in which: you ask lohen what you are to each other, and he answers without hesitation. what follows is a calm, matter-of-fact confession from him and a very flustered realization from you.
warnings: fluff, public embarrassment, flustered reader, accidental confession, hand holding, teasing lohen, soft romantic tension
a/n: FINALLY FINISHED THIS HELLO GUYS DID U MISS ME
you don’t plan it.
that’s the problem.
if you had planned it, you might’ve chosen a better time. somewhere quieter. somewhere less likely to end in complete embarrassment.
instead, it happens in the middle of a completely normal afternoon.
you’re sitting across from lohen at a small table, half-finished drinks between you, the usual easy silence settling in. he’s reading something — or at least pretending to — while you keep glancing up every few seconds for no reason you’re willing to admit.
it’s been like this for a while now.
too comfortable.
too familiar.
too… something.
and it’s driving you insane.
so before your brain can catch up with your mouth—
“what are we?” the moment the words leave, you freeze.
lohen looks up. slowly, not startled.
“what do you mean?”
you immediately regret everything.
“nothing- i didn’t mean- just forget it-”
“no.” he closes the book and sets it aside. now he’s actually focused on you, which makes it worse. “explain.”
you shrink slightly under his gaze. “it’s just- people keep asking, okay? like- what are we to each other. and i don’t know what to say.”
lohen tilts his head, thinking. “…why would that be difficult?”
you stare at him, eyes wide in disbelief. “because i don’t know the answer?”
he studies you for a moment longer.
then—
“we’re in love.”
you choke on air. actually choke.
you cough, nearly knocking over your drink. “i’m sorry- WHAT?!”
lohen watches you calmly, like your reaction is the only surprising thing here.
“we’re in love,” he repeats.
same tone.
same certainty.
your face burns instantly. “you can’t just say that in the middle of a café!”
“why not?”
“because people can hear you-” you glance around in panic. a few people are looking. you immediately lower your voice. “…you’re unbelievable.”
lohen doesn’t seem bothered. if anything, he looks mildly confused by your reaction. “you asked.”
“i didn’t expect you to- to-” you gesture vaguely, words failing you. “-say something like THAT!”
he leans back slightly, studying you. “…is it incorrect?”
you open your mouth.
close it.
open it again.
no words come out.
because that’s the problem.
you don’t actually know if it is.
lohen watches your expression shift, and something almost thoughtful crosses his face. “…you didn’t realize.”
it’s not a question.
you groan quietly, dropping your face into your hands. “no, i didn’t realize! how was i supposed to realize that?!”
“it seemed obvious.”
you look up at him again, incredulous. “obvious?!”
he nods once, completely serious. “we spend most of our time together. you prioritize me. i prioritize you.”
your face heats further.
“you look at me differently than you look at others,” he continues. “and you get flustered easily.”
“…that’s not- that doesn’t-”
“and you’re doing it right now.”
you immediately shut up because he’s right. again.
lohen leans forward slightly, resting his arm on the table.
“when people ask you,” he says calmly, “you can just tell them the truth.”
you stare at him. “…and that is?”
he doesn’t hesitate. “that we’re in love.”
your brain short-circuits for the second time.
“you’re insane.”
“no.”
he says it simply.
then, very casually, he reaches across the table and takes your hand.
your entire body freezes. you look down, then back at him.
“l-lohen-”
“this is normal.”
his thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles.
slow.
absentminded.
like he’s proving a point.
your heart is racing so fast you’re convinced everyone can hear it.
“see?” he says quietly.
“i don’t see anything!”
“you didn’t pull away.”
you immediately try to and he doesn’t stop you.
but you hesitate, just for a second.
and that’s enough for to lohen notice. of course he does.
“exactly.”
your face burns as you yank your hand back, glaring at him.
“you are NOT allowed to just decide something like that without telling me!”
“i’m telling you now.”
“that’s not how that works!”
he considers that.
then—
“…do you want it to be wrong?”
your voice catches.
you hesitate.
just for a moment.
lohen sees it and his expression softens slightly. “…that’s what i thought.”
you immediately look away, your face burning again.
and somewhere in the background, you can feel people still watching.
I want an au where everything is the same except they delve more into Wanderer being a puppet.
Angst and Fluff, obviously.
Wanderer x reader, angst, Fluff, reader death implied.
Like, imagine when it rains he has to rush home or else his joints will get wet and rust over. Sometimes-despite his best efforts- they do and you have to spend the day painstakingly replacing them so he still has his full range of motion. He's always found it rather tedious to fix on his own, but it's certainly more enjoyable when someone else does it for him. Intimate even.
Sitting together for hours, laying out snacks and books for Wanderer to read to you while you carefully remove each ball joint from its socket and gently swap them out for a new one. He enjoys it, the feeling of your hands gently tracing the lines carefully carved from the world trees branches. A reminder that, despite the glaring difference between the two of you, you love him enough to spend the day (or three) ordering new parts for him and helping not just piece him back together, but also help him adjust to the new-foreign-pieces. One step at a time, relearning his range of motion in the saftey of your shared home where he is not afraid to fall down, for wanderer knows he will be caught.
