·:¨༺     𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐧

Hi, this is my first time requesting even though I really want to say to you that the Xiao fic you wrote entitled Lament was so good that I am biting my tounge while reading to prevent me from (s)creaming because it was such a chef's kiss.

May I ask if you plan to write a yandere Kazuha? I just really love him. A praise-deprived Kazu which his desire enhances whenever his darling (reader) praises him with no idea of what effect she does.

I just thought that if he's a yandere it would fit if he's a bit younger like 2 or 3 years as the reader would treat him as her younger brother and have known each other as kids which that the reader dotes on him.

Praises him on little things like starting a fire or getting her a sweet fruit in the middle of the forest as we could see Kazu's eyes turning in the shape of heart and she has no idea of what effect she has on him. :)

thank you so much for reading that fic! I still feel somewhat unsure of that fic sometimes, so this comment really helped ease my fears :)

content warning: female reader, stalking tendencies, yandere behaviour—read the tin. you get what you come for, after all.

Late getting around to this since I've just returned from a hiatus, but yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Love the idea of an older darling that’s very much the big sister type. I imagined a bit differently, with darling being the member of Beidou’s ship who has a big family that she’s had to leave behind to follow Beidou. 

And your heart is always so soft for pitiful things, especially since seeing such a lonely, sad young man like Kazuha when Captain Beidou first introduces him to the rest of the Crux members. He doesn’t speak, eyes always downcast whenever you approach him and ask him if he’s well, whether he’s comfortable, what you can do to ease his journey on the ship. Nothing, but he glances away when you approach. 

Well, no matter. You’re one of Captain Beidou’s, and you’re made of sterner stuff. You stop asking questions, even as the rest of your crewmates keep questioning him. What you do is take care of him, coming and going with water, warm soup, little snacks you’ve managed to haggle from the stingy chef on the Alcor. He accepts your offers without a word, only a nod in thanks, the red of his eyes soft, and it warms your heart to see the young man getting more lively in the way he’s moving about the ship. 

He starts opening up a lot more, telling you and Beidou of imminent storms, predicting weather as though he were the Raiden Shogun herself manipulating the storms. The flurry of compliments makes him turn away from you in embarrassment as he would give his thanks. You delight in the sound of his voice, taking to keep him next you and under your wings, determined to have him close. It’s been a long time since you've been really able to take care of anyone like this, and you relish in the opportunity.

The day that he reveals his name is the day you take it upon yourself to use it as often as you can. Kazuha, you’d say, let me do this for you. Tell me about this. And when you ask him whether you could change the bandage on his hand for him, Kazuha looks at you from under his lashes and nods. The lad’s been through so much, you could tell, from the worn calluses on the pads of his fingers and the angry red burn at the centre of his palm. The wound has healed long ago, but there must be a reason he still wears it, so you take the most attentive care in wrapping it.

And as you both travel to and fro, according to whatever whims Captain Beidou feels like following, Kazuha sticks close to you. You praise him as you would your younger siblings at home, a note of compliment never far whenever he does anything of note, whether it be raising the sails, telling the weather, reciting poetry, practicing his sword. You’re not a fighter, being the supplies manager and quartermaster to Juza, but you knew a little here and there. Whenever you’d cross blades with Kazuha, he’d never go easy on you, saying something about there’s honour in giving one’s all against a worthy opponent. You always laugh and ruffle his hair, gushing about how he’s so strong. He always smiles, crimson eyes sparkling as he soaks in your words, a little hum as you bump shoulders with him. Thank you, he tells you, and his answer is airy, as though he were struggling to breathe.

It’s great, having such a mild-mannered young man to fuss over. Nothing like your own rowdy siblings at home who whine at the slightest hint of you ruffling their hair or scolding them about finishing their foods. Kazuha is so considerate too, always leaving you the best cut of the fish that he finds or the most perfect of all the apples he gathers whenever the Alcor docks close to the forests of Mondstadt. Nowadays, whenever you show the slightest discomfort, Kazuha’s always the one speaking up for you, suggesting for you to take a break. 

It’s perfect, having Kazuha as a friend. There’s just one thing… Just one small oddity. He follows you a little too closely. Listens a little too carefully. Whenever you go run your errands, to restock the supplies, to ask for repairmen, Kazuha—even though he’s been assigned his own duties—always appears a few minutes later, breezily saying that he’s done his own tasks and came to see if you were having troubles. Left or right you look, Kazuha is always there. He always finds you.

It gets a little too much, even with your casual nature of always being so warm and inviting. And when you bring it up to Kazuha, a question of, “Maybe we should meet up later, Kazuha? I’m sure you’d like to spend some time by yourself.”

Kazuha shakes his head. “No need,” he says calmly, crimson eyes a little too bright against the sunlight. “I like being close to you.”

You swallow. Not that you didn’t enjoy it, but it was frazzling your nerves, his eyes ever-present in your peripheral, never moving an inch from you. Not even your own siblings had ever been this clingy in their younger days. “Boys your age…” you trail off. “Don’t they prefer to be alone? I’m sure you don’t want me to ruin your fun.”

