gorouinheat - Tumblr blog

gorouinheat · 5 months

Text

If you want it, then drug it!

( Scaramouche x m!reader ) Minors, fem DNI

- all characters are 18+

cw: non-con to consent at the end?? , use of drugs (aphrodisiacs n’ other stuff), powerbottom!scara, trans scara, scratches, sloppy sex, confession at the end

You're walking towards your best friend Scaramouche's house, feeling the winter chill biting at your cheeks. You're all wrapped up in a cozy coat, gloves, and a scarf, and you're psyched to hang out with Scaramouche since he offered to help you study for your finals. You've been stressing out since your grades have sucked lately, and you're worried about having to retake courses next semester. Thankfully, Scaramouche is a total brainiac who's acing all his classes, so you're hopeful that he can help you turn things around. As you approach his house, you rub your hands together, hoping that it's warm and inviting inside. You could use some blankets and a hot cup of tea right now.

You give the door a firm knock and stand there waiting for him to answer. It seems to be taking him longer than usual, so you start to wonder if he's in the bathroom or if he's just being difficult and making you wait in the cold. You let out an exasperated sigh and knock once more. Finally, he answers the door.

“What took so long? I’m freezing out here, you moron.” You say with your teeth catering from the cold.

Scaramouche stands in the doorway and greets you with a snarky attitude, "Not my fault you don't know how to properly dress for the cold." You roll your eyes and step into the warm embrace of his house, feeling the heat immediately soothe your cold skin. You let out a sigh of relief and a smile spreads across your face as you take off your jacket and shoes. Scaramouche shuts the door behind you and his face contorts into a grimace as he notices you just plopping your jacket carelessly on the floor.

“Hey, remember the coat rack by the door? It's there for a reason," he says with the same attitude in his voice as he picks up your coat and hangs it up. You glance around the cozy living room, admiring the festive Christmas decorations his mom has put up for the holidays. Suddenly, your eyes are drawn to the enchanting mini Christmas village on the side table, and you can't help but feel a little bit of holiday cheer bubbling up inside you.

"6 o'clock is when my mom usually comes home. So, I think it's important we get started on studying now.” Scara says with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. You glance over at him while still admiring the miniature houses and nod in agreement.

As you are standing in the hallway with Scaramouche, he turns to you and tells you that it's time to study. "That means stop looking around like an idiot and go up to my room," he says, snapping his fingers in your face. You feel slightly taken aback but decide to ignore his rudeness and follow him upstairs.

You both enter his room, and Scaramouche heads towards his bookshelf to fetch his study materials. You plop down on his bed, letting out a sigh of relief after walking up the stairs. However, Scaramouche doesn't seem to appreciate your relaxed attitude. "Sit up," he barks at you, smacking your head. You let out a yelp of pain and rub the spot where he hit you.

Feeling annoyed, you sit up straight as he places the books on your lap. You can't help but wonder why he is being so harsh with you. Nonetheless, you try to focus on the task at hand and begin studying with him.

"If you fail this exam, you're spending your Christmas break alone," Scara threatens. You groan and open the books to the study guide pages for the exam. "For you, I won't," you say dryly. Scaramouche's face heats up as he scoffs and sits beside you on the bed.

He helps you study for a bit, leaning up against you as he points at a question that you need help with. His breath tickles you as he talks, of course, he did all of this on purpose but he knew you were too oblivious to that. He did this daily actually, showing obvious signs he likes you but you shrug it off every time. it's really starting to make him upset

You've been studying for the past 30 minutes, trying your best to focus on the dense material in front of you. Just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Scaramouche's voice breaks the silence, "Want anything to drink?" You look up, surprised by his sudden offer. "Uhh..sure," you reply, grateful for the interruption. Scaramouche nods and disappears downstairs to prepare your drinks. Meanwhile, you take a deep breath and try to get back into the zone. But your mind is still struggling to process everything, and you can feel the frustration building up inside you. Suddenly, Scaramouche appears again, carrying a tray with two cups of tea. The warm and soothing aroma fills the room, making you feel calmer.

As you reach out to take the cup, you notice a certain glint in Scaramouche's eyes. He hands you the hot cup, and you can instantly smell the aroma of cinnamon tea. "Mmm, it smells so good," you say, feeling content. Scaramouche stands there, grinning, as you take a sip. "Did I make it alright?" he asks innocently. You smile and reply, "You always make the best tea, Scara." You take another sip, and another, while Scaramouche watches you intently. His heart races with anticipation, knowing that he's finally going to get what he wants. His mind wanders for a moment as you finish the tea, and he can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

As you place the cup of tea on the nightstand, he snaps out of his thoughts and lets out a deep sigh. You feel the warmth spreading through your belly, soothing your nerves. Suddenly, Scara's cheeky grin returns, and he suggests taking a break from the books for a moment. He sits on the edge of the bed, crossing his legs, inviting you to join him. How could you resist such an offer?

As you hum and ponder for a moment, Scaramouche looks at you expectantly. "What will it be?" he asks, his metallic voice ringing in your ears. You open your mouth to speak, but suddenly feel a wave of dizziness wash over you, causing your sentence to cut short. "You okay, Y/N?" Scaramouche's hand rests on your leg, concern etched into his features.

As you slowly open your eyes, you feel a slight dizziness, but you try to shake it off and try to sit up. Suddenly, you feel Scaramouche's hand on your thigh, and a jolt of electricity runs through your body. You can't help but feel a rush of excitement as you look into his eyes, wondering what he's thinking.

As you rise to your feet, you feel a shiver run down your spine. You gently move Scaramouche’s hand away and take a step forward, feeling a bit unsteady. "I think I need to use the bathroom," you say, your words a bit uncertain. But before you can take another step, your legs give out and you collapse onto the bed once again.

