and dialled your number but it was someone else who answered the call. His heart was thumping fast thinking you left him for good while he was sleeping and took everything with you. He asked your friends but they didn’t know who you were even went to the house where your parents lived but it was owned by someone else too. He was confused, he thinks he was going insane, he thought he was being pranked, pranked by the cruelest joke. It was like you disappeared from this world, that you never existed. That thought dawned on him, those last words he told you, the shock and hurt in your eyes as he said those god awful words, that he wished for you to disappear. He refused to believe you disappeared. You couldn’t have, you married him, the both of you exchanged rings.

He looked at his ring finger, and froze, the band that signifies your union and promise to each other was not there but he never took it off, he never did. He was sure you’re real, he IS sure everything he had done with you IS real but why aren’t they there? why aren’t you there?. He wanted to make sense to everything, anything that could’ve led to your disappearance, why everyone you know were confused who you were. He couldn’t help but feel defeated and cry on your shared/his bed. How can a lie be the truth. It was all a lie, every hurtful things he said to you were just in the heat of the moment, he didn’t mind your shortcomings like how you are to him. He wants you back, heck he’ll even pray and beg to God to give you back, to grovel at Gods feet to give everything back to him. He’ll do anything just to give you back to him.

Imma stop right here

Idk why I wrote this but feel free to use it ig???

[whorerificstuff]

Humans are so weak, so fragile; Scaramouche hated that, and you, you were one of them. A painful reminder that your life is as fragile as a strand of rain. Quick, short, inconsequential...yet he ignored them, he ignored your humanly flaws and embraced all you could offer to him, welcomed and cherished everything that you have. All but except....

He was scared when you told him you were pregnant with his child. He wasn't ready he never was, really. But that soft look on your face and the soft blush spread across your cheeks when you told him you were carrying his child. You twiddling with your fingers expecting for a reply and that shy smile you gave him hoping he too was as elated as you. It made him think that maybe it wouldn't be too bad...as long as you're happy.

Oh how he wished he was wrong. He would rather have you miserable but alive. To have you with him. To selfishly have you.

One moment he was smiling holding the infant, the next his face was of distress as he hears the midwife calling out for your name, but you remained impassive and still.

The feeling was too familiar. That dreadful feeling.

You couldn't have?

Scaramouche did not dare finish the thought. He placed the infant on the futon, the baby, his newborn son wrapped in the softest of cloth in inazuma, was just a few feet away from where you laid, afraid at what he will witness would drop the baby. His hands were shaking, he was terrified, he didn't want to know why the midwife keeps calling your name, he didn't want to know why you aren't calling for him, to give you your child that you've been anticipating so much. He gulped, took a step away from the baby as he went close to you, every step was getting heavier and nauseating it made him seem like he was far away or maybe you're the one drifting away, away from him.

He looked at you. Your face looked as if you were having a peaceful slumber, even though your hair disheveled, even though some streaks of hair were sticking on your pale skin, even though you held no emotions in your soft features, as your eyes closed shut, you have always been a beauty even when you sleep. Even if you wear the ugliest of clothing, nothing could be on par or be compared to you. You jest that he was even more beautiful to which he protests.

He brushed his hand against your soft cheek. He noticed that the pink blush that was always so present on both your cheeks are slowly loosing its color.

You were just tired. Yes, you're just really tired.

That's what he thought.

You were screaming and crushing his hand during the whole labor, of course you're tired. Right? He tries to muse himself.

He could only hear the thunderous clap of the skies and the loud drops of rain as they fall on the shingles of the roof. Quite fitting with the trepidatious atmosphere. His eyes were staring at your unmoving form as if you were a doll; a lifeless thing. Your chest didnt have any motion that signifies you're breathing. He had seen many humans behave the same, but they were all lifeless.

Dead.

The midwife excused herself to give the family a moment, not before muttering a mournful sorry for the loss. To which Scaramouche scoffed, telling her you were just resting. The midwife gave him a pitiful look as she bowed and exits the room.

She doesn't know what she's talking about. You are fine.

He reached out for your hand intertwining them with yours. You used to have a habit of holding his hand in your sleep, he thought it was cute. He was hoping you would do the same thing like you usually do in your. He frowned when your hand remained limp, your fingers did not curl to lock with his and every passing minute he stood beside and held your hand, your body begins to grow cold. The warmth that he loves, the same he wish he could also give was beginning to vanish till he couldn't feel the warmth no more.

He felt something drip on the back of his hand, where he held yours, another drip and another and another, it went on.

He never realised he was crying until now.

He was crying. How pathetic. That's what he used to think but you changed that.

"Wake up" he said expecting for you to do so. But no, you remained laid on the futon.

"Open your eyes" still nothing.

That's when he begins to sob. The dreadful suffocating feeling he kept inside, freed. He was on his knees holding your hand to his cheek asking and begging for you to open your eyes to see your baby, that your baby wants to see you too. But your eyes remained closed.

The grief was infinitely unbearable, he was drowning in pitiful sorrow. You shouldn't be dead not too soon at least, you promised him to stay with him, you promised him that you'll follow wherever he goes, you promised him that you'll raise the child together.

The child

Scaramouche scurried to where the baby was. It was awfully silent. Too silent for his liking. He heaved a sigh when he saw the baby was just sleeping.

You wanted a baby, you wanted the baby, not him. He never wanted one to begin with. He went along with you cause you were so happy having it. If only he got rid of it before it developed inside your body, but you'll only hate him if he did so. The thought of having his baby made you elated and yearn for the day to meet them. But was it really all the worth losing your life? To not be able to see you?

Scaramouche cradled the baby in his arms. Amazed by how it slept after his father's wailing.

He took a good look at the baby. None of his features resembled you, the baby was the spitting image of his father. Scaramouche was saddened that not a single ounce of your identity were present on the baby.

Now that you're gone what was he going to do now? It was supposed to be the two of you. You and him were supposed to raise the baby together. Not just him he has no bit of idea how to raise a baby, it was all you. He doesn't even know if the baby was human or he be considered as a divine being or if he's going to live without a mother and a father who want nothing to do with the baby nor raise one.

At that he made a choice. Something a parent would never do to their child.

Scaramouche went to were you still laid dead, with a baby in his arms. He moved the fabric down to let the baby see you, his mother. Not that it's going to remember you.

"That's your mother. She's beautiful isn't she? She's the love of my life"

The baby let out a soft hmm as if answering his grieving father.

Another batch of tears decide to flow out of his eyes. Hugging the little baby and repeatedly apologising to him because of what his father is about to do, apologised to you of what he's going to do to your baby.

Scaramouche kissed your forehead,his tears dripped and falls delicately on your face. Saying his last goodbyes and I love yous to you.

Scaramouche wiped his tears while still holding the baby it coos while wriggling in its little cocoon blanket, slowly opening its eyes. He has the same purple eyes as his father. He laughed. Your baby doesn't resemble you at all. He could just imagine you getting upset.

Scaramouche's heart clenched. He wishes for you to, he wishes for you to get upset, that it wasn't fair your baby got all of his father's features and not his mother's. He wishes to see you holding your baby. He wishes for you to see you and him made something so beautiful, he wishes you weren't weak, He wishes you were still alive.

You would hate him for doing this, you will hate him for doing this. All those efforts you made to keep the baby growing inside you safe and healthy was all for nothing. He could see you crying for him to stop what he's doing but he didn't want to raise the baby. He was too damaged too broken hearted to raise a baby. He's not fit to be a father.

So instead, he gave him up to a young couple.