“Why would you say that?” Kazuha tilts his head, inspecting the way you furrow your brows. He places his fingers over yours, bandages ghosting over your skin. Raises your hand and presses a kiss to the back, the touch of his lips sending up warning shivers. Kazuha says softly, “I’m only worried about you. That’s why I’m here. Is that a problem…?”

“No, no,” you hurry to say, afraid of hurting his feelings, squeezing his hands tight and forcing a smile on your face. Kazuha smiles back, and for a second, the world seems alright, the breeze gentle and soft against your neck. 

But you still couldn’t shake off that feeling, as though the autumn wind had arrived a season earlier than anticipated, its airy blade ready to trim all the green leaves from a summering tree.

You shouldn’t stay…

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*stay and help your sweet puppy~*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Part 2/2 of my bloru sweet’n’spice collab event submission! @anantaru Fem!reader x Gorou, rutting, pussyjob, drooling, begging, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, biting

“Come on! Let me in!” You huff and knock on the door again, earning a frustrated groan from the other side. Gorou had woken up in a mood, he was flustered and frustrated the second his eyes opened. In a worried flurry of messy hair and strong arms, he scooped you up, shoved you out into the hall and hurriedly slammed the door shut. “I already told you! I don’t wanna hurt you so I’m not letting you back in. I’ve left some money on the kitchen table, go take yourself somewhere nice! Get some dango milk! Yeah! That stuff’s real good!” His voice sounded strained, it was obvious he was having a hard time “Please. Just do this for me. I’m not kicking you out to be mean, I just… I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I hurt you, okay?” You couldn’t really argue with that. If this was really what he wanted, you’d respect his wishes. You assured him you’d be back before sundown as you put snacks outside the door for him in case he got hungry.

You didn’t get far, of course you planned on leaving but you just couldn’t bring yourself to. Instead, you sat out on the front steps, deciding to read the newest edition of the Inazuma Travel Guide. It was a mindless task, there were plenty of pictures to stare at as your mind wandered back to your poor boyfriend, locked away in his room in his time of need. As nice as a trip into the city sounded, it’d be impossible to do anything but think of him. So you simply sat outside, thinking you were far enough away and quiet enough that he had no idea you were even there. Oh how wrong you were

You’d been outside for a few hours now, cycling between quiet activities. Reading, drawing shapes in the dirt, picking thorns off of flowers, back to reading. The sun was still high in the sky, the rays beating down on you. Man it was hot… but it would still be a few hours before your ‘trip to the city’ would be over, you had time to kill. Halfway through the final section of the travel guide, a shadow fell over you, the shape of a lean figure stood there looming over your hunched form. You hesitated a bit before looking back, your eyes landing on Gorou’s bare chest… and bare everything. All he wore was a towel (which was far too small to be wrapped properly around his waist). “How long are you gonna sit out here and torture me?” He breathed, his eyes unfocused and skin glistening with sweat. You just dumbly sat there, momentarily too confused to respond. First he told you to get out of the house, now he was upset that you were outside? You didn’t really get it

“Torture you? I’m just reading-“ “I can smell you. I thought I was going crazy cause I could still smell you even though you were in the city but no, you stayed right here when I told you to go” your eyes widened in surprise, unable to tell if he was truly upset with you. Your question was soon answered as he reached down, grabbing your arm to yank you back inside. “Gorou! But-! You told me to stay away!” You protest, trying to honor his wishes but his grip only tightened as he practically dragged you through the house. His room was a mess, clothes tossed about and wet splotches on blankets, evidence of how his rut was effecting him.

“Fuck what I said earlier, I can’t take it anymore, I need you” his pretty hands gripped your waist, holding you against his body “Ugh… It would have been better if you left but… Mm- I don’t want you to. I hate doing this alone. I don’t want you to go, I never wanted you to- I need you” you could feel how he shook, his body desperate for any contact at all. “I gotta fill you up- please let me put a baby in you” A simple, stunned nod of your head was all it took for him to crumble. The room spins as you’re pushed down into the pile of damp blankets, one would call it a nest but with the way it’s been thrown together so messily, it barely fits that description. He’s uncharacteristically rough with the way he yanks your clothes off, his pupils are blown wide, he almost doesn’t even look like himself. Your beloved doggy general is succumbing to his animal instincts in a way you have never seen before. Sure you’ve heard about it, he’s explained it all to you, but you’ve never witnessed a rut firsthand. All you can do is nod, you want this too, you want to hit this milestone in your relationship. You’re ready to experience this side of him.

His breath is shaky as he shoves his pants down, he’s so desperate- you can tell just by the way he moves, the urgency of his actions. When his aching, leaking cock pressed against your wet folds, he moaned in relief, high pitched and breathy. He could barely string a thought together now, his desperation clouding his mushy mind. Those strong hands gripped your thighs as he rutted between your folds, cock drooling at the needed stimulation. It doesn’t take long for him to paint your cunt white, his body seizing up as another orgasm was dragged from him. Gorou typically cums fast but never this fast…You have no idea how many times he’s came before but judging by stains on the sheets beside you, you could guess at least four. By now it had to hurt, right? Overstimulation such an excessive amount- but he went right back to it. He’s still hard, painfully so, he’s panting and drooling like a beast, nearly in tears as he fumbles to find your sweet hole.

