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starlightlacrimosazpsff · 8 months

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◇ 𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ◇

TO: @hollythius-rising EVENT HOSTED BY: @solarisfortuneia

SYNOPSIS:

The most renowned love stories tend to be about either whirlwind romances or heartfelt tragedies. A love brewed by fighting against all odds provides a sense of fulfillment after all the drama, the angst, the conflicts, and the memories. It is a buildup to the climax wherein the readers live vicariously, to see the leads achieve happiness after a lifetime of misery. However, in reality, many pairs of soulmates find peace in the simplistic beauty that life can offer. They fight when absolutely necessary to maintain the harmony that safeguards the fragile glass known as happiness. Amidst the trivialities, the foundations of felicity can be forged little by little; and what once served as mere frivolity becomes the profound bond of unconditional loyalty—the foundation of all true loves.

ENTRY TYPE: Event Submission, F!Reader

WARNING(S): mentions of abuse, mentions of violence, mentions of problematic themes, implications of neurodivergence, blood, unstable mental state, juxtaposed writing style, ambiguous relationships, slight toxicity, mild angst (because I need to sprinkle some even if my focus is fluff), author is sorry for submitting late, etc...

CHARACTER(S):

Diluc Ragnvindr, Alhaitham, Childe/Tartaglia/Ajax

•

•☆••☆••☆•

DILUC RAGNVINDR is a man of intrigue filled with mysteries hidden in the darkest shadows of the night. In a way, he is someone who breathes in contradictions as much as he lives in resolute convictions. He approaches life with a headstrong mind and steadfast heart, yet his soul tends to navigate a treacherous world by means of putting on masks infused with his spirit to distribute justice. The body born with the red hair of dawn and the crimson eyes of dusk takes flight as the firebird across the twilight. He honors the name of Noctua, which had blessed him at the tender age of 10. Despite his straightforward nature, his true persona is as elusive as any respectable gentleman with skeletons locked in his closet—or buried in Dawn Winery, for this case.

However, as expected of any formidable vigilante, there is one trustworthy confidante behind them. They are the precious secret keeper, the one to uphold the contingencies that shall be in play if the vigilante falls amidst disaster. In some cases, they stand as the one person who will remember the masked heroes for all their entirety and become their proof of existence.

For Diluc, that is you.

He had just become the Cavalry Captain of Ordo Favonius when he met you. The sight of you, a girl no older than him, battered and covered in blood was bone-chilling. He swiftly commanded the Knights of Favonius to escort you safely to Mondstadt, and led the caravan while ensuring your comfort. A peaceful smile was on your delicate lips even as tears poured down your cheeks. He asked for the reason behind your contradicting expression, bewildered and alarmed as he floundered on how to help you.

"Barbatos heard my prayers." You told him, "I am free now."

Diluc figured that is when his infatuation started with you. The years that had passed as you settled down into the city, the years that had passed after his departure from Mondstadt due to the death of his father, and the years that had passed when he returned...

None of it made a difference to what he feels for you.

If anything, the flames grew stronger and more adamant to have you.

As always, Diluc's nights conclude with a visit to your abode. After his nightly patrols, you are always the solace that awaits him. Whenever he tried to stop his visits, you will go to Dawn Winery yourself to ensure he took care of himself. He never wants you to ever risk yourself by travelling in the dark just to check on him, so he found it easier to just visit you after his patrols.

Sorry to have kept you waiting. Diluc seems to say whenever he finds you asleep on your couch, waiting for him all night. He would carry you in his arms, tucking you back to your bed. As he turns to leave, your hand would tug on his sleeve. His crimson eyes would see you awake, just barely to give him a pleading gaze and a dazzling smile. A part of him wondered if you dreamed of him all those years he had been away, utterly consumed by scathing grief. It made him ponder for how much longer he will keep you waiting.

I am fine, just stay with me. You seem to reply as you watch him discard his coat to join you. The line between friends and lovers blur for those nights of synchronicity. He would hold you until dawn, wherein the morning light would take him back to Dawn Winery. You wake up to an empty bed, yet the warmth soothes you despite his absence. You never complained nor expected more than what he could provide. You never tried to put a label to what you have. The important point is that Diluc always came to you, and that was all that ever mattered.

Please never let me go. Diluc was used to fighting his battles alone, yet he could never resist the allure of returning to you the first night you patched him up after a rough confrontation against a hoard of enemies. It yielded further moments wherein you would either prepare him a warm bath, or just patch him up with a few words of admonishment to be more careful next time. Every touch made him adore you, and every word made him admire you.

I am always with you. That was all you could truly offer to ease his suffering. You knew that your dear knight of dawn is broken, and pieces of him have permanently gone missing. He cannot be fixed and you do not seek to do it. You merely hold him, as his body was covered in gauze with his head on your shoulders. You do not speak of the tears you do not see as it soaked your dress, nor do you speak of the nightmares he confided to you past gritted teeth. I love you. Who will say it first?

"Honestly," you sighed, "your injuries tonight make me think you're doing it on purpose at this point."

Diluc almost smirked, "I suppose the notion is not too far off."

You plastered the adhesive bandage a little too harshly onto his chest, making him wince. He caressed the abused skin before putting on the spare shirt you gave him while you took hold of his cloak. You retrieved your sewing kit to repair the slight tear on the fabric.