"Take a break and lie down for a moment, Y/N," Scaramouche whispers as he gently props you up on the pillows. He then leans in close to your ear and says, “Let me take care of you.”

You utter a confused "Oh..yeah, okay", trying to make sense of what's going on. You close your eyes in an attempt to steady yourself as the room begins to spin around you. Suddenly, the heat becomes too much to bear, making you long for the freezing cold outside. You start to feel uneasy, fidgeting on the bed and frantically clawing at your jeans. As you struggle to keep your thoughts in check, your mind wanders to something completely unexpected - Scaramouche. You can't help but notice how appetizing he looks right now, but then you quickly remind yourself that he is your best friend. What is happening to you?

You find yourself struggling to stay conscious as you gasp out Scara's name. The heat is too intense, and your head is spinning. Scaramouche looks at you, feigning concern, but you can sense the malevolence behind his facade. Suddenly, you feel his hands, cold as ice, pressing against your chest. It sends shivers down your spine and you try to push him away, but your strength is failing. Scaramouche gradually started to unbutton your shirt.

As you shake your head no, you feel your face getting hot with anger. Scaramouche notices your reaction and quickly moves closer cupping your cheek to calm you down. "Hey, hey, it's just me and you. You can trust me, can't you?" he says in a sad tone, trying to manipulate you.

As you gaze at him, your heart races and you can feel your chest heaving up and down. Despite the nerves, you nod in agreement. Scaramouche is your closest friend; the one who's always been there for you. You know in your heart that he would never do anything to hurt you. Right?

As Scaramouche's warm smile reaches your face, his gentle caress on your cheek sends shivers down your spine. You feel an overwhelming sense of comfort and safety around him. As his hand moves down to your neck, you can't help but feel a tingle of excitement mixed with the comfort. Despite the side effects of the drink you had earlier, the dizziness and confusion continue to linger, but being with Scaramouche makes you forget all your worries.

That was before he made it down to your chest finishing off the rest of the buttons and slipped off your shirt. Scaramouche bites his lip when he sees your chest, running his cold hand against your pecs and down to your belly. A whine slips from your lips as he moves down to remove your pants next. You squeeze your eyes shut when you feel your pants get pulled down to your knees.

Scaramouche sighs as he finally gets what he waited so long for. He reaches for your growing bulge and starts rubbing you through your boxers, “Mm you feel kinda big..” He grins.

Sparks of pleasure course through your body now that the effects of whatever he had put in your drink took their hold. You whine loudly, not expecting this sudden touch. Beginning to feel the sudden need to submit to Scaramouche. All you wanted was for him to have his way with you, you’d just sit there and take it. The swirling pool of desire grows stronger as you jerk your hips up against his hand.

A gasp leaves your lips as you make contact with his hand again. “Scara?.. what are you do-fuck that feels good.” You shudder and moan out as he rubs your clothed tip. Scaramouche grins sinisterly, “yeah? Feels good?” His voice was so smooth and rich, like honey dripping over your senses, that you couldn't help but crave more. As you took in a deep breath, the room seemed to become hazy and distant. You strained to hear what he was saying, but his words were lost in the fog of lust and desire.

Abruptly Scaramouche manages to pull down your boxers, making your cock slap against your stomach. Your hard shaft is swollen with need, already leaking from the burning desire to take Scaramouche. As your eyes fill up with tears and your head starts throbbing, you gaze down at him, feeling a mix of emotions. “Scara..” you mutter, his name seems to be the only thing you can say right now. “Shhh don’t fight it,” he says grabbing your throbbing length, “I’ve wanted this for so long..” he whines as he licks a straight line up your base with His damp tongue.

You bawl your fist against the sheets tightly, nails digging into the palm of your hand. Scara lets out a breathy laugh at your reaction, “cock sensitive?” he says mouthing against your cock, his hot breath making your cock jerk in his hand. You nod dumbly- the drugs making your mind hazy, you don’t care what he does at this point..not that you could muster up the words to say anything right now anyway, only whimpers and whines leaving your lips.

Hastily, Scaramouche flattens his tongue against your mushroom head tip before he gradually sinks his mouth on your cock. You abruptly let out a choked sob from the sudden wave of overwhelming pleasure, making your thighs shudder wildly. As Scaramouche goes further down your length, trying his best not to gag - your cock stretches his throat so good making his eyes roll back in pleasure. You buck your hips up into his mouth out of need, causing your tip to jab the back of Scara’s throat. He gags and jerks his head back up from your length, coughing up saliva that lands on your cock. He inhales shakily as he catches his breath with his eyes squeezed shut. When he gathers his composer again he chuckles, looking back at you with glossy eyes. “My mouth feels that good?” his tone is teasing and he slowly strokes the base of your cock, smearing his saliva all over it.

The sound of squelching comes from the movement where Scara rubs your cock softly. Out of his pleasure, he ruts himself against his mattress as he strokes your length sloppily. Even the slightest gliding of his fingers was making you go crazy. You moan loudly each time his hand reaches your overly sensitive tip. “You moan like a fucking girl.” he snarkily says before leaning his head down and sucking up the pre-cum that flowed out from your cock.

He moans when he feels the salty taste of your pre-cum spread across his tongue, savoring the taste before popping off your cock. He gasps, catching his breath before moving back to his original place. His mouth engulfs your cock, taking in whatever he can down his small throat. His tongue swirls around your sensitive head. The feeling of his lips sliding up and down, combined with the stroking hands of where he couldn’t reach, sends waves of intense pleasure throughout your body.

Your hips shudder as you try to force your cock deeper into his mouth. His hands grip your hips tightly, keeping you still as he continues to take more of you down his throat, gagging before he comes back up and suckles on your cock head.

