Hi. Smiles. Smiles harder. I hope you like. Smiles even harder.
i go by all pronouns :)
I'm minor pls no bully me.
Rules/DNI list Mlist about me or smth
pls specify if your ask is SFW or NSFW
SFW writings will be gn!reader unless I’m told otherwise. I’ve never really written or read something for masc!reader so pls be patient with me, but I’ll try it for sure. I write for both female and male genshin characters. I will not write ships or minors at all. I’ll write poly relationships or threesomes for NSFW writings. NSFW writings aren’t really my strong suit as I’ve never really written anything NSFW, but if requesting NSFW pls specify if you want them to be fem or masc. If not specified I’ll write them as fem-bodied. please make sure kinks are specified if there are any.
I think that’s it!! okay, thank you for reading :)
scaramouche is awkward the first time he lays beside you, rigid and hardly relaxed when his body slides under the covers—you’d almost think he doesn’t want to be near you if you didn’t know him any better. you keep a small distance between you both when you see the way he seems to stiffen the closer you get, whispering a soft goodnight before closing your eyes.
what you don’t seem to see, however, is the way his eyes wander to your figure every few seconds, lingering over your face and raking over your features. you don’t see the way his eyes soften when you curl into the sheets for warmth. you don’t see the way his hand reaches out as you sleep, a little shaky at first—hesitant. he brushes a finger against your cheek as if testing the waters—and then he retreats almost immediately.
because you look delicate like this, soft and fragile, too easy to disappear suddenly, like you were never there to begin with. he doesn’t think he should be here beside you—but then you crinkle your nose in your slumber, and despite his better judgement, he smiles a little at the sight. his fingers run over the swell of your cheeks and brush over the bridge of your nose, delicately tracing the skin as he maps your features.
it’s not until you nibble on his fingertip as he traces your bottom lip does he realize you’re now awake.
“what are you—”
“how romantic,” you tease, grinning cheekily as your eyes flutter open, “and here i almost thought you didn’t like me for a bit.”
“that’s because i don’t like you,” he grunts, pushing you away (though gently) as you scoot closer and wriggle your brows.
“if you wanted to cuddle, you could just ask,” you giggle, and he glares.
you’ve always been bold, far bolder than he should let you get away with—but you throw him the bright grin you always do, and somehow he finds himself softening the harsh edges, like the glass is rounded so he doesn’t cut you as you reach your hand out.
“i don’t,” he huffs, “now go to sleep.”
there’s a slight pout on his face—though, you don’t think he realizes as much, and pointing it out would only sour his mood more. so you smile to yourself, taking in the way his hand falls limply onto the mattress beside him.
if he craves to reach for you again, to feel the warmth of your skin press against the tips of his fingers one more time, he makes no indication of it. scaramouche never reaches first—he simply tolerates your back hugs and linked arms, let’s you follow him around and maybe even hold his hand if he’s in a good mood. there’s always a disgruntled protest, however weak it might be, but just like always, he never pulls away.
and something tells you he doesn’t want to—something about the way his expression breaks for a swift moment before it’s hardened again tells you that maybe he needs your touch more than you need his.
so you flick his forehead, make his brows furrow and his chest ache with that smile you shoot him, the same one that soothes over the cracks the world has left in him over the years and fills them until he’s whole. “i would be asleep, if someone didn’t wake me.”
he hates that you’re right—but more than anything, he hates how easily you trust him. he hates how easy it is for his harsh glares to go ignored, how easy it is not to care about his bitter words and cold resolve, how easy it is to give and give when you get nothing in return. and because you never seem to care just how hard it is to love someone like scaramouche, you wrap yourself around his arm, making him stiffen with a scowl.
“hey, get off,” he says—but even as he pokes your shoulder to make a point, he makes no moves to pull away. it tells you enough, you think, it tells you everything you need to know.
please don’t ever let go.
“are you sure you want that, kuni?” you hum, reaching to poke his cheek, “you sure seem to like touching me—”
“i’ve had enough,” he grunts, “you can go sleep in another bed.”
“this is my bed,” you snort.
you’re right again, which only makes him ten times more irritated, but maybe…maybe he’s also ten times more in love. he wonders for a moment—thinks whether or not someday he can really bring himself to admit it.
so for now, he doesn’t pull away—and he hopes that’s enough to make you keep reaching out.
