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lorelune · 10 months

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stone fruit

|| the wanderer x reader || M || strangers to lovers + handfeeding + fluff || wc: 5.6k || ao3 ||

You and the enigmatic Wanderer become acquainted with each other, an old story, and the best zaytun peaches.

minors & ageless blogs dni

note: the wanderer is referred to as Zerah

✨🍑meet fruit masterlist🍑✨

a/n: !!! here's my piece for the willow's house server summer collab, meet fruit!!! for my fruit prompt i had peaches!!! enjoy this sweet summer treat of wanderer and peaches loves 💕

CWs: hand feeding

“You’re obscene.”

“What?” You ask, wiping a smear of peach juice from the corner of your mouth. “It’s just ripe.”

Verging on overripe truthfully, but you aren’t one to argue about semantics (not your darshan) or discard an almost-perfectly-fine fruit, just because it has a few squishy imperfections on its flesh.

Your traveling companion scowls, pulling back his lip to look a lot more like an offended housecat than the right-hand of the Dendro archon. You swallow down your mouthful and hold back a laugh. You’re sure he could be intimidating if he tried, but he reminds you more of a stray kitten than anything else.

The hill you perch on is grassy, dry from the midday sun but vibrant green with the rain that sprayed down that morning from Apam Woods. You’d avoided the worst of it, and you didn’t mind being a bit damp. Your companion hid under that comically large-brimmed hat of his, perfectly dry. Probably a good thing, given his feline-leanings. You don’t need to learn the sound of his hissing.

He regards you with an expected scrutiny and thinly-veiled suspicion that you’ve learned he picks everyone apart with. Not even you, his fellow traveler for weeks now, is sparred. It took you some time to not take it personally. Lord Kusanali had warned you of his eccentricities, but she’d had confidence that you would be ‘more than fine’ managing him.

If she had been anyone other than the Archon of Wisdom, you would’ve questioned her judgment.

Your companion gives you a tight tsk, “That doesn’t change that you eat like a shroomboar.”

You gasp, “Rude. It’s just juicy, I can’t help it.”

You really can’t. The zaytun peach you’ve been cradling in your palm for the better part of a half-hour has been dripping juice down your wrist. You’ve tried to juggle it to your other hand and lick up what you could, but the noise he made when you sucked on your index finger was far more obscene than the mere display of eating fruit.

Even now, Zerah’s face is blushed with a pretty pink, just like your peach. Affected, despite his particularities and general disposition. Perhaps you’d toy with him more if you weren’t trying to enjoy your breakfast and the view of the towering, thick straight-trunked trees of the wood. You settle for another bite of fruit that gushes pulp and juice that stickies the corner of your lips.

Zerah huffs, rolling his eyes before pointedly looking away from you. Generally, he’s not childish, but he has moments like this where he’s bashful like a young girl.

You hide a laugh behind the remnants of your peach, held to your lips.

...

When Lord Kusanali assigned you and ‘Hat Guy’ together, to complete some private research on her behalf, you were more than shocked. You’d only recently returned back to the Akademiya following Azar’s fall (personally invited back, by the Lord herself) when you received a summons and an assignment.

‘Hat Guy’ was introduced to you as Lord Kusanali’s ‘friend’, but you could tell from the way he bristled at the description that it wasn’t entirely accurate. The Lord was all too happy to hand you both stuffed envelopes with her requests. Open-ended things, really. Nothing specific, more of a call to explore with explicit instructions to note what you find interesting. You and your new companion were both from Vahumana, though Lord Kusanali noted that you were certain to have very different perspectives.

(She wasn’t kidding.)

Your companion was neutrally nihilistic, and believed in the worst of people in most cases. It was shocking he studied within Vahumana and spent his energy writing theses on human nature when his thoughts tended to be so… defeatist.

It didn’t take you long to put together that Lord Kusanali’s ward is not human.

It’s not just his specific brand of pessimism that gives him around. You brushed your hand against his while walking and it was cold. It should’ve been hot and sticky with the rainforest drizzle, but instead it was cold and wet, like a ceramic glass beading condensation.

(He scowls when you touch him. Tells you to watch yourself. You are starting to understand why.)

He looks too perfect, you note after a while. His skin is devoid of imperfections, too smooth. Like it was manufactured and not grown cell by cell. He doesn’t tire, and rarely eats or sleeps. Most unsettling is that he can remain motionless for hours. You’ve only witnessed it, on the few nights you couldn’t sleep, and kept yourself entertained by watching the lack of breath in his chest and his rigid, unchanging posture through the night and rain.

Your companion fascinates you.

He seems... indifferent about you. Such indifference has been tempered down from annoyance, you think. You don’t think Zerah liked you much at all during the first weeks of your research. Perhaps some of that is his demeanor, and perhaps some of it is your own unfamiliarity with his quirks. You two didn’t know how to walk in step, and in those early days of your travels, your companion didn’t seem interested in learning your rhythm. You stumbled and struggled to keep up with his.

It’s on a single night, you think, that Zerah began to become intrigued with you.

...

“Hey, Zerah? Can you throw another log onto the fire?” You ask, peeling a root vegetable with a paring knife.

Begrudgingly, he tosses a log into the fire and then frowns, “Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“‘Zerah’.”

“Because Hat Guy certainly isn’t your real name, and it’s too goofy to fit you well,” You hum and toss the cubes into a simmering pot. “Figured you needed a name that suited you better.”

“And ‘Zerah’ does? That hardly sounds like a name.” He scowls at you as you stir.

“It is, promise.” You lick the spoon and grimace. Fishing into your bag, you pull forth a block of salt and a small grater on a keyring. “It’s a name from a storybook I used to read when I was little.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.” You stir in a few more tablespoons of black pepper. “It was one of several in an anthology my father purchased in the desert. It was falling apart when he got it, and disintegrated by the time I was old enough to do any proper digger about it.”

“I know plenty of old stories.” Your companion huffs as you spoon your dinner into two bowls. “I don’t know any with that name.”

“Would you like me to enlighten you, then?” You hand him a bowl and collapsible spoon with a raised eyebrow.

He takes the bowl and glares. So, yes.

“It was this story about a little boy born into a dark world, full of sand and dunes.” You remember the illustrations vividly. Worn, illuminated pages fit with four-pointed stars on the corners. “He was nameless, and so he asked the earth what his name should be, and it said to go out and look for his name.”

“So the little boy traveled his whole world— dark and scary and lonely as it was. He met friends and creatures who he asked to name him, but they all told him to keep looking. Eventually, he came to an oasis with a Heron wading in its center. The boy asked the heron, ‘What am I to be? What will I be named?’ and the Heron said ‘You must ask the sun, it will know your name.’”

“But, there was no sun. So the little boy had to go even further, upwards, until the world turned upside down, and turned right-side up again. There, he found the sun, brighter and more luminous than anything he’d ever seen, and asked it what his name should be. And the sun said, ‘You have traveled the world over for a name, yet you are only beginning.’ The sun took letters the little boy taught him and gave him the name ‘Zerah’, which the sun said is the sound the world makes every morning with dawn.”

“... That’s abstract.” Zerah huffs, and ignores the very delicious bowl of curry in his hands. “And the name doesn’t sound like common. Or any other language I know of.”

“I’ve never been able to find anything on it.” You shrug. It’s not like you spent much time looking. “I figured it was some poor translation of an old Deshretini fable. Regardless, you’re Zerah.”

“... Like dawn.”

“Like dawn.” You nod. “Because you’re always staying up so late until the sun rises. Seriously, don’t you get tired? How does your skin stay so perfect, despite the lack of sleep?”

“You’re insufferable.” Zerah rolls his eyes with a growl. “Is that really your reasoning? How juvenile.”

“I think it’s perfectly acceptable.” You speak around a mouthful. “If it bothers you, I’ll call you Hat Guy, Hat Guy.”

Your companion stares at you, then laughs under his breath and a click of his tongue. “It’s fine.”

“So I can—”

“It’s fine— I’m going to find more firewood.” There’s still a stack next to your camp ground, but before you can grill him more, he’s gone, hovering up over a ridge and out of sight.

Zerah didn’t touch his dinner.

...

It’s another day, later. Sumeru doesn’t have much for seasons, especially as you near the Wall of Samiel and the desert’s sand and heat creep into Sumeru’s jungle. You and Zerah wander over a ridge while you munch on a dried slice of Harra fruit. It’s bitter, puckering your mouth and making you salivate. You wipe at the corner of your lip.

“You shouldn’t walk and eat.” Zerah says, pushing himself up and over a small ledge. He offers you his hand.

“Why’s that?” You ask, holding the fruit in your mouth and reach for him.

Zerah pulls you up, steadying you and then frowns. A smear of spit from your hand shines on him now. He looks disgusted, wiping it away on his shorts with a grimace.

“Choking hazard.” Your companion grabs you by the wrist. “Wash your damn hands. You’re sticky.”

“A necessary evil.” You shrug as Zerah leads you to a pond nearby. He kneels with you at the water's edge and stares. “A good fruit is worth it.”

“Is it really?” Zerah deadpans as you relent and rinse your hands in the crystalline blue water. You scrub at them with a flat stone you find in the silt and sand.