With a satisfied smirk, Scaramouche pulls away from you, leaving your cock still hard and glistening with his saliva. “I didn’t expect you to taste so good” he purrs, his throat a bit sore. As you lay there, breathlessly and aroused, Scaramouche slowly slides up your body, his lips pressing light kisses along your throat and jawline. You feel him gradually remove his shorts and panties, leaving him only in his black tank top.

You wait impatiently for Scaramouche to position himself on top of you. You can't help but feel frustrated that you can't even speak properly. The pills are still taking effect and you're starting to feel numb all over, making it hard to do anything but whine and wiggle your hips in anticipation.

Scaramouche seeing your anticipation, laughs and looks at you with a sly grin before he positions himself over your throbbing cock, guiding it towards his exposed entrance. “Wanted this for so long..” he whines, his voice suddenly going soft.

“Wouldn’t mind if we went in raw right?” he says softly, not even giving you enough time to respond before he sinks down onto your cock. The moment Scaramouche’s hot, slick cunt engulfs your cock, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, like you were made for only him. His lips wrap around your base, massaging you with his velvet walls. You choked out a loud moan and toss your head back, your mind filled with nothing but the urge to cum.

Scaramouche whines, his face now decorated with a cute blush and teary eyes. Not being able to handle the pleasure, you move your hands up to push Scara off.

Shaking his head rapidly, he whines out “He-hey! No, no please” in a high pitch tone, your cock filling him just right. He swears he feels you in his stomach. He pins your hands down, gasping “Just, ngh- just let me have this.”

He groans softly, his head rolling back as he adjusts to the fullness of your cock. His body shudders, hips rocking back and forth. Your small whimpers and whines encouraging him.

He lets go of your hands and rubs your hips, making you whine and turn your head to the side. His walls being too much for your sensitive cock, you felt like you were going to bust any moment. You let out a shaky sigh as you try to calm down from the overwhelming feeling of his constant squeezing.

Scara’s shaky hands move up to your shoulders and grip them tight, nails digging into your skin - before lifting his hips and plopping back down on your cock. You toss your head back as Scaramouche lets out a high-pitched moan, “fuck! You’re so big…” he whines. Nails breaking your skin as he moves up and down on your cock, nearly knocking the air out of you with each movement. Your head rolled against the pillow as you let out uncontrollable moans, your mind fuzzy with lust.

You didn’t even notice you were drooling til Scaramouche leans down, licks it up from your lips, and kisses you. It was sloppy but loving, you kiss back and slip your tongue into his mouth. The sounds of the sloppy makeout mix in with the constant plap of Scaramouche’s hips hitting yours, filling the room. He moans into your mouth and squeezes his eyes shut as he feels your tip brush against the deepest part of him.

You feel his body tense up before he pulls away, stuttering, “G-god damnit..” A thin strand of saliva still connects your lips as his eyes roll back, and he drops his head onto your shoulder. You feel the sweat from his forehead as he roughly grinds down on your cock, taking one of your hands close to his clit. You feel your tingling fingers against the hot sensitive flesh of his clit, making your fingers do a circle movement on the small nub.

Scaramouche shudders, forcing your fingers to rub faster. “Ah, fuck! …” he tries to catch his breath, his heart racing. “B-Buck into me, m’ so so close” he whines. His hands move to grip your wrist tighter. You were fading in and out of consciousness when you grit your teeth and thrust up into his sopping-wet hole, making another loud plap.

Scaramouche’s tongue rolls out of his mouth, drooling all over your shoulder as you buck into him fast and hitting his spot dead on. He squeals and grips onto you tight, “Fuck- FUCK, Y/N!” He shouts your name as his thighs shudder and give out. “Mmmmph!” He groans, his body tensing at each thrust. He tries his best to hold back his orgasm, wanting nothing more but to cum with you.

You huff, shakily moving your hands on Scara’s hip and gripping them tight enough to bruise. He winces in pain but it's soon lost when you lift his hips and fuck him back down onto your length, making him mewl in pleasure. “A-are you close?” He says in the crook of your neck, his voice trembling. As he feels you nodding against his head, he tightens his grip on you, eagerly grinding against you after each thrust.

His body trembles as he holds back the impending orgasm, his cunt throbbing in anticipation. “Fuck…I can't hold it- please cum..” He gasps, his voice strained.

You hear your heartbeat in your ears as your balls clenched and the swirling in your stomach snaps. You bite hard on Scara’s shoulder as you grunt and shoot your thick load into Scaramouche. He grits his teeth at the bite but feeling your load enter him sends him over the edge. His hips jerk forward as he loses control. His orgasm crashes over him, his back arching as he throws his head back.

“Sh-shit!” He shudders as you feel his walls clenching tight around your cock, milking every last drop of worth from it. You let out a shaky breath, plopping your head back onto the pillow. Your hips twitch from the aftermath of your orgasm, feeling it slowly leak out of Scara’s hole. He lets out a soft moan as he lifts his hips and your cock slips out, his body still trembling from the aftermath of his intense orgasm. His eyes are closed and he doesn’t move for a few moments, keeping you inside. He feels your cum run down his thigh, leaving them sticky.

His eyes open slowly, taking in the sight of you. Your cheeks stained with tears but you had a blissful look on your face.

Scaramouche's mind is plagued with guilt as he dwells on all the things he has done to you, all because of lust. He can't help but feel remorseful for the pain and hurt he has caused you. The weight of his guilt is heavy.

I'm sorry," he mutters, his voice hoarse from his previous actions, but you know he means it. You lick your dry lips and take a breath as Scaramouche continues, defending his actions, "This was the only way I could get you to finally see me. You were always going after people who didn't care about you, always going after people who didn't love you," he rambles. "I love you, Y/N," he says, his voice filled with pain, "I didn't mean to hurt you in the process. It's fine if you never want to talk to me ever again after this.”