Or, let's talk about his lack of a heart. It was a driving force in his life for so long, a desire to be more human. A desire to feel, to love and be loved the same way humans do; a desire that twisted him into something monstrous. An obsession that stole his humanity and the lives of thousands of innocents.
And if you make a mistake? Slip up and break off a piece of his arm or snap a finger in half? He trusts you to piece them back together and help fill in any spots you couldn't. He feels safe with you, something he hasn't felt for a long, long time.
But now? After finally achieving the life he could only hope to dream of? He wants nothing more than to forget.
He wants to forget your tender touches, to forget the way you would hold him when the world became too much to bear on his own. To forget the sweet smiles and laughter that would piece him back together after a difficult day of training. To forget you.
For puppets don't die like humans do. Puppets do not decay and fall apart the way flesh and bone does with age. A puppet has no organs that may fail and no blood to lose.
A puppet does not have a heart that shall give out with time, no matter how hard you try to keep it beating.
No, but a puppet can carry a body, can bury it and mourn the passing of the soul within it.
A puppet can remember the little moments that were taken for granted behind closed doors.
A puppet can most certainly feel the pain of loss as another piece breaks off and another joint rusts over.
And a puppet can most certainly cry as another year passes by alone with no one to hold it.
wow! it’s been a while, huh? i thought i’d give something short and sweet.
mewnies warning𖦹
october gets a little…. suggestive. that’s all. meow!
You’ve recently told Albedo you wish you could know what others thought about you.
He now knows what to get you for new years.
January 1st
My love,
You had mentioned to me in passing that you would kill to hear people’s thoughts so you could learn their true opinion of you. Here I am. I plan to write in this journal once a day, but please forgive me if work gets in the way. You know what my passion does to me, I cannot help a one-track mind.
This is my gift to you.
Yours,
Albedo
February 14th
My love,
I’ve had a dream like this when I was younger (although my body will, for the most part, never change, I was new to the world, therefore younger), when I lived in a land I sadly cannot tell you much about: I was in a sea of flowers.
It is strange how I can recall it so vividly, but it’s the reason I was so lost in thought while we were together today. My love, I cannot stress how intense the deja-vu I experienced was enough. I had been in that same field while feeling your warmth 300 years ago. But it was just a dream, so I feel a bit foolish.
I digress. The point is, my love, I believe I may have known you since before you were alive. I know it’s implausible scientifically (I am a scientist), but I think the spirit of the holiday has made my metaphorical heart soften. As I think about the fact you are asleep in my bed, I feel a sensation I have never felt. It pools in my stomach. If I were a less selfish man, I would stay away from you to study it, but I regrettably am selfish, and wrote this as fast as I could in order to get back to you.
I apologize for the flowery language.
Yours,
Albedo
March 30th
My love,
As the snow melts, I feel my heart begin to thaw too. When I descend down Dragonspine to return home to you and the city, I find my good humor is restored. It makes me laugh to see our half-melted snowmen. I truly do thank Barbatos (As a figure of speech, that is. I am not the religious type) that Klee is such a happy child, for I believe another would have thrown a fit. I am happy that you have become the owner of your scarf once again, though, for your lack of one was making me worry.
I used to not have a favorite season—I had not even thought about it—but now I find myself endeared to spring and summer. I may be biased, however, since this is the season in which we met. My love, I am grateful you have chosen to spend your time with me. However far away we are during experiments, please know I have left a part of me tucked safely in our bed.
“Our bed” has a pleasant sound, don’t you think?
Yours,
Albedo
April 1st
My love,
I am sure I do not need to remind you of what took place today. It was a mean trick. I am unsure of who put you up to it, but I hope by the time you read this you will have admitted it so I can give them a piece of my mind.
I curse this holiday.
Yours,
Albedo
May 7th
My love,
The first day of The Windblume Festival has just finished, and once again, I have snuck away from our bed to write my entry. I believe you have caught on to my mischief, given how the first time I had tried to leave, sure you were asleep, you asked me where I was going. My love, have you no faith in me? I have to laugh, today has put a playful humor in me. You are rubbing off on me, I suppose.
As the saying goes, the showers we had experienced last month have bore lovely fruit. The flowers hanging throughout the city were radiant. I had to restrain myself from sketching them out while the festivities were taking place. In truth, before you I saw no need for such things. Klee has once dragged me down the mountain, and yes, I did start going on the last day of the festival every year to appease her (and to keep her from ascending up Dragonspine by herself), but I had not paid much attention to anything other than keeping her out of trouble. With you, I have come to understand why humans have such celebrations.
Look at me, I talk as if I am not human too.
