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jessamine-rose · 1 month

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⋆˚♱ଘ Requiem for the Damned ଓ♱˚⋆

*holds head in hands* Idk why Dottore keeps haunting me with writing inspo. And for this idea to manifest just before Holy Week….fuck it, I hope you all enjoy the blasphemous tale of Priest! Dottore x Demon! Darling _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

Tw:: yandere, violence, death, religious abuse, dubcon, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 2.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ Despite your status as a wandering demon, you have no place in human cognizance. Rather, you conceal yourself from mortal eyes in favor of close observations and whispered temptations. Humans, from your perspective, are interesting creatures—they are ambitious, easily influenced by spiritual beings, capable of both good and evil.

♡ And what better example than the one who summoned you on a starry night? Such rituals are not uncommon amongst heretics, but most only succeed in invoking the contempt of their fellow humans. And few would invoke your name, much less commit sacrilege within the walls of the Church.

♡ You sense danger immediately upon your appearance. Within the summoning circle, you take note of your sigil perfectly illustrated in blood against marble. Beyond it, what alarms you is not your sacred surroundings nor the fresh corpse mixed with your offerings of books and fruit. It is the figure standing over you, cloaked in moonlight, gazing at you with eyes the color of hellfire.

“My ritual is a success. Welcome to my humble church, o noble demon…or would you rather be addressed by your epithet? ______, Fallen Seraph, the Seeker of Forbidden Knowledge.”

♡ A glimpse into his soul is all it takes to strike fear into your heart. Within Hell, there are rumors of a small village in Sumeru. Its people are nothing of note, a congregation of simpletons whose lives revolve around the beliefs of their Church. The lone exception is the main priest, Father Zandik, better known as Il Dottore.

♡ The stories, passed through human voices, speak of a child ostracized for his unconventional beliefs and his interest in the macabre. Branded a madman, he was placed in the care of the Church elders who corrected his ways of thinking. Once he became of age, Zandik was given the choice to move out of the rectory or to remain as a priest; he chose the latter of his own volition.

♡ Since his ordination, Zandik has proved himself to be an exceptional priest. He educates the masses, reviews theological texts, performs exorcisms, and provides religious counsel for the doubtful. He even serves as the town’s doctor, fully gaining the acceptance of his community.

♡ The rumors don’t stop there. For Il Dottore earned his title by performing miracles. It is he who guides the people into religious ecstasy, he who cures the sick from mysterious curses, he who blesses the weak into “enhanced humans.” There are already whispers that once Dottore’s mortality catches up with him, he will surely be canonized as the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles.

♡ But spiritual beings such as yourself know the truth. That Dottore is neither a kind priest nor a devout believer, that his days in the Church only magnified his heretical inclinations. Disillusioned with God, Zandik decided to turn His religious sanctuary into his own laboratory, one where he could fulfill his lust for knowledge through a mask of holiness.

♡ He manipulates the people with false teachings. He triggers religious ecstasy with drugged incense. He singles out devotees to “test their faith” during the quiet hours of the Church. And what the town perceives as curses and miracles are actually scientific experiments in which Dottore plays god.

♡ It’s too late to escape. No matter your divine powers, nothing prepares you for Dottore’s traps. The incantations, the barrier of the summoning circle, an aura so holy yet sinister that it couldn’t possibly come from ordinary religious objects—all you can do is fall to your knees and beg for his mercy, all the while he watches you with a confident smile.

♡ His intentions are like that of any human: He summoned you to form a contract. In exchange for his soul, he demands your knowledge, your resources, your full servitude for so long as he roams the mortal plane. Your hesitation only triggers another wave of scorching pain, followed by panic as Dottore grips your horn and forces you to face him.

“Make no mistake, ______. The mere fact of your divinity does not make you indestructible. In exchange for your cooperation, you will bear witness to experiments of the same magnitude as God’s creations. What say you?”

♡ You have no other choice. And that is how, in the sanctity of the Church, you make a deal with the human named Zandik. Once the pact has been forged, Dottore admires the bright sigil on his chest, plucks a few feathers from your wings, and disables the summoning circle so you can leave. Thus begins your personal hell.

♡ It is easy for you to answer Dottore’s questions about the divine. The horror lies in assisting him in experiments, responding to his summons no matter the inconvenience, allowing him to extract your blood, tears, and feathers. No, what’s most humiliating is when he uses your body for his “research,” bending you over the altar and bringing you to physical ecstasy against your will.

♡ At this point, you don’t know who to pray to. One night, Dottore shows you a secret room in his laboratory. As soon as he lights the lamps, your eyes take in numerous bodies and skeletons of a different classification from his usual victims. The extra bones jutting from the scapulas, the amputated wings, the halos pinned to the walls, the holy aura you’d felt from his religious objects…instantly, Dottore’s powers make sense.

“This is my first specimen. She was my guardian angel…no, I jest. She was a mere messenger who implored me to repent for my sins. From her words, I deduced it had been within Heaven’s capacity to save me during my youth—and yet God only sent an angel to me after my first act of blasphemy.”

The angels…how many has he killed? Not even during your fall from Heaven did you feel such primal fear for your life. But you cannot scream—you have long been trained to resist fight and flight. All you can do is listen to Dottore’s explanation, watch as he approaches a pure white skeleton and wraps his hands around its fractured hyoid bone.

He gives you a calm smile. “Luckily, her body provided me with indispensable resources for my experiments and my procurement of her brethren. I believe her name was Sohreh.”

♡ Just when you think it can’t get any worse, Dottore points at the far corner of the room to reveal a space dedicated to demons. Four dead bodies, their causes of death vividly described. Horns, wings, and other body parts amputated in exchange for lives spared after exorcisms. And when Dottore returns to your side, tracing the wound from where he broke off your horn, you can only tremble and acquiesce to a checkup. It grows back fully by the end of the year.

♡ He has his moments of vulnerability, however. Perhaps it is due to your nature as a demon, a creature which represents evil, that Dottore does not hide his heart from you. Once, after his usual confessions—he always makes up trivial sins—he remains in the confessionary until his fellow priest has left. Then he goes to the altar and summons you.

♡ What catches you off-guard is not his lack of greetings. Rather, it’s the way he pulls you close to his body, lips ghosting the curve of your ear. There, in the heart of the Church, he whispers to you every sin he has ever committed. Despite his normal tone of voice, his words have never betrayed a language so guiltless, so sincere, so human.