You look up at him, trying your best to take in all his words but everything is moving so fast for you. You hear the true guilt in his voice and for a second you feel bad. Probably wasn't the best plan to drug you and then straddle your lap but, the power of possessiveness grows strong over time - it makes you do crazy things. Your heart warms up at his soft words, his confession being a bit cute with sweaty, messy hair and a red face. You smirk, your personality coming back. “I thought it was kinda hot,” you say with a smug look. Scaramouche looks back up at you wide-eyed, soon turning into a glare.

As you hold him in your lap, he looks at you with a red face and mumbles, "Oh shut up and answer me." Without saying a word, you lean in and plant a soft kiss on his lips. "Does that answer your question?" you whisper. He shakes his head and demands, "I wanna hear you say it." You can feel your heartbeat quicken as you consider how to respond.

You gently whisper, "I love you, Scara," and as the words leave your lips, you notice a flicker of emotion in his eyes. His heart flutters in his chest, and he tries to look away to hide the tears that are welling up in his eyes. You can hear his breathing quicken as he takes a moment to compose himself, overwhelmed by the depth of your affection.

As you finish speaking, you can't help but add a bit of sarcasm to your tone. "How's that, or do you want me to say it again?" you say, with a smirk on your face. Scaramouche pinches you hard in embarrassment, causing you to wince and shout out. "Shut it already…that was enough," he says, looking up at you. You can sense the tension and guilt in the room disappearing as your words sink in.

You feel a sudden, intense pain in your head that throbs and pounds with each pulse. The pain is likely a side effect from the numerous pills you took earlier, you groan and rub your head. “What the hell did you exactly give me?” Scaramouche shrugs, his snarky at this returning “I'm not saying, I might have to use it on you again.” You scoff playfully at his words.

“You fucking brat..”

an: day 23 of no pussy, i hated this fic actually 🤓🤓

#trans scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x male reader #power bottom #genshin x reader #genshin x you #scaramouche

163 notes · View notes

gorouinheat · 1 year

Text

I want scaramouche to peg me with his big purple strap on and have him leaking down the straps between his legs from the vibrator he shoved up his pussy. I’m foaming from the mouth please

#Scaramouche #trans scaramouche #i’m begging

48 notes · View notes

gorouinheat · 1 year

Text

AHHHH

whatever i want prince!scara x gn!knight!reader (masc leaning) royal au, pining, slight angst (jealousy, possessiveness), fluffy resolution, 4.4k words

he has never extended himself for what he wants. there is a person for every question. there is a chef to handle an exotic food craving, an advisor to schedule a luxury travel plan, a servant to send on a petty errand. each person is nameless and nothing is out of reach. there is no line between want and need.

his knight is a fixture, stuck to the rules and him like glue when scheduled to guard his bedroom door or the hall outside of his study or the garden gate when scara chooses to take a breath of fresh air. at first, they were like a fly – ever present even when waved away – but now, scara struggles to raise his hand to dismiss them.

there is a sensory experience he is seeking that he is not dextrous enough to catch between his fingers.

it starts with a mistake. scara is never allowed a private moment to himself. he is followed by the same ghosts that make his opulent lifestyle possible. and so, he retires to bed early only to take to the halls without chaperone. one night, while cutting corners to reach the kitchen for an early breakfast, he stumbles upon a cozy banquet hosted by the knights for one another. he finds himself peering between the cracked mahogany doors to watch the brazen few laugh amongst each other in the crackling fire’s glow.

they are close with one another. grins split across their faces as they throw arms around shoulders and thrust mugs of beer into hands.

as his eyes dance from person to person, he catches sight of a familiar face. his own personal guard with a look so unfamiliar to the prince decorating their face. they’re sitting off to the side, quiet as ever, but with a fondness written in their eyes accompanied by a matching smile that scara has never had the benefit of seeing before.

he watches as their eyes flick from person to person while gently tending to the fire. they drop the iron rod to steady a friend who stumbles too close to the flames, their capable hands wrapping around the other knight’s waist. scara feels the ghost of them around his own, but the difference is the nonchalance of their grip. his knight even squeezes their comrade close, teasing him for being so clumsy.

they would never do such a thing to their prince, would they?

they even tell a joke – eliciting rambunctious laughter from the small crowd and managing to tilt scara’s lips into a smile. he hides it behind his hand, embarrassed.

scara begins to imagine himself entwined in their comradery. instead of the disdain he expected to feel from lowering himself to their status, envy eats away at him like poison. frustration bubbles up his throat. he shouldn’t have to fantasize of intimacy – he has a monopoly on his knight’s time… he should be the closest one to them in the room.

he sighs the slightest of sighs, the sound lost in the chatter. scara stares.

and as if his knight had been aware of scara’s presence the entire time, their gaze flicks up to meet his.

his eyes widen and he sharply pulls away, slamming his back against the wall beside the door. his heart thunders in his chest and his cheeks flush red, but he can’t fathom the dramatics of his reaction. why does he feel as though he’s been caught misbehaving? he was the prince of their country.

but still, scara rockets down the hall from where he came, holing himself up in his chambers and praying that his knight will think the sight of scara in the crack of the doorway was just a trick of the flickering light. but as he readies himself for bed, with the promise that he would rise in just a few hours, the images of his knight shed of their stoicism repeat in his mind.

when he wakes up, the clarity of his memory has waned. their smile is distorted by the licking firelight and their laugh has dulled a decibel or two. he wants to see and to hear and to feel it again, and nothing he wants is out of reach.

so why are they out of reach?

while stable boys saddle their steeds, scara glances up from petting his horse to look at his knight. he watches, enraptured by the ease with which they weave playful banter between the servants.