“Absolutely.” You respond matter-of-factly. You can feel Zerah’s scrutinizing glare. It dawns on you that, perhaps, he truly doesn’t know of such things. “... Have you ever had a perfectly ripe peach?”

“No.” Zerah curls his knees to his chest at the water’s edge. His bottom lip juts out cutely— pouting, almost. As close to such a thing as he would allow himself. “I don’t need to eat.”

“Well do you like eating?” You ask, shaking off the water from your hands and drying the excess with a wipe to your shoulders. You pointedly ignore the expression of mild disgust Zerah wears. “Have you ever enjoyed eating?”

“... I don’t need to answer you.”

“No, you don’t.” You frown. “But, I’d like it if you did. Come on now, don’t be so shy.”

Zerah almost growls at you. It’s cute. He’s so prickly. “I don’t hate eating, but I don’t enjoy it either.”

“What have you enjoyed eating?” You ask, turning to him. “Do you have a favorite dish?”

That makes him pause. He opens his pretty, petal lips, then closes them with a shake of his head. There’s a wistful look in his eye that stops you from prying at such things. Teasing is far different from poking at a past that you know is, perhaps, sensitive.

You don’t think before you act; you reach out a hand to wrap around his and squeeze. Trace your thumb against the too-smooth plane of his palm.

“Tell you what,” You flash him a smile. “Next chance we get, I’ll find us a ripe zaytun peach and I’ll show you how tasty they can be, okay?”

Zerah looks at you. Really looks at you. With his too-perfect skin wrinkling around his gem-cut eyes. He doesn’t like promises— you’ve put this together. Assurance rarely does anything but make him avoidant and hissy. What you’re handing to him now is something— something more tender than what you, as research partners, were assigned to share.

Your companion flexes his fingers in your grip, “... Fine.”

Something feels sticky in your chest— like honey and bee’s wax dripping between your ribs. It makes a sweet smile stretch across your face, one that raises a soft blush on Zerah’s face. He ducks under his hat, and drops your hand, grumbling something about your next destination.

Perhaps, you’re a bit smitten with him as you dash after him, half-skipping.

...

Zerah begins to stick to your side more than he used to.

You’re not sure he knows he is— but, he is. He walks a few paces closer, and sits at your side around the campfire each night, rather than across from you. Rather than hovering outside of your tent and tarp each night, he sits just inside, near your feet.

(You swear, once or twice, that he lays a hand over your ankle. Touches you before drawing away after just a moment.)

One night, Zerah lays down next to you, when you’re half asleep. A drizzle patters against the fabric of the tent as he curls next to you, not touching, but undeniably close. It’s almost unnerving— his lack of heat in this instance. He doesn’t shiver, despite the chill and humidity.

He lays his head on top of his folded hands, nose just inches from yours. You watch him with him with half-lidded eyes, and sleepily debate on whether or not to comment on his... seeking. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? A wanderer who isn’t quite human and doesn’t quite know himself, seeking something from you. Though he doesn’t know what.

You’re not sure either.

“‘Come here,” Your words slur and you lift up your blanket. It’s more than big enough for two. “It looks lonely out there.”

Zerah stiffens up, and scowls, but doesn’t move. “I don’t need a blanket.”

“Not relevant.” You answer, grip slipping. The rain and the darkness of the tent make you so, so sleepy. It doesn’t help that Zerah is so close, always smelling like damp earth and some perfume you can’t recognize.

“I’ll make you colder.” Zerah frowns. “I don’t produce heat under these circumstances.”

“... Not relevant.” You begin to doze off, clinging to wakefulness.

Zerah rolls his eyes, “Why would you want me that close anyways?”

That startles you. “... Because I like you? And I meant it, it looks lonesome without a blanket and a sleeping buddy.”

Zerah is looking at you. It’s piercing and almost violent. The aura of it wakes you up fully, along with the whirring of the air around his Vision. He looks angry, pushing himself up halfway in an instant, before caging you, arms on either side of you, bringing you both nose-to-nose.

Your heart hammers in your chest. You grab one of his wrists and your eyes go wide.

His breath is cold against your cheeks— lips.

“... Zerah?” You say, softly. His lip curls and his hand scrunches into a fist near your ear. The lines of his throat bob with a swallow, and you itch with the urge to bring him closer. Offer him something more than just a blanket and some body heat.

(But, you are dealing with a stray cat after all. It must come to you.)

“You’re... you’re something.” He says it like an accusation. It makes your head spin.

“Am I?” You huff, kicking him lightly. “I’m just trying to sleep and offer you a kindness.”

“Sure.” Zerah says, nearly good-natured and joking. He’s not naive, not at all— you sometimes forget this. Perhaps— perhaps he’s too knowing. The facade slips for a moment, and you see something flash in his eyes that you recognize—

Want.

It’s one you’ve never seen him wear. It makes something in your chest tighten and jolt like you’ve been struck by something electric and live.

You start to say his name, the name you gave him, but he’s already slipped lower. So quickly does he pull the blanket back to bully your legs open and lay between them. He tucks into you with his cheek over your collarbones, cold and smooth. He wraps his arms around your middle. Zerah feels lighter over your chest— or maybe just weighted wrong. Regardless, the move steals your breath, and you’re frozen as he settles on top of you.

He wraps the blanket over the two of you and tangles you together.

“Zerah—” You try to say something, anything.

“Your heart is pounding.” He says, crumbling the fabric of your nightshirt over your chest. “Calm down and go to sleep.”

“You really expect me to?” You laugh, cautiously brushing your hand over his shoulder blades. Zerah shudders.

“Yeah.” Zerah never lays down at night, never sleeps or rests like this. You feel too shocked to move, afraid that if you shift or stir too much, you’ll frighten him away.

Instead, you tentatively stroke a hand over his hair. It’s soft— perfectly silky and shiny. When you scratch behind his ear, his breath catches in the prettiest way. You savor the sound, thrumming on your insides. Zerah buries his nose in the hollow of your throat, the cold wash of his breath fanning over your skin.

“You’re silly.” You laugh, gasping when Zerah drags his nails down your sides. You jolt and squirm with it.

It’s a wonder how you ever fall asleep that night. It must be the motion of Zerah’s fingertips, rubbing over your ribs over your nightclothes. Maybe it’s the odd weight of him that presses over your chest. Perhaps it’s that you’ve become increasingly comfortable with your companion, and his recent proclivity for proximity is something you’ve come to welcome. Enjoy, even.

...

You find the perfect peach sometime later— in the lush valleys near Pardis Dhyai. Zerah is only a pace behind you, and you’ve taken his hand in your own during this part of the trek. His skin feels cool against your own, a blessing in Sumeru’s heat. You want more of him, but you’ll settle for his name, a promise, and the chill of his contact that he’s been giving you more frequently.

There’s a little market set up with wares from the villages of the jungle and the outposts of the desert, congregating by a stream. You both poke around at stalls for a while, side-by-side, never straying too far from one another.

When you do orbit beyond Zerah’s reach, he’s quick to snatch you back. He grumbles under his breath— “stay put” and pinches the skin of your wrist. When you yelp and bat at his shoulder, he only smiles— the smallest, tiniest thing that’s all for you. He pivots within the crowd, always keeping such a particular amount of distance between him and the next person. It’s intentional; when someone brushes to close, Zerah flinches like he’s been burned.

Not you, though. Never you anymore.

It makes you giddy.

There’s a fruit vendor on the outer edge of the market. The stall is overflowing with produce from across Teyvat— though the best of it is all Sumeru’s local specialties. There’s a box with beautifully stacked zaytun peaches, perfectly pink and swollen. Ripe with the heat, and still green and lively near where it once grew from its stem. You inspect them carefully, Zerah hovering near your back. The shade from his hat slants enough to keep you cool.

You pick out a handful of them, one by one. Four in total. Enough to snack on for the next few days. The merchant kindly bundles them for you in beeswax wrap and twine and hands them to you with a smile. Zerah bristles behind you and lays a hand on your lower back. If he really was a stray cat, he’d be hissing. Maybe scratching.

You cow him with a gentle smile before passing the merchant a few coins, throwing in a bouquet of beautiful Sumeru roses and cecilia, all the way from Mondstadt. How could you pass up such a beautiful arrangement? You hand the flowers to Zerah, who fumbles them for a moment before cradling them in the crook of his arm. There’s a flush on his cheek— rosy and pretty.

“We’ve found them.” You tell him as you practically drag him from the market into the meadows beyond, deeper into the jungle. “These are perfect.”

“... The peaches?”

“The peaches.” You blop down on a stump and begin to unfurl the wrapping. “Look how pretty they are— and just ripe enough.”

You poke around in your bag for a knife as Zerah settles next to you. He minces for a beat before you lean into his side.

He stills.

You unsheath your small paring knife, brushing it flat against the fabric of your trousers to clean it. Zerah watches you with rapt attention as you examine each peach until you find the most perfect of the bunch. Pink like an early sunset, with just a bit of give when you squeeze it. You gently pull off the leaves at the top and discard them.

“... You really got the peaches,” says Zerah with an exhale. His shoulders are drawn up.