They were coincidentally had been trying to conceive a baby but that never came, the wife wanted a child as for the husband, he went and look for a child that could fill the whole in his wife's heart. But to no avail. Until that knock on their doorstep, and there were they met an eccentric fellow, whose eyes devoid of emotions, with him was a baby wrapped in a white blanket, enough to warm the infant. The young man did not say much but for the couple to raise the baby as their own to which they happily took.

Scaramouche bit his tongue, he already cried far too much. He can't cry now. It's too late for regrets, he had already given his son to the couple. With that he turned and left; not saying a word not even to his baby. Not even bothering to look back. To take one last look at the life you bore and grew to love, the life that also took yours.

The couple just watched his figure disappear until they closed the door and looked at the baby that blessed them. Flabbergasted they were to see such a beautiful baby boy. The baby that look quite too similar to that of the young man who bestowed them the little blessing.

Scaramouche was now out of sight from prying eyes. He had a clear view of the home of the couple where he left his son. A gentle wind decided to softly blow pass him. It felt soothing as if consoling him. Was it you? Do you forgive him for what he has done? Did he made the right choice?. He'll never know. He let out a whimper.

"I'm sorry, Y/n..I couldn't..I just couldn't... you're not here"

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This is not revised and is subject to changes in the future.

I wrote this while sleepy so I have no idea what's going with the flow of the story, grammar and choice of words🙇.

And I really apologize in advance if it's cringe it's my first time writing. Well I did wrote something 3 days ago(?) but it was more of a suggested plot than a story.

[whorerificstuff]

What if you and this male character were expecting a baby....

At first he was so excited to meet them, you were too after trial and errors to conceive a child. He knew you wanted a baby and he was there to give that. He knew you were pregnant the moment you ran through the bathroom door. The same symptoms that of a pregnant woman. But you wanted to make sure you really have a life growing inside of you. And you were. You were happy, he was happy to start a family with you.

Sometimes he would see you check yourself in the mirror everyday. And each passing day your stomach grew bigger and bigger till it was visible to everyone that you, his adorable and beautiful wife is carrying his child.

He saw how much you love the unborn baby. No, Words could not comprehend how much you anticipate to meet them.

Then there was that time he woke up with you gone. That made him jolt right up in panic only to see you grinning ear to ear, eyes sparkling in ecstasy at him. He let out a sigh of relief.

"They're kicking"

That's what you said, your cheeks now dusted in pink. He couldn't help but stare at you, your hair was a little messy, a few strands in disarray but nevertheless you were still ethereal in his eyes.

You reached out for him to stand up and led his hand to your baby bump. He was very careful and gentle as he pressed his palm on you. He couldn't help but smile too when he felt the kick. He knelt down telling the unborn child that he wishes to see them and to not make things hard for you during labour. He felt you brush his unruly hair as you told him, eyes heartfelt and like a loving wife and mother would, that no matter what the cost, no matter how painful it is, you wish for your baby to be healthy and see the world. You smiled your eyes squinting a bit. They were full of undisputed love and he wish to see them every waking moment.

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

The skies were in their darkest shades of gray and the pour of rain was unforgiving. The atmosphere was mournful, somber very appropriate for a funeral.

He held the umbrella to protect himself and the little bundle from the rain. He stared down at a grave, his eyes were tired, dull, a very expressive lament in them as if he had been crying for the longest time till he couldn't anymore, and on that stone protruding on the surface of the wet earthly floor carved, is your name. You didn't make it. He was unable to shed any more tears. He already cried far too much. All he felt was loss and an immeasurable amount of grief. He hears the baby coo in his arm, the baby that you left him, the child that you both made out of love for each other, the only thing connected to you.

Everyone that attended your funeral all left and shared their grief and respect. It was only him and a few concerned friends that stayed watching him mourn from the background.

Your brother decided to finally approach him, he has the same doleful expression as the others that attended your funeral and the same look of sympathy for him, the husband, and the father of your child. Your brother told him it was time to leave, that the rain is cold for the baby. He was hesitant to leave but complied for the baby's sake.

His and your friends and relatives were worried for him. Your mother offered to stay with him till he knows how to care for the baby himself. It didn't take long for him though, but even without anyone's help he would still learn how to care for his baby daughter, but he'd rather much have you see him struggle, to try and try until he got the hang of it. He wanted you to praise him to tell him he was doing well, but alas, you aren't there. The home you used to share feels painfully quiet without you. His heart aches everytime he sees every trinkets that you bought and decorated all over the house. Everything reminds him of you. Especially the little baby who's soundly sleeping on the comfiest cradle that you have chosen, you were right about the baby being a girl, he could never argue with you, you're always right, all except when you told him you're gonna be there for your baby girl, to hold her, to feed her, to wake up every night, to watch her grow into a beautiful young lady, like her mother.

He couldn't sleep in his first night without you, and the next day, and the days after that. The bed was cold and too big for him. His friends called and asked him if they could be of any help but he told him that he can manage with taking care of the little baby.

But what about him? You weren't there to scold him for not eating, you weren't there to shoo away his intrusive thoughts. He was hopeless, the only thing that kept him moving was his daughter. She looks so much like you and it hurts so much. He misses you so much. There was never a night where he would not cry, where he would accidentally call for your name and expect for a reply. He had to be there for your baby. The baby that you grew to love each and every passing time and day. He'll try to make his daughter feel the same love that you've been giving to her. He'll let her know and feel how much you love your baby girl.

It was in the middle of the night that he hears the loud cries of his baby daughter. It had been a few weeks after your death, the empty space beside him, the space where you used to lie grew cold. That's right you're not here and never going to be.

He went to where the little pink crib was, his daughter was squirming and crying. If the neighbors weren't so understanding they would be knocking at his door every night.

The baby's crying was getting louder. He tried feeding the baby but she wasn't even hungry, he tried cradling but the crying kept coming, there was no sign of her stopping anytime soon. He wishes you were here, you would know what to do. Your touches were able to calm him down when he was stressed before, and he believes it'll be the same for his daughter too. No baby would ever reject a mother's touch.

He tried rocking the cradle gently hoping it what his daughter wants. He grew frustrated at himself. He doesn't know what to do, why his daughter couldn't stop crying unlike before where she was very lenient of her father.

"Please stop crying" He begged his daughter. She didn't, she kept wailing.

He wished you were here. He wanted to see you holding the baby to stop her crying and calm your baby down.

He couldn't help but also weep with his daughter. He missed you so much. And with that thought a few tears drip down at the infant's face.

He wiped the tears on his daughters face, but it was useless as new tears kept sliding down on her plushed cheeks.

He couldn't even wipe his own.

Then another memory dread his mind as his breathe hitched suddenly remembering what the doctor had said.

Newborns could not live without their mothers.

He couldn't help but only pray and beg

"Please be healthy"

"Please don't get sick"

"I'll buy all the things you want"

He closed his eyes kissing the temple of his daughter. He was scared that he might lose her too.

"Just please-..please don't leave dad too"

NOT REVISED AND SUBJECT TO CHANGE

[iceunhie]

— out of this world (and into another) : genshin impact

premise: you could've sworn the transmigration curse didn't have an effect on you... so what exactly are you doing here?! (alternatively, you tumble straight into your favorite video game; and you're kinda fucked)

...or, a genshin manhwa otome game inspired au.

act i: scaramouche, alhaitham, wriothesley.

↳ act ii: lyney, neuvilette, kazuha, kaeya. (next)

warnings. fem!reader but can be imagined as genderless if u'd like hehe, a shit ton of manhwa tropes in one, this is a hot mess aka not proofread all that much, half clunky half decent writing

a/n: as promised via the poll heh,, while i do plan to make this an actual au, im not that sure ^^; just the tip of the iceberg here tho!!

