i don’t ship scara with really anyone except lumine n mona (n i don’t ship him with any men cus i seriously can’t picture him with a man, at least not currently with the characters in the story) cus i get so jealous lowkey i wanna peg scara myself
well, for me im not shipping HIM with any woman cuz i get jealous, so I think the same as you, just reversed...
i wanna peg scara and lohen myself...
i wanna peg scara and kazuha myself...
i wanna peg scara and albedo myself...
I would rather kms than witness scara share ME with another girl, like srsly id rather die even if I had the chance to let him crack me, and that was the only option?? im refusing...
warning(s): ooc, established relationship, fluff, tsundere wanderer?? I guess???, lmk if I missed anything
>og ask<
The heavy, humid air of Sumeru always felt a little lighter once Wanderer stepped outside the grand arches of the Akademiya. After a grueling day of lectures, endless research, and dealing with what he frequently termed "insufferable academics," Wanderer was more than ready to leave the Scholars of Vahumana to their own devices. He didn't care for the grandiose, but he did care for a quiet escape.
And more importantly, he wanted to see you.
As obvious as it may be, he'll never tell you that. If he did, he'd have to endure your constant teasing and annoyingly attractive smirk.
𓂃𓂃₊˚┊≋
You met him near Lambad's Tavern, just as the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the Sumeru sky in shades of bruised purple and gold. He was already waiting, leaning against a stone railing with his arms crossed, watching the bustling crowds below with an air of detached annoyance.
His signature hat was tilted slightly forward, shadowing his eyes, but the moment he caught sight of you walking down the ramp, his entire posture relaxed—just a fraction.
"You're late," he remarked as you approached, though there was no real bite to his voice. He straightened up, adjusting the brim of his hat. "I was about to conclude you'd been cornered by a persistent researcher looking for someone to dump their thesis revisions onto."
"Just caught up in the evening rush," you smiled, stepping up beside him and falling into step as he turned to walk. "Rough day?"
Wanderer let out a soft, dismissive huff, turning his gaze toward the twinkling streetlights. "The usual. Sages debating theories they lack the practical capacity to comprehend, and students crying over spilled ink. It’s exhausting watching people try so hard to look clever when they're utterly clueless."
He glanced at you from under the brim of his hat, his expression softening into something genuinely fond. "But it doesn't matter now. I've left them to their misery. Let's just find somewhere quiet."
After settling into a cozy corner booth that offered a bit of privacy from the occasional passerby, you looked over the menu. You ordered a warm, fragrant plate of Lambad Fish Roll topped with almonds and a cup of spiced tea. True to his word, Wanderer ordered nothing but a simple cup of bitter green tea.
"You're really not going to eat anything?" you asked, leaning your chin on your hands and looking across the table at him.
"I have no biological need for sustenance, as you well know," he replied smoothly, tracing the rim of his porcelain cup with a pale finger. "And Sumeru's cuisine relies far too heavily on spices that irritate my senses. I am perfectly content just sitting here."
He paused, his striking indigo eyes locking onto yours across the table, the ambient lantern light reflecting in them like stars.
"Besides... I didn't come here for the food. I came here to clear my head. And you happen to be the only person in this entire nation who doesn't give me a headache."
You grin, "you love me. Don't even deny it."
Wanderer scoffs, but the small smile creeping up his lips is a telltale sign that your words weren't entirely wrong.
𓂃𓂃₊˚┊≋
As you ate, the tension completely melted from his shoulders. Wanderer wasn't much for loud, boisterous affection, but in the quiet spaces between conversation, his care showed itself in the smallest, most deliberate gestures.
He listened intently as you talked about your day, nodding along and offering dry, witty commentary that had you laughing into your tea. He seemed to absorb every small detail of your day, genuinely invested in your mundane human complaints.
As the remaining customers dwindle and the moon and stars hung in the sky, you both knew it was time to leave.
"I still say I could have covered my half," you teased softly, the warmth of his hand in yours keeping the evening chill at bay as you walked down the winding stone pathways.
Wanderer let out a quiet, amused huff, his gaze fixed on the cobblestones ahead. "And I already told you to drop it. If I let you pay, I’d have to listen to you complain about your dwindling mora reserves all the way back to your quarters. I merely chose the option that guaranteed my peace and quiet."
"Right. Purely self-serving, as always," you smiled, leaning your shoulder lightly against his arm as you walked.
"Exactly. Don't go forgetting it," he murmured. But the way his fingers squeezed yours, solid and unwavering, told an entirely different story. For someone who claimed to lack a human heart, the steady warmth of his presence was more grounding than anything else in Teyvat.
When you finally reached your doorstep, the quiet hum of the city seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the sound of the wind through the trees and the soft glow of a nearby streetlamp illuminating his face.
"Thank you for coming out with me," you said softly, squeezing his hand as you approached your door. "I know you hate crowds."
Wanderer looked away, a faint, barely-there flush dusting the tips of his ears, though his grip on your hand tightened just a fraction. "Don't make a big deal out of it. It was... an acceptable waste of time. Better than listening to the Akademiya’s elite, at least."
He stopped near your doorstep, turning to face you fully. The moonlight caught the deep blue of his eyes, making them look impossibly soft. "Get some rest tonight. And don't let anyone corner you tomorrow—because I'll be looking for you the moment my lectures are over."
"I'll hold you to that," you replied, stepping up onto the threshold. "Goodnight, Wanderer."
He lingered for a beat longer, his hand hovering near his hat as if tempted to pull it down and hide his face, but he stopped himself. Instead, he gave you one last, lingering look, a remarkably tender smile touching the corners of his lips.
"Goodnight. Don't stay up late reading," he commanded softly, before turning and stepping back into the shadow of the Sumeru night, his silhouette quickly melting into the starlight—though you knew he wouldn't actually leave until he heard your door safely click shut.
Hiii I really liked your writing so I wanted to make a request 👉👈 It can be Wanderer x reader or Durin x reader (since I can't choose one it's up to you!!). Giving them a handmade gift? Idk as long as it's fluff I'll be kicking my feet staring at my phone
Awww thank you so much for loving my writing, you are literally the cutest! 🥺👉👈 Like, why should we force ourselves to choose when we can just have EVERYTHING, right? 😉 Ta-daaa~ I actually wrote BOTH stories for you! 🎁✨ Wish you a happy reading, hope it makes you kick your feet! 🥰💗🌈
ওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওওও
The rain in Sumeru always arrives without warning.
By the time you hurried down the cobblestone path leading back to your small lodging, clutching a stack of books to your chest, the sun was still shining faintly. But just as you crossed the wooden bridge near the café, the first heavy drops of rain began to splatter against your shoulders.
"Not again…"
You pulled your shawl over your head and tightly hugged the small box in your hands, terrified it might get wet. Inside was a gift you had stayed up for nearly three nights straight to make.
A small, crocheted yarn cat.
It wasn't exactly perfect. One ear was slightly crooked, and its eyes weren't entirely symmetrical. But you were still incredibly proud of it because, at the very least, it was charming in its own unique way.
And more importantly, it was made for him.
For Wanderer.
When you finally reached the house, Wanderer was standing beneath the eaves of the front porch, his arms crossed as he glared at the sheet of rain as though it had personally insulted him.
"Slow."
The first word out of his mouth was always so sharp.
You let out a heavy sigh, brushing the stray drops of water from your hair.
"It started raining out of nowhere..."
"Weak excuse."
Yet, despite his harsh words, Wanderer stepped forward and gently tugged your wrist under the shelter of the eaves to keep you out of the downpour.
His hands were colder than you expected.
You glanced down at his fingers for a fleeting second before quickly averting your eyes, pretending to be busy adjusting your sleeves.
"…Have you eaten yet?"
"No."
"Then I'll—"
"No need to cook."
"…I didn't even finish my sentence."
"I guessed it."
You puffed out your cheeks and glared at him, while Wanderer merely smirked in amusement. But very quickly, his gaze locked onto the small box you were still guarding closely against your chest.
"…What's that?"
"Ah."
Right.
The gift.
Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of embarrassment washed over you.
"It's nothing."
"If it's nothing, why are you hiding it?"
"I'm not hiding it."
"You're holding onto it like your life depends on it."
"..."
Wanderer raised an eyebrow, staring down at you.
Unable to withstand his intense, questioning gaze any longer, you finally thrust the box toward him.
"…For you."
Silence hung in the air for a few seconds.
"…For me?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Because… I wanted to give it to you."
Wanderer stared at the box in his hands as if it were the first time in his life he had ever received something without an ulterior motive or a string of conditions attached.
He opened the box very slowly.
And then, he went completely still.
The little yarn cat nestled quietly inside, its tiny scarf crooked by a poorly stitched line.
Your face instantly flushed red.
"I know it's a bit ugly—"
"Does it look like me?"
"Huh?"
"This cat."
"…Oh." You let out a soft laugh. "A little bit."
"In what way?"
"Unapproachable."
"..."
"Always scowling."
"..."
"But actually very kind deep down."
Wanderer snapped his head up to look at you.
Your smile remained entirely natural, as if the words you had just uttered were nothing out of the ordinary.
But that was exactly why his chest tightened.
It was a strange, unfamiliar kind of discomfort.
Like something incredibly soft was forcing its way into a place that had always been completely hollow.
"…I am not kind."
His voice was barely a whisper.
You tilted your head.
"I never said you were perfect."
"..."
"But you are kind to me."
The statement was simple to the point of being absurd.
Someone like him… had never been defined by the word "kind" before.
No one had ever used that word for him.
Wanderer lowered his eyes to look at the yarn cat once more. His finger lightly brushed against the crooked ear.
"…The ear is deformed."
"I tried my best to fix it!"
"Terrible craftsmanship."
"If you're just going to criticize it, give it back!"
You immediately reached out to snatch it, but Wanderer was a step ahead. He held the gift high up, well out of your reach.
"You're taking back a gift you already gave?"
"Because you're making fun of it!"
"But I never said I didn't like it."
"…Really?"
Wanderer shifted his gaze away from yours.
"…Yeah."
"Then can I make you another one next time?"
"…There's a next time?"
"Of course there is."
