scarasbaby

[scarasbaby]

"First Morning of Forever"

a/n: The first morning after moving in together is special in such a quiet, magical way — nothing fancy, just the comfort of waking up in the same bed knowing you don’t have to say goodbye at the door anymore. Anon request!

pairing: scaramouche x you

genre: fluff

The first thing you noticed wasn’t the light through the curtains.

It wasn’t the faint noise of cars passing on the street outside your new apartment.

It was him.

Warm. Heavy. Draped over you like he’d melted in his sleep. His arm was curled snugly around your waist, one of his legs hooked lazily over yours, his face tucked into your shoulder like he was trying to fuse with you.

The scent of fresh laundry lingered faintly in the room — not because everything was actually fresh, but because all your clothes had been washed before packing them. The cardboard smell of moving boxes still clung to the corners, and there was the faint, sweet note of his shampoo in your hair from last night’s shower.

Everything was new and a little messy. The curtains weren’t hung properly, just clipped to the rod with binder clips. Your nightstand still held a half-empty mug from the exhaustion tea you’d shared after unpacking. And yet… the bed felt like home already.

You shifted ever so slightly, trying to stretch your legs.

Instantly, the arm around your waist tightened.

"…Don’t," came his low, sleepy mumble.

You smiled into your pillow. "Don’t what?"

"Don’t move. Stay here."

"I was just going to get some water."

"You were going to abandon me," he corrected, his voice muffled and warm.

You turned just enough to see him. His hair was rumpled, sticking in every possible direction. His eyes were only half-open, a little glassy with sleep, his cheek pressed into the pillow. He looked impossibly soft like this — which was unfair, because he’d argue later that he "looked like a zombie."

"You’re ridiculous," you said fondly.

"I’m comfortable," he countered. "And you’re ruining it by thinking about leaving."

You let yourself sink back into the pillow. "What if I wanted breakfast?"

"Order in," he replied instantly.

"What if I wanted pancakes?"

He shut his eyes again. "I’ll make them. Later."

"How much later?"

"When I feel like letting you go."

Last night had been a whirlwind.

You’d carried the last box up the stairs, both of you groaning about how your knees weren’t built for this. You’d argued about where to put the couch, laughed when he insisted his game console deserved its own shrine in the living room, and ended up eating takeout straight from the containers while sitting on the floor.

By the time you’d both collapsed into bed, you were too tired to do anything but curl into each other. He hadn’t let go of you since.

"Scara?" you murmured now.

"Mm?"

"What if I wanted to shower?"

"Then I’m coming with you," he said without hesitation.

You rolled your eyes, grinning. "Of course you are."

The room was quiet except for your breathing and the faint hum of the fridge from the kitchen. For a moment, you thought he’d fallen back asleep.

Then his voice came again, softer:

"I like this."

You tilted your head to look at him. "Like what?"

"This," he said simply. "Waking up and you’re here. No texting you in the morning, no waiting for you to come over. Just… here."

Something in your chest fluttered.

"I like it too," you whispered.

His mouth curved into the smallest smile. "Good. Because you’re stuck here."

You laughed quietly. "Forever?"

"Forever," he confirmed, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple before burying his face in your hair again.

The water could wait.

The breakfast could wait.

Even the half-open boxes waiting to be unpacked could wait.

Because it was your first morning together, and the only thing that mattered was the warmth between you, the quiet certainty of his arms around you, and the unspoken truth that this — the slow mornings, the shared space, the easy closeness — was exactly where you were meant to be.

[scarasbaby]

"Bold of You to Try"

a/n: Request from anon! You know that moment when you’re just minding your business with your boyfriend, enjoying your date… and some stranger thinks it’s a great idea to flirt with you while he’s sitting right there? Yeah. Scaramouche lets them talk — just long enough to watch them dig their own hole — before shutting it down.

pairing: scaramouche x you

genre: fluff

The café was warm with the smell of roasted beans and fresh pastries, soft chatter blending into the hiss of steaming milk. You and Scaramouche had your favorite spot — a cozy corner booth with enough privacy for your knees to bump under the table.

He was stirring his drink with unnecessary precision, and you were grinning at him like an idiot.

"What?" he asked without looking up, suspicious.

"You’ve got foam on your lip," you said, leaning over the table slightly.

He narrowed his eyes, clearly skeptical, but didn’t move when you reached forward with a napkin to wipe it away. "You’re lying."

"I’m not," you said, smiling in that I’m definitely lying way.

He huffed, leaning back. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet…"

You tapped his cup with your straw. "…you still bring me to your favorite café."

He muttered something under his breath that suspiciously sounded like soft spot and took another sip of his coffee. The moment was comfortable — warm in that way only he could make it — until a shadow fell over your table.

"Hey," a bright voice said.

You looked up. Denim jacket, messy hair, a confident smile that thought it could win over anyone.

"Hi?" you replied, uncertainty slipping into your voice.

He didn’t even glance at Scara. "Sorry to bother you, but I noticed you from over there." He jerked his thumb toward a table across the room. "You’ve got a really gorgeous smile. Thought I’d come say hello."

"Uh… thanks," you said politely.

You didn’t have to look to know Scara was watching. You could *feel* it — that slow, simmering tension like static just behind you. He was perfectly still, save for his fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against the side of his cup.

"So," the guy continued, "do you come here often?"

"Sometimes," you answered cautiously.

"That’s cool. I’m new around here. Maybe you could recommend me a few places? Or…" His grin widened. "…we could check them out together sometime."

You inhaled to answer — mostly to politely shut him down — but Scara’s quiet presence loomed heavier. His gaze was locked on the stranger, head tilted just slightly in that deceptively lazy way.

"I’m sure you’re busy," the guy went on, "but it’s always nice meeting someone friendly in a new place. You seem fun."

And that’s when Scaramouche finally spoke.

"Just wondering," he said mildly, "how long you were planning to keep flirting with my girlfriend before you realized I’m sitting right here?"

The man froze. "…Oh. Uh—"

"Because I’ve been here the whole time," Scara continued, voice calm but laced with an edge, "holding her hand, listening to you run through your little script like you’re at an audition."

You glanced down. Sure enough, Scara had your hand in his — fingers linked, thumb brushing the back of your knuckles, warm and solid.

"Look, man—" the guy started.

"You’ve got guts," Scara said, smirking faintly. "And the survival instincts of a traffic cone. You should probably work on that."

Silence.

The guy gave a tight, awkward chuckle. "Alright, fine. I’ll leave you to it."

"That’s the smartest thing you’ve said yet," Scara murmured.

When the man finally walked off, Scaramouche’s eyes stayed on him for just a beat longer before turning back to you.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

You smiled, shaking your head. "You really let him go on for a while before stepping in."

"Of course," he said simply. "Why waste good entertainment?"

You laughed, bumping his knee under the table. "Possessive much?"

"Only for you," he murmured — and his hand didn’t let go of yours for the rest of the date.

[scarasbaby]

Precious

Gender neutral! Harbinger! Reader x Scaramouche.

CW: blood, reader got injured

Scaramouche swore to himself to never care about another human being. And yet, he finds himself getting attached to his fellow harbinger. But you're so closed off, cold.

A/N: not proofread, might be ooc. This is an absolute mess, implied relationship at the end, reader can be interpreted as selective mute

He's known for being cold. For being harsh, arrogant, egoistic even. Not tolerating failure or backtalk from his subordinates.

The harbingers in general are known to be ruthless among the common folk of Teyvat.

You are no exception.

You're often perceived as cold-hearted, your emotions completely closed off from those around you.

If you're given a task you complete it quickly and without hesitation. You don't ask questions, you don't talk back, you just follow orders as they're given by either the Tsaritsa herself or your fellow harbingers.

It's something Scaramouche has noticed as well.

Being ranks above you means he has some level of authority over you and your missions or tasks.

Whenever he has the pleasure of working with you any task given to you by him is done swiftly and effectively.

The two of you are often send on missions together and honestly he appreciates having at least one other person he deems competent on his team other than him. Even if he often mocks you based on you being a lower rank than him.

But spending all this time around you, even if it's not by choice, he can't help but pick up on a few things.

Especially your cold, hard exterior. And how it's all just a shield. You've built walls of iron around your heart and it shows to anyone who'd take a second to properly look at you and not just the way you act.

But of course no one ever does.

Even during harbinger meetings your stoic facade stays. You prefer to be quiet, not talking much. Not many can say they've ever heard your voice.

At night he sometimes passes your tent, getting to witness your mask breaking and cracking without your knowledge, getting a peek through the slight slit on the side of the tent.

Your relaxed face, features softened, witnessed by unseen eyes.

And yet he can see you start to tense up every time as soon as you feel his gaze on you, expression going back to one of ice, hands reaching for your weapon of choice slowly.

It's weird. Why does he care so much? Why does he see himself in you, untrusting of the world around you, afraid to once again get hurt?

He promised - no, swore to himself that he'd never care about some merely human ever again. But still here he is, feeling like he's looking into a mirror when looking at you.

He hates himself for this, for these human feelings, but he's getting attached to you.

He wants you to open up to him, as much as it makes him a hypocrite, not wanting to do the same. He wants you to let go of that damn facade around him.

So he does something he never thought he'd do.

One evening, while you're both on a mission in Inazuma, he approached you and invites you to dinner. No mocking tone, just a face fully serious.

Even behind your freezing face he can tell the genuine surprise, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you stare at him for several long seconds. After your moment of shock you act cautious, but accepting the invitation.

At dusk he leads you to a incredibly fancy sushi place. You feel severely out of place, not just because people keep staring at whispering about you two because of your harbinger status, but also because you're not used to such luxury.

