Note:Officially on a one week Easter break from work! (Not to say that I don’t have anything to do for work, we’re still busy haha, but at least we don’t have to go in) Also, I actually already finished writing Ch.8 and 9 a week ago haha…. Just editing it.
Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.
Warnings:A LOT OF SELF REFLECTION, INTERNAL STRUGGLE AND CONFUSED FEELINGS FROM SCARAMOUCHE, GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF GETTING SICK: THROWING UP, SCARAMOUCHE-CENTRED CHAPTER, you only show up for like, 30 seconds, lol, because of that, it might be a slow chapter overall, slow burn, does not exactly follow the genshin lore, AU, swearing
Word Count: 2.6k words
Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.
“It didn’t pierce her heart,” was the first thing the doctor says. The weight on Scaramouche’s shoulders lifted right then and there, only for it to multiply and be dumped back at the doctor’s next words.
“But the arrow wasn’t designed to kill anyway, the finishing blow is the poison-laced tip,”
What’s that shiver up his back? Goosebumps?
He was getting frustrated. He didn’t like this feeling. Why were there so many thoughts flitting in and out of his head? Why are there so many questions that he wants answered? Why is he trying so hard to stay still when all he wants is to pace back and forth? He’s never had to try and contain himself like this before.
“I’m afraid there’s no guarantee. She’ll be sick for days and has to be monitored closely. The only thing I can do at this moment is to prescribe a week’s worth of antidotes,”
Scaramouche spaced out then, just as the doctor finished talking. Kuni’s eyes glance up at the prince who is lost in thought, rather flabbergasted that he looked so out of it. “Prince?” Kuni gently chides.
Scaramouche’s head jerks up the tiniest bit, processing the entirety of the conversation. His eyes linger on your unconscious form. You looked peaceful now, but he wasn’t sure what would happen later on.
“…Move her to another room…set Abigail, yourself and the head maids on rotation to watch her…”
Scaramouche was wary of the incident. They kept the arrow to see if they could determine how it was crafted, where it was from, and he could not bring himself to trust the whole castle under circumstances like this. So, he asked Kuni only to place the longest serving knights to guard your door. Other than that, the whole castle was placed on high alert and the patrols outside had intensified.
Kuni bowed, and started making arrangements for it, walking out of your shared room along with the doctor, leaving Scaramouche in the silence with you.
Strange. He thought.
It was already quiet enough the past week, trying to avoid you and vice versa. Yet now…he didn’t think it was possible for it to even be more silent than it already was.
It was deafening, the absence of sound. Like a ringing in his ears that wouldn’t go away.
He finally lets out that frustrated sigh he’s been keeping in, closing his eyes to calm his still disarrayed nerves. But every time he closed them he gets flashbacks of that arrow pierced through your chest.
He grimaces, and opts to open his eyes instead.
What do I do with myself?
He has his arms crossed only to prevent himself from the impulse of throwing something against the wall. A vase. A chair. A pillow. Anything. And yet, his nails are digging into his flesh from how tight his grip on himself is.
Where is this anger coming from?
He always knows where his anger is coming from. Be it something that pisses him off, a clumsy maid, things not going his way, too much paperwork, he always knows where it’s from but this time, he’s confused.
Because it should’ve been for me but she–
Shouldn’t he be happy then? That someone took the hit for him. He should’ve been, because he was definitely saved from the days of agony and pain, but knowing that it was you who took the fall for him…that’s it. That’s where that feeling of wanting to throw up is coming from.
“…She despises me,”
“…I don’t think that’s completely correct, prince. Perhaps if you showed…a little more…support,”
Support?
Unfortunately, Scaramouche didn’t exactly know what that entailed. Was it not support enough that he gave you things that you liked? Well, now that you were bedridden…painting and tea probably wasn’t an option. So what? What would someone count as support?
“What’s got you so spaced out today?”
“I don’t know what you mean,”
“Oh, come on, you’ve hardly drank anything up until I shoved this glass to your face. I daresay I’m the better noble tonight,”
Your expression. The way you tilt your chin up slightly higher to show how “superior” you were to him. The way a smug smile paints your face. He at once gets the sense that you’re trying to cheer him up, to put him at ease, despite possibly wanting to leave the party just as badly as he did.
The interaction echoes in the chambers of his mind. The way such a simple gesture, a simple sentence and a simple smile can give someone a sense of comfort. It was that elementary, that easy for you to offer him support.
But for him, who didn’t ever have to give it to someone else, it was uncharted territory.
Would it be foolish to try it? He felt…somewhat embarrassed, thinking of it.
He shakes his head vigorously with a sigh. His mind had again wandered off to things that were unimportant. What’s important right now was to at least make sure you were going to survive. He’ll worry about this support thing later.
His first chance to practice “support” was given to him three days later. The first time you woke up after the whole ordeal. He hadn’t been in your room. It was Abigail, your etiquette instructor, that witnessed your eyes flying open and your arms pushing you up from the mattress.
She was startled, it had been so sudden, with no indications at all, but she was even more startled when you pulled yourself to the edge of the bed and started retching. Gagging, heaving, choking on air noises were all that Scaramouche heard when he entered the room, after Abigail alerted a maid to call for him and a doctor.
Did he dare to look at the puddle of mess you made? He did, he had to see what exactly you’d thrown up, knowing that you hadn’t even eaten in days.
It was mostly blood. The doctor warned that might happen when the antidote starts working the poison out of you.
You took slow, deep breaths when you thought the sick feeling had passed, but you still stayed on the edge of the bed. You whimpered at all the sensations attacking you at the same time. Fatigue, hunger, exhaustion, pain and just this overall ill feeling in your stomach.
Scaramouche heard it and turned to you after sending Abigail off to fetch maids for the clean-up. “Y/N,” he barely spoke your name, rolling it on his tongue seemed a little unnatural. “How…How do you feel?” He stumbled over his words. He definitely had not asked anyone that before, let alone be concerned enough to think about asking it. He was still standing tense at the foot of your bed, just watching you hoist yourself up with your arms and taking deep breaths.
Your head lolled towards him, blinking, not really caring what kinds of words left your mouth or his. You were just too out of it. “…Like shit,”
Scaramouche’s eyebrow quirked up, but somehow, that kind of answer was better than anything else you could have said, earning a small, amused grin from the prince. “Get back in bed,” he curtly commanded, strolling to the clean side of the floor as you rolled over to your back.
“…Can I have some water, please?” you asked after a moment, feeling your throat on fire and just…the foul, irony taste in your mouth.
Scaramouche obliged. There was no one else there to help you after all. With water already on the bedside table, he poured you a glass and passed it off after you sat up, chugging it down like it was a lifeline. You felt so thirsty.
You winced though, when all that bad stuff had been washed down your throat, it nearly made you feel like gagging again, but you tried not to think about it as you stretch the glass back over to him. Scaramouche receives it, replacing the glass with a towel.
You stared at the towel in your hand for a moment, wondering what the hell it was for. “…Wipe your mouth,” was his explanation and you made a sound of sudden understanding, doing as he said, realizing that you probably look like a monster right now.
“Thanks…” and you throw the towel over to the bedside table, once again plopping down on the bed, only to feel a sharp pain on your chest as you do so, causing your hand to jerk upwards and push on your chest, where you thought the pain was coming from.
Ah, that’s right. You thought. That’s where the arrow entered. Bits and pieces of the incident comes back to you now, but it doesn’t explain why you feel so tired and exhausted. An arrow wouldn’t do so much damage, would it? To top it off, you didn’t even know how long you were out.
“Scaramouche, are you fine?” you mumble, half delirious in your broken state. Scaramouche barely hears it and he raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
He waits, but he doesn’t get a reply. He realizes you’ve quickly fallen back asleep after that throwing up episode, and who could blame your battered body? He sighed a little, and left the room when the maids and Abigail returned. There was no point in staying there if you weren’t awake. Though he must admit, it was bugging him that you hadn’t eaten anything in 3 days.
Scaramouche sought Kuni out the same night about that problem, finding him in his own, personal office. “Kuni,” Scaramouche greeted.
Kuni looked up from the book he had on hand, “Prince,” greeting back naturally. “Can I help you?”
“Y/N hasn’t eaten in 3 days,”
Kuni was aware of that, and so was everyone else. Everyone was aware that there was a chance you wouldn’t survive. But for the prince to point it out, it was rather a strange thing to Kuni. It simply meant that he was watching out for someone else other than himself, and that wasn’t something that happened often.
“Yes, we’re hoping she’ll wake up long enough at some point, just enough to get some food into her system,”
And then…Silence. Kuni peered over his reading glasses over to the dazed prince. It was quite obvious that the prince had been unusually quiet the past few weeks. It told Kuni that something had happened. Where before, the two of you would at least sit together and eat your meals, the prince suddenly took his meals separately from yours.
Kuni noticed it early on, but he wasn’t the least bit concerned. He had guessed that it had been some sort of disagreement, some sort of fight between the two of you. Most people would say that it was a bad thing. But, to Kuni, who had been the prince’s guardian for a long time, seeing him evidently avoid you, was a good thing.
It told Kuni that Scaramouche cared.
Going through the effort of trying to avoid you meant that the prince was uncomfortable with something. And that was saying a lot when the prince’s usual emotions only consisted of anger and indifference.
Kuni has to squint, but he sees the distress thinly shadowed over Scaramouche’s expression. It’s barely there, but he sees it. “…Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Scaramouche bristles, awkwardly rubbing his shoulder as he dives into deep thought. There’s so many things he wants to know. Who shot the arrow? Who did it? Why were they trying to kill him? Why am I waiting for her to wake up?
“I don’t have control over the situation. It’s annoying,” Scaramouche says, translating what he felt into words that he was familiar with.
“…It’s called being worried, prince. Entirely natural,” Kuni took his reading glasses off and folded them atop his table, leveling his gaze towards the prince that he had served nearly his whole life. He watched as the prince’s body language shifts, uncomfortably looking away and off to somewhere unimportant, like the wall.
Worry? Scaramouche ponders on it. Well, whatever it was, it eats at him, and it just doesn’t go away. The moment he wakes up he wonders if you’ve survived the night. At night, he finds it harder to fall asleep with the questions and what ifs in his mind. When he eats a meal at the table and you’re not there, he finds himself wondering if you’re hungry, and if your body would survive the days without any sustenance.
All Scaramouche sees it as, isvulnerability, and Kuni sees that too. Sees how the prince struggles to accept the mess of unpleasant emotions he feels. Vulnerability was not an easy thing, not even for the normal, run off the mill guy.
“What do you know about the princess, prince?” Kuni changes the subject, successfully diverting Scaramouche’s attention towards him, face now painted with confusion.
“What do I know about her?” Scaramouche counters the question back.
“Yes. What does she like, what she reads, what her preferred dishes are,” Kuni lists off and sees the familiar scowl on Scaramouche’s face.
“It’s not necessary for me to know–”
“Is that how you truly feel?” Kuni cuts him off and Scaramouche is rendered silent. “Communicating is not just merely an exchange of words, prince. It’s an exchange of experiences and opinions, both good and bad.”
Scaramouche gets a flash of you animatedly talking to Kokomi and Tartaglia. The reason why you never showed that side of yourself to him was…because he never shared anything with you. That’s what Kuni was saying, and yet, it takes time for that to fully sink in to Scaramouche’s mind.
He ponders on it for a moment, then scoffs. “It’s too late to think about that now,” and he truly felt it as well. He’d decided to be a pain in your ass from the beginning. He had no intentions–and still didn’t have any–to be nice to you. He didn’t have that in him.
But to tolerate you? That. he found that it was something he could do and possibly even enjoy. He didn’t mind it as much as he thought it would, sitting in the art room and spending time with you, even though it was him just sitting and you quietly painting…being in the presence of each other…it was…different, but he couldn’t put a finger to what that feeling was. Comfort? Peace?
“Why do you say so?” Kuni continues to prod the prince. This was the right time to do it, he thinks. If not now, then there wouldn’t be another time where the prince would let his guard down like this. “For as long as she lives, and for as long as you live, there’s a lifetime between the two of you, my lord. Well, assuming that she agrees to stay married,” Kuni coughed, because divorce wasn’t usually talked about in royal situations. What a disaster that would be.
A lifetime, huh?
Scaramouche knew that when he married you. He knew that the rest of his and your life would be bound together, but he didn’t care at that moment. What he cared about was ticking off the checkboxes that his father gave him.
“I only offer suggestions, my lord, but perhaps, when she’s well and awake again, you might consider learning a bit more about her…She may one day be your greatest ally. Your father is a great king, but there were also many a times he would turn to the queen for guidance and support,”
Greatest ally? Support? Why would he need such a thing and why was everyone talking about it? He was fine by himself, and progressing just fine. Scaramouche was about to say something crass back, but there’s a knock on the door of the study. A maid peeks her head in and bows down a perfect 90 degree before straightening up again.
“The princess is awake. She requests the presence of prince Scaramouche,”
Note:This will be my last update for a bit, I’ll be focusing on some events for work next week so I’ll be off tumblr. Not to worry, I still am working on everyone’s requests, and I see all your lovely comments and asks! Just need some time to sort them out <3
Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.
Warnings: slow burn, does not exactly follow the genshin lore, AU, tw: blood, injury
Word Count: 2.2k words
Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.
If you thought that life had been miserable ever since you came here, it doesn’t compare to this week. You haven’t seen Scaramouche. Not before you sleep, not when you wake up, not even during your meals: breakfast, lunch or dinner.
The only time you saw him was when you woke up in the middle of the night, groggy with sleep and eyes blurred with drowsiness. All you could see of him was his back, the gentle rise and fall of it. When you woke the next morning, he wouldn’t be there anymore, and wouldn’t show up for breakfast, Kuni would say that he was in his study, busy with papers first thing in the morning.
That was a lie, and you knew it.
You spent the week painting and drawing in the art room. Not only did you have no events this week, but you even declined Duchess Kokomi’s invitation to have tea with her. Somehow, last week’s events at the ball just left a sour taste in your mouth, you weren’t in the mood to see anyone.
As you settle in front of the easel on a Friday morning, your hand on the brush making big, upward strokes on the painting you were working on, your mind wanders yet again, causing your hand to stop and stall.
“What I did back there had nothing to do with you, in fact you can go right ahead and kiss him in private.”
Scaramouche was out of line, or so you thought. It hit you all over again, as you blankly stare forward.
He.didn’t.care.
Not one smidgen of understanding and love for you. You never asked for his heart, you knew you couldn’t have it. But, at the very least, some type of companionship, even something less than friendship, just civility towards each other and yet…it was so hard to obtain.
A week ago you were still grasping at hope. You were going to spend the rest of your life with him, there must have been some way to see eye to eye, to understand him a bit better. You thought that all you needed was time and perseverance, and at some point, you’d felt as if you were finally able to reach a little bit of him, finally able to see a part of him that wasn’t callous or self-centred.
But now, where there was once hope, there was nothing but despair.
You were wrong. Time or perseverance was not going to change anything. He made it very clear that night, scowling at you, ordering you to play your part, using you as an accessory.
You sigh, setting your paintbrush down when you notice that you’ve stopped painting altogether. Your head turns towards the large lattice windows, the light streaming through it drawing criss-cross patterns on your canvas. It was such a nice day out, and yet you sat in here on the inside gathering dust just as all the books on the shelves have.
The door clicking open nearly scared you to death. There was no knock, no announcements whatsoever, and Scaramouche just walks into the art room, arms crossed as your mouth falls agape. You hadn’t seen him in a whole week, and he decides to show up just like that.
The Ruthless Prince walks over to the armchair that he usually occupied on Fridays, and realizes that the tea you usually brew for him was not ready.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you feel as if you’ve held your breath, wondering if you’re in trouble for not getting it out earlier. You just didn’t think he was going to show up, after all of that.
“…Where’s the tea?” He doesn’t look at you as he asks this, as if his eyes could only be glued to the table and were allergic to you. You let silence curtain the two of you, your body relaxes, yet it relaxes in a way that shows defeat. Your eyes linger on him, before you finally exclaim. “I didn’t prepare any.”
Quiet, and timid.
There’s a thin veil of uneasiness between the two of you, an awkwardness that was new. You hadn’t realized that those four weeks of him enjoying tea in the art room was already a glimpse of comfort with him. Now it was back to that painful and glaring silence.
“…You better go and make some then,” he huffs to himself, sinking into the armchair as if it was any Friday beforehand. You stand, with your feet heavy, you drag them all the way to the middle of the room, facing him, a few steps away from the armchair he sat on. “…I’m not preparing it for you,” you started, seeing him tense up a little, and his head finally moves the slightest bit, turning towards your voice, yet not daring to look at you fully.
“…I don’t feel like preparing it for you…It’s my free and private time so…I’ll do what I want with it,” was it petty? You immediately ask yourself. To take the words he threw at you and throw it back at him? The only difference was the eerie calmness in your tone. Scaramouche recognizes it, and when he turns his head to finally look at you, you can’t read his expression.
There’s no scowl, no glare, no smirk nor a grin. Just him, looking at you and waiting for what else you have to say.
“…I’ll teach Kuni and the maids how to brew it, you can ask them to prepare it for you,” Then, like a mechanical being, you stroll out of the art room quietly, but you walk out with a realization in mind:
I liked brewing it for you, I liked watching you drink it.
And he sits at the armchair, unmoving as the door clicks close, having a thought that he had already known for weeks on end:
I liked it when you brewed it for me.
The following day of Saturday had the two of you struggling to even look at each other during the ball you attended, and still, in front of all the others, you were the stellar conversationalist and everything seemed as it was.
Play the part, as he said.
Kokomi had been there, and it was your one saving grace during that ball, having her to really converse and catch up with. You’d left Scaramouche’s side to greet her, and stayed to talk to her for the most part.
Scaramouche didn’t stop you, but he did watch you from one of the various drinks table. You looked so…animated. So different from when you stood next to him. What did he expect, after that tirade last week? Why was it affecting him so much? How did it change your attitude towards him so drastically? Why was he only seeing it now? Was this the cold shoulder? And he thought it was bad before, now it was just…
Unbearable…
He downs the drink he has in his hand, just in time for the arrival of Prince Tartaglia to be announced. He half grunts and half growls under his breath, as if things weren’t bad enough already. He picks up another drink and starts on it, not even bothering to clap or turn around when the Snezhnayan Prince arrives.
Come to think of it, Tartaglia was supposed to be here for a few weeks. It wasn’t often he came around, but when he did, it was usually to check on the trading agreements and to make sure his imports and exports were in order. And of course, Scaramouche had an impression that Tartaglia just loved to annoy him, so, instead of the actual king coming to check, it’d always been Tartaglia.
When the applause settles down and when a few minutes pass, Scaramouche yet again opts to scan the room for you. As he suspected, Tartaglia now joins your group of two with Kokomi. Nevermind that Kokomi looks just as amused as you at whatever story Tartaglia’s performing, but you looked as if new life had just been breathed on to you, listening to and laughing at the Snezhnayan prince’s comedies.
Scaramouche catches his own frustrated sigh, holding it in and just…trying to let everything go.
When did it become like this?
He wonders.
Not the fact that you had gone cold and wary of him–he knew exactly when that started–but when did he start feeling a sense of unease whenever you weren’t by his side? When did he start wanting for you to look at him like that too? He’s inclined to believe that his outburst last week…was not all that it seemed to be. He felt ridiculed, he felt that his sense of authority was threatened, but…could there be any other reason he felt angered like he did?
It takes seconds for him to realize that you’re back at his side. He blinks, and raises his eyes to look around, seeing Kokomi and Tartaglia still engaged in their small talk, then his eyes drop to you. You looked…absolutely miserable next to him, forced smile and tense shoulders and all.
How can I make this bearable again?
He suddenly asks himself, then instinctively passes a drink to you. You casually receive it with a small thank you, but other than that, there were no other words from you.
The night goes on as such, more small talk with the nobles, more of you conversing with people he didn’t even want to look at, up until it was time for the two of you to leave.
Briefly, just before the two of you depart, you find yourself seeking out Kokomi and Tartaglia again, saying a brief goodbye to the two people who have made the night the slightest bit enjoyable. Scaramouche observes as you do so, but doesn’t say anything about it.
He doesn’t say anything at all, as usual, on the carriage back. You, on the other hand, perhaps because your mood was a little better than it was after talking to Kokomi and Tartaglia, and maybe because you thought that this cold war had been going on for too long, a casual “Are you having dinner with me today?” slipped past your lips.
Though, there was no expectation laced with it at all. Just a question, no desire whatsoever for him to join you, nor a trace of hope for him to reply nicely. Merely to ask if he was going to leave you alone for the rest of the night.
His head jerks towards you at the sudden question…the first thing you had uttered to him in a week. Well, the first semi-nice thing, after that incident with the tea. He’s confused as to how to answer. Does he ignore the question, and continue with this strange atmosphere or does he say–
“Yes,” he says it before thinking about it fully, as if it was the only sensible answer. From his peripheral vision, he sees you nod, and that was the only conversation you had with him in the vicinity of the carriage.
Scaramouche doesn’t offer his hand when you step down the carriage at arrival. He hasn’t done that in a while. However, a strange feeling overcomes you as you step down, a prickling at the back of your neck urging you to turn around, just as the carriage leaves, giving you a clear view of the deep forest surrounding the castle edges.
What possessed you or told you to turn around, you’d never know. Instinct, you might call it. A gut feeling. You thought that your eyes were playing tricks on you, when you see a slight billow of black among the trees. It’s dark, but there was movement and there was enough moonlight for you to catch it.
“Scara–” a cloak, that’s what it was. A glint and the sound of something snapping through the air had you clumsily tackling Scaramouche down to the pavement leading up to the castle. He falls on all fours, shocked at the action and finally thinking to himself ‘Are you that mad at me?’
He’s had enough. He turns toward you with the same snarl as last week, looking like a lion devouring his prey. “What the hell do you think you’re–”
Blood.
Soaking through the dress from your left chest, an arrow sticking out from your front. You, just kneeling there and looking at it, startled and unable to grasp the severity of the situation. Everything is so hazy now.
“Y/N–” Scaramouche’s voice mixed into one of confusion and horror, his eyes tacked on to the way the arrow pierces through your dress, sinks into your flesh and blooms red dangerously close to your left breast.
Scaramouche snaps out of it when you start to fall backwards onto the pavement, he jolts forward and catches you. His eyes dart up towards the trees, purple veins of electricity on his free arm, a loud, thunderous crash of lightning decimating a whole portion of trees, painting the area purple for a split second before the trees caught fire with a raging orange, hoping to catch the perpetrator off guard.
The knights were alerted by now, and Scaramouche doesn’t quite remember what orders he barks at them.
All he can remember was the trembling of his breath as he hoists you up into his arms.
All he remembers is the unfamiliar feeling of dread introducing itself to him for the first time.
Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.
Warnings: slow burn, does not exactly follow the genshin lore, AU, nasty and mean fight
Word Count: 2.2k words
Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.
“Scaramouche, long time no see,” Tartaglia let out a laugh, waving briefly at the man next to you. You immediately get the sense that they’d known each other for a long time, with Tartaglia not using the proper title for Scaramouche, but your husband doesn’t say anything just as your eyes lock with Tartaglia’s.
It surely is dazzling. His deep, cobalt blue eyes. Arguably the most stunning you’ve ever seen.
“And this must be princess Y/N. I heard about the marriage,” Tartaglia picks your hand up in your dazed state, and you can’t break your gaze as he leans in to softly press a kiss against your hand. He withdraws a few inches away, but seems unwilling and reluctant to let go of your hand as he keeps it in his for a few moments more, before releasing it from his hold and standing straight up.
Scaramouche eyes the interaction second by second. He already had a natural dislike towards Tartaglia, ever since they were little. Tartaglia was quite persistent in several different angles. He irked Scaramouche in ways that he had never been irked before. Though he didn’t say anything about the hand kiss, he was certainly wary of what else the Snezhnayan Prince might pull.
“You haven’t changed,” Scaramouche’s voice is flat, he’s controlling it rather well while Tartaglia answers with a chuckle. “I could say the same for you,”
There’s a bit of hidden tension between them, but it gets cut off as you finally come back down to Earth and introduce yourself to the newly arrived prince. You curtsy properly and state your name in accordance with the rules, just as you have with the other guests you’ve talked with before.
“…and it’s nice to meet you, Prince Tartaglia,” the words roll from your tongue easily, having done it almost a hundred times now for the past few months.
Tartaglia doesn’t show it, but he’s a little surprised. He thought that Scaramouche would have chosen someone who was more timid, more reserved and would only talk when being talked to. That didn’t seem the case at all as he observed you more closely.
The way you carried yourself was still a little unpolished, but the smile looked almost genuine and was very welcoming. That was possibly part of your charm.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how’s the weather in Snezhnaya? I hear it’s cold most of the time,” and great at starting conversations too. Nothing like what Tartaglia thought you’d be from the rumors. It didn’t look as if you were caged nor forced into anything, but Tartaglia knew a good actor when he saw one. He was somewhat of a good one himself.
Scaramouche let you talk, or attempt to, at least. It strangely gave him some semblance of normality and authority, to let you talk to Tartaglia as if he was just like anyone else in the party. There was no need to treat the Snezhnayan Prince any differently.
Tartaglia falls into another chuckle, this time directed towards you. “Correct, it’s extremely cold in the winter. Though, there’s no use of me talking about it. Experiencing it yourself is a better answer, princess. You should visit some time,” smoothly, Tartaglia offers his hand out towards you, and you stare blankly at his outstretched hand until he explains. “Care to dance, princess?” his eyes dart at Scaramouche, whose face is still unreadable. “I’m sure Scaramouche wouldn’t mind. It’ll only be a moment,”
“Oh, uhm–” Dancing. The bane of your existence. Sure you’ve had plenty of lessons by now, but come to think of it, you hadn’t tried it out in an actual ball, mostly because Scaramouche didn’t want to bother with dancing, and perhaps no one dared to ask Scaramouche’s wife for a dance…up until today.
Your hesitation is obvious. Tarataglia and Scaramouche sees it, but Tartaglia, just as Scaramouche thought, had his ways of getting what he wanted. “Don’t worry about the steps, princess. I’ll guide you through it,”
You look up at Tartaglia’s earnest eyes and honest smile, there was no rule against dancing with another prince, in fact, it was like a form of greeting. Yet, you can’t help your automatic instinct to look towards Scaramouche for an answer.
It was now Scaramouche’s turn to be secretly surprised, you had always done what you wanted to do, regardless of his opinions. Suddenly realizing that you were asking him for permission inflated his ego a little…and he saw an instant flash of himself saying “No,” immediately, only for himself to thwart the feeling and bury it under the depths.
“Go ahead, what you do doesn’t concern me,” he sounds nearly angry and the voice that he hadn’t used in weeks towards you resurfaces. Your mouth falls slack as you watch him walk away, grabbing a drink from a table while he’s at it.
‘Oh,’ It’s bizarre, the little dip your heart does. You don’t know the reason for it. ‘I thought for sure that I’ve gotten through to him a little…’
But you weren’t the type to be rude to guests, and so you hide the thought away for later on, smiling towards Tartaglia and taking his hand to accept his offer for a dance.
