Camp was, to put it bluntly, horrifying. The Fatui were schemers, that much anybody knew, but they had money and fighters. A lot of fighters. Skirmishers, berserkers, catalyst users, swordsmen, archers, it was like they had a little bit of everything to match their environment. You were heavily outnumbered, and above all, you were at the center of attention upon arrival with Scaramouche a step behind you, his hand gripping the back of your neck.

The camp was suddenly hushed as all the masked members began to stand in formation as Scaramouche made his way across the camp, pushing you forward with a deathly grip on your neck. Nobody asked questions, no one approached him, and you could see no sympathy from them. You were a hostage, a mess, probably a toy to torture before being killed off like the monsters and slimes you would clear out for materials.

"Let it be known that if anyone fails to do their tasks accordingly that they'll wind up much like the Fifth Unit Company that was sent out earlier this morning." Scaramouche asserted, his pace never-changing but his grip tightening, causing you to wince lightly.

"Where is Fifth Unit Company, sir?" One of the masked woman asked from the crowd.

Scara had stopped walking, holding you in place as you stood in front of a tent larger than the others in the area. It was more elaborate, darker in color with intricate designs and color-schemes that matched the indigo-haired man who held you. You knew without having to look that he was grinning a heinous grin, feeling his nails stroke your neck a little too roughly for you to find intimate.

"Dead." He finally answered before shoving you into the tent and following behind, tying the curtain firmly to avoid anyone to look inside or to have the wind sweep it open.

You stood at the center of the tent and looked around the dimly-lit abode. It was simplistic, it had a desk off to one side that held various papers and forms, a bed with satin-like sheets and pillows, and several bookshelves housing different texts and scrolls.

You watched as Scara took his hat off, setting it atop the large chest at the foot of the bed before heaving a sigh and laying down on the bed that you felt was too big for him.

"They don't like you, you know." You spoke. Standing upright as much as you can as you sucked in a breath, expecting him to lash out, to hit you again or to simply kill you.

"I'm fully aware, moron."

You noticed that as he spoke his eyes were closed, his arms folding behind his head as he sighed once again. Looking around again you slowly teetered over to the desk, examining its contents as you spoke again.

"You should have their respect. Why don't they respect you?" You tried to remain calm, to hide the nervousness and desperation in your voice as you carefully and silently reached to grab a knife on the desk sitting atop papers.

"People don't respect what they fear. They're too scared to argue or go against my orders. But I prefer their fear over respect, I'm not looking to play favorites with these lowlife pieces of scum."

You made your way to the edge of the bed where he was, standing over his calm body, noticing the smug smirk painting his lips. As beautiful as he looked, he was a monster, and monsters needed to be dealt with.

"People cannot fear what isn't alive." Raising the knife, you threw your hand down, aiming the blade at his neck, time coming to a slow as you watched the blade come within inches to his soft neck.

However slow time felt, it was within seconds that Scaramouche had reacted. Stripping the knife from your hands, twisting your wrist and flipping you over, he pierced the blade into your arm close to your shoulder. Pain striking you like an arrow, you heaved your chest as you opened your dry mouth to scream only to be met with his mouth planted against yours, your muffled cry in pain dissolving into a sudden moan as his free hand gripped your neck again, this time in a way that didn't crush your windpipe but instead sent mixed signals to your already beaten and tired body. Arousal.

Scara ripped the blade from your arm as he dove his tongue into your mouth, moaning into you as you whimpered in pain, shuddering under him as you felt the familiar stinging sensation on your arm. He teased the blade against your open wound, sending sparks of pain flooding through you, your body reacting in a way that seemed to provoke a laugh from him.

Chest heaving against him, he pressed his body against you, his erection pressing against your clothed sex. He released your throat and sat up, straddling your hips as he grazed the blade against your top, flicking the blade up under the tied knots to expose your chest, making his way down to your mid-drift until the entire shirt was ripped open. Canting his head to side, he smirked as he gently flicked your nipple with the knife, causing your body to jolt.