There's not much conversation between you two, you both order your drinks and food, eating in silence, Scaramouche sipping on his wine occasionally.

You're still wary but...you can't deny it's comforting.

Scaramouche occasionally stares at you, trying to figure you out but you can't help but let yourself soften a little.

Despite everything that may have happened to you, despite your rank, despite your fighting power you're still a human with human feelings.

Maybe, just for one evening...a simple break from your exhausting act. Just once.

You're not stupid. You can tell he wants to invade the walks you've built around your fragile heart. But you're not ready to let anyone in. Yet.

Despite the gazes of the strangers around you it was a nice dinner. No doubt there will be rumors spreading, two harbingers eating out together is bound to bring spotlight to you both.

You enjoyed it greatly and even if not a word was spoken Scaramouche feels like he understands you better now.

Following that evening he treats you better, appreciates you more. No more mocking words, no more tasks he deems unworthy of a harbinger your level.

He keeps you at his side basically at all times, he doesn't want you to get hurt. For your own good but also for his own peace of mind. He can't loose anyone again.

If there's a mission he has to complete he drags you along, no questions asked.

Gossip among your subordinates soon spreads like wildfire.

"They seem awfully close, don't they?"

"Right? I saw them head to dinner together before..."

These comments are quickly shut down with a single glare of either you or Scaramouche. They know better than to upset their superiors.

Having tea with him in his tent has become an evening routine for you and him. He's very much aware he's softening for you but he can't bring himself to care... Still, that fear of once again loosing everything remains.

Today's night you come back to the current camp, rushing past his tent into your own.

You usually stop to at least to report to him in your own silent ways... He can't help but be suspicious, feeling things he can't place.

Is this worry? Panic?

Telling himself that you're fine he still gets up to check on you. Not even bothering to announce himself he enters your tent only to freeze on the spot after being greeted by the sight of you covered in scarlet. In blood.

Your own blood.

"What the hell happened?!" He asks in shock, full on panic now cursing through him.

No, no, no, no... This can't be happening...

He scrambles, trying to stop the bleeding. Relief fills him when he sees it's not that bad. You'll live but you're still pretty heavily injured, your whole left arm basically unmovable for now.

"Why didn't you immediately come to me... You can't possibly patch yourself up on your own like this!" He scolds, the shock from earlier now giving way to frustration while he bandages you up.

"Do you realize what could have happened if I didn't check on you?!"

You've never seen him so frantic, so scared, his face flushed red with a mix of worry and anger.

"I could have helped you..." A soft, barely audible whisper.

"...I'm sorry... I got ambushed..." You mutter out, your voice quiet, hardly even noticable.

Scaramouche stills mids wrapping, slowly looking up at you. Is his mind playing jokes on him? Did he finally go insane? Or did he really hear you talk just now?

Interpreting his surprise at your voice as disappointment in your statement you start fidgeting, nervous.

"I know it was supposed to be a simple task to gather information... But..." You can feel yourself panicking at the thought of having disappointed him, to be left all alone again. Your thoughts are spiraling with scenarios.

"Don't..." A simple statement but effective in making you pause.

"It's fine, focus on healing now..."

That sentence alone eases some of your anxiety as he finishes wrapping bandages around your arm.

Without thinking he gently grabs your chin, tilting your face up to look at him directly.

"You..." Momentarily he's distracted by your pretty but color drained face.

"You're not going to do anything until this all heals."

He can tell you're about to protest, your face falling but before you can even open your mouth he stands firm on his decision.

"You'll be out of commission for a while. This is an order."

You puff, extremely frustrated. You don't even know when you became so open with him, your walls crumbling fast.

"Although... Maybe I should move you into my own tent. To keep an eye on you." He says with a growing smirk, tucking a strand of your disheveled hair away. It's sticky with dried blood but he doesn't care.

You stare at him absolutely bamboozled, while he just chuckles.

What have you gotten yourself into...

[scarasbaby]

We're going to nod-krai! 🧳

[scarasbaby]

Comfortable

This is a request for -❣ anon. I don't know if it fulfills the request but this idea won the battle over zolpidem so I guess it means it's strong. I wasn't sure of the title so tell me if you approve or have a better title. Content: wanderer x reader one shot. Canon au. Established relationship. Hurt to comfort. Couple fights and breaks up bc COMMUNICATION MATTERS. Even when a couple is established and they think they will stay forever like mind reading twins. And also all the popular "love languages" are important for a relationship, not just one.

He didn't realize. He genuinely didn't realize. At some point in time, or maybe at many points in time, he said something that he shouldn't. Or maybe he didn't say something that he should have. Or he didn't do things that he should have, right?

That's what happens when you're in a relationship for a long time, right? You get comfortable. You assume the other person stays the same as the day everything was perfect and you had your happy ending, because no one is taught what happens during the happy ever after. You just assume that once the couple is settled it will just stay like that, and once the narrator stops narrating, the characters don't talk anymore, right?

That's what people do in long term relationships, right? They get comfortable and mess up.

Right?

He messed up.

And he genuinely didn't realize until he was all alone at night, in bed, staring at the ceiling in silence and you weren't there.

Then it struck him, struck him hard. And he knew he was the biggest idiot alive.

He assumed you would be there. It was always like that. He came home like an idiot, sulking and mumbling nonsense about things that he didn't really care about. Nahida's chores this, the Akademiya that. He didn't really care. He cared about you. But what did he do? He was always taking it out on you, being all pouty, silent, sometimes dry.

Spending countless hours cooped up in the stupid studio working on those stupid papers instead of going to bed with you.

Making you wait.

Going back to bed to you in the dead of night when you were already tired, or already asleep, starved for his attention he stopped giving you. And he didn't even talk to you. Not really.

He thought it was normal, it was enough, a kiss, a goodnight, to scoot over and snuggle in your arms.

You kept sleeping together, cuddled, huddled, well, sometimes giving each others' back, but that was ok, wasn't it? Talking wasn't necessary.

Right?

What was the need for talking?

He had told you every single thing before. How much he loved you, how much he cared about you. Was there really a need to say it daily? He thought you knew. He assumed you knew. He assumed you knew his feelings were unchanged, despite his behavior having changed for the worse.

He assumed you knew you were the love of his life and that he was happy to come back to you each day, and that he loved you more than the first time each night when he kissed you goodnight and went to sleep without saying anything. Without whispering deepest fears and dear longings and hopes for the future between the covers like old times.

Because that's what one does when they're in a long established relationship, right?

Right, that's what he did. He messed up like a goddamn fool. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He couldn't bring himself to talk, even if you needed it, even if you insisted, if you tried. He couldn't bring himself to talk, he couldn't find words like old times. They would tie a tight knot in his throat, his mind a jumbled mess, afraid to say the wrong thing, to mess up a beautiful love story that could be ruined by saying the wrong thing because there was no need to say anything else because he had already said how much he loved you and valued you and he didn't need to say it or hear it so many times.

But you did.

And there is where he messed up.

Because a relationship takes two people.

Two people who have needs that sometimes don't align.

And you had needs that he neglected like a damn fool and now he was staring at the ceiling like an idiot, alone in a bed that held no meaning without you by his side.

He cursed himself, cursed every single night he came back to the bed and just gave you a single kiss and a short goodnight to indulge in the endless happiness and comfort that your embrace provided him without making the effort of providing you with what YOU needed.

Because he was selfish and he got comfortable and underestimated how much you needed his words.

You had told him before. You had told him so many things, and he remembered every single one, in detail, he would for the rest of eternity, because it meant the world to him. How you loved his voice, how it was your oxygen, and how his words and his I love yous and your shared moments of connection and vulnerability meant everything to him.

Yet he failed to do something about it.

He slept in the glory of his past courage to talk to you and tell you everything, thinking that life and time had stopped and that he was living in that precious moment forever, and he neglected the present moment, the current life, and you.

He made you feel that you were sleeping with a stranger, just because he didn't feel like talking. Just because he didn't need it, because he was afraid of it. Despite the fact that you needed it.

And the fact that every couple should, dammit! He messed up. He got up from the shared, empty bed and got dressed in a hurry.

You were his world, he didn't deserve you, he knew it, he didn't deserve to be with you. But you were his world and he had to find you and apologize.

And tell you everything.

He flew out the window and searched everywhere. He hoped to find you in the garden, or in one of those places that held significance to your relationship. The place you met, your first date, your first kiss, that night when he told you his deepest fears, the coffee where you decided to move in together.

But he was being damn self-centered for that, wasn't he? You were nowhere to be seen there.

He found you in a bar instead. He looked through the window, and saw that other people were giving you what he had been too selfish to give.

Genuine communication, a real human exchange. You were sitting at a table, everyone was there. Cyno, Tighnari, Collei, Kaveh, hell, even that stupid Alhaitham was there! And even that dry idiot exchanged a few words with you. And he felt like the buggest crap because you could have a coherent, meaningful conversation with that blockhead and not with him, the supposed love of your life, because he was too emotionally constipated and scared to talk.

What joke of a boyfriend, god. He hated himself so hard.

He hid and let you have your fun with your friends. And he was so thankful to them for being so nice to you. He didn't wanna talk to them. But he was glad that they were there for you, and he hoped you felt fulfilled by their friendship.

He waited until Collei was asleep in her bed, because you chose to crash at her place rather than go back home to your stupid boyfriend that might as well be mute, to go beg your forgiveness.

When you saw him perched on the window, you made eye contact and gave him your back, still hurt. But happy that he came for you. If he hadn't come, you knew the relationship was over for good. The least he had to do was to fucking come. And he came, but you wouldn't forgive him that easily.

He felt a pang of pain striking his chest at your cold dismissal, and knew he deserved it. How many times he made you feel the same thing? He wanted to kiss them all better, he regretted so much.