♡ He asks how much of his madness is to blame on the influence of demons, or if he had been born wicked. He asks if humans were truly given the mental faculties to withstand temptation regardless of their circumstances. He asks if the same can be said for spiritual beings, questioning why former angels like you were also created with the capacity to sin. He even asks if praying for a demon can offer them any hope of salvation.

♡ It takes you a while to answer his questions. It’s just like him to put your emotions in disarray, to make you feel pity for the very cause of your current suffering. Against your nature, you wonder if there is still a chance for Zandik, if he can somehow repent or find a way to save himself from your contract and all of his sins. Even if it is too late, He has always been more forgiving to humans than angels.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

“Do you know why I became a demon, Zandik?”

Your question is what prompts Zandik to pull away from you, though his touch lingers. His gaze, as always, is unfathomable; you can never discern what hides within those pools of crimson.

“No, I do not. Few demonological texts allude to your existence, and only the Lesser Key of Deshret cites your previous status as an angel of the highest ranking. I have made theories in relation to your epithets but I respect all possibilities. Now what would you, as the primary source, reveal to me?”

Now it is your turn to confess.

“Seraphim are the closest to God but for that reason, we are the most distant from His creations. Everything we know of the world is derived only from what He tells us, not our own insights. And so I defied His Word and ate the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, committing the same sin which condemned all of humanity.”

The tip of your upper wing brushes against Zandik’s face, while your middle wings encircle his body in a loose hug. As for your lower wings…they are nothing but twin scars covered in short feathers. After your descent, it seemed like a rational decision to chop them off, broken as they were. It helped that your wings had just outgrown their original purpose.

For once, you barely flinch at the sensation of his touch against your scars. Many times, Zandik has inquired about the loss of your lower wings and even asked if he could have them. They still remain in Hell, tucked away in a corner of your home, eyes forever closed.

It takes a few seconds for him to respond. “Do you ever regret your decision?”

You shrug. “It was difficult at first, naturally. Many of my eyes were blinded—yes, that is why I rarely open the ones on my wings—but those which still function have seen so many wonderful sights up-close. Neither must I cover my face with my remaining wings. And despite being what your kind and my former brethren would dub a monster…I’m happier now.”

“I see, I see.” His curiosity appears far from sated, however, a sentiment you can empathize with. “As I thought, God is incomprehensible. For Him to deny even His greatest creation of salvation…it confirms that there are limits to the forgiveness of that which humans call a ‘loving god.’ Thank you for sharing this knowledge with me.”

And just as quickly as he initiated his confession, Zandik steps out of your grasp and dismisses you. But you make no haste, silently watching him after you “leave.”

His expression is thoughtful. A gloved hand touches his chest, right above your sigil.

Such an interesting creature.

Honestly, you don’t know what to make of your feelings for this human. Much as you despise his cruel treatment towards you, he never fails to capture your interest with his experiments and philosophies. Whenever he speaks of God, you wonder if a small part of him still desires to be saved. But that will never be.

Zandik preaches salvation with the knowledge that he will never receive it. For the Church never taught him how to love.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

♡ Il Dottore never became the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles. Neither did he have a funeral mass befitting of a priest, nor a peaceful death from natural causes. Instead, he died young, laicized, once again denounced as a heretic by his community.

♡ You don’t know how his crimes were exposed, and why now. Perhaps it is God’s punishment for him, a blessing for his victims, or both. Either way, Dottore paid for his sins on a sunny day, burned at the stake before a disdainful crowd. Not long after his heart stopped beating, his belongings were thrown into the fire—research, tools, anything which carried his memory.

♡ You never left his side. After his last rites, led by an elderly bishop who condemned Zandik as he did in the past, you sat next to him and offered a final conversation. He didn’t express any fear nor sadness in regards to his imminent death, merely stating it a pity that his achievements could never be appreciated in his town.

♡ …He did ask if there is any chance of meeting again in Hell, but you reminded him that the punishment of sinners is out of your jurisdiction. Plus, it’s better that way—you have no desire to avenge yourself, and you’d rather not witness Zandik’s suffering for all eternity. You can only imagine the severity of his punishment, what more if he is assigned to one of the demons he exorcized.

♡ During his execution, you stood at the front of the crowd. You kept your eyes trained on him, for so long as his scarlet orbs remained open, whispering the prayers for the dead on his behalf. While a part of you felt liberated, another was mournful. You hope your last words to Zandik gave him solace in his final moments.

“Rest now, Zandik. God may never forgive your sins, but I shall.”

♡ And thus ends the life of Il Dottore. In the following days, the Church is purged of its holy, sinister aura, mainly because they discarded the religious objects tainted with angel remains. You continue your usual obligations as a wandering demon, but the humans you observe pale in comparison to your companion of many years.

♡ Not long after, you return to Hell for your other divine duties. As soon as you appear in your abode, however, something feels off. The sinister aura, the offering of books and fruit, your lower wings gone from their original place… The answer comes in the form of a hand grabbing you by the horn, pulling you backwards, twisting your body to meet a familiar gaze the color of hearth-fire. Only, this time, those eyes are brimming with pure joy, paired with a genuine smile.

♡ Apparently, Dottore’s soul did end up in Hell but not in the way you expected. In a proud voice, he explains that the Devil gave him a special fate. Whether it was due to vacant positions or everyone’s fear of the infamous “Demon-Killer,” you’ll never know. What Dottore does confirm is that as the demon bound to him via contract, you have to take responsibility and act as his companion in Hell.

“Rather than subject me to eternal suffering, the Devil believed that my talents would prove useful for the punishments of my fellow sinners. How wonderful is it for my achievements to be recognized in Hell? …Oh? I didn’t predict such a physical reaction from you. All of your eyes are wide open, and you seem to be on the verge of fainting.”

♡ You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. To think your personal hell has been extended to eternity—are your sins enough to warrant such a fate?! But after confirming your misfortune, all you can do is sigh and tend to Zandik. He looks exactly the same, with the exception of a few burn scars on his body. And judging by the familiar black feathers on his person, he seems eager to discard his former religious attire along with his mask of faith.

♡ And when Zandik unfastens his scorched cassock, he takes your hand and places it on his unburned chest, right above your sigil. It glows vibrantly, brighter than any light you laid eyes on in Heaven. And beneath the flesh, you can feel his heart beating in sync with yours.

“Tell me, ______, do I still appear human to you?”

“You already know my answer to that question. But fine, I’ll admit it: Yes, you always have.”

♡

Note:: Church AU is still on my “will not write” list. I only wrote this because I specifically like Priest! Dottore and Angel! Capitano. Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics.