The simplest way to describe Prince Tartaglia’s laugh was the word picturesque. The way his eyes crinkled perfectly at the sides, he’s not obnoxiously loud, but anyone looking from a mile away knew that he was having fun. “Well, not bad at all princess! You don’t really have much to worry about when it comes to dancing,”
You know he’s lying, because you were sure that you’d stepped on his foot at least 4 times now, and you were slightly horrified and yet, Tartaglia was so convincing with the way he complimented you, it was easy to forget that you’d made so many missteps. “M-Maybe we should take a break,” there’s a lopsided smile on you, as if unsure whether you should laugh or apologize to him.
He’s amused, but relents and escorts you off of the ballroom floor after a few elegant minutes on it.
The funny thing about royal parties like these, was that there were no chairs in sight. People came away from the dance floor still standing side by side each other, just falling into another conversation, or curtsying towards each other and then moving on to the next person they would want to socialize with.
Tartaglia had drawn you in with his amusing and exciting stories about Snezhnaya: about the snow, the cold mornings, their special brew of tea. About the way night falls faster and about his family. He has siblings, and he talked of them as if they were his pride and joy.
A thought suddenly crosses your mind.
Scaramouche and Tartaglia could not have been any more different.
They were like night and day. The other choosing to be away from people, refusing to socialize with his audience and the other was like a magnet. Even if you didn’t know him, you were drawn to how confident and welcoming he was.
“I see! I’ve never witnessed snow before, so building snowmen and snowball fights and the like are unfamiliar to me,” you tell Tartaglia as he was discussing how him and his siblings pass the time.
“Scaramouche used to join us,” Tartaglia thinks that the way your head snaps up, the way your eyes search into his at the mention of Scaramouche’s name was not only because you were curious about your estranged husband. There’s a sort of eagerness mixed in your curious eyes, a longing for you to understand the cold prince.
“He did?”
“He used to visit when we were younger. Back then, Teucer wasn’t born yet. But then…Well, I suppose growing up changes a lot of things,” Tartaglia chuckles, taking a sip of his drink, feeling your eyes still on his form as more questions about Scaramouche threaten to spill out of your mouth. However, he speaks up first. “I’m surprised he hasn’t told you about this, princess. It’s not a secret that we used to be good companions,” He turns his head sideways, watching as your eyes now flicker away from his. Your hesitation is back.
“Oh…Well… He’s…rather busy,”
“Is he now? Has he told you about his vision, at least?”
Your eyebrows crease together in confusion at the word “vision”. It could have simply been another word for “goals” but the way he says it lets you know that wasn’t what he was talking about. “…You mean, his magical artes?”
Rumor has it that when a thunderstorm erupted in the country, it was probably because the Ruthless Prince was in a foul mood. That’s how powerful people thought he was and yet you… had seen no sign of this “power” that Scaramouche supposedly held. “No, he doesn’t talk about that,” you confirm and Tartaglia lets out a slight huff mixed in with a laugh.
“Ever the secretive person,” He adds, placing his empty glass down on the table and fully turning towards you, his cloak billowing behind him as he moves. There’s not quite enough time to react to his hand suddenly finding its way under your chin, he tilts it up to get a better look at you, or perhaps to draw your attention fully on him.
“Though I wonder, princess, is it really because he’s busy…….Or because he would rather not spend time with you?” The hair at the back of your neck stands. Looking into Tartaglia’s unwavering gaze, your eyes widen for a fraction of a moment before getting your bearings back. Before reminding yourself that you have to put on an act, to let everyone else know that you and Scaramocuhe were a perfectly normal couple.
“H-He’s just busy…”
Tartaglia’s eyes narrows, as if searching for a flaw in your otherwise perfect show. He leans in closer, a whisper already on his lips. “What a pity then, missing out on such beaut–”
The way that Scaramouche grabs Tartaglia’s wrist from your chin and flings it away, and the way that he roughly pulls you backwards by the shoulder. It was rather unprincelike and crass, but you were already used to Scaramouche’s mannerisms.
There’s a quick flicker of murder in Scaramouche’s eyes, but only Tartaglia sees it, earning an amused grin from the Snezhnayan Prince. “Ah, sorry, I was merely…enamored,” Tartaglia offers easily, as if not perturbed at all by what had transpired.
It doesn’t help that they were in a public gathering, prying eyes were already turning their way. You take a quick glance around you and back towards the two men in front of you, Scaramouche wedged in between you and Tartaglia, the former with his hand balled up on his side, and the latter pleasantly smiling, as if nothing had happened at all.
You step up and wrap both your hands around Scaramouche’s fist gently, whispering “…We should… step back,” another way of telling him that escalating would not do anything for anyone. He listens quite readily and unfurls his fisted hand, grabbing yours before exclaiming, “We’re leaving,” and tugging on it, leaving you no choice but to follow.
“I’ll see you next time then, princess,” Tartaglia still waves at you as you pass by, though he didn’t give any greeting towards Scaramouche, you merely give the taller man an apologetic smile.
It’s uncomfortably silent in the carriage. You sit there replaying the short but sudden scene, of Tartaglia nearly nose to nose with you at how close he’d been, and the rage that Scaramouche barely hides. It was not Tartaglia on your mind, or how he’d blatantly flirted with you–somehow you got the impression that he was just that kind of person. Instead, it was Scaracmouche’s rather…unusual reaction that had your mind going back and forth with questions.
Why was he so angry?
Unbeknownst and sat across from you, the prince thinks the same thing. He watches the scenery outside the carriage, letting the silence fester between the two of you. No one had said a word about it yet. You only had the courage to once the two of you stepped out of the carriage. “…Are you alri–”
“Don’t be disillusioned,” He cuts off, his back facing you. “What I did back there had nothing to do with you, in fact you can go right ahead and kiss him in private.” He swerves around, familiar snarl on his face and yet, it was much, much more menacing. Like staring at the open mouth of a lion, about to tear your face in half. “It was to uphold my authority, what would others think if I let him do that? And you–!”
He grit his teeth before continuing, “You stood there doing nothing, knowing that the other nobles were watching!” You’re rendered frozen at his words, whatever thought you had that Scaramouche might have been a little jealous, just even the tiniest amount, washed away from your mind.
“Let me make this clear to you, Y/N. Out in public, you’re married to ME, so act like it!” There’s a harsh comeback on your tongue, about to berate him for the fact that HE doesn’t act like the two of you are married, but he continues first. “Your private time, it doesn’t concern me, you can meet up with whoever you want and do whatever the hell you’d like with them, and I’ll do the same,” he spits his next words out with intensity.
“Play.your.role.”
And he walks, leaving you standing there for a moment longer, numb and blank. It slowly dawns on you that there was nothing in his heart for you. You were a pawn, just like his knights, servants and maids. You were merely a pawn who had the life of a princess.
“We’ve all come from royal and pure blood, and then you, tainted and filthy like where you came from–there’s no way the prince would ever love you!”
The words echo in your mind as you find your way back to the bedroom, Scaramouche nowhere to be seen. You didn’t have it in you to cry, thinking that when you wake up, these few months had just been a big nightmare, and everything would be back to normal in your quiet and quaint house in the village.
You fall asleep, more exhausted than you have ever been and the hope in your heart merely a dying and suffering small flame.
As you slept, the sky rumbles, the beginnings of a terrible thunderstorm covering the country.
Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.
Warnings: not much actually, it’s a pretty slow chapter, just a transition to the next “arc” as I would call it hahahaha, lots of interaction between reader and Scaramouche though
Word Count: 2.4k
Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.
Were you proud of yourself for causing a scuffle between two princes? No. Well, maybe. Just a little.
It didn’t last long though. Tartaglia was just as shocked as you were when he realized Scaramouche punched him, but he was up on his feet in the next second and grabbed Scaramouche by the collar managing to scuff his chin before the two of them were pulled apart.
And so here you were, sitting in your shared room with Scaramouche as Kuni retrieved ice for him. There’s still an annoyed look on his face, glaring at nothing in particular, his chin a little red from the contact. Still, it was nothing compared to Tartaglia’s bleeding nose. You were sure it would bruise beautifully.
“…You didn’t have to punch him, you know,” The whole thing was 100% unprincelike and the two would surely be the talk of the country for the next few weeks. In your normal world, however, guys getting into scuffles wasn’t really an unusual thing.
“…I didn’t do it for you,” Scaramouche stated rather easily. There he was again with his “this has nothing to do with you” speech. The last time he said that was…
“What I did back there had nothing to do with you, in fact you can go right ahead and kiss him in private.”
You winced a little at the irony because Tartaglia had indeed gone ahead and kissed you. Scaramouche didn’t know that, in fact, you wondered if you should say something about it, but decided that you wouldn’t say anything if not asked.
You mock glared at Scaramouche’s stubbornness. “Okay? Why’d you punch him then?” you challenged, crossing your arms above your chest.
“Because he annoys me,” he answers immediately, not even a second after your question.
You pursed your lips because you were sure he was lying. He was clearly irked, he had definitely sensed that something was wrong and that Tartaglia was the culprit. “Liar,” a smirk threatens to appear on your face.
Scaramouche half growls and half grumbles. “Drop it or I’ll punch you next,” He absolutely had no excuse ready, and so opted to get you to stop talking about the incident and move on with it instead. Still, there was a nagging at the back of his mind, he wanted to ask what exactly happened, but your stifled laughter breaks him out of thought.
“You wouldn’t,” There is an incredibly, loopy, wide grin on your face. One might think that you had too much alcohol, but in reality you were just incredibly relieved and reassured. The incident had proven something about Scaramouche.
He might threaten people but he wouldn’t actually raise a hand against anyone…Well, not unless necessary.
The picture of him socking Tartaglia on the face replays in your head. It was rather satisfying to recall.
Kuni strolls in a second later and hands the ice wrapped in a towel over to the prince. “Unusual that you would get into a scuffle, milord. Highly out of etiquette rules, though you don’t usually follow them,”
Scaramouche lets out an annoyed sigh. Not wanting to talk about it anymore and yet the topic just kept going back to it. “…I’ve always had a personal hatred towards him,” Scaramouche simply explains, to which Kuni hums in understanding. “I suppose that’s true…Though I don’t see why you would choose to attack him now… as opposed to the hundreds of other times you had the chance,”
You hid a smile behind your hand, pretending that the side of your lip itched when in reality you just couldn’t stop from enjoying Scaramouche dig a deeper hole for himself. Thankfully, Kuni is considerate of the time.
“I’ll leave the two of you to rest, milord.” Kuni bows towards Scaramouche, then towards you. “Milady, have a good evening,”
You return the sentiment before going back to watching Scaramouche ice his chin. Another curtain of silence falls over the two of you, though, strangely, it was a comfortable one this time. With him sitting back on the armchair and you relaxed on the sofa adjacent to him, it almost felt like a normal morning in a mundane living room.
“I told you, didn’t I? Not as nice as you thought he was, wasn’t he?” Scaramouche’s accusatory tone wasn’t hidden and he had directed it at you. You expected an ‘I told you so,’ from him. He was RIGHT and you were wrong, of course he was going to shove that in your face.
Scaramouche met your eyes, wanting to gauge your reaction because he had no idea what really happened. Your sudden meekness and the way you reacted to Tartaglia’s presence was enough to tell him something had transpired, but did it mean that it was something displeasing or offending? Scaramouche merely equated your uncomfortable manner to something disagreeable, whether he actually had proof of that was arguable.
You leaned back into the sofa and played with your fingers, having trouble admitting that you were terribly wrong about the guy. “…No…Not nice at all,” you whispered, replaying the events in fast forward. Just the thought of it made you want to shudder.
You figured it was also a calculated move by Tartaglia, to have led you away from the crowd. He had most likely thought about the fact that Scaramouche wasn’t around either. All of that piled up told you that the Snezhnayan prince was craftier than you thought.
“He’s planning something,” Scaramouche changes the angle of the ice on his chin. He realizes he’s actually holding a normal conversation with you and perhaps that was because there was an impending doom that he feels in his veins. Something was about to happen and he didn’t know what it was, just that his gut feeling was telling him that it wasn’t the best time to make enemies or engage in squabbles with you.
So, at the very least, he took Kuni’s advice.
“I only offer suggestions, my lord, but perhaps, when she’s well and awake again, you might consider learning a bit more about her…She may one day be your greatest ally. Your father is a great king, prince, but there were also many a times he would turn to the queen for guidance and support,”
“So if he told you something you’d better tell me what it is,” though, Scaramouche’s rough way of talking wasn’t something he could change. You’d just have to put up with that. You hesitated, looking away from him icing his chin but relayed to him of what Tartaglia said, leaving out the bits about what he had done to you, and told him only the conversation that you thought was important: Tartaglia thought that he had full entitlement to Scaramouche’s electro vision.
“As I thought, he’s still obsessed with it,” he mutters, loud enough for you to hear. He went inside his head for a moment, wondering if it really was Tartagla who shot the arrow meant for him, or at least if he was the one who plotted it. Scaramouche tried picking up pieces and throwing them together to form some sort of picture, some sort of clue as to what the Snezhnayan Prince was planning. But he couldn’t grasp at a full one, and all he could do was speculate.
“…He seems to think I’ll help him, or something,” You added after a moment of thinking, recalling that Tartaglia was largely disillusioned–almost like he was hallucinating really–about what you thought of him. Sure you did appreciate his niceness and his stories at one point and even enjoyed listening to him, but… the way he spoke as if you belonged to him, in the same way that he thought Scaramouche’s electro vision was rightfully his…it was a little unsettling.
“What do you mean?” Scaramouche asks, and you falter a little.
“Well…I…” you pause, remembering word for word what Tartaglia said, despite your embarrassment.
“…Although, I must say…there’s something else of his that’s caught my interest these days…”
“…And you’ll help me, won’t you, dear Y/N?”
Scaramouche would describe the feeling as wanting to gag in his throat. It was such a cheesy line, but he didn’t have any visible or verbal response to you sharing that information.
He was back to pondering things in his own world. You could see it in the way his eyes stared at nothing, yet flickered about from time to time. Scaramouche wondered if Tartaglia had you in some kind of bigger picture, if you were part of his plans or if he was just using you as a decoy. Did the Snezhnayan prince really take an interest in you? Or was he feigning it so that his real motive was hidden? Pretending to be interested in you so that the attention was there, and not on his real goal.
“It’s late, there’s no use thinking about it right now,” You finally broke his peace and he flicked the cold and damp towel onto the table in front of the two of you, the ice having melted already. He stood, hesitated, but opened his mouth to say “Stop getting into so much damn trouble,” as if you had any control over it.
You huffed and slightly glared up at him. “Well excuse me for saving your life,” He acted as if he didn’t hear that statement but he continued to stand there as if tossing an idea back and forth in his mind. Finally, he opens his mouth, but is slow when stating his plan.
“You have to learn how to fight,” You thought he was joking, your mouth already forming into a humorous smile, but his eyes held yours and the only thing you could see was seriousness.
“What? What for?” Your eyes narrow in confusion, head tilting sideways slightly to accentuate it. Scaramouche sighs and darts his eyes towards the curtain covered windows of the room. It seems that there was more going on in that brain of his than you anticipated, and he just wouldn’t let you know what it was.
“Just… a feeling,” your shoulders slumped, giving him a blank look, letting him know that his explanation was not enlightening at all, but he was frustrated with himself too. There was just something in him that thought things were going to go south very soon. “I told you, he’s planning something.”
“Well, the knights are here to protect me, aren’t they?” Scaramouche winced a little at your hopeful conclusion, but he offers you a fact that you haven’t thought about before.
“My mother and father are away at the moment. They’re accompanied only by our best knights… So the ones left here are…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, and instead starts a new one. “My parents are set to come back in a few weeks…but I suspect Tartaglia will have his plan in motion before then. He’s already made a bold move, trying to shoot me dead with an arrow,”
“That was him?” You immediately ask, and Scaramouche sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“No, I don’t know. There’s no evidence that it’s him, the arrow was analyzed and there was no links to him nor Snezhnaya, I just… and after what you told me about him, who else could it be?” He’s crossed his arms over his chest, and you look him over. For once, he didn’t look angry. Only wildly thoughtful, just as you’ve observed ever since you came back to the castle. Then you realize…maybe, maybe this is what vulnerability looks like on him.
It’s subtle, he doesn’t give off the fact that he’s worried, but it suddenly registers in your mind that he’s rambled–or at least his version of rambling–he’s talking to you. He’s confiding in what’s bothering him.
Your eyes widen a little as it dawns on you, looking up at him almost with awe in your expression. He doesn’t notice it at all. Your body relaxes and a small smile appears on your lips. “Well, like I said, it’s too late to think about it right now. Let’s talk about it again tomorrow,” You stand and excuse yourself, disappearing into the bathroom to freshen up for a good 20 or so minutes.
You take turns, and once he’s done, clad in his silk, purple sleeping attire and sitting on his side of the bed, toweling his still damp hair, you lay on your side looking at his back. Pondering on certain things that he said, you ask “…Why would your mom and dad leave the kingdom without its best knights?”
His arms slow down on drying his hair, “…Because Kuni is here and so am I,” the light shuffling sound of the towel encompasses the room until he speaks up again. “With my vision, I can fight well enough to take down armies…” The towel slips to his shoulders and he moves on to patting his face dry.
“…Then aren’t you enough to protect me?” From your view of his back, you can tell that he’s frozen up, his arm has stopped moving. Slowly, he drops the towel altogether and tethers his hand to the bed.
“Battle…War. It gets messy,” he offers a non-answer. “…My obligation is to the kingdom so if a war does happen… I have to be at the front,” that was a clearer answer to you. He had such ways to go around a question, to indirectly tell you that he can’t be guarding you 24/7. But did it mean that he wanted to? That fact was unclear. His answer was largely biased towards his kingdom, and not towards you.
Then you hear him click his tongue, he turns his head to glare at you. For a moment you think to yourself that you hadn’t seen that glare in a while. “Stop being an idiot trying to get away from combat training. I’ll get Kuni to start training you on the basics so just shut up and do it. Stop complaining,”
You don’t get offended like the other times, instead you tried not to smile, secretly biting the inside of your lip as he grumbles to himself but gets in bed. You close your eyes and say nothing more of his demands only a simple and slightly mocking “Yes, sir,” to which you hear a slight growl at.
You must have been more tired than you thought. Closing your eyes was enough to lull you into a comfortable sleep.
You and him don’t realize it, but it’s possibly the very first time the two of you have fallen asleep facing each other.
Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.
Warnings: Tartaglia is the bad guy if you don’t like that idea turn away now, borderline abuse, tw borderline sexual harrassment, kind of some yandere traits, swearing, profanities
Word Count: 4.4k words (extra long cause I was gone for a while :P)
Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.
The first time you actually stroll into his study is today. You can see the way Scaramouche visibly tenses up, the pen in his finger going taut, his eyes darting upwards to look at you.
Again, it’d been days since you last saw him. He actively avoided you for breakfast, dinner and lunch. Actively avoided your whole recovery process.
He dumped the shocking information on your head and disappeared like he usually did, unwilling to face the problems he created. Or was it just because he didn’t care?
“…What’re you doing out of bed?” He inquires, his eyes falling back to the paper on his table, but you can still see his shoulders alert and his whole demeanor looks as if someone’s about to attack him the moment he lets his guard down.
“I’m well enough now, thank you. But you wouldn’t know since you haven’t seen me since then,” the sarcastic tone to your voice certainly told him that you were indeed, “well enough” as you say.
I did visit you, just when you were asleep. Scaramouche thinks to himself.
“What do you need?” He changes the topic fluidly, just as you stop in front of his desk, crossing your arms. He could feel the glare on the top of his head, but he didn’t look up, pretending to be busy with that piece of paper.
“…We have to talk about this,” He’s surprised at the softer tone of your voice, his head glancing up to gauge your expression. He can’t read it. It’s not blank, but he wasn’t good at reading expressions. Your lips were downturned, your brows furrowed in what seemed to be frustration or sadness. He wasn’t sure. “We have to talk more,” you added and that’s when he scoffed, but before he could protest, you cut him off.
“Stop disregarding me,” You could feel a slight burn in your chest, perhaps you were overdoing it a little, but you didn’t give it away. “I’m right here and in case you forgot, it was YOUR decision to pull me into this life. I’m stuck here, so I don’t know why you think avoiding me is something you can do.” He has his eyes tacked on you now. You had never spoken to him this much before, how ironic that it had to be you reprimanding him.
“I’m not–” avoiding you, he wanted to say, but it quickly died on his lips knowing that it was a lie.
“I’m not afraid of you,” You whispered, your eyes narrowing towards his in a glare. “I hate the way you do things, I hate the way you say things, you’re a downright asshole but I’m not afraid of you,”
In a split second, a scowl is on his face, as if the only thing he heard through your whole tirade was the fact that he was an asshole. That did it, he abruptly stood up, chair pushing backwards with a screech and his hand snatching your wrist up, the intensity of his glare about to tear a hole on your face. “Maybe you should be,” he seethes through gritted teeth, grip on your wrist strong.
You didn’t break your gaze from him.
You’re all talk. I know you by now. You thought to yourself. At least, I know you weren’t the one who put this arrow through me, you’re not the one who poisoned me. You gently twisted your wrist away from his hold and despite his grip on it, he easily lets it go. And I know that expression of guilt on your face when you confessed to killing people.
“…I’m not,” you repeated for him, and also for yourself, rubbing your wrist a little. There’s a faint throb on your chest now, as if the brief squabble took a lot out of you. You looked behind you to confirm there was a chair there, hooked it with your leg and plopped down on it as if you were at home.
Scaramouche bit back a sigh, but he sat down on his chair again, picking up his pen to continue.
A weird silence descended over the two of you, and suddenly the earlier quarrel just seemed stupid. You knew he wasn’t going to start talking, so you had to be the one to initiate again. “Do you remember…anything about that night?”
You could still hear his pen scribble on the parchment. A few seconds of silence passed, up until you heard his pen dropping on the table. “…I remember everything like it was yesterday. Everything…except…” he faltered, his eyes darting towards the suddenly interesting fireplace in the study. “Except the moment I touched the hydro delusion, up until Kuni yanked it away from me,”
That’s what Kuni said as well. That Scaramouche could not recall what he had done but was able to put two and two together when he awoke. You leaned back towards the cushion of the chair to let that sink in. “…I see,” You had planned a list of things to ask him, but actually doing it proved to be harder than you thought.
In this somewhat awkward conversation between the two of you, you didn’t know how to switch subjects smoothly, didn’t know what to tell him since you knew he wasn’t the type of man to take your pity willingly. “…So…why did you decide…to tell me, then?”
Scaramouche shuffled in his seat, almost as if trying to look for a more comfortable position, knowing that it might be a longer conversation than he thought. “Tartaglia,” he simply said, to which your head snapped up at the mention of the name.
“Huh?”
“One way or another, I suspect Tartaglia’s involved,” Scaramouche now lazily props his head on his hand, leaning on it and lethargically staring at your surprised expression. Pathetic. He thought. How were you that surprised? Were you really that fooled by Tartaglia’s false princely advances? “Back then… Tartaglia and his father had always had their eye on my electro vision,”
“Oh, that’s right! Scaramouche, you don’t have your vision yet, don’t you?” Tartaglia laughed heartily, expertly twirling his bow in his hand. Scaramouche was painfully aware that his vision had not manifested yet. He’d been watching Tartaglia hone his hydro vision for months, refusing to play with Scaramouche now that he had “better things to do”.
“It’s alright, maybe in another year! In the mean time, you can go and play with my siblings!” Scaramouche had felt so left out, so insignificant. Being a child, it didn’t bother him at first, but the more he saw Tartaglia growing up, growing stronger while Scaramouche was left to play around, he couldn’t help but feel the need to catch up.
“I’ll get mine soon!” he always said.
“Well, if you reaaaaallllly wanna try it out, why not try our hydro delusions? It’ll give you cool hydro powers!” They were both young then, they wouldn’t really have known what kind of power a delusion would have. “I can’t give you one though, father said not to. But I’m pretty sure your dad has some!”
That was the same night Scaramouche snuck into the treasury, took a hydro vision, and went on a rampage.
It was also the night his electro vision manifested.
“The electro vision appeared on my hand just as Kuni took away the hydro delusion… I was told that mine was three times stronger than my father’s ever was, that I had the natural talent towards that element. Tartaglia heard about it…”
You watched as present Scaramouche took his elbow away from the table and leaned back into his chair. “…and ever since then he’s always wanted to “try out” my electro vision but…my father had already cut the close ties between our family and his,”
“That doesn’t make sense,” you breathed out with a slight laugh, Scaramouche levels his gaze on you, as if scrutinizing your words. “If he really wanted your electro vision wouldn’t he have tried to take it away earlier? Why do it now? I don’t really think Tartaglia is the type of person…”
“Are you siding with him now?” Scaramouche barked out a single breath of laughter, there’s a bit of resentment hidden behind his eyes. You fall silent as he continues. “If you haven’t noticed, my mother and father, the king and queen, are away. It means that if Tartaglia manages to best me here now, he also takes our Kingdom,” Scaramouche stands from his seat, and moves to walk around the table. You stand up when you see this, thinking that your conversation was far from over. You hadn’t gotten all your answers yet.
“But what exactly is the point of explaining to you? Seeing as you believe in that menace more than you believe in the Kingdom you’ve married into,” You stop in your tracks at his words, mind reeling and having a hard time processing the look he’s giving you. You’ve never seen it on him before and you can’t put a word to it. “You ask me not to disregard you. You claim that we need to talk more.” His eyes narrow, and for a split second you think that you see him wince. “And yet you don’t even really listen to what I have to say,”
“It’s not my fault…You haven’t really given me much to believe in, Scaramouche!”
“Oh and I suppose Prince Tartaglia has?” He whirls back towards you, seriously annoyed. You open your mouth to say something, but found that he had caught you speechless. He’s right. You knew nothing about Tartaglia, only that– “He treats me like a human being, at least!”
“Well suit yourself and enjoy your time with him!” Scaramouche growls it out before turning and stalking off. The door to the study closing did not even register in your mind. It was the silence that knocked you out of your daydream. You slowly sank down on the seat again and sat for a moment thinking to yourself, wondering how exactly things could just keep spiraling down.
It didn’t get better after that conversation. He continues to avoid you–but now you supposed that he had good reason to–For a good moment you thought to apologize, but part of you didn’t really want to. The way you felt towards Tartaglia and what you thought of him, you think it was justified. He was a nice person, or at least what you’ve seen of him. It wasn’t wrong to feel that he was a good man…blaming him for what happened to you without any proof didn’t sit right with you either.
Unsurprisingly, at the ball that you attend next…Scaramouche doesn’t even arrive at the same time as you. It was your first time entering the big doors alone, the first time that your name was announced by itself, not alongside his. Kuni said that Scaramouche was busy, but that he’d catch up later into the night.