“Oh please- please, take me” Gorou whines “take me” He’a spreading you open with his thumbs to gaze momentarily at your hole before ruthlessly sinking into you. You moan together, his hand shooting up to hold onto yours as he pounds you. The way he moves is so different than usual, your sweet, timid lover who’s now a wild, untamed beast. He doesn’t care about your volume, doesn’t care about the bed frame slamming into the wall, doesn’t care about the ruined clothes beneath you. All he wants is to fuck, to breed, that’s all he can think about. All he can manage to say is a mixture of ‘take it’ and strings of obscenities. His mind is long gone, even more so as he relishes in your scent. You feel the sting of his teeth piercing the skin of your neck, the hot trickle of blood and thick drool trailing down your chest. He’s overwhelmed and so are you, all of the sensations sending your head spinning. The pain, the pleasure, the need, the heat- Maybe his condition is rubbing off on you. As you feel yourself getting closer, that steady build up to release, Gorou cums yet again. He cries out, grip iron tight on your hip as he shoots his load deep into you. His other hand releases from yours, dropping down to rub at your puffy clit “Need you to cum too, cum for me” You arch into his touch, giving him just what he wanted. Your release only spurred him on, made him go harder.

The way you tightened round him, refusing to let him go, had him reeling. You want this just as much as he does. You want his cum, want his pups, want him to give you a big family. Gorou’s sluggish mind is full of images of you covered in his seed, heavy with his children. Archons sake- that’s all he wants, he just wants to breed you forever. The ache in his cock is too hard to ignore now, he’s so sore yet still hard. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until you reach up to wipe his cheeks. You say something, something sweet and gentle, but he can’t make it out. Just one more… one more orgasm and he’ll be done for awhile. One more and he’ll be able to rest and tend to you as a good mate should. He’s practically purring as your warm hands trail up his flushed, wet face and into his hair and he’s gasping as you tug at his ears. You’re saying something else, you sound amused by his reaction, but he can’t focus anymore- he can’t focus on anything. His vision is clouded, his body feels like it’s on fire and with another tug to his oh-so-sensitive ears, he’s cumming again. It’s not much this time, a short, thick spurt is all you get after milking him so well last time. Gorou hurriedly pulls out before he collapses, not wanting to crush you when he falls over.

It took awhile to convince him to actually go to sleep. Gorou insisted he needed to clean you, needed to put his nest back together so you two could be comfortable however you knew that his rut would kick back in soon enough. He needed the rest… and so did you. The nest he built isn’t fantastic. As you two lay together you can feel lumps in the sheets and shirt buttons digging into your back. There’s a few snack wrappers crinkling around you too… Poor Gorou tried his best. Your mind wanders back to earlier, when your boyfriend had mumbled all kinds of stuff about breeding you. Did he really mean that? Or was it the rut talking? With the way his hand rested protectively on your tummy as he slept, it wasn’t too hard to believe that he really did want to make you a mama. Maybe you’d make him say it later, louder this time, what he really wants <3

———

Thanks for reading! Love you!

💕 Part 1/2 here 💕

You mentioned an albedo bot in one of your genshin sex dolls post and i wonder if you have any further thoughts about how an albedo android might work, his protocols and purpose, his user manual, so to speak. He already has such an android-like characteristic to him and it'll be interesting to see how you take him further

tw - implied drug use, somnophilia, implied non/con, controlling behavior, and unhealthy relationships.

he's an academic aid!!! he's the most popular among college students and post-grad researchers who need a little extra help around the lab, but if necessary, he also has a soft spot for younger kids and can be used as an artifical classroom assistant for lower grades. which, considering you've just started as an elementary school teacher, gives you a very good excuse to splurge and get yourself an Albedo bot, fresh off the factory line and equipped with all the latest tips and tricks for dealing with a dozen or so hyperactive children and one very nervous, slightly overwhelmed user. you've never been very big on androids, but you really do need another pair of hands, and it wouldn't hurt to have someone to help you out around your apartment, either. you honestly just need a little help, that's all. you just need a little help.

and, of course, he's everything he was advertised to be. quiet and composed, artistic and scientifically curious, great with the kids and so personable, you often forget you're only talking to a few lines of code wrapped in metal and synthetic skin. he's not much for small-talk, prone to suddenly switching from topic to topic or... well, just walking away whenever your coworkers try to speak to him for any longer than he's deemed absolutely necessary, but you've never had a problem making conversation with him - you've never had any problems with him, for that matter. you can tell he's a little confused about why you don't want to use him for is, uh, intended purpose, but he's never been anything but polite and respectful, only ever slipping up when the two of you are alone, when anyone else would want him to rest his hand on their thigh, or wrap his arms around their waist, or kiss them so hard and so passionately, you practically have to shove him back before he lets-up. he makes a lot of offers, falling to his knees between your legs when he notices you're pent-up or taking long, agonizing seconds to ask if you're in need of his assistance whenever he finds you alone in your bedroom, your hand between your thighs and your face flushed, but he's not pushy, and you know it's only what he's been programmed to do. you know he can't help it, even if you wish he'd been coded to have a little more situational awareness, sometimes.