"How troublesome."
"Don't you want it?"
Wanderer remained silent for a few moments.
Then, he reached out and gently pulled down your damp shawl, his movements clumsy but significantly more careful than usual.
"…Do whatever you want."
You burst into a soft laugh.
The rain outside showed no signs of stopping.
But for the first time in a very long time, Wanderer thought...
Perhaps being remembered by someone through a clumsy, handmade gift like this...
Wasn't so bad after all.
The small room was so quiet that only the crisp, repetitive snip of the thread-cutting scissors echoed in the dead of night.
Hunced over the wooden table, your hands clumsily tied the final knot. The red threads had tangled into a chaotic mess after nearly an hour of struggling with them.
"...It looks so bad."
You sighed, looking down at the finished product in your hands.
It was a small, crocheted star keychain with a sparkling reddish-orange gemstone embedded right in the center—a gem you had spent the entire afternoon picking out.
It wasn't intricate.
In fact, it was a little lopsided.
But every time you pictured Durin's face when he received it, you couldn't bring yourself to unravel it and start over.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, drawing closer.
Then, the door burst open.
"[Reader]!"
Durin poked his head into the room first, his white hair a bit disheveled as if he had just run back from somewhere. He grinned brightly the moment he caught sight of you.
"I’ve been looking all over for you—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Durin’s gaze fell upon the keychain in your hands.
"...Ah?"
Startled, your reflexes kicked in and you quickly hid the gift behind your back.
"Don't look!"
"Why?" Durin blinked in confusion, his curiosity piqued as he stepped closer. "What is that?"
"Nothing."
"But I already saw it?"
"..."
Durin leaned down, trying to peek behind your back, while you spun around to dodge him. The two of you practically circled the small table like a game of tag.
"[Readerrrr]..."
"Don't look!"
"Just a little peek?"
"No!"
"Then let me guess?" His crimson eyes lit up with excitement. "Is it food?"
"No, it's not!"
"Then a weapon?"
"Even further off!"
"Oh..."
Durin fell into serious thought for a few seconds.
"Is it a gift for me?!"
"...!"
Seeing your reaction, Durin instantly flashed a radiant smile.
"It really is!"
"Durin—"
"I guessed right, didn't I?"
He was so thrilled he looked ready to jump up and down. The tail behind his back wagged in sync with his every movement.
Having run out of excuses, you slowly brought your hands forward.
"...Here, it’s for you."
Durin accepted it with both hands.
The moment he saw the small keychain resting in his palm, he fell completely silent.
His eyes widened, staring intently at every slightly uneven stitch and every clumsy little knot.
"Did you make this yourself, [Reader]?"
"...Yeah."
"All by yourself?"
"Yeah."
"Did it take a long time?"
"Not that long."
You lied.
In truth, you had to pull it apart and remake it four entire times.
Durin still couldn't take his eyes off the gift.
"It's beautiful..."
"It's not beautiful at all," you mumbled softly. "It's even a little crooked."
"But you made it for me, right?"
Durin looked up at you, his expression earnest to an unusual degree.
"Then that makes it the most beautiful thing ever."
Your heart skipped a beat.
Before you could figure out how to respond, Durin happily held the keychain up under the light.
"This color looks just like fire," he beamed. "I love it."
"What a relief..."
"Hm?"
"I was afraid you wouldn't like it."
"No way!"
Durin protested almost instantly.
"This is the very first gift you’ve ever made just for me, [Reader]."
"...It's only a keychain."
"But it's mine."
Right after that, Durin excitedly pulled the small pouch at his hip closer, carefully attaching the keychain right in front of you.
The little yarn star swayed gently with his movements.
"Now I can carry you with me everywhere I go."
"What are you even talking about..."
You burst out laughing at his childish phrasing.
But Durin didn't find anything strange about it at all.
He just happily tapped the keychain one more time before suddenly leaning in close to you.
"[Reader]."
"Hm?"
"Next time, will you teach me how to make one?"
"You want to make one yourself?"
"Yeah!" Durin nodded vigorously. "I want to make a gift for you too."
"..."
"Though I’ll probably make it look really bad."
Looking at his serious, hopeful face, you couldn't help but let out a genuine laugh.
"...Alright, sure."
"Really?!"
"Yeah."
Durin’s eyes instantly lit up with pure joy.
And before you could even react, he threw his arms around you in an excited embrace.
"Thank you, [Reader]!"
The hug came fast and was completely innocent, bringing with it a comforting warmth and the familiar scent of sunshine that always lingered on him.
While you stood there completely frozen, your face flushing bright red—
Durin was already smiling so wide his eyes curved into crescents, his hand still tightly clutching the small keychain like the most precious treasure in the world.
scaramouche is so freaking hilarious to me cause like. look at him. he's a short man with so much rage. he's famously very pretty when he's not snarling at you. he wears an ostentatious hat that can be seen from a mile away. he was 'set free' by his mom/creator for having a heart then proceeded to spend the next five centuries looking for one. he was adopted by a bunch of swordsmiths when found in the wild. he knows how to make a sword as he was taught by the best professional swordsmoths of his country. he knows how to take care of babies and small children, even if they're sick. he also knows how to make a nation collapse on itself and gained a whole moniker out of it. those qualities somehow exist simultaneously. he killed the entirety of raiden gokuden but spared the descendant of the man he thought had betrayed him because even then he held love in his heart for him. he literally endured dottore's mad experiments for probably centuries. he's been to the abyss. he figured out that Teyvat's sky is fake. he straight up reached into the tree of life and erased himself so that he could reverse the fate of those he had wronged. not even vengeance. that wasn't even priority, no he wanted to save the ones he loved. when that didn't work he accepted his memories and decided to work on atonement and vengeance. at the same time. he enrolled in the akademiya – the highest educational facility in Teyvat – by getting into an argument with a bunch of researchers because he has to have the last word. he woke up in a fantasy world and scoffed at the prophecy handed to him. he saved the replica of one of Gold's most dangerous creations by saying 'you need head pats, friends and therapy'. he then proceeded to give the head pats, friendship and therapy to his baby-sized dragon friend. he wakes up everyday and chooses violence, then somehow managed to be kind anyway.
In which Lohen is your boyfriend, has the sex drive of a literal rabbit, and sometimes needs to take matters into his own hands (literally) to solve his..issue.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Lohen's strange behaviors never really phased you- you always knew he was, well, a little different. The pure, delicious excitement he derived from fighting was possibly the biggest indicator that he wasn't quite...right. When he started showing up everywhere you went, it didn't take you very long to come to the conclusion that he was stalking you. The main problem you had with this, though, was the tingling in between your thighs that accompanied this revelation.
Honestly, what could you say in defense of yourself? You thoroughly enjoyed watching him fight- the crazed gleam in his eyes, the wicked grin he adorned, the blood spatter on his beautiful face. The way it was never enough for him, he was always left wanting more, more, more. You felt the need to satiate him, to give him anything he would ever ask for.
So, on one of your days off you were out running errands, you stopped at a fresh fruit stall and scanned the surrounding area for his mint-green hair. You were fairly nervous- you expected him to be here, he was always there, but this time, you were going to approach him. You didn't want him to just simply stare and follow you anymore. And to your satisfaction, he was already at the fruit stall that you frequented.
Swallowing your nerves down, you spoke up.
"Excuse me, you're Mr Lohen, right?"
His head immediately snapped in your direction, those dead eyes meeting yours head on. His expression remained unreadable.
"I know you're following me- watching me." You lowly spoke, not daring to break the eye contact you had going on with him.
For a split second, you swore you saw a look of pure surprise wash over his handsome features before he regained his composure. As poised as ever.
"Oh? My dear, why would I ever do such a thing? I don't even know your name," he responded coolly, a smug grin accompanying a hand to his hip. "Although, now that I'm really looking a you, I would certainly like to know it," he stepped forward, raising an eyebrow.
That was a lie. He knew your name. First, middle, last. Your parent's names. Your address. Your favorite places to shop. He knew all he could manage to.
After you gave him your name, he gently grasped your hand, bowed his head, and placed a soft kiss to your knuckles.
"What a pleasure to meet such a beauty," he purred, that smugness never fully leaving him.
He was undeniably charming, and on top of that, you could really see his beautiful features now that he was much closer to you- porcelain smooth skin, button nose, long lashes, a beauty mark beneath his right eye- yes, he was breathtaking as well. You found yourself blushing bright red knowing he chose you.
"I don't mind it you know," you whispered to him, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. He looked at you quizzically. "You following me, I mean. I...I like it."
At that, the wicked grin that was painted on his pale face sent a shiver down your spine. Something in him just became very, very, unhinged.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
That was quite awhile ago now. Lohen was now your boyfriend, you shared a house together, a couple cats, and your unhealthy obsession with each other complimented your relationship so well, everyone was convinced you were perfect soulmates. You had to agree with them.
Lohen had a habit of buying you things he wanted to see you in. He never consulted you, never asked what kind of lingerie you liked (if you even liked it at all), never even asked if there was a certain color you preferred- because he knew you would happily wear whatever he wanted you to. He loved seeing you in an icy blue, or a deep blood-red- it really depended what mood he was in.
There was a certain pair of cheeky panties that he bought for you when he was away in Nod-Krai- it was cotton-soft, icy blue with black lace and a black bow on the front. They ended up being your favorite- they were so soft, fit you amazingly well, and Lohen went crazy for you any time you wore them. To be fair, Lohen went crazy for you no matter what you wore- for every single night he had you on your back, knees pushed up, relentlessly driving his hips forward and into your dripping cunt. Or he'd have you on all fours, ass in the air, his fist gripping your hair as he pounded into you from behind, other hand having a bruising grip on your hip.
His stamina was incredible- one round was never enough for him. No, not until you were both drenched in sweat, panting heavily, having reached several climaxes, totally spent- only then did he finally feel satisfaction.
That only lasted so long, though- the next morning he was ready to go again. Unfortunately, you were not able to keep up with him like that. You often encouraged him to relieve himself- but he refused, stating it was useless to get himself off when you always made him feel so much better. He wasn't guilting you into sex- he was being completely honest, and would wait as long as you needed until you were ready for him again.