Prince Tartaglia, however, was already there. Chatting up nobles and looking like he was enjoying himself. His whole aura, as usual, was rather infectious. He spots you at the corner of his eye approaching him, his face turns towards you with the same handsome smile that could only belong on his lips. He excuses himself from the older crowd and walks over to meet you, bowing for a greeting. “Princess,” then he picks his eyes up again, as if scanning the whole room. “…Scaramouche didn’t come today?” He’s a little surprised, you can tell from the lilt in his voice.
“Oh, he’s a little busy with something, he’ll come later on,” you clarify. You miss the flicker in Tartaglia’s eyes, that quick flick of opportunity, that quick idea that ran through his mind. He offers his hand for a dance instead.
It isn’t as if you completely disregarded Scaramouche’s warnings. You were cautious at the beginning of the night, you really were. With Scaramouche’s words at the back of your mind you tried to tell yourself that you could not completely trust this man, but the more you conversed and the more you danced you were reminded as to why it was easy to like him. He was just a natural at conversations and at talking.
When it had simply gotten a little stuffy in the large room he introduced you to the balcony. So that’s where all the seats are, you thought to yourself as he pushed the frosted lattice door, a nice gust of wind hitting your face almost instantly. There were elegant white tables and chairs littered around, the carved stone railing of the venue looking out to a well-kept garden.
Instinctively, you move towards the railing to get more fresh air, if you had known about this place earlier, you probably would’ve spent most of your time out here. It was a little fairy tale like, with your dress, and with Prince Tartaglia leaning over the stone railing as well, looking up at the stars.
The sounds of music and chatter from the inside was incredibly muffled, so there’s a sense that there were still others in the area, but out here, it was just the two of you. You glanced sideways at Prince Tartaglia’s peacefulness…there was no harm in conversing a little, and getting some answers, would there?
“…Is it true that you’re interested in…Scaramouche’s vision?” you start, hands that were somewhat dangling over the railing coming together to fumble with each other. Tartaglia shifted with a laugh under his breath, turning to change his position so that his back was resting on the balustrade, elbows resting on it. “Who wouldn’t be, milady?” He nonchalantly lolls his head towards you. “He’s finally told you about it? It’s almost like a natural wonder, his vision. I’ve heard that it was naturally strong, but now…he’s honed it to be even stronger… Of course I’m interested in it,” but he laughs along his statement, and you don’t feel any sense of foreboding in his answer. Just a genuine interest in Scaramouche’s abilities.
Then there’s a hand atop yours as it lays on the balustrade, your eyes dart downwards to see that Tartaglia had laid his hand there, sliding up to wrap his hand around your wrist. His hold is strong, but not tight, enough for you to look at him questioningly. “…Although, I must say…there’s something else of his that’s caught my interest these days…” a shiver runs up your spine. Almost as if the whisper had gone straight to your ear and shot up to your brain. He’s most certainly referring to you.
Tartaglia moves swiftly. You’re suddenly trapped between him and the balustrade, his hand on your wrist keeping you tethered to the position, his body is exceptionally close. You’re not sure if its panic or excitement that strikes your spine a second time, but you look up at him, astounded. “Prince?” you hadn’t meant for your voice to come out so meek, but his presence was just too overwhelming.
“Y/N,” he breathes your name out, and it’s the first time he doesn’t use the title of princess with your name. “Scaramouche is a dangerous man… I don’t know why you choose to stay by him,” There’s an edge to his gaze now, as if his usually bright blue eyes had been shadowed over. He grabs your chin almost roughly, his grip on your wrist is tightening by the second. “You agree, don’t you? I assume he hasn’t been nice to you…It must be torture living with that man.”
“You can’t–”
“I gave that electro vision to him, Y/N,” again his grip on you tightens, as if you aren’t allowed to speak back. Like anything you utter would be false. “I was the one who told him to use our hydro delusion, without that, the vision would have never awakened,” his fingers are starting to dig into your cheeks, its starting to feel like his nails are leaving indents on your skin. In your panic, you pull your head away harshly from his grip, certain that one of his fingers snagged and had probably drawn a line on either your chin or your cheek. You do the same with your wrist, pulling it away from his hold and shoved your way through his press on you, just wanting to get back to the ballroom full of people.
You didn’t get far.
Tartaglia caught the same wrist, pulled on it and had gripped you by both sides of your arms, “I’m not done talking,” his voice is just above a whisper, and yet the look in his eyes had completely changed, wrath written all over it, as if talking about Scaramouche had unleashed a beast inside of him. “That electro vision is rightfully mine, Y/N…All I’m trying to do is to get it back,” and then…he smiled.
Pleasantly, like everything he said hadn’t happened at all, and this face of his was the one that you recognized the most. The face that he showed to the other nobles, the face he put on when socializing with others, the confident smile he flashed as he walks into a room. “…And you’ll help me, won’t you, dear Y/N?” He cups your face in his hand, “I’ve seen the way you look at Scaramouche…and I’ve seen the way you look at me… You don’t have to stay with him, milady. Your place, is rightfully next to mine… I’ll take care of your every need…”
You turn your face away just as his lips descend closer to you, it brushes your cheek, but he’s not happy with that and yet again manhandles your chin to point the way he wanted it to, right at him. He forces his lips onto yours, finally mashing together in an unromantic struggle: Him to keep his lips on you, and you to keep yours away.
A resounding slap echoes through the night when you finally wrench your hand free. You’re looking at him as if you’ve just seen a ghost, disbelief painting every fiber of your being. He just forced himself on you and it slowly descends over your entire being what exactly was happening here. “…Y-You’re..even worse than he is–”
“I’d shut my mouth if I were you,” He turns his head back towards you with a grin, he hated being compared to Scaramouche. Tartaglia’s lips are slightly smudged with your lipstick, and a subtle pink was forming on his cheek where you’d slapped him.
You turned and bolted towards the lattice doors, finally reaching it and throwing it open. You ducked your head, conscious of what you might have looked like and went straight to the restrooms. Despite not feeling safe all by yourself in there, it was better than being out there with him all alone. Besides, you had to freshen up.
You looked at yourself carefully in the mirror. Sure enough, there’s a faint red line starting at your cheekbone, trailing downwards towards your jaw until it tapers off and disappears. Definitely from when you yanked your face away from his grip. You lifted your wrist and there were a few crescent indents on your skin from where he held you, mostly disappearing out of sight, yet a few were red and seemingly not letting up. You looked up to the mirror once again, your lipstick is smudged, and your hair is a little disheveled, you opted to just wipe it off and fixed your hair a little before emerging out again.
You looked around to see if Scaramouche had arrived, and when you found no sight of him approached Kokomi instead. “Kokomi… Did–Did Scaramouche arrive yet?” You cleared your throat to take away the shakiness out of it, smiling lightly to put up a front. Kokomi suspected nothing. “I’m afraid not princess,”
You didn’t think the day would come where you would be desperately looking for him. Not only were you wrong about Tartaglia, but perhaps you were wrong about Scaramouche as well.
Yes, he was harsh. Yes, he was the worst at communicating. Yes, he was rather materialistic and uncaring but he had never done what Tartaglia had just done to you and you knew that he wouldn’t.
Scaramouche was insensitive and tactless, but he was still dignified in his own ways.
“Princess?” Kokomi sensed the long pause from you, snapping you out of your reverie and smiling at her apologetically. “Sorry, Kokomi, I have to go for tonight,” you turned away without giving her an explanation, going for the door and thinking that the only thing you wanted to do right now was retreat back to the castle.
However, just as you were walking towards the grand doors, it opens, and you stop in your tracks as Scaramouche’s presence is announced. He strolls in without a care for his name being called out, not minding the claps sounding through the room. His eyes pass over you, in the middle of the room. You look…a little out of place today, as if not in your usual gait.
Scaramouche wants to ignore you, still bitter about the conversation the other night, but out in public he has to keep up appearances, and he meets you in the middle of the room, looking at your unreadable expression boredly. “Come on, just a few conversations with some stupid nobles and we can make it quick tonight. You know the drill, I don’t like being here as much as you–” but you catch his sleeve in your hand, slightly tugging on it, your head turns down to the floor. You’re not sure why there’s so much shame surging through you, remembering that unwanted and forced kiss.
“…C-Can we go home?” Scaramouche’s eyebrows shoot up. “Just this once. I just… I don’t feel too well,” He remains silent as he contemplates your words. He had just arrived. Leaving immediately would be strange, he can’t see the expression on your face, with your head turned down.
“…We came in separate carriages…You can go home by yourself first,” He mutters under his breath, not thinking much of it. Your grip on his sleeve tightens.
But I don’t want to go alone…
Scaramouche senses your discomfort, and he senses it because you were not usually this way. There’s an air of patheticness around you, as he would call it, and an aura of defeat hanging around, almost as if you’d lost some type of fight and didn’t want to face it.
And it isn’t the type of fight that the two of you would usually have. The type where the two of you would bicker, ignore each other, talk again after a few days, and then end up in some sort of disagreement…then back to square one. He noticed it too, the uncanny way that the two of you seemed to fight, but this… This was different.
Scaramouche sighed, “Fine, but let me get a drink, it’s strange for me to enter and leave immediately, you understand?” You only nod your head like a small child. “We’ll go in an hour,” he concluded and you had no choice but to follow. Something in you said that it wouldn’t be wise to leave the ball by yourself.
You stuck by his side the whole time, eyes darting around as if looking for someone–more like avoiding him. Your conversations with the nobles were not as colourful as they usually were, but Scaramouche said nothing about it.
It was near the end of the hour that he promised, when he caught sight of the pink line across your cheek. He wasn’t paying attention to you up until then, but he took you aside to an emptier table and instructed, “Look at me,”
“Hm?” you peered your eyes up but didn’t move your head, so he repeated his command. “Tilt your head up and look at me,” You did, not knowing why you were so worried about what he would see, perhaps the scratch had already disappeared, or that it wasn’t even visible. Besides… This was Scaramouche you were talking about, he probably wouldn’t even care.
But his eyes narrowed at it, the thin line was definitely fresh, the way it was pink and slightly raised told him that. He moves his head closer to get a better look at it. “…What happened there?” you knew what he was talking about, but you didn’t answer.
That’s when he gives your whole face a once over, realizing that you were in your usual full makeup…except your lips. For some reason, you had decided to wipe it off and your lips were the natural colour that they were. Scaramouche was sensing something awfully amiss right now.
“…You have something to tell me?” There was no anger in his voice, but it was still rather forceful. Your eyes dart away, and as you’re facing him, Prince Tartaglia makes himself known “Ah, Scaramouche, you finally arrived,”
Your whole body tenses up, you can practically imagine the fake pleasant smile on his face. Scaramouche’s eyes doesn’t leave you, even when Tartaglia presents himself. And so, he sees everything. He sees the way you seem to curl up into yourself, the way you don’t turn around to say hi to your supposed “friend”, the way your head drops low again and finally, the obvious way your hand darts out towards his sleeve, the same way as it did earlier, as if you didn’t want to be separated from him.
Even then, he had to confirm it. He couldn’t just start assuming things without any evidence, specially not at a grand ball like this. So, his eyes travel upwards to Tartaglia, giving him a blank look, before his gaze drops towards you again. “…Was it him?” Scaramouche asks, but he almost already knows the answer. He doesn’t exactly know why you’ve become so meek, but he’s certain that Tartaglia was to blame.
It was but a slight tip of your head. Barely seen cause it had happened only for a split second, but Scaramouche was sure that it was a nod. He steps away and around you, rubbing his knuckles while walking towards Tartaglia and stopping in front of him for a second.
Then, Scaramouche pulls his fist as far back as he could and lands a weighty punch right at Tartaglia’s nose, sending him toppling over on his back and on the floor.
Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.
Warnings: Just lots of dialogue and retelling in this chapter, not much actual Scaramouche in this story. Little Scaramouche makes an appearance for like, 20 cute seconds, haha. We’re going to the main action plot, so it’s not really sunshine and daisies, tw: death, does not follow the actual genshin lore but takes ideas from it, this is kinda looking more like a royal+fantasyAU hahaha sorry.
Word Count: 2.1k words
Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.
You were clutching the blanket resting on your lap, looking towards Kuni who had a shocked look on his face.
“The prince…he told you this on his own accord?”
“Yes!”
Kuni fell silent.
There was no one else in the room aside from him and you.
Yet again, Scaramouche had done a disappearing act.
It seemed to be his only way of solving things: avoiding them.
Scaramouche saw the horror in your face when he told you, and instantly thought that he had made a mistake. He shouldn’t have told you. He shouldn’t have said anything. He was supposed to be the one to tell you the story, but the look in your eyes reminded him of the ghosts in past. “Just… ask Kuni about it,” then he left.
You ended up not having an appetite. Confused and rattled at the same time.
“Apologies, princess,” Kuni started with a sigh “…It’s not what it seems, perhaps when you’re all better I can explain the story to you–”
“Kuni,” you looked at the older man, stubborn persistence in your eyes. “I have to know. Right now,”
Kuni observed you for a moment, then glanced around the room, looking for a chair. He drags one over, closer to your bed, a solemn look on his face. “If at any time you feel unwell, do say so,” he clears his throat. “The prince doesn’t know how to express himself. So I believe he was…not threatening you, but instead he was merely trying to share an incident of long past…”
I never thought I’d talk about this again.
You were getting perturbed. It was like you couldn’t trust anyone around you. Being rude is one thing, but being a murderer was a completely different problem.
“It’s not what he makes it to be,” Kuni closes his eyes, memory traveling far back into the depths, snatching at tiny snippets to retell. “Simply said, it was an accident. We…have not talked about it in a long time,”
Kuni opens his eyes, wearily smiling, eyes faraway and as if in a realm different from yours.
“The prince was, just as any child was: Jovial, curious and energetic. He ran around like other kids did, and played outside in the sun just the same. I suppose he did have more of a temper than the others did, but it wasn’t anything noteworthy. Just the usual tempers a child would go through,”
“Tartaglia! That’s not fair! You said I could be the seeker next!” A younger Scaramouche stomps his foot on the ground. The surrounding garden is peaceful, and the kids playing amongst themselves are roughly the same age. Tartaglia laughs apologetically. “Ah, yeah! I forgot! It’s okay, you can be next, okay? I promise!”
Little Scaramouche puffs his cheeks out, but relents and looks for a hiding place while Tartaglia’s sister starts counting.
“Tartaglia’s father and Scaramouche’s father were good friends. The alliance between our two kingdoms were strong, we flourished with trade agreements, shared resources that the other didn’t have…I suppose that’s where the story starts. Snezhnaya ran across a discovery that was all too powerful,”
“…A fake vision?” Scaramouche’s father inspects the trinket. It looked just like the real thing.
“I wouldn’t call it a fake,” Tartaglia’s father hummed. “It works just like the real thing, potentially even more powerful…A delusion, as I call it,”
“…And what are you planning to use it for?”
“Military force, of course! Without visions, our knights are mediocre at best.”
“You mean to say that you’ve given your knights delusions?” Scaramouche’s father asks with an air of worry.
“Hydro delusions. Made from my own hydro vision. You should see them! They’re stronger than they ever were, fueled by a power they never had! My friend, imagine if we could make delusions out of your electro vision,”
“Can I interrupt you for a second there?” Your voice cuts through Kuni’s retelling. “This…vision thing. Only the nobles have them, right?”
Kuni doesn’t answer immediately. “Back then, we believed so, yes. That only the nobles were presented with such a power. However, times have changed, and we’re more open to the possibility that a vision can be granted to anyone who longed for it,”
“So…Scaramouche, the king and the queen, Tartaglia and his parents, they all have one?”
“Indeed they do. They saw it as a blessing granted to them,”
You tried not to show any apprehension or doubt in your face, but there must’ve been a hint of it appearing. A blessing, huh? You supposed it entirely depended on how people looked at it, because from where you sat and listened, it just sounded like a lot of responsibilities.
You signaled for Kuni to continue.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline, my friend,” Scaramouche’s father hands back the hydro delusion.
“Ah, well if you change your mind, the offer is always here,”
“It turns out that in order to make a delusion, they had to extract the element from a real vision, and so Tartaglia’s father was persistent in asking our king to lend the power of his electro vision…Our king, of course, declined. He was not the type of person to interrupt the natural flow of things…He felt that if humans interfered too much into powers that they didn’t understand, it might cause great disaster…”
You tried to follow where the story was going. From the way Kuni was telling it, it wasn’t difficult to figure out that something had gone wrong along the way. “…But the king was forced to use it, at some point?”
“Yes,” Kuni sighed. In his mind, the story is still fresh as it was yesterday. The happenings as if it just transpired. “Our peace continued, up until the neighbouring kingdom threatened to overtake us. See, we were but a small kingdom back then, milady. There was no possible way for us to fight back, not with our small military power…The King realized this…and took up the offer,”
“He agreed to make electro delusions out of his own vision?” you concluded wrongly for Kuni, who shook his head slowly.
“There was not enough time to produce electro delusions. So Prince Tartaglia’s father lent our king the hydro delusions that he already had on hand. There was no doubt about it, once our knights donned the hydro delusions, the war was over before it even started. The enemies had no chance at all. But…the king discovered a greater tragedy.”
“Accelerated aging…They’re losing their life force far too fast while using the delusions,” the royal doctor broke the news to the king, eyes filled with confusion and worry all at the same time. It was beyond the realm of what he had seen, never had he observed a human deteriorate in such a short time.
“All of them?” the king asked in horror. Watching as three of his knights remained bed-ridden for days, their hair slowly turning grey.
“It seems not. Particular people are weaker against the effects. Your captain, for instance, has yet to feel the effects of the delusions, but these three young men have been the hardest hit,”
“…Take the delusions away. All of it. Return it back to Snezhnaya,”
……….
Your head tilts up at the silence, eyes questioning Kuni when you realize that he had stopped. He seemed to be struggling with something, the same expression of contemplation appearing on his face just as it did yesterday on Scaramouche’s.
You give him time, and he breathes out a heavy sigh.
“I’m afraid…I still cannot fully explain in words what I experienced and saw that day…but the disaster happened before we could even return the delusions…Prince Scaramouche…managed to get his hands on one of the hydro delusions and…”
There’s a pregnant pause once again, and you finally feel like the story is reaching its peak. Suddenly, Kuni stands up. You sit up from your relaxed position as well, thinking that he was about to walk away and abandon the story, but he lifts his shirt up halfway.
There, on his left abdomen, right at the edge of his waist, was a large puncture wound. New, pink and rubbery skin had tried to cover up the hole that was once there. The scar looked soft to the touch, and it was clear that the deformity would never be the same again.
Your eyes were tacked on to it, the little pieces that Kuni told you melding together and forming a bigger picture. “That’s–”
“I was the captain of the knights back then,” Kuni suddenly continued, dropping his hold on the fabric. “…but I was called in far too late. When I arrived, the prince…had already taken two lives,”
You didn’t gasp, nor did you sigh. You didn’t notice that you were holding your breath.
“He was just a child, yet the delusion took to him. He was a completely different being, wrapped in an aura that wasn’t his…I was the only one who managed to wrestle the delusion away from him. When he awoke, he recalled no such events… However, with blood on his hands and the wound on my side, he quickly realized what he had done…”
Fear, or sorrow? The two were battling within you and you hadn’t a clue which one was winning.
“The prince changed after those events. And the king… took me out of knight’s duty and placed me as the prince’s guardian.”
Never had you heard silence with such an intensity.
“The incident was covered up easily…Aside from the prince, the king and the queen…Only I knew what truly transpired that day…I suppose it’s one of our kingdom’s biggest sins…to not properly honour those who fell in that tragedy…”
You couldn’t help but place a hand on your mouth and sink back to lean on the bed’s headboard, trying to picture the scene in your mind. Trying to process the entirety of the situation. How to feel about it. What to make of it. What it meant for you and for others.
I can’t pretend that I’m okay with this…
You see a flash of Scaramouche’s glare in your mind.
I can’t pretend that I’m not scared… but…does everything that happened really justify the way he treats people in the present? Shouldn’t he be more…understanding?
“…So he’s got issues to work on,” you manage to mumble out your first thoughts, and to your surprise, Kuni chuckles.
“I’m glad you think so, milady,” he starts to move the chair back to where it was supposed to be. “But do not be mistaken…it isn’t your job alone to remedy his problem.” Kuni doesn’t give any more explanation other than that. There was still much to say, but he gathered that the conversation had to be between you and the pince.
“I know you have a lot to think about, princess, so I’ll take my leave. The questions and thoughts you have right now, and the one’s you come up with can wait… I suppose the prince may have more answers and insights into it, now that he’s grown up,”
“Hardly grown up…” you mutter, and melt back down on your bed, closing your eyes to really internalize the story. “Thank you, Kuni,”
He gives a small sound of understanding before you hear him excuse himself, the sound of the door opening and closing indicating to you that he’d left.
The silence helped.
For a moment you laid in bed. Draped your arm over your eyes and merely let yourself…exist.
You asked yourself why Scaramouche always had the worst of timings.
Just when you think everything was going to be okay, he had the uncanny talent of making everything unravel again.
Why does he have to tell me…Does it have anything to do with the attempted assassination? And why now? Does he think I’m about to die or something, and this is the last chance he gets to confess?
You huffed to yourself. Thanking the Gods that your body and wound didn’t burn as much as it did anymore, but it still took a lot out of you. Though, you couldn’t completely blame him. It was you, after all, who had a moment of sheer panic in front of him, thinking you were about to take your last breath through that coughing fit. He didn’t offer any kind words, but you remember the feeling of his hand behind your head.
That really happened, I wasn’t imagining it.
That moment of vulnerability you showed. Was that what caused him to reach out? The possibilities and theories of whys and how comes were not decreasing. The more you thought about it, the more questions popped up.
In some senses, your relationship with Scaramouche was exactly the same.
You learned more about him, yet nothing about him all at the same time.
He was an infuriating mystery.
And your final thoughts before you decided to leave it for now and focus on your recovery:
That’s what I get for marrying a stranger, I guess.
Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.
Warnings:you might feel overwhelmed by this chapter but give it a chance and I promise I’ll cut you some slack in the next one hahahahahhaha, seems yandere but it really isn’t, secrets will be revealed in the next chapter so sit tight (any speculation or theories tho?), does not follow genshin lore, mentions of murder and killing.
Word Count: 2.6k words
Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.
“You didn’t answer my question,” was the first thing you said when he walks in. For someone who had just been struck in the chest with an arrow, with poison still running in her veins, you were feisty as ever.
He raised an eyebrow at you, watching as you struggled to heave yourself up by your elbows just to look him in the eye. “What question?” he counters.
“I asked if you were fine,”
“And I answered, what do you mean?”
Forget about support, he was already getting pissed. That spunky attitude of yours was coming out despite your condition, even more when you rolled your eyes. The wince that followed a second after didn’t earn you any sympathy from him. Your elbows caved and you ended up lying on your back again.
“I meant, are you hurt?” Once again, you try sitting up, the maid nearby finally helps you as you do so and props a pillow behind your back. You mutter a quick thanks before turning your head back to Scaramouche, who looked intensely vexed.
“You’re asking ME if I’m hurt? Have you looked at yourself?” He was actually, seriously angry and you couldn’t understand why he was barking at you despite your concern.
“Well, prince, if I was going to die I’d like to at least think I died for something.” Sarcasm was evident in your tone.
“You’re not a hero, stop talking like one!” His glare intensifies, donning his signature look.
“Not a hero? I—cough—literally pushed you out of death’s way,” your voice croaked by the end of it, marking the start of a fit of coughs. The screaming and shouting competition was temporarily on hold.
Scaramouche walks closer to your bed and waves at the maid, dismissing her and leaving the two of you alone in the room once again. “That’s what you get for talking too much, shut the hell up for a minute and lay back down,” he says while pouring you a glass of water for the second time that day, sitting on the edge of the mattress, waiting for your coughing fits to die down before he passed it off to you.
But it didn’t die down.
You kept heaving and coughing and you could feel your chest giving out, so tired of the constant battering your lungs was taking. The coughs were so severe, sounding as if you were trying to dislodge something from your throat, though there was nothing there. You panicked at some point, you just couldn’t take a proper breath in between those coughs, and Scaramouche was starting to get restless, not sure what to do.
‘What’s happening?’ he thought to himself.
“Scara–cough–” You hack out a choked cough and gasp for momentary air, it was getting hard to breath, and in a herculean effort to hold on to something, anythingthat tethered you to this world, something to give you the illusion that you were going to make it through, you pushed forward with whatever strength you had left and latched on to him.
The glass of water in his hand swished, droplets of it wetting his fingers. Your hands clutched at his cloak, your head pressed against his shoulder, eyes shut tight.
You’d never been this close to him before, neither had you been so close to death.
“I don’t want to die–cough–” Fear was instilled in your every vein just as the poison was. The horror that dawned on you when you realized you were sicker than you thought.
What was there after death? Were there stars? Was there anything to be felt at all? Pain? Happiness? Fear? Was it just floating along in the darkness forever?
You didn’t want to know. Not yet. And it was terrifying to think about. Despite how hard it had been for you the past few months, there were still so many things you wanted to experience.
“Not like this–” and you heaved another gasp. Unaware that you were being treated for poison, you were confused as to why an arrow to the chest hurt this much. Your whole being was on fire, every breath you took was like swallowing a handful of lava and the coughs were knocking your breath away.
“I don’t want to be alone when I go I–I want to see my parents, please,”
He could hear the labour in your voice, the raspy breaths that sounded shattered.
“I want to see them–just one last time, please,”
You were convinced that this was it for you. Your mind was not ready to go, yet you could feel the strength in your body dissipate. Tears escape your closed lids, making your breathing much more laboured than it already was.
And then, you felt a hand press on your head.
Months of not having anyone comfort you, provide you with a touch that was reassuring had you freeze up for a moment before you realized what was happening.
Scaramouche was holding you.
Connecting with you in a way that was unspoken yet spoke loud enough to soothe your heart and break it all at the same time.
It’d been so long without someone else.
“Stop crying, you’re making it worse,” He’d put the glass down and used that hand to awkwardly touch your head, wondering if this was the right way to do it. When he felt that it hadn’t done any harm, he relaxed, and let his hand do tiny, barely discernable pats. It felt as if only his thumb was moving, but he was already trying his best.
“And you’re not seeing your parents, you want them to see you all pathetic like this?” he scoffed, looking at your concealed face, hidden on his shoulder.
You gasped again, this time a mix of a sob and desperate breath of air. You were an utter mess.
“You just need your antidote. Take deeper breaths so you stop hacking all over me and so you can take it,” he commanded, but neither of you moved. His hand still rested behind your head and you still held on to him for dear life. You did, however, listen to the advice of breathing deeper.
‘Will the antidote really fix things though?’ Scaramouche is reminded of the doctor’s words. No guarantee.
Your throat was so raspy that every time you breathed in you were sent into a scratchy cough, but it was slowly getting better.
A comfortable kind of silence wrapped around the two of you when your breathing finally evened out. Though, it seemed to have taken forever. Your hands eventually loosened its hold on his cloak and sleeve, and you finally moved away from your hiding position, eyes turned downwards to look at your hands, somewhat embarrassed at your earlier panic-stricken display.
Your face was tear-stained. On the crinkles of your eyes, on your cheeks, your chin. It quite literally was like water was sprayed on your face. Even your hair was disheveled.