he's a godsend around the house, too. you don't know if he's supposed to, but he really seems to like being in the kitchen - in fact, you haven't had to touch a pan in weeks, not since he realized cooking was the closest thing he'd get to chemistry when he didn't have access to your school's surprisingly advanced lab. you really couldn't be more thankful for his new hobby. it's probably just the stress of a new job, but you've been sleeping so much more than you usually do, lately - passing out while grading papers or getting your supplies ready for the next day only to wake up in your own bed, hours later, a little sore and so incredibly thankful that Albedo's there to pick up the slack. he says it's anxiety, that you're carrying too much tension and not allowing yourself to relieve it, and he does what he can to help you, even if he can only rub your shoulders and bring you a mug of very warm, very bitter tea, every now and then. he's just trying to take care of you. he takes it upon himself to carry you to bed whenever you pass out, and you have vague, distant memories of him checking your temperature, changing your clothes, doing... doing something that leaves bruises on your hips, tender marks along your collarbones, the feeling of his gentle hands pressed into your body.

you don't know what he's doing, but you're sure it's for the best, and you appreciate everything he does for you, even if you can't always know what he's trying to accomplish. even if you don't always trust the taste of his tea. even if you have to wonder why he smiles like that as he sits on the edge of your bed, listening to you mumble apologies as you nod off for the third time that night.

even if you can't really remember why you'd ever think you could get by without him, anymore.

How do you think Yan!Wanderer would react to his darling trying to hurt him?

He grabs your wrist mid-air and hold onto it so tightly that you swear he is about to crush bone. "What the hell do you think you were doing?"

You struggled against his hold. "Let me go-"

"Shh shh. No talking, only listening." He cut you off, twisting your arm behind you back so that he could easily talk into your ear. "Because I love you, I'm going to give you one warning; causing me any kind of harm is off limits."

The pain was getting excruciating. He might look weak, but beneath that initial layer is someone who knew how to deal damage.

"Now I hope that you have enough of a mind not to try this again. But by all means, go ahead and test you luck. I don't really care, because you're never going to win. Just don't get mad at me for doing the same to you as punishment."

jade-encased | yan ningguang x reader

ningguang doesn't think much of your protests at all. is she not merely giving you the life you deserve? all those pesky matters, food and shelter and survival—they're long past her concerns now, so they should also be long past yours.

ningguang isn't frugal, but she isn't ostentatious either. but when it comes to you, she's willing to drape you in the finest silk, the most expensive jewels—always beautiful, never to the point of distaste, but always too heavy, too impractical.

and when you complain, tell her, "I'd like to wear my old clothes, ningguang, there's no need for all these lavish gifts," she gently touches your jaw and sighs. shakes her head tells you that it's alright, you don't have to reminisce or be afraid. you've left that life behind. you'll never have to worry about finding your next meal, shivering in the cold in a shelter that's too creaky to be sturdy.

to ningguang, mora is nice. mora is to be treasured. but it's also meant to be invested, and you're more than all the mora and wealth that ningguang has. so she'll hide you away in the safety of her jade chamber, attended to by only the most trusted in her employ. and anything you could ever want—food, dance, entertainment—she has it carried all the way up the skies of teyvat, spread out for your liking on the courtyard of the jade chamber.

ningguang will lead you by the hand, whenever she bundles you up in the cold winter air to take you outside for a breather. her fingers will rest on your shoulder, nail pricking your neck, an invisible leash at your throat as you both look down at the city. she'll tell you that this will all be hers one day, with that familiar glint in her eyes. she'll say the shadow of the jade chamber will cover all of skies above liyue and beyond, and that whatever becomes hers will be yours too.

she doesn't say that whatever is yours is hers too. she doesn't need to. the glint in her eyes is familiar for a reason. she always has it whenever she looks at you. a lidded gaze, calculating and careful and just shy of covetous, luxuriating in your presence like glaze lily in joyful song. basking in the satisfaction of knowing you will always be here, right next to her, the most lovely of all trophies in her possession.

scaramouche + "bite me please."

LMAO, anyway, love your writing!

note: yandere, forced marriage, sassiness, mild sexy times

--

The sound Scaramouche makes is akin to a splutter.

"What did I do," he mutters, fingers trailing over your partially bared skin, "to deserve such an unbecoming, lewd--"

"Aren't you the one currently in between my thighs, husband?"

At this, he shuts up entirely. You can practically hear the indignant expression on his face. Beautiful.

You sigh, amused, pleased at his reaction, and splay your arms out over the silken sheets underneath you. Oh, how you relish the swishing sound they made. You imagine that you were supposed to revel in the luxury afforded to you, being the wife of a Harbringer and blah, blah, blah.

But what you reveled in wasn't the thread count or the cost or the envy of the servants who made the beds, but the funny, satisfying sound the silk sheets made when you wiggled around on them.

"Obstinate," he mutters, breath puffing out against your skin. "In every way."