This was one of those mornings- Saturday morning, your day off. You really needed to get some errands done- Lohen often accompanied you, sometimes even went for you, but today, you wanted some time to yourself. You wanted to get yourself some coffee, listen to whatever music you wanted, and get your responsibilities out of the way for the weekend. He was still warm and snuggled in bed when you were getting ready to leave- you left a little note on your bedside table, saying you were out for errands and would return shortly.
You expected him to either show up sometime or to return home to find him gone, presumably training- he was constantly training his fighting skills in his free time.
What you did not expect, however, was for you to get your chores out of the way within maybe an hour. And you definitely weren't expecting to faintly hear groaning when you opened the door to your shared house.
At first, your heart sunk- Is he cheating? How could he do this to me?
You shook your head to rid yourself of such thoughts- Lohen was unhealthily infatuated with you. You know he would never betray you like that. So that left you with only one other possibility- he was finally getting himself off.
Giddily, you quietly rid yourself of your shoes and coat, and sat your purse down, before quietly and slowly stepping towards your shared bedroom. The door was just how you left it- cracked open almost half-way. Hesitantly, you peeked your head in to see the most glorious sight you think you've ever had the pleasure of experiencing.
Lohen was fully naked, his back turned to you, sitting on his knees, one hand furiously stroking at his cock, the other hand grabbing onto the headboard, his head down. He was already sweaty, and the way his muscles flexed as he worked his hand over himself made you rub your own thighs together.
Not only did he look delicious, but the sounds he was making...you never heard him make before. Normally, Lohen wasn't very loud- he groaned occasionally, but he mainly spoke filthy words to you. But now, now he was quite literally whimpering. High pitched whimpers and moans escaped him breathily, and you thought you might just cum in your panties right then and there.
You saw him start to move to change his position, and you quickly ducked your head back into the hallway. The moaning stopped for a few seconds as you heard him shifting around, until you heard him gasp- once again you heard the slick strokes on his cock, and the whimpering returned. You peeked your head in again to see he had moved sideways so that you had a view of his face, body, and cock. His eyebrows were knitted together, cheeks flushed, lips bright bitten-red and glossy, one of his hands had moved to tweak his own nipple, and you had to restrain yourself from moaning out loud when you gazed down at him stroking himself to see he was using your favorite panties to get off with. His fingers were slick, sticky, and the fabric of your panties seemed to already have his cum on them- how long had he been going at this?
His hand started to speed up on his cock, the tip angry and flushed red, and the coil in you finally snapped when he whimpered out your name, his eyes screwed shut, mouth hanging open. You fully opened the door and cleared your throat, fully expecting him to flip out.
Instead, he turned his head to lock eyes with you, hand still working furiously on his cock, and gave you a sly grin as he knitted his eyebrows together, letting out another loud moan.
“You’re- finally home, nhg. I fucking missed you,” he moaned out, not looking like he was going to stop any time soon
“Lohen, I- I thought you didn’t, uhm, relieve yourself?” You asked, dumbfounded, staring at him and wondering how he felt no shame, no embarrassment, and you couldn’t deny the fact that this whole scenario made your clit fucking throb.
“Yeah, well, I woke up painfully hard, and you weren’t here, so, mmmh, who cares, come here and join me, hm?” He breathed out, still keeping eye contact, letting out breathy moans. His eyes had a similar gleam in them to when he was fighting.
“Come on, surely you’re not going to just let me make a mess out of your favorite panties?” He teased, making a show of really rubbing his tip into them.
At that, your face was definitely a bright red, and you looked away from his scheming eyes, his sweaty body, his slick cock, anywhere but what was happening in front of you.
“Oh? You like that I’m ruining your pretty panties? Archons, here I thought you’d scold me,” he laughed out, slowing his hand but still lazily stroking.
“So, are you gonna help me out here or not?” He asked, smug grin still ever-so present.
“I- uh, yea- yes. Yes,” you breathed out, getting ready to remove your top.
“You’re too sweet,” he cooed, his fake syrupy-sweet voice heading straight to your cunt.
You were the one that caught him jerking off, but somehow, you’re the one that’s feeling humiliated?
“Keep those on though, pretty. I’ll remove them myself,” he practically gushed, and your heart dropped as you saw him reach for the dagger he kept under his pillow.
“This won’t hurt- unless you want it to,” he purred out, pointing the dagger at you.
This was going to be another long night.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
aaaaaaaa this idea/concept has been stuck in my head and ruminating for 2 weeks now, i needed to get this out lmao, hope u enjoyed dirty perverted lohen as much as i did >.< <3
when i find a scaramouche fic that doesn’t dumb him down into a cute tsundere, an emo boy, a crybaby softie and actually captures his entire character beautifully with not a single word of mischaracterization
a/n: sorry for the late update i got really busy on thursday/friday which are my normal writing day (yes i write the chapters on the same day i post them sue me) anyways! single announcement this chapter!
Hat Guy's ASMR Commissions: Grand Prize | [Scaramouche/Wanderer x Reader]
This fic occurs after "Hat Guy's ASMR Commissions: Raffle Winner"
Summary: After somehow, YET AGAIN, finding yourself engaged in anonymous sexual acts with your clueless project partner, you decide that enough is enough. It's time to buckle down, and just get through the remainder of the semester without any more distractions. At least, that was YOUR plan.
Scaramouche has other plans, however, when pieces come together, and he realizes that maybe it was fate that had him sitting beside you on that first day of class.
Content: Smut, fingering, vaginal sex, teasing, orgasm denial, choking, fem!reader
Word Count: 9.6k
Note: The final part! :)
For some reason, Scaramouche thinks that you’re…annoyed with him. Giving shorter replies than usual—not bothering to plaster on a socially polite smile when you talk with him.
He’ll admit he’s a little curious about the change in attitude, considering between the last lecture and this one, the two of you haven’t had any contact. Maybe something in your personal life rubbed you wrong over the weekend? Who knows, but he’s not interested enough to ask.
…at least, not until another 2 lectures go by, and your attitude still hasn’t changed.
There’s no way he did something, right?
As he endlessly eyes you, his curiosity growing with each passing lecture, you pointedly refuse to look his way.
Because you’re annoyed. You finally get him out of your head and start acting normal with him and then he has to go and call you.
Phone sex with your fucking project partner who doesn’t even know it’s you.
If anyone else were in your position, you think they’d be a little grumpy too.
“Alright class—”
Both your and Scaramouche’s gaze flit to the head of the hall. Your professor smiles brightly at the room.
“We’re now officially in the home stretch! Only 3 more weeks until we begin the project presentations—which is half of your final grade, as a friendly reminder! That being said, even if you and your partner have been virtually working on the project together, I highly recommend getting together in person to finalize the details, and to practice your presentation! We don’t want anyone having stage fright on the day of, do we?”
He laughs heartily, and you both idly wonder if he’s aware of the annoyed looks being thrown his way.
Regardless, the room fills with quiet conversation as partners begin double checking each other's schedules.
You sigh, and for the first time in a while, actually look over at Scaramouche. He blinks at you, wondering why you almost look…wary. Like a cat that’s on its guard.
“I’m assuming you don’t want to meet up in person,” you say, beginning to pack your notebook into your bag. You already know he’s not the most outgoing, and you hardly doubt he’ll want to see you face to face outside of class—
“It is a bit of a drag, but we might as well,” he says with a shrug, which makes you pause. He almost laughs at the shocked look on your face.
“What? I need to pass this class as part of my major, and I’d prefer to get a good grade.”
Well, you suppose that makes sense, but still…
The idea of seeing him in person outside of the lecture hall in which you currently sit makes your heart race—
Heat rises on your skin as your mind begins to wander to recent events, and you immediately try to fist fight the thoughts back into their time-out corner.
“Okay,” you say after a pause, and Scaramouche watches you as you hurriedly zip your bag, and stand from your seat. He doesn’t quite understand your rush, but assumes maybe you have somewhere else you need to be.
“Just email me then—”
“The last time I sent you an email asking you to look over the presentation slides, you took a week to respond. And that was after I also reminded you in class.”
He fixes you with an unimpressed stare. You huff, both embarrassed and peeved that he’s right.
“I know, but—”
He rolls his eyes, and digs his phone out of his pocket.
“Give me your number.”
“Oh c’mon—”
“What’s the big deal? I’m not gonna feed your phone number to bots so you get a million spam calls.”
He clicks open his phonebook and opens a new contact page—typing in your name. Then, he glances up at you, expectantly waiting for you to give him your number.
You sigh.
Whatever—you’re not gonna win here. And he’s right, even if you hate it. It did take you a while to get back to him last time, and the semester is reaching its end. You can’t afford to take a week to review things anymore.
You motion for his phone. He hands it over without hesitation, watching you as you type in your number, and then hit save on the contact.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he teases as you pass him his phone back. Your eyes narrow, and you hold your hand in front of you. Your middle finger twitches up ever-so-slightly before you seem to catch yourself, and turn away with a huff.
Scara’s lips twitch at your slip up, amused that you’d actually been about to flip him off.
What a brat…
Without saying another word, you exit the lecture hall, leaving your partner behind with his thoughts.
Later on in the week—during small conversation at the end of the next class—you and Scaramouche manage to settle on a time to meet up.
You decide on Friday afternoon, and reserve a study room at the library.
You both manage to show up on time—and while at first you aren’t really able to focus, too busy throwing snarky comments at each other—eventually you do actually manage to be productive.
An hour passes in the blink of an eye—your powerpoint slides lined with information, and formatted to look nice.
The only thing left to do is practice your presentation and make a page for your academic references, which, you can probably knock out today so you can get this whole thing over with alre—
Click.
You and Scaramouche glance over at the door—to the somewhat apologetic looking stranger who has just popped their head into the small room.
“Sorry, we have this room reserved from 4pm…”
You glance at your phone.
Shit.
Hurriedly, the two of you pack up your belongings and exit the room.
“Well, we got most of it done, at least…,” Scaramouche mumbles, unbothered. “We’ll probably only have to meet up one more time.”
“Great,” you respond with a quiet sigh. Your eyes wander across the rows of library books.
