Cupid's Killshot /// Yandere Genshin x Reader

Yan Scaramouche x Reader/// Last Meal

Summary:

As a puppet, Scaramouche doesn't eat. Nevertheless, this never stopped him from making each meal a nightmare for you.

warnings: implied not sfw content, yandere themes, unhealthy dynamics, forced feeding

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Dolls can't eat.

With porcelain limbs and glass eyes, they simply stare. They are nothing more than a marionette for delirious fantasies and fleeting delights. The slice of chiffon cake cut by a child for their tea party won't be consumed; it will stale and rot just as myopic innocence does. But, perhaps, playtime never truly ends. The heated escaping from reality still remains even as sheets ruffle and hearts eloquently intertwine. At least that's what it felt like with him.

You gave your toys away long ago. Yet it seems one remained amidst all the forgotten joy.

As adventurers, your parents loved to travel. Wanderlust was their drug. They injected it into you each time they returned with a shining souvenir. However, you never remembered them giving you a doll from Inazuma with fair skin, lavender eyes, and sleek hair. Nevertheless, memories tend to fail like crystalline bubbles bursting after time.

You froze.

There it was again. The violent tug of a string. The turning of a disk.

"Servants. Prepare them for dinner."

You hated that privileged voice laced with condescension and perpetual authority.

"Make haste. I have a special dish planned for this evening. Everything must be perfect. Do you hear me clearly!"

The shoji doors of your room opened all too quickly. Two maids dressed in violet kimonos walked in. They cruelly snatched your wrists and tugged at your arms to drag you to the master bathroom. Nails dug into your scalp whilst they skinned you and washed you in boiling water. Soon, they seasoned you with perfume and rouge before coating you in an intricate silk kimono. Scrutinizing eyes examined you before nodding and serving you on a silver platter.

After being delivered, you carefully sat down on the tatami, making sure not to ruin your dolled-up appearance. There was nothing yet on the chabudai table. Usually, by now, the food would have been ready. Kunikuzushi isn't the most patient man. Blood nearly spilled from your bitten lip as scorching curiosity festered.

What was taking so long?

The Balladeer's eyes lit up dangerously as he saw the chefs enter the room. The dish was hidden by a stainless steel cover. He smirked, "Close your eyes."

You did as you were told. You knew he wouldn't shut his. He loved to soak up every bit of his joy ride.

Clank. Click. Thump.

The plates met wood. The ice moved in each glass. The liquid sloshed as the chefs poured your drinks. You tried to smell what was being served, but oddly there was nothing. No aroma. No fragrance. No stench.

What was it?

The final sound of the metallic cover leaving the ceramic plate brought shivers.

"Open your eyes, my dear." Someone pulled the doll's string.

Your heart dropped.

The first thing you felt was his stare. It was brimming with untold secrets of antipathy and wandering eccentricities.

Lavender eyes oozed with heavenly pleasures as you gawked at the thinly cut fragments of translucent death. Each delicate piece of toxic flesh was arranged into an elegant chrysanthemum. You looked back to your lover and shuddered at the similarities.