synopsis: being a yearning, anonymous singer while balancing a bio major is hard enough. surely a group project with the object of your affections won’t make it worse, right? right…?
college smau
scaramouche x f!anonymous singer reader
side pairing: yoimiya x ayaka
general warnings: fluff, angst, a wee bit of crack because it’s a smau, humor but only i think i’m funny, suggestive themes, swearing (lots), excessive use of reaction pics, scaramouche being scaramouche, reader being a hopeless yearner
the actual warnings: mentions of alcohol, weed, sex, kms/kys jokes
taglist: open
no set update schedule (slow tho)
a/n: hi i just really love scaramouche and this came to me in a dream
a/n: okay hi. disappeared for 2 months that's my bad! i moved to another country for an internship so lowkey life's been hectic as fuck. anyway! hope you enjoy a written chapter with actual substance and plot! and if anybody catches onto the parallels i'm trying to very subtly introduce and the new depth to our lovely mcs that's a double cool thing okay bye
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Class is like any other class, really. Boring, droning lectures from a professor who likely never took an oral communications course in his life, quickly-typed notes littered with copious grammatical errors you eventually give up on in favor of online Solitaire— it’s a snoozefest all around. The only partial silver lining is the eye candy sat directly to your left chewing on the end of his tablet pencil. At some point during the story of Persephone and Hades you consider writing a note to try and converse with the handsome athlete, but ulitmately shame and the fear of being percieved win out. Lecture comes, lecture goes, and suddenly you’re on your way to Windblume; a coffee shop about a half mile off campus nestled between a florist and a bakery.
He’s already there.
Because of course he is. Raiden Scaramouche has rarely ever been anything less than perfect— and that includes his penchant for timeliness.
The soccer captain’s head bobs ever-so-slightly to the beat of whatever song is spilling from his wired headphones (who still wears wired earbuds anyway?) and you have to resist the urge to yank one out just to see those beautiful indigo eyes trained on you—
Woah.
You’re suddenly hyper aware of the way your hands have begun to sweat, the tell-tale heat in your face announcing the blossoming pink blush beginning to paint your cheeks. Suddenly you think you may have severely overestimated your ability to play it cool around this guy. With a deep breath, you cross the cafe and settle into the chair across from Scaramouche, who pulls out an earbud the second you make yourself at home. He eyes you up and down with that trademark glint of calculation in his eyes. Under the heat of his stare, you turn your focus anywhere else; adjusting your sleeves, then your water bottle, then your laptop, then-
“Let me know when you’re done redecorating over there so we can start.”
Your head snaps up, hands immediately flying to your trackpad to open the rubric. All thoughts of instantly clicking with the indigo-haired man fly out the door in the face of his apathetic sarcasm, and a small, traitorous part of you wants to apologize, ask to start over, try anything to find some middle ground between the two of you. You’re no stranger to a flurry of emotions storming your brain, but you tamper them down. Just like you always do.
“Great opening. Really setting the tone for collaboration.” You say flatly, eyes scanning the rubric with a light scowl. The assignment is, frankly, bullshit. It’s basically a hodgepodge of convoluted instruction and way too many moving parts no doubt designed as an academic torture device for the struggling student. This is going to suck.
“So,” you start, skimming the page. “Semester-long project. Research paper, modern adaptation, final presentation. Wait. Semester-long? I thought—“
Scaramouche interrupts without skipping a beat. “Professor Dumbshit changed it for some asinine reason. We don’t have two projects anymore, it’s just this one now. So this bullshit is worth our entire grade. Each of the three components are graded separately and then graded altogether at the end. It makes no fucking sense.”
Wow. He sounds so good when he curses.
You only notice you’ve gone completely unresponsive when you catch yourself almost sighing in contentment, a noise in which you hurridely cover with a yawn. You really need to get a grip. You can practically hear Hu Tao’s exhausted sigh in your mind when you clear your throat. “Okay. We have the romance of Eros and Psyche. We need a thesis, sources, and some kind of modern component.”
“It’s not romantic.”
You pause mid-sentence. “What?”