“Water and this,” he once again commanded and finally handed you the glass along with a small vial. You drank from both of it and returned it to him wordlessly. You’d pieced together what happened. You weren’t stupid. Antidote simply meant that you were poisoned, and when else could that have happened except for when the arrow entered your chest?
“Get back to sleep,” he said, giving out another order as if you were a knight instead of someone sick. His eyes, however, followed your demeanor closely. Watching if anything was amiss aside from your panicked frenzy earlier.
You sank back down to bed, eyes already heavy and mind wavering, wanting to go back to a state of sleep. Scaramouche merely watched your eyes droop and close, but there’s a mumble on your lips.
In your mind, you had already drifted away into your dreams. It felt so much better to close your eyes and rest, to not think about things too much, mind in a foggy state. “Are you leaving…?”
Scaramouche strains his ears to hear it, and still he couldn’t make out what you were saying. So, he leans closer to you and asks in his usual gruff way, “What?”
“ ‘r you leavin’” your eyes flutter open a split second, before it slowly caves in on itself again.
Scaramouche stays silent. Perhaps you’ll fall asleep and he wouldn’t have to answer, but curiosity got the better of him. “…Do you want me to leave?”
Your face scrunches up, but your eyes remain closed. On the verge of dreams and far from reality, without the usual insecurities and worries that one had while awake, it was safe to say that the censors you put on yourself were mostly gone. You answer quite truthfully, “no.”
His fist suddenly clenches the bed covers, there’s a warmth in his chest that hits him all too suddenly and without warning.
She wants me here?
Are you still awake? He asks himself, would it be a stretch to ask you now? “Do you know who you’re talking to?” He blurts out, unable to really comprehend what you said. Perhaps you were imagining that he was someone else.
Now it was your turn to be silent. Though, unlike him, it was mostly because you were already falling asleep, things were taking longer to process, but your head does a tiny nod and you mumble an easy and muffled “my grumpy husband,”
There was nothing much to it, just the truth. But why did such a simple statement of fact suddenly sound so…satisfying? Was it because you uttered it? Or was it the way you said it?
Scaramouche is certain that you’ve finally fallen asleep, and he sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair, sweeping it back and staring at the ceiling.
When did things become so complicated? She’s just an accessory…
He wasn’t going to change. He knew that and you knew that. You knew exactly what you were getting into, and agreed into a loveless marriage because of the benefits it brought to your family. To your sick mother, specifically. And yet…thinking about the lifetime that Kuni talked of, it would certainly be a very long time.
Try as Scaramouche might to change his so-called “grumpy” ways, it was part of him, and it was just how he communicated, but still…there must be some sort of middle ground where the two of you could meet.
Not to make you or him feel better. Not because he sympathized with you, but it would probably be easier for him if you weren’t so emotional or unwilling to communicate–yes, he really thought you were the one who was difficult to understand, despite watching you easily socialize with the other nobles.
He went to bed with those thoughts that night. Barely getting any sleep, mostly because he had decided on what to do, yet he wasn’t confident that this was the best action to take.
It’s too late for her to turn back…
He woke up to a routine that he fell into ever since you got injured: Check your room, then go to breakfast.
He was surprised to see that you were awake and standing at that, though the maid was trying to coax you back into bed. Looks like he came in at the right time.
“What’re you doing?” he narrowed his eyes at you and you blinked at him innocently.
“Going to breakfast, I’m really hungry,” Scaramouche breathes out an exasperated sigh. “You’re not going anywhere, they’ll bring breakfast to you,” and the maid takes that as a cue to leave and to do as he says.
You purse your lips a little, “I’ve been in bed for days, I can walk…”
Scaramouche doesn’t know if he imagines it or if it really happens, but his eye twitches. “This coming from someone who had a coughing fit yesterday? You really think you’re well enough?”
You open your mouth to say something back, but close it again when you realize he’s right. You might feel energetic now, but that could quickly change in a second. You were overestimating your body a little too much. You plop back down on your bed with a simple, “Fine,” like a teen who just lost a bet.
“I almost forgot how hard-headed you are,” Scaramouche mumbles.
“You’re one to talk…”
Silence falls over the two of you, just waiting for the maids to come back with your food. You were lost in thought for a moment, finally feeling that your mind was clearing up and your body was healing itself after days knocked out and bed-ridden. It was here that you were able to truly think about what transpired.
The attack, the arrow, the suddenness of it.
“…So…What really happened?” You manage to ask, and Scaramouche instantly knows what you’re enquiring about.
“It’s as you said, you played hero and took an arrow that was meant for me,” there’s an obvious condescending tone to his words, but you ignore it and instead continue your line of questions.
“Who was it? And why?” There must have been something bigger in play here, killing a prince was a huge offense, and it would lead to execution of the perpetrator. You see Scaramouche tense up at the question. Shoulders stiffening as if it was cold.
“…We don’t know…” He simply answers and trails off, his tone indicating that he wasn’t done talking. “…but I have my guesses,”
“So you know who it is?” you prod.
“No, it’s just speculation,”
With you sitting on the bed and him standing a few steps away from you, you see his head turn away, eyes upon the wide, clear-glass balcony doors. It’s not often you see a thoughtful look on his face. He seemed to be seriously considering something. His brows furrow and though he seems to be staring into space, you had a feeling he was just processing certain information in his mind, and you let him.
It feels like a long while before he starts talking again.
“There’s…” something about the way he softly whispers his next words draws your full attention towards him. He was always easily heard. Not loud, but always enough to be audible. So when he whispered, it was rather unusual. “There’s something you need to know…”
This isn’t a love confession. You see it in the way he stiffly turns his gaze towards you, the way his face holds a darker expression than usual. He looks at you as if he’s looking at your very soul.
Trying to lighten up the atmosphere a little, you give a small smile and a nonchalant shrug. “Sure?”
There’s every bit of confidence in you that it isn’t actually something too bad. After all, you’re married to a heartless prince, you’ve been struck by an arrow, you’ve been poisoned. How could it go down from there?
There’s a heavy stillness. For some reason, you hold your breath as he starts speaking.
His lips move.
You expect it to be something about an enemy, something about a war between two kingdoms. You expect him to say that he knows who it is because it had happened before, or something at least to point out who the perpetrator was.
Instead, the confession he makes is about himself.
“I’ve taken people’s lives,” Scaramouche doesn’t break eye contact with you. You’re not sure what hits you first, the shiver that runs up your spine, or the split second of fear that clenches your chest.
“…What?” This isn’t good for your body, it feels as if you’re panicking again.
“…Which part do you not understand…?” His whole being changes. Where before, despite his anger and his frustrations, you felt as if he wasn’t much of a real threat. He was just an incredibly insensitive man.
But now, as he walks towards you, his gait is almost intimidating. “…I’ve killed people,” he stops, just an arm’s length away from you. “…Do you wanna know how?”
The maids–oblivious to the conversation that had just transpired–knock on the door and open it as you continue to dazedly stare up at Scaramouche’s face. The cogs in your mind are struggling to work, but it tries to get to a conclusion:
Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.
Warnings:NOT PROOFREAD forgive me, longer than usual, a bit of fluff I guess?, medieval Karen alert
Word Count: 3.2k
Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.
You were distinctly aware that Scaramouche had sat next to you on the carriage enroute to the annual celebration. Before then, he’d always sat across you instead. Why were you paying attention to such details anyway? You’d been telling yourself not to overthink things, but it seems as if your mind just loved to wander, especially after that small moment yesterday night.
Try as you might to pretend that last night was nothing, probably just him being moody again, something inside you stirred in a way that had you curious, bordering on wondering if Scaramouche was actually starting to warm up to you…or maybe, possibly, even something more.
You shook your head vigorously at the thought.
“What’re you doing?” Of course he had to notice and of course he had to give you a weirded out look.
Your eyes darted towards and away from him all at once. “Uh…Nothing,” and then it was silent in the carriage again, up until the two of you arrived at the venue.
It was a special one, unlike any other that you’ve been to before it actually looked simpler, yet it was still quite large with intricate ceilings and chandeliers, exotic looking windows and long elegant tables of food and drinks.
Your arrival had to be announced. It was Scaramouche’s day and his presence was of the utmost importance. For some reason that didn’t bother you too much, though a lot of the attention would be on you for the night. Unlike usual gatherings, much of the guests were younger people. Possibly around your and Scaramouche’s age rather than the older nobles and aristocrats.
Perhaps it was for that reason that you felt like there were a lot more stares on you than usual.
“The opening dance will start in a few,” Scaramouche warned you, your arm hooked around his, a standard stance when the two of you enter a venue.
A somewhat familiar face stops in front of the two of you. You reach back into your mind to look for her name. Ah. Right. Amaya. The young noble who saw you as nothing but dirt under her feet.
“How can a nobody like you become the princess? We’ve all come from royal and pure blood, and then you, tainted and filthy like where you came from–there’s no way the prince would ever love you!”
You’ve seen her a few more times after that, in the same ladies tea party, but she didn’t speak up as much, seeing as the other nobles started warming up to you, regardless of your background. Amaya, however, you could see in the way she stood in front of the two of you that she was out for trouble.
“Prince Scaramouche,” she curtsied towards him, and completely disregards your presence next to him. Scaramouche’s eyebrows raise up, also noticing the lack of greeting towards you. Amaya wouldn’t even glance at you.
“Happy birthday, I’ve brought an extremely valuable artifact as a birthday present. I’m sure it’ll be to your liking,” Amaya was rather graceful. They all were. She motions her hand towards her left for a server to come forward. A perfect looking square shaped gift wrapped in golden paper was atop the tray he was holding, red ribbon encircling it.
“If I may be so bold as to suggest something…I don’t believe she’s fit to do the opening dance with you…I heard that she hasn’t had the proper noble upbringing. I’m sure it’s stressful for her too,” Amaya threw you a fake smile as your eyes widened a little. She was really doing this in front of you, JUST as the two of you walk in. The night had barely even started and it was starting out with this, insinuating that you were nothing but commoner trash, and she wasn’t even done talking yet. “If you’d like, I’m confident that I’ll be able to do the dance flawlessly,”
Even the server holding the gift looked uncomfortable with her words. There was no world in which it was appropriate to suggest to the prince that he should do the opening dance with someone else who WASN’T his wife. The beginning was already looking grim for you.
There was a moment of silence, and you were at a loss for what to say, not knowing how far you could go with your words. However, a short snort of laughter cut through the tension, your eyes darted sideways, realizing that it was Scaramouche. There was a wide grin plastered on his face and he was looking at Amaya as if SHE was the trash beneath his feet. His momentary snickering gradually turned into chuckles, and his chuckles bellowed into obnoxious laughter, his head tipped back like a villain.
Your eyes were wide while Amaya was making her declaration, but they were full blown saucers now, watching Scaramouche laugh like a maniac and everyone in close vicinity was looking at him, astounded as well. “S-Scaramouche?” You started, wondering if he had finally gone crazy.
His laughing abruptly stopped and he leveled his gaze towards Amaya. His glare was unlike anything you’ve seen before. Sure, he always had one on his face, but this one was vicious, like you could be poisoned with just one look. And then, with humor in his voice, he asked Amaya “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Amaya was frozen in a second, and you couldn’t help but tug at Scaramouche’s arm with your own, like a mother who was embarrassed. You whispered at him, “Scara, just leave it,” you tugged again, but he didn’t budge. “You’re a great example of why I didn’t marry a noble, conceited witch,”
“Scaramouche!” You hissed, aware of the eyes that were already turned towards your small group. Amaya was looking paler by the minute but Scaramouche was looking more entertained by the second.
“Listen carefully, either you apologize or you’re going to leave and count on it that your family will be wiped out of noble existence,” Scaramouche gave his final command and Amaya immediately blurted out, looking straight at Scaramouche “I-I’m sorry! I apologize,” almost as if she didn’t know what was happening.
But Scaramouche sneered, tipped his head sideways towards you and exclaimed, “to her,”
Amaya was horrified, but she still turned towards you, finally meeting your eyes and curtsied. “I-I-I” she seemed to be having some trouble.
“Now!” Scaracmouche was ruthless in his demands, and Amaya finally breaks.
“I apologize, princess!” you could hear the tremble in her voice. Shamed and embarrassed, she turned around and fled to the restrooms, you could almost see her watery eyes in your mind’s eye. The server was left standing there with the gift and Scaramouche clicked his tongue. “Throw that out, I want nothing from that family,” and finally tugged at you to retreat over to one of the tables with drinks.
Scaramouche unwound his arm from yours and took one of the champagne glasses flawlessly, taking a sip from it as if nothing had happened and you were left staring at him, jaw slack and open. “Scaramouche, you can’t just–” you blinked, and looked around to see if anyone was staring at the two of you, then your eyes darted between crowds to see if you could catch a glimpse of Amaya again. Strange enough, part of you felt bad, despite the fact that Amaya was the one who struck first.
“Quit looking so worried, I’m the crown prince,” Scaramouche watches as your eyebrows scrunch up in worry. He doesn’t understand what’s got you so riled up or anxious. “Don’t waste your time over that hag.” and he meant it. You knew because his hand flew over to your chin and forced your gaze away from the crowd and towards him. “Stop. Forget about it,”
Easy for him to say. He must be so used at making people feel like crap. You opened your mouth to say something, but he spoke sooner than you did. “If she isn’t showing respect then she doesn’t deserve it either,” then he dropped his hand away from your chin, but your gaze stayed on Scaramouche. Your shoulders relaxed. He had a point, but it was really strange coming from Scaramouche’s mouth.
It’s as if when it came to other people he knew what the rules were, but for himself…it’s like etiquette didn’t matter. He could be rude and snappy all day long and yet he wouldn’t expect anyone to talk back to him.
You took in a long breath while closing your eyes and sighed it out just as slow. You kept your eyes closed for a moment longer before opening them with a half defeated and half accepting grin. “Alright, fine…I’ll just…wipe everything over, pretend it didn’t happen and get on with this party,” then you set your hand out to him. “Opening dance?” Suddenly you had the determination to show others that you DID know how to do the opening dance properly. Amaya be damned.
Despite being in close proximity of each other during the actual opening dance, it didn’t have the same intimacy as it did the night before. Perhaps because there were people looking at the two of you, scrutinizing the dance and probably whispering about how the two of you had no chemistry at all, or something. Nevertheless it ended without a hitch, and unlike the night before, you and Scaramouche came apart as soon as the dance finished, but your hands stayed together as you walked off the dance floor and onto another table with food.
He glanced sideways at you. “You were a little stiff,” he commented and you swerved your head towards him with a glare.
“I was nervous, what do you expect?” It didn’t really feel great to be told that when you were so determined to show others that you had “perfected” the dance.
“…It wasn’t a poor performance…but being stiff just makes you…heavier,” Scaramouche continued to talk as if he didn’t know he was digging his own grave.
“Oh now you’re calling me heavy! That doesn’t even make sense–I’m the same weight all throughout the dance!” you hissed at him and he turns to look at you with a blank look on his face as the two of you walk, though it looks as if he’s about to say something mischievous.
“…Then maybe you’re just naturally heav–”
“Prince Scaramouche! Princess Y/N!” You fumed at him, though he didn’t finish his sentence, he has a grin on his face. The two of you turn to see Kokomi curtsying towards the two of you. Your mood instantly brightens up.
“Kokomi!” You can’t help but break away from Scaramouche’s hold on your hand and greeted Kokomi with a hug. She seemed like such a good break from a terrible start of the evening. Kokomi receives it and greets Scaramouche as well.
“Happy birthday, prince,” she nodded and Scaramouche only let out a hum. “It seems like the two of you are getting along better these days,” Kokomi comments as you slide away from her hug and back to Scaramouche’s side.
“Nonsense.” Scaramouche pipes up right at the same time as you say “Hardly.” with a roll of your eyes. But Kokomi giggles, hiding her laugh behind her hand and moves on to a different topic. She fetches a black box from her sleeve, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand and hands it over to Scaramouche. “It’s done, milord. There should be no issues whatsoever with it,” She sounded so proud, but you had no idea what was in the box, and Scaramouche looked as if he didn’t have an idea too.
So, the first thing he did was receive it, and opened the top. There were two rings resting inside the velvet of the box. One was clearly for a female. A simple, silver band ring with a pearl embedded into the middle. The other was a larger and thicker ring. It was silver as well, but it had a mysterious sheen to it, like it wasn’t completely made of silver.
Then it hit Scaramouche, a quiet “Oh,” escaping his lips. He closed it back and pocketed the box of rings. Kokomi looked far too pleased with herself. You only blinked, confused. “Is that… a gift?” you asked the two of them.
Scaramouche doesn’t answer but Kokomi gives you an explanation. “For generations, our clan has been tasked to make pearl rings for the future king and queen. These rings are exchanged during the first birthday in which the prince has been wedded. They’re quite special, you see. The Sango pearls we use are one of a kind, magical properties are infused into the material and…well, you’ll experience it yourself later,”
“Oh,” you let out just like Scaramouche did earlier. “I didn’t know about that,” your gaze moves to Scaramouche, and he feels it on him, questioning him as to why he didn’t say anything about it earlier.
“…I forgot,” he simply said, and you buy it but you deflate, wondering if he really was fit for the role of king. He just…didn’t know how to communicate with anyone.
“Why was it not exchanged during the wedding instead?” You ask Kokomi curiously, who is oh-so happy to answer your questions.
“Back then the rings were originally simple gifts from the Sangonomiya clan to the crown prince on his birthday. I suppose that tradition just stuck despite some changes on the rings itself. So, in a way, youcould say that it’s simply a birthday gift,” She brought her hands together with a pleasant smile.
Come to think of it, the wedding rings that the two of you exchanged during the wedding were…fake. Just for show. You exchanged them during the ceremony but they were taken off as soon as the whole thing was over and you didn’t see them again. Perhaps these were like replacements, or maybe the real ones.
“Perhaps the prince can explain more about the rings if time allows. Now then, I’ll have to catch up with you later, princess,” Kokomi curtsied again, and smoothly leaves the conversation. Without her there it’s as if the two of you are back to your gruff demeanors.
You cross your arms on your chest and say “Well?” to fish out an explanation from Scaramouche. He lolls his head lazily towards you. “You’ll see later, they’ll make a big show of us exchanging the rings, after we cut my birthday cake.”
Oh great. You thought to yourself. The whole thing was quite literally a show. Scaramouche’s birthday show for all the young nobles to see. It was rather horrifying and just as you thought you didn’t mind the attention, it really did seem like all of it would be on you for the rest of the night.
Surprisingly, you and Scaramouche seemed to share the same thought. He didn’t like these theatrics either, and so the two of you silently agreed to just hang out on one table together, discreetly eating some food unless a noble disturbed the two of you and engaged in conversation. However, these ones were not that adept at making long conversations. The young ones would say something about the weather, ask how the two of you were and would have nothing else to talk about and leave almost instantly.
It was like a blessing in disguise.
When Scaramouche’s birthday cake was rolled out, you had to tip your head up to see the entirety of it. It was a royal lavender colour, and you didn’t bother to count how many tiers there were, it looked as if one poke would tip it over.
The announcer was talking. Something about celebrating Scaramouche’s birthday and it being a joyous occasion. You tuned it all out cause all you were focused on was not making a fool of yourself while the others watched on and clapped in awe at how grand the cake was.
Scaramouche was passed a knife and he took it. Then, with the knife still gripped in his hand he seemed to offer it to you. “We’re supposed to cut it together,” You blink at him but follow suit, lest you would just stand there like a fool. You placed your hand atop his which was holding the cutting knife and just followed as his hand hovered above the cake. There was a countdown, and both of your hands pushed down through a piece, making a clean cut and perfect slice.
That piece of cake was set aside on a plate, possibly for the two of you to enjoy later. The theatrics didn’t stop there. It was the ring exchange now, and Scaramouche still looked as bored as ever as he fished it out of his pocket.
“May our hearts always be connected,” Your head jerks up as you hear Scaramouche utter the words. It takes you a moment to realize that he’s picking up your left hand, ring ready on his other. You can’t stop the goosebumps that rise behind your neck, making you shiver. The words seemed out of place in his mouth, with his expression so blank it’s hard to think that he’s sincere, but then his eyes hold yours, there seems to be a slight squeeze on your hand as he slips the ring around your ring finger. “…no matter the distance, you’ll always be protected,”
He finished just as the ring rests snugly on your finger, and he takes a moment to admire it on your hand, still splayed atop his.
The sentences he said were your short wedding vows, and though it’s your second time hearing it, there’s something different about it this time around. “I–” You start, when you realize that it’s supposed to be your turn. You remember yours clear as day, because the two of you had practiced it back then, endlessly.
His eyes follow your every move, from the way you picked up his ring, to the way there was a slight tremble in your hand when you picked up his. “I vow to always be by your side…” Your hands are a little cold, he notes…and yet…why does he feel nothing but warmth, watching your lips move to recite the vows? “…To be your shelter, your strength…and your bride,”
As you place the ring in the correct place on his finger, the two of you move your head at the same time, meeting each other’s gazes. Your lips are slightly apart in wonder.
When did it become easier to say those words?
“Y/N,” Scaramouche rarely says your name, but when he does it sounds like a delicacy. Something that you only enjoy once in a while. You realize he calls your name to warn you, your heart suddenly leaps out of your chest and starts galloping like a frenzied horse.
You’re supposed to kiss. Why did no one tell you about this?
Scaramouche’s hand easily rests on the side of your face. You don’t think you’re ready for this. You’re slightly panicking and you only hope it isn’t evident as he starts to dip closer–
BANG!
You startle and jump, instinctively clutching at Scaramouche’s coat when the ballroom starts to register that someone had come in rather forcefully. There are sudden whispers all around you and it seemed as if the atmosphere had changed drastically. Scaramouche still has his hand on your cheek when he turns to face the intruder striding towards the two of you.
Prince Tartaglia approaches.
In full armor and battle gear, knights following behind him.
You aren’t aware that the pearl on your ring suddenly glows a fiery red.
Scaramouche has time to glance at his, the pearl sheen on his ring turns dark, almost black under the light. Then, as if reading your emotions clearly, he states “Being afraid does nothing,” he drops the hand that was on your cheek, and subtly places himself in front of you as Tartaglia nears. “Besides, I’ll make quick work of this uninvited bastard,”
Scaramouche grins, and it’s as if an unspoken war had just started.
Notes:This was also a request and I liked it but for some reason I can’t find the ask anymore, I might have accidentally deleted it. Has been sitting in my drafts for a while cause idk how else to make it better. It’s still a little cringy to me, tbh.
Warnings:VERYSTEAMY but generally still SFW bordering on not, you’ve been warned though, not proofread, some possessiveness, yes there are sexual innuendos, mentions of alcohol and drinking, did i say not proofread?, if there are pronoun slips please let me know.
The two of you never really meant for it to turn into a make out session. With Aether, there’s a lot of patience and no pushing to do things. It just happened spontaneously while cuddling in bed.
The first kiss was innocent. Just a quick peck on the lips. But something in him seemed to spur him on and suddenly he’s leaning in for another one…and another one…and another… He’s still slow about it, giving you the chance to say no but also hoping that you don’t pull away. When you don’t, he peers into your eyes and sees that they’re clouded over, just as his is and he puts his all into the next kiss.
His hand cradles your neck, his kiss is nearing hungry, wanting more of your soft lips on his. It’s an addiction now and you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck to deepen the already passionate exchange. You open your mouth to let his tongue slide in, the kisses are getting sloppy, wetter. Your legs are tangled together and the heat between your lips blooms in your stomach and has you silently begging for more. The raw emotion makes you weak.
“Hey! Why is the door locked?! Did you two forget about Paimon?! Let me in!”
The two of you pull away abruptly. Panting and flushed, Aether more so than you. There’s a subtle disappointment in his eyes, but he’s a gentleman so he smiles and gathers himself, smooths down your hair and his, kisses your nose and utters a quick “I love you,” before pushing off the bed and letting the clueless Paimon in.
Albedo
Did he plan it? You’ll never know. He took you to Inazuma with him when he was commissioned to paint The Five Kasen. Of course, he took Klee with him too.
“It’s been a while since we’ve been alone,” Albedo sets down the tea on the kotatsu and sits next to you on the tatami floor. Klee is out with the traveller and Yoimiya, and though he feels a little bad for not being able to take Klee around, he was really rather busy with the preparation of the paintings.
What you didn’t get was why he wouldn’t let YOU go with Klee instead. It’d been midday when he emerged from his separate work room and sought you out. And now the two of you sat side by side each other, you feel him snake an arm around your waist. “You’re done with the painting?” You question him as he presses a kiss on the side of your head.
“No,” he simply replies. The next time he dips his head, it lands on your lips and you instantly recognize the need in it. He rarely initiated kisses like this, the type that fanned a fire in your belly. It’s not a hungry kiss, but its long and his lips constantly move against yours, just as your head tilts to the side to give him more access.
Your hand slides away from the teacup and rests on his shoulder, his arms are coming up to your back and pressing you further into him. When he breaks away he only does so to dip back into your neck, trailing kisses up to your ear. “‘Bedo–” You shudder a little at the light and quick pecks…until your ears pick up on familiar little, running footsteps and the door making a small rattle before the two of you break away and it slides open to reveal a very happy Klee, bursting with joy about her adventures.
You pretend to be drinking tea, though Albedo’s hand is still around your waist, he clears his throat before greeting his sister. “Welcome back, Klee,”
Ayato
Intentional but has an excuse for it and kind of blames you for it.
It’s rare that he gets to go to a festival with you, but he decided that he could take a break today and walk around. Inazuman festivals are always looked forward to, with lots of stalls, festivities and the closing fireworks, it’s an enjoyable time for everyone.
For Ayato, however, he can’t help but keep staring at your kimono-clad form. You rarely wore them, only on special occasions. Simply said, you looked even more charming than usual.
So then was it his fault that he pulled you into a small alleyway in between two Inazuman houses and started kissing you? No. Not at all.
“A-Ayato–There are people–” He’s gentle when he maneuvered you against the wall, but his kiss was not. He nips at your lips in a teasing manner, and recaptures your lips over and over again with only a second to breathe between each one, his hands sliding up your hip to keep you in place.
“If you’re not too noisy they won’t notice, darling,” Ayato hides a smirk as he whispers to you, going back in for a now open mouthed and hot kiss. He just can’t get enough of you. Every breath he took was like breathing in lust and fire, seducing him to keep his mouth sucking yours.
Then, he feels something bump against his foot, he pulls away abruptly, one of his arms still leaning onto the wall next to your head and he looks down to see a colourful ball there. The sounds of kids shouting about kicking the ball too far and running after it makes him pull all the way back, just in time for the kids to stop at the entrance of the alleyway and look at the two of you quizzically, then down to their ball.
Ayato merely kicks it back towards them, and they don’t ask any questions, just caring about the fact that they can continue their game. He does pull you over and out of the small space though, despite you still being flushed and easily says. “We’ll continue later, care to come over?”
Dainsleif
Not a particularly jealous person but there are times where he can’t really stand other people giving you too much attention.
Wolvendom was apparently a dangerous place. Not for Dainsleif. Dainsleif might have been more dangerous than Wolvendom itself. So despite the dangers of the forest you find yourself at ease when he’s around.