"Don't even joke about that!" You scowled sternly, "What are you, a child? If you wish to see me, you ask for an invitation. Better yet, try to start a conversation. It feels as if you can only talk to me as the Darknight Hero and never as Diluc Ragnvindr."

He frowned confusedly, "What do you mean? If anyone knows all sides of me, it's you."

You raised a brow at him in challenge, "Oh yeah? Then why do you avoid crossing my path during daytime? Why do you only dare approach me during nighttime, away from any prying eyes?"

His lips part to deny your allegations but promptly close it when you point your needle at him. There was a stern glint in your eyes, the familiar fire that rivalled his own Pyro Vision. It makes him look away guiltily, fiddling with his ponytail as he released his hair from the tie. Seeing that he was not arguing anymore, you went back to your task as you continued to speak.

"I'm not one of those girls vying for your attention or anything," you said calmly, "but I won't deny that it grates on my nerves as I see you changing directions whenever you spot me en route. Then you come to my home as if it was like any other night."

You cut the thread as you finished stitching, glancing back at Diluc.

"Are you ashamed of me or something?" You asked bluntly.

"No!" He protested vehemently, "It's the total opposite."

A slight blush engulfed his face at the unwitting confession, but he does not correct himself nor take it back. You stared with wide eyes of awe and surprise, taken aback yet mostly amused. Rather than delving into it, you decided to keep silent as your eyes evaluated Diluc under a new light. You chuckled goodheartedly as you stood up, gesturing for him to do the same. Once he did, you help him put his coat back on and may have lingered to touch his arms. You were utterly shameless, grinning as he did not even tense up. It shows his familiarity with your caresses, even as you blatantly traced his shoulders to dust off some unseen lint.

"You owe me a date tomorrow then, Master Diluc~!" You whispered onto his ear.

Your cheeky remark ends with a chaste peck on his cheek, making the man look at you with a flustered astonishment. You giggle at his adorable expression, turning away to clean up the clutter in your living room. There was a sensual sway to your hips as you walked away, a soothing hum reverberating from your lips. This sight of you, bathed under the moonlight, felt so domestic and surreal to Diluc. Once again, he finds himself pining for a dream that could be just a step away from reality. He only needs to muster the courage to take that step, and you could be his for as long as you would have him in return.

Diluc yearns for you. He yearns for a future with you.

At the same time, he wonders if he could protect you beyond the clandestine moments shared with you. As he grabs your hand and twirls you into his arms, he found his answer by brushing his lips against yours with an intense look on his eyes.

"You missed." He retorts.

That was your first kiss with Diluc Ragnvindr.

"The wind wisps guided us, but the flame sprites united us."

•☆••☆••☆•

ALHAITHAM is a man of logic and rationality defined by the reasonable standards of routine. As an advocate of truth and wisdom, he has a thirst for knowledge controlled only by the disciplinary restraint of abstinence. This balanced mindset has earned him the title of Scribe within Sumeru's Akademiya, a well-maintained equilibrium between ambition and humility. Alas, this chosen lifestyle is not without its drawbacks to accompany the merits. Though this silver-haired scholar would argue that these cons are not truly detrimental, his peers would beg to differ when they tend to suffer said disadvantages more often than not. After all, the most brilliant geniuses tend to have quirks; and for this scholar hailing from the Darshan of Haravatat, it is his grievously cold-hearted personality.

His harsh disposition, more often than not, can be attributed to his analytical behavior. While he is not unsympathetic, Alhaitham is the type to prioritize facts over sentimental attachments. Because of this, most of his peers find it hard to get along with him.

That was, of course, until he was paired with you.

You had been desperate to find a decent roommate in the dormitories of the Akademiya, while Alhaitham wants a roommate whom would just learn to respect his supposedly strict boundaries. You heard from a friend about it and sought his contacts on the message board. You passed his initial assessment of you, and everything else was history.

Alhaitham was extremely meticulous of his space because he wants to be efficient with his time. That means every single thing in his home needs to be set in its place so a routine would remain undisturbed. If something goes wrong, it irritates him and it puts his mental facilities to work for something he deems could have been avoided. Despite his effective work ethics, he can be quite lazy in that regard. He does not wish to waste time and effort for someone else's incompetence, which people tend to find off-putting. However, you see it differently. He has his preferences, and it just so happens to be more thorough than most—which you respect.

For a while, you took the time to observe Alhaitham closely. It befuddled and agitated him at first, since there are times your glare could be quite piercing. If you had a problem with him, you should just say it. There are even moments when he thought you were stalking him. Alas, it was actually because you were taking note of his boundaries and his miniscule habits to adapt to them without compromising your own comfort.

Once the first week had passed, Alhaitham noticed your efforts blossom.

To his pleasant surprise, it even benefited him.

"[Name]," he called indifferently, "have you seen—"

"—your book on ancient runes?" You finished, "You left it on the couch when you got the emergency summons from your thesis professor. It was inspection day and I didn't want it to get confiscated, so I put it on the third shelf on the right with a disguised journal cover."