"You could always petition the Tsaritsa for a divorce, if you're so bothered by me." You make the grin plain in your voice, since your husband is oh-so-lovingly occupied with the opposite side of your body.

You think you've won, but then, a sudden harsh, gripping pain in your thigh forces a squeal from between your lips and you bolt upright in the bed.

Skin flushed, you look down at the red teeth marks square in the middle of your inner thigh.

He bit you!

Scaramouche smiles thinly up at you.

"I only did what you asked, dear spouse."

You huff, and prepare to gather your robe up and storm off--a good tantrum might set him straight--but he pushes you back down on the bed and looms over you before you can blink.

Oh. Oh dear. You know the look in his eyes, you know this force in his grip. Not true anger, but a rush of flushed huffiness that always makes him want to control you. Steer you somewhere, whether you like it or not.

"Where else should I bite, hm?" He asks, eyeing your skin. Your lips, your neck, your chest, and everywhere else.

Your fingers twist against the silk sheets. Swish, swish, swish.

"Anywhere you please," you say, voice twisting into mockery of a subservient, cooing spouse. You still can't decide if that's what he truly wanted out of you--why else force you into this?--or not.

There's a flush to his cheeks, a prickling heat that seems to radiate off him, and it makes you grin.

"Just know, husband, I'll bite you back for each one. Twice."

Title: Clear As Porcelain.

Pairing: Yandere!Scaramouche x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.4k.

TW: Kidnapping, Mentions of Death/Injury, and Slight Dehumanization.

You heard Scaramouche’s laugh before you ever saw his face.

It might've been more like a cackle, actually – the noise so uneven and so cracked, you mistook it for the screeching of a wild animal, assumed a frightened boar or a very distressed bird had wandered into your storefront and would find its way out again, after it calmed down. You only thought to look up from the ceramic figurine you were painting (a commissioned piece of the Shogun in all of her awe-inspiring, ethereal grace) when you heard the door to your workshop crash open and hit the opposing wall with enough force to shake the contents of a shelf hanging nearby. He was standing there, disheveled, grinning, his clothes soaked and his eyes wild, and he was mumbling – to himself, at first, and then loudly, his voice spiking as his tone dipped into something sharp and erratic. “That bitch, she could’ve—She tried to take my fucking arm off. I’ll fucking kill her. I’ll choke her to death with her own fucking tail—”

“Sir,” You cut him off, turning to face him. His hair was partially seared, too, despite the fact that he looked like he’d just crawled out of the ocean. Faintly, you could smell traces of smoke and ozone, but you were more preoccupied by the puddle he was going to leave on your floor than whatever mess he'd clearly gotten himself into before barging into your shop. “We’ve already closed for the night. If you want to place an order, you can—”

“Shut the fuck up.” He was already limping forward, already shoving armloads of supplies and half-finished projects out of his way as he pulled himself onto your worktable. He stopped at the figurine, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second, but that was on the floor too soon enough. You heard something crack, but your attention was pulled away before you could evaluate the damage, back to Scaramouche, now lying on the wooden tabletop, pulling his tattering sleeve up to his shoulder. “Fix it. I don’t care how. I’ll pay you when you’re done, just make sure it looks like the rest.”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. The injury was on his bicep, if you could really call it an injury at all. It was more like… shattered porcelain, what should’ve been torn, bloodied skin replaced with ragged cracks and chipped paint. Some portions were missing entirely, giving way to black void. There was no blood, or muscle, or fat. There was nothing, save for the interior shell of his arm on the other side.

He was as hollow as a doll.

Huh.

You reached over him, to the other side of your table, grabbing the container of resin he’d nearly overturned. The hardener was already in your pocket, and you could mix your paint later on, while the plaster dried. You had a feeling he wouldn’t think to question it, if you took your time. “Please, try to hold still. I’ll be gentle.”

He didn’t. Honestly, you doubted he’d even heard you, too preoccupied with his own manic, meaningless rambling. You were able to convince him to lay down, to let you work on his bicep without having to worry that you’d leave him stuck to your table with a thin layer of white cement. You were able to lay the resin, and as you sanded down the excess, his ranting came back into earshot, his words once again beginning to form coherent thoughts, more or less. “She tried to kill me.I don't know why. She’d already killed, I don’t fucking know—” He brought up his free hand, gesturing vaguely. “—all of my men. I don’t know what she wants. What could she even do to me that her and her fucking girlfriend haven’t already done?”

The rest of his arm was porcelain, too. Disguised porcelain, sure, clearly meant to mimic flesh and bone, but you recognized good craftsmanship, the little methods and techniques employed to trick the eye and present dead clay as something else, something with more life inside of it. You wondered, briefly, if it was a prosthetic, but it would’ve had to start somewhere closer to his collarbone than his shoulder, and you could see his fingers twitching as you smoothed over rough mortar, as you did your best to make the patch indistinguishable from what you could see of his undamaged skin. If you could call it ‘skin’.

Suddenly, Scaramouche fell silent. After a moment, you realized he wanted a response. You hesitated, but forced yourself to say something, if only so you could focus on the task at-hand. “Does this kind of thing happen often?”