“The myth,” Scaramouche continues, like it’s obvious. “It’s not romantic. She broke his one rule. What’s romantic about that? All it did was prove the whole relationship was conditional on her end. That’s it.”
You stare at Scaramouche for a long moment, absolutely bewildered at the supposed nonsense coming from his mouth. Not romantic? The story of Eros and Psyche is a beautiful, romantic tragedy exploring themes of love, loss, and trust. How could he say it’s not romantic? “That— that’s not the point of the myth at all!”
“Then what is?”
“It’s about trust and fear,” you retort, voice sharpening slightly. “Psyche’s love for Eros was not conditional, nor was his for her. You’re looking at the myth too methodically. Their love was not ruined because she broke a rule, it was because their foundation was weakened by mistrust and fear.”
Scaramouche raises one neat brow. “It was ruined because she couldn’t listen. Psyche broke the one rule. Of course he left.”
“He left because he was scared.” You bite back. There’s a pregnant pause where Scaramouche studies you with that ever-unreadable expression, gaze almost evaluating, and you immedieatly regret speaking with that much conviction.
Cool. Now he probably thinks you’re weird. You both turn your gazes back to your devices; Scaramouche picking up his tablet pen and you burying your nose back into your laptop screen. It’s a long while before either of you speak again.
“You ever listen to SIREN?” Scaramouche’s voice cuts through the silence, and you nearly choke on your iced latte.
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
“Oh,” you respond, voice hoarse from the sudden fit of coughing. “Yea. Why?’
“I dunno,” he erases something on his tablet screen. “Just thought I’d ask. Her songs are good, though. I kinda get why everyone’s so obsessed.”
They’re good? You’ve spent long nights staring at the ceiling, scribbling lyrics about him in a leatherbound notebook, and all he has to say is they’re good? You have half a mind to be offended at the distinct lack in any valuable feedback from the one who the songs are about, but the dominant thought process at the moment is strict panic.
“She responded to me on Twitter once.” And that’s where your brain elects to power down. That one little reply— meant to be on your secret yearning account— had you panicking for days. You cannot believe he remembers that, or that he even cared enough to bring it up. You clear your throat and choke out a “Really?”, immedieatly taking another long, casual drink of your coffee.
Scaramouche nods his head. “Didn’t know who she was at the time, but it was pretty cool, I guess. Talking to a celeb. Especially one that’s so big on campus.”
“Guess that makes two of you in the campus celeb club, then.”
Scaramouche’s face instantly darkens at your question, eyes narrowing into slits. “Yea, I guess,” he responds gruffly, and that’s about as much of a conversation shutdown as you could get. Great going, Y/N, you offended him.
You go back to your work quietly, mulling over his reaction. It was weird, no? Shouldn’t a guy that popular be alright talking about it? It’s not like Scaramouche doesn’t know his own social status at TNU, not with his tendency to flaunt himself like a peacock during mating season. But he obviously doesn’t want to talk to you. Not that you can blame him, really. Every time you open your mouth around Scaramouche, it’s either too much or not enough. The humor and wit you’re so used to hiding behind is seemingly nowhere to be found, and you’re left floundering in front of the one guy you wish you could figure out. You know you’ve always been bad at this type of stuff, confidence having been a sword you never learned how to wield. That’s why you have SIREN.
Oh.
That’s it.
SIREN.
SIREN is more like him. Confident. Untouchable. Admired. Someone people want to talk to, if the thousands of Twitter DMs are anything to go by. Maybe Y/N will never be able to get close to Scaramouche, but… perhaps SIREN could.
This is a terrible idea, really. But the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. “You should just DM her or something. SIREN.”
Scaramouche tilts his head, confused. Or maybe that’s just you projecting. “DM her?”
You shrug as if you didn’t just verbalize one of your dumbest ideas to date. “I mean, why not? She responded to you once.”
“There’s no guarantee she’ll respond again.”
“Won’t know unless you try.”
“Why are you being pushy?”
“I’m not!” You are. You absolutely are.
Scaramouche stares at her for another long moment, face characteristically unreadable. He shrugs. “Fine. No more stupid ideas. I’m only entertaining this bullshit because I’m bored.”
