Chapter Text
“I can’t believe this,” the exasperated sigh leaves her along with a small pant as Lumine surveys her surroundings, eyes looking desperately for an opening to escape, albeit to no avail. All around her are fungi, though these appear to stand out from the kind she would usually encounter. They’re quite… pink-ish, and she doesn’t think she has ever come across them before.
One minute she was trying to let off some steam by permitting herself a walk around Sumeru’s forest area, and the next minute she gets ambushed by a group of fungi. Generally, they’re incredibly easy to deal with and she doesn’t tend to have any issues juggling them – however, these seem to retain the tiniest semblance of intelligence as they chose to outnumber her by an alarming amount. While she got through them fast, it feels like they weren’t decreasing at all – if anything, there seems to be more.
It’s not even that they’re particularly strong opponents either; it’s more so the fact that they’re annoying. The more she strikes at them, the more they summon their other companions, and before she knew it, she found herself stuck in endless loop of slashing through them. At this point, she can’t even see where she’s headed.
They just keep coming.
And just when she thought she could finally get a break. After everything that has happened in Sumeru, she’s understandably drained and in desperate need for some fresh air. Although things were resolved and they managed to rescue Nahida, and with her, the rest of Sumeru, instead of being met with answers, all Lumine earned were more questions. Not to mention, the Balladeer escaped just in time for her friends to arrive and has gone into hiding. He hasn’t made an appearance ever since, but Lumine is well aware that he isn’t one to relent that easily.
She supposes if there’s one good thing about the situation, it’s the fact that Paimon isn’t around, the fairy having fallen asleep after stuffing her stomach full during lunch. But even then, this really isn’t what the traveler signed up for when she decided to take a stroll.
Lumine huffs, annoyance flaring up. Sweat beading on her forehead after having spent nearly an hour just trying to clear a route for her to flee.
Clenching her fists around the hilt of her sword, she readies herself as another wave of fungi lunge themselves at her all at once. However, just as she was about to launch a counterattack at them, her vision is instantly robbed away from her when a good number of them projectile some sort of spores at her direction. Startled, she stumbles back and attempts to wipe away at the bits that got into her eyes – scrambling on her knees and swinging her sword around just in case any of them were to attempt to attack her at a moment where she has her guard down.
Strangely enough, it doesn’t hurt, despite Lumine having prepared herself for a surge of pain the moment the spores even came in contact with her. Nevertheless, the minute she catches a glimpse of the slight opening, she dashes through, sprinting past blurry pink blobs. They give chase, but thankfully she’s quick enough on her feet to outrun them. She’s unsure how exactly, but for some reason, in her blindly trying to look through the fog of spores, she was somehow lucky enough to find a path to flee. Which is odd, considering she spent such a long time fighting them and having no way out.
It's almost as if it was planned. Given the suspicious circumstances, she would have normally stopped to think for a bit before reacting – but something in her body had told her that she had to get out of there fast and before she knew it, she had moved before she could process anything at all. Almost as if something instinctual was trying to send her warning signs.
She halts in her tracks as her legs eventually give out on her, plummeting on her back, onto the ground and against the wall as the adrenaline in her veins subsides and is replaced by exhaustion. Hot. She feels so hot. Warmth spreads on her skin at a rapid rate, burning everything in its tracks as it reaches inside. It feels like there’s something brewing through her entire body, like fire through every cell in her being, and it’s threatening to swallow her down whole. Unless she does something. But what? Why is this happening?
Her mind is fuzzy – so fuzzy she can’t think no matter how she tries to work the gears in her head. She doesn’t even discern the heavy, breathless pants springing out of her until she notices how quiet everything else is around her, and how loud she is in comparison. In spite of the confusion settling in, Lumine still manages to force herself to clear her head just enough to focus on her surroundings.
Rocks. There’s rocks all around her. And every noise she makes echoes.
She’s in a cave, she realizes. Her gaze then glances around the enclosed space, noting the desk and chair in one corner and the remnants of damp firewood surrounding what she assumes to be a once-boiling pot. It’s a campfire, and one that was only dimmed quite recently to boot.