Yours,
Albedo
(Post script: The flower I have drawn below is not one that we saw today, but a flower from where I was born. I do not consider this place my home when compared to Mondstadt, but I, nonetheless, thought of this flower when seeing all of the lovely arrangements today.)
June 16th
My love,
My lab at Favonius HQ (Head Quarters) will undoubtedly soon become stifling as the summer months roll in. You liked when I removed my stockings, much to my amusement and—from what I have begun to understand is—embarrassment. I did think (after much consideration) that it was unusual for a man to be wearing stockings, but you seemed to have your own opinions on the subject.
I do believe that I am more feminine than the average man in Mondstadt. While I call myself a gentleman, I have longer hair than some, and I found I was created to be more androgynous looking than most. Could it be simply due to my height I am feeling this way?
Love, the more I write in this, the more I feel I’ve started to write about myself, rather than strictly my feelings about you. I hope this does not spoil the present.
Yours,
Albedo
July 20th
My love,
We went to the beach today; you, Sucrose, Klee, Timaeus, and I. It felt strange to have so many people accompany me to one spot. What started as me and Sucrose collecting samples turned into a day out. You make me laugh. When I think of the times before I met you, It all goes by so fast. How did I ever survive hundreds of years without you by my side?
With the recent turn of events (the likes of which I regrettably cannot tell you about right now), I have learned to not take you for granted. In another situation, could it be that a different version of myself, one that is not me, got the chance to love you? The thought makes me irritated, my love.
This probably does not make sense to you.
Yours,
Albedo
August 30th
My love,
This month has been particularly hard for me. While I would like to be soaking up the last of summer, I’ve had business in Dragonspine, which (as you know) puts a serious damper on my spirit, in turn leading to longer and longer stays due to a lack of motivation to work. It is a miserable experience to be kept away from you, especially for so long. I have never had this problem before I met you, but I am no longer able to sleep soundly.
In truth, I do not need to sleep as much as a human being would. Sleep is more so to rest my body than to repair tissue, or things of that nature.
I fear the more I try to describe my body, the more of this loneliness I feel. Sometimes I feel confused as to why I do not experience things human beings do, as if I had forgotten I am not one.
Yours,
Albedo
September 13th
My love,
Thank you for spending the day with me. While I understand the significance of birthdays, I had never thought about mine until you had asked me. While I was not “birthed” per say, today is, in fact, the day of my creation. I would’ve been happy just seeing you, but you insisted on going out, so that is what we did.
It was a shock to find that you and those closest to me had made an itinerary. Have I mentioned how often you make me laugh? Why is it that my “birthday” excites you more than your own?
Thank you for everything, my love. How can I top this for your next birthday?
Yours,
Albedo
October 17th
My love,
Even when the days are shorter, I find that you keep me optimistic. You bring with you a desire I now hold deep in my chest, only to be revealed to you. I had never had such desires before we met, nor should I. It makes no sense for a creature such as myself to lust, given I am not fertile and can assumingly not procreate. I find myself mesmerized with you. Did Master give my body functions I was unaware of until now?
It feels shameful to write this down, love.
Yours,
Albedo
November 19th
My love,
Today marks the end to my good humor; the first snow has fallen on Mondstadt. Snow always makes me think of Master, but lately, her memory has been irritating me. Perhaps that’s why we argued today.
I wish I could make you see my thoughts, love. You need to know I do not act out of a desire to upset you. In fact, it is quite the opposite. I only want to protect you. I wish I could hold you to my chest and never let go, but I know such things are impossible.
Yours,
Albedo
December 31st
My love,
In every one of these writings, I hope you see my utter devotion to you. My feelings for you will never falter, no matter the situation we are put in. Does this clear up what I think of you?
Pairing: FatuiHarbinger!Scaramouche x Fem!Reader; fluff/sfw/nsfw hc's
Authors note . ݁⋆ this is old old and has been sitting in my notes app for AGES. this request gave me motivation to finally edit and polish it up for Tumblr
Anon . ݁⋆ Found you through your vamp Scara fic and I’m soooo ready to clear out my weekend to binge read your dottore daughter x scara fic. BUT I wanna know what headcannons you personally have for scara outside of au’s. :) sexual or fluff. Hehe (link to request here)
word count: 4.4k
SFW!!
(Solo Scaramouche)
𓏵 He still has his puppet joints, but only on his wrist, hence why he constantly wears those arm sleeves to cover them.
𓏵 The others faded, formed into human skin, human joints, but the wrists stayed like some fucked up joke towards him.
𓏵 He's insecure about them, really insecure. He hates anything about him that makes him seem less human, hates anything that gives people the right to call him uncanny, creepy.
𓏵 His skin is cold, corpse-like most of the time, but it does run warmer if he's been near you for a while, like your own body heat transferring to him.
𓏵 His skin is unervingly smooth. Not a single pore in sight, zero texture, no imperfections. It looks like real human skin from a distance, but if anyone dares to even get close enough, it's too perfect. Like it was glazed by porcelain.