He gently tapped the window sill, insisting with a disraught and expectant expression. You looked back at him with disdain, until you saw the flowers.

He brought your favorite flowers, the ones thst held so much meaning for you two and for your relationship, your past shared moments. The ones you planted on your backyard and he cared for every single day. Because he was a mess with words but he did all he could with his actions, but if you needed words he was willing to give you words, because a relationship is a thing of two and both have to compromise.

And he brought them in a pot, too, ready to plant, because he knew that you hated flowers being cut and lef to die, unless when you dried them and made beautiful art with them, to keep them immortalized. Because he knew. Because you had talked countless times in the past and he knew eveeything about you and he never forget a single detail.

But that was all about the past. He neglected the present, neglected you for a long time already. Does he even know what new flowers you are interested in now? Was he listening when you talked about renovating the garden, fixing the kitchen? Your new projects? Of course he knew, he listened to every damn thing, and he cared. But he didn't say a word, so to you it felt like he was ignoring you. How could you tell the difference between talking to a wall if he never reacted? You respected him and weren't expecting him to change his personality or to overeact or to become a ray of sunshine, you didn't even want that, you fell in love with how he was. You just wanted to be acknowledged. And he hadn't done it out loud in a while.

You wanted to be loved out loud. Not that you didn't appreciate his actions, they made you happy, his delicious food, how he cared for the garden, his hand holding, the cuddling at night. But your need for reassurance was valid. And words were a vital part of connection and communication. All the parts were important, and that part that was extra important to you had been missing for a while.

When he made a pleading gesture, in silence not to wake Collei, you crossed your arms and frowned. He insisted, his eyes boring into yours with the love and intensity of yesterday. But it was the regret of today and the sincere promises of tomorrow that shone in those indigo eyes that you loved that made you give him another chance.

You opened your arms, and he didn't hesistate.

He entered, the window of the cottage had no glass anyway. He picked you effortlessly in his arms, still carrying the flower pot and all, and flew out the window again.

He carried you in his arms and crossed the starry sky, observing you like what you were to him: the most glorious flower, the most valuable treasure.

Out of respect, out of genuine regret and an intention to repair his mistakes and the relationship, he didn't kiss you. He spoke. Finally, after that goddamn silence that felt neverending, he spoke.

"I'm sorry." He said, compuncted, holding you gently but firmly as he carried you over the tall trees of Sumeru, under the stars and the moon. He caressed your face "I'm so sorry." His voice was tinged with regret.

"Are you?" You sighed, your gaze shifting between his eyes and the moon.

"I am. I truly am. I was an idiot." He said, biting his lower lip in utter anxiety. Seeing you like this was heartbreaking: you were so tired of his silence that you felt talking to him was a waste of energy and you barely talked at all! He hated it. He wanted to hear you talk about your feelings for hours like usual. He always listened to you. But how would you know, if he didn't say anything? He had to talk, even if he messed up. Because not saying anything at all, the silence, was always worse than whatever he could ever say "You think I don't listen to you. But I do. I listen to every single thing." He began, his voice shaky.

You rolled your eyes, still not willing to talk to him. It had been too many frustrating attempts.

"No, don't roll your eyes at me. It's true." He pouted. He pinched your cheek "All those things you said. About renovating the house. And the project with Collei."

You gave him a distrustful look.

"The art gallery with different flowers from different nations. And the color you want to paint the front door." He insisted, holding you close. You looked at him with more hope.

"You were listening?" You remained in his arms, safe like always.

"To everything. I already talked to the guy who sells the paint and he already told me how much it costs. And I..."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" You interrupted him, tears in your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I was a fool. I should have said anything instead of letting you talk all alone...it's hard for me, and I feel it's unnecessary, and you've told me that you need it, and I didn't do it." He teared up too at the thought of hurting you and losing you.

You sniffled, and he hugged you closer. He hugged you tight, in case it was the last time. He hugged you tight trying to make you feel better.

"I was gonna bring home the paint and paint it for you..." he wiped his tears "...as soon as I finished with that damn paper with the damn Akademiya..." he groaned, scowling at the mete thought "But it's like it never ends. They always wants something from me. I wasted so much time in that when I could have been with you..." he sobbed, finally the dam of emotions was breaking and the words that stuck in his throat came out.

"I don't want you to give up on your projects for me..." you began.

"And I know! You just want me to be a good goddamn boyfriend and be there and answer when you fucking talk to me! And I should." He sobbed, holding you tighter. You hugged him back. He stopped on a big tree and left the flowers aside, you focused on hugging "And I should have told you that I was feeling like crap, I should have like cried or something, or tell you whatever, instead of just hold it all to myself and just go to sleep without saying anything hugging you like you're my emotional support stuffed animal! It wasn't fair! You made me feel safe and loved, and I made you feel like crap, didn't I?"

You nodded, sobbing.

"I'm so sorry, my love. I'm so sorry. I should've say something, anything. I don't even fucking know what to say, because I don't know what the fuck is going on with my life besides you. The Akademiya, Sumeru, Nahida, it's all a mess. I don't even know if I care about the damn oaoer anymore, I might burn it at this point. I just didn't wanna talk about it. I just wanted to hold you and forget about it because you are my peace. But I should've said something." He sniffled, filled with regret "But I couldn't. But when I told you I loved you and kissed you goodnight it was genuine every single time. It was fucking dry, though, I should've said something else. Like, 'thank you for supporting me', or, 'I hope your art project turns the way you want to'. I dunno, something. I'm just terrible with words. I rather not say anything than messing up but I know that hurts you and I don't wanna hurt you, I swore to protect you, and I thought I would never need to talk about our love and pasts and hopes and fwars because we've already done it but now I understand that you need it and...and..."

You hugged his neck tightly, both crying and comforting each other. After some comfortable silence, you kissed his cheek and his tears. And then you merged in a sweet kiss.

"You're my everything. I love you. Sorry for not telling you with words..." he vowed in your ear.

"I love you too...more than anything..." you kissed him back.

"I don't deserve another chance...you won't come home, would you? I won't be able to paint the door..." he sobbed, his tears falling onto his face.

"I do wanna go back home and I do want to paint the door...together." you replied, wiping his tears with your thumbs.

"You forgive me? Seriously?" He cupped your face in his hands.

"Only if we do everything together. Not just paint the door. Share everything. Tell each other things, our days, my art project, your paper, no matter if you keep going or you burn it or you start another one or if you tell me that you wanna run and start a new life at the other side of Teyvat. As long as you tell me and we do it together." You nodded, looking up at him with the hopes of saving this relationship "We lived beautiful things together, and I cherish them, but I don't wanna live from past glories, pretending we're frozen in a painting because we aren't. We live in the present and life goes on and if we're staying together I wanna know what's going on in each other's minds and hearts in the present." You said, determined.

"I'm not saying you should tell me everything every damn day but..." you said.

"I know," he interrupted you "But I spent too fucking long being shut like an oyster and not telling you a damn thing, sometimes I didn't even say goodbye when you left for work. I don't even know how long it was. Months? A year already? Just thinking about it kills me. How many nights have passed since the last night we had a real talk and you felt connected to me? How many nights have I slept being comforted by you when you were tormented instead?" He spurted, mortified.

"I don't know, it has been some time..." you sighed.

"If you come back home, I swear that's gonna change. I don't wanna break up, I love you, really, if you still love me, if you give me another chance..." he said desperately, holding your hands tightly.

"I do. I do love you. I do wanna go back home. And paint the door and plant those flowers." You said, looking at the pot with the beautiful flowers he had brought you "And I wanna talk to you. Whenever and however it comes to you, but no more silence."

"I promise." He pressed his forehead to yours "I swear. I'll be brave again, like I was when I dared open up to you the first time. I don't wanna keep destroying what we've built with my cowardice. I rather mess up with stupid words not knowing what the hell is going on with my life than continuing to hurt you by being silent or dry or mean to you. A boyfriend should never talk like that to her girlfriend, it's like I'm taking it out on you, and it's not your fault, it's just me being an idiot and terrified and stupid." He said with a shaky voice, the pent up words from months now coming out all together.

"I forgive you. Take me back home." You hugged him.

"You're too kind. I love you." He said softly, and kept his lips on your forehead the whole trip back home.

He entered through the window and placed you on the unmade bed. It was cold. It only held meaning with you. He didn't even need to sleep. He only wanted to have a bed and sleep because he wanted to share a bed and sleep with you.

"I thought you wouldn't come back. I'm so lucky. Thank you...I swear it will never come to this again...if I'm overwhelmed I'll just tell you." He swore, holding you tight and pressing his forehead to you.

"You promise?" You hummed, leaning back against the mattress, feeling relief and exhaustion slowly take over you.

"I promise." He said in the hushed whisper of the shared covers.

"I love you."

"I love you more."

"Can we go sleep now?" You yawned.

"Don't you wanna talk?" He whispered.

"I do. But I'm exhausted. We can talk more tomorrow..."

"So it's ok if I kiss you goodnight? And we cuddle? We cuddle for real, all night long? Will you feel connected to me?" He asked with anxiety in his chest.

"Let's try."

You changed into your night clothes, exchanged a sweet kiss and huddled under the soft sheet, holding each other securely.

"Do you feel connected?"

"I do."

"I love you."

"I know now."

"I'll always let you know."

"Really?"

"Really. I'll write you notes and letters if I can't talk. I'll figure something out. For you. For me. For us." He held you tighter.

"A note?"

"With the flowers I'm gonna grow, pressed." He nodded, his forehead pressed agains yours.

The flower pot rested next to the window, the leaves swaying gently with the night breeze.

"And we're gonna paint the door?" You hummed, your eyes already droopy.