MAIN MASTERLIST | AU MASTERLIST (coming soon)

YOU — unsuspecting civilian turnt transmigrator

you've always been too attached to fictional characters for your own good.

yes, even the ones that are remarkably irredeemable (the power of a backstory is very formidable) and complex (complexity is a virtue!)

villains have always been destined to die, be cursed, or destined to curse others. it was heartbreaking, really. you've wished for a chance to rewrite their fates for them to find even a sliver of happiness, even when the fate of their plot says otherwise.

which is why when you find yourself awake into the game of your dreams, “Teyvat's Seven Stars”, like any lover of cliche novel and manhwa tropes, this is the time you think that maybe life wasn't so shitty on you.

....there's only one tiny, teensy, itty bitty problem here, actually.

you're not the protagonist. you're not even one of the protagonist's faithful friends and underlings that light protagonist's road to conquering the world and its men (and as of the 4.0 update, it's women); no, you're none of those.

you're a no name extra, and not to mention, a character involved with the game's main villain characters who are coincidentally the love interests of the game's black route!

[ unlock transmigration package: ultimate transmigrator's route ( ????? MODE ) ]

[ no ] [ yes ]

( 国崩 ) SCARAMOUCHE — the tyrant

“as of today, you will be engaged to crown prince kunikuzushi, who is her grace the shogun's rightful heir to the throne.”

when given approval to stare at your so-called soon to be husband, you expect the worst, mostly. the multitudes of character dialogue you've played through detailing his rather discourteous personality (which basically meant he was a huge asshole) don't exactly paint a pretty picture.

however...

who was this tender hearted looking scaramouche that ‘obliterated armies in the blink of an eye?’ the t in tyrant stands for tyrannical, not timid!

eyes like lighting framed by the longest eyelashes you've ever seen and an unfairly pretty face, comparable to a fair lotus. after fawning over his otherworldly countenance, a sinking realization of dread pools in your stomach.

oh, you are so screwed.

essentially tied to the indigo-haired ticking time bomb of a future tyrant due to the strong standing of your family for a period of until the main story starts, you're destined to never get crown prince scaramouche's affection, being his fiancée who scaramouche is arranged to for political means only.

not to mention, you're in an even more deadly position; of all the characters you switched souls with, it's the one that essentially dies by their own fiancé's hand because they were horrible to him! what atrocious luck!

frantic, you wrack up about three ways to survive.

plan a) win over the shogun's favor by being an appropriate partner unlike the original flavor of this body, who resorted to bullying the innocent prince and unknowingly digging their own grave or b) be a guiding friend to scaramouche as he learns the ways of the world and c) make sure you don't end up giving the protagonist a bad ending via his twisted personality.

weighing all these options, you decide to do all three in hopes to cement a life instead of a deathflag. prevention is better than the cure (aka: the protagonist) after all!

(you may also just want to spend time with your favorite character. having a time limit and a sign that says ‘i'll die in the future!’ should at least warrant you extra time to show some affection to scaramouche, at least.)

so, you do what anyone in your position would do: give affection! lots of it.

admittedly, it wasn't all flowers and rainbows. scaramouche—ahem, kunikuzushi—was very shy and reserved indeed, with his mother ei even worse off! (besides, who trains and studies all day and has to stop crying every time they were injured?! that was just too much!)

it was rather hard at first, the frigid atmosphere of the usually silent Tenshukaku Palace almost impossible to permeate. but with your amazing charm (read: deathflag radar) and social skills, you manage to let the members of the Royal family open up to you.

speaking words of praise in ei's cooking (a very difficult feat to accomplish), spending afternoons with your fiancé and teaching him ‘how to be a shoujo worthy male lead, name-version’ (very confusing to explain), and the cherry on top, driving away that vile teacher of his—the Doctor—once word got out that he'd been taking advantage of scaramouche as a political puppet king in the future. trauma enabler destroyed! look at your immeasurable powers!

(“you're not a failure.” clasping kunikuzushi's hands in yours as he reels back from you. damn that doctor.

his tears shot a wave of heartache through you. you can't bear to see your favorite in such suffering. “whatever happens in the future, i won't abandon you.

no matter what, i'll always be on your side, okay?”

kunikuzushi looks at you with something in his eyes—something like adoration. “do you promise that?”

“yeah.” you say without hesitation, the glow of the sunlight hitting your face so dazzlingly that kunikuzushi's eyes widen that his mouth hangs agape in awe. “i promise, kuni.”)

to your greatest delight, your efforts worked in your favor.

ei now spends time with her son, and though it's almost always just a tad bit awkward, you and the guuji yae miko get the two to strike up conversation, and overtime, kunikuzushi becomes more open to you.

(“[name], what kind of man is your type?”

“huh? well...” you think for a while. this was a great opportunity to say it, right? that life changing protagonist quote!

“to me, the only person i'll ever like the most is you, kunikuzushi.”

“do you really, really mean that?” and oh, he looks so cute—flustered and red from your words. worth it.

“yup! now, i made some shimi chazuke, try some—”)

(admittedly, lots of favoritism is involved.)

—and while you reap the fruits of your hard work, you spend warm, sunlit afternoons with ei at tea, even learning about other nations from scaramouche's aunt nahida and even befriended a few of his future affiliates—childe (though for some reason, kunikuzushi always pulls you away from him whenever he spots the two of you together), signora (she tolerates you, you think) and etcetera.

(“then, if i do well, can you kiss me on the cheek, [name]?”

you agree, much to his delight. scaramouche avoids the gaze of a certain pink haired fox eyeing him questionably. unbeknownst to you, he glares at the woman's scrutiny.)

unprecedented things unrelated to the plot happen too; like how your family, which basically only saw you as a political bargaining chip and an unwanted child they could get rid of easily—no longer sent you any demeaning letters demanding money once scaramouche found out....

(“they've been leeching off of you for how long?” so scary... is this was kunikuzushi is like when he's worried?)

(“...kunikuzushi, how long will you keep up that weak-hearted facade of yours? if they find out how.... dishonest you are....”

“i don't need the reminders of a foxy old hag that doesn't know her place. this is fine as it is.”)

(you don't need to know.)

but, you're nothing compared to the inevitable flow of the plot. inazuma is wracked with war, and it just so happened that you'd been unceremoniously kidnapped by a certain resistance leader's trusted general, used as a hostage bargain for approximately the majority of your life. in the worst moments in your dreary cell, there's only one thought in your mind.

....kunikuzushi's face, devastated when he tries to reach for you, before slipping away from him like sand— face morphing into an unbridled state of rage that's too natural, too familiar. when did he learn to make a face like that?

(they say the kingdom was wracked with thunderstorms all night that day.)

afterwards, fate doesn't make it kind for you.

years go by in the blink of an eye, with your capture fervently forgotten in the midst of the growing animosity of the two conflicting forces.

although you did hear that yae sent out a search party for you while at the resistance's base, the shogun's forces never reached you.

eventually, you got released secretly by sympathy of kokomi, the leader of the resistance, who felt pity for you getting caught in the crossfire. letting you go under the condition that you'd likely never meet any of the precious characters you've gotten to know and change was a heavy price to pay, but you didn't have any choice.

indeed, no matter how much you tried to divert the plot, your duty as an extra has ended, and you were even lucky to even be alive. you could only hope that your fiancé—ex-fiancé—took note of your lessons well, bidding farewell to inazuma as you hop on the boat to mondsdat.

by now, you at least hoped that scaramouche and the protagonist met, his true chance at happiness starting now that you were basically dead.