𓏵 Ei can't cook for shit, and he's made it his life mission to do everything that she can't do.
┊ He's an amazing cook, although he doesn't need to cook because he has no one to cook for (before he met you). He cooks for himself. Inazuman dishes, of course, ones that bring him closer to his home, where he was created.
┊ He doesn't need to eat, but he does it anyway because the act of cooking grounds him and gives his hands something to do that isn't violent.
╰┈┈┈➤ He'll cook elaborate meals and eat the entire thing, satisfied not by the food but by the proof that he can create something instead of just destroying.
𓏵 As much as he hates Inazuma, he gets homesick, rarely though, only when he witnesses people in Sneznhaya doing things that would never pass in Inazuma…
┊ Eating while walking, littering, spitting on the ground, coughing or sneezing, especially in his place of work, especially in his office, right in his face.
╰┈┈┈➤ Needless to say, he does get back at them in ways that shut them up permanently (since murder seems to be justified in Teyvat).
𓏵 Flips off the door to Dottore's lab constantly when he passes by it.
╰┈┈┈➤ Both hands, if his hands aren't busy with something, muttering things like "rot", or "die" in Japanese.
𓏵 He's a clean freak who'd even be considered a germaphobe. Just obsessively, aggressively clean.
╰┈┈┈➤ His quarters are immaculate, every surface wiped, every object aligned and in place, every piece of clothing folded perfectly.
𓏵 He reads a lot in his free time. Poetry, mostly, but he'd never admit to it.
𓏵 He doesn't play instruments, but he hums sometimes when he thinks no one's listening. The melodies are always Inazuman, always… old, always songs he heard before he understood what sadness was.
When you're dating the Harbinger
(HC'S - SFW)
𓏵 He isn't that affectionate... at first.
𓏵 He knows how relationships are; he wasn't born yesterday. He's witnessed PDA more times than he could count in his area of work; it's disgusting.
┊ disgusting.
╰┈┈┈➤ until he met you.
𓏵 He learns from how humans interact, the way they blink, when they blink, the way they breathe at certain moments, tense moments, happy moments. But those are all from him observing others from afar.
╰┈┈┈➤ Now he has you.
𓏵 You're the one who initiated the first kiss, and he let you.
┊ He stood perfectly still while your lips found his, his arms at his sides, his eyes open because he didn't know you're supposed to close them (he learned that later, from you, and now closes them so aggressively it looks like he's bracing for impact).
┊ He didn't decide to like it until you pulled back with a look in your eyes that told him you loved it.
┊ That look, the soft, dazed, slightly breathless expression, that's what converted him. Not the physical sensation. Your reaction to the physical sensation.
╰┈┈┈➤ Only then did he start kissing you just to see that look again, and again, and again.
𓏵 The first time he held your hand was when you initiated it. He was awkward about it at first, his hand stilling in yours, and he acted as if he were a statue. But, as much as he felt like he should, as much as he wants to rip your hand out of his and scold you and tell you to never touch him again… he just took it.
┊ He let you drag him around, and he grew to love the fact that he could feel you without looking to make sure you're still at his side.
┊ It took him 3 weeks to let you hold his hand without thinking about it…
╰┈┈┈➤ … It took him 3 months to be the one to reach for your hand first.
𓏵 Japanese is his main language; it's what he speaks when no one is around, obviously to himself.
𓏵 Even though it'll take a lot of time to learn and master, he teaches you Japanese when he isn't at work. He wants it to be a secret language you both share, and he just wants someone to understand him and listen when he speaks his native language.
┊ He's a good teacher, but not a fun one, the type that makes you speak in a different language when you ask to go to the bathroom.
┊ He's mean until you get it you get it right, he does get intrusive thoughts of shocking you, just a tiny bit with electro, but that thought always does conviently get shut up when you get something right.
╰┈┈┈➤ He rewards you with kisses (primarily because he knows you like them) and with breaks.
𓏵 The kisses started as brief, closed-mouth presses to your forehead. But then they migrated… forehead to your temple… then down to your cheek… then cheek to the corner of your mouth. And then one day, you conjugated a particularly difficult verb perfectly on the first try, and he kissed you full on the mouth.
┊ He looked more surprised than you did, like his body had made a decision he didn't approve of yet.
╰┈┈┈➤ And that's when the kisses started being rewarded solely on the mouth and nowhere else. He's aware of it when he does it, and he forces himself to keep the kisses short, 2 seconds, before he pulls back and says, "Next word."
𓏵 But sometimes, when you get something particularly difficult right on the first try, the kiss lasts longer than 2 seconds.
┊ Sometimes you feel his hand come up to the back of your neck… sometimes you swear you can feel him smile against your mouth.
╰┈┈┈➤ He never acknowledges the longer kisses, but if you even make the mistake of mentioning them, that's when they stop.