His sharp eyes looked at your precise directions. Lo and behold, there was his book—untouched and even bookmarked on the last page he left. It was a rather neat bookmark too, laminated autumn leaves and ferns with the Sumerian letters that spell your name on the paper base.

"You want one?" You asked, "I could make a custom design for you. I saw your old bookmark when I was cleaning the trash, and it will help keep your pages neat by not having to fold them."

Alhaitham stares at you with a calculative detachment, yet you did not miss the flicker of warm gratitude that you knew surprised even himself. He nods wordlessly while politely handing your bookmark back.

After you both graduated, it took little time for him to achieve the job of Scribe. Meanwhile, you ended up getting a job in Zubayr Theater to pursue the arts as a playwright. Much to Alhaitham's surprise, it had been your plan all along. Your time spent learning in Haravatat was to provide a deeper nuance to your stories by making use of ancient languages and inputting traditional designs onto your craftsmanship. It was an amalgamation of wisdom that you proclaim the sages have neglected, an artform they prohibit due to ignorance. As he read one of your plays on a whim, he begins to see you in an appraising light. In fact, the appreciative delight he felt in your texts was demonstrated by how he never misses a single play written by you when it is performed on stage.

You could not pinpoint when things began to transition from platonic kinship to romantic entanglement between you two. All you can recall is that Alhaitham invited you to live with him again.

"Don't you already have a roommate? Kaveh, was it?" You asked curiously.

Alhaitham scoffs, "He tends to get on my nerves a bit. Having you there would teach him a thing or two about respecting my space, and minding his own business."

You snorted amusedly but accepted his offer. You knew better than to question Alhaitham. Although you wanted to joke about whether he still has room in his house, you knew it will fly over his head. It would only be a leeway to roast you about how he would not have offered if he did not have a room unoccupied to accommodate you.

Henceforth, that is how you got your own key to Alhaitham's house.

It must have been quite a shock to witness for Kaveh, how you and Alhaitham seamlessly move around each other. You always rise an hour before Alhaitham's scheduled awakening in the morning. You bathe and keep the bathroom clean, with enough hot water for him to use. Then, you cook breakfast and brew his coffee with a specific mug he uses in the morning to keep track of his caffeine intake. Straight black and no sugar, but you will add two teaspoons of cream to ensure it does not scratch his throat. By the time he gets dressed, you have his meal set on the table right where his seat has a good view on the window. It was not the landscape itself but the sunlight that hits just right for him to read any book he currently fancies while he sat to eat.

Alhaitham will always clean his own dishes, which will leave you to double-check your things before you both leave for your respective jobs together. Kaveh gapes when he actually sees the silver-haired man help carry your things while you put on your shoes.

"Kaveh," Alhaitham said nonchalantly, "we're both going to be home late. Don't wait up."

You smiled warmly, "There's still food left for you if you get hungry. Oh, and—"

With no hint of shame, your hands patted Alhaitham down. Your calloused fingers rummage his pockets and retrieve his keys, separating the ones that belonged to Kaveh which got dragged with his own. The most astonishing is how the man remains unfazed by your casual yet intimate touches, even leaning into it.

"—here are your keys again!" You laughed as you threw them at the blond, "Honestly, I should get us some kind of key hangers to prevent this from happening."

"Do you want to go now?" Alhaitham asked smoothly, "I have some time."

"I don't have the money for it yet!"

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course, I'm paying."

Kaveh could only stare incredulously as he held his keys. He watches you both depart, voices fading behind the door and into the distance.

Meanwhile, Alhaitham all too chivalrously takes your hand in his as you both strolled down the streets. You hummed a familiar tune that you have been working to integrate on your next play. He takes note of it, subtly turning a vial in his headphones to record your voice. You did not stop him, eyes wandering to window shop.

"How was your latest research?" You asked.

"Troublesome," Alhaitham sighs lightly, "the scholars involved in it give me a headache."

You cooed, raising your free hand to sweep his bangs and massage his temple mildly. You stopped to focus back on walking but now allowed your fingers to stroke the callouses on the hand you held. Soon, he drops you off at Zubayr Theater and releases you from his grasp. You held back a smile, cheeks blushing, when he kisses the back of your hand before tracing your palm with his fingertips as he lets you go. For a moment, his intense gaze shimmered in a darker turquoise and vibrant rustic orange—reminding you of both the rainforests and deserts of Sumeru.

"I'll stop by in the library with tea and snacks for you." You mention.

Alhaitham gives you a fond smile, a privilege only ever meant for you.

"I would appreciate that." He replied.

"Be the oasis to my desert, the prized flower in my secret garden."

•☆••☆••☆•

CHILDE is a man that goes by many names, each with a role to play like a performer on a stage. Amongst all these aliases, one of them comes with a literal mask belonging to a Fatui Harbinger—Tartaglia, the Eleventh. He is the youngest to ever rise to such a status, and it was with good reason. With the exception of the higher-ranked Harbingers, his skills in the battlefield are practically unparalleled. Frankly, the only thing sharper than his twin hydro blades is his ambition for more power and worthy opponents. That is likely why he fit right into the standards of the Fatui, enough to please even the cold-hearted Tsaritsa whom is implied to have a soft spot for her Harbingers despite her loveless soul. As the person that grew up with him, you felt proud of him yet also concerned over him.