At long last, I am free from Priesttore…thank you to everyone. To my readers, to my fellow Dottore simps, to my mutuals who indulged my tortured DMs after midnight, to the artist whose fan art inspired this idea to begin with. May you all have a lovely day╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Tag a Dottore enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @mochinon-yah @diodellet @lcveaesop @oofasleep @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @boundinparchment @harmonysanreads @teabutmakeitazure @yandere-wishes @yanmaresu @nicebonescomrades @nimandu @lesanyanyas @moarar

#il dottore #dottore #dottore x reader #yandere dottore x reader #yandere dottore #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: violence #tw: dubcon #spicy warning #mdni #g/n reader #jessamine-writing

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dorylinae-supremacy · 3 months

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Thinking about an AU where Techno, Wilbur and Tommy are all the harbingers of the actual entire apocalypse and Phil (just some insane guy) decides that those are in fact his kids and starts gaslighting the absolute shit out of them about it.

Rambles under cut!

I wanna try something where they're just more insidious and passive killers than anything else, theyre mostly just biding their time and watching as wherever they're lingering around gets sicker and just starts withering away.

They're a slow moving threat that just can't be stopped and for some reason (because Kristin thinks its funny) Phil just isnt affected by them.

Phil: Oh Techno's always been like that ever since he was a baby Techno: I have literally never met you a day in my life Tommy: Idk man... you have always been like that Wilbur: Oh my death he's actually getting to us

Its a mix of that combined with that "how did he know I was a gemini" meme

Phil: Wil! I brought you some salmon, I know how much you love it! Wilbur: How the fuck did you know I like salmon Phil: I'm your dad silly, of course I'd know :-)

I just think itd be super fun since Phil in this au is literally just some insane dude. He literally lies about their entire childhood but does it so consistently and so realistically that it throws them off guard.

I also have a few ideas where they start referring to Phil as their dad in the beginning as a sarcastic / mocking thing but accidentally just getting themselves even more adopted as they do it.

Phil: Wilbur put on a coat Wilbur: I don't need one! Techno: Go on, Wil. Listen to dad Wilbur: Ugh fine. Only because dad wants it, though

Stranger: Whos this? Tommy: Oh thats our dad. He kinda just tags along Stranger: Aww thats so sweet! You got his nose and everything Tommy: I- wh- no he's not actually our da- Phil: I know he did! Isn't he the cutest, spitting image isnt he? Tommy: You're not my dad! Stranger: Oh someones embarrassed! Phil: Yeah he's going through a rebellious phase right now

Just a mixture of things like that where it starts as calling him it but then accidentally actually giving him parental authority along with that.

I also wanna explore how Kristin and Phils relationship would be like. Maybe her as death being very bemused by this silly human that just decided she was his wife one day.

She literally visits him in dreams and stuff and he just acts as if they're married and have been for years. He complains about their 'rambunctious kids' and how he has to threaten them with her so that they behave sometimes. She finds it so silly and just cant help but play pretend.

Kristin: Hello, human Phil: My love! Its been so long since I've seen you Kristin: We've never met Phil: Oh don't say that! It hasnt been that long. I've just been far too occupied with our boys to visit too much Kristin: Our boys? I made them Phil: And they came out beautiful! I'm so glad Wil and Tech got your eyes. I was hoping they would.

I think that'd be a core part of this AU as well. Everyone is playing pretend but then it just fuzzies and it all becomes real for them. At first its a joke that Phil is her husband and their father but then they get lost in the fantasy and fun of it all and actually accept him as such.

Phil has no ulterior motives either, he's literally just a strange insane man that heard stories about neotrio and started thinking they were his kids one day. He genuinely believes his delusion and they end up accidentally making it a reality.

He just makes lucky guesses and plausible lies often enough that he's still shiny and new, he's still fun to play with and thats what ends up 'tricking' them all.

#dory writes #harbingers AU #dark sleepy bois inc #dark sbi

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sauce-cat · 2 years

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two of them

#baizhu #pantalone #zhongli #regrator #baizhu light mode and baizhu dark mode #2022 #july #fanart #fan #art #shitposting #genshin #genshin impact #genshin spoilers #fatui harbingers #saucecat #sauce-cat

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prosaic-dust-bunny · 2 years

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-Capitano

-Dottore

-Pierro

-Columbina

-Pulcinella

-Arlecchino

-Pantalone

-Sandrone

-Tartaglia

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focusss222 · 1 month

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Father.

An excuse to get back in the game. I'd love it if you'd support me! That's the best of the last artwork

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melozykizzes · 1 year

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fatui harbingers first love ; part 1

warnings: blood, an injury.

scaramouche

scaramouche had never found anyone worthy of love, plus he had no idea how to handle it. when someone showed him the slightest bit of affection, he would think it was a prank, and insult them. till you came strolling into his life.

you met him in sumeru, though you didn’t know what his origins were you still went up to him “Hi! sorry to bother, but do you know where the nearest tavern is?” you say tapping on his back. “excuse me?” he says turning around with a judgemental face. “i said-“ “do you even know who i am?” he says with the still, judging face. you look at him, you both making eye contact. you giggle “i just asked you where the nearest tavern is! i don’t know why you think i’m a threat” at that moment, his face slightly softened, but not as much so you could read his face. he was shocked at the least, but he felt angry now. “i need you to stop pestering me, go find someone else to annoy.” he said sternly, looking you in the eye, you just smiled. he points behind you “keep waking forward and turn to the right, there’s your destination.” you smile at him “thank you, it wasn’t that hard was it?”

the next day, you had decided to go to the tavern, using the directions the blue haired man had given you. you find yourself at a table with a beautiful view out the window, you were having (insert food) while enjoying the view, then you realized the same blue haired man walking into the tavern. “hey! over here!” you call out to him, you see him hesitate but sigh and walk over to you, as you offer him a seat. “it’s special seeing you here! i didn’t take you as the type to hang out in taverns.” you tease at him. he looks at you then the scenery out the window. “i had nothing better to do. everything at work is boring.” he complains “well good thing you came here! and good thing you told me where this tavern is, otherwise i wouldn’t have been able to enjoy this view with you.” you say, looking out the window. “hey, i never caught your name?” he looks at you “just call me scaramouche.” you smile at him genuinely. “Y/N”

he didn’t understand it, why your so nice to him. why do you always make an effort to be acknowledged by him, why wouldn’t you just give up already? he was a fatui harbinger, he had mercilessly killed people before, he was a wreck. while you, you were a saint, you helped people, you cared for the smallest things. it was annoying, but it also made him perplexed. are you toying with him? why can’t you just be afraid of him like the others. when he could stare at you with disgust in his face, you would just smile gently back. he hated to admit it, he really did, but he might find himself inlove.