The plan was to just pick wolfhooks, but things escalated pretty easily when you found your back against a tree and Dainsleif hovering above you. He didn’t have his arms out, nor was he pushing you towards the tree, but his gaze stayed you there. “…There was a man at the tavern who was a little touchy with you,” he started and you realized he had somehow been watching that exchange.
“He was drunk, Dain. He was kicked out a little later,” You explain as he cups your chin and levels his gaze towards you.
“…I don’t like it,” he simply says and you nod saying that you knew. No one would. However, instead of him complaining he translates his frustrations into a rather forceful kiss. Him pressing against you and trapping you at the tree, you didn’t resist, you had no intention to and all you could do was melt against him.
It would seem as if he was taking out his anger on you, but his kisses gradually ease up, and all it starts to translate to is love and of him never wanting to let you go. His hands tether at your waist and he continues to drown you with his kiss, tongue pushing against your lips, asking for access to your mouth. It’s soft yet dominating at the same time, like an artist’s brush that confidently strokes at the canvas, he continues to stroke his lips on yours.
The first signs of rainfall drip on the tree the two of you are under, it escapes past the leaves until he starts to feel it drip on his scalp. He pulls away as the rain starts to hammer harder down on the two of you. He doesn’t mind kissing you in the rain, but it was the thunder that worried him. He instinctively pulls his coat away and over your form, then retreating under a nearby shelter that he knew of.
His face still has desire painted on it, but he looks down at you, slightly drenched and looking cold and smiles a little with apology. “Sorry,” he says curtly and you only grin back at him.
Diluc
He likes the thought of being intimate with you. Kissing is just the most basic form of love that he discovered he enjoys. He enjoys it so much it’s hard for him to tell himself that one kiss will be enough.
It starts with your visit to his study. He’s there, poring over papers and the moment you walk in it’s as if his exhaustion billows away. He waits for you to approach him at his chair behind the desk and greets you by taking your hand and kissing the back of it. “Done with work?” He asks you and you nod your head with a small “Mmhmm,”
He stands then and greets you more intimately with another kiss. Gloved hand placed on your collarbone and clutching at your shoulder as he pulls you in. Your lips fuses into his perfectly, like you were made for each other and he thinks the same. It’s the exact reason why he can never just kiss you once, specially in the privacy of a room.
He kisses you again, but this time with more fervor, like he hadn’t kissed you in forever, like it was his first time seeing you in ages. His weight starts to push on you, and there’s nowhere to go but on his desk. Without ever taking his lips away he hoists you up over his desk, letting you sit comfortably while you wrap your arms around his shoulders. He’s standing in between your legs and his hands are pressed tightly on your waist. He pulls away to see the expression on your face, clearly wanting more.
He doesn’t ever complain about giving you more and the kisses heat up to the point that your tongues are dancing together, panting against the passion, your hands are tangled in his long, red hair, and you instinctively tug at the hair band keeping it together. Your body almost trembles against his at the intensity of his lips conquering yours–
“Master Diluc? The accountant is here to see you,” The knock on the door pulls the two of you apart, but he doesn’t move from his forehead to forehead position with you. It feels hotter in the room, and he’s sure that it’s not just him who feels it. He stalls for a while to think about what to say, wanting to just turn the accountant away and tell him to come back another time, but you laugh under your breath, feeling the conflict in him.
“Master Diluc,” you breathe out, clearly teasing him. “Don’t keep your guest waiting, I’ll come back later,” It’s you who pushes him away and jumps off the desk, turning to open the door and reveal Adelinde behind it. “He’ll be there in a second. Thank you Adelinde!”
Gorou
Shy. So more often than not you’re the one initiating. You’re surprised that he’s actually a good kisser, or did he just get gradually better at it? Maybe he read some books about it…
Gorou already knows what’s on your mind when you ask him “Can I see the armory?” The first time you asked that, he merely raised his eyebrows and said sure. That had turned out to be a full-blown kissing session that left him flustered the whole day.
It had actually been a while since you visited, and so when you ask “Is there anything new in the armory?” with a small grin on your face. Gorou can’t control nor hide the swish of his tail. He doesn’t admit out loud that he’s missed you far more than he can comprehend.
You’re rather shocked as well that when the door to the armory closes he’s the one who captures your lips in a kiss. He pulls away to say “I–I haven’t seen you in so long. I just–” but you silence him with another, pulling at his clothes to get him leaning on top of you, mouths meshed together.
Your hands wander up to his ears, you always do that, rubbing at it while kissing makes him let out a low growl into your mouth and give a slight jump, but he doesn’t hate it. In fact it encourages him to do more. To open his mouth and receive yours. The kissing sounds are starting to sound lewd and his hands are starting to crawl up your sides.
“General?” Gorou jerks away from you, there’s a sound of a weapon clinking, as if it was getting hung up on the wall. There are footsteps coming around to the two of you and you flatten your clothing out hastily. One of his soldiers was in the armory and emerges from a row of weapons. “Ah general! I thought I heard you!” and proceeds to ask about which weapon would suit him more, because he was having a hard time picking.
Gorou glances at you, face still flushed but there’s nothing but amusement in your eyes. He sighs inwardly and makes a future mental note to check if there’s anyone in the premises first before deciding to kiss you.
Itto
He doesn’t constantly think about making out with you but when it starts to happen he can’t get his mind out of the gutter anymore. Doesn’t have a normal amount of shame as well. So getting caught making out is like nothing to him.
His favourite place to go beetle hunting is Chinjuu forest. Apparently that’s where all the big and strong ones are. He’s looking at every nook and cranny. In the river, atop trees, under boulders, on the stone stairs, inside logs. You name it.
When he finally finds one, it’s like he hit the jackpot. “Heyyy!! Y/N, check this out!” he waves over and runs towards you to show you his new found treasure…only for him to trip on a big rock and start falling backwards, the beetle is startled and flies away from his hand.
Itto is somewhat of an impulsive klutz, and so when he realizes that he’s falling he clumsily grabs on to the nearest thing, as if it would help him. Unfortunately, that was you and you end up on the ground with him.
“Ow…Gee…Stupid rock,” he pushes himself up by his elbows and glares at the rock by his foot, then realizes that you’re completely pressed up against him and resting right below his chin. “Y/N! You okay?!”
He wraps one arm around your waist, with how burly Itto was, having you resting on top of him was nothing. He realizes how close the two of you are and a bulb instantly lights in his head. “…Wanna kiss?” He grins shamelessly and you smack his shoulder hard. “Ow!”
“Come on! Just one!” he urges and and somehow flips you over to the ground. Now he’s the one hoisting himself up above you. You consent and he giddily kisses you on the lips. Despite his size Itto is always gentle at first, and he never goes past your boundaries. Always asking if he could kiss you. He pulls away with a satisfied smile, but just looking at you under him like that…it stirs a bit of something in his gut.
“…Another one?” He asks. Eyes tacked on to your suddenly delicious looking lips. He leans in again and this time the kiss he gives has a slight nip to it, his teeth gently nibbling on your lower lip, like he’s trying to get an actual taste of you. He pulls away again, face starting to become pink. “…A-Another–” This time it’s you who pulls him down by his coat, not letting him finish his request and it turns into a full blow make-out session.
It’s a clumsy medley of kisses at first, just trying to taste more of each other and lips grappling for control. There’s a sudden, fiery urgency between your kisses, like you’re losing time, and your hands are starting to slide down his exposed midriff.
“Boss! Bossss!!” You push him away when you hear his gang members calling after him, but he didn’t seem to care and chases after your lips again. “Itto!” you hiss and punch his shoulder. “What?” he looks at you innocently. “Get off! Your friends are coming!”
“So what?” he blinks, actually looking like he doesn’t care. He just doesn’t find anything wrong about giving you affection. “Get off or I’ll never kiss you again!” You threaten and he pouts but relents. By the time his gang members arrive. The two of you are stood up, with you dusting your clothes off and Itto looking like a defeated bear.
Kaeya
You bet he initiates and he does so whenever he feels like it. However, other times, he likes to lure you into his trap by using his charms, so it looks as if you’re the one who started it but in fact he’s been sending you signals the whole time.
“Ah, so here you are,” Kaeya chuckles, kicking the door to the rooftop close as he saunters over to you. Up at the rooftop of the Favonius Headquarters, it was quiet and no one ever really went up there. You could see a small view of the town, as well as the windmills surrounding it.
You were leaning over the railings, and only turned around to give Kaeya a half-glare, crossing your arms over your chest. “Came up here to tease me more?” You said, earning another chuckle from Kaeya. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, love,”
He lifts your face up to meet his using his finger. His grin is handsome, and the moonlight illuminates his eye that much more. Your hands rest on his shoulders as he comes nearer and you mumble at him almost accusingly. “Liar. You couldn’t keep your hands off me during the meeting…”
Kaeya doesn’t say anything but does slither an arm around your middle. He was a menace. The Favonius meetings were long sometimes, and you guessed that he got bored. He kept nudging you with his knee, and at some point had even secretly placed his hand on your thigh, tracing patterns on it with his finger, pretending to listen to the meeting minutes.
Kaeya leans in to whisper into your ear, his breathy voice sends a shiver down your neck and spine. “Can’t help it, your squirming is fun to watch,” and that’s how he gets you to press your lips on his. Just with a little urging, a little teasing, a little subtle touch. It drives you crazy and it entertains him to no end.
“Someone’s impatient,” he whispers again when you pull back, “It’s your fault,” you whisper back. This time he’s the one who makes the move. His kisses are perfect. It touches more than just your lips, it reaches your soul, your heart and the very core of your being. You’re always left wanting more. He knows how to kiss in a way that has you chasing for more, clutching at him for more. He knows that when he sucks at your bottom lip you’ll mewl and bite his back. The heated exchange continues, up until the door to the rooftop slams open.
“Sir Kaeya–Oh…Uhm…I–” The knight who walks in realizes Keaya is in the middle of something. Kaeya doesn’t have plans to turn around, but he does so only to briefly address the knight. “I’ll be there in five minutes,” Kaeya doesn’t wait for the knight to leave, and proceeds to continue kissing you until your lips are sore.
Kazuha
Gentle but will catch you off guard. Always starts off with innocent kisses up until it escalates into a desire that he can’t ignore.
The bird’s nest of the ship. That small lookout on the highest point of the mast, where a crewmember would stay and warn the other crew members if there was an impending doom coming. Like a storm, or another big ship, or a small ship they should avoid. It’s an important part of the ship, but also a somewhat private little getaway.
The breeze is always nice up here, but when night falls it becomes a tad too chilly and you end up wrapped up in Kazuha’s arms and warmth. You stay like that for a moment, just enjoying the lull of the sea and the sound of the waves. After a while longer you tip your head up to look at him, finding that he’s gazing tenderly at you.
You smile, and he follows. A little piece of heaven was so easy for him to obtain with you in his life. You tip your head up to invite him for a kiss, and he effortlessly meets your lips romantically. It takes your breath away, the manner in which he silently claims your lips as his and only his. It’s not demanding nor forceful at all, yet something about it makes you surrender and your knees start feeling weak.
His arms tighten around you, he pulls away for a brief second, only for air and comes back in immediately. This time it feels like his lips scorches yours, the flame that ignites leaves you whimpering for more, clutching at his arms, senseless to everything else except his kiss.
The only reason it stops is because you’re suddenly jerked away from him. He startles as well, feeling his feet sway a little, but his hold on you is protective and reassuring. A strong wave had nearly tipped the two of you off balance, and Kazuha looks beyond the sea to see that a storm might be brewing.
He chuckles a little, aware that he got carried away for a moment there. “Let’s go back down, love. It’ll get dangerous up here in a few,”
Scaramouche
Rough and demands it when he wants it. For him it’s like an impulse, or maybe the result of holding back too much and suddenly exploding with want.
He was sour the whole day, and you had no idea why. Possibly one of his moods. He took it out on nearly all his subordinates, shouting about how everyone here was incompetent and useless.
When night fell and the men had fallen back to their makeshift tents or quarters, Scaramouche came back to his and your tent, done antagonizing everyone for the day. He doesn’t say much as he undresses and prepared for the night, slipping on a simple shirt and shorts. You were already on your shared cot, reading a book about something trivial.
He climbs in with a huff and you can’t help but smile at how childish his temperate was sometimes, but you’re startled when he climbs on top of you, your wrists are suddenly pinned above your head by his lone hand. “S-Scara–”
Wordlessly, his lips demandingly bears down on yours. You let out a slight sigh as you kiss, your eyes immediately closing at how possessive the kiss felt, but it’s exactly the way you like it. You part your mouth for him, and his tongue lashes in like strong waves pulling you under a sudden splash of desire.
The way he kisses you is beyond hungry, devouring your lips and all your senses to focus only on him. “Scara–!” was the only thing you could let out when he pulls back for a breath, a string of saliva connecting the two of you, your face incredibly flushed. That prompts him to do more, moving to yet again taste your lips.
“Sir? There’s an emergency out at the waterfalls. It seems that the resistance is closing in,”
Scaramouche pulls away and curses under his breath. He’s about to kill that soldier who’s standing outside the tent. He climbs away from the bed and starts getting dressed again, leaving you breathless on the bed. Still, you would think he would just leave, but for you, he comes back to where you rest and places a kiss on your forehead. “Wait for me, puppy. Won’t be long,”
Tartaglia
Mischievous and almost calculated. Beckons you to initiate it and leads you into it.
His meeting with the other Fatui agents just ended, and he’s left exhausted and melting into the sofa he was sitting on. His body is totally limp, just wanting to do nothing for a moment in the living room of his hotel suite. Sure, he loved the adrenaline of battle and the excitement it brought. But meetings were something else, it took a lot out of him.
“Childe?” You peer into the living room, having taken refuge in the bedroom that whole time while he took care of his business. He immediately perks up at your voice, his energy levels spiking at the thought of you. “Here, Y/N, we’re done,” he confirms and beckons you over with his hand.
You step out of the bedroom door and walk over to him on the couch, yelping when he easily pulls you atop him, forcing you to straddle him, your knees on the couch and your hands on his shoulders. “Childe!”
He only chuckles and leans back, liking the view of things, one of his hand lazily placed on your waist. “It’s been a long day honey,” he sighs out and takes his other hand to cradle your cheek. “I think I deserve a kiss,”
Indeed he does and you agree with no complaints. You straddle his lap fully when you lean in and hotly connect your lips. Your scent is hypnotic to him, the only thing in the world that could ever catch him off guard was you. He encases your waist in his arms, pulling you closer to him until you’re pressed against each other.
“Mm,” a hint of a moan escapes his lips and into yours. He doesn’t stop kissing you, the intensity increasing with each one. He starts to kiss you in a way that makes your toes curl and your insides burn, your brain melting into nothingness, not even noticing that your hands start to slide up his shirt.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
You pull away, only to be pulled back in. “Keep going,” he breathes out, ignoring the obvious knocking on the door.
“Sir–I’m sorry. We’ve forgotten to report an important part of the mission,”
Childe clicks his tongue, but he hoists you up in his arms and shouts back. “I’m off-duty, come back tomorrow,” before the two of you disappear into the bedroom.
Thoma
Natural. It just happens when it happens. There’s not much thinking involved and there’s no prior teasing.
He’d been busy for a while, setting up things and making sure everything was in place for the Irodori festival. You, being a worker at Yae Publishing house, was also busy during that time period. For the whole festival you didn’t see each other, nor did you have the time to pass by even for a short greeting.
On the final day of the festival, Thoma finds himself waiting for you to finish your shift at the Yae Publishing House stall. “Thoma!” You run up to him, delighted to see your lover after a long week, he meets you with a hug and laugh, spinning you around once before setting you down again and walking to the restaurant that the two of you agreed to eat at for dinner that day.
It was also the celebration of the end of all your hard work for the festival. For this special occasion, he had requested a private dining room for the two of you. The night started off as normal, the two of you talking about your respective events and duties.
“I missed you,” he suddenly interjects in the middle of your story. He just couldn’t help it, it’s been so long since he saw your smiling face. “Ah, sorry, you can continue your story,” he waves a hand, urging you to go on, but you’ve stopped and shifted a little closer to him. “…I missed you too, Thoma,”
And just like that your lips were inviting his. He drops his chopsticks and turns to face you, his hands on both sides of your face to bring you closer to him, to feel his lips melt and combine with yours. He feels your fingers clutch at his shirt. Thoma’s kisses makes you forget your own name. Makes your heart beat faster and faster until it feels like exploding. Every time your lips come apart and together again you’re spun into a dizzying world of fireworks and passion.
“Y/N…” he whispers before he dives in yet again, your hands now tugging at his hair, as if wanting to sink into him deeper.
“Your drinks are here!” The door slides open rather suddenly and the two of you jerk apart, faces an intense red. The server is oblivious and hums to herself while placing the glasses on your table. “Enjoy!” She says before retreating out and sliding the door shut again.
The two of you are tense, but when you meet eyes, you can’t help but let out a snicker, he follows and the two of you are just laughing it off seconds later.
Venti
It’s like a form of entertainment for him, like a hobby. He loves kissing you and he doesn’t hide that at all.
“Venti…are you drunk?” You ask as you sit next to him at the tavern. He’s rather rowdy today, but he raises an eyebrow at your query. “Me? I haven’t even had a drink yet Y/N! I’m just excited I have time to visit the tavern again!”
The two of you are off to a table on the side, it’s a little secluded, but in no ways was it private. The deeper the night got the more people came in, but you realized that Venti wasn’t drinking any booze at all. In fact his attention was all on you, just talking to each other and enjoying each other’s company.
You don’t quite understand Venti’s attraction towards you. It’s as if he appeared one day and decided to latch on to you. Was it really love? Or just fascination? Still, he was a handful, but he was able to take care of you and be considerate of your feelings, despite being energetic and carefree all the time.
“…and so we decided to leave Dragonspine,” you finished your story, drinking some of your mocktail and noting that Venti was nodding at you with sparkling eyes.
“It must’ve been cold up there, hm?” He simply says and it dawns on you only now that his arm is wrapped around your waist and the two of you are quite cozy in that position, your body tucked in his. “You’re so cute, Y/N. It’s almost unbearable, ehe~”
Then, his eyes light up almost instantly. “Ah, you haven’t given me a kiss today! You were so busy in the morning that you forgot!” He leans in, putting his face out for you but you feel your cheeks heat up and decline his offer. “Idiot, we’re in public!”
He’s silent for a moment, realizing that you’re shy, and for some reason that face of yours spurs him even more to try and kiss you. Assertively, he uses his hand to move your turned away face to meet his and he’s the one who leans in for a mind-bending kiss.
You gasp into it, eyes widening at his bravery. Although it was loud in the tavern all you could really hear was your heart beating in your chest. He doesn’t let up, you feel his tongue prodding your lips, asking to be let into your hot mouth and your eyes close automatically, losing yourself into the sudden tingling sensation running up your spine.
He kisses you like you’re the finest wine he’s ever tasted, he drinks you up like he hasn’t had water in days and you feel his mouth just pressing on yours over, and over, and over again–
BANG!
The two of you startle away from each other. One of the waiters has smacked a medium barrel of wine on your table. The type that was for sharing and had a spout connected to it. The waiter saw you kissing, but he didn’t bat an eyelid. That happened all the time in the tavern. Instead, he actually grinned and said. “Here’s that wine you ordered, this’ll warm you both up quick,” and left cackling.
Xiao
Always doesn’t expect how he likes kissing so much. He doesn’t usually initiate but when it happens he’s also surprised by the hunger he has for your lips. It’s almost like the demon inside him comes out and wants to devour you.
Xiao has his own room in Wangshu Inn, but he doesn’t use it as much as one would think. He rarely needed sleep and staying in human quarters just seemed odd to him. He never got used to it.
As an adepti, the outdoors was his calling. It’s where he spent most of his time, even with his brothers and sisters back when they were all together. In a way he was very in touch with nature and his surroundings.
Today he spent the usual night up on the Wangshu rooftop with you. Looking down at the lights and the people weaving in and out. You came to him that night with red lipstick on, and it’s not because you had intentionally put it on. It was because you just finished an opera performance at the inn, and though you weren’t the lead singer you worked as a background dancer, and sometimes that required makeup that stood out, specially in Chinese opera.
Xiao had seen your performances several times. He didn’t say much about it, but he did comment once that he thought the story was beautiful and that your moves matched the story. That was more than enough for you, coming from him.
That night, you were merely wanting to say a brief hello, just as you always did after a show. “I’ll be going now, Xiao,” you say after a moment but his hand reaches out for your wrist and holds you in place.
You turn back with a curious look on your face, wondering if he was alright. “Xiao?” He gently pulls you towards him, and stares at your face. Something in him aches to kiss you. To mess up your makeup.
He moves you over to the wooden railing of the rooftop, your back pressing against it and him trapping you in between. He continues to stare at your lips, and you finally get the message. “Xiao, do you want to…” you gulp, and he does as well. His eyes dart up towards yours, as if asking for permission.
The permission you give is your eyes closing, head tilting the slightest bit forward, letting yourself fall vulnerable in front of him. He lets out a slight sigh at the sight before pressing your mouths together. His hand finds its way to your scalp, moving you closer to him, tasting your moist lips.
He’s aware that he’s possibly smearing lipstick all over himself, but that just heightens his desire. He wants it all over him, only him and when he pulls back to see the mess that he made of you, eyes clouded over, red lipstick smudged to the side of your lips, mouth parted as if asking for more and panting, he lets out an almost guttural groan and plunges in for more.
It’s intense, like his lips had a mind of its own and he wants nothing more than for you to just hold on to him like this forever. And then, in a sudden split second, he disappears into black smoke.
“Here’s your dinner Xiao!” The chef of Wangshu inn, Smiley Yanxiao appears at the entrance of the rooftop, but when he looks around and doesn’t see Xiao there, he scratches his head and addresses you instead. You who was covering your lips to conceal how smeared your lipstick was. “Hey, Y/N, tell Xiao that I’m placing his dinner here, okay? Thanks!”
He proceeds to place the almond tofu dish on a table off to the side and turns around to go back to the kitchen. Your heart is still hammering in your ears and you’re not sure if what happened earlier had really transpired. But when you blink your eyes again and Xiao reappears in front of you, face covered in a rare blush and avoiding your gaze, you’re a hundred percent sure it had happened, and you can’t help but feel your heart skip another beat at that.
Zhongli
Patient. Knows how to bide his time. It’s not rushed or sloppy. It’s slow and sensual and he knows what he’s doing.
“Darling, I’ll be off soon,”
It’s how your mornings with him usually start. He wakes up to tend to his duties as a worker in Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, and you also have to attend to your duties as a simple hairdresser in Liyue Harbor. Appointments with you are usually done in your home, where you and Zhongli lived. Occasionally you do home visits and go to the client’s home instead of them coming to you.
“Mmhmm, I’ll see you later,” You rush over to him who is already at the door, tip toe for a quick kiss and attempt to unfurl away from his hold, only for him to hold on to you tight.
He doesn’t like rushed kisses, though the two of you are busier than usual this morning he’ll hold fast to his promise of giving loving kisses. Never rushed nor in a hurry. “Hold on a moment, dear,” he requests and holds your chin in his hand, slightly squeezing your cheeks and holding it up for him to dip down properly and sensually into a heart-melting kiss.
It gets you every time, and you don’t know how he does it. There’s always an air of confidence in his kiss, he knows what he’s doing and he knows that it gives you butterflies in your stomach. This morning, however, instead of you pulling away satisfied with just one, you ask for more by putting your hands lightly around his neck.
He gets the message and leans into your touch, pulling you by the waist, flattening your whole body against him and starting to deepen the kiss by the second. Glued to one another he claims your mouth sensually, still not in a rush. When your lips come together, it’s soft, but it’s searing hot, as if his lips is melting your skin and kissing every crevice of your being. “Zhongli…” you breathe out when you pull apart for a second, not knowing where your sudden desire comes from.
“Hm…” He merely lets out, amused at this development and continuing to brush his lips against yours. There’s a knock on the door, and that’s a clear sign that the two of you had kissed for too long. Zhongli chuckles, knowing that it must be your first appointment for the day. Just as quickly, he regains composure and kisses your forehead for a final goodbye, like nothing had happened at all.
You’re the one who’s still flustered, staring at his back and wondering how he could open the door and converse happily with the middle aged woman waiting outside your home. You almost pout, but you see him turn towards you and mouth the words “Let’s continue later,” before he bids you goodbye and leaves you with your first client.
Summary:You’ve been best friends for a whilenow, and you definitely have those little feelings of maybe wanting to be more but you just don’t know how to convey it. So you take a leap of faith, put a hand on his cheek, and give him a peck on the lips. Something you’ve never done before. Hey, actions speak louder than words, right…?
Warnings: inspired by an old tiktok trend even though I don’t have tiktok cause it’s banned in my country, lol but it was also a request by an anon, not proofread
Aether
Stunned does not even describe the entirety of it
He’s speechless and staring at you for a good five seconds before his brain starts to work again
“Wait, what was–” touches his lips to try and recall if that really happened or if he was trippin’
“Wait, hold on,” starts laughing at you and grabs at your wrist.
Proceeds to stare at you for another 5 seconds to process the information overload.
“Would you…wanna try that again?” with a loopy yet unsure grin
Albedo
Blinks once and leans back, away from you.
The surprised expression only crosses his face for a second.
He’s trying to logically piece together things and not jump to conclusions cause that’s just not him.
“…Did you, make a mistake?” When you shake your head no he grabs your hand and pulls you closer up against him.
You’d think he’d be more subtle but he might have been waiting for that for just as long as you were.
“Just making sure…before I experiment on your lips again,”
Ayato
arm latches on around your waist before you can even pull back and turns the quick peck into a full kiss.
He doesn’t half-ass anything and is even bold enough to pepper kisses down your jaw.
You’re a little overwhelmed at his response, not expecting it to be this positive.
“Hm?” chuckles. “I’m only giving you what you asked for. One is hardly enough, no?”
Bennett
Has the “?!?!” expression
Simply half confused half shocked
Frozen in both fear and nervousness.
Cannot help but replay the kiss a thousand times in his head before he stutters out
“Y-Y-Y/N?!” and doesn’t even know what to say
Goes red
“T-T-That was a kiss, right?” You nod and he goes even redder if possible
Can’t comprehend it and straight up asks you why you did it. Your attempt at being obvious has failed.
It’s not that he doesn’t like you, he simply just can’t believe it.
Chongyun
just dies. pray for him.
A bit like Bennet but more of a “!!!!!!” reaction and immediately goes red without any prompting.
Has to turn away and calm himself though you can still see his red ears.
You ask him a moment later if he’s okay
“F-F-Fine! I’m…extremely pleased!” Then turns around when he realizes what he said and waves his hands to try and explain. “I-I mean, you don’t have to do it again! I’m just–”
Decides shutting up would be a better option and keeps his mouth closed while his eyes are tacked on to the ground.
Dainsleif
At the first touch of your lips, not even 1 second in he recoils his head back and looks at you with eyes that are a fraction wider
It makes you think that he didn’t like it, since his averse reaction was so fast.