(even if your heart felt like breaking into a million pieces.)

....is what you thought would happen, but why is it that after three years from your supposed capture, inazuma was still at war?

“that crazy prince... he's still working to find his former fiancée... and he's razing almost every village apart looking for them!”

“—didn't the shogunate say that whoever finds her would receive almost 3 million mora?”

“the entire lot of them are lunatics, i tell you. all because of a missing person, too!”

what's more, why was it still going because of you?!

( 艾尔海森 ) AL-HAITHAM: the information guild master

to be fair, normal people don't really run into one of their favorite characters often after transmigrating.

but to be fair, again, you certainly didn't think you'd actually be in your favorite video game franchise caged in bed with essentially one of its main love interests.

eyes wide and unceremoniously looking—definitely not ogling— at the toned body that's currently enveloping you in its arms, the soft tuft of ashy gray hair caressing the crook of your neck, murmuring incoherent mumbles of—is that another language?

???????

you blink, looking down at the bare body currently embracing you. oh. oh.

you're an extra.

you're just an extra, but why are you in bed, currently being served breakfast by the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on, with a pretty view of the rainforests' canopy?

“you should lie down. if i recall, sufficient sleep is required in order for the human body to perform its basic bodily functions. although our partnership is temporary, to let you fall to harm is a situation i'd like to avoid as much as possible.”

“....what?”

“...?”

the guild master, al-haitham, is a character in Teyvat's Seven Stars that is heavily debated on whether he's technically a villain or not. in the game, he's the right hand of sumeru's leader, nahida, working as the overseer of the AKASHA, a guild that gathers information to the nation's leader. he's a pretty shady character—always working behind the scenes and very unfalteringly blunt—and a ‘villain’ for crown prince scaramouche's route, helping the protagonist escape his clutches.

he's often the subject of comedic ire, his banters with a certain broke architect always the highlight of any bonafide al-haitham fan.

“we're expected to work together by lord kusanali's decree in the duration of investigating the hivemind project the lord suspects the baron siraj is partaking in.”

right, that one scene in the game where al-haitham needed to go undercover to infiltrate a coup de etat staged by one of the factions against nahida... right... what.

you were that extra! the one that fell in love with him and pined for his affection!

(“well, i get that part, but does sleeping together really have to play a part in this...?”

al-haitham gives you a mere quirk of the lip, tilting his head. “we do have to play the part of a married couple in dire straights, do we not? this cover is more efficient.

...besides, i don't have anything to complain about. you're certainly better company than kaveh.” )

in truth, al-haitham wasn't bad company. far from it. aside from the internal giggling and fangirling (you) and the incredible stack of books (alhaitham) that you have to see more than the grey haired man on a daily basis, the two of you work out a rapport that stems from memories of the body you transmigrated in.

he's nice to be around, surprisingly considerate when he wants to be—he tells you about the books he always reads....

(who even reads ‘20 Tongues Language Memorization Guidebook: A Basic Overview of Vocabulary and Terms’ for enjoyment?

the content makes your head run in circles because of how complicated it is; but who wouldn't like to listen to an extremely attractive man overexplain to you with a calm and pretty voice?)

...is generous enough to provide meals and cook dinners that have you crying tears of gratitude because you know how awful yours compares (it was either too bland or too seasoned; al-haitham is surprisingly picky when he wants to be)

(you assigned al-haitham the title of “absolute s-tier husband material”— his capabilities are out of this world!)

by chance, you once gave al-haitham a little tidbit of information that proved to be valuable later in the investigation—courtesy of your avid game knowledge—when you two had been lost to the psychological illusion magic cast by siraj when you two finally broke in his estate.

(“whatever happens, if siraj messes with your mind, just make sure to think of me instead of anything else.” al-haitham lets his hand find yours.

“you once asked me if i trusted you, [name].”

“....” you're treated to one of al-haitham's rare smiles, one that warms you up from within. “i do. so don't let yourself get hurt.”)

however, your temporary partner had faltered for once, flinching when siraj took the form of his old grandmother who'd passed to exploit al-haitham's mind, hesitating and frozen in place while siraj inched ever closer to finding out his weakness.

and you couldn't stand it, the character you cared for—the al-haitham that always had a plan, always knew how to stay calm, had looked so unsure and hopeless.

(“wake up, al-haitham!”

with you cradling his face, al-haitham stares back at the only constant in the memories of his grief, eyes meeting yours. “you don't have to do it all alone. i'm right here, aren't i? believe in me.”)

your (fake) husband snaps back to reality, finally allowing enough time to apprehend siraj and put a stop to his malicious project.

(“thank you.” al-haitham tells you solemnly. it hits you that this may be the last time you may ever see him. “i'm grateful that you brought me back to y— to my senses.”

there's a sincerity in your voice that rings from your heart. “anytime, al-haitham.”)

you thought that was the end of it.

defeating siraj meant you two no longer had to associate with each other, but somehow, to your great surprise, al-haitham doesn't stick to the plot at all. you were sure you didn't interfere with the game, though?

for some reason, al-haitham doesn't erase himself from your life, unlike the original route's flow.

in fact, he's become... easy to run into, a constant in your otherwise mundane life. he takes you out to lambad's tavern for an occasional drink, says he's lending you his headphones when you find yourself overwhelmed by the city (you were never good with noises) and even helps you out as you vent your problems to him.

(the day after, said problem conveniently disappears. how strange....)

and most of all, allowing you to enter his personal space... leaving kaveh's jaw dropping when he accuses al-haitham of having a lover.

“you're always going who knows where with them! what else is there to figure out?”

“...we are merely friends.”

“a friend that you let into your personal library? do they know that you still keep the ‘fake’ ring in a box inside the closet?” kaveh laughs. “nice try, al-haitham.”

(after all, kaveh could never unsee the way al-haitham's eyes softened at the feeling of the head on his shoulder lean onto him, with you no doubt asleep. he even took his headphones off! kaveh has never seen him actually take them off in order to keep the person who's sleeping on his shoulder as undisturbed as possible.

in fact, kaveh doesn't think he's ever seen al-haitham be this touchy or considerate with anyone this much before.

.....and most importantly, kaveh would never forget the way al-haitham, a man who found no merit in politeness and preferred bluntness, a man who preferred solitude rather than company—deliberately getting close to someone—pressing a fleeting kiss on the crown of your head.

kaveh blinks. it seems even the throes of love can reach even the most unconquerable of peaks....)

( 莱欧斯利 ) WRIOTHESLEY — the monster duke of the north

“—i need you to gather information on duke wriothesley. serve him undercover as one of the prisoners of the fortress.”

the duke of meropide—a man swamped with terrible rumors. they say he was exiled from the nation due to murdering his entire family. they say he possessed a face worthy of the title of a beast— grotesque, littered in scars. they say that any who end up in his estate, the iron prison of the north, meropide, never saw the light of day again.

(“only criminals of the worst kind are fated to be sentenced there. nobody returns, so we've stopped questioning it...” )

so to say you're not fearing for your life that bad right now is a massive understatement.

“now, mind telling me how you were able to sneak into the most impenetrable prison in all the land, miss prisoner?”

how did it end up like this?

so you wake up and find yourself in jail. lovely.

seriously, of all the places you can transmigrate into, why did it have to be fontaine?! Teyvat's Seven Stars chapter 4's main starting point, the nation of justice is littered with dark themes and high difficulty capture targets.