childe

childe, he personally never had the time for a relationship, as he takes his position to seriously. he thought he would just end up making someone hurt in the end, so he avoided it.

you were picking flowers, in a field in the mountains of liyue. you were minding your own, then you heard someone groaning. you concerningly try to follow the disturbing sounds, till your met with a ginger haired boy, laying down in a patch of dead grass “hello? are you okay?” you say as you walk up to his body, and you kneel down. he groans “oh, haha this isn’t a good timing to see me like this.” he slightly slurs on his words. you look down at his leg, which is bleeding out, you look at him with sympathy “your in luck, i always bring medical supplies with me.” you take out your supplies and place them on the withering grass. “oh please, i could handle this myself.” he says, chuckling. you decide to ignore his comment. “how did this happen anyway?” you say with concern as you are wiping his gash with wipes. he whines at the stinging pain. “oh- oh i actually uh fell down a cliff.” he says with embarrassment pigmenting his cheeks. you let out a giggle “but it’s not what it looks like. i promise you, i never get injured, i’m the one that does the injuring” he brags, and you just laugh. you finish up the last steps and bandage his wound, and pack your supplies. “here, take this medicine just in case you get into a situation like this ag—“ “i told you i’m not the type to get hurt” you internally face palm “as i was saying, here.” you hand him a small bottle of herbal medicine powered by your element/vision. “one more thing” you reach your hand for your backpack, grabbing your favourite flower, and you place it in his hand, and you smile at him. “oh well thank you, flower! your that smitten by me huh? can i at least get your name, flower?” he flirts, you just laugh in return. “Y/N”

after that interaction, he found that he always seemed to bump into you, which turned into a deep conversation, that of course made him lose track of time. he saw you more then you guys had even interacted, he always seemed to find you somewhere, helping an animal in the wild, playing with a kid in liuye streets, as if he couldn’t escape you. but maybe it wasn’t a bad thing, maybe it was something he could be okay with calling, love.

#scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche angst #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche smut #childe x reader #childe angst #childe fluff #childe smut #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia angst #ajax x reader #fatui x reader #fatui #fatui harbingers #fatui harbingers x reader #genshin x reader #genshin dark content #genshin fanfic

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ghost-pasta · 1 year

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[Image ID start: a meme that says:

could kill god but thinks they can't: Danny.

couldn't kill god but thinks they can: Vlad.

knows they could kill god but wouldn't: Dani (with an I).

accidently killed god in a Wendy's parking lot at 3am: Cujo the ghost dog & Maddie the cat.

Second image reads: accidently killed god in a Wendy's parking lot at 3am: Dan Phantom/Dark Danny.

:End ID]

#danny phantom #dp memes #danny fenton #vlad masters #vlad plasmius #elle phantom #dani phantom #cujo phantom #maddie the cat #dp cujo #dan phantom #dark danny #listen. dan was doing a lot of apocalypse harbinger-ing #who knows who he's killed. could've been god one time. we'll never know #i firmly believe two household pets beloved by ghosts could kill god on accident #idk if the alt text option for images is read by a screen reader

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elenmory · 9 months

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scara by me~

#art #digital art #fantasy #fanart #genshin impact #anemo #dark #the wanderer #scaramouche #fatui harbingers

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arataki-neato · 9 months

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Thinking about how Kakfa tells Blade to unleash the Mara but doesn't Spirit Whisper him until he explicitly asks her to

#honkai star rail #kafblade #the stellaron hunters are so fascinating to me #it's like.... their relationships don't seem HEALTHY healthy #I would hesitate to call them a found family yet #but it's definitely a healthier villain team dynamic than like the fatui harbingers for instance #they (kafka and blade specifically in this case) have this like implicit trust and coordination #that's almost like a dark mirror of the astral express dynamic #(possibly because they've got elio who can see the future so they have reason to have perfect faith in each other and the plan)

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mirdance · 2 years

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Hysteria

Dottore x f!Patient

Kinktober: Medical play, overstim, toys

TW: medical malpractice, chronic pain, vibes of self harm

The metal creaked as I carefully lifted myself onto the chill medical table. I rubbed my arms and held my elbows. My hairs stood at alert.

The pictures on the wall were always the same grassy hills I’d never had the pleasure of visiting. I stared at one as if meditating on a single blade of grass would push away the ache in my joints.

Salad and Biryani for lunch. Fish with cream sauce and a potato boat for dinner. I’d been too tired to remember the menu each day even though our nutrition regimen remained stable, so I kept a food calendar on my desk. I ran the list over and over in my head like a memory game. Sometimes I remembered to update it at the end of the week. Years ago I could remember things like my best childhood friend or what I went into a room to grab. Now I do good to crawl out of bed, bones popping with each step. The doctor always states that the most important thing is rest, but my knees stayed restless through sleep.

As if I could stay asleep with the amount of appointments and noise, anyway.

I could walk. That was good. Many lost the ability to use their legs. For me, it was just my arms. Just my arms. I could still go and see and take myself to the bathroom. Yet what was I supposed to do once anywhere? Books fell from my grasp, spoons unsteady. I held them, anyway, in exchange for the swelling throbs that squeezed the life out of every nerve within my upper limbs.

I could live. The catch was living in pain. So what was the point of living at all?

One of the scabs on my arms oozed between my fingertips. I stopped the anxious rubbing and cursed.

Two knocks on the door. I sat straighter.

“Good day. Sorry to keep you waiting. How are you today?” The depth of his voice rang through the metal table.

“Fine.” The small talk ropes pulled my voice box. Get through the appointment. Get through the appointment.

Except Doctor Dottore wasn’t a fan of weather talk.

“Well, you wouldn’t be here if you were fine,” he deadpanned. For some medical staff, it could count for a joke. With Dottore, I was never sure. “Now, you know how I dislike pattering and conversation with no sustenance,” he went on as he took a seat. “I can’t help you when you do that. How are you? How is your pain?”

I shrugged, which upon doing the action I realized how childish that sort of response would look. The man made me feel as if I were a scarab. “It has been better but it has been worse.”

“I see. Your temperature has been stable the past week.” He flipped a page in his journal. “But it seems your food intake has gone down. Any reason for that?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” Every day felt like slogging through the mud. How was I supposed to count every crumb? “I guess I just feel full faster.”

His pen clunked. “Any stomach pains? Bloating? Constipation?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“Have you had anxious thoughts? Getting along with everyone at home?”

My eyes jumped to his for the first time. They held not a hint of mirth. “I mean, I get along just fine. I’m sure you see me around.”