In reality he just doesn’t wanna cross a line that the two of you can’t undo but you take it the wrong way and apologize to him.
He snatches your wrist in a split second, “Don’t apologize. I just…” his eyes wander over to your lips and you see him gulp.
“I just want to make sure this is what you really want…” he says this while learning forward, just waiting for you to be the one to connect the two of you again.
Diluc
Does not even realize that the moment you lean in he ALSO leans forward and welcomes your lips.
Also does not realize that his hand has comfortably placed itself on your hip.
Kiss lasts longer than you intended and when the two of you finally pull back there’s astonishment in his eyes, but the good kind. The type where he’s taken aback by how good and right that felt.
He doesn’t withdraw his hand on your hip but he does cough into his hand and avert his eyes for a moment.
“…That was…rather unexpected…No, I’m not displeased at all…” he explains himself, gets the courage to finally look at you again and breathes out a question, his lips look more luscious than usual but so do yours, in his perspective “May I…once again?”
Gorou
Tail freezes, ears perk up.
His eyes don’t even close and he’s stunned, hand half up about to cover his lips but he seemed to have malfunctioned.
“Y-Y-Y-You can’t just–!!”
There’s so many random things running through his mind:
Did you eat dango for a snack? Cause your lips sure tasted sweet.
How are they so soft? Sure he’s stared at you a couple of times but he didn’t think your lips would be THAT soft.
How is he still alive? He feels as if he’s been sent to heaven already.
Snaps out of all his thoughts by shaking his head, tries to keep a straight face. “W-Warn me next time!”
but his tail is uncontrollably wagging.
Itto
Possibly the one with the most wide-eyed and dumbfounded reaction.
Speechless but savors the taste of your lips.
When he finally comprehends what happens (took you some hand waving in front of his face), he grabs you by the waist and pulls you in for another one. Head dipping confidently, no questions asked and just goes for it.
“W-Wow! Uh…I mean! Didn’t know you were such a good kisser! W-Well. Actually! I can’t really be sure, we gotta try that again and see!”
Eager and oh so ready. Like he found a new hobby.
Will pounce on you if he has the chance.
Kaeya
Sees it coming before it even happens and welcomes it. It’s like he was practicing for it his whole life.
Immediately has his hand pressed against the back of your head to deepen the kiss and lean closer to you.
It definitely lasts for longer than you thought it would.
He pulls back with a grin but doesn’t let you go.
His whisper sends shivers down your spine and he runs a finger under your chin to tip it up “You know this isn’t going to end with just one, right?”
Also the type that would pull you by the waist and he would fall back in bed while you topple on top of him.
Kazuha
It all seems so natural with this guy.
When he sees you coming in his hand rests on your cheek automatically and he receives the kiss gracefully.
The kiss doesn’t deepen, but you feel that he has urged you to lengthen it a little.
When the two of you pull apart it’s not a sudden jerk back, it’s a slow and only slight slide away.
He’s looking at you as if he’s seen the stars in the night sky for the very first time.
He doesn’t utter a word, but his look says it all and he dips down again for another kiss, just assuming that you’re alright with it.
Razor
Blinks. Processes. Blushes
Shy smile on his face but he’s a simple person who communicates better with actions so he kind of understands your intentions.
He moves forward to give you a quick peck on the cheek (that’s the only thing he’s brave enough for) as if returning the favor
then he turns around and pretends to be busy doing his own thing when in truth he has a flustered face on and is just trying to hide his giddiness from you.
Scaramouche
Grabs your wrists, both of them, and demands an answer. “The hell do you think you’re doing?”
He’s not scowling, but there’s a glare on his face and yet there’s a subtle shyness to it. Like you’ve offended him but he doesn’t want to show it.
“If you’re going to do that, you have to do it properly, you dumbass,”
Pulls on one of your wrists so that you’re nearly crashing towards him (just the way he likes it) and clumsily wraps his arms around you and kisses you.
He pretends he knows what he’s doing but has no idea and it’s probably also his first kiss.
Tartaglia
The one that chases after your lips with a laugh.
You kiss, you pull away, but his lips are following yours as you pull backward and it’s just so funny that the two of you can’t help but giggle.
But he always gets what he wants so he cups your face in his hands and gives you a proper kiss.
“Should’ve done it earlier, it’s hard just being your friend,” winks
Also one who will ask for another, and then another, and then another so you’ve gotta have your boundaries set, he’s so good at begging for more kisses too.
If he’s not satisfied and wants more, is also the type to trap you against a wall until you give him another.
Thoma
Has a gasp caught in his throat.
instinctively has his fingers on his lips
“Y/N was that…intentional?”
eyes wide in pleasant surprise and when you nod your head he breaks into a small charming laugh.
“I’m sorry, I made you wait. I’m a little embarrassed that you made the first move but…”
There’s a glow on his face and an unparalleled gentleness in his eyes when he brushes his thumb across your cheek.
“this time, let me do it,” as he leans in for a fireworks behind your eyes kiss.
Venti
Blinks. Is surprised only for a split second then laughs.
“Ahhh so that’s why you’re so jittery today!”
Would wrap his arms around your waist and pull you on his lap.
“No need to be nervous kitten, I’ve been waiting a while too. Come on, just one won’t do!”
Ridiculously giddy and doesn’t hide it. Like a child who has found a new candy store.
At some point he will remind you that you were the one who made the first move. It’ll probably be one of his most favourite stories to tell.
Xiao
You caught him by surprise.
He holds your hand but turns his head away to look at something else, trying to keep his blush covered.
You keep moving to the side he’s turned to only for him to swing his head the opposite direction when you do so, still trying to hide.
“Quit–Quit moving around! I just–” growls under his breath that you won’t let him have his moment in peace.
Suddenly grabs you to plant a clumsy kiss on your lips again.
Then becomes embarrassed all over again.
Xingqiu
Surprised, but kind of in a neutral way.
He’s always liked you and is comfortable with you so he’s delighted, but also outwardly calm about it.
“Hm…Shame. That was a little too quick,”
Inwardly he might be freaking out a little bit.
“I’m…not all that knowledgeable when it comes to these things. But I can assure you that I enjoyed it,”
Tugs at your hand to “hint” that he’d like to try again but probably will have a hard time conveying that he wants to try again using his words.
Zhongli
His lips part a little when it happens and he regains composure fairly quickly.
“Hm…” Will close his eyes to think about it but will also beckon you closer with an upward flick of his hand.
Takes your hand and kisses the back of it. It’s tender and patient and he looks up at you while he does so.
“There’s no hurry…I’m the type of person who…” trails his hand up your arm, to your shoulder and traces your jawline. “Likes to savour things…”
His voice has the ability to make you tremble with some sort of excitement. “Now then…Let’s try that again,”
Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.
Warnings:decided to dish out one chapter before the week starts again. Brief quarrel/fight (yes, again), no one apologizes, pining?, fluff?
Word Count: 3.5k
Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.
When Scaramouche woke up the next day, he wasn’t sure what to think when he slowly turned in bed and saw that yet again, you weren’t there. He glared at your side of the bed, already perfectly made.
Does she sleep or what? What’s she even doing so early in the morning?
Scaramouche was not a morning person–nor was he an afternoon nor night person, he was just an all around grump the whole day–but even he knew that sleeping that late and waking this early was something out of the ordinary. He sat up in bed, just as the door clicked open and in you came, already dressed in new clothes, curious look on your face.
“Oh, you’re up,” you scratched your cheek, not knowing why you felt like you were just caught with your hand in the cookie jar. Scaramouche raises an eyebrow at you, but doesn’t say anything and makes his way to the bathroom silently. He’s a little irked at the fact he took the time to get you to bed last night, only to see that you didn’t really learn your lesson and was gone first thing in the morning. Strange thing to be irked about, he thought, but again, it was all about the order of things.
Your eyes silently followed him as he disappeared into the bathroom, eyes blinking a few times before shrugging and waiting for him to finish. The two of you walked to breakfast together as usual, with Kuni relaying the day’s itinerary as you ate.
“…and so the princess will have to stay here while you attend the gathering, prince,”
Scaramouche’s eyes darted towards Kuni sharply. “Repeat that?”
Kuni cleared his throat, aware of the look the prince was giving him. “There’s an afternoon gathering with the aristocrats from the Trade Commission, to talk sanctions and trade policies as well as an update on the numbers,” Kuni looked down at the paper he was holding before continuing. “However the princess has a refresher etiquette class booked with Abigail, since the annual celebration is tomorrow and the dance is a highlight,” Kuni’s eyes darted towards yours, just as Scaramouche stabs his next piece of egg with a lot more vigor than earlier.
“Could that not have been scheduled another time? You know she’s supposed to be there for trade talks,” Scaramouche glares at the food in front of him while munching, rather than directing his irritation towards Kuni. In actuality he was just annoyed that he had to sit through that boring meeting alone and would be forced to talk. With you there, he probably didn’t even have to open his mouth nor spare the aristocrats a glance.
“Unfortunately Abigail has had a busy schedule this month, milord. It can’t be helped,” Kuni answers, to which Scaramouche doesn’t respond to. Kuni, making sure that Scaramouche wasn’t looking, threw a grin and a wink your way. You responded with a small smile.
And so later that afternoon the two of you went separate ways. You, cooped up in your art room and him, clad in his usual prince attire on the way to the meeting.
It was simply horrid. Scaramouche had to sit through the whole meeting and actually had to put in effort to write some notes. He had a frown on his face the whole time and gave one worded responses to questions–unless he really needed to open his mouth to explain, he wouldn’t bother to do so–luckily most of the people in the meeting were smart enough to know that he didn’t want to be bothered. Scaramouche could tell that they were all on edge, as opposed to when you attended last month, where you were at least able to diffuse the tension and have a casual talk about the trade affairs, today was a full blown serious meeting. It was suffocating.
He audibly sighed when it ended, and hurriedly left the building, only to come face to face with a familiar face.
“Milord, it’s unusual bumping into you outside the castle,” Abigail curtsies towards the prince as the doors to the grand building opens. Scaramouche blinks, as if wiping his eyes and confirming if his vision deceived him.
“What’re you doing here?” It came out gruff as usual, but he was already starting to feel a different kind of annoyance bubble in his stomach. Abigail was supposed to be with you, or at least that’s what he was told. That was the whole reason why you couldn’t attend today’s meeting with him.
It was Abigail’s turn to blink, slightly taken aback at the rough tone the prince took to her. Well, he was usually like that, but there was a bit of an edge to his question today. “Pardon, milord? It just so happens that Baron Michaelis commissioned me for lessons today, for his little girl,” Abigail tilted her head sideways. It’s not as if she was only allowed to give lessons to the main royal family, Scaramouche knew she gave lessons to other nobles too.
“…You finished with Y/N?” Scaramouche cautiously asked, but he kind of knew the answer already, judging from the way Abigail’s face twisted into confusion.
“…The princess? I don’t recall having a schedule with her today…though I could be mistaken,” The poor lady was suddenly rummaging through the small handbag she had, like looking for a piece of paper or schedule that she kept.
Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed at her, but in the next moment he strode off, boots clicking loud as his steps seemed heavier than before. There’s no way Abigail would have forgotten, which only meant one thing.
Kuni lied to him, and so did you.
That made the annoyance in the pit of his stomach bubble and fester into something close to anger. What were you doing? Why would Kuni do that? Were you just shirking on your responsibilities? Having a lazy day while he went out and had to do this shit by himself? He nearly died of boredom sitting there for almost 3 hours listening to men argue about trade sanctions. He quite literally was nearly at the end of his wits, and to find out that you were NOT having your etiquette lessons, probably just sitting at home doing more of your reading, or whatever it was.
That was the exact reason why he got off the carriage with a stride that was faster than usual. He went up the stairs almost with the footsteps of an elephant, loud and angry. He demanded one of the maids to tell him where you were, and he burst into the art room furiously glaring at you. “What’re you playing at?”
You were so startled that you had no time to react, the feathered ink pen in your hand almost slipping off your grip. “S-Scaramouche!”
“What makes you think you can lie to me? Did you have lessons with Abigail or not?!”
In some sheer dumb luck, you realized that Scaramouche had found out the wrong way that there was indeed no lesson for you today. It was a complete cover up. “Well, you see–” You jumped again when his fist slammed against the table you were working on. The table rattled so hard that the already unbalanced jar of murky water with paint brushes submerged in it shook and tipped over, spilling the dirty water onto the table.
You gasped, your hands darting out to try and steady it, but some of the contents had spilled on the table already, grayish blue water staining the painting you were working on. Still, you quickly stood the jar up and inspected your work, holding on to it while scanning the large splotch it made on the side. You had used water colours, and those were easily manipulated by water itself.
Scaramouche scoffed, appalled that you weren’t even paying attention to him. “It’s a yes or no question! Did you or did you not have…” His eyes couldn’t help but look towards the direction you were looking at. Why the hell were you not paying attention in this crucial time?
It took him a moment to realize what he saw. It first registered in his mind that it was canvas paper. Thicker than normal, good for sketching and painting. It took him longer to realize that it was already fully painted on. His body shifts towards the table, taking another sweep of the painting with his eyes.
It’s him.
Him sitting in your art room and drinking tea, and while it was not a full painting of his face, he could see his side profile, his unmistakable hairstyle and his prince attire. In the painting, he was looking off into somewhere faraway, with a teacup brought up to his lips. He knew it was the art room because there were elements that looked like it. The tea shelves on the background, the vase on the coffee table, the biscuits and tea that you used to brew. He didn’t think he’d ever seen himself so relaxed before, though it was only a painting, he could almost feel how carefree he had been in that moment.
His eyes moved down, towards the lower right corner of the painting. There was an unfinished message there, most likely written in ink. “Happy Birthday. From” All at once it’s like he was hit in the gut, even more so when it dawned on him that there’s now an ugly grey splotch of water that messed up the drawn prince attire. His entire midsection on the painting was lost.
He didn’t have to ask who painted it. It was obvious enough. It was a portrait that was far from the leagues of perfect, but no doubt there was effort in it. He connected the dots of the misunderstanding pretty easily, and he was dumbfounded into silence.
“…I’m going to wash my hands,” Scaramouche’s eyes darted to your form when you said that. From this angle he couldn’t see your face and there was only silence when you pulled a rag from further down the table to wipe at the still wet surface.
“Uh…” He wanted to say something, but didn’t really know what to say. You didn’t acknowledge the fact that he had made a sound at all, continuing to wipe at the surface, and that made it more difficult for him to leeway into a change of topic. “It’s still–”
You suddenly turned towards him, but also quickly walked past him towards the door. He swerved around to watch you walk away and shut the door, but nothing went past his lips. He winced at himself, wondering why he felt so uncomfortable.
It was such a quick exchange, and it was so quick how things could go wrong. His eyes rested on the painting of him, and he stared at it for God knows how long. Part of him was waiting for you to come back. He thought that you most likely would come back and get pissed at him and berate him for ruining your painting, but when you didn’t, it registered in his mind that you were most likely too tired to care… or were you upset?
He felt as if he’d preferred it if you raged at him instead.
He left a moment later and hid in his study as per usual and when dinner came around, Scaramouche was certain then that you were not in the best of moods.
You didn’t show up.
“…Where’s Y/N?” He asked Kuni, who had no idea as to what had transpired.
“Ah, I sent the maids for her, but it seems as if she’s fallen asleep early today, milord,” There’s a certain mischief in Kuni’s eyes. You most certainly had asked Kuni for help to fabricate your schedule, possibly to gain more time to finish the painting, what else could it have been? Your change in schedule must have primarily been for the painting, and so the late nights and early morning made more sense.
Just for a painting, why would she even bother? Stupid woman.
He found himself mindlessly standing outside the bedroom door after dinner. For someone who was so tough faced he didn’t actually like confrontations like these. He was extremely uncomfortable and he hated that, but he might have hated it more if he didn’t say anything about ruining your hard work and effort.
His hold on the rolled up painting tightened, but he pushed the door open, noting that you were awake, reading a book on the couch, but didn’t turn your head when he came in. He stood for a second more before thinking Fuck it and walking over. He smacked the top of your head with the rolled up paper, finally earning a reaction from you. “Huh?”
He unrolled the painting of him, “You didn’t finish it, you idiot,” and glared at you as if he had done nothing wrong. You saw the splotch on the painting, was reminded of the earlier incident, and glared back at him, but he had pointed at a different area of the painting instead.
“Here,” he was pointing at the ‘Happy Birthday. From’ part, indicating that you didn’t finish writing your name.
Without another word he dropped the painting on the coffee table in front of you, and went to a nearby shelf to retrieve a set of ink and feather pen. He placed the ink bottle on the table too and handed the feather pen to you.
You scrunched your nose at the offer, but swiped the feather pen away from him, dipped it in ink and wrote your name just to get it over with. However, you were still slightly upset over his stupid outburst causing the wreckage of your week long effort. “…What does it matter? Who would wanna know who painted such an ugly thing anyway?”
You muttered, jaw tightening, then going back to reading, ignoring him altogether.
I would.
Was his first impulse, but that was not what he said. “Stop being dramatic. So there was an accident and it’s a little smeared. Big deal.” Of course he didn’t apologize for it, and of course he didn’t acknowledge the fact that HE caused the accident. “I’ll have Kuni buy a frame for it, is that better, princess?” he was mocking you now and you were astounded at his audacity. But the truth was, he thought it was a ridiculously beautiful painting that belonged on his study wall, no matter how narcissistic that might have sounded. He wasn’t going to say that out loud though.
“Wow you’re really something else–Wait? You’re gunna hang it up?” Up until it registered in your brain the implication of what he said, looking at him curiously now. He was a little pleased that he got a reaction from you, but he still deadpanned and crossed his arms.
“I’m convinced you have hearing problems,” and then it was back to you glaring at him. Yet…this was better than nothing, he thought.
“Why do I even bother…” You muttered and huffed, about to go back to your book again when he suddenly stretched an arm towards you, offering his hand. You looked at it, clearly confused. What’s he doing now? He was being so weird today.
“You didn’t have your practice with Abigail, didn’t you? The celebration’s tomorrow, you can’t mess up the opening dance,” He was serious about that, you could tell from the tone of his voice. The change in subject was so abrupt that it was almost awkward, but you brushed it away and raised an eyebrow at him.
“You wanna practice now?” Your eyes darted towards the clock. There was still some time left before the night really descended, but you didn’t take Scaramouche as the type to really care about dances.
“The amount of times I have to repeat myself around you…” he grumbled, curling his fingers upward for a second to motion for your hand. “It’ll be my first time dancing with a partner, we haven’t practiced and I’m not making a fool of myself tomorrow,”
Ah, that’s right. You thought to yourself. It was his first birthday with a “wife”. So, you complied. You were rather nervous too, truth be told. As Kuni said, it was supposed to be a big deal. You accepted his hand, and he pulled you up from your sitting position assertively, assuming the waltz position with you.
“It’s just a normal waltz, probably you’ve practiced it with Abigail before,” That whiff of cinnamon hit you, suddenly conscious of the fact that his arm was around you, hand resting on your back and your other hand was entwined with his. The proximity was dizzying, your bodies nearly pressed against each other. The waltz was a dance that required the man to have a steady hold on the woman, mostly because there were a lot of spins and some lifts.
It was only hitting you now that this dance required trusting Scaramouche, and you weren’t sure if you were there yet.
“…Cat got your tongue?” he piped up, a smirk playing on his lips when he saw that you were incredibly nervous. You peered up at him with a mock glare, thinking about how much more of this insufferable man you could handle.
“I just don’t want to spin out of control or…or something,” or fall, was what you wanted to say, cause that could easily happen if he didn’t do the lifts properly.
“You won’t,” Something about the way he said it made you look up and meet his eyes, you could feel his hand press firmly against your back, as if to say he had you and he knew what he was doing. Your words were stuck in your throat. It felt as if you were looking at him for the first time and he was actually seeingyou for the first time.
Is this… his weird way of saying sorry?
“Fine,” you looked away with a whisper, and he led you towards the first step right after. The first part was smooth, like the two of you were playing the imaginary music in your head and synced up nicely. It got a little unsteady by the middle part, when the spins and turns happened. Still, it wasn’t all that bad, though your movements were smaller due to the limited space in the bedroom.
The last parts of it would lead up to a climax of Scaramouche planting his hands firmly on your waist and him lifting you up for one spin, then setting you down firmly on the ground again for the last step of you spinning out and away from him, then back in, ending with his arms around your waist and your hands on his shoulders.
If before, your bodies weren’t really pressed up together, it sure had to be by the end of the dance. You were a little out of breath, and so was he, but for some reason the two of you didn’t break away immediately. “…Told you,” he said, a smug smirk appearing on his features, shoving into your face the fact that he did actually execute the lift perfectly. You were actually surprised, he just didn’t look like he had it in him.
“You just look so weak I didn’t think you could do it,” you said with a blank look on your face. His grin immediately dropped and a frown appeared, narrowing his eyes at you.
“Who’re you calling weak?”
“Who’s having hearing problems now?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but was all of a sudden conscious of how close you actually were to him. His eyes couldn’t help but land on your lips. The same ones that were insulting him seconds ago. He didn’t know why his eyes were drawn to it, but he closed his mouth and was at a loss of words for a second, just staring.
The tightening of his arms around your waist was subtle, but you felt it only because there was an immediate silence in the air. That, and he had an intense look in his eyes out of nowhere.
Suddenly it felt as if your chest was on fire, and it wasn’t just because you were trying to catch your breath. Your eyes just could not look away from his. “…Are you–” the sudden knock on the door jolted the two of you away from each other, both taking a step back and finally unraveling from each other’s hold. He looked as if he was struck by his own electro vision for a moment, until he shouted out, “Come in!” and refused to meet your eyes.
Maids filed in with a dinner tray. It was for you, but he didn’t explain that he had requested for it to be brought in because you didn’t show up for dinner, and instead turned to go towards the bathroom. “…I’ll use the bathroom first,” he simply said and you nodded even though he wasn’t looking at you anymore.
…What’s wrong with him?
You asked yourself, knowing that it was uncharacteristic of him to suddenly go silent. But with that question, was a bigger one lingering at the back of your mind, hammering in time with your now slowing heartbeat as you unconsciously placed one hand on your chest.
What’s wrong with ME?
You wouldn’t have an idea that he was asking himself the same thing, just as he shut the bathroom door to ruminate on his own wild thoughts.
Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.
Warnings: cliche training scenes lol, nothing much, very light chapter, light fluff you might not even see it, I guess you should squint a little lol, probably more noticeable in the next chapter after this
Word Count:2.8k
Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.
Coming face to face with Scaramouche’s scowling face in the morning was not an unusual thing anymore. It was embedded into your routine, almost like breakfast in the morning. He was, however, clearly in a more sour mood than usual, glaring at you like that.
His jaw tightened at your question, and he grumbled out. “He had other things to do,” or, to put it simply, instead of Scaramouche forcing Kuni to train you, the reverse had happened.
Kuni had somehow put Scaramouche up to do the training instead.
“Come on,” He didn’t wait for your response and turned to walk towards the lush green training area. It was a large and vast field, squared in by the high stone walls of the castle. You could see the battlements clearly from where you stood, the knights would occasionally walk back and forth from tower to tower on their patrol.
Over the other side of the field was a large shed and a stable area. The faint sounds of hay being baled together and the subtle grind of hoof to soil was rather comforting. Like you were in the countryside rather than a big, old castle.
The two of you ended up in the shed, which was actually an armory. It was stale smelling in there, but there was quite the selection of everything. Swords, bows, polearms, shields, light armor, heavy armor–anything you could think of was lined on the walls or propped up on a rack.
By the time the two of you had returned to the middle of the field, he was carrying a few weapons on him, dumped it on the ground and handed you an arm shield. It wasn’t in the best condition, clearly used for practice purposes but you put it on your dominant arm and looked at him quizically. “I thought I was learning how to fight?”
“Changed my mind,” he answered easily as he took the bow and arrow into his hands, leaving two swords on the grass, most likely for later.
“Put your arm up, in front of your face,” Scaramouche instructed as he placed an arrow on the string, pulling back with his arm. His stance was impeccable and you realized that you hardly knew what weapon he was trained in.
“What–” You immediately followed and shielded your head.
“Don’t move, I’m aiming at your shield. Move an inch and I might actually hit you,”
You winced at his command, bracing your arm as best as you could. The sound of the string snapping and the arrow whistling into the air made you brace more, but you were still startled when it hit the shield with a PLINK, causing you to recoil backwards a tiny bit.
There was a lot of force in there, for such a thin weapon, and you looked down at the ground at the arrow, now resting on the grass, stopped short by your shield.
You didn’t realize that small moment had your heart racing already. You were about to ask what the big deal was, suddenly deciding to shoot an arrow at you, but Scaramouche had cut you off before you could even ask.
“Tartaglia uses a bow, and his stance is unquestionably better than mine,” He drops the bow to his side and looks you up and down, thinking to himself that you’d need to be given custom armor. Nothing in the armory would fit your stature, but you needed that extra layer of protection. “He isn’t going to aim at your shield, and he isn’t going to shoot just one arrow,” he continues.
“…So you want me to practice guarding from arrows,” You slowly concluded, looking down at the shield strapped around your forearm, twisting it to take a better look. There was no dent on it at all, just scratches from previous uses.
“Guarding from it, deflecting it, parrying it, dodging. Whatever.” He picks the bow up again and starts to load an arrow onto the string. “You’ll have to get used to the impact first. Raise it up,” He nods his chin upwards to tell you to guard again, and that’s how training started.
He was surprisingly amicable during training. Almost as if… he enjoyed it. Like he was familiar with the routine and knew what to do, unlike his social awkwardness, he was at home here on this field, with those weapons in his hands.
You weren’t quite sure if that was a good or bad thing.
He imparted tips and gave you certain instructions to do certain maneuvers, some of which you butchered and got a scolding for. He had to “lower the level” so much that he got pissed at some point, but he continued to train with you.
“…Let’s move on to the sword…” He sounded as if he was disappointed in your performance. The sun was high up in the sky when he decided that, and you, unused to the training regimen, requested for a break.
“Can we take a short break?” You heaved out, droplets of sweat trailing down your forehead. He looked at you, took a second, and rolled his eyes. “Fine,” again unimpressed at how unfit you were for training.
You, on the other hand, was quite literally dying. Training itself wasn’t all that difficult. It was just really hot, and the lack of wind wasn’t helping today. You trudged up to a nearby tree, leaned against its trunk and sighed at the comfort of the shade. Scaramouche stayed out in the field, but you watched as he raised his hand over to a knight and exchanged words with him.
You spent the next couple of seconds catching your breath, glancing at Scaramouche as he tried the sword around, hearing the occasional sound of blade cutting through air. A moment later, there was suddenly a maid by your side, holding a pitcher of water and a glass full of it. “Milady,”
“Oh, thanks,” You were caught off guard, but instantly connected the dots that Scaramouche had requested for it. Water definitely helped and you took a swig of two full glasses before you got out on the field again.