𓏵 Will, and I mean will, trick you into saying you love him over and over in Japanese. He won't tell you why he's grinning; he'll just repeat it back and kiss you. You won't realize what you've been saying until you hear him whisper it against your mouth in the same language, and the context finally clicks.
𓏵 He doesn't say "I love you" in Russian, even though that is the common tongue here. He says it only in Japanese. Outside of that one occurrence during the lessons, he doesn't say it a lot. He says it when you're sleeping… or when you're falling asleep. He says it when your back is turned, or when there's noise around to block it out.
𓏵 He's a light sleeper, even though he doesn't technically need to sleep.
┊ He sleeps because you sleep, and he doesn't want to give you the real experience of waking up next to your lover.
┊ He sleeps because the act of lying next to someone with his eyes closed requires a vulnerability he's still learning to embrace.
╰┈┈┈➤ He sleeps because, sometimes, when you shift in the night and press your face into his chest, and mumble something incoherent, the sensation of being needed by an unconscious person who chose him even in sleep is the closest he's come to understanding what warmth feels like from the inside.
𓏵 The more affectionate you become, the more he learns from that, and gets 10x more affectionate than you.
┊ His affection isn't like other people's affection.
╰┈┈┈➤ He doesn't do grand gestures.
𓏵 Absolutely would never buy flowers. (Because he'd prefer to buy things that last longer, things that won't die. Because he hates impermanence.)
╰┈┈┈➤ His affection is structural, like it has a routine of its own.
𓏵 He adjusts your outfit when something's crooked, completely without prompting.
┊ You have bangs? Expect him to randomly adjust them.
╰┈┈┈➤ Headband tilting? He'll adjust that also.
𓏵 He'd fix anything, based on whatever preference you have, because he can't stand seeing something wrong with you; he could make it right.
𓏵 He learns from anything you like, and this could be anything. Even if you subtly, in a conversation, mention that you like a particular trinket, a particular flower, a specific food from a stall you passed once three weeks ago, expect him to bring back the exact thing after a long day of work.
╰┈┈┈➤ He won't make a big deal out of it either. He won't present it or expect any gratitude. He'll just set it on the table, or on your nightstand, and walk past like he didn't just spend an hour after work retracing your steps to a market stall you mentioned once in passing.
𓏵 He memorizes your cycle, how you sleep, your eating habits, and what stresses you.
┊ He isn't controlling (lie), he just likes understanding you.
┊ He notices when you haven't eaten.
╰┈┈┈➤ He notices the difference in your laugh if something's actually funny or if you're pretending that it is.
𓏵 He doesn't get jealous of people flirting with you because he cannot fathom you wanting anyone else (the arrogance is insane… but also true). (if you forget about lohen.)
𓏵 He's jealous of your time. Of the things you do that take your attention from him.
╰┈┈┈➤ You caught him once glaring at a book you were reading because you'd been looking at it for 2 hours instead of at him. (He'll never admit this.)
𓏵 He memorizes which side of the bed you prefer and never takes it. Not once. Not even when you're not there.
𓏵 He doesn't dream… or if he does, he doesn't remember them at all.
╰┈┈┈➤ He's jealous of your dreams in a way he'll never express, because dreaming implies a subconscious that processes and imagines and wanders, and he's not sure he has one. He's not sure there's anything beneath his surface programming. The fear that he's all surface, all code, all function, and no soul, is the thing that keeps him up on the nights he chooses not to sleep.
𓏵 He falls asleep faster when you play with his hair. It's something you discovered one day when you experimented with it, and he surprisingly let you.
╰┈┈┈➤ If you ever told anyone, he would deny it with the fervor of someone on trial for their life.
NSFW!!
(Solo Scaramouche)
𓏵 I HC, as many people do, he has detachable parts (big, thick, not so thick ones, smaller, whatever he’s feeling that day).
𓏵 But, what I mainly like/use in my fics is that he has a real dick of his own. Ei wanted to make him as human as possible, right? So she gave him one. But it wouldn't look normal. It would look too perfect, too symmetrical, too... doll-like.
┊ No curve to it at all, perfectly straight, long, and almost slender like his fingers. (not skinny though, it has girth, enough to stretch).
╰┈┈┈➤ Pink tip that's flushed darker when he's hard. Perfectly manicured veins mapping the shaft, and a little over 7 inches to make up for his height.
𓏵 Even though he's had a dick for 500 years, he's never gotten urges, nothing. No arousal, no curiosity, no reaction to the stimuli that drive humans to do insane, desperate, embarrassing things.
𓏵 He's watched humanity lose its mind over sex for centuries and felt nothing but contempt.
𓏵 But of course, as a stressed-out Harbinger with 5 centuries of tension stored in a body, he wanted to see what the hype was about.
𓏵 He killed the prostitute afterward. It didn't feel as good as humans made it seem, and because the woman tried to sleep in his bed afterward. IN HIS BED.
┊ Like the transaction entitled her to his sheets, his pillow… his space.