“I do.” He pointed his pen my way. “But I’m asking you.”

“I do get along with everyone.” My feet swung and tapped the table. Showing any sort of mental breakdown could result in an even busier day or worse, therapy. No, they didn’t put one in solitary confinement unless there was harm to another person. But they’d certainly be keeping a greater eye out. And I liked taking a shit in private. “I’m just more tired than usual.”

“Are the pains keeping you up at night?”

I took a deep breath. “A bit. Sometimes.” There was no use lying about it, he’d probably see the scabs, anyway.

“Hm. And you were practically scab free one week ago.” His eyes scanned the notes in his lap during an uncomfortable lingering silence.

Doctor Dottore did not care for decorum. He would ramble or stay silent for as exactly long as he needed. While the rambling was much to keep up with, at least I could pick out a few words rather than having to pick his brain.

He stood and straightened the cuffs on his lab coat. “Hold out your arms, please.”

I did so, and the scabs shined and cooled in the air.

“You must stop picking them,” he muttered as he held one arm in his grasp and had me do a few hand exercises. His hands were fucking freezing. He struck my elbow with his irritating hammer.

I jumped.

“Your face contorted in pain just now,” he commented, feeling and pressing and squeezing my muscles and joints. “Noticeable inflammation. Do you feel this?”

He lightly tapped each of my fingers. I nodded each time. He repeated doing so up and down both arms.

“How about your legs?” He struck my knees one at a time, causing each to kick forward. “Any cysts?”

“Just a scab behind my knee.” I pointed. “It kinda numbs the leg at night.”

He lifted my calf and studied the scab. “Have you had them on your leg before?”

“Rarely. They usually heal up quickly.”

“Fascinating.”

Fascinating?

“When do you usually break out on your legs?”

“My, uh, my period.” He was a doctor so discussing such anatomical diversities was normal, but with him holding my leg in the air, I didn’t really know whether to laugh or feel gross.

“Perhaps hormones play a role in your stability.” He continued analyzing the scab a moment before setting my leg down. “Do you mind if I take a closer look?”

I consented. He pulled on a pair of gloves and knelt. His head leaned mere inches from the table. Had his hair always been so blue? Maybe the man was greying after spending time in the desert.

He pulled out a stirrup. I put my foot in and let him pull and tug around the scab. His fingers were merciless yet gentle enough not to break the skin. Why would he check the leg scab first? When there were enough arm ones to frighten a military?

“I won’t remove it since it should heal as your cycle moves forward, but if you have any trouble with it, come back to the office.”

He helped me settle my leg back down and immediately dabbed my arm with wipes. It stung a slight bit, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Kind of like scratching a place I couldn’t reach.

“Your shoulders are extremely tense.” He squeezed one to prove the point. “You know this doesn’t help your condition.”

“Probably just the stress,” I mumbled. “Just a little more than usual. It happens.”

For the first time, a look of concern robbed his brows. Or maybe it was irritation at hindering his research on the disease. Mental health was not as easy to control as inflammation or diet. And when inflammation was caused by mental health, it created more layers. I was frustrated with it at least.

“Stress often doesn’t just happen.” He sighed and let go of my shoulder. “Have you tried your meditation techniques? Stretches? Walks?”

He went on with the interrogation. I answered each truthfully. Despite the pain, I went through most days doing my duties. What else could I do?

“Maybe it’s time you spent on something…more leisurely, like a hobby.” He crossed his arms. “You do have those, don’t you?”

When was I going to have time to figure out my fucking hobbies? “I enjoy reading.”

“Well, we’ve plenty of books. Do you need more?”

“Maybe.” I didn’t know. I just wanted the pain to stop.

“I will order you some more.” He reached into one of the cabinets. “For now, I suggest you massage your shoulders nightly to loosen those muscles. You might try it on your leg as well if it is disrupting your sleep.”

How would I massage myself if I couldn’t even use my hands most days? Laughable.

Buzzing. Whatever mechanism Dottore held whirred to life. He held what seemed to be a handle and pointed the flat end towards me.

“Use this so that you do not tire your hands. Though I suggest having a friend help."

As he set the device in my hand, the skin on my palms tingled. I stared blankly at him. Was I supposed to just put it on my shoulder? I awkwardly set it against my shoulder. My skull reverberated. I quickly dropped the thing, causing it to clatter to the floor and shake violently.

The doctor tsked and knelt to pick it up. Though his brows furrowed, he held the glint of a smile, almost a fondness for whatever the thing was. “This must be the first time you’ve ever encountered such a contraption. The medical community has been using such devices for generations now, though their origins are…a tad deviant.”

I had no desire to place anything deviant upon my body. While many patients had it worse being subject to the Good Doctor, I remained satisfied with flying just under his radar.

“Nothing that will harm, I assure you.” He clicked one of the buttons. The massager slowed. “Allow me to show you.”

He placed it against my shoulder and applied a small amount of weight. The muscle ached but in such a way that it loosened. I leaned my neck to the side and closed my eyes with a sigh.

“That good?” Dottore questioned.

“Yes,” I breathed.

He moved to the other shoulder. Before long we tested it directly on the scabs, but the vibrations only caused pain. The surrounding muscles carried the most pain relief. Not that it took away the pain, but anything was better than nothing.

I stretched my arms out as he moved on to do my calf. Everything felt light. He lifted my leg and let the vibrations take over. A groan slipped from my lips. I quickly apologized.

“No need.” Dottore stood and mechanically worked on my thigh. “Such things are also part of my job as a doctor. I’ve seen and heard it all.”

My eardrums rang. The core of my stomach turned inside out and settled hot in my abdomen. The movements shook the entirety of my thigh…I clenched my jaw to bear with the straight fire that coursed through my groin and averted my gaze.

“Is this painful,” he asked. He pulled it off the leg a tad.

“Nope,” I quickly barked. “Just fine.”

Gods, my cheeks boiled.

He cocked a brow. “Hm. I see.”

He continued his assault. I did my best to remain calm.

“Did you know.” He moved the massager higher up my inner thigh. “That vibrators were invented by doctors to treat female hysteria?”

I lightly shook my head, but the doctor seemed so lost in his own mind anyway. His free hand gestured wildly as he spewed names and dates I could not recognize.

“Physicians would often administer pelvic massages involving clitoral stimulation. Studies show that staff never considered it something erotic. At the time, only penetrative copulation was seen as the way to provide sexual arousal. Spas all across the world began adapting the vibrator into their treatments. Water therapy was also used but was hardly as efficient. Patients would flush and grow hot, so why wouldn’t they think that perhaps one were sweating off a fever? Of course, now we know about clitoral orgasms.”