.... such is the case with the man in front of you. unlike what the rumors of him say, duke wriothesley paints a rugged yet dashing picture of a nobleman, even if he was —if you recall— one of the hardest capture targets to conquer in the game.

a villain character who you played once during one game route, acting as the driving force during one of the love events of one of the protagonist's other love interest, lyney. duke wriothesley almost assassinates lyney's younger brother, freminent, leading lyney to rally up a certain group to bring the nobleman down.... a typical side character villain, who's existence was added as late as 3 patches away from lyney's.

(even inazuma would be better than this! at least the tyrant route could be avoided, and let's not mention the easy sumeru route as well...)

“well, miss prisoner, cat got your tongue?”

in summary: fortunately for you, the body you transmigrated is in the position to spy on the current affairs of the fortress of meropide, with courtesy and with permission of one of Fontaine's leaders, neuvillette. unfortunately for you, it seems our dear monsieur wasn't able to inform wriothesley beforehand, leading to the current situation.

aka, you're pressed dangerously close to wriothesley's chest, with a knife at his throat and his hands pinning you against the wall, noses almost touching. you're not sure if this is even the kind of tension that two people who are trying to kill each other are supposed to have...

(“i'm an ally!” you sputter out. wriothesley raises an eyebrow at you. “monsieur neuvillette sent me.”

“how am i supposed to trust you after i saw you slinking around here, knife at my throat?” he replies, eyes narrowing. “i know that i'm labelled as a beast, but i don't really know what came over that pretty little head of yours when trying to sneak into my chambers.”

what does he take you for?! “...are you accusing me of something indecent?!”

“just saying — i've met lots of prisoners with your excuse, my lady.”

“i'm prepared to use this knife, you know.”

“hah.” wriothesley grins. “how aggressive. more aggressive than most. do you want me that bad?”

“stop twisting my words!”)

in any case, you hate wriothesley. you know he's one of the characters in Teyvat's Seven Stars and is a villain for one of the easy love interest routes in the game, but his personality is... a real piece of work.

you'd rather the protective and kind kazuha, or even the charming and elusive lyney! why did it have to be him?

not only did he not believe you, he even told you to prove your authenticity! you're just glad that his assistant sigewinne had been there to vouch for you — you're not sure if you'd even be on your two feet right now if she didn't.

so now you're stuck constantly on your feet, running to and fro — helping the dark-haired man record new prisoners, establishing trading routes to the main city of Fontaine, and treating other prisoners of the fortress with sigewinne.

your biggest surprise by far, though, is just how... different the duke is from the rumors. his scars were merely battle scars of honor (to which sigewinne rolls her eyes, “your grace, please stop trying to look cool”) he got from various succession fights, not scars to show how he was cursed to turn into a beast. he has a love for tea, but always seems to have a cup of your favorite blend with him when you feel tired after a long day of working (laboring) for him and the estate.

(“your daily report of new convicts, your grace.”

“-this is the tea you like, your grace. i've prepared it in advance.”

“you're very adamant on proving yourself. aren't you sick of such tasks by now, miss prisoner?”

“no.” wriothesley's expression screams 'why not?' on it. “ it's because of my own misjudgement of you.”

“...elaborate.”

“i may have had unnecessary prejudices on your conduct thus far. but you're... not like what the rumors paint you out to be.” you say sincerely. “you're more amazing and incredible than anyone else. i truly do admire you.”

wriothesley's expression; you couldn't decipher it. “i see.”)

he's battered, but caring. sigewinne makes you watch (in horror) as she doodles cartoonish looking characters on his face when he's asleep — wriothesley never fusses, only an exasperated sigh to his assistant. he's harsh with his tasks and duties, but is the first to rush you into sigewinne's infirmary to tend to you after you pass out from overwork.

(“don't worry, [name]. the duke may not look it, but he's very gentle!” sigewinne giggles. humoring the little girl who was the first to show you actual decency in this place, you try to nod. sigewinne doesn't seem convinced.

“i'm serious! after all, compared to other people who've snuck into the fortress, you're the first he's treated this way.” she says cheerily.

“what does that mean?” you can't help but scoff at that. “so he just works someone to the bone from the get go?” you shudder. damn production zone...

sigewinne blinks. “ oh no, not like that. it's just that he's never been so lenient before. in fact, when you fainted, he even gave me the order to prioritize treating you over anything else.”)

well, this wasn't exactly what you thought you would be doing when you transmigrated into your favorite game, but you suppose you can take it.

besides, you'd miss a certain duke otherwise. life truly is full of strange twists....

a/n: thank you for making it this far! if anyone asks why wriothesley's was short, listen, this was completely impulsive and i was out of inspiration LOL, but i do hope you enjoy! look forward to new parts though hehe :3

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[clandestinechain]

In the Hollow of His Hand

summary: On the day the illustrious hero celebrates her birth, the ever-despondent you and the strangely complaisant he were not supposed to meet.

cw: female reader, possibly unrequited love, self-hatred, insecurity, ambiguous ending.

wc: 2.2k.

“Give me your hand. Heh, there’s no need to be nervous. I’m just taking you to a vantage point.”

You inspect your hand and see nothing unusual.

It is a perfectly normal hand. A hand that never held any weapon, a hand that never suffered from exhausting work and was never stained with blood; a hand of an ordinary woman living out her unremarkable life. Slightly bigger than his younger-looking one, yes. Unsurprisingly inferior to his puppet one and not as skilled to do so many things his one excels at, yes. But still, it is your hand. It is the hand of a silly mortal he vowed to tolerate, a hand of an insignificant being he chose to keep at his side forever. And yet…

This hand has never known his touch. This very hand that aches to be caressed by his own, that always reaches out to grasp his intricate clothes and make him stay for a little longer, this very hand that yearns for his hold… In the end, it receives nothing.

Why is he avoiding its warmth every time it draws near? Why does he refuse to endorse its intent? Why does he neglect its sincere wish?

Is it too unattractive to his taste? Too intrusive? Too pitiful in its begging? Is the status of its owner too humble to ask for recognition of its desperate movement?

Those carelessly spilled words made you question your limb. How ridiculous you are; how crazy and preposterous you are to assume anything about him or judge his preferences… But your pain is certainly not unjustified.

It is solitary, pathetic, and unnoticed. Why would he notice it, anyway? You were not supposed to hear that phrase and feel your tender heart squeezed by the invisible, cruel force. You were not supposed to eavesdrop on them and decide to follow them only to be strolling behind like a timorous mutt, like a mere human you are.

You are not supposed to be here. But here you are, remaining in the shadow, too weak to climb up the hill and witness the splendor of the view he offered to show her. Here you are, standing silently, having killed the urge to call out his name – the name that was bestowed upon him by her, of all people – and hope to get his attention. In vain. In a meaningless pursuit of the wind itself. In a shallow effort to replace the shining light with mortal dullness.

You should not be that upset, really. You have long since become aware of how special she seems to be. To him. To your motherland’s folk. To everyone in this colorful, vivacious yet deceptive world. Even as someone plain as you can sense the greatness of her character, the sheer nobleness of her spirit. The novelty she brings is met with praise and adoration; the peace of mind she casts on those she clashes swords with is rumored to be omnipotent in its healing capacity.

It is only natural for him to be drawn to her magnificence and kindness; to her uniqueness, her ability to turn the impossible into possible and grant second chance to the broken ones out of limitless compassion. Nothing is shocking in his wish to thank her – better yet, to spoil her with his willingness to touch the person who gifted him something so important as that particular set of letters he is now identified by.

It is a rarity. A whim of his temper. But it is predictable. There is no reason for you to envy her or nurture an ugly resentment. Who are you to even dream of possessing her traits? To dream of stealing that treat she is now being fed? To please your self-esteem in the same way he pleases hers right now?