"I can see now why those pigs were so eager to use you. Breasts as supple and soft as these are meant to be held. To be caressed and squeezed. Shame they had no intention to treat you kindly." He carefully guided the blade down your stomach, leaving light cuts that allowed small amounts of blood to trickle out. He sighed with a smile on his face as he tracked his hand down his work, smearing the blood before reaching the hem of your pants.

"You're no different than them." You choked out.

"I am, though. I'm better. I'm a human who surpasses all others. I'm giving you the option to tell me to stop." He knelt back as he began to pull your pants and underwear down, exposing you more than you had initially wanted.

Scara got up from the bed and began to strip off his attire, revealing a toned and muscular chest, arms firm and chiseled like the rest of his body. Not a single scar decorated his body, no imperfection lingered on his fair skin. Upon removing his underwear, you shuddered at the size of his cock and the bounce it did once it was freed from the fabric that confined it. A thick vein running up the shaft, pre-cum leaking from the tip, it finally dawned on you that this man was getting off to hurting you, to seeing you bleed and cry in pain. You should have been scared, you should want to run away, but your chest tightened at the realization that you were excited, you wanted to be used by this man, and this man only.

Scara positioned himself between your legs, knife still in his hand as he spread your thighs apart. You tried to keep them closed but he pushed the tip of the blade into the thick of your thigh, causing you to gasp at the sharp pain and allow him to pry you open. Sliding a finger against your wet slick, he hummed before slowly sliding the knife up your cunt.

The cold steel of the blade caused you to moan, arching forward a bit and gasping once the tip of the blade carefully and softly grazed against your exposed clit. You wanted this.

The man knelt a little closer, his cock prodding against your entrance as he began to slide the blade up your leg, leaving shallow cuts that slowly bled. Once he reached your hip on one side, he replicated the movement on the other before dropping the blade on your stomach and using both hands to smear the blood on your legs, a moan escaping his mouth as he looked down at you.

He licked his blood-tainted fingers before reaching out to your shoulder, rubbing around the small pool of blood that began to accumulate and stain the satin sheets. Your heart was racing, your chest rising and lowering in anticipation. With him knelt like this, his cock was rubbing against your cunt, the heat of his sex stimulating yourself. You huffed and tried to push your hips against him, but he pulled back, smiling at his bloody hand.

His eyes were glazed over, the lust-filled expression turning heinous and sadistic as he stroked his cock with the hand covered in blood. He let out a shaken breath, his body lurching forward a bit as he fucked his own hand, using your blood as a lubricant. You saw his once perfectly shaded cock now turn red with your blood, the way he pumped his hand along his shaft and give the tip a tight squeeze before returning to stroke his sex.

"Do it again." You breathed out, reaching for the knife laid across your stomach with your hand, trying to ignore the striking pain from the stab wound. You were never one for casual sex, you often considered yourself vanilla, but in this moment, this cruel man had awakened a hunger inside of you. You wanted to feel the cool steel against your skin, you wanted to see him get off to you, to see your blood staining his cock and hands.

Scaramouche slowly reached for the knife, looking you over several times before cutting along your inner thigh at its thickest point. The pain was outnumbered by the pleasure as you felt the blood seep from the fresh wound, watching as Scara scooped up the blood and soaked his cock in your fluid again. You tensed at his euphoric expression, relishing in how good you were making him feel.

Scara swallowed hard before shoving both your legs over his shoulders and positioned himself to thrust his whole length into your tight heat. You gasped and curled your toes as you arched your neck back, the pain soaring through you as you had to somehow quickly adjust to his size.

"H-hah, w-wait... t-too big..." You gasped out, panting heavily as he continued to fuck into you. He gave you no time to adjust, no moment to stretch apart on his cock, you weren't prepared but you were hungry for it. You cried out and tried to push him back, pressing a weak hand against a toned chest.