After all, regardless of everything, he remains as Ajax to you.

In a matter of three days, that Ajax lost the light in his eyes but you carried that light in your heart. It seems that was enough to you, and that was also reason enough for him to still come home to you.

"What gave you strength to return?" You asked delicately, "Three months in the Abyss only to realize Teyvat only missed you for three days, it must have been a tumultuous affair. What enabled you to gain power to rise above it?"

Childe looks at you with a wistful smile, eyes remaining dull. However, the touch of his gloved hand in yours displayed an everlasting bond while the other held the fishing pole.

"My family," he replied, "and you..."

You smiled fondly, sagging in relief. Ajax still lives even if his light has dimmed.

The times he returned from missions—covered in blood that you knew were a mix of his own, and that of another poor soul that has ceased to exist—were all vivid in your memories. The first few nights, your hands trembled; yet you showed no fear in your eyes as you gazed into those lifeless blues. He was still Ajax, whom just grew up for the thrill of battles and an ambition for chaos. When he smiles at his siblings, you feel his genuine love envelop the room and that is how you knew the existence of Tartaglia can never truly overcome Ajax. The light of a flame may extinguish, but the warmth of its existence shall leave ashes and soot—until the day it ignites again.

Wrapped in bandages, Childe pulls you into his arms and lies down on your bed. You let him do as he pleased, aware that once the high from the bloodbath is over for the Tsaritsa's Tartaglia...all that would be left is the turmoil of your Ajax.

"If you are bloodstained," you swore, "then I will wash you all clean."

His embrace tightens, cradling the back of your head to ensure you will not look at him. You close your eyes and sigh, pressing your ear against his chest. The thumping of his heart races slightly as the heat of your skin passes to his own, soothing the scars and invigorating his veins.

"That would make you an accomplice." He said huskily, "I don't want to taint you."

You laughed blithely, wriggling from his grip to lift your head and boop his nose.

"Silly, Ajax~!" You crooned adoringly, "Even the purest snow needs to get dirty to melt into spring; and even the clearest waters hold their secrets beyond what the eyes can see."

Your eyes gained a ruthless gleam that made Childe's breath hitch. Your fingertips traced his torso, dabbling on the line between his skin and the gauzes. Your hand wraps around his throat, not tight to suffocate but enough to make him feel the weight of its existence. It was not calloused from a lifetime of battles, but from years of labor within Snezhnaya's endless winter. Nevertheless, it felt soft and delicate compared to his own.

"Should the day ever come," you promised solemnly, "that Tartaglia devours Ajax within you, I would kill you myself."

Childe's eyes widened. For a second, the lost spark in his eyes flickered.

"Tainting me or not," you smirked meaningfully, "it was never a choice for you to make, Ajax."

In a matter of circumstance, you joined the Fatui with a determined glint in your eyes and a menacing sharpness in your serene smile. You were not empty or unfeeling, for you still shone with an unforgiving light that dismantled even the Harbingers to their core. You did not hold the same prowess as Childe did when he started as a recruit, but your potential was overflowing when it came to everything else. It took a matter of months before the Harbingers, excluding perhaps the Jester and Capitano whom had been silent, began fighting in a passive-aggressive manner in an attempt to have you as their subordinate. The Tsaritsa had been indifferent, though she did seem to smile when you met her eyes fearlessly after your paths briefly crossed in the Zapolyarny Palace.

The other Harbingers must have taken quite a hit to their pride when you chose to bend one knee—bowing only in front of the Eleventh, right where they can see you.

"This humble soldier swears allegiance to Tartaglia, Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers."

Childe gave a knowing smile, eyes flashing in appreciative endearment as he beholds your glorious form. He glances at his fellow Harbingers with a triumphant glare, brimming with possessive arrogance to which they all scowled. There was a palpable tension, a hint of envy to know that the lowest rank amongst them can encourage such devout loyalty. It was obvious there was something else to your relationship, but nobody could alas prove it.

"Rise, [Name]." He projects strongly, "This Harbinger acknowledges your oath."

Although you have joined his crusade in the Fatui, it did not mean you had to leave the place you have made for yourself in his family as his childhood friend. Since Childe made it clear he wishes to keep his real job a secret from the little ones, you also played your part in the secrecy. As far as his younger siblings are concerned, you are now an employee in Childe's toymaking company. In fact, you are the main designer of the toys. It is not too far from the truth since you end up being the one providing the toys to keep covering for Childe's lie. He knows engineering is one of your many talents, a reason why even Dottore and Sandrone had been very interested to have you as an assistant.

"[Name]," Teucer said when you joined their family for dinner, "when are you going to marry our brother?"

Childe ended up choking on his water, spilling it all over the table—much to his mother's chagrin. His father amusedly watches him struggle to regain his breath, patting his back in mocking consolation. You remain unfazed as you smiled at Teucer, whom sat on your other side. You chuckled as you grabbed the napkin, wiping away the crumbs and sauce on his youthful face. As Childe coughed into his elbow, he could not help but admire that maternal glow around you.

"When your brother asks, I suppose." You answered seriously.