“Of course I did.” You laugh and knock your head into his bicep. “I’ve been looking since I promised you. Just took a while to find the best ones.”

Zerah makes a noise, something between a grunt and a whine; it’s one you’ve never heard him make. (He’s— he’s been making more of these little noises lately. The other day he actually whimpered while you were detangling his hair with your fingers.) Half a growl even maybe— like a stray who doesn’t know whether to bite your hand or lick it clean.

You feel woozy with it.

Maybe your companion has been getting under your skin more. Vulnerability is a hell of a thing, and receiving any of it from someone as drawn up and closed off as Zerah is an intoxicant in and of itself. The little glimpses of him you’ve come to covet, revel in— catalog and keep. Your research for Lord Kusanali is paramount, yes, but you find it far easier these days to moon over your companion— regardless of whether or not he knows.

“You there?” Zerah asks, taking the paring knife from your hand, then the peach. He cradles it in his palm.

“Y-Yeah, I’m here,” You laugh, shaking your head. You’re lying.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Zerah says and it sounds like he’s pouting. “Tell me how to cut this.”

“Sure,” You respond; you feel like you’re dreaming. It must be the heat getting to you. “There’s a pit, you have to cut around it.”

Zerah digs the blade in. Juice squirts from the incision, stickying his fingers. He frowns, grimacing, “Like this?”

“Just like that.” You don’t mean to sound breathless, but you do anyway. You smoosh your cheek into his bicep.

“You’re being weird.” Zerah snaps, but the bite of his words doesn’t reach you.

You lean closer to him, a smile curling your lips. You feel mischievous, you want to get under his skin— he’s gotten better at holding his own against you, rather than running he tends to contend with you. You can’t ruffle him like you used to, which is truly tragic. Wretched, even.

“Am I?”

Zerah rolls his eyes, huffs, but he can’t hide the flush that’s traveling from his cheeks to his neck. He doesn’t push you away. If anything— he leers closer. He’s combative with you, he always has been, but this feels different. He’s not sparring with you, he’s not running off when you take a joke too far or rib him too close.

He’s retaining proximity, and handing you a slice of the peach.

“Is this right?” Zerah asks as he passes it to you. It’s— it’s juicy, and drips down in between your fingers.

You eat the piece whole and nod, turning away. Your stomach is in knots— it’s almost unpleasant.

“You don’t look like you enjoyed that.”

“I did—” You lie, then tell a truth. “I’ll be honest, it’s not really what I’m focused on. I want to know what you think about it.”

Zerah’s grip tightens around the peach, bruisingly. The flesh gives way around his hand, and you jolt to try and save it.

Zerah jerks it out of the way with a scowl, but keeps his face close to you. Nose-to-nose. Cold breath washing over your lips.

“... Why are you so invested in me eating a stupid peach?” He asks with a lilt in his voice you’ve never heard him use before.

“Because they’re tasty.” You lunge for the peach again, and Zerah pulls it out of the way. “You should enjoy something that tastes good and makes you feel that way.”

You hike yourself up on the stump, on one knee, and stretch to try and grab the fruit from him. The peach bursts with the pressure of his grip, pink flesh spilling from between his fingers. Liquid nectar slicking his palm, trailing down his wrist.

Zerah frowns down at you— you’re sprawled out across his lap— you— you must look obscene.

His cheeks are so red. There’s heat coming from his— chest. Lower abdomen, but only there. You can feel it against his side, feel the thump and whirring of parts that are surely not entirely human.

“Why do you care if I care, Zerah?” A grin curls across your face when you say it.

“Shut up.”

“But, Zerah—”

He’s shaking. Trembling. He tears a chunk of peach from the mess in his hand, intact enough to not fall apart when he shoves it against your lips. He presses, pushes— all you can smell is ripe, sweet fruit and that perfume he always carries with him. You almost kick your feet.

You open your lips, just barely— enough for Zerah to push the morsel inside, and for you to give the lightest suck to his fingers when they withdraw away.

If Zerah were human, he’d be panting. You are.

“Is this fun for you?” He asks, voice sharp. He rips another piece of fruit and repeats, not giving you the time or the space to get a word in.

You’re not sure what response you’d give him, if you could. Fun, isn’t quite the right word. It’s diminutive, perhaps derogatory to him in some way. You feel nothing less than adoring. You’re basking in the attention he gives you, in the quiet but entirely mutual aware of the feeling that’s metastasized from begrudging research partner to this.

Zerah feeds you like that for long enough for your limbs to grow heavy. The chunks he’s tearing out of the peach are getting smaller (like he’s savoring this too, lengthening whatever this exchange is by drawing out the length of time that he can feed you this single peach). They’re more messy.

Juice and pulp coat around your lips. You feel sticky— you’ll need a bath after this. Or at least to wash your face. Zerah’s armguards glisten with the sap they’ve soaked up. He’ll need washing up too.

“Wait—” You catch him by the wrist and force yourself. “You haven’t had any, have you?”

“No.” Zerah swipes over your lips with his thumb. “You’re filthy.”

“It’s your fault,” You lean closer, crawling into his lap.

He stiffens.

For a moment, you think you’ve gone too far. Perhaps the line for him is at ‘lap sitting’ and not at ‘hand-feeding fruit’, and you’ve misjudged the situation. Is this exploratory for him? You don’t know enough about him to make confident assessments of his experience, but perhaps... Perhaps this business with the peaches was innocent. Perhaps the proximity you now have, settled in his lap with your hands on his shoulders, is passing something you hadn’t anticipated.

You’d only been close to cuddle for warmth, right? He only touched you out of a kindness or ease— perhaps a favor to be repaid. Sitting in his lap, sticky and panting—

Before you can backpedal, recant, disengage, Zerah wraps his peach-soaked fingers around your jaw and drags you to kiss him.

It shocks you; a little gasp slips from your lips that Zerah swallows in kind. His hand that was holding the last remnants of the peach and its pit slides along your waist, around your waist to drag you closer. He licks into your mouth and it becomes abundantly clear you panicked assessments were horribly wrong.

He licks the inside of your teeth, sucks on your tongue— it’s obscene. It’s messy, in a way that makes you bury your hands in his hair to tilt his head at a better angle. Bring him closer— hands still frigid but the center of abdomen feels scorching against your own.

You feel drunk when he pulls away, gasping and bracing yourself on his arms. Zerah’s exhales feel too-hot against the skin of your jaw as he drags his lips there, biting, as his nails rake down your sides.

“Is that really the most effective way to eat a peach?” You ask him.

Zerah pulls away, grabs your cheeks, and stares. When you try to speak, he tightens his grip so your lips squish together.

“Really?”

“It’s an honest question.” Your words are garbled.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but perhaps I make a fair point.” You fish to the side, within the discarded beeswax wrapping, and grab another peach. “I’m sure kissing me— pardon, ravishing me—”

“Shut up—” Zerah kisses you stupid and quiet again.

“You’re interrupting.” You speak through your headrush and hold a fresh, untouched peach in your palm. “As I was saying, I’m sure ravishing me as you have decided to isn’t the prime way to get a taste of this peach. Get it from the source.”

You hold the whole peach, squeeze it lightly, and take a chomp out of it. No knife required— not slicing, nothing pretty. Just flesh parting around teeth and the juice of it dripping down your chin and wetting your palm. You chew, swallow, and hold the untouched side to his lips. The fruit is sweet, so sweet— the flavor if it lingers on your tongue. You’re sure Zerah can smell. Even if he doesn’t need to breathe, you can feel his heavy inhales and exhales. Maybe his breath is where that smell of his comes from, like incense and crushed petals of a flower you can’t identify clearly.

His hand squeezes around your hip. Hard enough to bruise— harder, and it makes you remember your companion’s strength. He doesn’t have muscles that match with it quite right. It makes you forget.

You gasp when he tugs you closer and takes a bite from the peach, all the way down to the pit. His cheeks remain flushed, stained seemingly, as he chews, and swallows. You watch the bob of his throat as he does.

You’re entranced by him. It’s lovely to be so overt about it.

“... How did you like it?” Your voice sounds dreamy and half-there as his hands slide up and under your shirt.

He thinks for a moment— studying you. Palm skimming down your ribs, stopping to count them. You can feel him do so. The other presses fingertips over your lips, pushing inside your mouth to run over your teeth.

“It was good.” Zerah tugs the fruit from your hand and sets it aside. “I’ll have more of it later.”

“‘Weally?” You exclaim, around his fingers. He jabs the inside of your cheek and your squeal.

“Yes, really.” He sounds softer, for a moment. It makes something in your ache in the best way. “I understand why you wanted me to try it.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, then.” You goad him on. “Why?”

“You’re insatiable.” He groans, bouncing his leg and you subsequently. “Is this not enough?”

“It is ‘enough’,” You assure him (you want to eat him alive.) “Call me greedy, I suppose. I’ll take whatever you give me, Zerah.”

“Are you a glutton, then?”

“Only a scholar. Perhaps a foolish, lovesick one, but nonetheless.”

“... Lovesick?” Zerah’s voice trails, awed. His eyes shine as he grips a hand over his chest. He looks like he might throw up if he’s even capable of such a thing.