"I'm taking goddamn vacations tomorrow and we're painting the door, and planting the flowers, and I'm going to see your gallery. And we're gonna catch up on all the stuff we wanted to do for months and we didn't do because I was doing whatever the hell I was doing and I don't wanna. I just wanna paint the door and talk to you. Mainly hear you talk. But I'll answer, even if I don't know what to say."

"And you'll bake me a pie?" You yawned.

"I'll bake you a hundred pies. If I don't know what the hell to say to you, I'll carve a goddamn answer on it."

"We're gonna communicate through pies now?" You giggled.

"We're gonna communicate through whatever thing that works. Pies, notes, words, or goddamn smoke signals. But we're gonna communicate. I swear." He held you tight.

"Can it be a goodnight kiss and cuddles right now?" You whispered.

"Of course." He smiled.

And you cuddled the entire night.

Knowing that just because you get comfortable in a relationship, it doesn't mean you can stop talking to the other person and assume you can read each other's minds. Because the years go by and you both grow and change, and if you wanna stay in tune you gotta sing together.

[scarasbaby]

Fated doll

Gender neutral! Fatui Soldier! Reader x Wanderer

You still carry that doll around...even after everything. A fated reunion in Sumeru forest.

Fluff, heavily implied relationship at the end

A/N: Might be ooc, this is my first time actually writing anything for him. I feel like this is trash, I had no idea where I wanted to go with this

Not proofread!

When Kunikuzushi tried to erase himself from Irminsul he later had to find out that while he managed to recover his own memories with the help of Nahida and the Traveler, the rest of Teyvats memory of him has been rewritten.

The events he so desperately tried to undo have still happened, history and people just remember it differently.

It's been a crushing experience but he's learned to live with it, trying to focus on everything else going on around him while he stays in Sumeru.

But he can't help but think about the people he worked with as a harbinger, his subordinates.

He's been anything but nice to them, often treating them with arrogance and an attitude. It wasn't unusual for them to be scared of him, scared of suffering his wrath and the consequences of angering him.

Even now he can't bring himself to care a lot about them. To him they were always people that blended in with each other, always wearing those damn masks.

Thinking about them he also ends up thinking about you. You're one of the only subordinates he's ever seen the actual face of. One he actually got to know.

You were a quiet but determined little thing, one of the strongest and agile subordinates he had the pleasure of working with.

Unlike the others, he actually tolerated you.

And now he can't help but wonder what happened to you.

He knows you don't remember him. But he somehow can't help but feel upset about that.

He always saw himself in you, so closed off from the world. Untrusting.

And yet he can't deny that he cared about you as more than a subordinate. Remembering the many conversations he had with you under the full moon during missions, both of you unable to sleep.

You're important to him, as much as he hates to admit it. But of course he never let you know that. And it stings now knowing you don't remember him just like everyone else.

He wants to find you. But he doesn't even know where to start and he knows actually confronting you when you don't even know of him anymore might hurt him even more.

Currently he's walking around Sumeru forest, trying to get a break from those imbeciles he unfortunately has to call his fellow students.

He sighs, looking skyward at the night sky, the full moon. Even with his knowledge of the sky being fake he can't deny it's beauty.

When he turn his face forwards again he notices that he has walked right into a fatui camp.

Great. Just his luck.

He thinks maybe he can save himself the annoying fight by just leaving again considering most of the agents are asleep. What a bunch of idiots, leaving themselves open to attack like this...

He begins slowly backing up, not wanting to waste his time with some Fatuus.

When he's a good distance away he turns around again, only to be face to face with a masked fatui agent.

He scowls, not wanting to deal with this right now but having no choice to.

While fighting with them it's obvious to him that they're an actual vision holder, not just using a delusion. They're good at fighting too, not like the other lot he regularly fights and used to discipline.

Eventually he manages to knock of their mask with a blow of anemo only to freeze in shock when your face is the one staring at him. This can't be happening...

Your eyebrows furrow when he just stares at you with wide shocked eyes.

You start to retreat, knowing when you've lost a fight but he unexpectedly pounces on you, tackling you to the ground. He can't let you get away now and disappear again when he just found you again.

Is it a lucky coincidence? Or is fate for once being kind to him?

Pinning you to the ground something falls out of your pocket. A little doll...

More specifically, a doll that looks a lot like him.

It's obviously self made, the stitching a little messy on some edges but made with care.

He remembers that doll. He has only once seen it on your person before, right before he took off to Sumeru. But back then he was so focused on his goal of becoming a god he didn't think to comment on it.

Now he can't help but think about it...why did you make it? Did you seek his company even when he was away? Did you actually care about him that much?

He's brought back to reality when you squirm under him, glaring up at him, looking absolutely unamused. But you can't help being confused of how similar he looks to that little doll of yours.

"Get off." You say, pushing against him with your hands but he doesn't budge.

He keeps staring at you before his signature smirk graces his lips.

"No."

You keep pushing at him, trying to get him off before giving up, flopping back down and looking at him with a frown.

"What are you pinning me down for? Kill me already if that's your goal." You say coldly.

Wanderer freezes. Right, what is his goal here? He can't possibly just tell you that you just don't remember him. You'd think he's insane.

"...Take a walk with me." He says after staying silent for too long.

"...Excuse me?" You're bewildered. This stranger fought you, tackled you and now wants to take a walk with you.

"You heard me." He gets up, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet.

"Take a walk with me."

You look over to the fatui camp, contemplating. He clearly sees your hesitation and scoffs.

"That bunch of idiots can take care of themselves, even with how stupid they are. And if they can't then good riddance."

That arrogance, that attitude...it felt so familiar to you but you can't tell why.

You pick the doll back up, staring at it before looking up at the man before you once again. The similarities are uncanny.

"Who are you really?" You ask him without thinking.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

"Humour me."

Grabbing your wrist he drags you away from the camp before sitting down on some rocks with a view directly at Sumeru city.

When he sees your determined face, the face he knows so well, he sighs and tells you everything in a short summary. How he used to be the 6th harbinger. What happened before and after Irminsul. He can see in your expression you're hesitant to believe him.

And yet you can't brush that feeling of familiarity off.

"What was your name?" You ask him, looking right at him, into his eyes. Those damn sharp eyes that you feel like you've known for ages and yet feel like you're seeing for the first time.

"Kunikuzushi."

A name you've never heard and yet...

Rubbing your forehead you let out a shakey breath. You don't know what to believe anymore.

Despite your protests he drags you to Nahida, who's very confused about why he needs you specifically to know the truth but confirms his story anyways.

Your thoughts are a mess, not only did you find out yours and everyone else's memories have been overwritten but you've also met your former supervisor AND the literal dendro archon.

All your life you've known nothing but battle and bloodshed but now you're suddenly thrusted into this confusing mess...

Nahida arranges a room at an Inn in the city for you, she can tell you're having a hard time coping with everything.

After that fateful night Wanderer refuses to let you go back to the Fatui. He knows he's acting like a possessive bastard but he can't help it. The thought of you going back there, without him, makes him sick to his stomach.

No more fighting on the front lines. No more blood being shed by your hands.

He can't believe he cares so much after swearing to himself to never get attached again.

Days, weeks, months pass and you slowly but surely settle in your life in Sumeru.

Wanderer got rid of your Fatui clothing, picking out new ones with the help of Nahida. He'd never admit it but he even made some himself. They're so much more comfortable than your old uniform.

It's a peace you never thought you'd be able to get in this life. Almost domestic. Something you considered a luxury, something you thought you'd never be able to experience, a life not filled with battles and blood.

Wanderer loves teasing you, especially loves randomly picking you up and taking you high for a flight. Loves hearing you protest and feel you wriggle around before you go quiet, just enjoying the scenery, arms wrapped around his neck for security.

Even you can tell that your distrust of the world is slowly melting away. You're able to enjoy tiny details you've never before payed attention to.

You're currently sitting on one of the top branches of the huge tree of Sumeru city, staring at the doll in your hand. It's seen better days but you've always had an attachment to it, even before your reunion with Wanderer.

The night air feels cold but comforting, the distant sound of cicadas can be heard.

Feeling a presence next to you you don't even have to turn to know who it is. Wanderer quietly sits next to you, also looking at the tiny doll version of himself.

Neither of you say anything but both of you know that if it wasn't for this tiny thing you probably wouldn't even have given him a chance to explain everything that day.

In a way this small thing kept your memories of him, a physical proof of his existence and influence on you.

He silently takes one of your hands, holding it in his own. Leaning on him you both look over the vast green lands of Sumeru, a nation both of you can now call home after the many battles you both endured, both physically and emotionally.

Despite everything you found each other again. Even with basically impossible conditions.

He places a small, gentle kiss on your forehead, uncharacteristically soft.

You can't help but be excited for what's to come, for what's to blossom from this new life.

[scarasbaby]

Delicious

Gender neutral! Reader x Vampire! Scaramouche

CW: biting, blood, killing (not Reader), fainting, slight obsessive behavior

In a crowd full of mediocrity you stand out to him unwillingly. Your scent draws in unknown danger.

A/N: non-canon modern AU, not proofread

A powerful, formerly royal vampire. Shunned and chased off by his own kin centuries ago. An outcast, unwelcome among his own kind.

Living in an old castle deep, deep in a forest, forever shrouded in mist and rain he wanders the abandoned halls all alone.

The paintings adoring the many walls have long faded, now a blur of unrecognizable faces and colors.

It's like the whole castle is stuck in time. Many rooms dusty, covered in webs.

One of the huge double front doors creaks open loudly, a group of humans peeking inside before stepping in, completely drenched by the pouring rain outside.