Scaramouche had been thinking out there on the field while you rested. There was no way you were going to learn how to parry an arrow with a sword at such a short amount of time, but learning some offensive moves might come in handy at some point, and the sword was likely the easiest one to handle with your stature.
“What weapon do you usually use?” He turns his head to see that you’re back with him, and he stops brandishing the sword.
“…I don’t have a preference…” it was a strange answer, but it also told you that he had probably practiced with every weapon imaginable. He sure seemed familiar with a sword, but he also knew how to use a bow and arrow.
He handed you the other sword, and the two of you started again. He stayed on simple moves, because that’s all you could really handle, and you even struggled with it. He didn’t complain much. It was as if he accepted and finally realized that you were a horrid fighter, or just a normal person with no fighting background.
“That’s not–” He narrowed his eyes at the way you held the sword. It was rather unremarkable, and your grip wasn’t tight enough. He didn’t think much of it when he strode over and corrected your stance. His hand moved above yours and tightened your hold around the hilt, his thumb pressing down on your own.
“One hand is usually enough, but for you…” His other free hand motions for your other one to come up and around the hilt, and again he places his atop yours, moving it a little to show you the correct way to hold it, and pressing warmly on the back of yours to show you the amount of grip you were missing. “Here, and further up you’re supposed to…”
He was talking but for some reason you couldn’t quite comprehend what he was saying, like a blur of words in your ear. He was just… so close and you were sure as hell he wasn’t even thinking about it, but his hands were surprisingly strong yet comforting. He smelled a little like cinnamon and you could smell it even stronger when he moved his arm around you to lift your right elbow a little, talking about some type of stance that was not registering in your mind.
“…Are you even listening?” He lightly growled, snapping you away from your reverie.
“Yeah! I’m–I’m holding it too low, you said,” You thanked the Gods that you were at least able to catch some parts of his sentences, and he looked at you suspiciously before peeling away from you, his body heat coming off, hands sliding away and suddenly you felt exposed without him circled around you.
“Whatever…You’re too weak. That’s all you can handle today,” which also meant that was the end of training for the day. You didn’t complain, you felt as if you’d done a years worth of exercise already.
In more ways than one, training with Scaramouche was like seeing him in a new light, like looking into a window of his. There were a lot of things he knew, a lot of knowledge about combat buried deep, but he went through them in a sort of calm. He just knew what he was doing.
Training continued daily, but two days in and you’d requested for it to be done at night instead, where it would probably be cooler. He relented, and even wondered why he hadn’t thought of it himself. He preferred training at nighttime too, but he must have thought that his night training was his alone time, his own thing away from others, including you.
Though, when you did start coming to his nightly training, he wasn’t too opposed to it. Either he just liked seeing you struggle, or it was entertaining to watch such a weak worm try to wiggle herself out of a bird’s beak.
Life continued as normal, or as normal as it could get with Scaramouche, all up until a week before the annual celebration.
“Prince, princess, the tailor is here,” Kuni announced while the two of you were out on the field one day. You were confused, mostly because you were not told of a tailor coming to visit today.
“What for?” You asked. At this point, you had all the dresses you needed already, what with the various balls you attended. But this particular time seemed a big deal. Scaramouche and you were to be measured at the same time, and Kuni was more particular than normal towards the tailor.
“…The annual celebration,” Scaramouche liked to give you answers that were vague, or at least ones that didn’t really explain a lot of things.
“Annual celebration of what?” You prodded again as the two of you watched Kuni giving instructions to the team of tailors in the meeting room.
“…My birthday, unfortunately,” He sighed as he said it, shoulders finally slumping and your head whiplashed so fast towards him that you were afraid it was going to detach from your neck.
“It’s your birthday next week?”
“Did I stutter?” His half-glare was back on, but the tailors had started to move and went about measuring you and him from head to toe.
The prince and princess had to have matching outfits. And Scaramouche being the star of the night, it was only right to have you complement his outfit. A fully new dress was in the works after that day. Though, Scaramouche noticed a strange shift in your schedule after.
At night as the two of you trained, you’d usually retire to the bedroom at the same time as him. You’d use the bathroom first, then after when you finished he’d use it next, by which time when he came out, more often than not, you’d already be asleep, exhausted by the day’s events.
The following days after, however, you approached him after your bath and told him you had some work to do. As if you were getting his permission to be up in the dead of night instead of resting in bed. He only scoffed, “Do what you want,” but he was mildly surprised that he found it strange you weren’t in bed earlier than him. Or was it just your absence overall? Still, he didn’t question it, up until you showed obvious signs of fatigue a few days later.
“What’ve you been doing?” He gruffly asked when you were about to tell him you’re off to another one of your “research” sessions. Apparently you’ve been really interested in a book about teas from the library. “Why not just take them back here?” and you said that the books were far too heavy and plentiful.
“Can’t you do that in the morning instead?” You were a little baffled at his insistence about your activities. He said to do whatever you wanted but after a few days he didn’t seem to approve of his own words. In fact he seemed to be more irritable about your activities. You shrugged.
“I do some reading in the morning too,”
It was late one night when he woke up with a start and realized you still weren’t next to him that he got fed up and took action. He pushed himself out of bed, noted the time and how it was past the wee hours of the morning and you were nowhere in your shared bedroom. He ventured into the silent hallways and into the library. Surely enough finding you on the first big table, books upon books piled up and paper scattered over the table. On closer inspection, you were reading about paintings, not tea. And there were ironically some books about self defense, which he found really funny. Reading wouldn’t help you with combat, practice and experience would.
“Hey,” you were slumped over the papers, fast asleep, head resting on your folded arms. He reached a hand to clap your shoulder, attempting to shake you awake but was unsuccessful. He merely stared down at your face for a moment, then sighed. “Stupid girl…” He positioned himself in a way that would easily hoist you up in his arms.
He might have been smaller in stature but years of training did well on his arms and form, it was an easy carry for him, and he was struck by the idea that this wasn’t the first time he was carrying you around in his arms like this. He’d actually done it a couple of other times.
It was the first time, however, that he looked down at you while walking to observe your face. Mouth slightly open to an unelegant picture of you snoozing away, head cradled against his shoulder . You didn’t budge nor move an inch even when he lifted you up from your previous sitting position. He thought about how easy it would be for anyone to kidnap you in your sleeping state, and he sighed again.
When the two of you were back in the comfort of your room he placed you down on your side of the bed, didn’t bother to change you out of your clothes–because how could he?–and pulled the covers up halfway to your waist. He rounded the bed to go back to his side, but took a moment to notice the steady rise and fall of your chest.
This feels better. He caught himself thinking. This feels right. He corrected himself in his head. You were supposed to be in bed next to him and that was how the order of things were, was what he tried to reason with in his mind. It wasn’t about thefeeling, he convinced himself, just about how things should be in place, including you. It was about having the correct arrangement.
Still, as he climbed into bed next to you, he wondered if “correct arrangements” was ever such a big thing. Like how breakfast should be in the morning and lunch should be in the afternoon. Or how you should be next to him at all times. When was that determined?
However, unlike breakfast in the morning and lunch in the afternoon, where he didn’t really care about straying from those rules–one could always have lunch earlier or later–he was less inclined to stray away from the rules he was making around you.
It’s late. She’s tired. It’s only right that she sleeps in a bed. Is the simplest rule he could make. But, he didn’t know when he had added next to me, into the rule. Last week? A few days ago? Just now?
Well, he didn’t think too much of it. After all, more often than not he always got what he wanted.
He just wasn’t completely aware that what he wanted was not to impose his “new rules” on you, but for you to willingly want it and come up with your own, following them of your own accord:
Because you wanted to. Not because he told you to.
note. i surprised myself with how much plot this actually has.
零 ; you, the typecasted “passerby a”
the path to stardom is an arduous journey, but you’ve already abandoned your dreams not even halfway down the road.
you are far from the fresh newbie you once were. maybe you hoped to be famous at some point, your name sung in ardent praises and joint with stellar performances, but you’ve never received major roles that strayed from “classmate b” or “the protagonist’s best friend” who only ever appears to give advice.
the closest you’ve been to getting a main character role is being part of the second pairing of a cheesy romance drama that never became a hit, a series with a generic plot and a bland cast of no name actors.
but you can’t deny the spark of hope lighting your heart when you receive word of an audition for an upcoming drama adaptation of a well-loved webtoon series, a series you are an avid fan of. it’s a murder mystery following a genius detective striving to solve a serial killings cold case, with snippets of romance and the occasional comedy, grim as the premise may be.
once the drama adaptation was confirmed, it quickly became a hot topic; fans are anticipating the casting and filming crew, expecting nothing less of perfection to honor the brilliant source material. by all accounts, it’s big news, and snagging even a minor role would definitely earn you more recognition.
if you’re chosen to act as the victim in the first murder, you would already be beyond satisfied—being part of such a masterpiece is enough to make you overjoyed. you don’t have too high hopes but there’s no harm in trying for the audition, right?
yes. no harm at all.
that’s if you don’t count the brain damage you suffered when your head slammed against the wall from complete shock as you received an e-mail from the staff confirming your admittance to the project.
as the protagonist’s love interest, no less—a journalist investigating the serial murders to enact revenge on their younger brother’s stead, the third victim in the killings.
一 ; xiao, the celebrity crush
acting practice is generally considered a casual affair in every project you’ve taken on, yet you couldn’t help but spend hours trying to make yourself look presentable (and avoid looking like a beggar compared to your shining idols when you stand side by side). you may be a tad bit overdressed, but you’d hate to make a fool out of yourself on day one.
except that is exactly what you do. because you’re a walking disaster.
in your defense, it’s not even your fault! the moment you step foot in the venue, you’re ushered by the staff to a row of waiting rooms… without any nameplates attached by the doors and no indication of where you’re supposed to go. left with no other choice, you mentally count eeny meeny miny moe and surge forward for the chosen room.
you can’t tell if you’re tremendously lucky or the most unfortunate person on earth, but you come face to face with a person you never thought you’d see in the flesh.
the thing is, the staff never informed you of your future colleagues. the casting is a well-kept secret, even from the actors themselves, to prevent information leaks to the media before the official announcement.
you really wish you had time to prepare yourself before you had to meet xiao, though.
he’s lounging by the sofa, curls of dark hair sprawled on the cushions. his face is obscured by an eye mask, fashioned in a cute design you wouldn’t expect him to take an interest in at all. if you took a picture of him right now and printed them as merchandise, you’re sure they’ll sell like hotcakes, but a selfish part of you wants to keep this sight to yourself.
yes, because… because you’ve been crushing on him since forever!
you’ve seen his growth as an actor as far back as five years ago, when he only just started his career! he made the perfect mysterious pretty boy male lead, and the romance film he starred in was such a good classic! but he didn’t get typecasted, no no. he went beyond his pretty boy persona to work in other productions, where he acted as the crazed antagonist in a horror movie. that, too, eventually became a classic film for any horror movie fan. his murderous glare is just too damn scary!
he’s excellent in action-packed movies as well, there’s never a need for stunt doubles with him. you’ve seen his behind the scene clips, and they’re just awesome. he doesn’t speak much in interviews, his replies clipped and hardly substantial, but you try to catch each piece of precious footage.
oh fuck i shouldn’t be here. you snap back to your senses and reach for the doorknob, but the creaking sound of the door prompts xiao to twitch.
a pale hand drags down the eye mask to his chin, and his dazed golden eyes pin you in place.
“…who are you?”
it’s a simple question, but it’s like you’re trying to prove your innocence to court. you begin to ramble, introducing yourself in a series of stutters, and explaining how you got to his room. you insist you aren’t there to peep on him and it was a complete accident.
“…so you entered my room by mistake,” xiao summarizes your ten paragraphs-worth of explanation into a single concise sentence. he doesn’t look angry, but doesn’t look pleased by your presence either. “it’s fine. i could guess the staff was too busy to show you your room.” he sits up properly, fixing his hair messy from his nap. “you’re the journalist, right? i look forward to working with you.”
rather than a job, filming feels more like a reward. you get to see xiao everyday, get to talk to xiao even if it’s just you commenting on the weather, get to eat with him in lunch breaks (you’re seven seats away from him but that counts, right?) and get to act alongside him-
and xiao is the second male lead. you get to act romantic scenes with him. you get to act lovey-dovey with xiao in a police uniform because he’s a policeman in this show.
each brush of your hands together sends your heart racing in a speed too fast to be healthy, but as an actor, you’re expected to keep your composure and deliver your lines properly.
(the makeup artist is always wondering why you look so red on screen when she swears she didn’t put much blush on you, though.)
“don’t you need to ask something of me?”
you blink innocently as you peel off the heavy costume, the last scene for the day finally wrapped up. xiao must be feeling hot too because he’s also wearing a huge coat in the middle of summer—his face is beet red.
“ask you for something…?” your cheeks burn bright. “oh no, was i too obvious?”
xiao awkwardly looks away. “you could say that.”
how mortifying! you fan your face, hoping your makeup isn’t too melted. you already feel like an idiot, no need to look like one.
but xiao already thinks you’re stupid. no turning back now.
“o… okay… since the cat is out of the bag, then…” you pull out a pen and a piece of paper, holding it out to him. “please give me your autograph!”
“…what.”
“i’ve been your fan for the last five years! i don’t know who ratted me out, actually i’m about 87% sure it’s childe, but since you know-”
“wait- what? five years?”
“………if that’s not what you’re talking about, then what is?”
“no, i thought you wanted me to ask me ou-”
he seals his lips at the most crucial moment, horrified at himself. “sorry. i’ll ask you another time.”
… and then he walks away. just like that.
“xiao, what about my autograph?!”
“forget it!”
“why all of a sudden?!”
二 ; childe, the scandal magnet
notorious for the massive number of scandals under his belt, it’s a surprise to find ajax (with a stage name of childe) in the set of this major production. you’re advised by your manager to steer clear of him and avoid unnecessary contact to prevent sullying your reputation, but you can’t deny his acting prowess—he shines on the stage, a performance you can’t tear your eyes away from.
he’s incredibly versatile, capable of taking on any role and absorbing the character to make it come to life, almost as if he is its incarnation.
it starts as a simple game before actual practice, each actor asked to draw lots from pieces of paper scribbled with different roles, and given an accompanying script to base off of.
everyone laughs when childe, ironically enough, draws the “womanizer who cheats on his lover.”
unfortunately, you couldn’t laugh along with them because you picked the “lover” role. your incredible (read: atrocious) luck astounds you.
it goes just about as well as everyone expects it. childe, seemingly in his element, plays the part of a perfect scumbag. it’s easy to hate him like this, all flamboyant gestures and empty promises of “you are my one and only.” his performance inspires you to try harder, and so you raise your voice, your passionate screams of indignance almost sounding heart-felt, like you truly are experiencing a severe betrayal.
when childe sweeps you into his arms, whispering platitudes dripping with honey, you’re nearly fooled into forgiving him.
it’s hard to get yourself out of the role when the director ends the scene, satisfied with the act. childe’s expression returns to its usual lazy grin, a far cry from the smug smirk prior, and he pats your head to wake you up. “nice work. i really felt like i was getting scolded by an angry girlfriend.”
dazzled by his brilliance, you barely have enough coherence to return the compliment.
your awe doubles when he performs his next act.
much to xiao’s horror, he picks the “dying younger brother” role, a direct accompaniment to childe’s “grieving older brother.” they make an… interesting pair, but they’re also professionals, and the scene they perform almost makes you weep real tears.
xiao lays limp on the floor like a lifeless doll, and childe cradles him to his chest, delivering his lines with sobs and cries that sound too real to be an act. his heart-wrenching wails bounce from the walls, going straight to strike your heart. his voice cuts through the air, demanding your attention, as if telling you to keep your eyes on him and to never look away.
it’s nothing like the sleazebag character he was playing twenty minutes ago, and you have to remind yourself your scripts are only given once you’ve drawn lots; he had a maximum of five minutes to read through it, process the information, decide how to deliver his lines, and visualize himself performing it in the best way possible.
like this, he doesn’t look at all like the scandalous man everyone makes him out to be. he’s just an earnest man who’s good at pretending to be someone else.
it’s terrifying to think about. did he ever act like his true self when the cameras stopped rolling, then? was he just playing the part of a “good co-worker” when he was talking to you earlier? was the whole “scandalous womanizer” image something he set up for himself? a reputation he deliberately made to attract the media’s attention? it isn’t unusual for actors to cause drama as a publicity stunt, after all.
no, that doesn’t make sense. no matter how desperate, nobody would like bad rumors circulating about them. as much as your name is spread around, it also goes hand in hand with distasteful gossip. childe is plenty famous, even before the scandals began popping up, so he never really needed them and they would only further ruin his image…
…on the contrary, if there’s anyone getting famous from those scandals, it’s…
…the girls he supposedly hooked up with?
rather than making those scandals for fame, doesn’t it make more sense if those girls fabricated stories and took advantage of his reputation?
it’s no secret that meddlesome paparazzi and hardcore fans obsessively pry into celebrities’ personal lives. if they sniff a hint of dating scandals, they don’t stop digging. furthermore, once the media releases information to the public, people will take it as fact. in actuality, it doesn’t matter what’s true or not; what the public wants to believe becomes the “truth.”
if the people deemed it plausible, if they thought “childe would definitely do something like this, so of course if the girl says they hooked up in the dressing room, they did”…
…even if childe denied those claims, nobody would believe him. not even you. you didn’t think about it until now. in fact, at the very beginning, you already had assumptions about him, devouring the media’s lies.
childe laughs when you apologize to him. it was certainly a shock when you suddenly knocked on his door, then the instance he opened it, you began to bow deeply, nearly slamming your forehead to his chest.
“i’m used to it, don’t worry.” he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “you were so stiff around me, it was pretty obvious what you thought of me. but you didn’t have to apologize.”
“no, i do! i was being disrespectful!” you insist, taking him by surprise when you grab the lapels of his jacket. “you’re nothing like what they say! i’m sure you’ve been through a lot just because everyone keeps saying whatever they want, without thinking of your feelings… and everyone laughed that one time we played the acting game… i… i can’t take back the time i’ve spent being suspicious of you, but i want to change that!” you stare directly at his widened eyes, determined. “i want to know you better, ajax!”
the use of his real name stuns him and for a moment, all he can do is gape at you.
then he narrows his eyes, his lips shaping to a firm line, and he tugs you inside the room.
a yelp unwittingly escapes your mouth when you’re pressed against the door, his arms caging either side of you. his expression is unfamiliar now, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before; uncharacteristically stern, harsher around the edges, spiteful gaze boring holes into your skull.
“you want to know me better… some pretty words you just said. what do you actually want?”
your breath hitches when his hand caresses your cheek, but the striking glare he’s giving you makes you think he wants to sink his nails deep into your skin instead.
“this isn’t the first time someone tried to approach me, you know. what, you want to be friends with me? you’re going to ask if i can invite you to my house? then you’re going to tell people how i took advantage of you while you were sleeping?”
“what- no! of course not!” you yell, face heating up just by the thought of it. “nevermind lying to the media, i don’t have the guts to sleep over a guy’s house i barely even know!”
his expression falls to a deadpan. “oh. my bad. you’re quite pure, aren’t you. of course you wouldn’t.”
“that’s what makes you believe me?!”
the arms caging you falls to his sides as he walks away, leaving you dumfounded. “right, right, sorry for scaring you. can’t you let me off easy? it’s pretty hard to trust someone when you’re in my position. if i treat you to dinner, will you forgive me?”
“i… i came here with good intentions… now i feel as though i was harassed…”
his usual smile falls on his face, like he’s a completely different person from the man who trapped you just seconds prior. “what do you think about seafood? i’ll let you eat as many crabs as you like. i really am sorry, promise. if you were saying the truth earlier, then i’d be glad to know you better too, [name].”
you give him a look. “…if they saw us entering a restaurant together, wouldn’t that attract rumors?”
“hm? is everyone so narrow-minded they think anyone who eats together is in an illicit relationship?”
the answer is no, so you eat as much crabs and shrimp as you want to your heart’s content. you’re getting your food’s worth for that fright he caused earlier. childe isn’t complaining anyway, only impressed with how much dishes you’re practically inhaling.
in any case, it isn’t a date. there is no ambience or heart-pounding romance of any sort. not when you’re overtly taking advantage of his money and childe’s taking ugly pictures of you mid-bite.
but then, of course, the media takes note of it; the topic of your outing is brought up at an interview, to which you fret and panic because you were never popular enough to be interviewed before, and they’re asking if you’re fucking childe, of all things-
“what are you talking about?” childe pops up behind you, unhelpfully wrapping an arm around your shoulders as if he wants to add fuel to the fire. he chuckles, tilting your chin to lean closer to his face. “i’m just pursuing [name]. nothing’s happened yet. unless [name] wants to…”
you take it back. he’s definitely at fault for having this many scandals.
三 ; albedo, the male lead
the first day of rehearsals, the protagonist of the drama isn’t even there.
to your astonishment, nobody complains about it. twenty minutes into practice (most scenes skipped due to the protagonist’s absence), the director gets a call and excuses himself outside. less than a minute after, he informs everyone the star of the show won’t be able to make it.
the actors trade unsure looks, wondering what the hell is going on, but the rest of the staff remain unfazed. the director notices and explains, “it’s albedo. his busy schedule can’t be helped. his manager called me to let me know his flight got delayed.”
and then it makes much more sense.
albedo is well-renowned in the film industry, an extraordinary talent who first came into showbiz three years ago. it’s not at all a long time, but it’s long enough for him to receive countless awards and bountiful movie offers—he was just born for the stage. if anything, this drama is lucky to have him in it, not the other way around. a late arrival for a rehearsal is nothing. he could probably disappear for two months without telling anybody and when he comes back, the director would beg him to act for the drama for twice the pay. (an exaggeration, but you get the point.)
and… you’re expected to partner with him? you? a speck of dust compared to the sun that is albedo? you have to match his brilliance and not look like a turd beside him on screen? you have to be equals with him and- and you actually get to- you get to hold hands with him, kiss him, and- those couple stuff? everything? his fans would murder you if your mother doesn’t kill you first! you know she likes his movies a lot!
the fourth day of rehearsals, he finally comes to the set. not with an air of arrogance or excessive pride. he just exudes confidence, strutting to the room in an elegant poise you can’t hope to replicate. he gives his sincere apologies for the inconvenience to the staff, all polite bows and offer of recompense.
“but there’s no reason to worry,” he declares, gaze steely. “i won’t make any more trouble for you.”
he refuses when the director suggests taking it slowly and instead goes straight to practice. but it doesn’t look like he needs any of it at all.
as if he’s been here all along, he falls into place with the other actors, not a single awkward pause in their scripted conversations and everything smooth sailing. he delivers a flawless performance, like the cameras are already rolling and he’s practiced for tens of thousands of times already, not read through a portion of the script in the car ride towards the set.
there is one thing he’s struggling with, however.
“you’re too stiff with each other,” the acting coach comments, frowning slightly at the two of you and cutting the scene short. “rather than bickering, it’s like you’re actually arguing, and that’s not what we want to portray.”
you blink, exchanging a look with albedo, and look down at his collar you’re still gripping.
maybe you do look like you’re trying to strangle him instead of pulling him closer to your face for some good ol’ sexual tension.
originally, the characters you play didn’t get along well in the beginning of the webtoon; the genius detective didn’t like to rely on others, conceited enough to believe he can solve the case on his own, hence seeing the journalist as a hindrance since they kept pestering him to let them help him, and he help them in turn so they could work together. the detective didn’t deem them “useful” for the investigation, and it was only much later that he (begrudgingly) admitted the journalist can be helpful… sometimes. thus officially starting their partnership for the investigation, and later on, partners in the romantic sense.
there were quite a lot of bickering scenes before the actual romance commenced, and you’re struggling with finding a delicate balance to that—where exactly do you draw the line between petty squabbles and severe disputes? how do you show the chemistry between these two characters while butting heads in every instance? the enemies to lovers trope is harder to act than it seems.
“try to get familiar,” the director suggests. “you’re stiff because you don’t know each other well. you’re too shy to touch or get closer. why not leave early and go on a little date by yourselves to fix that?”
“is that really okay…?” you say, unsure. besides being hesitant to leave earlier than the rest, you’re also nervous to be alone with your co-actor.
“if he says it’s fine, then it’s fine.” albedo shrugs, starting to walk towards the dressing room and tugging you along. “but if we’re going outside, we should wear disguises. it’s also fine if we borrow some of your clothes, right?”
“of course, of course~” the director indulges him. “have fun, kiddos.”
as it turns out, albedo is a master of disguise. he doesn’t even have a wig or anything but you almost can’t recognize him clad in casual attire. he also almost looks like a stylist while figuring out what outfit to give you, and you’re left in awe when you look at yourself in the mirror wearing clothes you wouldn’t normally pick out yourself but they look really, really good on you, and they do a good job changing your image too. not that you think anybody would recognize you anyway, unpopular and all.
“where do you want to go?” you trail after him on the way to the bus station, always a step or two behind. albedo makes a humming noise, subtly slowing his pace to match your strides.
“why not just go wherever our feet takes us?” he pipes up. “as long as it’s not teeming with people, of course.”
so with zero preparation at all, you do just that. you stop by a bookstore, with you showing him around the comics section and him adamantly insisting the plain hard-cover literature he’s picking up is a thrilling epic that will definitely pique your interest, [name] stop yawning-
you pay a visit to the arcade, where you find albedo is clumsy with his feet and can’t play dance dance revolution to save his life, but also unnecessarily adept with claw machines because he has a little sister who loves getting stuffed toys. you compete over who gets the most points in the basketball game to decide who pays for dinner, end up in a tie, and move on to a zombie shooting game. you win by a narrow margin and albedo tells you so, but you point a finger at the results and tell him to cough up the cash. then you play around in the photo booth using the craziest filters, and you take the liberty of pasting stickers everywhere.
dinner is a simple affair. albedo looks ready to go to some michelin star establishment but you introduce him to a sushi restaurant that’s relatively cheap. he’s impressed by the way you swipe at the conveyor belt so quickly. okay, so you may look like an utter glutton right now, but it’s fine. not the first time you embarrassed yourself in front of a co-actor.
lastly, you stop by an ice cream shop to get gelato. your appetite is “awe-inspiring,” as albedo put it, but you argue there’s always room for dessert.
“will this actually help us, though…?” you sigh, eating a spoonful of gelato. “i don’t understand the difference between bickering and arguing.”
“we’ve done it the whole day,” albedo reminds you, using a tissue to clean the residue of cream on your cheek. “we’ll do just fine.”
you stare at him in disbelief. “…is this also one of your habits from taking care of your sister?”