“Of course.” And sweetly, you press your sticky lips to his cheek. “I thought that much was obvious, I apologize.”

“Lovesick?” He repeats, this time more incredulous. “Don’t toy with me.”

“I promise, I’m not.” You want to reassure him. “Do you think I’m this shameless with everyone I meet?”

Zerah deadpans. You bat at his chest with a smile on your face that hurts, it’s so wide and full and carefree.

“I can’t be sure.” He huffs.

“Zerah—”

You gave him that name. He lets you use it. That should speak volumes, but perhaps you’ve been negligent to what that means, how he thinks of you. Perhaps you should’ve realized, earlier, what his increased proximity has been communicating to you now.

Fools, both you. Both learning the steps, the lay of the land, just as the Lord of Dendro requested of you. Perhaps not for Sumeru’s changing, cleansed, landscapes, but for each other. An outcast and an inhuman stray.

You kiss him again, just as he leans closer to give you the same, grabbing at the cloth over your heart.

#lore writes #the wanderer x reader #wanderer x reader #wanderer reader insert #the wanderer x you #wanderer x you #genshin impact x reader

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yanyanfeii · 1 year

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A Recollection of Memories

CW: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 3.3 ARCHON QUEST!!!, angst, hurt/comfort, nb reader x scaramouche/wanderer

synopsis: clinging onto the only thing familiar, the only living part of his horrific past

a dam broke, memories flowed through his mind violently, clashing against one another. his head throbbed in agony, his lungs felt empty as he gasped begging for relief.

choking up, tears pooled in eyes, clouding his violet irises. he yelled out in pain, voice raw laced with pure anguish.

you watched in fear and horror as the man fell to his knees against the tile, head hanging low, body shaking. you couldn’t begin to imagine the pain that coursed through his body, plagued his mind.

he thrashed and cried out. you couldn’t take it any longer moving closer to him, kneeling down to observe him closer.

you were the only thing familiar to him. the only constant throughout his pathetic life. the duels with you, the run ins, and even now. everyone else forgot, he had made them forget, but you, you remembered.

you brought him back to himself, you sought him out and helped him uncover the truth. in all the pain and torture he felt he craved nothing more than the warmth of a human being. the gentle touch, comforting words he never was never blessed with. a heart he always yearned for.

his eyes shot open, focusing on the distorted figure in front of him. his face was pale, eyes widened, swelling with tears. his slim hands stretched out towards you, quivering as he seized the fabric of your outfit, grasping it tightly between his fingers.

with all the strength left, he tugged at your sleeve, looking up into your e/c hues. “please…” his voice cracks, eyes pleading you to bless him with relief. your heart beats faster, thrumming in your chest as you abruptly pull him against you.

he closes his eyes in relief, a small sigh escaping his lips. his head rests on your chest, arms constricting around you, fingers desperately clutching the fabric of your clothing.

you can feel the gentle quivers of his body against you. hear the shallow breathes, and feel the tears seep onto your chest. your hand reaches up, placing atop his head. your fingers gently thread through his indigo hair, soothing his rapid breathes. “it’s okay, it’s okay.” you whisper like a broken record, over and over into his ear.

his grip stays tight, his face buried. you patiently hold him, reminding him that you are here, and you will not leave him. those words only provoke more tears. he sobs unbashfully, loud and broken. you wondered when was the last time he let himself be vulnerable. the last time he let himself feel.

“don’t leave me too…” he whispers, voice breaking. your heart aches. “i won’t leave you Kuni.” you can feel him tense under your hold at the use of his name. your hand finds its way to his back, rubbing small circles. like putty he melts back into you, laying against you.

the memories have all returned but his mind feels heavy. his body feels weak. he feels weak.

“what now?” his voice is hoarse and low, only loud enough for you to hear. “you get some rest.” you calmly state. he listens to the steady beat of your heart, it’s comforting. humans always were.

“and after that?” he questions, eyes closed, brain foggy with fatigue. “then we’ll see.” you smile softly, gaze lingering over his full lashes, the pink residing in the corners of his eyes. “okay.” he mumbles, letting sleep consume him.

do not repost ⓒ

your girl lost the 50/50 to jean, but $80 later he came home. archons bless teyvat 😭

#scaramouche genshin x reader #the wanderer #the wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #scaramouche headcanons

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herwritingartcowboy · 1 year

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Maid Scaramouche

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Character(s): Scaramouche (Kunikuzushi, The Wanderer)

Warning(s): Smut, Sub Male, Dom Reader, Pet Play

Readers Gender: Gn

p0_kii On Twitter

Sounds of slapping can be heard from your office as inside your maid was on all fours with you fucking him from behind.

"M-master! I need to-to" "Shhh, baby just enjoy this". You said as you pulled him up as his back was now against your chest.

"But remember who starred this with not wearing anything under this~", you said into your maids ear only for his body to get heated up again.

You rubbed at his sides wich causes him to whimper. "If you want it so bad beg" "Please master i need it so bad please" "Need what" "Your cock!".

And with that you turned your maid around holding up his legs as you wanted to watch his lewd reactions. You thrusted back in his small whole as he moaned out your name. You only covered his mouth as he started licking your fingers.

With you taking your fingers out you kissed his lips as his arms and legs wrapped around your body. As when you pulled away you saw his classic eyes rolled back tongue out lewd look. You ended up cuming inside him with just staying there not wanting your cum to leak out.

"Once you get up I need you to clean up the mess you make", Scaramouche only nodded as you fixed yourself up and walked out.

#genshin impact scaramouche x reader #sub character #subby boy #sub boy #sub genshin #sub genshin impact #maid scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #smut #kunikuzushi x reader #the wanderer x reader #sub scaramouche #dom reader

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writer-komaru · 1 year

Text

Hello! I have returned! (I mean I was always here I just haven’t been feeling motivated to write :p)

I write this after completing the newest boss battle in genshin and I am inconsolable. So don’t mind me as I self indulge just a bit. ^^ (Spoilers in tags)

Plot - giving scara a present (confession?)

Genre - fluff to comfort

Song - Eternity ♪ Final Fantasy (guitar cover)

“Follow me!”

“Don’t pull me around like I’m some sort of child! Where are you even taking me, Traveler?”

Scaramouche growled in annoyance. You held his hand tight on your own, running quickly through the dense forest. Despite his words of protest, he made no effort to pull his hand out of your grasp.

“You’ll see when we get there. It’s not much farther away.”

“Hmph.. this better be worth my time.”

After a few more seconds, light began to pour out from an opening ahead of you both. As you and scaramouche finally exited the forest, his eyes widened at the sight before him.

“So… what do you think?”

“It’s….”

The sight of the flower field around you was almost breathtaking. The vibrant colors shone brightly as the sunlight painted the land in a soft, warm glow. The tall lilac-tilted trees around the clearing gave the field a secluded feeling. It was like a small, private place just for the two of you.

“Traveling sure does have its perks, huh?”

You smiled warmly at him. He almost didn’t know what to say.

“I still don’t know why you took me here. Am I supposed to be impressed or something? I’ve seen many different types of environments in my lifetime.”

Your smile turned into a frown.

“Even after I took you all this way to show you something special to me, you still aren’t impressed. Ahh, my heart! It hurts!”

You fall down onto the comfy bed of flowers, clutching your chest dramatically. But, just as you suspected, Scaramouche ran over to you in a panic.

“Are you alright?! Are you hurt?”

He knelt down next to you and examined your body, trying to see if there was any sort of wound on you.

Even though he tried to see all big and bad, he still was such a softie sometimes.

“Hehehe, I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m just joking.”

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at you.

“Why would you joke about something like that?! What if something serious happened to you, huh? Would it still be a joke then?! Ugh… you’re so insufferable sometimes.”

“Yeah yeah…. Whatever you say, Scara.”

As scaramouche crossed his arms dramatically, pouting to himself, you decided it was finally time to prepare for the real reason you asked him to come here with you.

“I’ll be right back, I just need to get some stuff from the forest.”

The brisk fearful expression he gave before turning away again made you second guess yourself.

“Fine. Leave me for all I care.”

You signed, you should have been able to predict he would have reacted like that.

“You can come with me if you want, but it will only be a few minutes.”

Scaramouche paused to look at the ground before reluctantly taking your hand once more.

After walking through the flowers and finding a sturdy-looking tree, you took out a small knife from your back pocket. Scaramouche watched you in confusion as you began sawing off one of the limbs of the tree.

‘How inefficient.’

He mentally scoffed at you.

“Give me that.”

You gave him a confused look before handing him the knife. He approached the tree and with one swift, fluid motion, he sliced the tree limb right off with barely a single sound.

“Thank you, but you didn’t need to do all that.”

“Of course I did. You were barely even making any marks. We would have been here for hours if it wasn’t for me.”

“Hehe, we’ll then thank you for your contribution. Let’s head back now.”

Scaramouche watched you with a puzzled expression as you began to scrape the bark off of a small log you cut out of the branch. But any time your two made eye contact, he would just look away and scoff, saying something along the lines of,

“This is so pointless. Why do we even need to be out in the middle of nowhere if you just want to do some arts and crafts?”