The reality then dawns on her. Someone is living in here and she’s stuck dealing with something that she doesn’t really understand in a place unknown that belongs to a random stranger that might or might not harbor ill intentions. She hopes it’s a good samaritan, but something in her warns her to stay alert.
Or as alert as she can be with her body reacting in all the ways she doesn’t want it to. It had taken her a bit to regain the slightest bit of composure, and the moment she did, she started to comprehend the symptoms afflicting her.
The warmth encasing her, the heat especially puddling in her belly, and the wetness making itself known in her between thighs. Every time she tries to rub her hands on her forearms in a futile endeavor to somewhat soothe the ache building up, her arms instead brush up against her supple breasts – and she notices, acutely, how sensitive she is. Just a little grace against her hardening nipples through the fabric of her dress is enough to cause her knees to twitch, and she’s confident she’s at least twenty times more sensitive than usual.
A pained whimper breaks out of through trembling lips as she shudders, thighs kneading against each other in an attempt for some friction to relieve herself. But her efforts are once again useless as instead of a reprieve, she finds that the action simply serves to frustrate her even further. She needs something more; someone touching her, lapping her up, fingers and something far deeper inside her. Anything—
“Here I was thinking about killing the useless vermin that dared to walk in and disturb my sleep, and of course, it had to be you.” A male voice resonates in her ears just as she’s about to motion her hands downwards, about ready to touch herself—only for her to swiftly flinch them back as the realization hits her like a ton of bricks.
That voice. It’s familiar. She knows who it is the moment he spoke.
In an instant, she tries to take on a fighting stance – yet to no avail as her knees wobble whenever she tries to stand up. Angry at the situation and the way her legs refuse to work with her, Lumine swiftly grabs at her sword and raises it to point it at his direction. Another swell of frustration assaults her as she tries her hardest to ignore how her own weapon shake in the grasp of her quivering fists.
Despite this, however, animosity still burns in her furious golden gaze as she snarls, “Stay back, Scaramouche! Or I swear I will strike you down.”
And of course, there he stood, still in his usual attire in spite of the time that has passed since his disappearance. His arms are crossed, lips in a deep scowl as if in silent resentment. His violet gaze as cold and calculating as ever, threatening to burn holes through her entire form as he glowers down at her, studies her, takes in the way she trembles.
She knows that he’s looking down on her the moment there’s the curl of his lips into a taunting smirk.
“If that’s your attempt at intimidation, then I must say it’s a pathetic one. I can hardly feel any fear with you shuddering like a leaf like that,” he scoffs, pausing only for a bit to arch his eyebrow in slight bewilderment as she backs herself into a corner, practically small-looking as she brings her knees to her chest.
There’s a click of his tongue as the sneer on his face falters into a frustrated frown. He quickly saunters his way towards her, steps silent but deadly before he stops just as he’s right in front of her, leaning down just enough so that they’re eye-leveled. Lumine tries pathetically to burrow herself deeper into the wall, but there isn’t much distance to be gained when she’s already cornered herself like this.
“I don’t remember you being this cowardly,” he mutters, voice seemingly calm. But she deciphers the seething fury scratching through the surface as their eyes lock; hers frightful and his menacing as he gripes, “And to think I lost to you the last time we fought. I refuse to believe you’re this pathetic.”
Pulling apart, he then snaps his fingers at her, impatient. “Get up, Traveler. If you’re going to try and kill me, you’d better mean it. I don’t have time to play games.” He then pauses, a huff leaving his lips. “Or at least, not the boring ones. And you’re being very boring right now.”
The way he speaks to her is enough to ignite an anger so intense that it briefly overpowers the wave of arousal pouring over her. Insults crawl up her throat and she should know better, but at the moment she doesn’t care, doesn’t think, and she snaps, “And I don’t have time to entertain your childish needs, nor do I need to give a damn about your fragile ego. If you’re that bored, then go find someone who’s equally immature as you.”
And for a moment, she’s proud. Happy for herself for giving him a taste of his own medicine. However, she finds herself immediately regretting her words as in a swift blur, Scaramouche angrily grips her neck before roughly tugging her up and off the ground. She wretches in his merciless hold as the air is snatched out of her, wincing when he pulls her closer before slamming her back against the wall. In the midst of this, she accidentally lets go of her sword, too taken aback to even react, much less keep her grip.