Tonia squeals in delight while Anthon whistles, and Teucer celebrates by clapping his hands. All three glared at Childe expectantly while he stared at you, mouth agape and cheeks flushing in a rare image of flustered astonishment. His eyes seem to shake in unfathomable emotions, gulping dryly when you met his gaze with a challenging smile.

"It's getting late." His mother saves the day, "Ajax should escort [Name] back home."

His father smirked before Childe could agree, "Or [Name] could just stay the night like she always did when she and Ajax were younger. It's been a while since she has visited. It would be a shame for her to leave so soon."

Tonia nodded sagely, "I agree. Besides, maybe our dumb brother could finally pop the question if he gets used to sharing a room with his future wife again."

Just like that, the almighty Eleventh Harbinger got bullied by his own family.

In the solitude of his bedroom, you and Childe got dressed for bed with your backs turned to each other. Once done, you boldly embrace him from behind as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You lean your head against his while he sat hunched over the bedside, elbows on his knees. He sighs with an exasperated smile, tilting his head to look back at you.

"You have got to stop teasing me like that." He said.

You grinned smugly, kissing him passionately on the lips.

Friend, comrade, lover—the label matters not.

The absolute truth is that you are bound to be together until your hearts stopped beating.

"Beyond the gods I defy, my end shall come in your hands."

•☆••☆••☆•

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starlightlacrimosazpsff · 9 months

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♧ 𝓑𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓪 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓴 ♧

CO-WRITTEN WITH: @heiayen EVENT HOSTED BY: @soleillunne

SYNOPSIS:

Being a spy has its own set of challenges. Being a spy for a vigilante group, in a nation ruled by corrupt officials that dare to usurp the rightful authority of governance, is at an entirely different level of difficulty. You decided to accept the job of spying on a pretty boy from Inazuma, suspected to be a threat for being an accomplice with a dangerous diplomat from Snezhnaya whom was also an exile from your own nation. Due to your own hubris, you may have just earned a new archnemesis.

ENTRY TYPE: Event Submission, GN!Reader

WARNING(S): fight scene with a bit of blood, descriptive violence, degrading language, etc...

CHARACTER: Scaramouche

•

Curse the gods and curse the heavens, this was the last time you signed yourself up for a bigger job! A political affair, maybe something bigger—Inazuma’s most important politician’s son is possibly colluding with one of Snezhnaya’s worst politicians. No one knew why and to make it worse, there was quite the chance whatever they were planning was in one way or another related to the very nation you lived in for years now: Sumeru. Frankly, it was a mess...

…and somehow, you managed to put yourself in the middle of it.

Everyone got concerned when Alhaitham first brought the news to light because no one knew what it would mean for Sumeru. The rulers here were not to be trusted, willing to do gods know what for their own gain. That was also why this group got created, to stand against them and fight for what was right. You offered to spy on him and, yes, you were greeted with objections from Nilou and Cyno— both claiming it would be too dangerous for you. However, in the end, you got the green light.

—and, oh, how bad of an idea it was.

Scaramouche had perfected the act of a corrupt politician's innocent son who did no wrong, and could not be judged by his mother’s crimes when he has proven to be different. He was polite to others, always with a gentle expression on his face. When you first started the job, you could not even believe that this man could possibly be planning something terrible.

Most importantly, he was really pretty.

You knew it should not matter to you, no; but you seriously could not believe someone with a face like his could be a bad person. Then again, they do say not to trust a pretty face.

Ignoring your inner crisis, the job was not that bad at first. Yes, it was pricey because Scaramouche was often a guest of expensive places; and you therefore got the chance to eat expensive food, drinks and just enjoy the life of luxury. It was not with your money either, because all of that was covered under mission expenses by Alhaitham. He did scold you to not order dishes that are too expensive, or you will be the one paying for them. You listened because you knew he absolutely meant it. Still, it was great to enjoy the life of the rich for once. Obviously, it was not all that pretty every time; and sometimes, you would just spend hours walking around with your camera while trying to spot Scaramouche and see what he was doing or if he was talking with anyone.

It was fun, until it was not.

The serenity that surrounded him, combined with the gentleness of everything he did was driving you mad. You were having a hard time genuinely believing that he was behind any kind of political affairs. He literally was so polite to an older waiter in a restaurant! You sat in your chair, staring in shock until another waiter placed food on your table.

There was just no way.

🦋

There was a way, actually.

It was sunny that day when you were simply sitting and observing him again. Nice weather, nothing was happening. You could have just spent this day at home, chilling; but alas, you still had a man to spy on. You could not rest until you were 100% sure that nothing threatened Sumeru, especially when two influential individuals from different nations are suspected to be behind said threat. Fortunately, it seemed that the heavens finally listened to you and you got a lead.

As you sat in a spot high enough to avoid being noticed, you suddenly noticed Scaramouche grab his phone. You wasted no time turning on your camera and zooming in to clearly capture his face.

It…was new.

That usually calm expression of his dropped and got replaced by a scowl. It was a new expression of his, one that you have not seen at all, so you watched him closely with blatant curiosity. Whoever he was talking to, they have clearly angered him—judging by the furrow of his brows and his lips curved into a frown. He yelled too, you noticed; and despite being no lip-reader, you could swear the words he yelled out were insults and curses. Somehow, a part of you felt satisfaction watching the person you were observing for weeks lose their cool completely.