You only chuckled in response.

This went on for hours before you were finally finished. After carving out the main shape, you gathered a few flowers and mixed it with some water in a stream nearby to add color to it.

“Finally you’re finished. Let’s get out of here so I can do something more worth my time-“

Before scaramouche could complete his sentence, you got up and sat down in front of him.

“Huh?”

“I bet you're wondering what this is. Well…”

You looked away out of nervousness, which made him groan.

“If you have something important to say, then spit it out.”

“Okay. Well, I’ve known you for a while now, and as time goes by, I feel like I’m learning more and more about you. And… I know this may not have any meaning to you since you see me as just a lowly worm, but I’m so deeply sorry about everything you’ve been through. I wish there was something I could have done back then, but I can't change the past. I can only change the future. And I want to make you a promise.”

You gently held out the object to Scaramouche, causing his eyes to widen in surprise.

“I want to promise you to always be there for you, even when it feels like you’re all alone. To always be there to support you when it feels like the world is turning against you. To always be there to comfort you when you feel as though you will always be alone. Because in reality, you won’t ever be alone anymore. I’ll make sure of it.”

“And, I know this isn’t really much, but I remember you told me about how you were trying to seek this out. So I made one for you. I… hope you like it.”

Scaramouche didn’t know what to say as you placed the wooden gnosis in his hands. This feeling…. This is the first time he has ever felt like this before. And before he knew it, he felt something begin to drip down from his cheeks, creating wet marks on his shorts. You gasped in surprise. You had never seen scaramouche cry ever in your whole time knowing him.

“Ah! I’m so sorry! Did I say something bad? Ah, I knew I shouldn’t have talked about your past.”

You mentally scolded yourself as you gently brushed your thumb over the corners of his eyes. All he could do was stare at you, still in shock.

“I….”

He looked away from you, clutching onto the gnosis tightly, as if scared it would dissolve in his grasp at any second.

His mind began to race.

Why were you so nice to him? Why is he crying? Why can’t he seem to let go of it even though he knows it’s fake? Why are you looking at him with such a soft yet worried expression? Why can’t he manage to say a single word?!

He forced himself to look back into your eyes. Your expression was so warm. It filled his cold, husk of a body up with feelings he’s never even known of before. For his whole life he has felt like a broken toy that’s been tossed away and forgotten, never to be loved ever again. But the more he hangs around you, the more he can feel himself growing to trust, even care for you. No matter how many times he tells himself he shouldn’t, that he will only get his heart broken again, he just can’t stop this feeling deep in his chest.

His shaky hand reached forward and grabbed the collar of your shirt, forcing you forward and into a tight hug. Your body stiffened from the sudden action.

“S-scara?”

“… thank you. Thank you for giving me hope.”

Extra:

“So….. you like the gift?”

You smirked at him as you both began to walk back towards the forest. He looked away out of embarrassment, scoffing at you.

“Like I should tell you, traveler.”

The whole trip back to your house he clung onto not only your hand but also the false gnosis.

Deep down, he always knew that he didn’t need a gnosis to feel complete. He always had you.

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khalixvitae · 7 months

Text

★ Birds of a Feather ★

The Wanderer x Reader | ~ 4k words

Warnings: The Wanderer is… the way he is- he’s just generally very antagonizing. Has absolutely no grasp on how to healthily interpret or express his own feelings; TL;DR he’s emotionally messy but it’s mostly internal. Gets very introspective, brief mentions of body horror (not intensely descriptive but it’s there). Gets a little suggestive at the end bc apparently I’m nothing if not existential and vaguely homoerotic. Vague worship??? Idk you can tell I have religious trauma.

Info: GN Reader who is also in Vahumana (specialty of study is not specified) has been recruited by Nahida to collaborate with the Wanderer. The reader knows Kaveh and is stated to be around his age. No physical descriptors used. Heavily inspired by his birthday letter from last year where he mentions his inability to connect with his peers but how he is admittedly kind of lonely/doesn’t believe he’s capable of connection.

——————————————————————————

Sumeru was a strange nation; nearly as strange as its archon. At least that’s what The Wanderer had decided over the course of his self imposed imprisonment. But in a competition of peculiarity, you’d always take the cake.

In all his years of traversing Teyvat, he’d amassed quite the collection of experiences and stories he liked to chew on until they lost their bite. Much like the bitter tea leaves he enjoyed so much, he’d sit and mull over whatever memory struck his fancy until it started to come apart at the seams. He’d steep in it over and over until it lost its taste- then he’d give that one a break and move on to the next, only to inevitably repeat the process again some other time. He knew it wasn’t productive, of course. But it was a not so guilty pleasure of his, one he intended to indulge in as long as it kept his interest. Nahida would have none of it though, much to his chagrin. She’d given him some shpiel about not spending all his time in his head, something or another about a “self affirming echo chamber leading to stagnation”. A valid criticism, sure, but he thought he deserved a little stagnation every once in a while! If anyone had experienced periods of dynamic and continuous change it was him. He had three iterations already, and he most certainly was not aiming for a fourth any time soon. He figured she’d let it go and let him continue on with his innocuous hobby, lest he be unleashed onto her citizens in any greater capacity than his academic pursuits.

Of course he should’ve known better than that.

When she called for him a few days later, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that she wasn’t alone. There you were, standing at her side as if it was the most natural thing for you to do. Immediately he had a sinking feeling.

When you introduced yourself it only worsened- great, you were going to be around enough for him to need to know your name? What was Nahida planning? You weren’t entirely unfamiliar- he was pretty sure you were also in the Vahumana Darshan. At the very least you were bright enough for him to vaguely recognize; that was more than could be said for most of his peers.

“They’re going to be accompanying you for a while,” Nahida told him simply, as if that one sentence didn’t obliterate his established day to day routine.

He cut his eyes at you, then the Dendro Archon. “Goodness, well. I had no idea my social performance was so abysmal that you’d try hiring friends for me.”

The tiny god just shook her head, hands on her hips. “Now don’t be like that. I just want you to get a different perspective on things. That includes Sumeru and its people at large.”

“Ah, so you’ve booked me a tour guide then.” He bit back, clearly uneasy with this direction Nahida’s lessons were taking.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to hear you laugh at his attempt to retaliate. As much as he wanted to snarl, he didn’t detect an ounce of pity or mockery in your tone. “I’m maybe the worst person you could’ve picked if that’s the case.” The way you met his gaze so easily was enough to make him nauseous.

“It’s not that either. I just think you two would get along well, that’s all.” Nahida still had the same soft expression, one he still couldn’t read but knew it meant trouble.

And so his new routine began. At first he tried to ignore you, but Nahida would have none of that. It didn’t take long before his avoidant tactics were worn down by her valid criticisms and patient lecturing, and soon he found himself in your company whether he wanted to be or not. His new problem, however, was that he was beginning to not mind the arrangement. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but as weeks turned into months of awkward conversation and biting sarcasm, he grew used to your presence. He had to admit that Nahida’s plan worked far too well. He hardly had the time or need for his little hobby.

There were logical reasons as to why he didn’t mind your presence, of course. You were wickedly smart (for a mortal, he told himself) and observant to a fault, and your brutal honesty was oddly refreshing. There was no pity or malice in the way you talked to him- he was just like everyone else for once, something he didn’t know he’d find so thrilling until you were lazily telling him to fuck off like anyone else who dared to disturb your work. You listened to him- even though you didn’t agree with his personal philosophy, he felt strangely validated by the way you’d think about it before refuting his arguments. And the way you made note of the things he liked and responded accordingly, like bringing him teas or research papers that you’d thought he’d enjoy, made him keenly aware of the fact that you did acknowledge him outside of your allotted time together. He didn’t cease to exist to you once he was out of sight- something he couldn’t quite wrap his head around. And yet there was something else that he enjoyed about you even more than any of those logical, reasonable attributes.

It was the way you handled him.

When he got mouthy, or went just a little too low, you had a way of putting him right back in his place. Whether it was an equally sharp remark back or a silent stare that made his spine tingle, you seemed to have no qualms with biting back. It was strangely exhilarating, and each time he found himself wanting you to do it again. Frequently he’d wind up intentionally pushing your buttons in the hopes that you’d respond. At times it was a destructive self defense mechanism, as if to try and push you away when you got just a little too under his skin, but sometimes it was something else. Something he’d never admit to a solitary soul, himself or otherwise. Sometimes, he did it to see if you’d get tired of him. He was sure you had an end to your patience, your companionship archon appointed or not. There was something that made his chest tighten when you’d return fire without fail. Not only that, but sometimes it felt like he needed you to handle him because he couldn’t handle himself.