"See? I told you it's completely abandoned!" a female voice echoes out in the huge entrance hall, filled with pride and arrogance. Her peers just look uncomfortable, clearly having been dragged there against their will.

What fools. But they'll make a decent meal for him. He hasn't had a drink in what feels like ages, he can feel his fangs aching to sink into their flesh and finally quench his hunger.

Watching them run around and explore his vast home, he can already tell they'll taste absolutely disgusting. They reek, making his nose scrunch up, but anything will do at this point.

The group splits up, wanting to explore as much as they can. And one by one he takes on all of them.

In the library he catches the first one, snooping through his books. He moves fast, appearing behind the unsuspecting man unnoticed, silent before piercing his fangs into his neck, drinking him dry and dropping him to the floor.

With now returned strength he finds the second and third one in the basement, exploring the cells. How convenient. He knocks them out, keeping them chained down there for later.

He finds the last one, the loud obnoxious girl, right in his personal chamber, taking pictures of everything. What a stupid thing.

She's about to send the pics she took to the group chat when she notices her phone has no service.

"That's weird..." She mutters, typing away on her phone.

He drags her to the basement, screaming before she can question it further, phone now dropped and abandoned on the carpented ground.

Later he picks it up, looking at it from all sides confused, brows furrowing before smashing it, stepping on it's remains.

Those foolish humans keep him fed for weeks. And they're not the only ones stumbling into his home.

Some come with the intention to explore an "abandoned" castle, others are just unfortunate enough to be caught in the rain and seeking shelter.

But he gets carried away. In the age of modern technology news of the many disappearances around his hideout spread fast, most people now avoiding it.

Devoiding him of his source of food.

He tries to hold out, tries to keeping his hunger under control, even tries to feed on forest animals but it's all not enough.

Days and weeks pass without a proper drink so he has no choice but go and hunt after years of being crammed up inside his comfort zone.

A city nearby. He strolls along the artificially lit streets, a sight he has never seen before.

It's nighttime, not many people are still wandering. But he still stands out, his clothes from hundreds of years ago making him stick out like a sore thumb. It earns him odd stares and whispers, turning his mood even more foul.

He could just pounce on any of these lowly humans, drain them right there. Yet he'd prefer to not bring even more attention to himself than he already has. He'd like to keep some resemblance of peace in his life.

That's when he smells it. A smell so sweet and addicting it makes him stop in his tracks, looking around for it's source.

Following it's trace eventually leads him to a dimly lit busstop. Leads him to you.

You, an unassuming and reserved looking little human. You blend in with the humans around you, no one ever really paying much attention to you.

And yet you smell absolutely delicious to him. Mouthwatering even. And you're all alone. What a perfect scenario.

And of course, the moment he sneaks up on you your bus arrives, taking you away.

Growling he has no choice but to follow the moving vehicle. It might be fast but he's just as agile, hidden by the shadows of rooftops. He's determined to get a taste of that sweet smelling blood, a drop of gold in a sea full of mediocrity.

Eventually he sees you get off, heading towards your home. As you fumble with your keys at your front door, he strikes, grabbing you from behind and biting down where your shoulder and neck connect, letting the sweet essence of your life fill his mouth and stomach.

He can't help but let out a groan, your blood the best he's ever tasted even as you squirm in his hands, trying to get away.

Somehow he manages to control himself, latching of when you start swaying, your world going black.

He can't just kill you off. You're too perfect, it would be a waste.

For a few minutes he struggles with your keys, trying to get your door open while simultaneously supporting your limp body against his own cold one. Finally he gets entry into your home, carrying you inside and placing you on the couch.

For a moment he looks at your unconscious face, feeling bad and brushing a finger across your cheek before he catches himself.

Everything in your home is so clean, so...modern, he can't help but look around a little before he quietly leaves, disappearing back into the night.

In the morning you wake, thinking it was all just some crazy dream but when you see the bite marks while looking into the mirror you realize it was very much real.

Back at his castle he's pacing around, he can't stop thinking of you.

Your pretty face, pretty eyes...your sweet blood...you're on his mind constantly.

He has to see you again.

A few days after that incident you're getting ready for bed when you hear a knock on your window.

Frowning you open your blinds to check it out only to come face to face with Scaramouche, eyes locking, making you stumble back and grab the nearest item in defense, which happened to be a simple plastic bottle.

Tapping at the window he tilts his head, red eyes staring at you.

"Let me in~ Come on pretty, open the window~."

After your moment of shock you slightly open it.

"You! Who are you?! What are you doing at my window?! How did you even get up here, this is the second floor!"

Scaramouche slides inside your bedroom gracefully, smirking when you lift your weapon of choice threateningly to his face.

"My my, so full of questions..." Simply pushing the bottle away from his face his eyes drift to your neck, all bandages up where he bit you days ago.

"My name is Scaramouche, I'm almost hurt you don't remember me."

You look him up and down, looking at his red glowing eyes, his fangs peeking out, the way he's looking at your neck...it clicks.

"You're the one who bit me!" You exclaim shocked, immediately on high alert.

"Yeah, I am. And I must say, I've never tasted blood better than yours."

Your cheeks flush slightly red but you stay cautious.

"Why are you back? Are you here to kill me?!"

"Oh, that would be such a waste. But I wouldn't mind another taste~."

Bottle in hand you chase him out of your home screeching while he just laughs.

"I'll be back, darling. You can count on that." Are his last words before he disappears into the night.

And he keeps that promise.

Weeks after weeks he shows up at your window every night, casually sitting on your windowsill, tapping at the glass.

And it sounds ridiculous but you two get close.

You still smell absolutely delicious to him but he keeps himself in check, not wanting to scare you off. After all he realizes he doesn't want just your blood. He wants you.

After rumors of an odd looking gentleman roaming around at night spread you even got him some clothes to fit in with what is considered the norm these days.

When you give them to him he looks at them oddly, holding up the black hoodie but ultimately accepting it. It's surprisingly comfortable.

The first time you visit his castle he realizes in horror he doesn't have a single thing to offer you, never having had use for food or water. You had to console him, patting his back.

It's yet another night and yet again he's on your windowsill at the usual time but something is off. His shoulders are a little slumped, his balance unsteady, skin even paler than usual.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what's wrong.

"You haven't fed." Your words are not a question but a statement.

He rolls his eyes, sitting on your bed.

"I'm fine." Lying through his teeth he tries to wave off your concern but you look at him unamused.

"You're not fine. Here, at least take a sip." He stares at you in disbelief as you offer your neck to him.

"Are you crazy? Why would you-"

"Because I care about you, little bat. Now drink."

Flustered at the nickname he swallows, hesitating before grabbing your hips and pulling you into his lap, making you straddle him. He just can't resist your smell.

"Are you sure about this? I-"

"Just shut up and bite down." You interrupt him, pushing his face closer to you.

Letting out a shaky, surprisingly hot breath he buries his face in the side of your neck.

"Don't blame me if I drink you dry..." Despite his warning his bite is as gentle as it can be, a relieved sigh leaving him as he visibly relaxes.

You taste just as good as he remembers, if not better.

Running your hand through his hair you can't help but let your thoughts wander.

Maybe being stuck with a little vampire as your nightly visitor isn't so bad.

[scarasbaby]

✦ dragonsteps

cw. found family, soft angst, fluff, emotional vulnerability, past trauma, body adjustment issues (durin), established relationship (reader x wanderer)

an. aaaaa i really tried my best to make this lore accurate so sorry in advance if there are any mistakes TT i only read up on durin’s lore online since i wasn’t playing when simulanka came out :(( but i did my best !! also credits to @stoopycake for the idea — i love xia sm

you live in mondstadt — not in the city walls, but just far enough out that the breeze feels gentler and the birds aren’t afraid to nest near your windowsill.

the mornings smell like pine and the sky is always soft. sometimes you think the wind sings to you. sometimes you think it’s lonely.

it’s quiet here. still. normal. you like it that way.

wanderer doesn’t. not really. he complains every time he visits — about the wind, about the noise, about how your bed is too soft and your pillows are too fluffy and your kettle takes too long to boil. he scowls at the birds. calls the squirrels in your garden nosy little pests. grumbles about the dirt road, the lack of streetlamps, the way mondstadt’s air always smells like freedom.

but he still shows up. always unannounced. always frowning. always staying longer than he says he will.

he doesn’t knock. he doesn’t warn you. he doesn’t say goodbye when he leaves. you never ask him to stay. you never ask him to leave, either.

you’re not loud about being together. you don’t hold hands in public. you don’t say things like i love you or i missed you.

but he’ll let you fix his scarf when it slips. he lets you sit close when he’s pretending not to fall asleep. he lets you call him kuni, even though no one else is allowed to. and sometimes he looks at you like the whole world is loud except when you’re around.

it’s a quiet thing. gentle. real. you thought you were done with surprises.

and then albedo showed up.

you’re half-awake, halfway through tea, and not expecting a knock at your door — much less one from the chief alchemist of the knights of favonius, with a boy standing beside him who looks like he’s been stitched together from stardust and forgotten lore.

he’s got hot pink eyes, tousled purple hair, two huge black horns, and a pair of even larger wings trailing behind him like a shadow. barefoot. blinking. a little confused.

“this is durin,” albedo says, like this is normal. “i’ve granted him a human form. he’s still adjusting.” “…okay?” you say slowly, eyes flicking between the alchemist and the boy with wings too big for your hallway. “he remembers the wanderer. i thought he’d be most comfortable here for now.”

you glance over your shoulder, where kuni is sitting at your kitchen table, nursing tea he insists he doesn’t like. he stares back at you with a silent, horrified expression. his cup is halfway to his mouth. it never makes it there. “no,” he says immediately. “don’t even think about it.”