“I’ll be free soon enough…”
“Yup,” he agrees, obviously not realizing that you're not talking about this project or the class, but him.
Once this is all done with, you’ll finally be rid of him. Not…that he’s a parasite, or anything. You were…are…a fan of his persona, but…this has all just been too much.
Keeping secrets, and trying to play it cool despite the things that have happened between you without him realizing.
You just need a break to get your head back on straight.
“I’m gonna head out, but let’s touch base later,” he says, inclining his head towards you in a curt goodbye as he turns away.
“‘Kay,” you mumble in response, and once he’s out of earshot, you take a deep breath.
Everything’s okay, you’ve got this.
There’s been no more raffle announcements on his page, and you’ve double and triple checked with Yae and Lisa to make sure they won’t be getting another commission for you. So, you should be able to avoid any more sexual mishaps during the remaining few weeks of the semester.
It’s all gonna be fine.
That night, Scaramouche slouches in his computer chair—mindlessly scrolling through his twitter interactions.
It’s mostly likes, a few horny reposts, and some amusing comments. One of which reads—
“Bro I am so jealous of this raffle winner. I’d give up my entire ass to have a call with Hat Guy.”
The raffle winner…
She nudges the head of the dildo between her folds—a blissful little sigh escaping her as it fills her inch by inch—and Scaramouche catches the sound.
He grips his cock tightly, fighting against himself as the mental imagery of her sinking down on his cock fills his mind.
He usually doesn’t feel much when he fulfills commissions. Whispering filth and giving mean commands is like second nature to him—no emotion involved. But…she’s got him craving—wishing he were there in the flesh inside of hiding behind a screen.
He clenches his jaw as he feels blood rush to his cock.
It’s been over a week, and he’s still craving—unable to get the mental imagery out of his head. The sounds of his commissioner as she’d dutifully followed all his commands. The breathless laughs she’d give when talking back.
He misses it.
And it makes him feel insane.
Getting attached to a faceless fan is something only a fool does, yet here he is—unlocking his phone, and scrolling back through his call log.
It’s obvious she’d enjoyed it, so calling her again would likely be taken as a nice surprise, right? He could just…make up a lie about his motives for calling—saying that…she won another raffle, or something, and definitely not that he’s reaching out because he desperately wants to hear her choke on cock again.
He quietly laughs to himself, throwing caution to the wind as he scrolls down and down—back to the day he called his beloved commissioner, searching for the only unsaved number he’d called on that day.
…except, when he finds the section of the log he’s looking for, there’s no unsaved number.
He frowns, sitting up a little straighter.
What the fuck? Had he managed to delete it, somehow?
He scrolls back and forth, clicking his tongue in annoyance. How had a number just deleted itself? It doesn’t make sense.
Now fully annoyed, he starts from the top of the day.
He’d called Durin at lunchtime, since they had been meeting up to share a meal. After that, he’d gotten three calls from Childe, who had refused to take the hint that he didn’t want to talk after he’d sent the first call to voicemail. Then, a call from Aether and Lumine, who had wanted to catch up since they were off traveling, and finally a call to Y/N—
He pauses.
Huh?
That’s not right, he hadn’t even had your number back then, there’s no way he could have called you—
He clicks on the log details.
An arguably long call, on a Sunday, in the evening…
That’s around the time he’d called his raffle winner, but—
He jolts, eyes going wide.
The day after the call, you’d been annoyed with him in class, and have been acting differently ever since. And…when you’d taken his call, you’d sounded shocked, which he had attributed to the shock any fan would have when an online idol calls them, but maybe…maybe you had been shocked for an entirely different reason.
Because he’s your project partner…the project partner you’d been shocked to see sit beside you on the first day of class. Who had bristled when he talked to you, as if the sound of his voice triggered something—
“Holy. Fuck.”
He holds a hand over his mouth, but fails to fully cover his growing grin.
His commissioner's friend had also mentioned that she was shit at checking her personal email, and he knows for a fact that you’re shit at checking your school one.
Unable to help himself, he laughs.
Oh, this is just too much.
Finally, all the somewhat off ways you’ve been acting towards him ever since your first meeting make sense.
The pieces come together. The lightbulb flickers on.
Without missing a beat, he starts to scheme.
A few days later, you walk into the lecture hall with your headphones in, and your eyes on your phone.
Mindlessly, you make your way down to your and Scaramouche’s table, and shrug your backpack off your shoulders. You notice his sneakers as you set your bag on the ground, and, realizing he's already here, glance up at him.
What you find makes you freeze. Because he's smiling.
Genuinely—his eyes almost sparkling as he regards you.
“Um…,” you pull your headphones off, feeling somewhat unnerved.
Of course, he looks dashing when he smiles for real, but currently you're more concerned with the reason behind the smile…
“You alright?”
“People usually smile when they're happy, don't they?” he responds. You press your lips together.
Okay…
“What are you happy about?” You ask cautiously as you slide into your seat beside him. He rests his chin in his palm, his eyes following your every move.
“Oh, I just made sense of something that was confusing me, that's all.”
…okayyyyy. You suppose figuring out a mystery can indeed be rewarding.
“I'm…happy for you,” you say, meeting his gaze once again. His smile widens, and your heart jumps against your ribs—fluttering annoyingly at the sight.
Immediately, you turn away and instead focus on getting what you'll need for class out from your bag, hoping that he won't notice the blood that is rushing to your face.
(He does.)
And thankfully, before he can say or do anything else to confuse you, the professor arrives.
The lecture goes on as normal, and you spend the hour dutifully jotting down notes.
Time passes fairly quickly, and once class ends, you begin packing up your belongings without a second thought. It's not until Scaramouche's voice reaches your ears that you're finally forced to pause.
“We should arrange our final in-person project session,” he says.
Ah, shit, he's right.
“Okay,” you say, reaching for your phone. “I can book a room at the library again—”
“I don't want to go to the library again. Let's do it at your place.”
…HUH?
Your gaze whips to him in disbelief, only to find that he's already standing to leave.
“I can make time whenever it works for you. Just text me your address and I'll come over.”
He throws a wave over his shoulder as he begins walking away, and you trip over your words.
There's no fucking way—
“Hey—!” you shout after him, but he doesn't spare you a second glance.
You swear to god, this little motherfucker…
How can he just invite himself over to someone else's place?? Does he not realize how rude that is??
For days afterwards, you fume about it—fully intending to march into the next class and put your foot down and demand the location be changed to the library. However, fate is obviously not on your side, because the morning of the next class, you get an email from the professor saying that today's lecture is canceled on account of him getting a flat tire during his commute.
He ends the email encouraging everyone to use this time to work on the project, and with a frustrated sound, you chuck your phone at your bed.
Then, after a couple minutes of cursing the powers that be, you retrieve your phone and text Scaramouche.
“[address].”
“This lecture is the only one I have today, so I’ll be free for the rest of the day. Come over when you’re free.”
It takes a short while, but finally, he responds.
“K. Be there around 6.”
And so, you spend a good chunk of your morning and afternoon doing chores, homework, and whatever else you can think to help distract yourself and pass the time.
When the clock finally draws nearer to 6, you dig out your laptop and open the powerpoint the two of you have been working on for a couple weeks now. You review the slides, and jot down notes about a few points you want to double check with him.
Overall, you feel that it’s a pretty solid presentation, and you’re somewhat proud of yourself that you’ve managed to help conjure such articulate sounding slides, considering how one section of your brain is always on high alert whenever Scaramouche is near.
Speaking of…
You tap on your phone screen.
6:04PM
A text message pops up.
“Buzz me in.”
Shit.
You rub your hands on your pants and take a deep breath.
It’s fine. Letting a project partner into your personal space is nothing big. It’ll be more comfortable for you working on it here rather than the library anyway. YEP.
Attempting to smother all your worries, you stand and walk over to your door—hitting the button beside it. It makes a buzzing sound, and from beyond your apartment, you hear a click and a door opening up the hall.
You turn the lock open on your door, and take one more deep breath. You feel a bit of zen with the inhale.
Everything will be fine.
With a small nod to yourself, you pull the door open just as Scaramouche reaches your doorstep. He blinks in surprise at the perfect timing, and with a small smile, you step aside and usher him in.
He nods his head in thanks, and as he crosses the threshold, you notice the shopping bag in his hand.
“Did you bring something?” you ask.
He pauses.
“Oh, yeah, I brought some snacks. Figured I should at least do that much.”
He walks over to your coffee table and begins unloading the bag.
Dark chocolate, strawberries, pistachios, and—
“Wine?”
“To celebrate finishing the project,” he explains innocently enough.
You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you.
“So you’re looking forward to being done with it just as much as me, huh?”
He makes a face as he plops down onto your couch and rummages around in his bag for his laptop.
“Did I, at any point, give any indication that having a group project was my joy of the semester?”
“Oh I thought your bright and cheery attitude each time you saw me in class meant you were really enjoying it,” you respond sarcastically, moving around the back of the couch to join him. He snorts.
“I’m not sure I’d describe myself as “bright and cheery”.”
You breathe a laugh.
“No, probably not.”
He cocks an eyebrow at your agreement, turning to face you as you sit on the opposite end of the couch.
“No? How would you describe me, then?”
He’s baiting you, and you know it. So, barely missing a beat, you respond—
“Short and grumpy.”
The grin that stretches on your face happens naturally, and without realizing, you relax a little.
Bantering with him makes everything feel less tense, and more…normal.
His eyes narrow, yet a smile stretches at his lips.
“I see you’ve gotten comfortable enough to mouth off to me after a semester together. Guess our partnership has grown.”
“Maybe slightly,” you agree sarcastically, and he rolls his eyes.
With the ice broken, and the anxiety of having him in your apartment now mostly forgotten about, the two of you decide to get to work.
You hook your PC up to your TV and project your powerpoint slides on the screen—the two of you debating back and forth who will cover what talking points, and making bullet points of said talking points on a separate document you’ll be able to reference during the presentation.
Once that’s all sorted out, you decide to do a half-assed runthrough—both of you talking from your respective seats on the couch rather than getting up to practice in front of a nonexistent crowd.