You couldn’t physically overpower him if you tried, neither could anyone else really, but it wasn’t about that. It was the way you’d laugh at him when he said something meant to rub you the wrong way, as if it was so stupid it didn’t deserve a reaction. Or how you’d respond with something equally pointed, as if it was all one big game- and it was. It had become a conspiratory back and forth that put everyone around you on edge. Even Nahida would sometimes appear put off by your complicated dynamic- if there was one time she truly felt that she didn’t understand humans, it would be while watching you two go at each other as you combed through the respective materials you’d brought to exchange. Despite being downright verbally aggressive towards one another, your actions were the complete opposite. You’d show up with two drinks any time you expected to meet, even if he always undercut the gesture with some comment about transactions and ‘owing you’. He’d edit your work without warning, handing over a copy of your most recent piece with a vague wave of his hand as if he hadn’t stayed up all night reviewing it. It was a dance of sorts- neither of you could sufficiently say you trusted the other. How could you when you rarely made it a point to get personal? Even if you were to try, he wasn’t exactly keen on explaining a lifetime's worth of unbelievable events without proof. Besides, he was a wanderer, destined to pass through and eventually leave Sumeru. What point was there in cementing a bond that was already too sturdy for its own good? You saw him, or perhaps saw through him, and shouldn’t that be enough? Despite that, he sometimes found himself testing the waters. It was sort of an experiment- he wanted to see how far he could push it, how much you could really handle him for all he was worth.

When you invited him into your home for the first time, he knew you were just as curious.

Sitting there side by side in your living room, surrounded by research materials of all kinds, he felt that familiar itch to pester you overcome him. The way you’d methodically skimmed the same page for the past half hour was beginning to make him feel weirdly exposed.

“You’ve been reading that passage for a while,” he began, leaning in to get a better look at your face as you hunched over the manuscript.

“Mhm.”

“Ah, a response. I was beginning to think I’d finally bored you to death. But it looks like I’m not that lucky.”

“Mhm.”

“What’s got you so focused? I thought this passage was relatively straightforward. Maybe I just overestimated you,” he sighed rather dramatically.

You didn’t reply that time, his insult falling on deaf ears.

“If something like this is your limit, then perhaps I should find someone else to edit my work.”

Silence.

“Or I’ll just do it myself- it’s not like anyone else in Vahumana could do any better. I’d had hope for you, but I-“

You finally tore your gaze away from the papers in front of you, instead locking onto him. When you hissed his name- not his title but his name, the one he’d only recently acquired- he knew he’d finally get what he was so desperately seeking.

“You wanna know what has me so focused? Trying to make this publishable,” you snipped back.

When he laughed at your outburst you pressed forward. “The information is solid, but it’s full of jargon that most people would find hard to stomach. Syntactically you could do well with having the comma taken away from you until you learned to use it appropriately. It’s not used incorrectly per se, but archons, I’m begging you to use any other form of punctuation. A semicolon, even a dash, anything to create variation. When your sentences are all structured the same way, it makes for a dry read and wastes otherwise good writing. But the biggest problem is that all of this,” you took up your pen and bracketed roughly half the page. “This is purely conjecture, no matter how sound it may look. And while I personally enjoy your theoreticals about Inazuman political history, I cannot think of a single source to back some of these arguments. A hypothesis is not publishable unless presented as such, but the framework of your thesis hinges on these claims as proven fact. I could maybe swing it if it were possible to prove them in the future, but half of these don’t even meet that criteria. So yes, I’m stuck. I’ve been racking my brain for sources I could offer you for citations. And if you could give me just fifteen minutes of silence that do not involve you staring at me like there’s a countdown until you vivisect me on my coffee table, I might be able to get somewhere.”

He took a second to recover- he often needed to when you’d sink your teeth into him like that- before cocking his head at you with an absolutely infuriating grin. “Well I’ve published papers before with my so-called conjecture. Why is it a problem now? Last time I checked my ‘hypotheticals’ were called groundbreaking.”

“There’s a fine line between groundbreaking and unfounded. Look, if I had to believe anyone on this subject it’d be you. I can’t think of anybody else who could put together work like this. But if I’m editing, I want to actually fine tune it. Even if it’s passable at this stage, I know it can be better. Something this interesting should be perfected.”

“How flattering, I had no idea you were such a fan of my work. Even if it is a ‘dry read’. But fine, if you’re so inclined then go ahead. I don’t really care either way. At least give me something to do in the meantime.” He leaned in again to ensure he had your full and undivided attention. “And by the way, I wouldn’t vivisect you. That’s excessive even for me. I’d at least have the decency to kill you first before I went prodding around.”

When you met his gaze without hesitation, he felt that familiar prickle run along his spine.

“How sweet of you. Anyway, I don’t really have much for you to do. You’ve already finished editing my most recent arguments. If you want to go home I’m fine with that. I can give this to you tomorrow if so. If not, I’m happy to have company. I mean you could help yourself to my bookshelf, but other than that your options are limited.” You returned to the task at hand, combing over the text just as thoroughly as before.

Now it was his turn to look perplexed.

“Well that’s stupid. Then you’d be doing this for free.”

“I already do it for free,” you sighed, knowing exactly where he was going.

“You do it as a part of an exchange. If I didn’t do the same for you, it would be for free. And right now, your labor isn’t being reciprocated. So what exactly do you get out of this?”

“I don’t want anything in return. I’m doing this because I like your work, and because you’re you. I wouldn’t do it otherwise.”

“What, because Lesser Lord Kusanali says you have to?” He sat with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, far too motionless to resemble anything human. “More than that, you could get anybody to edit your work. You’re established enough. So why do you still agree to this?”

“Oh don’t be dense. You’re the only person I’d ever let near my research aside from the Dendro Archon herself. Anybody else would try to rip off my work or make a quick buck as a ‘ghost contributor’ or some other bullshit.” You still didn’t look up from his writing despite how candidly you spoke. “You see my work for what it is, and criticize it accordingly. You don’t want anything else from me, and I don’t want anything else from you. That’s what I get out of this. And yes I know that’s paradoxical, but you’re smart enough to know what I’m getting at.”

When you finally did look back at him he noticed just how exhausted you looked. He almost felt bad for pushing your buttons. Almost. Your answer had been… strangely enlightening. He’d never believed a net zero transaction between two people was possible, and yet if he took your words at face value that’s what he had. And so he needed to push it further.

“And what if I do want something from you? What then?” He half expected you to burst into tears, or at least kick him out. But you simply pinched the bridge of your nose, letting out a long sigh.

“Well, then I’ve got no idea what it is. It seems like the only thing you want is to drive me fucking insane.” There was no bite to your remark, only a kind of resignation. “Or maybe you just want me to talk to you. It’s gotta be lonely, being the most pompous asshole around.” You paused, leaning back against the cushions of your couch to stare at the ceiling tiles. “Maybe you’ve got a little crush on me or something.”

Now it was his turn to sigh. You’d never gone that direction with your taunting before. He figured he’d take the safest route out of whatever web you were building. “I could say the same for you, you know. Of course we both know better than that, so don’t trouble yourself with that train of thought. That pretty little head of yours is already at capacity as it is.” He tapped a finger on the manuscript you’d ceased editing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He realized you were looking right at him once more, clearly tired of his never ending vague statements.

“I mean it’s obvious you’d have eyes for somebody else.” He decided to drive his point home- he wanted to embarrass you away from the subject because now he felt quite exposed. You were right, of course. But that was unthinkable. All those years spent without genuine connection and now that he’d found it, something inside of him wanted to squander it for a chance at more? For a creature born without a heart, he sure was greedy. He wasn’t equipped to admit that to himself, much less to you. No way, he’d have to end the conversation and never let it resurface.

“You’re awfully close with that blonde from Kshahrewar. It wouldn’t surprise me if you two were… involved with one another. He’s a bit of a mess but- well, that makes it even more fitting.”

“Kaveh? Nah. I mean we’re close, but not like that. He’s got a lot going on that he needs to sort out before he tries dating anybody, especially me. It would never work.” You didn’t seem flustered, which made him even more uncomfortable than he was before.

“Oh? Too much baggage? I see.” Why did he feel a little wounded by that? He’d ignore it for the moment.

“No, I don’t think there’s such a thing. It’s more so how he chooses to deal with his problems- or really how he refuses to. We work through things differently. He makes a great friend, but we’re fundamentally different people when you get down to brass tacks.”

Why did you have to be so reasonable? It was getting on his nerves. “Really now? But don’t opposites attract? And he’s easy on the eyes, I’ll give him that. And he’s your age, right?”

“Gods, why don’t you date him then? Sounds like you’ve got a whole lot to say about him. I can even set you two up, my treat. And back up, what do you mean he’s ‘around my age’? So are you, I don’t see how that’s a differentiating factor. Unless you aren’t- how old are you anyway?” You fully faced him then, illuminated in the orangey glow of your desk lamp.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Older than the two of you, for certain.” He smiled placidly. “Anyway, he’s not my type. He’s too… kind. Being around him would make anybody feel awful. But again, you two-“

“Drop it already,” you cut him off decidedly. “It feels like you’re deflecting. If you’re going to fish for something, at least be direct.”

“I’m only pointing out the obvious. What, you think I’d tell him? I mean-“

“I said drop it. You’ve already beaten the subject to death and back, can you please just let it-“

“Make me.” The phrase had escaped him before he registered it. Something about seeing you so irritated with him made his pulse quicken. The look on your face was one he was well acquainted with- you were ready to bite back. There was a moment of pause, the two of you locked in a tense silence that filled every corner of the room.