You fought a smirk creeping on your lips. You could not explain why.

You shook your head and brought your attention back to him. The call went on for a few minutes before he ended it with a spat of insults, or so you guessed.

While you had no idea what he was talking about on the phone or if it was in any way related to your current mission, it was still a move.

Guess you should update Alhaitham about it…

🦋

The heavens were on your side for once. When you returned, you handed the recording to Alhaitham. Some time afterwards, you received the transcript of Scaramouche’s conversation. Some of the words were missing since he just was not able to lip-read them, but you were grateful for his work either way. You were even more grateful for the news that came with the transcript.

Scaramouche was, indeed, talking with the very person you and your team suspected: Il Dottore. In Snezhnaya, he was known for his questionable morals, to say the least...and work ethics. There was a saying that if anything was going wrong, it was probably his fault. He studied at Sumeru’s academy but was ultimately expelled and banned from the nation.

For the sake of your sanity, you did not ask why.

However, all this gave you a clear image of upcoming troubles if you did not act in time. You did not know the details yet, but knowing that someone as unpredictable as Il Dottore was related to the case—

You blinked. This was no good.

You looked back at the transcript.

According to it, Scaramouche and Dottore were meant to meet soon at some party for rich people which was actually great for you. You could spy on both suspects at the same time, after all. You knew it would be hard, but even the tiniest chance of getting any more information was worth the risk that came with it. Who knows? Maybe Scaramouche would yell some important details in some fit of anger, and you would overhear it…

That would be the ideal scenario, but not likely to happen.

You liked to dream sometimes.

Also, yes, you were right about the fact he was yelling curses...and insults. Plenty of them even, to the point where Alhaitham—according to the small note he left—just refused to write them down. You laughed to yourself upon reading said note.

Somehow, you could not help but feel… excited at the thought of meeting him.

It was weird. You could not give it a name, but you somehow became too intrigued and personally fascinated with him for your own good. You wanted to meet him, talk to him, and see the carefully crafted mask of politeness with your own eyes. You wanted to see it slip, see a part of the real him come out.

The ugly side that he tried so hard to hide from everyone.

Be the reason the mask slipped.

…gods. Maybe it was your sign to rest for the day. With even more questions and even fewer answers, you got up from the desk and started packing up your things.

The party was this week, after all. You should start preparing.

🦋

Dining in expensive restaurants was one thing.

Attending expensive parties full of important people was another.

Getting an invite for yourself would be hard, given how—well, you were not that important in society. Alhaitham was, on the other hand, so you simply went as his plus one. It was honestly not a bad thing since, thanks to it, you had someone to call for help in case anything went down.

You hoped nothing would.

The first part of your plan was—

“Oh! Are you alright?” A voice asked. You blinked and looked at just who exactly you bumped.

You blinked again. Oh.

You only ever saw him in pictures and from a distance, so only now you realized how…genuinely pretty he looks. He is so beautiful that he could pass as a vintage doll, very pretty.

Too pretty for a human, you would dare to say.

“Yes, yes...! I’m sorry for bumping into you.” You said, smiling.

Scaramouche smiled back, although something was off about it.

“Are you here alone?”

“Oh no, no…!” You shook your head, “I’m with my friend.”

You wondered how many questions he could ask and how many answers you could give him before it would get suspicious. You try to subdue your body language to absolute neutrality to cover your tells.

“Where is your friend?”

“He’s…” You looked around. Truth be told, you actually had no idea where Alhaitham was, “...somewhere?”

“What a friend he is, to leave you alone at a party.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head, “Mind if I keep you company?”

Oh, no.

“There’s no need.” You waved your hand, “You must be busy yourself, I don’t want to waste your time.”

You did not want to risk anything by spending even more time around him. Your plan was simple: it was to bump into him, stick the little microphone to his clothes, and happily listen to his conversation with the Snezhnayan politician. Once that was done, you deactivate the bug so it does not get traced back and you can go back to headquarters in Sumeru with Alhaitham discreetly.

You did the first part and managed to stick the microphone to the inner edge of his suit. Now, you planned on leaving as fast as possible; but alas, that did not happen.

“I insist.” He smiled wider.

A shiver ran down your spine.

You did not understand why he would insist on staying with you. From all the time you spent watching him, he did not seem like someone so willing to accompany a stranger for no reason. Even when he was wearing his gentleman mask, he would always avoid prolonged idle chats and act reserved in the background.

There was no way he somehow found you out, right?

“Well...?” He tilted his head, the curve of his lips dropping just a tad.

“If you insist.” You forced a smile.

His own grew back into a beaming grin.

You had a terrible feeling about it, but still let him lead you deeper inside his web.

“What’s your name?” He asked, and you gave him the first fake name you could think. You were not worried about him somehow calling your bluff. After all, how in the world would he find out?

You just hoped he would not ask about Alhaitham.

He hummed with a nod. “Your friend is…?”

“He’s a businessman!” You blurted out. Good gods, it was as if he read your thoughts and decided to make things harder! “He didn’t have anyone as his plus one, so asked me to come.”

“A businessman, you say?” He raised his eyebrows and you nodded.