Despite both of you being less than overjoyed to have been assigned a group project, it becomes clear that being assigned to each other was an auspicious happening—as both of you rehearse the presentation with ease, clearly having digested the content of your professor’s lectures.
“Good?” you ask him once you’ve wrapped up the final slide. He nods.
“Good enough. We still need to write the slide with the references, though.”
“Ugh, I forgot about that.”
With a sigh, you stand from the couch and stretch your arms above your head. You’ve been sitting too long, and your mouth is dry from talking.
Turning, you head for your kitchen, mumbling about needing some water.
As you go, Scaramouche’s voice calls out from behind you.
“Hey, princess?”
“Hmm?” you immediately respond, turning back to look at him. You assume he’s likely going to ask you to get him some water as well, but when you meet his eyes, he doesn’t say anything.
He just grins.
You frown in confusion, not understanding the look on his face.
“What?”
Without a word, he stands from his seat, and slowly walks up to you. Once you’re toe to toe, he bends a little closer.
You instinctively lean back, trying to keep an appropriate distance.
“Why are you being weird? Did you want water? I can grab you some—”
“Do you usually respond to men calling you “princess”, or is that just because it’s me?”
Instantly, you feel as if you’ve been struck by lightning—your eyes going wide with panic as you realize what he’d said, and how easily you’d responded to the petname.
The petname he always calls you when he’s bossing you around as Hat Guy.
You meet his eyes, and there, you see that same sparkle that had been present when you’d greeted him in class the other day. A shimmer of gleeful knowledge.
You suck in a breath, heat flooding your face.
He knows.
You take a step back, panic setting in, but Scaramouche’s hand slips against your waist—keeping you from running.
“Ah, so I was right. It is you,” he drawls, smiling growing wider. You lean back, and he allows you space to move—but follows you as you slowly inch backwards, but never away from him.
Your heart is racing, embarrassment and dread flooding your veins.
How did he—? When did he—? There’s no way—
You back yourself into your kitchen table, and he moves his hands to grip the table on either side of you, effectively caging you in.
“If only you were better at checking your emails…and giving me your phone number? You gave that up pretty easily despite keeping your identity a secret this whole time. Did you want me to figure it out?”
He teases you naturally, his voice dripping with amusement. Despite all of your efforts to not reveal yourself, you’d fucked up in the end.
“Why try so hard to keep it a secret anyway?”
“It would be inappropriate to out you in public,” you say without thinking, still unable to meet his gaze, “and…it’s not like I wanted that part of myself to be known anyway…”
Well, he supposes that’s true. His online personality is meant to keep him anonymous, so respecting that you’re aware of who he is to his face was actually a kind gesture on your part. And he can’t blame you for not wanting any relative stranger in real life to know the things you get up to on the down-low, but, even so…
“So…it’d be inappropriate for you to acknowledge that you know who I am, but it’s completely appropriate to take a call from me and consent to further sexual interactions after we’ve already become project partners?”
You can hear your pulse in your ears.
“You—!” you finally turn your face to him, and the smug look he bears makes you wish you could disappear into the floor.
Your heart races faster, hands fisting anxiously in your shirt.
“You forced that on me! I didn’t know—”
“I asked for your consent to continue the phone call, and you gave it,” he reminds you. Your gaze jumps away, and he quietly chuckles, oblivious to the way your lip trembles, and how your eyes begin to shine with tears.
This is so embarassing.
You’d tried so hard to not slip up, to keep identities hidden, and now that he knows…
You bite your lip.
It feels humiliating—him teasing you like this. After the hour you’d just spent feeling comfortable around him, without a worry in the world. Now, everything feels like it’s crumbling.
He opens his mouth, fully intending to unleash his next smartass comment, but pauses as he finally notices the look on your face.
Ah.
Immediately, he dials it back. He creates a little space between you.
“Sorry, I…I’ve gotten so used to the idea of teasing you like I did when you were anonymous, but I guess it’s a little different now.”
He lifts his hand and brushes a tear away from your lash line. You bat his hand away.
“I didn’t do anything wrong—”
“You didn’t,” he agrees, voice soft. “I’m the one who did. Because ever since that phone call, I’ve been fantasizing about calling you again. I’ve been fisting my dick while replaying the sounds you made on the call in a loop in my head. I even went so far as to go and listen to the commission I made you, so that I could imagine how you followed all my instructions, and what sounds you probably made while doing so.”
His admission has your emotions in shambles—your chest tight with shame while your stomach sears hot with arousal.
The change in his tone and his actions has you reeling. One second he’s mercilessly teasing you, and the next he’s laying his feelings bare? You’re not sure how to deal with that emotional whiplash.
Yet, he continues on anyway—unaware of your internal chaos.
“And…aside from thinking about that anonymous follower, I realized that at times I also found myself thinking of my somewhat awkward and bratty project partner, even when you weren't around.”
…huh?
You glance up at him in surprise, and he rubs his neck a little sheepishly.
“Over time, I started looking forward to class so I'd get to throw another teasing comment at you and see how you'd react. I guess I grew to enjoy our banter without realizing it. And when I connected the dots and realized that my bratty partner and my bratty raffle winner are one in the same, well…”
He quietly chuckles.
“I guess I've been going a little crazy ever since.”
His gaze locks with yours, and a shiver rakes your spin at the hunger and excitement showing in his eyes. A hope that his words will reassure you enough to answer his next question the way he desperately wants.
“So. All that being said…,” he places a hand on the table beside you, leaning a little closer, but keeps his other hand behind his back—leaving you a route of escape should it be needed.
“I would like it if you are still interested in consenting. Because I cannot stop craving more.”
His voice drops as he speaks that last part, and you bristle.
Even though a minute ago you were about to cry from his teasing…
You shift, eyebrows twitching as your cunt throbs.
How does he always manage to do this to you? You should be embarassed—should say no, that it'd be better to keep things appropriate between the two of you considering you were never supposed to know each other's identities, and yet…
You take a deep breath, and stand a little straighter.
“Are you sure your performance won't disappoint in person?”
Your eyes meet, and for a second, he can only regard you with surprise. That was not the response he had been expecting, but—
A grin breaks out on his face, and he steps into your space, his free hand cupping the back of your skull.
“Always such a brat,” he laughs, and then your lips meet.
His kiss is devouring—a tell that he’s been waiting and dreaming of this moment—the moment he finally gets to touch you in person.
He presses you into the edge of the table as your mouths slot together—his tongue swallowing up the sweet little moan that escapes you. His thigh nestles between your legs, pressing up against your pussy, and you instinctively grind down on it—already craving more.
He chuckles, his teeth nipping at your lower lip.
“You’re being so pliant already. Does that mean you intend to be good and submissive?”
“I think I’m more of a snarky bottom than plain submissive,” you respond, carding your hand through his already messy hair.
“Think you can deal with that?”
“Happily,” he responds, his hand resting at your throat as he leans in to kiss you again. As your lips meld, the pressure of his fingers on your throat becomes apparent—squeezing tighter and tighter with each second that passes.
Your brain begins to fog as he restricts the blood flow to your head, and before you know it, he’s got you pressed flat against the table’s surface.
The sight of you flushed and breathless beneath him—his hand tight around your throat—goes straight to his cock.
“I guess you like being choked,” he muses, nudging your knees apart. He settles himself between them, and finally loosens his grip. Immediately, you take a deep breath, but don’t manage to fully inhale your lungs before your breath catches—something hard pressing at your clothed pussy.
You glance down as Scaramouche grabs your waist, keeping you still as he grinds himself against you.
“You got hard pretty fast,” you mumble, still a little breathless. His fingers dig into your sides, an obvious warning that he doesn’t appreciate your teasing words, but it’s a warning you’re both aware will not be heeded.
“Guess it’s because you’ve been fantasizing about fucking me for a couple weeks, huh?”
You grin, and he slips a hand under the hem of your shirt. Goosebumps rise on your skin as his fingers skim up your torso, between your breasts, and up to your throat—lifting your shirt along with his motion.
“I should actually cut off your airway this time,” he threatens, the pads of his fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck. Your chest rises and falls quickly, and you feel your nipples harden against the cups of your bra.
“You could, but if you did, I’d pass out. And then you wouldn’t get to hear all those pretty sounds you’ve been imagining hearing when you fuck me.”
“I see you’ve figured me out,” he mumbles, but rather than choking you again, he cups your jaw, and places his thumb at your lips. Without hesitation, you meet his gaze and allow him in—your lips suctioning around his digit as he presses down on your tongue.
Despite the lip you’re giving him, it’s clear you want this just as much as he does. You simply don’t intend to make it easy for him, which he doesn’t necessarily mind.
Having a fully submissive partner wouldn’t scratch his itch. Making them get so desperate that they bend to him is really what gets him going.
“Lift your chest.”
Pressing your shoulders down, you do as he says—your spine curving off the table. He immediately reaches behind your back and unhooks your bra, and your breath catches at the sensation.
He’s not wasting any time.
Without saying anything, he shoves your bra up to your neck where your t-shirt is also bunched, and then immediately gropes one of your breasts with his hand.
He methodically squeezes—as if he’s committing the sight before him to memory, and cataloging how each touch makes you squirm. Unsurprisingly, a flick of his finger across your nipple garners the biggest reaction from you—your body jumping and your thighs squeezing around him.
The corners of his lips curve upward.
“Having fun?” you ask. He rolls his eyes.
“Yes, now shut up.”
And before you can think of a smart response, he leans down and sucks your other nipple into his mouth. You gasp as his teeth scrape at the puckered skin—your hand instinctively grappling for his head.
He groans as your fingers root in his hair, and the heady sound goes straight to your cunt.
If he gets turned on by the sounds you make, well…clearly the opposite is also true.
“Scara—,” you start to say, fully intending to tell him not to bite like a dog, but the words die on your tongue as he begins rolling one nipple between his fingers, and laps at the other with his tongue.
Shit.
In the end, the only thing that leaves your lips in that moment is a whine—your chest pulling away from his demanding touch. Feeling your body attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure, Scaramouche immediately curls an arm behind your back and presses your chest up into his mouth.