The two of you go back to working— silently, individually, wrapped in a tension neither of you can explain. Eros and Psyche stare back at you from your screen.
hi guys i am sooooo so sorry! i haven’t had the time to write chapter 5 because its just exam after exam out here😭 my uni hates my guts lowk BUT i am getting there! thanks for bearing with me
couldn’t tag: @caffeinatedtale
a/n: the slowburn is slow burning omfg. i hate this chapter but here have it. i rewrote this bs a bajillion times and it's just meh filler whatever chapter 5 will be more interesting #promise
a/n: exam season killing me right now tbhhh. but! here's a little filler chapter! this doesn't have much substance but it's important for building the plot ha. oh and in case it wasn't clear in the last post on childe's priv neither scara or y/n follow each other on priv so they can't see each other's comments :D
a/n: this came out so long because i didn’t know where to end it……. also somebody’s gotta stop me from creating plot points in the middle of crafting the chapter because shit starts to spiral off in ways i didn’t account for when originally mapping the plot of this🤥 but whatever! who ever said the writing process was smooth and linear
a/n: hi! thank you to everyone who’s reading this! i’m really exciting to start this fic because the scara brainrot is bad. yes this is a setup chapter and things will make sense eventually i promise i’m cooking
taglist: @sincerelyruu @sketcheeee @bittersweetmiko @iheartpieck
taglist is open!
scaramouche: third year criminology major. captain and striker of tnu's men's soccer team. he's fairly popular at the university, boasting a fanclub of his own that attends each and every match the soccer team plays at home. he's handsome, popular, rich (stupid nepo babies), and smart. what more could he need? ...right?
albedo: third year art history major, and center back for the men's soccer team. like the rest of his starting teammates, albedo is relatively popular for his looks. but social skills aren't exactly his forte, he'd rather make eyes at a nice new paintbrush than another person. oh well.
tartaglia: third year defender. (see cornbread fans for more info)
kazuha: third year philosphy major, midfielder, and one of the saner ones on the soccer team (which isn't saying much). kazuha's known to be relatively approachable. but don't get it twisted, the kind blond has his own trail of broken hearts. not that he means to, poor guy.
xiao: third year psych major and winger. quiet, brooding, but refuses to be called emo. to him, he left his days of my chemical romance and hot topic back in middle school. still, despite his aloofness, he's a passionate player that once in a while gives some good advice... if he's not busy calmly ragebaiting scaramouche.
aether: third year communications major with a minor in marketing and the soccer team's starting goalkeeper. has a twin sister who he love love loves to prod the last nerve of. his many admirerers flock to lumine's page in hopes of reaching him through her, to her undying chagrin.
y/n l/n: third year environmental biology major and self-proclaimed professional yearner (her friends call it delusion). when she's not our with her friends or nose-deep in chemistry textbooks, she's writing and producing songs under her anonynous psuedonym 'SIREN'. her songs are popular, especially at teyvat national university, and her peers are always trying to find out who she is. or who the love songs she's writing are about.
hu tao: film major and y/n's best friend since middle school. is currently the only one of y/n's friends who know about SIREN's identity. works part-time at a funeral home.
tartaglia: a starting right back for teyvat national university's decorated men's soccer team. econ major and proud member of the sigma nu fraternity, much to everyone's chagrin. loves to flirt, is terrible at it. y/n keeps him around for comedic relief.
kaeya: civil engineering major. acts stupid, absolutely isn't. unfortunately one of those people who don't have to study and still gets high marks on exams. ugh. the nerve. y/n met him in their shared oral communication course first year and they've been friends ever since.
lumine: political science major and student body secretary. has a twin brother, aether, on the men's soccer team. was introduced to the friendgroup by childe as one of his failed talking stages (read: he flirted, she dodged immediately).
yoimiya: theatre major with a minor in dance. a social butterfly who basically knows everyone. is dating the student council president, ayaka, and is very proud of it.
ayaka: a fellow political science major, and the student council president. she shared a class with lumine, who dragged her along to hangout with the group. ayaka brought yoimiya along, and the rest is history.