Not that she has a lot of that right now.
The sting from the impact of his brute force comes fast, and she’s sure that he must have dug through skin when the metallic scent of blood instantly fills her nose. But her mind isn’t fixated on that – instead it’s on his hand; how warm yet bruising it is against her, and their incredibly close proximity as he promptly leans in, thighs tucked firmly between hers and face hovering only a few inches from her own.
It didn’t cross her thoughts in the slightest before as her hatred towards him had been ample to push some sense back into her and drag her out of her lust-induced state, but now that they’re this close, Lumine can’t help but notice his smell. She doesn’t quite comprehend what it is, but there’s a hint of citrus if she focuses just a little, and for some reason, that scent alone is enough to make her ache with need.
She must be going insane. This isn’t right. Just a few seconds ago, she was thinking about beating him senseless, but now all she can think about is how good it would feel to have him fully pressed up against her. If she motions her hips only slightly, she’s positive that she would be able to touch him. If she could just…
What the hell? Repulsion grabs her at her sides at her own thoughts. There’s no way she could possibly be thinking about bedding someone like him, of all people. There’s no way—
“I don’t really care what’s occupying your pretty little head.” She must have drifted for far too long because Scaramouche growls, and she swears she clenches around nothing at the sound. Filthy. She’s being filthy. “But right now, you’re going to have to focus on me. Is that understood?”
She wants to bite back. Wants to tell him to fuck off. But no syllables manage to even erupt from her lips as she tries to suppress the raw want slowly but surely pooling inside of her. Warmth spreads on her cheeks, eyes threatening to flutter as she struggles to breathe – though with him holding her up by the throat, that’s practically impossible.
But that’s not important, because whenever she tries to inhale a huge intake of air, her chest heaves upwards and rubs up against his, and that simple brush is enough to make her momentarily forget her shame.
More. She needs more.
The way he’s glaring daggers at her doesn’t help either. The disgust palpable in his eyes simply manages to fuel her desire even more rather than put her off. A part of her – a part of her that she doesn’t want to acknowledge but is quite effortlessly taking control of her at this very moment – wonders about the awful and wonderful things he would do to humiliate and dehumanize her. The thought of him whispering nasty little taunts into her ears as he pounds into her makes her hurt in the best way possible.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. She wants him, wants him inside—
“Give me a reason to spare you,” Scaramouche scoffs, the sound low and dangerous. The pressure on her neck intensifies, his fingers digging deep enough to break through skin and draw blood.
Her chest burns with the need for air. Although, at this point everything inside of her feels hot. It aches everywhere, everywhere, and everywhere – and she tries not to let any emotion show as she forces her lips shut.
But then he shifts just a little closer to her, thigh pressed firmly against her this time, and Lumine swears the moan that escapes her is downright sinful. Tears burn at the edges of her eyes as shame prickles at her skin by how unabashed and wanton she sounded. No. No. She doesn’t like this.
The silence that falls after that is painfully long. If she didn’t feel the tension between them before, she most certainly does now.
His reaction is slow; one eyebrow raised slightly in muted surprise before a look recognition crosses his face. Something flickers in his eyes then, followed by a sneer, and a part of her dies a little.
“You’re enjoying this.” It isn’t a question; if anything, it’s a statement. Because he knows and he has no doubt to spare to know that he’s right. “You like being manhandled like this, don’t you?” A laugh rumbles through his chest; wicked and downright revolted. And yet, she detects the slightest sliver of lust as he hums and purposefully pushes his knee harder against her. The pleasure is immediate as a long, drawn out mewl involuntarily leaves her lips, the sound accompanied by the twitching of her legs as he continues to shift his thigh up and down.
“Your legs are trembling and I haven’t even done anything,” he jeers, the smirk on his lips widening a little. Leaning in, Scaramouche then peppers kisses on her cheeks, licking away at the tears that are now breaking free as she weeps. His gesture is sickeningly sweet, almost deliberately so, and a direct contrast to the venom on his tongue as he whispers, “Weren’t you oh so proudly pointing your sword at me just a while ago? Look at you now, dripping wet and panting like a bitch in heat in my arms.”