“So that’s what you want. Huh.” He watched something in your eyes change as you mulled over your thoughts. In a second you were even closer- the image of a rishboland tiger crossed his mind for a moment. He began to wonder if he really had messed up this time, if he’d completely ruined your net zero relationship with such a silly little outburst, if you’d finally tell Nahida you were done and-

Your hands were so warm against his skin. How you murmured his name carried the same heat. “May I?” It was an odd question, but the way your fingers brushed any loose strands of hair away from his face had him nodding without a thought to the contrary. He wasn’t used to someone asking him for permission for anything- hell, he didn’t know what you were asking for. All the same, he knew he lwanted whatever you were offering.

The kiss that ensued was bruising. While he was accustomed to others being rough with him, something about this was different. When you brushed your thumbs over his cheekbones soothingly before carding through his choppy bangs, he felt nothing short of delight. You were handling him as you always did. For someone who didn’t need to breathe, he seemed to have the wind knocked out of him. After a short while he realized he’d grabbed onto your shoulders so tightly his fingertips ached- he had no idea when he’d taken hold of you, but you made no effort to pull away from his harsh grasp. His efforts at reciprocating were very clearly unpracticed, but by the gods did he ever have enthusiasm. He was all teeth and nails; he had no idea if he was even capable of gentleness after so many years. Even so he tried desperately, pulling at you, pushing you into him, doing everything in his power to convey just how badly he wanted whatever this was.

“Hey, hey. Relax. I’m right here. I’ve got you,” your words nearly made him keel over, each one spoken against his skin as you worked your way down the column of his throat. You treated him like he was something to be revered by virtue of his very existence. Is this what it felt like to be worshiped as a god? No, he knew better than that nowadays. This was something sweeter, even more devout- and he would’ve died right that second had you asked him to. “Is this alright?” Once again he nodded without hesitation, afraid that his voice might betray just how badly he needed you to keep going. He wanted to scream, to maintain his composure enough to insult you and save face, but any attempts at that were a lost cause.

When you sank your teeth into his skin he thought maybe he’d died already. Physical pain was an old acquaintance of his, a familiar companion he took a sort of sick comfort in. This time though the sensation had him teetering on an edge he’d never conceived of. You’d made quick work of his hat already, and with nothing left to hide behind he knew he had to look so pathetic. But you didn’t laugh at him; for all your previous sharp words and pointed jabs, in that moment you were so good to him it made him ache. It was humiliating. He wanted to hide, to crawl back into his own skin and recompose himself. Simultaneously he could only think of chasing after you for more.

You took your time marking along his neck, glancing up at him for silent permission before beginning each new bruise. He figured you had to be some variety of insane to want him this way (or in any way for that matter), but he couldn’t find the strength to tell you so. He felt weak, and for that he loathed you. At the same time he wished he could crack open his ribs and house you in the hollow space where his heart should’ve been. The way he ceaselessly pulled at you only made that more and more apparent. He wasn’t alone in his desire, though. Your methodical pace and mumbled string of praises told him that you may even agree to be enshrined within him- of course he’d never say so, instead resigning himself to breathless sighs and noises he’d only ever describe as pitiful.

When you finally backed off he attempted to chase after your touch. He was a mess and he knew it; with mussed hair and bruised lips, he looked every bit as weak as he felt but he couldn’t be bothered to care. He’d endure the humiliation of being perceived so long as you’d show him you wanted him.

“I have to finish editing your paper,” you murmured, brushing down the mess you’d made of his bangs.

“Wha- who cares about the paper?” It wasn’t as much of a quip as he’d intended, but it would have to suffice.

“I care about it. I want your work to do well. You deserve it.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound escaped.

“Give me that fifteen minutes, that’s all. Deal?”

For once, he couldn’t bring himself to argue with you.

——————————————————————————

So uh. Idk what happened here. I am unwell over him I will not lie. I’m currently stoned out of my mind enjoy this tho

Tag list: @v-anrouge @vtoriacore @phoneymedic @gum-gum-time @heatofmyexoheart (DM to be added or to be removed ! <3)

#khalix writes （＾＿＾）☆#the wanderer #genshin impact #genshin stuff #scaramouche #fics ! <3 #x reader #scaramouche x reader #the wanderer x reader #genshin x reader

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yourmom4640 · 5 months

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Falling in love with Scaramouche

In shadows deep, a puppet's grace,

Scaramouche, an enigmatic embrace.

His laughter, a puzzle, a melody untold,

In a quiet dance, his story unfolds.

Not in grand gestures or roses red,

Love blooms where shadows are led.

In the tapestry of his scars and strife,

I find beauty in the quiet of his life.

His gaze, a mystery, shadows in his eyes,

In the subtle moments, my heart ties.

An unconventional view,

Falling for Wanderer, in shadows true.

Through the echoes of betrayals he wears,

In the dance of shadows, my heart declares.

In nuances rare,

With Wanderer, a love beyond compare.

GUYS this is my first post here take it easy on me 🥺

Hope you enjoyed :) Maybe I should try writing a fic soon..

#scaramouche #the wanderer x reader #wanderer #poem #scaramouche x you

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whoistartaglia · 11 months

Text

genshin men and napping

including: childe, alhaitham, the wanderer, xiao, zhongli

childe

childe prefers the pass-out-for-twenty-minutes-and-go type of naps. it’s not the harbinger can’t take hours long naps, but power naps are childe’s go-to—even when he’s not currently working. sometimes, you don’t even know it happened until it’s over. childe will annouce something like he’ll be right back or needs to do something, and sometimes he’ll just go off, crash in the bedroom, and circle back less than a half hour later. the only sign he napped is his hair, slightly more messy than normal, and rumpled clothing.

the only time he’ll take slightly longing naps if he’s napping with you; then he can’t resist resting a few more minutes. you’ll lie down next to childe midway into his sleep, and curl yourself into his side. you fall asleep almost instantly, but wake not even ten minutes later.

“five more minutes,” you mutter, feeling childe stir next to you. “please?”

“fine. but only five,” the harbinger hums in response. (five, ten, fifteen, thirty minutes passes. childe’s still asleep, and so are you).

alhaitham

alhaitham is an accidental napper. his naps are often in various, uncomfortable positions: on his desk, the floor, his chair. everywhere except for his bed or the couch. you’ll hear light snoring from the hallway and fine the scholar in his office, dozing over a pile of papers, books, scrolls. you cringe at the slight drool at his lips and go to gently remove the documents when you boyfriend bolts upstraight.

“i’m awake!” alhaitham announces to no one in particular. he realizes its you and sighs slightly, resting back in his chair. “how long was i out?”

“not sure,” you reply, inspecting the documents for signs of drool. “if you’re tired, you could just take a normal nap like the rest of us.”

he considers, looks at his mess of a desk, the sunlight drifting in through tinted windows. it doesn’t take a scholar to know it’s the perfect afternoon for a nap.

alhaitham relents on the condition you take the nap with him, and less than five minutes later of moving onto the bed, you’re both out, snoring and drooling, together.

wanderer

wanderer does not officially take “naps.”

“they’re just shorter intervals of sleep when i’m feeling slightly tired,” he argued that one time you tried to call his rest bits “naps.” “they are not naps.”

you furrowed your brows but let you boyfriend convince himself of his delusions. the wanderer’s not-naps are about a half hour to forty-five minutes long. he doesn’t snore, doesn’t drool, doesn’t have nighmares nor dreams. it was simply sleep, a recharge of batteries.

he doesn’t annouce them, either. you’ll find him on the couch, eyes closed, breathing steady. when you come over he stirs, and you can tell he’s in that state of sleepiness and lucidity, mind fog and haze clouding his judgements and responses.

your lips quirk into a smile. “did you have a nice nap?”

“huh? yeah,” he says, blinking away sleep. a second later he realizes his mistake. “i was not napping—“ he cuts himself off, and sighs. he’s going to be living with this for a very long time, judging from the delight in your eyes.

xiao

xiao takes days long “naps.” for an adeptus, you guess it makes sense; his perception of time is much different from mortals. a couple days long nap for him is probably equivalent to a power nap. you don’t really want to know what the two or three hour equivalent is—a month? two? you’re used to now, though you freaked out the first time when xiao was still asleep after twelve hours.

you asked zhongli about it and the only response you got was a shrug and “mortals also take naps. it’s the same thing. he’ll wake up soon.” any protests that it was most definitely not the same were waved off.

when xiao did indeed wake a few days later, he was rather confused why you were leaning over him, eyes damp.

there was a lot of relieved crying and “you’re okay!” on your end and slight bewilderment on his.

“thanks, but, why wouldn’t i be okay?”

“you were out for like four days straight!”