“He’s a very busy man, so that’s probably why he left me alone here.” You figured that maybe rambling for long enough would buy you time to find a way of leaving, “He took over his parents’ company at a very young age and did very well, so obviously a lot of people admired him—huh?”

You turned your head at him when you heard him laugh under his nose. What was his problem?

“Do you always talk a stranger’s ears off?” Scaramouche questioned, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Well, I guess you’re special?” You shrugged; and before he could reply, you spoke again, “If you mind it, then maybe you should talk now? About yourself, maybe...?”

He looked at you and, somehow, you felt cornered by him in a room full of people.

“About myself...?” He chuckled lowly and leaned toward you, “Don’t you know it all already? Or maybe you’re not as good of a spy as you claim to be?”

You froze, stiffening from head to toe at his statement.

You were busted.

Scaramouche gracefully swiped a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. He keeps his eyes on you, the majestic midnight blue darkening into a burgundy shade. This is a glimpse into the true self you have been wanting to see, yet it sent chilling thrills throughout your body. To witness the seamless change between his hollow kindness to ominous threat, it almost made you flush with shame as a spy when you compared how his facade is legitimately smoother than yours.

“You sure hold a lot of confidence to spy on me,” he chuckled derisively, “yet you can’t even lie properly to save your life. Just from your rambling, I can tell you must have good backing. The downside is your supposed friend must be fairly recognizable. If you out him as your accomplice, your entire operation could fall.”

He took a sip from his glass, elegance blending perfectly with shrewd composure.

"The only smart thing here," he hums as he swirls the liquid, "is that plus-ones are not officially enlisted on the invitations. That means you get to hide your name from me, just a little while longer. That also means your friend gets to keep his dirty secret of being involved in these clandestine operations."

It was very impressive how he managed to deduce all that from one conversation with you. The sheer audacity that he was even laying it all out in the open for you showed how it barely made a difference to him. You have a lot to learn as a spy, it seems. This experience and encounter have just humbled you.

Scaramouche is quite a monster.

You shudder to imagine what it would be like to deal with Dottore.

“So, tell me.” He almost purred, “What’s your objective here, little mouse?”

You gaped incredulously, “Little mouse…?!”

Scaramouche blinked a few times, mocking a surprised expression.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” He teases haughtily, “I was trying to be nice but perhaps you prefer a more accurate nickname. How about a little fly? You sure love acting like one with how you kept hovering for the past few weeks just to get some dirt on me.”

You gritted your teeth as you glare at him, utterly humiliated and infuriated. He casually observes you from head to toe as he drinks the rest of his champagne. As he does, his other hand busied itself in dismantling the bug you implanted on him. With a smirk, he presents it to your face. He leans forward as if to intimately impart a secret.

“Not good at hiding your emotions either…” he notes tauntingly, “Am I your first job, little fly? Quite audacious of you, I must say.”

Your target sneers as he casually crushes the gadget in his fist, displaying an uncanny strength despite his delicate appearance. He drops it and stomps on the object for good measure, whispering to you. For the first time, you realize how dangerous Scaramouche could really be and how arrogant you have been by taking this job.

“You ain’t slick.” He laughs sharply, “How about I show you how it’s done?”

At that moment, he releases just a tad bit of killing intent that makes you instinctively shove him away from you without any coherent control over yourself. The rest of his champagne spills on your clothes, and he gasps—now playing the perfect gentleman again. He sets aside the glass on a nearby table, producing his handkerchief to wipe the stain on your arm and patting your torso lightly.

“A thousand apologies…!” Scaramouche said gently, “I didn't mean to startle you. It’s most fortunate the champagne did not spill too much on you.”

He then smiled so chivalrously that it made you blush. This man has a rotten personality yet his mask is flawless, especially with that pretty face! You know it is fake, a point being proven regarding how much he looks down on your own skills. In fact, because of this play, he has everyone’s attention now. He started the scene, and so he gets to control it—cornering you mercilessly.

“Go ahead.” His eyes seem to goad you, “Call for help from your friend. Let me see who else is behind your operations as I make you fall apart.”

To your credit, you managed to do the exact opposite. You were sure Alhaitham is also holding himself back from approaching for the same reasons. If you were going down, he cannot possibly reveal himself to Scaramouche and Dottore. It was all too clear you made too many mistakes when it came to spying on Scaramouche. The realization hurts your pride, but you have nobody else to blame but yourself. Thus, you did not resist as he touched your arm—deceptively tender as you feel his nails dig as a warning.

“Allow me to escort you to get cleaned.” Scaramouche offers gallantly.

It was not a request. Either you go with him, or he finds a way to hunt you down later.

You complied peacefully.

However, as soon as you are both out of sight and earshot, you will fight back. It was a shame you would have to bruise that pretty face, but the bastard deserves the hit.

He will pay for underestimating you.

🦋

Scaramouche saw your resistance coming.

In the dark of night away from the party, you turned your arm in such a way he was forced to bend his hold. With his balance off, you aimed your free fist towards his face but he dodged effortlessly—that pretty smile still on his face. Burgundy eyes gleam under the moonlight, as if pleased to see your spirit.

It was ironic how you had wished to be the reason Scaramouche’s mask falls off.

However, he was the one doing it to you.

