Soft Scaramouche - Blog Posts

Bro this is literally everything I've ever looked for. How did they know?

ᵔᴗᵔ . . 𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝗶𝗿 !

ᴖ.ᴖ . . gen!reader ⁝ wc. 992 ⁝ reblog

𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶 [𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗯𝗮𝘁𝗼𝘀]

he was in the seventh heaven the second your answer loads inside his head. it feels like a dream come true playing right before his very eyes. you, in earnest, agreed to his request of braiding his hair. he knew you would almost always move away from his cheeky displays of affections, therefore, this was a giant achievement to him.

“are you okay there, venti?” you wave a hand across his face left then right. honestly speaking, his silence causes shivers down your spine… it was never a good sign.

he blinks once, twice until he was fully out of his trance-like state. his lips curve into a coy smile, as he tells you, “he, he. it’s nothing you should worry your pretty head, darling; ‘just deep in thought is all.”

you eye him skeptically, you didn’t buy it. however, you ease off after you figured he had no intention of confiding a word to you.

“if you say so…”

excitement cannot describe the gamble of emotions he felt. if he had a tail like the hybrid citizens, it would’ve been wagging along throughout the whole ordeal. his avidity was staggering to witness in real time. he had the stubbornness of a mule and you frequently needed to pester him to move.

it all happens in the blink of an eye. he stands up to grab his brush from his bathroom then sits down in front of you with his hair down, bangs perfectly framing his face. he didn’t waste a moment to steer your hands to start working on his messy locks.

he hums a random tune to himself to keep him occupied as you part the side of his bangs into three sections.

what would typically cost him five to six minutes of his time took you nearing sixteen. admittedly, when he did his hair at the early break of dawn, it was braided haphazardly. you, on the other hand, wanted it to at least look neat.

“are you done yet?”

“um… not quite…” you mumble, as you comb the rest of his bangs on the other side.

the couple minutes of braiding you’ve just done will take as long as a whole go-round from there, so you think. he huffs at you as if he weren’t an almighty archon but the common rascal and hums another soft tune to keep himself company. as you reach halfway, your hand shakes from the concentration it exerted while you work.

alas, it was a matter of time before his boredom won and he did what he can to humor it in the meantime—you only wish he didn’t do it to the detriment of your progress by closing his eyes then leaning in with his lips pursed, ready for a kiss.

“stay still!” you giggle, trying to dodge his attempts to place a chaste peck on your lips. your words falls on deaf ears and he connects his lips with yours, emitting a pleased sigh.

𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵𝗲 [𝗯𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗲𝗿]

he feels pathetic for crawling into your window during these late hours into the evening. he swears under his breath; if passersby were to catch sight of him, they’d believe he was another hormonal village juvenile, desperate to see his lover in absence of parental authority. swinging his other leg over the ledge, he steps into your room with the grace of a feline.

a corner of his mouth lifts when he spots you flinch from his unexpected visit. based on what he had observed, you were in the middle of preparing for bed. you were by your dresser, fixing your hair to avoid any tangles while you slept.

“scaramouche?!” you gasp.

he swiftly places a hand over your mouth then counts to ten in his head to survey if anyone heard you. he lets go once he believed it was safe enough to speak.

“i need your help,” he whispers by the shell of your ear. your eyes meet his through the mirror, it trails after his hand as it traces to the end of your braid and tugs at the fabric that held it together. it didn’t take long for you to understand the gist of his request.

motioning him towards your bed, you gesture at him to stay while you grab a brush from the top of your dresser. he toys with the ends of his hair and tsks at the length… how did he fail to notice it had grown past his shoulders?

the bed dips behind him; his shoulders stiffen at the feel of your brush combing through his mane. his body unwinds when you start parting his hair into sections. he can tell the uneven cut poses as a challenge by the string of curses you whisper. warmth spreads across his chest at how domestic the moment plays out.

it didn’t feel real at all.

minutes pass and he could feel himself melt into the tender ministrations of you braiding his hair. he never knew such a mundane act can be this calming to the mind. his eyes were beginning to flutter shut until you pull away, telling him you were done.

touching your work, scaramouche was silently impressed at your efforts to tie everything together. not a strand wanders loose; and at that, you return to your dresser without a hitch. you had barely taken a seat when you hear him let out a loud cough. turning around, your brows raise to find him… with his hair down?

“can you fix it again?” in his right hand, he exposes the split ribbon hair tie.

you didn’t think twice; nodding, you search your drawers for one made from better material. scaramouche smirks at your gullible nature and waits with no complaints—a big first. there, in his other hand is the letter opener you keep by your bedside; on its blade lays specs of fabric frays. it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together and understand what he had done…