You cannot compete with her. You cannot interrupt that idyll, let alone fight and conquer. You can only look from afar, unseen to their clueless selves, contemplating the tiniest bit of that beautiful landscape they are currently observing.

It must be nice. As cold as that breeze can occasionally be, there is always a hidden hint of gentleness in it – in him. What a flawless description of a flawed individual, you think.

How exactly are they enjoying the wonderful sight? You cannot tell if they are smiling and teasing each other; cannot tell if they are enveloped in a quiet atmosphere instead, not daring to disrupt the soothing symphony of his element, for you are too far from them to find out, after all. But what you can tell – with a plausible degree of certainty – is that despite her occupation, her hand is not that different from yours.

Because she did help you once. Because you held that hand of hers for a moment – shyly, utterly embarrassed by your sudden fall but still dignified enough to accept the assistance; because you discovered neither the roughness of her skin nor strength of a thousand men her frame is famously known for subduing. That hand was undoubtedly feminine, unsullied by the burden of survival; a hand that was simultaneously similar to yours in its pristineness yet nothing like yours at all – a sobering strike to your established vision of the heroine of legendary feats and a reminder.

 “Deeds as golden as her hair…”

Ah, so that is what this is all about. It was never about the prettiness of any part of your body; it is about what and whom his fastidiousness favors most. He is a tricky lad to get along with – you understand this well – but there was never enough venom in him to poison the ever-vibrant firefly. No matter how apathetic he claims himself to be, his chest nests a passion for benevolence; in a way, he is a fire that burns for anything not considered boring and primitive by his standards; a fire that, ironically, will never swallow the strong-willed insect but will gladly swallow any moth attracted. He may not harbor the kind of love you have for him, but it is still the sentiment of a sensuous quality.

There is nothing wrong with him chasing after the promise of entertainment only she can provide and seeking the company of an equally wandering and adventurous bearer of many blessings. How could the pawn of fate ignore its inherent attachment to someone as independent of the laws of Teyvat as she? How could he hold the hand of a being lesser than him, a woman so boring and devoid of interesting bits when the more tempting presence is here to take the prize she deserves?

You are just unfortunate. Unlucky. The same brand of plaything the celestials are fond of toying with – a slave to your poor standing, an existence born to lose and settle for less; a wingless entity with no means to reach to the skies and catch that one distant star, one among the myriad of those sacrificed to sate the egos of gods.

Truly, what could be more disheartening than this?

“What are you doing here?”

I am leaving, you want to say, oblivious to the question. You cannot spend the whole day here, wallowing in self-hatred and coddling undue anger, right? What if they descend from the above and encounter your stupidly paralyzed self?

What if he sees you?

What if he—

“Admiring the scenery.”

The nature of this answer was the opposite of that which you originally intended to give. The inquirer hums in return – a sound so familiar, so typical of the certain mean-spirited youth to produce; a sound so dear despite its obvious notes of mockery, snapping you out of your half-dazed state only to have you enslaved to the illusion of him your fear must have vilely created.

“From the worst spot imaginable?”

The apparition chuckles. It is a melody of amusement too genuine to mimic; the consequent “You do delight in inventing the dumbest of challenges” remark of precision too sharp to replicate. The rare disbelief that slightly laces his tone is too convincing to be deemed fake, for you know his voice – his velvety, oh-so-pleasant voice you are never tired of listening to – well enough to discern its true master even in the crowd of loudest look-alikes.

“But let’s pretend I’m convinced you’re not just snooping around.”

Your eyes are locked on the ground. The oversaturated green is a much more convenient thing to stare at – so much safer than diving into those pools of mesmerizing indigo, for they will drive the final nail in the coffin of your flimsy lie.

“Well? Don’t you want to get a better look?”

But he is relentless, and so is his power over your rationality. His odd choice of words entices you and prompts you to raise your head and meet his gaze, for you cannot ever defy his influence and stay indifferent to the tricky luster of violet. Akin to the entrapped rabbit, you watch the color waste its intensity with each breath taken; the inscrutable anticipation on his boyish features evaporating with the speed of your crumbling defenses – ah, what a strange manner of conveying his innate irritation indeed.

“Huh?”

The unresponsive awkwardness is prolonged no more. You react at last, satisfying his brilliant attempt at confusing the hell out of someone not worth the trouble. Unbearably slowly, infinitely unblinking, you realize that his hand – that small and so deceitfully unreliable hand – is extended toward you, waiting for validation, and you wonder why would he ever do something as unbecoming as this.

“I present you the opportunity you would not want to miss,” his sigh does a terrible job of masking his growing impatience. “So hurry up and take my hand before I change my mind.”

An invitation. To the one who overstayed her welcome; to the one who is, at best, an afterthought. A self-indulgent reverie, you think bitterly, yet too real in his quirk of tilting his hat over his eyes in embarrassment to be merely a fruit of your selfish delusion. He is here. He is authentic; the sarcastic phantasm brought from death to propose to you in his new incarnation.

What a shame it is that a miserable woman such as you has nothing to repay him with for this elusive happiness. It is not even the implied prospect of touching the sky that brings you the utmost joy. Just holding his hand, presumably as frigid as he declares his sympathy to be, would be enough for you – for your own unsightly, undistinguished one – and you would not dare to pray for more.

But he persists. He stays, as if frozen in time, as if embraced by eternity; with the barely visible red painting his porcelain cheeks. He waits for a step to be taken, for the fool you are to act upon your lonely desires, and no matter how excruciatingly long these seconds of tense expectation must feel to him, his arm never surrenders. Even winds themselves – seemingly enforced by the authority of the jeweled amulet on his chest – come to his aid, compelling the locks of your hair to dance to its fierce tune and the accessories on his hat to chime to complement the song. They push you nastily, unceremoniously, and they stop not until you are close enough for him to complain about the violation of his personal space.

Yet he says nothing, as do you. Nothing – not even the golden maiden who definitely plagues his thoughts often – exists now but your decision; the decision to either give up on your sickeningly sweet fantasies or lick away the alluring mead on those childish, stubborn lips. The unbelievable theory became the believable event and the vagrant predator shapeshifted into the obedient feline pet in search of your approval on this very day, void of hunger for the ideal morsel in white dress.

Your fingers twitch and your teeth graze your lower lip. You struggle, you battle yourself – you laugh at yourself deep in your consciousness, deriding your fear of intimacy you so coveted before. You ponder and wonder: is he still here, waiting for you to finally seal the deal? Or is he – which is most likely – disappointed and now ready for the retreat?

You need only to take his hand. You need only to say “yes” and fall for the brooding boy in front of you even more. It is not a showdown with a monster populating this land but a war between your ardor and insecurities – a conflict much bloodier than that in which you would have ended up ripped apart by creatures of dark arts. It is almost comical how long it takes for you to simply accept or reject the generously prepared meal; you wonder yet again if you are alive and not made of paper, being the tragic heroine of those cheap Inazuman love novels consumed so eagerly by your peers nowadays.

Regardless of whether such a failed “tragic heroine” as you gets to earn her page of depicted happy ending or not, one of two possible options does win at last. The agonizing “what should I do” has met the ultimate solution. You glance at your cursed, unwanted, too perfectly normal hand, and you —

How exactly are you going to respond to the offer of the man once spurned by the divine?

[cybrjmn]

scaramouche x male! reader

Part 3: lost in conversation.

masterlist previous next

tw: mentions of dysphoria and cursing (tell me if I missed anything!