“you’re much too small to properly saddle my mare,” his knight teases a young boy whose face scrunches up at the challenge, quickly pushing his older brother out of the way to take over preparing the horse for riding. a few more quips and the group of kids are falling over themselves with laughter, piling the knight with curious questions, and trying to get a closer look at their sword and armor.

despite not even knowing their name, the stable boys are crawling over his knight like they’re an older sibling. scara watches as they rally the boys and carefully unsheathe their sword, telling them the history following the blade. the bright-eyed kids crowd around the knight, begging to hold the handle or even touch the metal. scara holds back a smile as his knight waves them away, shaking their head.

“his majesty bestows the sword only to the most terrifying,” scara interjects with an attempt at sarcasm, “so don’t get too close…” his tone is too serious despite his intention to participate in the conversation, not end it. the boys disperse in fear.

his knight consoles him. “ah, i’m sorry, your highness. they didn’t understand your humor.” and although the words are kind, they’re distant.

he rolls his eyes, mounting his steed without another word. how, scara wonders, is one supposed to grow close with another? he grits his teeth.

“come here,” he orders, and they stride close. the two of them are in the library in the west wing. far from the bustle of servants or wandering nobles, they are wrapped in quiet. hidden between bookshelves as tall as buildings, each fortified with volumes upon volumes of books slotted together like bricks. the silence is interrupted only by scara’s page turning and accompanying hums.

his knight stands beside him, patiently awaiting orders. scara leans against a desk, tilting his head and letting his dress shirt slip down, hanging dangerously off his shoulder. “could you help me?” he asks, voice pitching lower.

“yes, your highness, what do you need?” his knight asks, impassive as stone. in fact, their eyes don’t even lift to meet his.

scara tries not to let the frustration show, but his self control is near nonexistent. “i am going to get the oldest publication of this philosophy anthology,” he says through gritted teeth, pointing to the very top of the bookshelf. the ceiling is seemingly miles away, and his knight opens their mouth to express concern, but scara is quicker. “it’s fine, just watch me,” he says,

his knight finds the wheeled ladder attached to the bookcase and pulls it to scara, taking a step back to watch the prince mount and climb. when he’s a third of the way up the ladder, he looks down to his knight. “oh no,” scara says, voice devoid of any emotion as he manually loosens his grip on the ladder, “i’m losing my balance.”

“sir, are you alright?” his knight calls up to him.

“i’m falling,” he calls down before letting go. he plummets directly into their waiting arms and stares up at them expectantly as if waiting for something. he’s swindled their touch – their strong hold carefully cradling him – yet he can’t swindle familiarity. he can’t manufacture ease. instead of teasing him… instead of even scolding him… they simply righten him on his feet and ask:

“would you like to try again, sire? or shall i?”

he frowns. “it’s the green book with golden binding,” he says, taking a seat at the desk. he lays his head down on his arms, staring up at his knight climbing the ladder up the bookcase and plotting how best the fill the gap between them.

the study is quiet. scara leans over the chaise for guidance when he needs help with a special stitch of his embroidery. his aunt nahida carefully instructs him where to prick his needle next. “is there something on your mind?” she asks when she catches his brows furrowed.

“i’m frustrated,” he admits almost immediately.

“with embroidering?” her voice tilts with curiosity.

“no…” scara says, looking up from his work. he looks up, then down, and then to nahida. “how did you do it?” scara asks. “how did… how did we become close? how did you manufacture comfort? why is it easy to speak with you?”

nahida blinks and puts a finger to her lips. she hums, thinking hard, intrigued by his question. “i’m not sure,” she admits. “shouldn’t you be the one to answer those questions?” she asks. “why?”

scara’s face turns back to his stitching, but it does little to hide the way his cheeks flush. he doesn’t answer.

“is there someone you want to be close to?” nahida asks.

“yes,” scara admits quietly.

“do i know them?” she prompts gently.

“yes,” he answers again, thread and needle working vigorously as his anxiousness builds.

“can i ask who they are?”

“no,” scara almost squeaks. “isn’t it enough to know that there is someone?”

“oh, well, okay,” nahida says, putting a finger to her lips. “why do you feel comfortable talking to me?”

scara looks up, red in the face. he bites his lip, thinking hard. “you’re persistent,” he says carefully… just halfway to an insult. “you listen to me…” he continues. “remember things i tell you… ask me questions… and i feel like i want to tell you more and more.”

he looks to nahida to see her smiling giddily behind her hand and his face sours. “this is just an ego trip for you.”

“no!” she bursts, “i’m just happy… to know how you feel.”

his eyes widen a little bit and a puzzle piece snaps into place. he sighs before letting a fond smile turn his lips as he looks away. “shut up,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t mean it. she giggles, sitting closer to him on the chaise and fixing his hair with affection reserved for family.

it’s morning. his eyes still haven’t adjusted to the bright rays shining through the windows of the dining hall. he squints at his plate, pushing the fresh fruit around with his fork and growing more irate by the second as his advisor flips through the details of his schedule, reminding him of his lack of autonomy.

“and finally, a gift in honor for your stellar performance in our diplomacy lessons,” he drones on, “we do not meet for our evening class tonight.”

“yeah, yeah,” scara waves him away before the words register. “wait, we don’t?”

“no, i’m giving you the hours to rest… or to get up to whatever mischief. please don’t implicate me in your plans. i’d rather not be scolded by her majesty for my decision to give you this freedom.”