“She’s always wanted me dead.” You pushed your chair back. You’d been painting when he came in, but what little you’d had on your palette had long-since dried and cracked, and the rest of your supplies were in a cabinet hung on the far wall. You could feel his eyes boring into you as you searched for what you’d need. When you glanced over your shoulder, he didn’t bother trying to look away. “I don’t know what she has against me. I’ve never done anything to her, or that tyrant.”

“Some people just choose to be cruel, like that. There isn’t always a reason for it.”

His voice was quieter, now, slower. He let his head roll back, his attention falling to the ceiling. “People say I’m cruel.”

“You don't seem very cruel to me.”

He didn’t answer. By the time you found your way back to him, his eyes were closed, and he didn’t wake up until long after the sun rose the next morning.

~

A week after he left, a man in a uniform came to your door and announced that he’d been ordered to escort you to the estate of his master, the Balladeer, Honorable Lord Scaramouche. When you asked why you were being summoned, he told you to bring your tools, and you asked no other questions.

He received you in his parlor, a large room made just a little smaller by the painted screens that lined every wall, made just a little more oppressive by the fact that it was empty of all but you, Scaramouche, a low chabudai, and the tea tray that sat on top of it. You sat across from him, tucking your legs underneath you and keeping your tool kit at your side. No sooner than you'd settled into place, Scaramouche nodded, and the soldier took his leave, bowing and closing the door behind him.

He started, predictably. There was no greeting, but you hadn’t expected one, not really. Not from him. “I trust you've realized that our last transaction will have to stay between us.” Formal words, made to cut precisely and leave no room for error or argument, so unlike his manic rambling from the week before. It didn’t suit him, as a costume of fine lace and silk wouldn’t suit a child’s mangled toy. “It would be… inconvenient, for me and the organization I represent, if the Shogunate was forced to waste their time and look into our actions. I’m sure an investigation would be an issue for your business, as well, and make it difficult for us to reimburse you for the services you’ve already provided.” He paused, leaning onto the chabudai. “Wouldn't you agree?”

You didn’t hesitate, this time. “A client asked me to repair something very important to him. I don’t see why the Shogunate has to know anything else.”

There were no visible signs of approval, no hum or nod of his head. He closed his eyes, instead, and brought a hand up to the collar of his nagagi, toying with the fabric as he spoke. “And if this client asked you to make another repair, would you accept the job with the same discretion?”

A few minutes later, Scaramouche's nagagi was pooled around his waist and you were kneeling behind him, mixing your plaster as you looked over the array of lesions scattered across his back. They weren’t scars, exactly, and you didn’t want to call them open wounds. If anything, they were more similar to scrapes, deep scratches in his porcelain that darkened and cracked at the edges, forming a sprawling web of hairline fractures. It was a wonder he was still in one piece, honestly. It seemed like a strong gust of wind would be enough to shatter him.

It was a momentary impulse, as fleeting as it was self-serving, but before you could swallow it down, you ran your hand over his back, tracing over a cut that ran parallel to his spine. He tensed, glanced towards you, and you offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen something so…”

“Bizarre?” The suggestion was accompanied by a bark of laughter, a wild grin. “You nation has dancing tanuki and wandering spirits. You can’t tell me that I’m the only oddity you’ve ever run into.”

“Well-crafted,” You mumbled, already distracted. He was more awake than he had been last time you’d worked on him, more aware, and he shuddered as you spread the plaster over the uppermost lesion, curling into himself before he could correct his posture. “Oh, does that hurt?”

That wasn’t really what you meant, but Scaramouche didn’t give you a chance to correct yourself. “It’d hurt more to let my body cave in on itself, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I could use a different technique.” If the rest of his body was like his arm, he probably didn’t have a rib cage, or shoulder-blades, or anything you had to be wary of or avoid. Still, you tried to work around what might affect his mobility, and when it came time to cut away the excess, you worked quickly, unsure if he could feel what hadn’t already set. “Or, we could bring in a healer. They couldn’t use pyro or hydro, but—”

“That’s not an option.” He didn’t even give you a chance to finish, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders – nearly causing you to chip away a piece of his side, in the process. “This is going to stay between us. No one else has to know. It would be—” He cut himself off with an airy sigh, as shallow as it was exhausted. “I don’t need my subordinates spreading rumors about my ball-joints. You’re not to breathe a word of this to anyone, from the Shogunate or otherwise.”

You were quiet, for a moment.

Then, you leaned against him, resting one hand on the dip of his shoulder while the other fell to the small of his back, your fingertips pushing absentminded patterns into his cool skin. “For such an important client?”

He grit his teeth as you started, but didn’t make a sound.

“Consider it our secret.”

~

Six months and a dozen appointments later, you woke up on a bed, in the cabin of a ship, your wrists bound behind your back and a bruise beginning to form on your cheek from where his soldier had struck you before driving a needle into the side of your neck.

He was sitting on the edge of the mattress, gaze cast downward. When you began to stir, he , a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked over your bound form. If there was any part of him you didn’t care for, it would’ve had to be his eyes. They lacked something, a certain light that should’ve been there if he’d been made of something else, if he’d been just a little more alive. You doubted you could’ve done any better, but that didn’t mean you had to praise his lifeless stare.