╰┈┈┈➤ The disgust he felt wasn't at the act itself but at the presumption of intimacy where none existed.
𓏵 Sex without actual connection was just... maintenance. A biological function performed on a body that wasn't even biological.
𓏵 He cleaned his room for 6 hours after, replaced the sheets and the pillows, scrubbed the floor, and burned incense.
𓏵 He never, ever, wanted to try or even have sex again after that.
𓏵 Ei forgot to install in him whatever makes him want to be touched, apparently…
When you're intimate with the Harbinger
(HC'S - NSFW)
𓏵 He's not into sex or even subtly mentioning it in conversations; you could be dating for 5 years, never going beyond just kissing, unless you initiate the act.
𓏵 He doesn't think about it, doesn't crave it.
𓏵 The kissing is enough, more than enough, because kissing you is the most intimate thing he's ever experienced, and he genuinely doesn't understand why humans need more than that.
┊ And when you do initiate?
┊ When your hands wander past the boundaries he's set without realizing he set them. When your kisses get more intense, and your breathing gets heavier, and you pull back with a look in your eyes that so clearly says, "I want more of you."
╰┈┈┈➤ He doesn't understand why he hated it in the first place.
𓏵 He gets to see you in a way no one else could. He gets to see you, underneath him, looking up at him with trust so absolute it terrifies him.
╰┈┈┈➤ The vulnerability you're offering to him… the gift of your body when his body has never felt like a gift to anyone.
𓏵 That rewires something in his programming that he didn't know could be rewritten.
┊ He gets to touch you, be skin to… puppet skin to him.
┊ Every time you don't flinch at the cold of his hands…
┊ Every time you press closer instead of pulling away…
┊ Every time your body responds to his touch as if it were designed for it…
╰┈┈┈➤ A piece on the wall he built around his part of himself dissolves.
𓏵 He always felt like when he'd kiss you or cuddle with you, it was never enough, and he never understood why. Like there was something he couldn't reach, access, or understand that existed beyond the physical proximity he'd already achieved.
╰┈┈┈➤ He understands the minute he's inside you.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
This is what they were all losing their minds about.
𓏵 He does whatever makes you feel good. He memorizes which angels make your eyes roll back, which pace makes your breath catch, which depth makes you grab at his arms hard enough that he can feel the pressure through the joints he hates.
𓏵 He keeps it sensual and sweet. Keeps it at a pace that lets him catalog every reaction, every sound, every shift in your expression. Because even during sex, he wants to learn you thoroughly.
┊ But if you beg him to go faster, harder, then that switch flips.
╰┈┈┈➤ He's a puppet with inhuman precision, and "harder" from him means something different than "harder" from a human.
𓏵 It was a mistake to ask that on the first time, because he definitely did deliver, and the morning after… let's just say you couldn't walk for 2 days straight!
𓏵 He ejaculates. Actually cums inside you in a way he never thought was possible in his puppet body.
┊ But it isn't because of the sensations, not entirely.
┊ It's because of how much he saw you enjoy it.
┊ Because you wanted to be closer to him, because you kept trying to pull him in, wrap your legs around him, pressed his forehead against his not at all breaking eye contact as you moaned out his name.
┊ He's needy for that.
┊ Needy for your enjoyment and your approval, and the evidence that he's making you feel good, and that is what triggers the release.
╰┈┈┈➤ His body solely responds to your response. His pleasure is a mirror of yours.
𓏵 He doesn't just fuck...
┊ Because once he discovers pussy eating, fingering, all the ways to pleasure a girl without penetration… he does it too much.
┊ To the point where you have to physically pull him up from between your legs because he'll stay there for hours if you let him.
╰┈┈┈➤ Not because he's insatiable, but because he's a perfectionist, and he's not done until he's gotten you to that specific pitch of a moan that he's made his favorite.
𓏵 He does it to help you sleep because he genuinely does care about your sleep hygiene, and he has read that orgasms release hormones that promote rest.
┊ He does it when you look stressed…
┊ He does it especially when you get too needy, when you're too clingy and handsy, and won't stop pressing against him.
╰┈┈┈➤ He's learned the fastest way to settle you is to take you apart and put you back together.
𓏵 It's creepy how much he takes note of the little things
┊ Left side of your clit- counterclockwise circles at a medium pressure
┊ Two fingers inside your pussy- crook upward at a thirty-degree angle
╰┈┈┈➤ The specific rhythm that builds you fastest versus the one that builds you the slowest… (he uses the slow one when he wants to drag it out, which is sadly most of the time, because watching you grow desperate is a form of entertainment he never gets tired of).
𓏵 He doesn't care about his own pleasure or release.
┊ Eating you out, making you cum, watching your face when you fall apart, that's enough for him.
╰┈┈┈➤ The look on your face when he does something right is more rewarding than any orgasm his body could produce.
𓏵 But when you suggest how much you want to please him too, pay him back for all the times he makes you feel good?