“she doesn’t care,” scara slights, rolling his eyes. his advisor is jaded, excusing himself without a word for the prince’s disrespect of the throne. scara leaves his half-eaten plate behind and makes his way to the door, his eyes flicking up to the knight waiting at the threshold for him. to think there was a time he never glanced, looked. stared… – he catches himself, turning his face quickly to hide the heat painting him pink all over again.

and his conversation with nahida lingers in the back of his mind, growing closer as he approaches until it’s front and center. words he didn’t even know he wanted to say inch up his throat and before he could even process them himself, his mouth opens and they come falling out. “during my free hour you will practice piano with me,” he blurts.

his knight tilts their head curiously before giving him an uncertain nod.

ah, it came out as an order… not an invitation. scara shuts his eyes tight and shakes his head. he tries again. “i-i mean… would you like to practice piano with me tonight?” the words are creaky like rusty hinges as he uses manners gone unseen since childhood. he acts in his etiquette classes, of course. this is real.

“i accompany you everywhere, sire,” they say as if the prince has forgotten.

scara’s mouth clamps shut and he looks away, defeated. “i-i know that,” he says, biting his lip. “whatever,” he snaps, storming off into the hall, his knight trailing behind like a puppy.

when the final lesson of his day comes to a close, his wrists are sore from the articles he’d written and his eyes are strained from deciphering various diplomats’ awful lettering. piano seems like a terrible idea.

“are you headed to the study now, then?” his knight asks from behind him. he jumps from the sudden sound of their voice and turns around in his chair.

“i’m not sure,” he answers timidly. “i think…” he doesn’t want to say it. it feels like a secret, like if he reveals where he wants to go and what he wants to do it will reveal what he wants from his knight. what do i want? he asks himself. “i am going to the greenhouse instead,” he says. he’s lying. he wants to go to the field adjacent to the greenhouse. he’s going to grab a picnic blanket and a basket from one of the closets in the kitchen.

the knight doesn’t question him. they never do. a part of him wishes they would… especially as he rifles through the walk-in pantry, disappearing into the cellar and hoisting himself up metal racks without explanation.

as they enter the garden, the cool night air helps the tense heat in his body loosen and dissipate. he turns around, holding his knight in place with his sharp gaze. “are you not going to ask me anything?”

their response is obedient. “what should i ask?”

he frowns and spins around, taking bigger steps towards the field.

when they arrive, the grass is dewy. the shine of the moonlight reflects off the droplets like jewelry. it’s quiet, with only the sound of a lonely owl and the wind pulling at the tops of the trees surrounding the clearing.

and although they try to help, scara angrily pushes his guard away as he sets up the blanket himself. in the basket he’d hastily prepared is a bottle of finely aged wine and two glasses wrapped in cloth.

“d-do you want me to pour you a drink?” scara asks, already having taken a seat. he stares up at his knight who stands a few steps away from the edge of the blanket. ever vigilant, their eyes are turned to the edge of the forest as if expecting an ambush.

“shouldn’t i keep watch, your majesty?” they ask with the same tilt of their head as earlier. his heart squeezes up in his chest. this won’t do.

he remembers nahida’s giddy smile in the wake of his honesty. “i wanted to spend time with you,” he admits, voice small. anyone could have missed it in the wind.

and with the same swiftness as if they had been commanded, his guard takes a seat across from him. scara feels rewarded.

the gaze they turn to him is at an intensity he has never prepared for. he feels like he’s being dissected. filled with nervous energy, scara keeps his hands busy with uncorking the dark red bottle.

the silence eats away at him, eyes shifting all over as he sets up the frosted glass on the linen blanket. he pours them a drink. “only one,” they say, taking it. “i’ve never been served by royalty. it feels blasphemous, in a way.”

scara’s mind goes haywire trying to find the right question to ask to foster a proper conversation. it’s as if every etiquette class he managed to attend has been wiped from his memory. “do you drink often?” he finally asks.

his knight contemplates after their sip. “no… only with friends,” they say.

“it seems like fun,” scara responds.

the knight hums. “what, does?” they ask. “drinking with friends?”

“yes,” scara says, thinking back to the night he spied them in the small crowd of cozy comradery by the fireplace… until he realizes his knight is giving him a knowing smile.

“you can join next time,” they say softly.

scara feels his heart thump a little harder. he looks away from their face, spending his focus elsewhere and letting the taste of bittersweet wine flood his tongue. “i think i might scare them with my presence if i interject,” he manages.

“maybe the first time,” his knight agrees. scara’s shoulders tense. “i’m sure the second time, though, a brave few would extend a mug,” they say, grabbing the wine bottle. “and the third, they might even pour you a drink.”

as if to prove their point, they pour more wine into his cup. he takes a huge gulp in his nervousness. his knight laughs. scara smiles against his glass.

“i don’t think you’re scary,” they admit into the cool night air. the sentiment slips into scara’s heart.

he rolls around in his bed, unable to sleep. a week had passed since the night sky and the picnic blanket and the wine and his guard and they’re friends and apparently always have been and if that was his goal…

friends? scara asks himself. he feels greedy.

he groans, burying his face into his pillow and kicking his feet. he rolls over and over and over until he’s reached the other side of the bed. finding the moon through his window, scara frowns, pushing himself up and tossing his legs over the side of the mattress. if he can’t sleep, he might as well take to the halls.

the castle is quiet except for the occasional jangle of a lamplight in a patrolling guard’s hand. he dips between halls, hiding behind heavy window drapes and slipping into empty closets. he keeps his body as occupied as his mind with the one-sided dance of getting from one wing to the other undetected.

he has no objective other than to tire himself, flitting from room to room like a moth. he runs his finger down dusty bookcases, breathes on windows till he can draw shapes into the glass, and rearranges decorations to keep the ghost stories circulating among the maids.

he finds himself near the barracks as if it were the light he was drawn to.

steps sound in his direction – another patrol – and he reaches for the nearest door handle, hastily disappearing into a room he’s never been in before. he looks around, eyes adjusting to the low light. a small bed and plain canopy take up most of the space… a guest bedroom for visiting servants. he doesn’t seem to be alone this time, though, if the lamplight in the far corner of the room is anything to go by.

but the sight in the burgundy armchair beside it makes his stomach plummet to the ground.