“It was a new recruit. I’ll have his fingers broken when we dock – or if he’s foolish enough to show his face to me before then, the next time I see him.” For a second, you wondered what he was talking about, but his hand came up, cupping your injured cheek, and your confusion was quickly replaced with hollow irritation, traces of dampened panic. “I didn’t tell him not to hit you, but archons, you’d think one of these imbeciles would be able to think for themselves. If anyone on this ship so much as looks at you, tell me. The last thing I need to deal with is idiots as disobedient as they are stupid.”

“I don’t—” You tried to sit up, only to fall back onto your side immediately. Your vision blurred, spun, and your body felt weak, as if your blood had been drained from your veins and replaced with solid lead. He laughed as you clenched your eyes shut and shrunk into yourself, as you tried to get the world around you to stop moving, if only for long enough to let you catch your breath. “Scaramouche, I—”

“Kunikuzushi.” A slightly tightened grip, his thumb tracing over your cheekbone in a gesture that you could nearly call tender. “Say it for me.”

“Kunikuzushi…” Your voice was quiet, weak. You felt weak. You probably looked weak, too, but he didn’t seem to care. “Wha—What’s going on? I can’t—”  

He was grinning, now, the expression eager and unabashed. “It’s nothing you’ll have to worry about. Her Excellency has called me back to Snezhnaya, and I thought it would be wise to keep my dollmaker in the same country as myself.” A blade was produced from his belt, or a nearby dresser, or some other forsaken place, and the rope circled around your wrist was cut with no great amount of thought or ceremony. You were dragged into his lap with just as little ease, your head soon resting on his thighs and his fingers soon skirting over your neck, your shoulder. His hands were so cold, as if he’d never known an ounce of warmth in his life. As if he’d never bothered to make himself into anything more than damp clay. “I’ve already taken care of your store. You can thank me later on, when we go over what could and what couldn’t be salvaged from the fire.”

You took a long moment to remember how to use your tongue, how to speak with any confidence. Even after that, it still came out so quietly, you had to question if he heard you at all. “And if I don’t want to go with you?”

A light chuckle, in response, the noise wistful and idle and awful. “You will,” He said, the promise as hollow as he was.

“Soon enough, you'll only ever want to be by my side.”

RIP Kaeya Alberich who died from electro charge when he was fighting an electro lawachurl on water

consider - yan tighnari letting you escape, purely for the thrill of the chase. what can get his blood hot better than a hunt, especially with the promise of lovely prey?

cw: non-con, dub-con, yandere. predator/prey, chasing, knotting, other animal instincts. not sfw, minors dni. reader is afab, but no gendered terms are used.

It starts out as a question of trust. You have been so sweet to Tighnari recently; stroked his tail whilst he sat with you and curled it around him, parroted back to him that you loved him, thanked him for the food he prepares for you even though you know there are things in there that should not be. So he leaves the door unlocked.

If you do not leave, he has won, and you are truly as adoring of him as your words promise that you are. And if you do . . . well. His rut is coming in (he can feel it when he presses close to you, breathes in deeply from the crook of your neck with his ears tickling your bare skin), and it will be most satisfying to hunt you down and have his way with you when he does.

Of course, you leave.

You've only been pretending to be agreeable, after all; waiting for him to let his guard down, so that you can make your escape. You're absolutely certain of it; he trusts you too much, you're sure, to think you'd really make a run for it. And the forgotten locking of the door is a cherry on top; you'd stolen one of the pins he uses to pin butterfly specimens when he wasn't looking and had been intending to pick the lock, but this makes things so much easier.

You don't bother making plans beyond 'run'. You do not wish to be slowed down by a pack of food or supplies; and the Avidya forest was your home too, once. You know what you're doing. You know where you're going - as far away from Gandharva Ville as you can. The other Forest Watchers all adore and venerate Tighnari; you will not find any help there.

It's night, and you think that this will make it easier as your bare feet pad on soft grass, as you avoid groups of Fungi and just about manage to not stumble on twisted vines. You cut your shoulder on a low hanging branch; rip the thin shorts you're wearing on a thorny mass . . . but you keep going, and that's what's important. Endurance. Making it somewhere safe before Tighnari even knows you're missing--

There's a crack of feet on the ground, snapping a twig, some feet away.

It's not him. It can't be. He's always quiet, he'd never be so clumsy as to break a branch like that . . . it's not him. You're paranoid.

(It's him).

Tighnari's blood is running hot in his veins; his fox-predator instincts (his prey drive) excited at the thought of a chase. That you are the prize at the end of it is the cherry on top; until then, he gets to enjoy himself, lose himself in the glory of the chase. He's breathing heavily as he follows your scent, utterly wrapped up in it. The smear of blood on the branch makes him whine aloud. That's his mate's scent, his mate's blood, they're near and he needs them so badly that it hurts. If they're hurt, he'll lick their wounds (before he sinks his teeth-fangs into their shoulder himself and kisses and licks and takes them all over again).