“whatever,” he mutters, and almost too swiftly, as if he wills himself to do it before he can change his mind, his arm tugs you closer against his side, letting your head fall to his chest. “i’d say it’s ours now,” he says quietly.
you grin, reaching a hand out to grab his, squeezing gently as your fingers lace with his.
and when you whisper, “goodnight, kuni,” with a kiss to his chest, he doesn’t pull away.
to love is to betray—at least that’s how scaramouche has always seen it.
and then he meets you.
“this is my bath,” you tease him lightly, and even despite the shooing motion of your hand, even despite the soft glare sent your way, you still make room for him to settle between your legs.
“well, it’s also mine now too,” he huffs.
he leans his back against your chest, let’s his body melt in against yours, let’s the soft trace of your hands fill the empty cracks with something he’s lacked for long time.
scaramouche is almost certain you realize he’s in love with you before he comes close to knowing himself. and it’s funny—even though you fall first, he falls harder.
maybe it’s just the world being cruel once again, just as it always has been with him. it’s cruel, downright evil, really, that something about you makes him forget so easily who he is, who he’s supposed to be. love has always written itself as betrayal—but you make it seem so promising, luring out the softest parts of him, the naive ones that hope and hope…just to crumble in the end, like always.
but then you wash his hair, lathering shampoo into your hands and working through his hair softly, slowly, delicately like he’s fragile.
“admit it. you just like it when i wash your hair, huh?” and you’re still teasing, still using that slightly amused tone when you speak to him. he should be insulted, he thinks, but there’s a smile on his face.
for a moment, he notes that he’s lucky his back is facing you and the smile stretched across his lips is hidden—otherwise you’d have the satisfaction of knowing you’re right. because he does love when you wash his hair, he loves the closeness and the safety and the feeling of being wanted. of being cherished. of being something to someone without having to earn it first.
but he can’t bring himself to admit it, so instead, he scoffs, leaning more weight onto you as he quirks a brow.
“well, why wash it myself if you’re around?”
it’s his way of giving himself the upper hand—his way of convincing himself that love is not the reason why he so desperately chases the tenderness of your fingers against his scalp. no, instead, he convinces himself that mortals such as you were made to serve him like this. to treat him like he’s holy and divine, like he’s the god you’re meant to worship as you kiss his shoulder with a giggle.
“that’s true,” you hum, “why would you do it when i can take care of you?”
but you’re different—and it scares him a little. you don’t worship him like he’s a deity, like he’s all mighty and the answer to your prayers. instead, you simply love him, like it’s a choice, like it’s something you want.
you cover his eyes as you rinse out the suds. love. you cup his cheek and admire him. love. you lean down and press a kiss to the tip of his nose, teasingly grazing over his lips before pulling away. love.
everything about you is completely in love—but to love is to betray, and he knows the inevitable will be soon to come.
so he denies the urge to pull you back in, ignores the almost painful need to feel your lips press against his, turns away every part of him that screams to let i love you spill from his lips.
because every time he loves, every time he so graciously gives every piece of himself—like the heart he doesn’t have, even offering the parts that don’t exist and giving them up anyway—love always tastes like a bitter sip of betrayal.
i love you, he wants to say. but he knows as soon as the words slip, so will you from his fingers. just like the last time—just like the first.
“you don’t need to take care of me,” he grunts, “i’m fine on my own.”
“on your own,” you hum in thought, as if you’re carefully taking in his words. “isn’t that lonely?” you ask softly. by now, your hand has resigned to rubbing slow circles into his chest, pulling him in closer, almost as if proving a point.
i’m right here. you’re not alone.
“no,” he says stubbornly, “i’m above needing—”
“cause sometimes i’m lonely,” you admit, cutting him off. there’s no shame in your voice, not even a trace of hurt or sadness or even hatred. instead, you smile, pressing another kiss to his shoulder, and then the crook of his neck as you murmur, “but i guess not so much when i’m with you.”
“me?”
“yeah,” you nod, resting your chin on his shoulder, cheek pressed against his, “you. cause i love you, you know?”
and once again, scaramouche realizes he’s in love. he’s been so painfully in love for so long—and he thinks you’ve known it for even longer.
and to love is to betray, he thinks—but you’re still here, still holding him tight in your arms as you smile into his skin. so he finds a little hope, a little relief, as he closes his eyes and listens to your heartbeat against his back.
after a moment, with a tight grip on your thigh and wobbly lips, he quietly whispers, “i think i love you too.”