“oh.” xiao is still confused. “a nice and short nap?” you kind of laugh-cry harder while xiao puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, still not quite sure what he’s supposed to be comforting, but doing it all the same.

zhongli

the mortal zhongli no longer takes days, weeks, months long naps, but a he’s held onto a peculiar habit of his. whenever he naps, he always seems to be surrounded by gold? jewels? other forms of treasure? you’ll walk past the bedroom and see him curled into ball. when you walk closer, you see fistfuls of mora, expensive gemstones, gold and silver, tucked next to him. your first thought is how?? did that get there?? especially considering you just paid the bill last night… but you kind of force yourself to shrug it off.

you have the idea it’s either the former god’s version of stuffed animals or a habit from his days presiding as a dragon. or both.

you decide to take a nap with zhongli to see how it appears, but almost a half an hour into sleeping with him, he still hasn’t. you poke your boyfriend awake and he stirs.

“what is it?” he asks, still sleepy.

“where’s the gold? mora?”

it takes a second for zhongli to realize what you’re talking about. he lets out a tired “oh,” and you think he might have fallen back asleep until he lets out a sleepy, “you. treasure. you are the treasure.”

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angelltheninth · 9 months

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PLEASE I am begging for some wanderer shit or wjayever or anything with camgirl/boy/whatever the guck fuck reader I think that would be nice☠️🇵🇱🔝🙁🔥🥰🤪😭😢😱😉🤭🥱🖕😐🖕😋🤬😈⁉️😔🫶🥳💔🥳🤨😉🤨✅😍😉❤️

I feel like... I had a stroke while reading this and I have no idea what you want exactly? I'll wing it.

Pairing: Scaramouche x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, modern au, cam au, blowjob under the desk, desk sex, recorded, toy use, praise, cum eating, camboy!Scaramouche

A/N: I think Scaramouche would be a good camboy actually. He's super cute.

Camboy!Scaramocuche who was beyond embaressed when you walked into his room while he was pumping his cock with his toy, his legs spread in front of his camera. He almost wants to stop but that would let his followers know he has someone to fuck every day, that he's not as pent up as he seems. So instead you motion for him to keep going and not say anything.

Camboy!Scaramouche who falters as he watches you drop your panties and slowly rub your fingers over your pussy and your clit. You're just out of the camera shot, but enough for him to see you, to see the way you bite your lip. Fuck, this is his job, he has to do this but he also needs to fuck you, not this stupid toy. He needs to finish quickly, so he can be selfish and get what he wants.

Camboy!Scaramouche who is pissed off at you and pulls you onto his cock when the stream ends, spreading you open on his cock and pumping the rest of his cum inside of you while you lick the hole of the toy, eating his cum right in front of him. So many people who watch him would pay good money to do this. You get to fuck him for free, consider yourself very lucky.

Camboy!Scaramouche who sometimes has a hard time getting hard for the camera but he always gets hard for you. The solution is simple, record the two of you while you're fucking, have you look right into the camera as you take his cock from behind, or as you're leaning back against him while he plays with you're tits or your clit, looking as you come, so he can see your face caught in that high of pleasure. Of course this is a recording for him only and it really does help.

Camboy!Scaramouche who has an almost permanent scowl on his face as he jerks off and looks into the camera. When someone pays and asks him for a smile the most they'll get is a scoff and a mean smirk. They're looking at him but they're not worthy of him. He's constantly degrading the people that watch him and he knows its part of his appeal, so why stop.

Camboy!Scaramouche who lets you control his toys while he streams. It's the only time he lets you have control over him when it comes to anything sexual. It's also the only time when he'll get louder the grunts, because he knows that you're watching this time, he knows that you're masturbating too, waiting for him to finish, he can almost hear you begging for his cum.

Camboy!Scaramouche who talks to his followers while you're giving him a blowjob under the desk. If anyone asks about the noises he tells them its his pretty new toy but he's not ready to show it just yet, he needs to test it out first. But out of all the toys he's ever used this one is by far his favorite. He doesn't let you finish him off that's for after the stream, when he puts you on his desk and ready does use your pussy like a toy to pleasure himself with.

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manias-wordcount · 1 year

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Could I request scaramouche/wanderer x a female reader who is zhongli/Morax's daughter and her bringing him with her to liyue to celebrate lantern rite

he deserves to be in the next event with a festival seeing as how Venti has been being Mr worldwide and showing up everywhere like give the other anemo boys a chance

Of Stories and Golden Skies (Scaramouche/Wanderer x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶𝗺 𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗺 𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗮 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗹𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝗶𝗺 𝗱𝗲𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗲. 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗵𝘀 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻 𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗟𝗢𝗟 𝗶 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲 :]

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

You told him that you had to be quiet about this. Very, very quiet. You told him all this as you slipped on your shoes and prepared to leave the inn he was currently staying in to be closer to the harbor. You told him all of this before, but now, you were telling him again. That you couldn’t show that the two of you were together. Both as a couple and as individuals, strolling along the same path. You said he couldn’t stand too close. You told him you had to be very quiet when you spoke to him. You told him you had to be strangers, lest someone sees and gossips. For secrets in Liyue are always mere seconds from being stories. And as dense as your father is sometimes, you knew a story such as this one will find its way back to his ears in no time.

You told him all of this before you left the inn and so many times before that as well.

Yet he still grabbed your hand as you both stepped over the threshold and out into the streets of a lantern-lit Liyue, without so much as another look.

And somehow you found that even though you’re being pulled through the streets of your home by a man dressed in clothes from afar with barely a name tied to his body, you realized that stories are just stories. They’re something to be enjoyed. Something to be savored. Something to be written out in careful detail as all the secrets and details unfold before the reader’s eyes. And they’re something to be shared. Later.

Thus, you’ll deal with it later. A story for another day, if you will it to be. And you do. You do will it to be. Because right now…

“Your home is truly beautiful like this.”

You have something else you’d like to focus on.

He murmurs this to you very quietly, yet you were able to hear it so clearly. No sound that the fireworks or the concerts of the people can make will ever keep you from hearing his voice. And even though you were the one who grew up here- traveling these streets and visiting these festivals so much it became a habit- he still was the one to drag you around. To take you to this place. To take you to that one. To explore all the nooks and crannies you know you’ve taken him to before. But to explore it so much more vigor now that the two of you are standing outside underneath a golden night sky with the rest of Liyue fading into the background.

But there’s more than just Liyue fading into the background. At least, for your date, that is.

“I’m glad you think so.” You murmur back, just as quietly. A small, warm smile crosses over your face as your eyes look up to take in his expression. What you come to see is far from a surprise. While the man you know and have grown to love very rarely expresses himself with such vivid displays of emotion, one look at his face is enough to see the sense of awe that has captured him. And the eyes that betray the intensity of this emotion? They’re looking right at the little pieces of the sky you’re holding comfortably in your lap. “Would you like to hold it?”

The Xiao lantern.

At your question, his eyes flicker up towards yours and away from the lantern. He goes to bite at his lip before the tiniest of unsure frowns take over his expression. He looks conflicted, but you that deep down inside, he wants to. You know he does. You know, you know, you know. You had been watching him eye the lanterns the entire time. When his eyes weren’t on whatever loud noise or moving part that wasn’t screaming for his or any other tourists' attention, his pale purple eyes were always on the sky. Watching the night sky and all its young, golden stars. And watching as more new stars join the existing ones with each passing second.

You’ve never seen him look so peaceful until you’ve witnessed him bathing in the light of the lanterns. Yet you didn’t think he would grow quiet while at the festival. He was so bold when he took your hand and pulled you through the streets, ready to see Liyue in a way he had never seen before. He was so bold when he brushed past the whispers of gossiping old ladies and giggling little kids. People who couldn’t help but wonder about what your father would say if he saw this. People who couldn’t help but wonder what it’s like to be young and in love.

So you thought for sure that he would take you to the first stand he saw selling lanterns and drag you there as well. But he didn’t. Even when his gaze wandered. Even when his hands twitched. He never once reached for the little stars his eyes rarely strayed from. Never once.

So naturally, it was only fair that you’d go ahead and buy one for him.

And now, the two of you are sitting here- your hands reaching out to place the lantern into his lap. And his hands reaching out to accept it gingerly from you- as if it will disappear the second he takes a hold of it. And you have a funny feeling you know why that is. Because even though he’s never told his past or his history. Because even though he’s never told you his story, there have been little bits and pieces that he’s shared along the way. Not with his words. Not with his voice.

“You know if you let the lantern go, and make a wish…it's supposed to come true….”

But with his actions. With his walk. With his eyes. With his hands.

“Would you like to give it a try?”

With his heart.

It doesn’t take long after that to find another that another golden star is joining the sky. One that burns with the warmth of your hands. One that burns with the warmth of his too. Words don’t pass between the two of you as you watch it follow in the footsteps of the other lanterns. Words don’t pass, and eyes don’t meet. Instead, your hands just join together once more. Fingers thread between fingers. It becomes something more than a touch. Something, so much more.

But that’s a story for another day, wouldn’t you say?

And yet, even as you’re both walking back to his inn to turn in for the night, he doesn’t tell you what he wished for. You’re not sure if he would have told you, even if you asked him. But you know yourself what you wished for. And no, it’s not that all the rumors about you and this mysterious boy would die down immediately. And no, it’s not that this whole outing is kept from your dad either. But it’s that he- it’s that The Wanderer may one day find a place to call home, as you do to Liyue. May one day find the same peace of this night in every single one of his days.

That he finds a way to conclude and to share his story.

On his own terms. In his own way.

And with his own name.

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