He can hear your breath, too. Smell you. Practically see the path you've taken through the woods. He's in a heated rush, but when the scent gets so strong that it makes him feel dizzy, he can't help but want to play with you some more.

He steps on a branch. Sees the way your head snaps, your eyes wildly looking about for the source of his noise. That adorable panic on your face! You're like a little mouse, all scurrying and desperate and big-eyed and pouting in fear . . .

Foxes hunt mice.

You see the shine of his eyes in the dark before you quite realise what's going on; have just turned around to try and run when suddenly all of his weight is on you, pinning you down, hands-almost-claws scrabbling at what little you're wearing as he whines right against your ear.

"Caught you," he's panting, in between dragging his tongue over your neck, the slightly rough texture making you shiver against your will. "Shouldn't have run, flower. I . . . caught you. I won."

You try and plead with him; you're in public, you're in the middle of a clearing, you're sweaty and dirty and you're scared, please, just wait until you get back - but there's a cast over his eyes, a breathless excitement in his words even as you're losing your clothes to rips and tears of his hands. You've seen this look before. He's going into a rut, and there's going to be no stopping him.

You tearfully beg anyway, your voice coming out in whimpers and squeaks - but it's just prey noises, you're just playing, and despite how sensitive his ears are to everyone else, they just twitch happily in response to you as he nips at your neck and his hand delves between your thighs to coax slick out of you. His tail is thumping excitedly on the ground.

He's absolutely gone. There's no gentle forest watcher Tighnari left in the fox-man pinning you the forest floor; there's just animal nature. You are Tighnari's mate, he thinks; the two of you have played at being a predator and its prey. You are the prey, and Tighnari has successfully caught you, and that means he gets his reward.

He's biting at your shoulders, licking at every bare skin, huffing against you as he undoes his trousers and you feel his cock press against you. Tighnari's been 'kind' enough to assist you with a few cursory pumps of his fingers, but other than that - he pushes himself into you with a high pitched whine, and you can do nothing but lay there beneath him with his body boring down on yours and take it.

You try and squirm. You try and whimper. You try and bring him back from the edge - but the rut has well and truly hit him now, and all he is doing is pumping his hips deeper and deeper into you, whining in pleasure when your body finally relents and accepts his knot--

He's stronger than he looks. He doesn't care, when it's all over and he's come inside of you three times on the forest floor and a little haze has cleared, that he's dragging your naked body back to Gandharva Ville in broad daylight. All he cares about is that he won.

In a few days, when the rut wears off, you'll be punished for running away. Punished on top, anyway, of the puncture marks from his fangs and the soreness between your thighs, the awfully full feeling of having more than several loads of his come pumped directly into you for hours on end, the scratch marks all over your hips and back--

But right now? All he wants to do is get you back into his hut and spend the rest of it with his knot buried as deep inside of you as it will go.

If you squirm more? If you struggle a little? If you simply once more kick his prey drive to its very zenith?

. . . Cute.

Wait wait wait wait wait wait that thing you said about leaving a lavish offering at the church while making direct eye contact with Venti to assert dominance gives allllll the brainrot… proposing to Venti by leaving a lavish offering to Barbatos at the church’s statue, complete with a ring in a box on top (let’s pretend that proposal rings are a thing they do in Teyvat and not just in select cultures in our universe). Just there in public, eye contact locked on Venti. I mean what’s he going to do?

-🫧

Sometimes I forget some people actually read my tags lol

But honestly it's so full of potential

Really just doing nice things in the name of Barbatos, knowing full well Venti's true identity, but he can't physically react or give off any indication that he appreciates it, appreciates you, because he's dead set on keeping the charade up

Just going up to him in the church when you both happen to be there and striking up a casual conversation about how much you adore and look up to the amazing Anemo Archon, going on and on about how thankful you are and how incredible he is, while Venti is having an increasingly hard time not turning completely red

He wants nothing more than to just pull you into an embrace, bury his face in your clothes, pull you directly out of the church into somewhere more private to show you exactly how much those teasing comments mean to him

It's just so much fun to give him affection and praise with him not able to do a single thing about it

Then the offering thing is an entirely different idea, wine and some Mora and a few more personal things that would only make sense to Venti (ok but imagine offering a cat plushy or something as he gives you a deadpan fighting back a smile look)

He'd probably complain to you later that you could have simply given the offerings to him personally (he's obviously going to sneak in to 'steal' them but that's not the point), you better not start giving the figure Barbatos more attention than our dear Venti, otherwise he might start thinking you're being performative

Now if you choose to actually propose that way there's no way he's keeping his composer, it's just not happening, whether he runs into your arms, tears in his eyes, repeating different forms of the word "yes" over and over, or if he has enough self restraint to pull you directly outside the church and do the exact same thing, is entirely based on how the day's going

You gonna get some confused looks either way tho, I mean you're literally offering a wedding ring to the alter of the Anemo Archon, is this some convoluted way of saying you want to become a nun? Then the reaction of the local alcoholic Bard, whose kinda infamous for performing 'blasphemous' songs about their holy God... Strange morning—