“your majesty?” his knight asks in shock, the words smushing together in a rushed jumble. there is a girl in their lap.

scara stares with wide eyes as the woman scrambles out of her… seat… to bow over and over, apologies spilling from her mouth. he ignores every word. she’s still too close to them, scara thinks. “get out,” he whispers.

she falls silent, meeting his gaze. “get out,” he says a little louder. she looks at the door and points at herself in confusion. “are you stupid?” scara asks, tone scathing. “get out,” he repeats.

he feels satisfaction at the fear in her face, dashing past him and through the door in a scramble. it slams closed behind her. why am i so angry? scara thinks, clenching his fists.

“and me?” his knight asks from the chair. “my punishment for my unprofessionalism?”

scara feels something stinging the back of his eyes when he looks at them. “s-shut up,” he barks. “i’m thinking.”

“of?”

his jaw clenches and there’s a fire in his eyes as he asks: “why would you let her touch you?”

it’s so unfair, he thinks.

“w-wh… sire, what do you mean?” they ask gently.

“what did she do to deserve it?” scara feels tears welling up in his eyes and he’s mortified by the strength of his emotions, inundated by waves of heat rolling through his limbs. a pit opens up in his stomach as tears begin to drip. “tell me,” he demands, striding over and looming ominously.

“s-sorry… what?” his knight asks, sitting up in their seat.

scara pushes them back down into the armchair, feeling his heart flutter as his eyes comb over every detail of their face softened by the glow of the moonlight through the window. “i’m being very clear,” he says, managing to regain the edge to his voice.

they go limp, letting scara dig his fingers into their shoulders and hold them down. “are you asking how we got into that… situation?”

“yes,” scara says. “what did she do?” he asks, stressing every word of his question.

“u-um, well,” they begin, a little embarrassed. “we talked… it was a bit of flirting… first–

“you look beautiful in the moonlight tonight,” he practically shouts, cutting them off. the compliment loses its meaning entirely through its awkward, manufactured delivery. “now you to me,” he commands.

and the tension shatters as his knight’s eyes widen, jaw slackening in shock. the prince is so… awkward. it takes everything in them not to laugh in his face.

“is his highness… jealous?” they ask softly, lips curving into a smile.

“no!” scara bursts, face flushed red. he bites his lip, grabbing the arm rests of the chair and hoisting himself into the seat, straddling his knight’s lap. “i-i can have anything i want,” he says, and yet he nervously searches the knight’s face for any signs of discomfort.

how painfully endearing.

they encourage him. “she held my face,” they say. scara takes his two shaking hands and harshly cups his knight’s face, chest rising and falling with quick breaths. “she…” they trail off before biting the inside of their cheek. “she told me how she felt.”

scara pales.

he pulls his hands away and wipes his tears with the sleeves of his nightgown. the sound of the ocean in his ears calms to the silence of a still pond. he swallows hard. “i want you close to me. i want you to be closest with me,” he says, voice just above a whisper.

and his knight sits with his confession for a moment, studying his eyes and the teardrops that had caught in his lashes like watery diamonds. the tip of his nose is red and he keeps sniffling, wiping at his face and looking away like he can’t bear to meet their gaze. it seems almost silly – the prince in a fuss.

“only if you’ll be close to me,” they say, hands finding scara’s waist. “closest with me.”

scara’s breath catches in his throat. “are you serious?” he asks.

“lying would be against my oath,” they say.

“did you say that to her?” scara asks, frowning.

“nope,” they say, having to defend themselves like an unfaithful lover. “i’m not even entirely sure what her name is.”

“then why did you let her touch you?” he asks, eyeing them down suspiciously.

“because i didn’t know at the time that i belonged to the prince,” they say, grinning. “it’s news to me, haven’t you realized?”

scara blushes. “as the prince, i command you to never… do that again with anyone,” he says, lip curling in disgust as he thinks of the maid touching what’s supposed to be his, “anyone but me,” he breathes.

“you know,” his knight laughs. “you could command me as yourself,” they say.

scara’s heart stutters like his tongue as he mutters “s-shut up.” he pinches their cheeks hard enough to make them wince.

“what now?” they ask coyly and scara becomes hyper aware of where he sits, nothing but the thin sheet of silk of his nightgown separating him from his knight. he almost falls backwards as he stands up, putting a bit of distance between them.

it’s as if the sheer dramatics of his performance have finally caught up to him.

“i-i don’t know,” he admits. what does he do now that he has what he wants? he has to ask nahida. “i’m… i’m tired,” he lies, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“should i escort you to your chambers?” the knight asks, amused. scara backs away towards the door.

“i know how to get there by myself just fine,” he says, hand grasping for the door handle, “i live here.”

“goodnight, sire,” they say, leaning forward and propping their chin up with their hand, “take care.”

“yes, night, good,” he says, shutting the door behind him and taking a deep breath against the wall to calm himself only to realize he’s been caught in the light of a senior patrolling guard’s oil lamp. he’s escorted back to his room by his ear, cursing the entire way.

when he’s tucked away with the senior at his door to keep him inside for the few hours before the sun rises… his stomach is a mess of butterflies – he feels sick and shy with love. morning doves begin to coo in couples as if to remind him of his new other half.

his tutor leaves the two alone in the study and scara fills the silence when it grows too loud to ignore. “rid that smile from your face,” he blurts. his knight’s eyes have been burning holes into him the entire morning.

“i’m happy to see you,” they say.

and scara can’t help but smile in tandem, gaze glued to the documents piling his desk. he clears his throat. “my mother is hosting an upcoming ball, i know you’ve heard…” he trails off, “and perhaps… perhaps we can practice my waltz tonight?”