┊ He doesn't exactly protest…
╰┈┈┈➤ … Because you're already between his legs when you ask, and he can't keep himself together at the image of you looking up at him from that angle with that expression.
𓏵 When you go down on him, his hand lands on the back of your head and stays there, holding. His fingers are threading through your hair, and the sounds he makes are quiet. He suppresses any that dare to come out.
╰┈┈┈➤ But he isn't good enough at suppressing them. They escape from time to time. A sigh, or a grunt, he bit down on, or just your name, once whispered, and he finds out that saying it makes the sensation so much better for him.
𓏵 These acts strengthen the bond between you both, especially the trust. He's showing you parts of himself that he's never shown to anyone.
𓏵 The vulnerability of pleasure, of wanting, of needing. For a puppet who spent centuries believing he was incapable of these things, every orgasm is an act of faith.
𓏵 He isn't kinky unless you teach him to be.
╰┈┈┈➤ It's like you're training him, which, ironically, is a kink in itself that neither of you will acknowledge.
𓏵 He'll be anything you want as long as you seem to love it.
𓏵 Degradation Kink? That's his fucking specialty.
┊ He doesn't have to learn how to call you pathetic, desperate, needy, a mess. He's been doing that since before you started dating. The only difference now is context and the fact that you're moaning when he says it instead of throwing any object you can find at his head.
╰┈┈┈➤ "Look at you… You can't even form a coherent sentence. Five minutes ago, you were telling me to hurry up… And now? Now you can't even remember your own name." His thumb presses against your clit while he talks, circling, and he sounds like he's perfectly in control, while you're falling apart. "Pathetic, truly."
𓏵 Praise kink? Ehh… He's a little awkward at first.
┊ He'll learn if you're actually serious about that. He'll try as hard as he can to fight back on his mean tongue.
╰┈┈┈➤He tries because you asked, because it's what you want, and making you feel good is his primary directive, and if that means telling you you're beautiful while he's inside you… He'll choke the words out even if they taste foreign in his mouth.
𓏵 It goes without saying he's shitty about it.
╰┈┈┈➤ "You're... adequate." "That was... not terrible." "Your body is... functional."
𓏵 You stared at him, and he stared back, and neither of you spoke for 10 seconds.
┊ And then you burst out laughing, telling him, "Scara… that's not praise at all."
╰┈┈┈➤ "I said you were adequate! In what language is that not praise?"
𓏵 He gets better, slowly…
┊ "You feel good…" "You feel perfect…"
┊ "Not terrible." "You're so beautiful it makes me angry."
╰┈┈┈➤ "Adequate." "I didn't know something could feel like this, and I need you to know that you're the reason why I know now."
𓏵 He says these things against your skin, into your neck, against your mouth, never looking at you in the eye, because the vulnerability of genuine praise still makes him feel like he's handing someone a loaded weapon.
𓏵 Ever since having sex became a part of his existence rather than a thing he tried once and regretted, he took a break from reading basic poetry and focused on books about female pleasure.
┊ And then he started to have a mind of his own.
╰┈┈┈➤ Got meaner.
𓏵 A new kind of mean that isn't the same as he always is. The kind that knows exactly what you like and weaponizes it, withholds it, makes you beg for things he was planning to give you anyway, just because watching you grow desperate is intoxicating in a way nothing else has ever been.
𓏵 He'd blindfold you a lot once he found out how it might heightens senses.
┊ Removing your sight makes you feel ten times as much pleasure as you'd feel if you could see what he was doing.
┊ He loves the way you gasp louder when you can't predict where his mouth will land next. Loves the way your hands grab at sheets, at pillows, at him, searching for something to anchor you when the darkness makes everything float.
╰┈┈┈➤ He uses his arm sleeves for the blindfold. The ones that cover the joints he's insecure about. There's something poetic about it that he'd never acknowledge out loud, using the thing he hates most about himself to give you pleasure, repurposing his shame into something that makes you moan.
𓏵 He'd tie you up if you squirmed too much. He could hold you down himself, but there's something about restraints that satisfies the control freak in him.
┊ You, laid out, unable to move, completely at his mercy, trusting him so entirely that you let yourself be helpless with the one person in Teyvat who could destroy you without effort.
┊ He checks the bindings constantly.
┊ Between every act, between every change in position, his fingers find the knots and test them, making sure they're secure but not cutting off circulation, not leaving marks that'll last longer than a day.
╰┈┈┈➤ If you asked him why he checks so often, he'd say something mean about not wanting to deal with a medical situation. The truth is that he'd rather stop entirely than cause you discomfort you didn't ask for.
𓏵 He discovered orgasm denial entirely on his own.
┊ No books, no research.
┊ He figured out that if he brought you to the edge and stopped, your body would react in ways that he found fascinating.
╰┈┈┈➤ He'd edge you for so long that you're crying, begging, saying things you'd be mortified about if you could think clearly, and he'll watch the entire time with a calm expression, loving the way you break apart, fully.