“he called you hat guy,” albedo adds helpfully. “he likes you.” durin beams. “hat guy!!”

wanderer looks like he’s just been sentenced to death.

you’re in the grass behind your cottage. it’s warm. the sun’s high and mondstadt’s breeze rolls gently through the trees, rustling the tall grass, brushing against your skin like a sigh.

durin is trying to walk. emphasis on trying.

he’s all limbs and feathers and flailing wings, wobbling with every step like a newborn deer. “nope—wrong foot—careful!” you lunge forward just in time to stop him from faceplanting into a patch of dandelions. his wings flap once, awkwardly, and throw him off balance again.

“this body’s weird,” he grumbles, flopping into your arms like a very large, very annoyed toddler. “i used to fly.” “you also used to be made of blocks,” kuni says flatly from a few feet away, leaning against the fence with his arms crossed and a distinct i told you this was a terrible idea look on his face. “get over it.”

durin pouts. “you’re mean.” “you’re uncoordinated.” “you’re rude.” “you’re loud.” “you’re wearing too many layers.”

wanderer’s eye twitches. “i swear to—” “okay, okay,” you cut in, holding up your hands before the dragon child and your semi-boyfriend start trading elemental attacks. “let’s focus, yeah? deep breath, durin.”

he mimics you — badly. but his chest rises and falls, and that’s enough.

“left foot,” you say gently. “good. now the other one. you’ve got this.” he stumbles, wobbles, wings twitching nervously behind him — but stays upright.

his eyes light up, glowing like a sky full of comets. “look!! hat guy!! i did it!!”

wanderer grimaces like the name physically hurts him. “stop calling me that.” “but you have a hat,” durin says, very seriously. “so does half the population of mondstadt.” “but you are the hat guy. it’s different.”

wanderer mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like i’m going back to sumeru.

you smile. “no you’re not.” he doesn’t argue.

and the breeze is still gentle. and the birds still sing. and for now — just for now — the world is quiet.

the storm rolls in around midnight. soft at first. like a lullaby.

the kind of lullaby that hums through the hills, brushing gently against the trees, coaxing flowers into sleep.

then louder.

wind thrashes the branches against your cottage walls like angry fingers. thunder cracks the sky open from end to end, sudden and sharp, a divine warning. rain batters your windows in relentless, uneven patterns — too erratic to be music. too alive to be background noise.

you stir beneath your blankets. the warmth of sleep still clings to your skin like steam. for a moment you think you’re dreaming — until a weight thuds against the floorboards and the softest yelp breaks through the thunder.

you sit up with a jolt.

“...durin?” your voice is rough, half-dream. there’s a shape on the floor. soggy. awkward. unmoving.

“the sky’s mad at me,” comes the muffled reply.

your eyes adjust slowly. the moon is buried behind clouds, but the occasional flicker of lightning through the window gives you pieces — wings soaked and dragging, the tips curled in like wilted petals. horns bumped askew from colliding with your doorframe. a trembling form hunched over like it’s trying to disappear into itself.

he’s wet. and cold. and afraid.

“i… i didn’t mean to make it rain,” durin says quickly, his voice rising in panic. “i didn’t do anything. i swear i didn’t! i didn’t break anything or yell or fly or—”

“durin,” you say, gentle but firm. “storms are normal.”

his eyes glow faintly in the dark. confused. uncertain. “really?” he breathes. you nod. “really. mondstadt gets a lot of them. especially in spring. it’s just… how things are.”

he glances at the window like it might suddenly turn and glare at him. “…it’s loud,” he says. “i know.” “it wasn’t like this in simulanka. the storms there were quiet. but not in a good way.” you don’t ask.

“do you want to sleep here tonight?” you offer. he doesn't even pause. “yes please.”

you leave your room together. he follows you like a shadow made of feathers and guilt. the floor creaks beneath both your steps. you set up the couch. give him every blanket you can find. even the ugly one from albedo’s failed attempt at knitting.

durin doesn’t complain. he just piles them around himself until he’s almost entirely hidden. only his horns and a few strands of messy hair peek out.

you settle onto the couch nearby, your arm draped lazily over the edge, fingers brushing the fringe of his blanket.

there’s silence for a long while, save for the occasional rumble of thunder and the soft, erratic beat of the rain.

then: “…does the sky hate me too?”

you open your eyes slowly. look down. he’s curled tighter now, one wing tucked beneath his chin like a pillow, the other twitching with every crack of thunder.

your heart clenches.

you reach down. ruffle his hair gently. “no, durin. the sky doesn’t hate you.”

he nods once. small. unsure. but he doesn’t argue. he doesn’t cry either. he just lies there. wide-eyed. listening.

he doesn’t sleep until long after you do.

kuni finds you both like that the next morning.

you, slumped half-off the couch with your hand still hanging down — fingers barely brushing durin’s hair. durin, curled into himself in a pit of warmth and safety, his wing twitching slightly every now and then. not from fear. just dreaming.

kuni doesn’t speak. doesn’t frown.

he just sighs quietly. walks past you. comes back a minute later with an extra pillow. he slides it beneath your back without a word, tucks the blanket closer around your shoulders, and walks away again.

later, he sits beside you on the porch. the sky is still pale and grey, like it’s not quite sure whether it’s done grieving. the rain has stopped, but the wind is soft and damp, leaving the air full of silence and the smell of wet pine.

“he was scared of a thunderstorm,” kuni mutters, staring out at the field. you sip your tea. “he’s still adjusting. albedo said his emotions might be unstable until his body fully settles.” “he’s not even a week old,” kuni scoffs. “technically he’s centuries old,” you remind him.

kuni huffs. durin is in the garden again. crouched in the tall grass. having what appears to be a one-sided conversation with a squirrel who is either very brave or very stupid.

“do you remember what he was like in simulanka?” you ask.

kuni shifts beside you. “…yeah. a lot bigger. a lot louder.” “he just wanted friends.” “he nearly crushed five people trying to hug them.” “he’s better now.” “he’s different.” kuni pauses. then softer, “but he’s still loud.”

you look out at durin. now waving goodbye to the squirrel. “…he’s trying.”

kuni doesn’t say anything. but when you pass him a cup of warm tea, he doesn’t roll his eyes or call it too sweet. he just drinks.

you hear the crash from the kitchen.

“i was reading!” durin insists. “it’s not my fault your shelves are too narrow and my wings are too graceful!”

“graceful?” kuni repeats flatly, standing over the wreckage. durin puffs up. “yes. like a majestic storm-bird.” “you knocked over an entire shelf.” “a majestic shelf.”

you kneel beside him. pages scattered everywhere. diagrams torn open like secrets spilling out. albedo’s personal collection of handwritten notes on the internal structure of abyssal anomalies is now confetti on your rug.

“sorry,” durin says again, softer this time. “i didn’t mean—i just thought… if i knew more about my body, maybe i’d understand why i feel so weird in it.”

you look at him. at his oversized limbs. his unsure hands. the feathers he keeps pulling from his sleeves like they don’t belong there.

he’s trying to hold himself smaller. like if he curls in enough, he won’t knock anything else over.

“…i know i scared people in simulanka,” he mumbles. “and mondstadt too.” you don’t interrupt. he fiddles with a loose feather.

“albedo says i’m not dangerous anymore. but i still feel big. even when i’m small. like… something might break if i move wrong. or laugh too hard. or exist too loudly.”

he hugs his knees. “what if they were right? what if i am a monster?”

you don’t get a chance to respond.

a shadow falls over you both.

kuni.

he’s standing in the doorway. scarf half-on, expression unreadable, eyes dark and narrowed in that way that always means he’s listening even if he doesn’t want to be.

“…you’re not,” kuni says quietly. durin jerks his head up, startled.

“you’re annoying,” kuni says, stepping closer. “and clumsy. and loud. and kind of stupid.” durin frowns. “is that a compliment?” “take it or leave it.” “…i’ll take it.”

you smile.

kuni sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “…you scared me too, you know. in simulanka.”

durin blinks.

“but you stopped,” kuni mutters. “you changed. you chose to change. even though no one asked you to. even though everyone was scared of you. that counts for something.” he kneels beside him, eye-level.

“you’re not a monster, durin. just a dumb dragon with bad aim and a weird sense of humor.” durin stares.

then he throws himself into a hug.

“WHAT ARE YOU—GET OFF—” “YOU DON’T HATE ME!!” “I NEVER SAID THAT!!” “HAT GUY LOVES ME!!!” “SHUT UP!!”

you laugh. despite everything — the mess, the broken shelves, the tea that now has feathers in it again — you laugh.

the sky is still grey, but softer now.

and maybe this isn’t just a house full of misfits. maybe this is something healing. maybe this is something like home.

credits to @cafekitsune for the animated border lines!

[scarasbaby]

He Knows the Way In

ft. scaramouche

SYNOPSIS: you shouldn't leave your window open before bed, who knows what could happen.

wc 800~, gn reader, tiny bit suggestive but sfw a little bit yandereish i guess?? scaramouche himself is a massive red flag 😞 MIGHT be a little bit ooc im not too sure? please read this while listening to angel by massive attack plspls that song is like my main inspiration for writing this in the first place. idk if there are other warnings. i dont really have a backstory for this idrk whats going on either (listen i posted this once already but for some reason tumblr isnt showing it on any pages so it better work this time)

It starts with the sound of rain tapping against your window. A soft, staccato rhythm, like fingers drumming with impatience.

You don’t remember opening it, just like how you don’t remember falling asleep in your bed, curled beneath blankets that now feel too warm. The room is dim, lit only by the amber glow of your bedside lamp. It's quiet. Still. The kind of stillness that doesn’t feel empty… but watched.

You blink.