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” He punctuates this with a sharp nip on her earlobe as he trails his mouth along the curve her ear, breath hot against her skin as he chuckles, deep and husky, “Or are you proud of yourself for being such a slut? Isn’t that why you waltzed in here? Were you expecting me to do something about it?”
As if anticipating a response, he loosens the grasp he has around her neck as if to say, go ahead, answer me. Nonetheless, he doesn’t release her. Keeps her pinned between the wall and himself as he kisses his way downwards to her collarbone, where he bites, angry, as if to remind her who she’s with.
“No,” she quickly denies, but the euphoric moan she lets out when he lifts his leg high enough to drive her up against the wall betrays her as she subconsciously bucks against him. She doesn’t realize how shaky and small she sounds until she murmurs, somewhat unconvinced, “I don’t—I don’t want you.”
“I highly doubt that when you’re already moving your hips on your own,” he scoffs, pulling apart just enough to glower down at her. Something about the way he tilts his head back – his chin up in the air and eyes an icy glint – makes her feel like a helpless rabbit about to get devoured by a predator ready to sink his teeth into her. It terrifies her, but excites her at the same time and she has to try not to whimper.
“Fungi,” she starts. Another attempt to save herself – albeit a foolish one as moans escape her in between words, “I’m like this because of… fungi. I-It doesn’t have anything to do with—” Her sentence is abruptly cut short by a loud shriek as he promptly grabs her ass with his free hand, his fingers firm and bruising as he pulls her up exactly where he wants her to be. And oh, right there; she feels him, hard and throbbing in his pants as he grinds against her.
“Fungi, huh,” he utters, voice uncaring. He seems to ponder for a bit before he quirks both brows in understanding. “Ah, those fungi.” He pauses in his movements to glare back at her when she throws him an accusing look.
“It’d do you good not to shift the blame on me,” he hisses. “I had no idea that you even got tangled with them. I suppose they were planning to catch you at your most vulnerable to either kill you or… you know, do whatever they want with you.” The look he sends her right then and there is both hungry and condescending as a short laugh erupts from his chest, his voice dropping to the octave of a whisper as he says, “Much like what I’m doing to you right now. Not that you mind though, right? After all, if you gave in this quickly to the aphrodisiac, maybe you were already a whore to begin with.”
She wants to hate this. Wants to talk back at him for calling her such a thing. But instead her body tightens up, toes curling as the flush on her cheeks reach the top of her breasts. “No. You’re wrong. I’m not—” Not this kind of girl.
“That’s a lie,” he huffs. “You need me.”
“I don’t need you, I don’t need you, I don’t need you—"
She rambles to convince herself – but then, as if to prove a point, he flicks his waist. Thrusts up into her hard enough to lift her legs off the ground, as he rubs and rubs and rubs relentlessly against her. And she swears she sees stars, gasping and hands flying to his shoulders for purchase as she quickens the pace of her hips. Almost desperate now as she clings to him for support.
Not like this. When he finally lets go of her neck, it’s to place it on her ass where his other one is. He doesn’t listen to her, or maybe he is and that’s exactly why he’s doing this. Not like this. He starts to bounce her up and down against him, the pleasure increasing tenfold as he pushes up against her at the same time. Not like this. But the knot in her belly begins to unfold, and she sobs.
“No, stop—“ she tries. Tries to get him to slow down because it’s too soon. Too easy. But Scaramouche knows no mercy and simply trails hot, open-mouthed kisses from her breasts, collarbone, neck and upwards still to the line of her jaw, where he grins against her skin.
“Come,” is all he needs to say and she shatters and throws her head back, white blinding her vision as her high overtakes her. Yet he keeps going, and he only stops, briefly, when she’s finally ridden out her orgasm.
She hopes that would be the end of it. Hopes that they’re done by now so she can curl up into a ball and cry herself to sleep due to the shame.
“Now what were you saying about not needing me?” he laughs, breathless, but the sound isn’t any less evil or cruel. The way he pretends to lean down and give her a gentle kiss should disgust her, but she unexpectedly leans in. Too drunk to even resist at this point.
Lumine wants to think that no part of her enjoys this. That she could go back and feign ignorance and act like none of this ever happened.
But when his fingers slide downwards to feel her, her body still craving more and already reacting to his touch, she knows that’s the end of her.