(Y/N) sighed, checking his watch again for the 5th time in the last 7 minutes. (Y/N) knew that he was 15 minutes early but as he told his friends, he didn't want to stay home for longer. He wiped his hands on the skirt, forced to wear it but honestly the dysphoric thoughts weren't too loud once he had actually put it on. He heard the door of the little cafe chime and looked up to see Scaramouche.

(Y/N) shot his hand up, waving it in a manner which could be considered crazy. He put it down when Scaramouche nodded at him, nervously straightening his skirt more and more. His eyes followed Scaramouche as he came to the booth near the window and sat down.

“Can you give me a minute? I need to text Nahida that I reached here safely. She worries for no reason.” Scaramouche mumbled, his fingers already typing furiously on the screen.

(Y/N) watched as Scaramouche took off his mask and felt his heart skip a beat. Honestly, after learning that they were meeting, (Y/N) had stalked him a bit. But beauty isn't shown properly through a phone screen. Scaramouche was the kind of person that (Y/N) wanted to be and also wanted to be with. He had an air of confidence surrounding him that made (Y/N)’s head spin.

(Y/N) broke out of his trance when he heard fingers snapping in front of him. His eyes refocused to look at Scaramouche's long sleek fingers waving in front of his face. Red bloomed across his face, once he realized he was accidentally staring at the purple haired boy in front of him.

“Take a picture, it'll last longer.” Scaramouche said, a smirk playing on his lips.

(Y/N) became more red and cleared his throat, hoping to get rid of the redness he was sure was starting to show.

“Right… my flash drive?” (Y/N) said, his leg bouncing up and down. The flash drive held his most kept secret. If anyone who knew him saw the character he had created, they'd instantly know that it was him. Silas was everything (Y/N) wanted to be.

“Oh! Right. Here.” Scaramouche said, digging into his bag and taking out the drive.

“Honestly speaking, I did see a few things because I tried to see who you were and I have to say… My god, if Silas isn't the best character I've ever read.” Scaramouche says, turning the flash drive over and over in his hands.

(Y/N)’s head snapped, his eyes and ears not believing what he was hearing. Someone had read and actually liked his character? Without poking holes in it? Scaramouche had to be joking.

“Are you just playing with me? Because like that's shitty to do. You may not like the character but don't just mock me about it.” (Y/N) mumbled, snatching the drive from Scaramouche's hand and hastily putting it in his pocket. He got up to leave, being done with the work that he was here for and was quite mad about what Scaramouche had done.

“Wait no! I didn't mean to sound like I was mocking you. I was being truthful! I didn't mean it in a mean way. I genuinely like the characters you've made. If I didn't I wouldn't be here. Please sit down.” Scaramouche rushed to speak, eyes wide once he saw that (Y/N) was going to leave. He sighed in relief when (Y/N) sat down, eyeing the purple haired boy suspiciously.

“Do you really like them? The characters, I mean.” Scaramouche nodded, his eyes earnest. (Y/N)’s eyes lit up, finally having someone to talk to about his characters. His friends didn’t know yet because he was afraid of them judging him and leaving him like his previous friends. Aether knew about Raj and Alex (or also known as ‘They who should not be named.’) and knew about the trust issues and other troubles that (Y/N) had after they had left.

“Are you going to write a story based on Silas?” Scaramouche asked. (Y/N)) bit his lip in thought. He had wanted to but he was procrastinating a lot. It also didn't help when he had started to question himself once more.

(Y/N) shook his head. “I haven’t really thought about it. I mean, I've written like headcanons about Silas and future love interest but nothing in writing.”

Scaramouche nodded thoughtfully, “Would you consider ever writing? I could be your beta of sorts. If you want, of course.”

(Y/N) snickered when he heard the word beta leave Scaramouche's mouth. He knew what Scaramouche meant but the word has had so many implications in the past 2 years that (Y/N) had to laugh.

He shook his head when he saw the offended look on Scaramouche’s face.

“NO! I didn't mean to laugh but you have to know how that sounds. I mean, I personally think I’m an alpha but you do you, I guess.” (Y/N) said, a teasing smile on his face as he notices recognition seeping into Scaramouche’s face. He laughed, covering his face with his hand as the disgust took over Scaramouche’s face.

“Please. I have personal vendetta over the entire omegaverse shit. Like people can like whatever they like of course but for an entire fucking year, Childe went around saying what alphas should do and how i was a “sigma male” because i have coloured hair and pronouns. Which is so hypocritical because he himself has coloured hair and a fucking boyfriend. Like make sense.” Scaramouche said exasperatedly. He smiled at (Y/N) when his entire spiel had made him laugh, a sound that he found quite ethereal.

“Childe sounds so much like my friend Kaeya. They would get together and that would cause so much chaos. Kaeya once told my dad on his face that if i was his child, i would’ve flourished so much but then looked at my mom and made a disgusted face and said that he would not want to be my father because then that would mean that he would have to fuck my mom and he would rather fuck a cactus.” (Y/N) said, recalling the memory and his father’s face. It was very hilarious and it was only intensified with his mother's scandalized gasp.

Neither Scaramouche nor (Y/N) realized how much time had passed. Enjoying their little conversation, staying inside their own bubble and being lost in conversation.

[jayzioxx]

You look around for scara fics... everything is sex.... scaranation desires deek....

Guys pls i need like scara fics where the main focus ISNT smut i read almost everything on this app and everything on ao3😭

[scaraswifeey]

Scara fics is 85% smut 15% non smut. 15 is angst, comfort and fluff combined. NOW 85% IS A DIVERSE ARRAY OF KINKS I NEVER KNEW. Frankly, since joining this whole obsession, I've been quite educated about sex, positions of sex and kinks that are mild and warranting a criminal offense ( with a few in-betweens)

Now I get whyd yall want to fuck this man though because I WOULD WANT A PIECE OF THAT.

[jayzioxx]

ngl this is so real😭

[aries-afk]

── 𖥻 you and xiao ft. your classmates

( this is a filo smau!! my other filo smau [number neighbor] might take a while so . . . here's a new one to make up for it HAHA. naisip ko lang to kagabi so di ko alam kung papatok to pero bahala na si batman 🤣 saka nakakatuwa rin kasi ang daming pipino here 😭 )

↺ MASTERLIST

[aestherin]

scaramouche as your bbf (spoiler: turned bf)

filo smau + hcs

note: the brainrots were too hard to resist, i'm sorry 💔 i felt so single putangina??

scara as your boy bestfriend hcs

nagpapalusot sa teacher for you 'pag late ka

lagi kang sinasayaw for parties like acquaintance parties, etc.

'pag sabay kayong mag-commute libre niya pamasahe mo lagi !!

he would willingly do late night study sessions with you 💓

laging may dalang hair tie even if he doesn't need it just so he can provide you one if ever kailanganin mo

if you play online games, you'd play games together!

he'd always protect you even if that meant losing the 'mvp' title

mamatay na lahat kahit siya, 'wag lang ikaw 💔

would take good pics of you (candid or not)

will always always always listen to your song recs (he even made a playlist of them)

sends you tiktoks or ig reels he knows you'd like

'yung matching keychains niyo na nakuha niyo from somewhere (arcade, shopee, idk, bahala ka) nakasabit sa bag niya; it doesn't matter if 'di match sa aesthetic or vibes niya.

there was this one time na naulan and naiwanan mo 'yung payong mo

so he shared his umbrella with you.

siya 'yung may-ari pero siya pa 'yung mas nabasa </3

nakain kayo and the crew messed your order up?

he'll tell them for you ❤️

will always be proud of your achievements as if they are his own.

will listen to your rants, it doesn't matter if it's long or mababaw or random or anything.

he'll always listen.

scara as your boyfriend hcs

same as what he does when he was just your bbf pero syempre may nadagdag !!

always the first to greet you 'good morning'

will send you playlists that he made

hour-long calls !!

will always request to video call with you kapag super miss ka na niya (kailan ba hindi)

always asks for your parents' permission din whenever you guys go on a date

botong-boto sa kaniya parents mo to the point na parang mas anak na trato sa kaniya kesa sa'yo </3

if you like flowers, almost every week ka niyang binibigyan

parang subscription lang gano'n haha

if you don't, edi wala.

his love language, first and foremost, is physical touch.

second ay acts of service ❤️

if he sees someone eyeing you or being interested in you, he would be clingy af.

he does this to show na taken ka na.

but mostly,

he does this because he likes to reassure himself that you're his.

and that's the universal truth, the unchangeable fact.