I need this man to shove his fingers in my mouth so badly like sir please. I can bark. I can beg. I can meow. I can get down onto all fours. Please just one chance
When he sees a spider around other people he’ll try his best to stay calm and look like he’s not freaking out inside. it’s not working, everyone knows, they just don’t tell him
When he’s alone he’ll stay as far away from it as physically possible. if it moves towards him he freaks the hell out and doesn’t know what to do
When he finds it he’ll let out a silly scream and he sounds so stupid it’s funny. He would end it all if someone were to hear him scream when he finds a spider
When specifically around you he’ll try to impress you by not being afraid (he’s losing his fucking mind)
It’s not working. you know he’s going to breakdown any second so you decide to trap the spider in a cup so it can’t move
“Why’d you do that?”
Because if you didn’t he would have started crying
“I would NOT have started CRYING.”
He refuses to believe you know he’s afraid of spiders, so he continues defending himself
In the end, you decide to let his pride win and pretend you don’t know
But just because you’re petty you let the spider out of the cup when he’s not looking
Omg more skater BF scara I'm in love pleaaaaase I'm a desperate Lil lad
have this drabble since im feeling nice 🤭🤭
summary ; skater!scaramouche decides to try to teach you a little trick however it ends in you falling over and getting a wound, then a soft scara you rarely see appears
warnings ; mentions of wounds, nothing too descriptive, scara gets a lil touchy 🫣
pairings ; skater bf!scaramouche x gn!reader
notes ; this is inspired by this drabble! i wrote this at like 1 am so uh not proofread, I DON'T SKATE PLEASE KEEP THAT IN MIND I'M USING STUFF I HEARD FROM MY BF SO PLS SPARE ME 😭
Scaramouche sighs for the nth time as you fail the trick again, though he's not actually annoyed and is in fact enjoying your annoyed pout and the way you fall closer to him when you fail, his hands are on your waist to keep you steady as you attempt an ollie once more.
"Scara this is not working, i'm just not meant for skateboarding!"
"Let's take a break then, you must be tired from failing."
You know he's just playfully insulting you like always, however it doesn't fail to irk you, as he goes to his car to fetch his hoodie since you failed to remember to bring you own one (again), you attempt the trick on your own, maybe it was the way scaramouche's hands were gentle yet firm on your waist, or the way his face is absurdly close to yours while he assists you with the trick.
Whatever it is, you're convinced you can't do the trick because he's distracting you, i mean it's not your fault, you just can't help but let your eyes wander to his lips!
As you attempt to do an ollie, your ankle twists and you fall, you make a pretty loud sound considering it was late at night and no one else was at the skatepark, the parking area was pretty close so it wasn't a surprise when you see scaramouche jogging over to you.
"What happened? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, i'm fine, just you know! Fell again.."
"Idiot, I told you to be careful."
You only pout knowing he did tell you to not try the trick by yourself, he sighs as he pulls out a familiar white tin container out of his pocket, it was one you gifted him a few months ago, the container itself being made of metal and the front littered with stickers, inside were the pink hello kitty bandaids you got him.
You didn't actually think he'd use them, it was more or less a joke since your boyfriend mostly wore darker clothes.
He takes out a bandaid and puts it over the small wound on your knee, he blows over your palm, rubbing it lightly to try and soothe the redness, his eyebrows are slightly furrowed and you can't help but stare, the way his eyes are planted onto your palms as he massages them, he seems adorable in this focused state.
"Thank you, Scaramouche."
"..No problem, just don't be stupid again and wait for me next time."
skater!scaramouche who bribes you with free food so you can accompany him to the nearest skate park, he doesn't mind that his bank account is getting drained, as long as you're there it's worth it
skater!scaramouche who uses the cute hello kitty bandaids you gave him everytime he gets a bruise, he doesn't care that his friends tease him for it nor does he care that it doesn't go well with his outfits.
skater!scaramouche who keeps an extra jacket in the back of his car, he knows it'll get cold specially during the late nights you spend hanging out at the skate park, he also knows you'd probably forget to bring a jacket
skater!scaramouche who uses "teaching you how to skateboard" as an excuse to hold you close to him
skater!scaramouche who'll proudly put all the decals you give him on his skateboard, no matter how big or small, glittery or holographic, it's going on his skateboard.
skater!scaramouche who "accidentally" fails a trick and lands on a person after they looked at you weird