The vibrator hovered over the exact area he spoke of. I held my breath.

“Which,” he continued. “If you were to use the device for such actions, it would most likely greatly impact your mental health, and no one here would reprimand you for it.”

I exhaled shakily. How long had it been since I’d touched myself? Occasionally I’d attempt, but sharp pains would stab throughout my fingers and joints as if a fork were dragged across every nerve.

I would definitely use this in the privacy of my own room, I decided.

“I don’t suggest holding it for too long.” He applied the barest amount of pressure. “Though theses were created to rest the exhausted hands of doctors, I am afraid if you grip something too long in your condition, the repetitive motion might trigger more pain.”

While I wasn’t born yesterday, the stoic calmness that Dottore’s demeanor held starkly contrasted with the teasing push of his hands. Was he waiting for me to make the next move? The doctor never cared before for ethics, so why did he pause just before administrating the rest?

His knuckles brushed my inner thigh as he repositioned. Every muscle I’d tensed fell to pieces; my thighs quivered. “I’d never known that history. But it makes sense. I suppose there’s multiple…uses for these.”

“Indeed.” Another press. “Would you like for me to continue helping you figure them out?”

While not touching the skin directly, the vibrations settled over my clothes and guided the seam against my slit. It stung. It burned. It throbbed. I needed more.

I guided my hand around the doctor’s and pressed the vibrator flush with my cunt.

That was all he needed to flash a pearly white fang and a low chuckle. “This is also my duty as a doctor, so I do not mind. Tell me if you experience any pain or release of pain or anything out of the ordinary.”

I shrieked. Whatever setting the man had turned it to whizzed and rang around the room and doubled my entire body over. My forehead crashed into the doctor, and the flood of fire that shot through my vulva multiplied as he kept the head firmly pressed. It engulfed and seized the entire lower half of my body with pulses that squeezed the life out of my clit.

I came? I came. That was an orgasm. My hands trembled and held onto his collar. My head felt as if I had drank three glasses of wine one after the other.

Another round of fire bubbled within my nerves.

I gripped his shoulders. “Do..doctor please, fuck, gods, I can’t, it’s a lot, shit.”

His lips calmly shushed me. “Good girl. Thank you for telling me how you feel. But I believe you can do more, yes?”

Could I?

“Okay,” I whined. My head thudded against his chest. Hot tears threatened the corners of my eyes.

“How is this?”

The buzzing grew louder.

I screamed.

The screaming did not stop until my second high settled into a wet throb. I sobbed into his coat as snot dribbled down my chin. He lowered the vibrations. The change of speed made my legs kick forward, and they clutched around his waist instinctively. The action pressed him and the device harder into me. I groaned and bit the lapel of his coat as I grinded. I needed more I didn’t need more I needed it I needed it

“How is your pain,” Dottore asked in a whisper that lingered in my ear.

Pain?

Oh.

For a few seconds, I’d completely forgotten.

The pull of Dottore’s lips that morphed to a grin heated against my earlobe. “It seems the experiment was a success. Please, do use the treatment wisely. If it is ever too strenuous on you, come see me, and I will treat you very well.”

#dottore smut #genshin impact #mir writes #genshin smut #kinktober 2022 #mir kinktober 2022 #yandere genshin impact #il dottore #genshin harbingers #dottore x reader #yandere dottore x reader #tw: abuse of authority #tw: dark themes #tw: medical malpractice #tw: overstimulation

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getvalentined · 6 months

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I'm just. Gonna leave these here.

#I am in love #just to be clear #I love this #sephiroth #babyroth #final fantasy 7 #FF7 #ever crisis #FF7EC #this is #uh #making me #think things #very interesting things #it's called 'dark harbinger'#and in-canon thus far #the word 'harbinger'#is only used for one specific entity #and it's not this boy's 'mother'

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jessamine-rose · 1 year

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ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ Ghost Heart ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Long before A Winter Night’s Lazzo, I was already down bad for a certain Harbinger. This idea for Yandere! Scaramouche/ Wanderer randomly manifested at 1:00 a.m. and, like a fool, I decided to write it. It is my sincere wish that you all cry over enjoy this fic (*´ω`*)

Tw:: yandere, manipulation, mention of death and kidnapping, 3.3 spoilers

♡ 3k words under the cut ♡

“You’re still here.”

There is nothing grand about this specific Desert House. The rental space is sparsely furnished, fit for a party of two. Everything is the way Scaramouche had left it—an unmade bed, a small suitcase, a set of chains reduced to solitary links.

A vintage tea set sits on the table. One cup is filled with tea, a bitter blend judging by the scent. The other cup is empty.

The Wanderer crosses the threshold and approaches the ghost on the floor.

Not a ghost. His beloved.

Somehow, your countenance has dimmed since his departure. Dried tears and dark eye circles decorate your face. Your gaze is blank, lifeless, akin to that of a doll.

“Why…why are you here?” He raises his voice, unable to hide his disbelief.

His chest feels heavy. Though no organ beats within, the concept of heartache comes to mind. Behind him, a strong gust of wind assails the forest and slams the door shut.

Your response is a confused frown.

“Do I know you?”

You’ve forgotten him.

The revelation stings despite his preconceived knowledge. In his defense, the Wanderer hadn’t intended a lover’s reunion. He only returned to this place to reminisce, to confirm your freedom, to see if he could settle for any memento of you.

So what prevented you from leaving?

It was your prisoner, Scaramouche, who destroyed your chains prior to the erasure of his existence. His current self is the last person whom you should be crossing paths with.

The Wanderer only offers a false smile.

“I’m just another person passing through,” he says lightly. He introduces himself with his new name suggested by the Traveler.

“I see…” You repeat his name to yourself. Similar to his previous monikers, it has never sounded more lovely in your voice.

Nor so innocent. Fear, hatred, sorrow, pity, joy, fondness—all of those familiar sentiments are lost in your tone.

It is difficult to maintain his composure. “You haven’t answered my question. What are you doing in this house? Nothing about you screams ‘happy tourist.’”

“I don’t know.”

The answer comes out in a whisper. After a few seconds of silence, you finally stand up and make proper eye contact with him.

“My name is ______,” you tell him. “Please excuse my appearance; nobody has visited this place before. I’m aware that I look like a wreck.”

“That is an understatement,” he replies matter-of-factly. “I nearly mistook you for a ghost. So why don’t you explain your circumstances before I consider sending you to Bimarstan?”