At the same time, he reaches down and shoves his hand beneath the waistband of your pants.
A noise of surprise leaves you—your thighs attempting to close as you feel his fingers ghost against the crotch of your already damp panties. However, with his body still slotted between your legs, there’s no chance at hiding yourself from him.
With a lewd pop, he releases your nipple from his mouth.
“You’re this wet already? It’s almost like you get off on me or something.”
“Shut—ah!”
He sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of your breast, and at the same time, slips a finger inside you.
He tests the waters while lapping at the indentation of his teeth in your skin—his finger inching deeper and curling cautiously.
As desperate as he is for you, he doesn’t want to hurt you.
…well, he supposes that’s a lie, considering he’s already bitten and choked you, but those types of pain are a little different, he thinks. Those are the kinds of pain people typically enjoy.
“When was the last time this pussy took a dick?”
Scaramouche asks the question as he begins to move his hand. Your thighs twitch at the feeling of his finger pushing against your insides.
When you don’t answer, he nips at your breast again.
“Hm?”
He locks eyes with you. Your cheeks warm.
“The last time you told me to put a dick in myself.”
His dick twitches.
Ah, fuck, that’s so hot.
“What an obedient slut…do you only touch yourself when you have permission?”
“Wh—of course not! I’ve just been busy since then—”
“Mhmm.”
He smiles, taking your other nipple into his mouth this time. You can’t help but whine at the feeling, your fingers tugging at his hair.
A shiver rakes his spine.
He wants to be inside you already.
Having taken one finger no problem, Scaramouche slips in a second. This time, you feel the stretch. And it feels good.
“Fuck,” you breathe, your hips grinding against his hand.
“Stay still,” he grumbles, and while you do indignantly groan, the motion of your hips immediately stops.
Pleased, Scaramouche’s fingers grind inside you a little faster, and a little deeper, and it doesn’t take him long to find that sensitive little spot that has your hips involuntarily jumping.
You lock eyes with him, and in that moment, you swear you can read his mind.
“Don’t—,” you start to say, but it’s too late. He restarts the grind of his hand—making sure to angle it so that each thrust has the pads of his fingers scraping against your g-spot.
Instantly, your breath catches.
Shit, shit, shit—
You start to sit up, but Scaramouche places his hand on your sternum and holds you down.
“Trying to run away? Doesn’t it feel good?”
Too good. Each pass of his fingers inside of you has fire tracking through your body—arousal burning hot and tight in your gut.
You’ve never been this close to cumming this quickly. The sheer speed at which he’s brought you to the brink of orgasm has your head spinning.
“I—,” you pant. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”
Scaramouche feels your pussy clamp down on his hand, and watches as the muscles in your legs and torso tighten—anticipating release.
And yet, before the tension can snap, he pulls his fingers out.
Your orgasm is denied.
You loose a frustrated groan, and your eyes—which had fluttered shut—shoot open as you fix him with a glare. He only regards you without regret, bringing his arousal-slick fingers to his lips.
He licks one digit clean, and then the other.
“What? Do I ever let you cum right off the bat?”
No, but still.
“You fucking suck—”
You rear a leg back, and attempt to kick him. He skillfully grabs your foot, intercepting the blow, and then tugs, bringing you closer to the edge of the table. You swing your legs down as he takes a step back to give you room.
However, just as soon as you’ve gotten to your feet, he’s closing the gap. He kisses you as if he’s still starved—as if everything you’ve done so far is hardly enough to sate his appetite—and you taste yourself on his tongue.
“Where’s your room?”
He grabs your wrist and begins tugging you down the hall without waiting for your answer.
You can’t help but smile as you watch him scan the doorways for the one that leads to your bedroom.
It’s cute seeing him get impatient, considering he’s typically the one denying you and forcing you to wait.
He locates your room before you’re able to answer, and nudges you towards the bed.
“Bend over it,” he tells you. You turn towards him, a teasing smile blooming on your face as you intend to play a little hard to get, but when you find him pulling down the zipper of his pants—hard cock prominently bulging against his briefs as his pants slip down—your brain momentarily short circuits.
Realizing you haven’t moved, his eyes flit to yours.
“Do you want me to fuck you or not?”
With a quiet huff, you walk over to your mattress—slipping your t-shirt and bra fully off as you go. You’re just about to bend over when from behind you Scaramouche mumbles, “pants too”.
A shiver rakes your spine at his words and the thought of being before him in nothing but your panties, but you dutifully rid yourself of your pants nonetheless—kicking them away with your foot as you spread your legs and drop your chest to the bed.
The sight of you has him internally cursing—and he quickly fishes an item from his pocket before shedding himself of his clothes.
A gasp leaves your mouth as he finally settles behind you, his fingers ghosting up the curve of your spine. He toys with the hem of your panties, and you feel his cock rest against your ass.
Excitement rushes through you, your pussy clenching.
He's finally going to fill you up and fuck you proper.
Ah, but—
As soon as you open your mouth to ask about protection, he reaches down and sets a ripped-open condom packet on the mattress beside your head.
You hadn't even told him where your stash is, which means he must have brought his own.
“I see this was your goal,” you mumble, your heart doing a little flip as you realize how much he had planned for this happening.
“Obviously,” he shoots back. He hooks his hands on your panties, and slowly peels them down your thighs—his eyes drinking in the sight of your pussy.
Yep, this is better than what he's been imagining.
Fuck.
Fisting his cock in his hand, he nudges it between your folds—his jaw clenching as the head of his cock catches at your entrance.
Unintentionally—your sex addled brain only thinking of how you need more—you grind your hips back on him. His cock slips inside of you, and a cry leaves your lips as he stretches you open.
“Shit—,” he hisses. One of his hand tangles in your hair, while the other presses down on the small of your back—keeping you pinned.
“Don't fucking move again. I'm taking you how I want. Got it?”
You manage to nod your head despite his stern grip on your hair, and Scaramouche can't help but note the way your body writhes at his words.
You want this just as badly as he does.
“Good girl,” he praises, his voice low and scratchy as he slowly inches himself deeper inside of you, until his hips are flush with your ass.
Your pussy quivers, and a wanton whine sneaks past your lips. He's filling you up wholly—as if your pussy was made just for him—and you can't get over how good it feels.
Yet, it's still not enough.
“Please move,” you whimper, struggling to keep your body still. Scaramouche can feel the way your body trembles beneath him—struggling to obey his command not to move—and he smiles.
“Wow, you even said “please”, guess you are getting desperate…however…”
He slowly drags his hips back, until only the head of his cock is still nestled inside of you.
“Just telling me to “move”? Not sure I understand. Should I pull out, or—?”
Any other day, you'd bite back at his playing dumb. You hardly want to let him get away with teasing you like this, but right now, you're too desperate to be smart with your words.
“Please fuck me,” you huff, an edge to your tone, like you're about to lose it.
Realizing you're finally needy enough to set your wit aside has Scaramouche's smile widening.
“Well, since you asked so nicely.”
He fucks himself back inside of you— again, and again, and again—until your ass is bouncing with each thrust, and the sound of wet, sinful sex is filling your room.
Your fingers fist in the sheets above your head, each grind of his cock drawing an array of pornographic sounding whines and moans from your chest.
Scaramouche commits every little detail to memory—from the crack in your voice, to the curve of your spine beneath his stern hand, and the way your pussy clenches on his cock.
“Fuck…”
His hand untangles from your hair in favor of getting a better grip on your waist—both of his hands squeezing you on either side as he begins fucking you harder.
Your forehead drops to the bed—a startled gasp muffled by the sheets as he uses his grip to force your stomach down, and your hips higher.
The new angle has his cock once again grinding against the sensitive spot inside of you.
“Oh, fuck—!”
Your thighs shake, and you try to drop your hips, but Scaramouche doesn't allow it.
“What? Feel too good?” he teases, a little breathless himself. Your pussy feels so fucking good, he's seriously already getting close to losing it himself…
“Mmm—!”
You can't even think straight, your muscles tensing as every pass of his cock inside of you has you quickly slipping closer and closer to the edge.
“Scara…I…”
Your warning slips away, your brain too distracted by the heat spreading through your limbs. The pleasure is scorching you from the inside out.
Scaramouche knows what’s coming regardless—not unaware of the way your shoulder blades pinch together as your grip on the sheets turns white knuckled, or how your pussy has started tightening on his dick.
“I didn’t give you permission,” he reminds you, and the sound that leaves you is caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
You turn your head, and manage to glance back at him. His cock jumps at the fucked out look in your eyes, and you somehow make your tongue work again.
“How am I supposed to wait for permission when you’re fucking me so good?”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit—
He pulls his dick from inside of you.
Your eyes widen in shock, lips parting in complaint that he doesn’t allow to be voiced.
“Flip over,” he tells you, although he’s already shoving you around. He rolls you onto your back, and you blink up at him as he climbs atop you, and guides himself to your entrance once again.
“I wanna see your face when you cum,” he growls.
He shoves in, and when you gasp, he smothers it with his lips.
His kisses are sloppy—full of tongue and teeth as he grinds his cock inside you. The new angle allows him to hit spots even deeper inside of you, and you can’t help but cling to him—your nails digging into his back as you hang on for dear life.
Scara shivers at the sensation, unable to help the groan that’s ripped from him.
He wants to see you unravel—wants to feel your pussy milking around his cock.
“Are you gonna cum, princess?”
He breaks his string of kisses to ask, and you heave a breath, your head spinning. Yet, you manage a nod.
You’re so close.
“Use your words,” he tells you.
Tears prick your eyes, and your lip quivers. He’s driving you crazy.
“I’m gonna come,” you whine, your gaze finding his. He can see the shimmer in your eyes—a desperation that you can’t hide.
You look so fucking debauched beneath him. God, you’re gonna be the end of him.
“Ask,” he grumbles, although he feels his own orgasm impending—his balls tightening.
“Please,” you quietly sob.
He shudders.
How could he possibly say no to you?
“Cum on my cock, princess.”
With a choked cry, you hug him tighter, and do just that.
Your pussy milks around him as pleasure washes through you, and Scaramouche curses. He’s not gonna last when you’re so warm, and wet, and fucking tight—
“Fuck—!” he hisses, and with one last thrust, he plants himself deep inside of your cunt and cums.