Scaramouche chuckled and pushed your legs back further towards your head, folding your body and diving deeper inside you. You choked on your breath as he fucked into you in a reverse nelson, holding his torso up with his arms as he held your legs back, his weight shoving you into the bed. He dug his nails into your thighs as he pushed his cock in and out of you, his euphoric moans filling the tent as you fought back pleasure-ridden tears, moan and gasping for him to slow down but melting at his constant denial.

"Ah~ you feel so damn good wrapped around my cock like that. Every one of your moans makes your body shake, makes my cock feel like it's vibrating. Be a good little dog and take this cock, yeah? Be good for your master."

He leaned in further, planting soft kisses against your lips, laughing into your mouth as you moaned like the whore you were. He was ruthless as he fucked your cunt, the sounds of sex filling the air, his skin slapping against yours cause your stomach to tighten as you felt a warmth build up in your stomach. He groaned when he pushed into you as deep as he could, feeling the end of your walls slowly push open as he tried to force himself through more. He slammed his hands on the headboard, shoving and pushing in as deep as he could before pulling out all the way and doing it all over again.

"What a good little cunt you have. Filled with your blood and my cock. Ah~, what a good girl." He praised.

You wanted to see his cum and blood soaked cock, but something told you he wasn't near finishing. Scaramouche began to pick up a pace again, pushing his hand down against your pelvis, moaning loudly with a grin as he felt his cock move in and out of you. The pressure he added made your body twitch, your head jerking back and legs tightening as your g-spot was being abused and pushed by his member. Within seconds you screamed out, begging for more as you came, the orgasm continuing for several moments as he continued to destroy your hole, dragging out the wave as long as he could.

You huffed with each thrust, locking eyes with his and getting lost in his expression. He was heavenly to look at, handsome, devilish, someone who could humiliate you and you'd allow it. Scara licked his lips and pressed his body firmly against yours, guiding your legs to wrap around his slender waist as he kissed you, soft moans leaving his mouth. His pace slowed down in this position, the sloppy sounds of his cock pushing in and out of your messy cunt made you grin on his lips as you began to thrust your hips upwards in line with his, matching his pace and earning a shudder from the man.

He was close, his thrusts were irregular, his breath shaken and his grip on your waist was deftly tight until he rammed up into you quickly, holding you in place as he fucked into you until he came, shooting thick ropes of cum into your hole. He bit into your neck, garnering a light whimper from your mouth as your relished in the warmth his cum gave you.

He twitched once or twice before slowly pulling out, planting soft kisses on your neck and shoulder before laying on his back next you, the two of you panting and shaken. Both of you were bloody and sweaty, Scaramouche's pelvic area and upper body was covered in your blood, his cock mixed with cum stained red. He looked pleased, relieved and you felt giddy at the sight of him. You lightly pushed down on your pelvic muscle, humming softly at the sensation of his cum seeping out of you.

"You did so well." He spoke softly, pulling you into his arms and running his fingers through your hair lazily. "You took it so well. My own little cocksleeve. Covered in blood and filled with cum." He chuckled.

You smiled lightly, tired after everything that had transpired. He awakened something in you that you didn't realize, you allowed the humiliation, the pain, the way he folded you. You loved every damn second of it. You traced a finger along his jawline, noticing the smile playing at his lips. He stopped playing with your hair as he closed his eyes, you, too, falling into a much needed sleep. Curled up against him, you were warm, satisfied.

"Neither mortal nor god, nor fate itself, is qualified to be my judge."

You furrowed your brows a bit at his words, about to open your eyes until you felt the sharp serrated steel of the blade pierce across your neck. Eyes now widened, you choked out guttural sounds, your hands prying at his unchanging face, your consciousness slipping away as blood once again stained the porcelain skin you came to love.

Scaramouche lay there smiling, knife in hand, a lifeless and used body in his arms.

He wouldn't have anyone disrespect his name, nor would he let anyone live to tell the tale.