“...All right.” Looking away, you take a seat at the table.

The Wanderer joins you.

You fill his teacup. “Are you sure that you’d like to hear my story? This is hard to explain, and it might take a while.”

He crosses his arms. “I have all day.”

“Okay. Would you like some desserts? The kitchen is fully stocked; I know what pairs best with Misty Garden.”

“No thanks, I’m not fond of sweets.”

How long ago was your last tea ceremony? Not even your defiant moods produced this amount of tension. Or is this merely the distance between two strangers?

“There is something wrong with my memories,” you tell him.

He frowns at you. “What do you mean by that?”

Something wrong? Did Irminsul not purge him from your memories?

“What I’m saying is that I have little to no recollection of how I ended up here.”

Your mannerisms are the same. He never thought that the mundane act of passing a teacup would feel so nostalgic.

You continue speaking. “I have vivid memories of my early life. I had a family, friends, a peaceful home. But everything after that is static and fragmented. It’s like I forgot everything between then and now.”

He grips his cup. “So what is your first faulty memory?”

“I see flashes of red and violet," you tell him, “along with a human face. I can’t remember the details but I know it belonged to a beautiful person. Then I look down and there are snacks, tea sets, wrapped gifts all prepared by my own hands. I get the feeling that I was extremely happy, happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

The beginning of your courtship.

You were such a cute, interesting civilian back in those days. Always shyly greeting him, offering heartfelt gifts, inviting him to your home for tea. Despite being above such human needs, Scaramouche found himself endeared by your efforts.

From the moment he met you, his chest began to feel less hollow.

A dreamy sigh. “I’m pretty sure that I’d fallen in love with somebody.”

“How romantic,” he says sarcastically, glancing at his reflection in the teacup. “And you have no memory, at all, of your presumed lover?”

“Yes,” you reply sadly. “It was a short period of my life, one which lasted…months? It’s all so blurry, and I wish I could say the same for what happened next.”

A dark look passes over your face. But this time, your animosity isn’t directed at him.

“One day, the Fatui burned down my village. Don’t ask me why; all I know is that I was separated from my family then kept as a prisoner. I never saw them again.”

“What else do you remember from that period of your life?”

You look around the house. “I didn’t have an ordinary prison. It was a pretty place, a fancy house in Snezhnaya. I can see myself staring out the window, roaming the halls, crying myself to sleep. I usually felt scared, depressed, happy once in a while…but never alone.”

Your shared home.

He wonders if that ostentatious manor still stands. It was the stage for several quarrels, punishments, breakdowns, tense meals, intimate nights, cuddle sessions after his nightmares. An ersatz home which owed its warmth to your company.

The tea tastes perfectly bitter.

“Is that all?” he asks. “Did you spend all your days in that prison?”

Your cup shakes in your hands.

“There were visits. From a masked man who called himself the Doctor. Once, I was brought to his laboratory and he…he operated on me; he said it was to keep me alive. Would you find me crazy if I told you that I’ve lived for decades? It feels—no, I know it’s been that long.”

Dottore.

His sole glimmer of relief is Dottore’s mercy on you. Even without knowing the truth of Niwa’s death, Scaramouche was paranoid throughout your operation. The time spent waiting for you to wake up had felt like an eternity.

“I wouldn’t put it past the Fatui to curse a person with immortality,” he grimaces.

You give him an odd look. Suspecting his investment in your story, perhaps. That is new; you always saw the best in everyone, including him.

You take another sip of tea. “That’s all I can say about my time with the Fatui. One day, not too long ago, they brought me to Inazuma. Followed by Sumeru.”

Your final moments together.

Those days are still fresh in his memory. After the Electro Gnosis was acquired, the two of you quickly left Inazuma. Then Scaramouche confined you to this wretched house, splitting his time between this place and the Akademiya.

That time, he was purely focused on his godly ascension. He was so foolish to think that his lifelong dream was at his fingertips when you were already in his arms.

He grits his teeth. “And what happened here?”

You shrug. “I know for sure that I wasn’t a happy tourist, because I don’t remember any other part of Sumeru. Do you see those broken chains? Those were used to shackle me.”

There is a scar on your ankle. The sight triggers a fresh stab of guilt.

“It went by so quickly,” you whisper, “but I wasn’t lonely at all. I can hear conversations between me and a voice, but I can’t decipher any of the words. Next, I’m looking at my legs and the chains are off. Then I…I can’t remember!”

Even the Wanderer fails to predict the shift in your demeanor. You bang your cup on the table, spilling tea all over the wooden surface, and burst into tears.

“I don’t know what happened after!” you wail. “I can’t sense anything, just this strong feeling of dread. Then after retracing my steps, that’s when I realize how empty I feel. Something is missing—it feels so wrong.”

His departure.

If the Wanderer were to identify his deepest regret, it would be his last memory of you. He was so blindsided by his grief, desperate to return the lives he had stolen from his loved ones. From you.

It was laughable, really. He remembers breaking the chains and shaking you off him. Yet after everything he’d put you through, it was you who stayed inside and insisted that he rethink his decision. Be it out of forgiveness or vengeance, he still hasn’t figured it out.

Tea drips onto the table. The Wanderer didn’t notice that his own hand was shaking.

Fate truly finds delight in playing cruel tricks on its prisoners.

He takes a proper look at you. You’ve always been an emotional creature, a slave to human fragility. But not even his previous acts of cruelty had driven you to such anguish.

No, he was the true fool. How could he underestimate the intricacy with which your existences were intertwined? How could he leave your fate to the arbitrary laws of this world? Instead of liberating you, he only cursed his beloved once more.

On instinct, he raises his hand to wipe your tears but catches himself at the last second.

“If these memories cause you such pain,” he says gravely, “then why bother reliving them? Is it not easier to move on and lead a new life?”

“No, I can’t.” You shake your head vigorously, a stubborn gesture he is all too acquainted with. “If I do that, how could I possibly make sense of anything?”

The Wanderer says nothing. You wipe your tears and point at the teapot.

“Isn’t this blend of tea quite bitter?”

“It is. I find that flavor superior to sweets.”

“A long time ago, I would have disagreed with you. I wasn’t fond of bitter flavors in my youth but one day, during that time of my life when I was most happy, I gained a taste for it! Nobody in my family likes bitter food so who was the one that influenced my palate?”

Your suitcase is next. When you turn it over, an assortment of clothes and ornaments spills out onto the floor.

“These items! I could never afford such luxuries, and these are all in my favorite style and color. If these were gifts, they must’ve come from someone who knew me dearly.”