“ah. you could say that.”
just as albedo said, filming goes a lot more smoothly. the playful air is a huge improvement compared to last time when they said you looked ready to beat him to submission. the romantic tidbits are coming along well, too, spun between action-packed scenes where you’re pressed against albedo in a slim locker to hide from the murderer lurking nearby or sweet slice of life moments outside of the investigation.
at last, the confession scene is upon you. just a while back, the two main characters got into a full-blown argument; the detective was irritated by the lack of progress in the investigation, and deduced his feelings were distracting him. he decided to keep the journalist at arm’s length, never allowing them to go close. of course, they didn’t react well to this, and so they pester him again, but the argument became heated and it eventually peaked to “you’re an inconvenience to me!” which led them to separate ways.
the journalist, desperate to solve the case on their own, approached people who seemed to be in the know. they were nearly pulled into bed by an attractive yet suspicious man, who’s genuinely interested in the journalist romantically and used intel on their younger brother’s murder as leverage, but they get interrupted by the detective pounding on the door.
he dragged the journalist out, thoroughly upset at the notion of selling themself, but they deny the accusations and claim they were tricked.
the argument stretched longer, the both of them airing out everything they dislike about the other, but the detective accidentally slipped and confessed his real feelings. the journalist, who never thought of him that way, was frozen on the spot.
it’s a long scene requiring much preparation. aside from the amount of lines you have to memorize, there’s also a hotel suite you have to borrow for the shoot, the cameras they need to set for the “dragging” scene that has a lot of movement, the really awkward half-bedroom scene you have to act with your co-actor, and the fact that you have to take the confession scene before the sun completely set.
it’s truly a busy day. anxiety plagued you the moment you came out of the makeup room, knowing what comes next.
but it’s a job, and one especially you couldn’t afford to slack on. the kind-of-but-not-really-bedroom scene goes without a hitch, but albedo interrupts you a tad bit too early; the top of your shirt is barely unbuttoned but he’s already storming in, ripping you out of the other man’s grasp.
the director doesn’t chide him for it however, and he drags you out of the hotel as planned. you’re a bit frazzled by the suddenness of it all, clothes still rumpled, but it adds on to your acting and your stuttering questions make the scene look more natural.
albedo’s fury seeing you in such a disheveled state seems almost genuine, too.
“why are you acting like this?!” you pull your wrist away in an effort to make him let go, as described in the script, but albedo refuses to. an improvisation, perhaps? but now of all times…? “you didn’t care about me before! are you trying to be nice now? didn’t you say you were sick of putting up with me? you hated me for being stupid, right? guess what, then! i was stupid enough to get almost taken advantage of! if you’re just going to lecture me, let go. i don’t want to hear any of it. i already know how much of a fool i am.”
you’re supposed to back away now, but he doesn’t let you do that either. for one step backward, he takes two forward, nose nearly brushing with yours in the close proximity. your face heats up in a combination of confusion and embarrassment, your ears barely registering his lines.
“…never listen to me. you always go off on your own and i still think you’re a reckless idiot. you’re noisy and brash and you annoy me to no end,” he says in one breath, staring deeply into your eyes. “but seeing you with someone else annoys me even more. to the point i’d abandon everything just to get you back.”
“w…” your throat is incredibly dry. “why would you…”
“whether i like it or not, you’ve become important to me. i love your stupid laugh and your stupid smile. i love the way you look at me, and i don’t want you to look at anyone else. you drive me crazy when you put yourself in danger because i don’t want to lose you. i want you so badly that i want you to only think about me, spend time only with me, only love me. i-”
you’re fairly certain this is nowhere near his lines in the script.
“i love you so much that it scares me.” his voice trembles as his hand lifts to cup your face, something that finally bears semblance to the original scene. “it was wrong of me to say those horrible things. not just last time. i’ve been terrible to you, and no amount of apologies can make up for it. but i ask only one more chance.”
his finger hovers at the corner of your lip.
“[name], won’t you only look at me?”
you gape like a fish out of water, unable to reply. you’re trying to remember your lines, flipping through the mental script in your head, but the director’s “cut!” pulls you back to reality.
albedo blinks, getting himself out of the role, and he lets go of you reluctantly, the heat of his fingers lingering on your skin.
“the scene was good, but you said the wrong name.” the director laughs. “it’s alright. we can still shoot where we last left off. return to your positions.”
as told, you go back to your previous position. you give a furtive glance at albedo, whose cheeks flare in humiliation. he’s probably never done such a rookie mistake before. there’s no reason to be that flustered about it; you’ve made the same error plenty of times.
“i apologize. i won’t do it again next time.”
(if he’s going to confess, the least he can do is make his own lines for the occasion.)
contains:archon quest “chapter ii: act iii - omnipresence over mortals” spoilers, baal’s divine punishment, ooc scara :(
summary:with the reveal of the newest archon quests, our streamers are not prepared for the very first canonical onscreen death.
notes:hey uhh… archon quests are slowly tearing me apart, how are y'all? also, i did this with scara and childe since it made more sense, if that’s okay!
Anon asked: Inazuma Archon Quest Spoilers!!
hello!! I hope you’re having a wonderful day! I wanted to give an idea on the Reader Impact series; perhaps, the reader taking Signora’s place and getting executed, and the characters’ reactions to that?
childe -
okay, first off, you’re supposed to be in liyue >:(
why did no one tell him that you were gonna be in inazuma?????
he’s so genuinely excited to see you again.
so… why?
why does he feel his chest tighten as you fall to the floor?
“my… you’ve gotten… stronger since we last met… sweetheart,” you heaved, slowly turning around on the floor. childe’s character turns to look at you, only for the camera to cut to the heels of the electro archon.
she passed the traveler, staring straight ahead as if they did not exist. you looked back up at the archon, struggling to push your body up from the floor.
“you know… i’m not going down… without a fight…” you hissed, managing to push your body up. you glance over at the traveler, a determined shine in your eyes. you smile the very same smile childe had seen dozens of times before.
“your journey… is yet to be finished…” you mutter, mainly to yourself. “take care… of them, okay? just like we promised…”
and before childe could even process your words, your character charges at the electro archon.
as the legends and tales said, she delivered her divine punishment, cutting your character into pieces. you fell to the ground in a cloud of particles similar to your vision.
“…chat,” childe whispers, staring at the camera. “how… dare you… not warn me about this.”
he’ll spend the rest of the stream hugging his plush of you.
scaramouche -
scara was already excited after seeing you in the 2.1 trailer.
(of course, he didn’t let anyone know how excited he was.)
seeing you again after the unreconciled stars event was, honestly, the happiest his chat has ever seen him.
and fighting you was the most they’ve seen him hold back.
totally not because he wanted to see you and hear you longer, no sir.
but when that final hp disappears from the top of his screen, his heart drops.
“huh… so the rumors… were right,” you huffed as you gathered your weapon from the floor. and as the electro archon’s looming presence griws closer, scaramouche begins physicallyshaking.
“wait…” this is the most vulnerable he will be on stream. he genuinely does not like where mihoyo is taking this.
“i can’t believe… this is how… we meet,” you proclaim as the archon’s sword glows brighter. her piercing gaze doesn’t leave you, the very eyes that you share cutting through your soul.
“and to think… my journey would here… of all places…” contrary to how scaramouche would expect and hope you to react, you simply fix your posture to sit in front of the archon, your legs tucked to support your body. “with all the training… i cannot… i will not raise my hand to you.”
“hold on…”
“i hope to be welcomed to eternity once more.”
those were your final words as your body disintegrated into nothing but ash.
“…” scaramouche doesn’t say anything for the longest time. a few of his viewers complain, but the long time fans know that this scaramouche, the one they are seeing, is the most emotion they will ever see from him.
and what they don’t see is him breaking down at the mere idea of your character disappearing from memory forever.
warnings: nsfw content, size difference, dacryphilia, degradation, praise, breeding kink, choking, Itto has a knot and barbs on his cock, Zhongli has two dicks
DILUC stops immediately when you tell him to — hurting you is the last thing he wants —, though he can’t help but chuckle when you, teary-eyed, tell him that his dick is too big and that it won’t fit. He quickly shushes you with a gentle kiss, his smile warm and loving as he reassures you that it’ll be fine, he’ll try to be as careful as possible.
Even though he tries to go slow for your comfort, he groans in pleasure when he finally bottoms out inside of you, your hips flush together, and while he had originally planned to give you some time to adjust to his size, he can’t help but pick up a fast and hard pace a few moments later, because what you don’t know is that your words sent a white hot spike of pleasure up his spine. His size kink is thriving, especially when there’s a slight bulge showing through your stomach as he thrusts into you.
“You’re alright, dear. It’ll fit, don’t worry. Ah, fuck—, you feel so tight around me. Archons, you can even see my dick through your stomach — fuck.”
When you complain to KAEYA about his cock being too large to fit inside of you, he genuinely can’t help but laugh. You’re adorable — really, he’s at a loss of words here. There’s a smile on his lips as he tells you that you’ll be alright, and he doesn’t bother to stop pushing into you; giving you time to breathe would only result in you overthinking even more. Besides, he knows you’ll be fine.
When he finally pounds into you, his hips slapping against your own with lewd squelching noises accompanying each thrust, you’re moaning and keening, your back arching, and there’s mocking words and teasing sentences falling from Kaeya’s lips before he can stop himself, but, really, who can blame him? Just a moment ago, you were protesting and worrying, and now you’re taking his dick like a champ — it’s almost ironic, really.
“Ah, look at you, darling. Weren’t you just whining about my dick being too big for you? Now you’re practically sucking me in. That’s adorable. Makes me wonder if that innocent persona of you was but an act, doll.”
warnings: nsfw content, size difference, dacryphilia, degradation, praise, breeding kink, choking, Itto has a knot and barbs on his cock, Zhongli has two dicks
DILUC stops immediately when you tell him to — hurting you is the last thing he wants —, though he can’t help but chuckle when you, teary-eyed, tell him that his dick is too big and that it won’t fit. He quickly shushes you with a gentle kiss, his smile warm and loving as he reassures you that it’ll be fine, he’ll try to be as careful as possible.
Even though he tries to go slow for your comfort, he groans in pleasure when he finally bottoms out inside of you, your hips flush together, and while he had originally planned to give you some time to adjust to his size, he can’t help but pick up a fast and hard pace a few moments later, because what you don’t know is that your words sent a white hot spike of pleasure up his spine. His size kink is thriving, especially when there’s a slight bulge showing through your stomach as he thrusts into you.
“You’re alright, dear. It’ll fit, don’t worry. Ah, fuck—, you feel so tight around me. Archons, you can even see my dick through your stomach — fuck.”
When you complain to KAEYA about his cock being too large to fit inside of you, he genuinely can’t help but laugh. You’re adorable — really, he’s at a loss of words here. There’s a smile on his lips as he tells you that you’ll be alright, and he doesn’t bother to stop pushing into you; giving you time to breathe would only result in you overthinking even more. Besides, he knows you’ll be fine.
When he finally pounds into you, his hips slapping against your own with lewd squelching noises accompanying each thrust, you’re moaning and keening, your back arching, and there’s mocking words and teasing sentences falling from Kaeya’s lips before he can stop himself, but, really, who can blame him? Just a moment ago, you were protesting and worrying, and now you’re taking his dick like a champ — it’s almost ironic, really.
“Ah, look at you, darling. Weren’t you just whining about my dick being too big for you? Now you’re practically sucking me in. That’s adorable. Makes me wonder if that innocent persona of you was but an act, doll.”
CHILDE has got you bent in half in a mating press when you whine about him being too big, his dick being too deep inside of you, and he couldn’t deny that your words made his cock twitch inside of you even if he tried. He scoffs, obviously amused, and it’s such a huge ego boost that he thrusts into you roughly, his hips flush with yours as he bottoms out in one quick movement that has you gasping and crying out.
There’ssome half-assed shushing from him as he assures you that it’s fine, you’ll be alright, but in reality, you’re barely able to understand what he’s saying with the almost violent pace he has set and he knows it. You’re drooling while he pounds into you, saliva dripping down your chin, and Childe isn’t shy to mock you for how desperate you look. By the end of it, he makes sure you’re literally dripping with his cum.
“Fuck, babe, that’s so hot—, you think I’m too big for your tight little hole, hm? Don’t you worry, baby, I’ll fill you up so good. You’ll be fine—, ah, fuck, I promise, just let me make you feel good. Just let me breed you.”
ZHONGLI raises his eyebrows when you complain about his size in a seriously worried tone, but he’s quick to shush you despite not understanding why you seem to have trouble taking only one of his cocks. The other one is resting against your abdomen as he slowly but surely continues to push into you, the tip of it dripping precum onto your skin.
While he’s constantly praising you for how well you’re taking him, he can’t help that he enjoys seeing your eyes all glassy with tears, and his thoughts immediately go to how you’d cry and whine under him if he were to fuck you with both dicks, only to fill you up and breed you.
“You’re so good for me, darling. You take me so well. In fact, I’m quite certain you’d even be able to take both of my cocks if you’d like to try.”
Honestly,ITTO is used to this kind of reaction. He’s a big guy all around, which is why it doesn’t come as a surprise when you claw at his back and whimper about him not being able to fit inside of you. Still, while he understands your worries, he’s too much into it to stop now; he can’t help that he continues to push into you until you’re stretched wide around his dick.
He at least has the decency to apologise while thrusting into you, his hips slapping against your ass, even though he gets a massive ego boost from the way you’re crying out. His apologies don’t make it better — especially because his size isn’t the only thing you have to deal with. What’s much more difficult to take are the barbs on his cock, as well as his knot once he fills you up, but what can he say; he’s an oni through and through and his biology is intent on breeding you.
“Ah, baby, fuck, ’m sorry, I don’t wanna hurt you, fuck, I promise, you just feel so good, can’t stop, please, babe, I need to fill you up—”
Honestly,SCARAMOUCHE thinks of you as ridiculously naive for even hoping that he’ll be merciful when you blabber something about his cock being too big. You’re on all fours underneath him, cheek against the ground and ass raised, and he’s not above taunting you as he repeats your whiny plea in a mocking, high-pitched voice.
As if inspired by your words, he thrusts into you at once, his pace rougher than it needs to be solely because he wants to see you cry on his cock, your cheeks flushing and your eyes crossing as you clench around him. When he feels particularly mean, he even wraps a hand around your throat, if only to hear your high-pitched keening noises as you choke and whine, your thighs trembling and tears dripping down your cheeks.
“What are you saying? It won’t fit? Oh, I’ll make it fit, don’t you worry. Besides, you’re already dripping wet. Fucking slut. This is the only thing you’re good for, so shut up and take what I decide to give you.”
WhileAYATO is quick to coo soothing words at you, his voice a low purr and with his hands gently caressing the curve of your hip, his lips also curl into a smirk. You can’t see the way his eyes sparkle with mischief and something more sinister because of your position — your cheek pressed against the pillows, your back arched and ass raised —, but that his polite words are just a facade is obvious in the way his hips snap against yours.
Theurge to make you cry just because of his cock makes his movements more hurried and rough, his usual effortless grace bleeding away into impatience and brutal thrusts. His nails dig into your hips as he rocks into you until your thighs are shaking and tears drip down your flushed cheeks, needy noises falling from your lips, and Ayato can’t help that he wants nothing more than to truly break you.
“Oh, am I too big for you, love? Are you saying you can’t take it? That’d be a shame, I was hoping to have you come on my cock. Ah, there you go — look, it fits. You’re such a slut in reality, hm, darling?”
ALBEDO pauses the second you whine about his dick being too big to fit inside of you, his head cocked to the side in a curious manner as his gaze meets your teary eyes. While he’s an attentive and observant lover, he also can’t deny that his cock twitches inside of you at hearing you say that.
Hetells you matter-of-factly that there’s no need to worry, that your body is quite literally made for this and that it’s obvious in the way your cunt is basically sucking him in, before continuing to push in until he bottoms out, your hips flush together. If you haven’t relaxed until then, he’s honestly at a loss of what to do, though a feeling of pride spreads through his veins when you finally moan and mewl in pleasure rather than in fear. He just loves being correct.
“Oh? Look at you, dripping wet around my dick. Didn’t I tell you you were going to be alright? You’re literally made to take my dick, love, and it seems you’re a natural at it, too.”
When you first tell him to stop, please, that his dick is never going to fit inside of you, XIAO scoffs, his eyebrows drawn together into a frown. For a moment, he genuinely thinks you’re making fun of him, though he quickly stops moving when he notices that there’s tears welling up in your eyes.
Thelast thing he wants is to hurt you, which is why he pauses immediately. It doesn’t matter how aroused he is, your comfort is his top priority, which is why he’ll only continue once you give him the consent to. Even when he finally bottoms out inside of you, his hips flush with yours and with you mewling underneath him, he checks in on you to make sure you’re alright.
“Fuck, I—, please, love, are you alright? Tell me. How are you feeling? May I continue? Fuck, you’re so damn tight around me.”
since i’m currently busy and still working on a new post, it’s a great time to promote my fics!
—Pretty Savage, in which a fight against Scaramouche suddenly turns sexual. 18+, fem!reader, warning for violence and for Scaramouche being a sadistic jerk.
—Birthday Wish, in which Ranpo wants you to wear a maid dress for his birthday. 18+, fem!reader, praise kink, dominant Ranpo.
—Heavenly Principles,in which Fyodor fucks you in public after you let Nikolai choose your Halloween costume. 18+, fem!reader, Fyodor is a jerk and Nikolai watches you fuck, some humiliation
—Lovely, Lovely, in which Viktor feels insecure and you show him just how much you love him. 18+, fem!reader, body worship, pretty fluffy.
—Warm Wisps, in which Viktor forgets about Valentine’s Day and makes it up to you through fucking you in a library. Little do you know, however, that you’re not as alone as you had thought. 18+, fem!reader, semi public sex
—(almost) like a prayer, in which priest!Jayce fucks a succubus reader in a church and makes her atone for her sins. 18+, fem!reader, religious imagery, breeding, size difference
warnings: nsfw content, breeding kink, Itto’s dick has barbs and ridges, knotting, implications of pregnancy, begging, dirty talk, degradation, overstimulation
WhileDILUC is usually rather tender with you, some part of his mind simply short-circuits when you ask him to cum inside of you. He pauses for a moment, his eyebrows raised in surprise, but you don’t need to say more to convince him. He’s thrusting into you again a few moments later, his pace damn near violent compared to before, and all you can do is whine and arch your back and take it.
Diluc himself is all low groans and grunts; he wants a family so badly, so when you offer him to fill you up, he suddenly can’t think about anything but you, dripping with his cum, anymore. He’s moaning out promises of breeding you so so well while pounding into you, and it doesn’t take much longer before he reaches his orgasm, his cum spilling into you, and he presses a loving kiss to your lips afterwards.
“Ah, fuck, you have no idea what you do to me—, I’ll fill you up so good, darling, I promise you that. I’m gonna make you a mommy, sweetheart, don’t you worry.”
The second KAEYA moves to pull out, you dig your nails into his shoulders, surely leaving red crescent moons there, and he raises an eyebrow at you. When you whimper that you so desperately want him to cum inside of you, he huffs out a laugh, though it sounds strained. His following words are mocking, but they lack the usual sharpness.
He’sa lot more affected by your plea than he lets on; it shows in the way his dick twitches inside of your cunt and how his pace speeds up as he thrusts into you a few final times, his hips slapping against your ass with lewd squelching noises. You mewl as he fills you up with liquid warmth, his cum following his cock out of your loose cunt as he pulls away, and he chuckles when you whimper at the feeling.
“Oh? Do you need me to fill you up that badly? That’s pretty—, ah, that’s pretty pathetic, you know. But I guess I don’t mind indulging you one time, love, even if you’re acting like a slut right now.”
✦warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact
✦disclaimer: afab!reader with no set pronouns, temperature play (kaeya), pussyjob (kaeya), implied edging (kaeya, wax play (diluc), impact play (diluc) electro-stimulation (scaramouche), shibari (scaramouche), fingering (scaramouche), tentacle (ayato),blowjob (ayato), impact play (diluc, kazuha), exhibitionism (kazuha), unedited
At the tavern with a good drink in hand, you sat very close to Kaeya enjoying the company and the music from the various bards performing. Whenever you let Kaeya touch you, his star-lit pupils noticed the way you jolted—your body not used to the cool temperatures that envelop his hands. He could only chuckle, strumming his fingers onto your thighs. It would be interesting if he could change his body temperature to the other parts of his body, not wouldn’t it?
When he finally got you home, his lips mashed with yours, slowly feeling you up as the burn of your arousal became creeping up. Kaeya could only coo and tease, noticing the translucent strings of your slick sticking onto your thighs and panties. His frosty vision lit up in an aquamarine hue, and his fingers pressed against your clit as you gasped loudly.
Your body trembled to feel him slide them along your nub, making it all that more sensitive as he watched your squirmed from underneath him. He continuously rubbed—gathering your sobbing juices coating his hand—before freeing his hardened cock from his tightening pants. You were so cute like this, mumbling how cold he was. You should know better than egg him on like this.
His nails hugged into the fat of your thighs, stretching you out wide to observe your sobbing folds as he nudged the tip of his length along your folds—with that same icy touch. The wet sounds of his length being coasted by your juices echoed out in the room as your lip trembled from your burning needy clit. He heard you whine out his name again as he chuckled, other hands flicking your pebbling nipples.
He thought you could handle the cold <3
Reading a book in the lap of Diluc, he couldn’t help smiling at your focused gaze. As he noticed the candlelight illuminating your features, his mind couldn’t help wandering to the wax dribbling down the stick.
He wonders what it would be like on your off skin, his hand warming the candle as each bit of wax makes you whine and jolt. He could help wish to press his lips against your back, near the wax staining it, telling you how well you’re doing for him and putting up with the heat. With his cock pressed hard against his pants, he could imagine taking his pants off, gliding his length along the plush of your ass, letting the tip nudge along your slit.
And yet he would still be heating up that wax, with the beautiful smell of lantern flowers and oils wafting from it. He couldn’t help but bring a smack down onto your ass hearing your call out his name as he noticed his handprint illuminating from the globe, the pain slightly amplified with the heat of his palms—bright vision illuminating on his side.
He never wanted to hurt you, he was your knight in shining armor, but he always wondered what it would be like if he got a bit rougher with you.
Snapping out of his thoughts he could only sigh feeling his cock rise and pink spread throughout his cheeks, with you still sat on his lap clueless about his fantasies and arousal. All he could do was wrap his arms around you, pushing you further on his clothed boner, hoping and praying you’ll pay attention soon.
Scaramouche could only smirk, eyes slightly slit up in an amethyst hue as bolts of electricity jolted out from his fingertips. You were so utterly cute to him, looking at the menace all doe-eyed, slightly turning your wrist bound by rope with your lips quivering in excitement and fear.
Brushing his lips against your ear, muttering how submissive and docile you were under his touch, his buzzing hands would pull at your nipples as the jolts of electricity scattered throughout your body. You could only moan out his name, struggling in the bounds wishing to hold him as he continued to prod at your oh so sensitive buds.
Even as his soft lips trailed down across your body, each kiss was greeted with another jolt of electricity. He could only sneer and chuckle watching your push your thighs together, desperate for some kind of attention towards your throbbing hip, and so he complied with your needs.
His hands pinched at your clit, as two fingers slowly dripped down into your sobbing hole, pushing back and forth with his power still on display causing you to wring in absolute pleasure. Scaramouche couldn’t believe how much you enjoyed this, with your fluttering walls clamping down hard on his fingers still thrusting inside of you.
He couldn’t even stop his hips, grinding on the edge of the bed with a maddening smirk on his face. The image of you, utterly helpless to his touch burned in his mind. He would be thinking about this for a long time.
Ayato was much more creative than people gave him credit for, you included. Gifted with a vision at a young age, Ayato was always exploring the depths and tricks he could use with hydro. As he was bored soaking in a hot spring with you, he couldn’t help lifting his hand from the water causing a tendril to form out of the very water he was in.
And a cruel smirk immediately fell onto his lips.
You were lifted up from the water, mouth covering your lips to hide any of your moans trying to leak out so as to not alert any of the servants lingering in the estate. Ayato commanded the tendril to slowly fill you up, watching in absolute amazement as your hole slowly opened up to him. His lips darted out, wishing nothing more than a taste of your pussy currently filled up.
It was so deep, stretching your walls out as it guided in and out of you at a brutally slow pace hitting the most sensitive areas inside of you.
He lifted his form from the water, slowly stroking himself off at the pace of the tendril filling you up. With his free hand, he managed to create more, as the glided along your breasts squeezing them tightly as another urged you to put your hand down. You did as Ayato lifted himself off, cock pressed up against your lips with a cunning smile.
Watching you slowly open your mouth, a hand on the base of his cock for the part you couldn’t fit—Ayato couldn’t help sigh in delight, placing a hand on your hair before commanding the tendrils to finally hear your plead to go faster. You were struggling to suck on his cock from the inhumane pace the tendrils were thrusting inside of you.
It’s never a boring day to Ayato, not if he can help it at least.
The wind always spoke to Kazuha, as if he could command with and listen to its whims. Although the mostly calm man appeared as the embodiment of wind, others didn’t realize the mischief nature wind seemed to have.
The wandering samurai had you pinned to a tree— his hand guided along the slick beginning to drip out from your pussy, your clothing all in disarray as to give Kazuha a better look and access to your ethereal form. As he finally disconnected his lips from yours with a string of saliva still connecting you two, you couldn’t help making a comment on how needy he was today. You laughed asking if he was that desperate to be inside of you after being gone for such a long time.
Kazuha could only sigh, cheeks becoming tinted in a slight pink hue. You didn’t know why, but he immediately turned you around, your wrist held high still pinned to the base of the tree. Kazuha leaned in, whispering how much of a tease you’re trying to be for him.
Before you could even make a statement, a quick blow of the wind caused you to gasp as it smacked against your ass with a quick but strong slight. As you tried turning your head, wondering just what happened, it occurred once more causing your body to vibrate in shock, pleasure and pain. You could only whine, as Kazuha chuckled still toying and rubbing circles across your clit.
Only when you could apologize would he tell the wind to stand down. For now, though, he will enjoy the beautiful sight of your ass jiggling to the strikes from the wind he was commanding.
modern genshin au! where scaramouche is your driving instructor and he makes you cry b/c he yells at you for missing turns and messing up parallel parking. but it’s okay b/c he does the hot arm around the passenger seat thing ™ when he demonstrates so it’s. fine! and he’s pretty. whatever.
you have his number saved as ♂️ (you’re the one in the car) and the conversation remains strictly-business: lesson tomorrow at 3 pm. don’t be late. i’ll be outside your place. you should have run his foot over the first time. it would’ve looked like an accident.
to your dismay, the bi-weekly lessons become weekly lessons, and those lessons are suddenly a staple part of your week. (he excuses the absurd amount of lessons by insisting that you’re a wreck on the road and cannot function on your own).
he gets a bit nicer after a while. emphasis on a bit. he’s still snarky. and rude sometimes (most of the time). but he cares and actually teaches you the basics of driving. and he doesn’t make fun of you for going under the speed limit anymore and the worse he’s called you is “idiot” . and! you get to see more of the hot arm thing ™. so it’s a win all around!
and so what if your face gets a little hot after he praises your driving (albeit begrudgingly)? and don’t even think! about how the light hits the only nice angle of his (stupidly) pretty face when you’re turning and somehow catch a glimpse of him. no way! no way.
are you sad that you guys will no longer be in contact after your test is over? no. okay, well…maybe? are you the only one who thinks you guys will never talk again? absolutely.
you receive another text the same night from him: dinner tonight at 8 pm. don’t be late. i’ll be outside your place.