The two of you stay just like that for a solid minute—hot and heavy breaths fanning between your bodies—until his balls are empty, and the condom inside of you is messy and full.
Then, he slowly slides himself out, his gaze locked on your pussy as he does—admiring the way your pretty hole flutters at the loss.
No longer intertwined, you flop your limbs limply against the mattress. Your chest rises and falls steadily as you finally begin to catch your breath, and your eyes flutter closed.
It still hasn’t fully sunken in that…that all just happened. But…you feel good about it. Satisfied, and assured. At least, until the mattress dips, and Scaramouche exits your bed.
A bolt of panic strikes you as he bends down to retrieve his clothes, and heads for your bedroom door. Is he leaving? Just like that?
Your chest tightens, but you don’t call out to him—only watch from the corner of your eyes as he walks into the hall—the sound of his footsteps getting farther, and farther…
And then, you hear the sound of a cupboard in your bathroom opening, followed by the squeak of the faucet turning on.
Oh.
A few beats later, he shows up in your bedroom doorway, his pants back on, and a wet wash cloth in his grasp.
The look on your face must show what you’d been thinking, because he cocks an eyebrow at you, frowning.
“Did you think I was leaving? I’m not that big of a dick…”
He walks over to your bed and sits beside you. A blush paints your cheeks, and you snatch the cloth from his hand.
“You do tend to be mean,” you tell him. He rolls his eyes.
“Not when it comes to aftercare.”
He snatches the cloth back, and then gently drags it up the inside of your thighs. You try your hardest not to squirm at the feeling.
Once he’s satisfied with his cleanup job, and sees that you’ve calmed down, he touches his knuckles to your forehead.
“You alright?”
“Yes,” you respond, your chest fluttering at the unusual tenderness from him. “Thanks.”
He nods, and for a moment, simply regards you—his gaze softer than normal.
Then, he sighs and stands—stretching his arms over his head.
“If I didn’t promise my friend that I’d help him study for the exam he has tomorrow, I’d stay and fuck you again.”
That last statement makes your pussy twitch, but you try your best to ignore it.
“What?” you ask, pushing yourself up. “You had plans tonight? What time were you supposed to help your friend?”
“I told him I’d be over around 8,” he mumbles while digging around in his pocket for his phone. He finds it after a second, and you both clearly see the time on the screen when it lights up.
9:02PM
Your jaw hangs open.
“Scara!”
He sighs in annoyance.
“What? This was more important…”
“Don’t be a shitty friend! Go help them study!” you scold him. You scoot off the bed and retrieve your panties from the floor. Scaramouche watches you as you pull them on, along with your t-shirt.
“Ugh, fine.”
He finishes putting his own clothes on, and then heads to your living room to gather his laptop and backpack. You follow after him, standing at the edge of the room.
Once he’s sure he has everything, his gaze finds you.
“I’ll see you in class?”
His somewhat silly question makes you smile.
“Obviously? We still need to do our presentation.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Smartass.”
He walks to your door and grips the handle, pausing to look back at you.
“Make sure to re-hydrate before you pass out later.”
You give him a mock salute.
“Will do~”
He keeps himself from rolling his eyes again, and waves over his shoulder as he finally exits your apartment, leaving you standing there sore, bruised, and still a little horny.
You raise a hand to your mouth, finger tracing against your lips. Recent memories flash through your mind, and heat rises on your face.
Holy shit.
You can’t believe that just happened.
A few days later, you walk into the lecture hall once more. Scaramouche is already in his seat, and when you approach, he glances up, and nods at you.
“Hey,” he greets.
“Hi,” you respond with a little smile, and take your spot beside him.
He doesn’t go out of his way to make small talk, which you weren’t expecting. However…admittedly, since he came to your apartment, there’s been one question lingering in your mind that you’ve wanted to ask him about…
What exactly are you two, now?
Was that just a fling? Does he just see you as a fun little one-off event? Or, does he want it to be more than that?
It’s a question that’s kept your mind busy, but not necessarily in a panic. You’ll be a little disappointed if it was just a one time thing, but you’ll get over it. It was fun, and you don’t regret it at all—so, at this point, you just want to make your relationship clear.
“Hey—,” you start to say, mustering up the courage to ask, but just as Scaramouche turns your way, the professor taps the podium mic.
“Hello class!” he greets cheerfully, drawing everyone's attention. “Today is the first day of the final presentations, and I’m excited to see the fruits of your labor! As I’m sure everyone saw, I sent out an email listing the order of the presentations—which I generated at random, by the way. There are too many groups to get through in just one class, so whoever we don’t get to today will go next time. Now, without further ado—Group 1, please come up to the front!”
With a little sigh, two students sitting behind you get up and make their way to the front of the room. As they get their laptop connected and pull up their presentation, Scaramouche quietly yawns beside you, and rests his chin in his palm.
“If I start to fall asleep, nudge me,” he mumbles, and you roll your eyes, but nod your head nonetheless.
A little longer than an hour later, the first day of presentations wraps up—you and Scara still not having presented, considering your group miraculously ended up at the bottom of the list.
Everyone begins to pack their bags as the professor reassures those who had presented that they did a good job, and slowly, everyone files out of the room.
Scaramouche stands to leave first, and you take a deep breath, planning to try and get your question out once more, but he beats you to the jump.
“Wanna grab a meal?”
…huh?
You stare at him dumbly, and he frowns at you.
“What?”
“I just…didn’t expect you to ask,” you admit. He huffs.
“Well, it is lunchtime. And based on what you said last week, this is your only lecture today. So, if you’re free, I figured we could get lunch.”
“Oh, um—sure!” you say, not at all upset about his offer. He nods, and together, you exit the lecture hall and make your way to the nearby campus eateries.
As you enter the building, you dig in your bag for your wallet, aware that this particular spot is a buffet style where it’s a flat rate to get in. However, before you can even fish out a credit card, Scaramouche is stepping up to the register and saying “two”.
With a smile, the employee rings him up for entry for two people, and he pays before you can think to stop him.
“C’mon,” he says as soon as the payment goes through, heading into the buffet. You chase after him.
“You didn’t have to pay for me!” you tell him, feeling bad. He shrugs his shoulders.
“I wanted to. Plus, this could also be a celebration for actually managing to finish our project.”
Well, you can’t argue with that…and it is very nice that he’s treating you.
“Well, thanks, then,” you mumble, feeling a little confused about the entire situation, but happy nonetheless.
After the two of you load up your plates with food, you find a table to sit, and begin filling your stomachs. The two of you make conversation as you eat, mostly about the groups who had presented their projects today, and you nearly choke on a bite of food when he mentions how one of the groups accidentally misspelled “eroded” as “erotic” without realizing.
“Wait, even I didn’t notice that,” you laugh, and Scaramouche rolls his eyes.
“Obviously, you paid less attention than I did.”
As your giggles die down, Scaramouche spots a bit of food smudged on your cheek, and leans across the table. You freeze as his thumb brushes your skin.
“Some food landed here when you almost choked,” he mumbles, as if that explains everything. He pulls his hand back as if nothing happens, and finally, you snap.
“Okay, what is going on here?” you ask sternly. He blinks, obviously confused.
“What—”
“First, you invite me to lunch. Then, you pay for said lunch. Now, you’re being more friendly with me than ever before, and are touching me as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. So, what is this?? Are we, like, friends with benefits?? Was that just a fling?? Or—”
“I want to date. I thought that was obvious.”
HUH?
A blush spreads on your cheeks, embarrassed and caught off guard by his declaration.
“You—how was that obvious??”
“Did you not see my tweet?”
“No! I haven’t been checking your twitter as much since I realized my fucking project partner is someone I follow online and have interacted with—”
With an annoyed sigh, Scaramouche pulls out his phone and opens his twitter. He pulls up his latest tweet, and shows you the screen.
…oh.
“Am I the “personal event”?”
“Yes,” he huffs. He glances off to the side and crosses his arms, almost looking a little…embarrassed.
“After what happened at your apartment, I tried to knock out some of my pending commissions, but every time I tried, I found myself thinking about you, instead of whatever faceless commissioner I was making the audio for. It was honestly pissing me off—realizing that I can’t get you out of my mind now—so I decided the best thing to do would be to cancel the commissions and…listen to whatever feelings I was having.”
“Wow…,” you say, honestly stunned, and then drop your voice.
“I guess you’ve become a pussy addicted puppy, huh?”
He startles at your unexpected tease, but gets his wits about him when he sees the playful grin that spreads on your lips.
“Don’t forget I know where you live,” he threatens with a daring grin of his own, and you laugh. Then, after a couple beats, you clear your throat and sit up a little straighter.
“That’s true, you do know where I live, but our project is finished, and I have no reason to let in my project partner.”
Scaramouche rolls his eyes, understanding where you’re going with this.
“Alright,” he says, crossing his arms. “Then go out with me.”
“Ask nicely,” you retort, fixing him with a not-all-that-stern look. He rolls his eyes, although a smile tugs at his lips.
“Go out with me, please.”
“Better,” you say with a little laugh, and nod your head. “But yes, I will go out with you. Since you asked like a good boy.”
“I’m gonna get back at you later,” he promises, leaning in closer, so his low voice can only be heard by the two of you.
“And I have lots of things I want to do to you and with you, so you better be ready, princess.”
His words go straight to your pussy, and you try not to squirm. Either way, he seems to notice his words have had an effect on you, because he sits back and laughs. That boyish, genuine laugh that makes your heart flutter.
Months ago, you never could have predicted that your anonymous connection with Hat Guy would turn into this, and you’re not sure what this relationship will become, but at the very least, you’re sure it will be fun, sinful, and full of banter~
hii i love ur writing sm ur interpretation of wanderer is peak !!! 💯 Can I have like a fic of him with someone who's super sensitive shy and overall someone who actually is like scared or disliking him (?) (sorry I'm too bad at describing stuff 😭😭😭) but wanderer really really wanna hang out with them and talk to them yk- it's ok if u don't wanna write this i completely respect it take ur time !!