That knowledge serves to piss you off even more as you lunge forward. Hit after hit, he dodges skillfully with the reflexes and agility of a graceful feline. At one point, he boredly taps your wrist away to misdirect your fist and proceeds to use your momentum against you by aiming his knee against your stomach. In a last minute maneuver, your body twirls in a way that would have made Nilou proud. As you fall, one of your hands plants on the ground to help you spin a kick towards his face. He raises his arms to block to which you swiftly flip away to gain some distance.

“Not bad,” Scaramouche smirks appraisingly, “it seems you’re not so hopeless after all.”

He flicks his wrists, showing that the power of your kick did not leave him unfazed. However, you paled a bit when he ended up producing a butterfly knife. Frankly, the tricks he displayed with it impresses you; but you quickly covered it up with a dark glower.

“Don’t pout, little fly~!” He coos in a sickeningly sweet tone, “If you’re dirty enough to intrude on my privacy, I’m dirty enough to use weapons on an unarmed person.”

You huffed, “You seem to put a lot of effort on someone you deem as an insignificant insect.”

He scoffs back at you, “Don’t flatter yourself. I just want to see you bleed for causing this much trouble for me.”

“If you kill me here,” you bluff, “you won’t have a way to cover it up.”

Scaramouche pauses before manic glee flashes in his eyes. He snorts before erupting into full chortles. His cheeks flush pink in genuine hilarity, lips spread wide open with laughter. It made him appear innocent, a young man who was having the time of his life. Alas, the context is darker than that for you. It shows from the glint reflected in those malicious amethysts that glare back at you.

“Why,” he chirps boyishly, “are you scared, little fly?”

He scowls bitterly, “You really think you’d be the first murder victim I’ve cleaned up in these sorts of gatherings. I have plenty of experience, and I know how to handle your type while making it look like an accident...or just have you go missing entirely.”

The blade in his hand glints menacingly as he points it at you.

Then, he attacks.

You sucked a breath through your teeth, flinching to instinctively dodge the stab he aimed at your eye. He is very fast! He is lightning fast, and fluid too. He was not just stabbing or mindlessly swinging. Every movement is precise and nimble, like an assassin who has eliminated all sorts of targets. For every swipe and thrust, he makes use of his entire body and especially his flexible wrist which flicks to aim at the slightest weakspot he sees within a blink. At one point, you manage to kick him back and his moment of shocked astonishment made your chest swell with pride. However, your smug grin immediately falters when he dashes at you while changing hands for his blade and vanishes in a split second—

—only to reappear behind you to hold your entire body in a chokehold, pointing the blade straight to your jugular. It applied enough pressure to cut, making you wince as your skin bled. His lips almost seductively graze your ear, chuckling softly.

“Give up, mousey.” Scaramouche murmurs.

You grunted, “Never.”

“Fine. Then perish.”

On cue, a smoke bomb drops by yours and Scaramouche’s feet. You did not hesitate to elbow him in the gut when his hold loosened in alarm and distraction. You then made a swift escape and barely dodged the blade that blindly flew past your cheek. It embeds onto the cobblestone pathway with a metallic clang. At the same time, your keen hearing detects the sound of a familiar bird call that can only come from the ever quick-witted Alhaitham. With a relieved sigh, you follow the sound into the darkness.

You need a drink as soon as you get back to headquarters.

🦋

Scaramouche silently stood alone in the garden.

He was leaning against a pillar, one hand in his pocket. He then holds up a vial of your blood to the moon, having collected it from the blade that nicked your cheek and neck. It was a meager sample but more than enough for Dottore to know everything about you once Scaramouche hands it over to him. The thought left a bitter taste of disdain in his mouth, but this is not his expertise and he wants results.

He wants to see you again.

Clacking footsteps made his ears twitch but he did not move from observing the crimson elixir as it glowed beneath the moonlit gaze.

“They got away.” Scaramouche informs the stranger coldly.

“Really now?” Dottore laughs humorlessly, “You’ve gotten soft.”

“Shut the fuck up!” The younger male hissed, “Let them and whatever company they keep have this false sense of security. It would be more advantageous for us anyway.”

He shoves the vial towards the unethical doctor, crossing his arms in haughty irritation. His dark burgundy eyes stared blankly at where he last saw you—held you in his arms, and felt shivers down his spine as you fought him with the ferocity of a wild beast.

“I know their type.” Scaramouche gruffly explains, “They would bite their own tongue rather than start talking. They make for a lousy spy based on their skills, but their attitude is stellar for the job.”

Dottore grins widely, “Ha! Careful there, Balladeer. You almost sound doting as you praise the vermin.”

Scaramouche gives him a murderous expression.

“Just get out of my sight!” He spat, “We’re done here.”

Unwilling to spend more time with his co-conspirator, Scaramouche makes himself scarce from the premises. One of his hands combs through his hair agitatedly before loosening his collar with a deep scowl. He can feel his arms bruising after the scuffle, making him laugh under his breath. You surely gave quite the fight even if he had no plans to really kill you tonight.

“Let the games begin, mousey.” He mumbled, “I do love a good chase.”

The Balladeer hopes you were better at running than spying.

It would be boring if he catches you too soon.

•☆••☆••☆•

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