The window is open. The curtain stirs. The rain was being blown inside by the wind, and for a moment you consider getting up to close it.

Then you feel something — not hear, nor see — but feel.

There's a shift in pressure. You sense the air change, heavy now. Charged. And then you hear it — the sound of breathing, of fabric rustling in the silence of your bedroom.

You sit up too quickly, heart in your throat. He's already there.

Leaning against the wall across from your bed, arms folded, rain on the shoulders of his coat — he looks like he’s been standing there longer than you’ve been awake. Like he’s been letting you come to, watching you regain your senses.

"Scara—" your voice catches.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t answer. Just tilts his head slightly. He's curious, maybe amused. That same maddening, unreadable mirth he always carries like armor. The look in his eyes says he's waiting to see if you'd call for him. And you did.

"You left your window open," he says at last, his voice low and calm. Lazy, even.

You want to say something sharp. Something clever. But your mouth is dry from the shock.

He crosses the room in four strides, and the next thing you know, the mattress shifts beneath his weight. He doesn’t reach for you — not yet. Just watches, like he’s reading something off your skin.

"You always do this," he murmurs, brushing his hand along the comforter. "You say you don't want company, but then you leave the light on… or the window open. You always give me a way in."

His cold fingers find the edge of your sleeve, curling lightly around your wrist — a tether, not a grip. “You knew I’d come.”

And the worst part? You did. Because there’s something unspoken between you. A pattern. A game. You bait him with distance, and he answers with presence. Uninvited, yet inevitable.

You nod, barely.

"Then stop pretending to be so surprised. You wanted me here."

“... I didn't mean to leave the window open. I wasn’t planning to fall asleep,” you say. It’s not quite a lie.

He hums, low and unreadable. Then, slowly, he leans forward until his face is hovering over yours. Cold skin. Damp hair. A breath that smells faintly of green tea and something sharper — medicinal, bitter, unmistakably him.

“Too warm?” he asks.

You nod again. He peels the blankets back. You expect him to move — to give you space.

He doesn’t.

Instead, his palm finds its way beneath your jaw, gentle but firm — lifting your face toward his. Holding your gaze.

Scaramouche studies you for a long moment, like he’s searching for something just beneath your skin. Then, without breaking eye contact, he presses a kiss to your temple, although it was barely a kiss — more a presence. A mark. The shape of something claimed.

“You make it so easy,” he murmurs, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

"What?"

"Getting inside. I could’ve come in hours ago,” he says softly. “Watched you sleep. Felt your warmth. You wouldn’t have known until I wanted you to.”

You shiver — not from the cold creeping in through the open window, but from the unshakable truth in his voice. He says it like it's a certainty. Like both a threat and a fact.

You should be scared.

But all you feel is warmth — a slow, pulsing fever that starts deep and spreads outward, impossible to contain.

His fingers trail lightly along your side, cold against your skin. Not demanding. Not rushed. Almost reverent. He was getting close to your heart.

"Tell me to stop." he commands, giving you a final chance to back out.

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when you were already aching with tension.

"You really should be more careful," Scaramouche rasps, cold digits creeping up to your nape. "Leaving your window open like that."

A pause.

"After all… who knows what could happen to you in the dead of night?”

[scarasbaby]

[scarasbaby]

heya, same anon from the ask about cockwarming kinich. building up on that, imagine if we help him ‘warm up’ in a faster and intimate way (ifyouknowwhati’msaying). he would hide his face in the crook of reader’s neck—letting out small noises while he grinds into us. he’ll absentmindedly slip out a whine like, “so warm” or “thank you” to the reader for helping him warm up. mmmnnn needy kinich 🫠

i gotchu anon 🙂‍↕️ [follow up to these x x]

he's cold, he's whiny and he needed to be out the door five minutes ago for his latest commission. this wasn't the way it was supposed to go. it was supposed to be a little cuddle before kinich had to leave. somehow that ended up with his cock snug inside you and his hands twitching at your waist, trying to hold back.

“please.” it's breathy and needy and you feel yourself get wetter simply at the sound.

“this is not wha-what i had in mind.”

he's biting his lips, his eyes are screwed shut and he's so desperately trying not to buck his hips into you.

you take pity on him. “so needy when you get cold,” you chide playfully, before pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips.

kinich doesn't hold back the throaty whine that leaves his lips when you begin grinding down. his grip on the soft curves of your waist somehow tighten. “shit, shit.”

he can feel the puffs of air leave your mouth as they caress the curve of his neck. as your movements slow down, kinich's picks up. his hands now help you move, his own hips bucking up into you with small thrusts. at this point, he can feel the heat building up. he presses a kiss to where your shoulder meets your neck before his teeth graze your skin softly, travelling up to your ear.

“thank you, thank yo-” his words are breathy, cut short by low groans. “s'warm for me...thank you.”

your whines and his are only interrupted by kinich's 'please' or 'so good for me, so warm' — getting more and more desperate as he picks up pace.

you come undone quicker, squeezing around him in a way that tips him off. he bites this time, teeth sinking in your neck before endless strings of thank yous grace your ears.

needless to say, kinich is late for his task but he's warmer and satiated.

[scarasbaby]

The stupid copy machine is broken again.

It's always something in the office—either the wifi is down, or the coffee machine is out, or the 2nd floor toilets are out of order. No matter what day of the week it is, you can count on something going wrong.

Cursing softly to yourself, you tap again at the touchpad, growing more and more aggressive with every error it spits back at you.

"Stupid fucking thing. Nothing ever works around here. Can't even do my goddamn job—"

"Are you talking to yourself again?"

Your head whips around. It vaguely registers in your mind that you probably look insane—hair stuck wildly to your face, eyes wide and brows knitted in thinly-veiled rage. There's a sky-high stack of papers in your arms, nearly spilling over from the height of it.

Scaramouche whistles lowly, leaning against the doorframe.

"Someone is having a day," he comments, smirking. His gaze rakes down your form, amused. "You wanna tell me what's going on, or is that kind of talk reserved for your therapist?"

You gesture sharply to the copy machine with your chin.

"The copy machine. Is broken. Again."

Still looking entertained, Scaramouche looks past you.

"You sure? I used it this morning."

You turn back to the machine, looking down at the error on-screen.

"I don't know. I haven't had to use it in a while. It just keeps giving me this stupid goddamn error—"

A soft heat washes over your back, a murmur over your skin. You flinch at the feeling.

"Let me take a look," Scaramouche says lowly, breath brushing over your ear. You don't dare to move, overwhelmingly aware of his proximity.

He reaches past you to tap at the machine's screen, humming casually. He's so close that his arm is snug against yours.

Briefly, you worry about whether anyone else will see you like this. Whether they would notice the flustered expression on your face, whether they would notice how you unconsciously push closer to him.

"Ah, it's doing this again. I can fix this."

You're not really listening, at least not anymore. All you can focus on is just how close he is. Every vein in your body feels like its frozen over.

"Okay," Scaramouche finally sighs, stepping away from you. You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. "All done. Maybe now you can stop bumbling around like an idiot."

He's teasing you again, but you can't even look at him. It's humiliating, and you secretly hope that he doesn't notice your nervousness.

"Yeah," you murmur, squeezing your papers closer to your chest. "Thanks."

When he leaves, you start making your copies. It's a welcome distraction from the confusing tangle of feelings in your head. The machine beeps rhythmically, copies warm as they start to slide out of the feeder.

And yet, all you can remember is the heat of him pressed against your back.

[scarasbaby]

2:05 ──★ ˙ kinich ̟ !!

Hands twitching, sweat forming on his forehead, his breathing uneven, inhaling deeply and exhaling fast.

Kinich's eyes snap wide open, his body rapidly moving to sit up in bed. His hand clutches his shirt, right above his fast-beating heart, while he tries to catch his breath.

He can't remember the last time he saw a nightmare in his sleep.

Let alone one starring his father of all people.

One would think that after experiencing war, hunting saurians for a living, or even taking dangerous commissions for the right price, the last thing poking his subconscious would be the distant memory of his father.

“Baby?”

Kinich blinks as he slowly turns his gaze to his side, his eyes instantly falling onto your sleepy face.

“What's wrong?”

“It's... nothing...” He sighs, still sitting up, and turns to face ahead again. “Don't worry about it; go back to sleep.”

Although he could be a great liar under different circumstances, you frown, eyes searching his face, unconvinced by the shaky tone.

“Bad dream?”

A sudden wave of warmth washes all over him the moment he feels your soft hand caressing his back ever so gently. God, it's almost scary how even the simplest touch by you can have such an effect on him.

Feeling his mouth suddenly too dry, he nods slowly in response, his back still facing you.

“Wanna talk about it?”

This time, he shakes his head.

“Come here then.”

Puzzled by your words, Kinich turns around towards you, and his eyes soften instantly at the sight of you; your eyes are still half-lidded, fighting back sleep for his sake, a soft smile curling on your lips, and your hands spread open, inviting him into your embrace.

And like a little kid, Kinich lets himself lean closer to you, letting you wrap your arms protectively around his form.

His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, and he breathes you in like he's been underwater for too long.

You smell like sleep.

Like safety.

Like home.

Your arms wrap around him slowly, deliberately. No sudden movements, no pressure, just warmth. Steady and quiet.

The kind of quiet he had never known growing up.

His fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, knuckles brushing your spine. He says nothing, but his body speaks louder—how he presses in closer, how his chest trembles ever so slightly with every exhale.

You let him stay there. Let him take as long as he needs.

Kinich is already in your arms, but the distance between you still feels wide, like the dream hasn't quite let him go yet.

So you give him more to hold.

Your fingers slip beneath his, untangling the tight curl of his grip, threading yours through until they settle together, palm to palm.