[aries-afk]

scara as your soulmate that you hate so much [ part one ]

tags: contains swearing, soulmate!au, modern!au, crack, y/n hates scara sm HAHA, enemies to lovers (ofc what do you expect lol)

this was supposed to be a written work but i thought it's easier to write this au as a smau HAHA

anyway hope you liked it lol

still writing the part 2 so it might take a week before i post it hehe

likes and reblogs are highly appreciated!! ^^

[luvinelysia]

(ex) lovers under arrest !

pairing: scaramouche x reader (smau + written)

genre: exes to lovers, fluff, filo

wc: 1.1k

notes: this was supposed to be a valentines special while also serving as a teaser for an upcoming smau im working on but uhm this didnt really fit into the smau's plotline. think of it as me testing the waters. although this isnt included in the new smau's plot, all the characters here are the same characters on that smau too. i didnt proofread this btw sawry..

the door opened which caught both of your attention. the door revealed tighnari and the rest of the student council. you knew what they were here for and you dreaded it.

tighnari quickly explained what was happening although you both already knew why you were here.

'bwisit talaga toh sila!! kapag ako makapaghinganti—' you thought as the council students put the handcuffs between you two. the indigo-haired boy groaned completely annoyed at the situation.

"ugh, i cant believe im wasting my time being handcuffed to someone like them..." scaramouche complained, making you annoyed. "grabe ka makapagsalita ha, akala mo kung sino ka?? ano ka ba, gold?" you retorted

"how noisy... di ka marunong mag shut up?" he complained again making you even more agitated than before. 'porket na pogi ka ganyanin mo ako?!?—' you wanted to say but kept it in your mind as to save your pride.

"remember, wag kayo makipag away. pwede nyo ipatanggal ang handcuffs pag lumipas na ang isang oras unless kung nagpaextend yung bumayad sa inyo." the stuco president— tighnari, reminded.

"sana pinahandcuff nyo naman ako sa lalaking maganda ang ugali" you insulted as he groaned "you talk a lot for someone whos much more unbearable" he surely didnt fail to irritate you. "i swear, kung malaman ko kung sino yung nagpahandcuff..." he mumbled something undearneath his breath but you didnt bother listening in. you were too preoccupied with your internal panicking.

the both of you left the booth and stood infront of the entrance for a while. you didnt know where to go since you'd have to basically drag the boy handcuffed to you to be able to enjoy the next hour.

after standing there like two idiots, scaramouche dragged you to walk around. "hoy! saan ka papunta?? nakalimutan mo ba na andito pa ako? sabihin mo muna san ka pupunta before you drag me around!"

scaramouche ignored your constant screaming as the people around gave you weird looks while some of them were awwing about how you two were handcuffed.

"yieee!!! may crush ka na pala scara?" you hear a ginger-haired boy shout in the background which you assumed to be scaramouche's friend. he ignored the ginger haired boy as the both of you walked towards a more secluded area.

he took you to the library (technically dragging you) as he opened the doors and stepped in. "i wanted to go to the library since its more quiet here" he seemed a lot more calm now unlike how he was earlier when he was constantly complaining. "i hope you dont mind me dragging you here. it was too loud for me out there" his change in attitude startled you. was this really the same scaramouche that yelled and complained earlier? perhaps he was just overwhelmed?

he walked over to the shelves to find a book to read which caused you to stumble since again, you were still handcuffed. he searches for a book that interests him until he finally picks up a book. he looked at you for a moment. "...baka gusto mo rin bumasa? it'd be awkward if you just stood there while i read.."

"no its fine... tutulog nalang ako dito" you said as he sat down on the floor leaning against the shelved, which caused you to stumble amd get dragged down on the floor.

"...bat ka umuupo dyan, eh may lamesa at upuan naman doon" you pointed at the tables and chairs lined up. "you said you wanted to sleep and it'd be uncomfortable for you to sleep if you sat down there" his gaze never leaving the book. "as if mas comfortable pa dito..." you mumbled as you sat down properly to make yourself more comfortable.

he gazed at the handcuffs as he grabbed your wrist to pull you closer to him which caused you to flinch. the close proximity startled you, painting your face and ears a bright red. you didnt know what to say, and as much as you try to deny you didnt want to move away either so you just sat there, with your head on his chest.

"..sorry" he finally spoke up. "i know how much you dont wanna talk about the past... but i just want you to know that i still love you" his sudden confession made you even redder than you are now.

"tumahimik ka nga.. ang corny mo" you tried to look anywhere but his gaze. he chuckled at your response. somethings just never change. "besides, antagal na noon. mas mabuti pa kung kalimutan nalang natin—"

"what if ayaw kita kalimutan?"

curse scaramouche and his way with words!! "tama na please baka mahuhulog ulit ako sayo" you said nonchalantly, which made him chuckle. "what if i wanted that?"

"i know you have a lot of questions and im willing to answer them" he let go of the book he was holding as he held your hand. "im sorry for leaving without saying anything or giving you a reason. i felt like you deserved someone better than me." he spoke as you listened intently

"i noticed how much you prioritized me over yourself. i realized how much time you wasted on me instead of pursuing whats best for you. i realized how much i didnt deserve you"

he kissed the top of your head which sent butterflies on your stomach. you were supposed to be mad at him damn it! not fall in love!

"i miss you, y/n. please give me another chance." his voice was soft. you could tell he was being genuine. and who are you to deny someone like him? after all, you arent exactly the strongest person out there.

'god, alam nyo naman hindi ako malakas, marupok lang ako'

"namiss talaga kita kuni." you started after a bit of silence from your side as his heart beat when you said his name. "sino ba naman ako para sumabi ng hindi. marupok lang naman ako"

he chuckles as he kissed the top of your head.

"alam mo ba? mahal talaga kita" he said as you groaned "yuck ang corny mo talaga... i love you too.." you mumbled the last part but it was loud enough for scaramouche to hear.

the both of you stayed in that position for a while until your one hour was finally over. if this was you one hour ago you might have been relieved to be finally be free from this pure evil named scaramouche but now, you cant help but want to extend it as to not let him go again.

you both walked back to the booth as tighnari and the others removed the handcuffs. your wrist felt a bit sore as you rubbed it.

"congrats on surviving an hour" tighnari joked as scaramouche simply glared at him. "pwede nyo rin mapahandcuff ang friends nyo"

"we dont really need—" scaramouche was cut off by you.

"actually meron ako gusto ipahandcuff" you said while mentally laughing about what might be thoma's reaction.

[jayzioxx]

You look around for scara fics... everything is sex.... scaranation desires deek....

Guys pls i need like scara fics where the main focus ISNT smut i read almost everything on this app and everything on ao3😭