“of course, if it would make you feel prepared for the ball,” they say, committing to the act. they both knew it was an excuse to be near each other without a chaperone and they both knew they would be continuing to make excuses for a long time to come.

#ripping my heart out #and eating it #HES SO CUTE #scaramouche #my bae #scaramouche x reader

225 notes · View notes

gorouinheat · 1 year

Text

Apotheosis [ Wanderer x GN!Reader]

╭ ─┉─!! • !!─┉─ ╮

Tags : implied nsfw, crying (on Wanderer's part), angst with a bit of comfort, friends with benefits to maybe lovers

╰ ─┉─¡! • !¡─┉─ ╯

–

It was by virtue of the day’s bitterness that the two of you found yourselves in this position. Call it blowing off steam or a mutual yearning for the comfort of touch, though the Wanderer would never claim the latter, but you both needed it and you both needed it badly.

You and your travel companion stifled gasps and moans behind the thin curtain of the tent, still instinctively cautious with each other and the outside looking in despite the nearest civilization being a day’s travel away. His hands were planted on either side of your head, eyes usually dull with boredom or burning with hate now glowing faintly in the shroud of your shelter as his hips rocked in tandem with yours as if the friction and heat between you would burn away the emptiness, the cursed gnawing emptiness that threatened to creep back in. It helped, as much as he liked to think he was a god above the needs and pleasures that were so painfully human.

Your fingers brushed against his cheeks, cold like porcelain but soft and rapidly warming under your touch. His lips looked soft and painted with the pink of a cherry blossom, even when it was pressed in a thin line of irritation, and especially now parted with laboured breaths. He couldn’t answer why he made those noises, why he felt like he needed to breathe when you were in his arms. Everything about how he felt about you was an enigma that he picked at like a healing wound, splitting open and wondering at the ichor that bled forth. The Wanderer always loved how blood looked as much as he detested how it reminded him of mortality.

You can tell he was lost in his thoughts again, stuck in the warring memories of a version of himself that for all intents and purposes never existed. You slid a hand up to his hair and pulled him down to your level. He would have chewed you out for daring to handle him like that if it was not for how he was suddenly much more focused on how your lips felt against his, how they seemed to slot together in a way that was hot and messy and entirely too raw but something he felt like made his hollow chest feel a little less empty. His eyes closed and he pressed closer, aching for more, more warmth, more of you.

Your cheeks felt wet and it took a long moment to realize that they weren’t your tears.

—

Wanderer doesn’t mention it as the two of you get cleaned up at your respective corners of the tent, backs to each other as you both dressed back into your rumpled clothing. In the heat of the moment, it looked like your piles had gotten mixed up and his Vision laid pleasantly cool against your palm. You walked over to him as he absently tied the sashes of his robes and as he saw the Vision in your hand, his eyes went wide and he clasped his hand around it, and in the process around yours. His eyes don’t leave your hands and after a moment of lingering, he took it from your grip and clasped it back to his chest. The tension in his shoulders drained ever so slightly, though he still kept a hand over the shimmering Vision, futile in his attempt to keep the warmth of your hold from fading in the cold night. It was no match for how cold he seemed to treat you after all that. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, and it was hard to tell if it was you or the remnants of the astringent tea you tasted on his lips.

“I’m sorry.” You ended up saying, unable to think of anything else. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I know that wasn’t part of our… deal.”

Wanderer snorted and crossed his arms, refusing to meet your eyes. He was always easier to read than he would like to admit, and you could tell that somehow hurt him. “The audacity to say such a thing. To think I considered you less foolish than the common herd.”

“Kuni–”

“Forget it,” he snapped, eyes flashing in the dark for a completely different reason. “We both want to. You did something stupid and it’s obvious you regret it, so we can both pretend it never happened.”

“But I meant it.” You argue, “I wanted to, for a long time now. I just… I didn’t mean to hurt you because of it.”

His hand came up unconsciously, fingers brushing over where his face was wiped raw to get rid of those tears as soon as he was aware of them. Wanderer sneered and tightened his hand in a fist, anger in his eyes. “I don’t need your pity. That didn’t mean anything, and it doesn’t mean you get to treat me like I’m weak.”

You took his hands and for a moment, the tension under your touch made you think he would yank himself away once more, but an earnest look from you had him second-guessing. He looked away once more, his expression hard.

You recall a story shared between sips of bitter ice wine and the warmth of a campfire once upon a quiet night. Something about it made Wanderer looser with his words, and you learn of his past life. How he was born with the image of God and as he wept like any other babe, he was deemed too weak to house the glory of Eternity. How he shed tears of anger and betrayal as his friend broke his promise under no fault of his own, but of the cruelty of mortality and the fragility of life.

"It didn't bring him back." Wanderer murmured past the lip of the bottle, staring impassively into the fire. "Of course it didn't. All that crying has brought me nothing but broken promises and pain on my side alone."

In the present, he had that same rueful expression pointed anywhere but you. And in that moment, you understood why you saw that inkling of fear. That resigned pain.

You shifted your grip on his hands and gently intertwined your fingers, tightening carefully but firmly. Finally his gaze snapped to you.

"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, I promise." you murmured, feeling his fingers twitch as they warm under your heat. "Not until you want to get rid of me. And even then, I might fight back a little."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed and he grit his teeth, tears spilling down pale cheeks. "You… promise. You know what that means. If you break it, I'll… I'll kill you. I'll rip you to pieces and the world will forget that anyone with your name ever existed. You hear me?"

As you held him close, his grip tightened painfully, yet you couldn't bring yourself to do anything but squeeze him back just as hard. The promises made that night were kept safely tucked in the quiet twilight and in the morning, Wanderer jeered at you for sleeping in, but his grin was a little softer in his eyes.

#AWWW #my fav

95 notes · View notes