The Wanderer can only remain silent as you parse through every memory preserved in the Desert House. Sticky candies purchased just for you. Handcrafted gifts which Scaramouche had nitpicked but secretly adored. Objects of hobbies which he’d viewed as idle distractions unless he was entertaining your whims.

“I have to remember!” You fall to your knees, dissolving into a fresh wave of hysteria. “How could I forget someone so important to me?!”

How unsightly.

If this was one of your old breakdowns, he could reprimand you then make quick work of tidying you up. But such tough love is reserved for Scaramouche and his beloved, not for the Wanderer and a stranger.

In his long life, you were the one person who never betrayed him. So why did he leave you first? Love, sacrifice, repentance…what he claimed to be a parting gift was only a selfish act to end his own suffering.

Instead, he crouches next to you and awkwardly pats your back. When you wrap your arms around him, he refrains from drawing you closer.

There is a long pause.

“Hey…did you tell me the truth earlier?”

“What are you talking about?”

You break off the hug, hands moving to the blue side of his tunic. A light tug exposes the deep scar on his shoulder.

“Where did you get this?” you ask softly. “It…I don’t know why but it caught my eye.”

He stiffens. “That is none of your business.”

He said the same thing when it was a fresh wound. Nonetheless, you fretted over the blemish and told him to exercise more caution during his missions. You never listened to him when he insisted that puppets could withstand more damage.

You look up, taking in every detail of the Wanderer’s stunned expression.

“You feel familiar, too. I don’t know if it’s muscle memory or a gut feeling but…” You grip his shoulders, blinking back tears. “Did anything ever happen between us?”

He could grant you a small mercy.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” he replies. He holds your wrists, mustering a glare. “It is vulgar to point out one’s imperfections in such a manner, you know.”

Your curiosity morphs into indignance. “What do you mean ‘nothing’? After everything I’ve told you, you should know that any small memory is worth everything!”

If only you knew.

Against his better judgment, his hand finds its way to your cheek.

“Really,” he mutters. “You haven’t changed at all.”

To think that even after obtaining a heart, a part of him remains empty. And what more for your journeys continuing to diverge? If he could indulge his delusions once more, he might just believe that fate is finally on his side.

Never mind if he is wrong. If one truth exists in this world, it is that you are the only part of his past worth holding on to.

“Would you like to go with me?”

“What?” You blink at him, eyes wide.

The Wanderer levels you with a serious look. “Don’t make me say it twice. If you are tormented by all these mementos, then it is common sense to leave this place.”

“But I—!”

“Staying here will not bring back your mystery companion,” he snaps. “And if your memory is so helpful, you’d know that your former dream was to explore Teyvat. I couldn’t grant that wish before, ______, but I can do it now.”

You avert your gaze. “I can believe that. But why are you…?”

He stands up, holding out his hand to you. Any perceived confidence is merely an illusion to mask his own turbulent thoughts.

“Frankly, you would be a fool to say yes,” he admits. “I have no home, no kin, no destination. But I can promise you my heart and all that it has to offer.”

What sentimental rubbish. To your credit, many of your sweet remarks were brushed off for the purpose of concealing his flustered reactions.

He isn’t blind to the hesitance in your gaze. He can see it now, the tug-of-war between doubt and hope. The trust he will need to regain.

The warmth of your hand hasn’t changed.

“I’ll go with you.” You timidly bow your head. It almost reminds him of the first time you met. “What do I have to lose?”

“I hope you understand what you’re doing,” he warns. He wipes your tears with his free hand. “If you insist on continuing down this path, then don’t blame me for what comes next.”

“Noted!” You stand up and lift your head. Your gaze is brighter, clearer this time. “I still have questions, though. Lots of them.”

His response is a dismissive wave of his hand. “Ask me anything if you want. If a question is interesting enough, I may give you an answer.”

How much should he reveal to you, he wonders? And will it be a beautiful lie or the ugly truth? He has already found the answer for himself but you are a different matter.

The Wanderer gives the house another critical glance.

“Firstly, we must pack your belongings,” he announces. “Pick the items which will be of use to us. Everything else will be left behind.”

“Wait, how can I decide on that?” you exclaim. “This is all I have!”

He gives you an unimpressed look. “Then shall I choose for you?”

The speed at which you begin packing amuses him. He supposes that the desire for power is one he can never shake off, especially after becoming human.

After reorganizing your suitcase, the two of you finish your tea. Your conversations are still lackluster in comparison to your previous tea ceremonies, but he will acknowledge your change in countenance.

He hasn’t seen that precious smile in forever. This time, he will make sure that it survives every day in your new life.

Outside, the wind has calmed to a gentle breeze. You idle at the threshold, to which your new companion flashes you an impatient look.

“It’s too late for you to back out,” he says, harsher than intended. He takes your hand, intertwining your fingers. “There is no need to be nervous.”

That is what brings you out of your reverie. “You’re right. Where do we go now?”

Where will you go? There is his current lodgings; he will need to change rooms unless you are open to sharing a bed again. Then while you’re in Sumeru, a few tourist attractions will do. You never did get to enjoy the region as a couple.

“Let’s explore this forest first,” he decides. “The scenery is absolutely breathtaking, and I know a vantage point. You are just the type of person to get easily excited by the view.”

“For someone who claims to be an unimportant acquaintance, you sure know a lot about me,” you shoot back. Your lips curve into a small smile. “...Thank you. I’ll be in your care.”

That heavy feeling returns to his chest.

“There is no need to thank me.” The Wanderer stares ahead, but the flush in his cheeks betrays his feelings. “I see little point in it.”

Honestly, had he known how burdensome a heart could be, perhaps he wouldn’t have sought one to begin with. But at this point, the consequences can only be accepted.

If this is his punishment for committing the sin of love, then he shall gladly pay the price.

♡

Before anyone asks, I have no plans to write a Scara longfic. Due to his character growth, I find it difficult to write a fic that incorporates his full story. I’m also just not interested in writing a longfic for him or other characters.

Aahh I hope y’all enjoyed this!! Scaramouche/ Wanderer is very dear to my heart and I hope I did him justice. At least he and his darling get some sort of twisted happily ever after <3

Tag a Scaramouche enjoyer!! @ddarker-dreams @after-witch @leftdestiny-posts @oofasleep @lcveaesop @harmonysanreads @dreamii-yume @cinnamonest @ladycoleigh @robindere @venranae @yhreah @scaranya @misachan1506 @themiraclouskeeper @phen0l @nimandu

#scaramouche #wanderer #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere wanderer x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere wanderer #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: manipulation #g/n reader #jessamine-writing

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