-🪼
Glad you enjoy my work! I hope this is along the vibes of what you wanted! <3
----- x
the quiet one
Pairing: Wanderer x Reader
Summary: You're first impression of Wanderer wasn't great, but he won't leave you alone.
Word Count: 1100+
Contains: Gender-neutral reader, shy/sensitive reader, reader POV, Akademiya life, fluff, strangers to tentative friends, Wanderer implied to have a crush on reader if you squint
Wanderer was literally everywhere you went. He was in the same classes, his dorm was in the same hall as yours and he went to the same spots for breaks as you did—it felt like he was following you. While some would jump at the chance to befriend the handsome genius that took the Akademiya by storm, you were not one of them.
Frankly put, you don't like him all that much. He's haughty, distant and has a bit of an arrogant disposition. While not outwardly pretentious like some of your other classmates, he seems cold even when he's being polite. It's off-putting to someone like you—that someone being shy and a bit awkward.
Though, it's not as if he has ever been particularly rude to you. The opposite, is true in fact. But your first interaction with him left a lasting impression.
You had been sitting beside each other in class and in your hurry to write down notes, you'd tipped your inkwell over. The entire top half of the page immediately drowned in ink, bleeding through your journal and leaving much of your notes indecipherable. Not wanting to make a scene, you had managed to fish out a handkerchief and hurriedly dabbed away what you could, leaving your fingers blotted in black.
While you were silently panicking, Wanderer simply watched you with a disinterested expression. After a beat, he pulls out his own handkerchief and sets it near you for you to use.
"Klutz."
It wasn't harsh, it wasn't cruel, it wasn't judgemental. It was just stated like a fact, murmured like a passing thought. And that's all he had said in your time of need. It left you momentarily stunned that he could be so aloof.
You felt heat creeping up your neck and cheeks, hands hurriedly wiping at your journal in hopes of salvaging anything, but to no avail. You couldn't even look at him, too focused on the way your heart seemed to be pounding in your ears the more flustered you got, and it was just so embarrassing that you wished that Lesser Lord Kusanali would appear to turn you into dust.
By the time class ended, you were the first out of the lecture hall, power walking your way to the bathroom to save face. That was your first impression of him, and the humiliation from the accident made you dislike him. You ignored the fact that the next day there was a new inkwell on your desk, along with a new journal filled with rewritten notes. You also ignored the fact that the handwriting looked suspiciously like Wanderer's.
Since then, you've done what you could to avoid him. Little things like swapping seats and running the moment he was anywhere near you. It was a bit of an overreaction, but the further away you were from him, the happier you were. It didn't seem to help much though since he seemed to almost insist on being in your presence.
Today was no different. Tucked away in the corner of the library, you have your nose in a book. You didn't quite understand the lesson from earlier that day, and felt a little too shy to ask the professor for clarification. So now you're rereading the last two chapters in hopes to parse some of the information on your own.
It wasn't going well.
With a sigh, you raise your head away from the pages, feeling like you're about to go cross-eyed. As your eyes leave the page to look forward, you nearly jump out of your skin at the sight of Wanderer sitting across from you, casually writing in his journal.
When did he get here?
His eyes flick up to meet your gaze for a moment and you immediately look back down at your book, missing the amusement flickering in his gaze. Your legs bounce nervously under the table as you try to decide whether to make your escape now or just ignore him since he seems to be preoccupied studying.
"What's the matter? No hello? Cat got your tongue?" He chuckles, his voice calm and cool as ever. You feel like he's mocking you. He in fact just thinks you're cute when you're nervous.
You glance up awkwardly, throat feeling tight like the words refuse to come out. "I uh...what?" you manage to mutter in response, the sound as weak as you feel. You grip the edge of your book tighter, pulling it towards you slightly like a shield.
Wanderer doesn't respond right away, watching you with an unreadable expression. When he finally speaks, his tone shifts to something a little less sarcastic and just a bit softer. "Relax. I'm not going to bite your head off."
You squirm in place awkwardly, a small placating laugh escaping you before your lips pull into a light frown. "I don't know that..."
He huffs through his nose and reaches out to tap the page you were reading, drawing your attention back to it. "You were struggling in class. You can ask for help."
Your thumb traces a small path back and forth on the page, unsure of what he was getting at. Was he calling you dumb?
Wanderer stares at you expectantly, but you're not looking at him. You're just staring at your book, shoulders tense and posture avoidant. "I was just a little confused is all," you reply quietly, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.
"Then ask me for help."
You look up in confusion, head tilting to one side like you didn't hear him properly. He meets your gaze unwavering—waiting.
"You want to help me?" You ask in disbelief, bewildered with the direction this interaction was going.
He sighs in mock exasperation, turning his journal so you can see that his notes are exactly what you needed to understand today's lesson. "Is that how you ask for help?"
You look at his notes, then at him, then back at his notes. So he wasn't making fun of you after all. He was just trying to be...helpful. Strange.
"No, I just um...thanks for the help," you stammer, feeling a little flush at his insistent attention.
Wanderer nods, lips nearly quirking into a smile. "It's barely an inconvenience," he replies with that snark you're more accustomed to. He shuts your book and pushes it to the side before replacing that empty spot with his journal.
"You won't be needing that while I'm here. Rely on me," he continues, somehow managing not to sound like he's belittling you.
There's a strange flutter in your chest that has you looking at him differently, but you accept his much needed help. Maybe you've been judging him too harshly after all.
deep breath in, deep breath out. you kept rocking back and forth on your heels, your hands fidgeting with one of your bracelets you had taken off. as much as you loved creating new music, there was one down side. having your manger and label listening to it. albedo then took the spot opposite to you, “its always scary isn’t it?” his monotone voice snapping you out of your thoughts. “terrifying” you then shook your head, meet his gaze, “especially because this song… it’s not like anything i’ve put out before.” albedo nodded his head understanding what you meant, although you both had different styles of art he understood the feeling of not knowing how a new style of art would be perceived.
“so your straying away from your typical pop princess, low beat calm songs?” you chuckled looking over at him, “try angry and upbeat. so very opposite to what i normally do.” he then nodded his head, obviously imagining what it could sound like in his head. “like it might be my first explicit song.” you then looked up at him “i don’t think im ready for them to listen to it yet.” and almost as expected ayaka and ayato walked around the corner and you braced yourself for what could possibly happen in this meeting.
you looked back up hearing the ending of the song, meeting ayaka’s eyes first knowing she would be more receptive to this change than ayato would be, “i like it, it’s a nice shift from your normal songs.” then ayato interrupted, “would it be smart though? changing from your normal style, people listen to your music because they enjoy it. a change like this might not go well for your brand.” you knew this was coming, ayato was always looking this more through the business side rather than the artistic side, although he did appreciate it. “i think it is.” ayaka looked at her brother, “name’s last album was made when they were 17 turning 18. they’re turning 20 soon, this song can show that they’ve matured past the music they made whilst a teenager.”
ayato eyes then darted between you and his sister, “is this really the song you want to make this shift with? if it goes wrong it’ll be hard to go back to what was being done before, what worked well.” ayaka was just about to argue back when you stepped in.
“sometimes being an artist means you have to take risks, and i can’t keep doing this same concept over and over again just because it worked well the first time. i want to release this song, my music isn’t just about what works best for my fans. it’s about me, and my feelings and the music i want to create.” you caught ayaka smiling from your peripheral view, ayato then nodded “if that’s what you want, but it will have to be released next friday. it won’t work this week, we need time to do a proper roll out for it.” you then nodded your head, knowing you can’t argue against that. “seeing that you're ready to release a lead single, i’m assuming your sophomore album is nearly ready to release?” you froze, forgetting completely about what was meant to be your second album had been almost completely scrapped just last night.
“about that…” you then looked away from ayato, towards ayaka, “most of what was meant to be my second album i worked on with dottore… seeing we are no longer in a… relationship i think it wouldn’t be good for me to have songs i worked on with him released… maybe this song could just be a stand alone song.” ayato sighed, leaning his head back, “we understand…” ayaka then grabbed your hand, turning your attention away from her brother who looked like he was having an early midlife crisis.
“but considering it’s been almost two years since your last album, maybe we could have at least two singles, for the album, out by the end of the year?” you then nodded your head “understood, i’m sure i could get the lead single done by maybe june or july and then have it release in august.” ayato then nodded his head, looking slightly less stressed than before “great, meeting over.”
albedo’s studio was organised as always, you never knew how he managed it. you could barely handle one room on your own yet he managed half an industrial sized warehouse. his photography space was in a small corner, yet he was sat by his desk working on a sketch at the moment but when he heard your steps approaching he turned around, “how did it go?”
you then stopped in front of him, “better than expected. ayato’s letting me release the song but it’ll be next week. which is a good thing and a bad thing.” albedo then looked at you, “at least it gives us more time to plan a proper shoot.” you then nodded your head, “i already have an idea.” you then showed albedo your inspiration and he nodded and started to note down what you would need.
you left albedo’s studio around half 3, arriving at your apartment meeting a very annoyed scaramouche. you felt his hands on your waist before you even locked the door. “she wants me to come off hiatus. act in another movie. but i’m not ready yet.” his head nuzzled in your neck, “is there no way for you to put it off for a bit longer?” he then shook his head as he moved leading you to your living room where he pulled you onto his lap. “she already has a movie she wants me to audition for, some stupid rom com.”
you let out a soft chuckle, running your hands through his hair, “you in a rom com? i fear she really has lost her mind.” he then sighed leaning against the armrest. “shes insistent that i need to get back to work.” his eyes kept gazing into yours and you could tell he really didn’t want to go back to working, especially on a movie when his last project went so badly he pulled out of the movie and went on hiatus. and truthfully you didn’t really want him to work in a rom com, despite the two of you never having an official label for what you had, it hurt to see him with other girls. “what if you did a theatre show?” his ears perked up at that idea.
“you mean like broadway?” you nodded looking at him, “think about it, theatre is always better than a movie set, and you can stay here, in new york, with me.” he then chuckled and looked at you “so you want to keep me close?” you then turned away, “i mean it would be nice.” he then started to play with a strand of your hair, “i’ll think about it.”