He exhales slowly. Still too sharp at the end.

Your other hand finds the curve of his jaw, thumb brushing along his cheekbone in a silent rhythm. Not pushing. Not prying. Just saying, "I'm here." Again. And again.

“Still with me?” You murmur softly.

A beat. Then the faintest nod.

His voice comes next, rough and barely audible. “Didn't mean to wake you.”

You press your lips to his forehead. “I don't mind.”

His eyes close at the contact. He shifts in closer, like your touch pulled something loose in him, something tight and knotted now finally allowed to fall apart.

When he speaks again, his voice is barely louder than a breath. “He was there.”

You don't ask who. You already know.

Your thumb grazes his spine in slow circles. “And now he's not.”

A pause. You feel him swallow.

“You're here,” he says next, almost like he's reminding himself.

Your heart cracks open just a little more.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I'm here.”

His hand finds your waist. Gentle. Anchoring. He doesn't pull you closer; you're already as close as you can be. He holds on like he's afraid you might vanish too.

“You're safe. I've got you, I'm not going anywhere.”

That's all he needed.

No fixing. No unraveling. Just someone to stay.

Just you to stay.

Eventually, his breath evens out. His body softens against yours. And though sleep takes its time finding him again, it comes quieter this time. Easier.

Because this time, he's not waking up alone.

[scarasbaby]

You and Albedo are in Dragonspine, during an expedition. Your hands tremble from the cold as you fumble with the clasps on your bag. Albedo notices and silently slips off his gloves, gently tugging them onto your fingers. They’re warm, and his touch lingers longer than necessary.

“You should keep them.” you murmur, watching him barehanded in the snow.

“I’ve adjusted to the temperature.” He replies, not meeting your eyes. “Besides… it comforts me to know something of mine is keeping you warm.”

He walks ahead quickly, before you can respond. You press your gloved hands to your chest, heartbeat loud against the fabric.

[scarasbaby]

I like the concept of listening to your lover's heartbeat. especially if one of the lovers is "the other".

I've always thought about it for Scaramouche. Warning: ooc ↓

Kabukimono is alien to this function, and under Niva's simple explanations, he decided to explore more, listen more. it can be different or similar for everyone, accelerating or slowing down. imagine how much he would love to snuggle up to your chest in order to listen. For him, it's your music, which he admires (but doesn't have it himself). (imagine his shock of realization and understanding that he holds Niva's/yours heart, which he once loved to listen to)

Scaramouche denies this concept. It's all useless, these feelings have never led to anything good, he's just a doll, he doesn't have a heart and he won't. but in rare vulnerable moments, especially when you are sleeping, he will cling to your chest, wanting to absorb all the sounds of your heart. he has mixed feelings. He wants to rip out that damn heart so that it will be silent forever and not bother him. He wants to keep it, listen to it until the end of time, and think about hope. will the electro gnosis in his chest also throb?

The Wanderer went from naivety to hatred, from hatred to healing. for him, this is a tremulous thing, and he doesn't want to agree that he's listening to your heart like crazy (his words). At some point, listening to your heartbeat became a comfort to him, realizing that you are still here with him, alive. it became a kind of little therapy for him. I also like the idea that at some point, listening to your heart, he just started repeating its rhythm on his vision (considering that in his animation he reaches for the vision and it kind of pulsates)

[scarasbaby]

observations.

> wanderer x reader. fluff! established relationship.

in which you spend some time to take all of him him in, and lay rest to his doubts.

it was a warm day in sumeru city, and you found yourself thinking about how wanderer’s skin would feel.

soft and smooth; flawless. cold, almost lifeless, as though you were running your fingers through a piece of silk.

it had no blemishes, no marks, no signs of blood that coursed underneath. it was perfect, too perfect, and he’d say perhaps that was another reason he was a mistake.

“and then, it turned out- [name]! are you even listening to me right now?”

oh! you were listening, truly! but… you couldn’t help but also stare very hungrily at his lips.

they really looked like candy. a soft, subtle shade of baby pink, ever so slightly glossy. delicious, even.

if only you could lean forward and take a bite-

“[name]?! what are you doing?!”

you blinked. your fingers were on his cupid’s bow, faces so close your noses nearly touched. gently, you pressed a kiss to his lips. his eyes widened, but he didn’t flinch back.

“tch.”

he was trying to sound unbothered. but with the way his eyes darted all over you, you could tell that was far from the case.

taking two fingers, you stretched his right eye open, looking into it intently. it was sapphire blue, in every sense of the word. as the sun light hit it, it glittered, refracting all the colours of the rainbow in tiny little glass shards.

when you first met him, his eyes felt like a dark ocean; an enigma that light couldn’t touch. but now that he was yours? though they were the same shade of blue, they held the sky, with a sun that never set.

wanderer held on to your elbows, pushing you back a little. “what- what’s gotten into you today? you’re looking at me like i’m going to die tomorrow.”

the two of you were on the floor, you kneeling into his lap. you used the newfound distance between you to put your head onto his chest. instinctively, you expected to hear something, but it was a void.

wanderer grew a bit stiff. squeezing onto your elbows, he tried to pull you back up to face him. “you’re not going to hear anything, you know. i don’t have a heart.”

but you were quite adamant to stay that pose a while longer. “i don’t hear a heartbeat,” you said. “i hear the ocean instead. it’s going shh-zhh-shh-zhh. that’s what your heart sounds like.”

he grumbled. “where do you get stupid ideas like these?”

his tone carried disdain, yet he had rested his chin upon the top of your head, while his hands rubbed rounds into your arm.

you snaked your fingers down his neck. feeling around a little, you found a circular dent there. in the yesteryear, it used to pump some godforsaken purple liquid into him. you shuddered at the thought. it gave you nightmares just thinking about it.

“how many of those do you have?” you asked him.

“does it really matter now?”

“how many, ra?”

“…six.”

“can i see them?”

he sighed, lifting up his shirt and turning around. sure enough, there were six similar scars on his back, of varying sizes. they tainted his supple snow-white skin, almost looking out of place. you traced each of them over and over, etching the feel of his skin in your mind.

after you were done, you slid your hands around his waist, hugging him from behind. with your chin on his shoulder, you peered over to look at his palms.

taking his hands in yours, you began to fidget with his fingers. like the rest of him, it was smooth. it was also empty, with no palm lines at all.

“there’s nothing there either. you can’t read my future or whatever, like those stalls at the bazaar.”

you shook your head, pressing a kiss to his jaw, right below his ear. “that just means your fate is whatever you wish to write it to be, ra.” you mused.

“ever the idealist,” he muttered. “now, are you done? going to look at my feet next?”

you giggled. “nope! today’s inspection is complete. i’ve made all necessary observations.”

wanderer pulled you back in front of him. “oh? so then, what’s the report?”

laughing, you kissed his lips. “this has been only one trial so far, silly! i’ll need many more before i can give you the results!”

his sarcastic smile faltered a little. “don’t do that. don’t look at me like i’m a temple to be worshipped. i’m not. you just… you haven’t realised it yet.”

grabbing his cheeks, you forced him to look at you. “so when i realise this ‘it’, i’ll leave you? run away?”

“…i’m flawed, [name].”

“good. as am i, as is sumeru, as is teyvat. and i like it better that way, don’t you?”

[scarasbaby]

xiao, who recently discovered that making out with you subsided his karmic debt.

this burden is mine to bear, he thought. i will not use them as an end to my means.

and yet, like a starving man who was fed just a morsel before his plate was snatched away, he found his mind wandering to you every time he was in pain. it had never been a problem to deal with before, but now even the slightest (his standards, not yours) episodes seemed to hurt him much more than they did before.

he could not allow himself to become complacent. he could not rely on you for the pain he was meant to live with. and yet..

you were cooking in yanxiao’s kitchen at wanshu inn. at least, you were, until poof! a flash of green light appeared behind you, and before you could think you had were no longer in the kitchen but in a cave, a hungry pair of lips consuming your own.

he was stiffly grabbing onto your shoulders, his face pressed into yours, trying to close a distance between them that simply wasn’t there- not an inch between you, and yet xiao needed to be closer.

his eyes were in a frenzy, darting around, taking you in up and down as he pushed you against a wall, grabbing your neck with a firm force, but gentle all the same.

your mind was searing white, completely blank. his movements were shaky, impulsive, unstable, desperate- you could only wait until he was done. but xiao didn’t seem to value breathing as much as you did, and in no time you were gasping for air while he stayed unbothered, still with the same vigour and force.

it was only after some long minutes passed did he seem to calm down. his breaths heavy, he slowly backed away, blinking as though he hadn’t a clue what was going on. the sudden shift in weight made your legs weak, and you would’ve nearly fell to the floor if he hadn’t caught you with one arm.

his eyes widened. “i- did i really- [name], i’m sorry-”

you looked up at him, dazed. your lips felt numb and wet, and your thoughts were still buzzing with static. shaking your head you reached out for his face. he flinched, seemingly scared he would hurt you. if you knew him well enough, you’d say that in his mind, he felt like he already had.

gently, you pushed him onto the ground. when he’d writhe in pain he’d always clutch his chest, so you moved your palm right over his heart and began rub circles upon it. you closed the gap between you once more, this time more softly. hungry, but a different kind. passionate, but slow.

xiao did not mind the change of pace. he closed his eyes and let you take the lead, his heart in your hands and his mind on your lips. the needles of pain that coursed through his veins seemed to disappear when your lips were on his. but he couldn’t grow dependent, he couldn’t, he shouldn’t-

you pulled away to look up at him, glossy-eyes. “does that feel better, xiao? i’m here for as long as you need,”

it was too late, xiao couldn’t live without you.