𓏵 He'd always let you finish… eventually.
╰┈┈┈➤ He's sadistic, not cruel.
𓏵 He always holds you after.
╰┈┈┈➤ Always makes sure the tears were the good kind, that the begging was the fun kind, that the desperation was the kind that makes you come back wanting more instead of the kind that leaves scars.
𓏵 He figured out overstimulation next.
┊ Instead of denying you, 'punishing' you by giving you too much.
╰┈┈┈➤ Making you cum, and cum, and cum and never stopping.
𓏵 Keeping his mouth on you, his fingers inside you, keeping the stimulation so high it almost grows painful.
╰┈┈┈➤ He does this when you've been particularly bratty, when you've pushed his buttons outside the bedroom, and he's been storing the irritation all day, saving it, converting it into something 'productive'.
𓏵 Toys.
𓏵 He has… opinions about toys.
┊ Specifically, he thinks most of them are poorly designed, cheaply made, and inefficient.
╰┈┈┈➤ He's bought you exactly three toys that meet his standards, and all three were tested (by you, while he observed and took mental notes) before being approved for… regular use.
𓏵 He uses them on you when he's busy.
┊ When he has paperwork to finish, and you're needy and won't stop pressing against him. He'll set you up with a toy, position you where he can see you from his desk, and work while you work yourself into a state.
╰┈┈┈➤ He watches you while he reads and fixes documents. Pretends he's not watching… but his handwriting does get messier the closer you get.
𓏵 He never talks about sex outside the bedroom.
╰┈┈┈➤ He never references it in public, never makes innuendos, never acknowledges that the person standing next to him at Fatui meetings is the same person who was screaming his name into a pillow six hours ago.
𓏵 The compartmentalization is absolute.
╰┈┈┈➤ In public, you're his partner… in private, you're everything.
𓏵 The only exception is when someone flirts with you.
┊ Because that's what makes the avoidance of it break.
╰┈┈┈➤ It breaks just enough that his hand finds the small of your back and his thumb presses against the exact spot where he left a bite mark last night. The pressure makes you inhale deeply, and he smirks, and the person flirting with you suddenly feels very, very small.
𓏵 Aftercare is non-negotiable.
┊ He does it. Every time. Without fail.
┊ Warm cloth… water… whatever food you want brought to bed.
╰┈┈┈➤ He cuddles with you after, his fingers in your hair, combing through the tangles he caused, undoing the mess he made.
𓏵 He checks the writs if he tied you.
┊ He checks your neck if he bit you.
╰┈┈┈➤ Asks questions like: "Can you feel your hands? Do your legs work? You're not going to faint on me, are you? I'm not carrying you to the bathroom; you have functioning limbs."
𓏵 He carries you to the bathroom every single time.
Why are some writers so afraid to make up their own metaphors? I just saw a quote by George Orwell in which he said, “Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print,” and honestly? THAT IS SO REAL!!
Your metaphors should feel like they belong to your story, your characters, your world. If your protagonist is a computer nerd, why would they be boring and describe something as “light as a feather” when they could say it’s uhm idk… “as light as a wireless mouse” or “as easy to carry as a USB stick.” I’m not a computer nerd lol but I hope you get the point: your metaphors should feel personal to your characters and story, they should reflect how they think, what they care about, and the world they live in.
If they’re an athlete, they’re likely going to compare things to their sport or game strategies, etc. They won’t describe their exhaustion as “feeling like a ton of bricks”— they could say it “hits like the last mile of a marathon” or something. If they work at a flower shop they would compare smells and colours to flowers and plants right?
Not only does making up your own personal metaphors and similes help you avoid clichès, it also adds so much depth to your characters and the quality of your writing. It’s also a great way to inject humour into your narrative btw, literally so many benefits…
Superman losing his composure only when people shrug off the lives of others. Doesn’t matter how well he knows them. Doesn’t matter if they’re even human.
He gets upset at the Justice Gang for brutally killing a rampaging Kaiju and not even attempting to find a way to move it or at least euthanize it more humanely.
The only time he raises his voice during Lois’ interview is when she digs into his interference in geopolitics, because people would have died if he hadn’t acted. The only time he yells at Luthor is when Luthor abducts Krypto. The only time he cries is when Luthor murders someone he barely even knew.
He saves a fucking squirrel for god’s sake. We’re so back.
clark shouting "people were going to DIE" in the face of the "think of the consequences of your actions" argument is so fucking important to me bc it really IS that simple you can't look at a genocide and just twiddle your thumbs bc you're a afraid of the consequences ESPECIALLY when you can do something about it and THATS WHAT CLARK DID. WITHOUT HESITATION. WITHOUT CONSIDERING HOW IT COULD HURT HIM. bc hes a good person and in his brain its really just people were going to die so i had to step in bc what else would it be. superman i love you i love you i love you
janainaart
dailybridgerton
snowghoul
tangentwithtanner
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theartofmadeline
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