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sondepoch · 2 years

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Mise en Place (Scaramouche x Reader)

MasterChef Teyvat

The intense competition of MasterChef Teyvat has carried over into the bedroom for you and Scaramouche, but secretly, you're growing tired of the constant fight. The bruises, the blindfolds, the neverending derision—it's exciting at first, but now the constant repetition has you wanting to stop.

Then, as a joke, you pretend to be obedient instead of the brat you always are, and you realize that Scaramouche has much, much more to offer.

WORD COUNT: 2.0k

TAGS: female reader, brat!reader, slight degradation, self-degradation, sexual acts without feelings, grinding, semi-public, dirty talk, no feelings <3

MASTERLIST

The pressure of competition makes everything else feel so light. In the MasterChef Teyvat kitchen, where you’re desperately cooking to avoid being eliminated and constantly paranoid about leaving something in the oven for too long, under-seasoning a vegetable, or losing track of time, the pressure is constantly turned up to the highest. Never before have you been so stressed for so long, so riddled with anxiety for so many hours, so overwhelmed with almost no end in sight.

But that pressure is what has made every week feel so rewarding: because it’s been nearly two months of this, and you’re still in the competition.

And you’re doing damn well.

A smirk crosses your face as you continue slicing a carrot. The practice you’re doing is trivial, really, but a competitor mentioned to you that an upcoming challenge would likely include something to do with a mise en place, mainly to test fundamental skills, and you’re glad for the tip. Things are always more stressful in the MasterChef kitchen, but out here in the practice rooms, you feel oddly at ease: it means the practice you’re getting is doubly efficient. There’s something therapeutic about these familiar motions. Somethin therapeutic and rewarding and peaceful.

“You call that a julienned carrot?”

Scaramouche’s gruff voice interrupts the ambience of tranquility. Immediately, your smile twists into a frown, and you can’t help but wonder why, out of all your selfish competitors, he was the one who came to you and gave you the tip.

You also wonder why you ever thought practicing these basic skills with him would be a good idea.

“Shut up, asshole,” you snap. “They’re even. And consistent in length. And—”

“And they’re fat,” the man says, barking a laugh as he picks one up. Sure enough, it’s one of your thicker ones…but is it so bad? “If there’s a mise en place challenge next week and you show the judges this, they’ll roast you alive. Probably kick you out of the competition immediately. You need a fuckton of practice with this.”

“Well, my carrots are better than your shrimp! Have you seen how long it takes you to devein a single piece? And you don’t even do it well.”

“That’s not true,” Scaramouche says, and sure, he’s right, but the way he reacts with offense rather than sarcasm tells you that your plan to get under his skin is working.

Obviously, you push him further.

“It totally is,” you say, continuing to slice carrots. You make these a little thinner than the previous ones, self-conscious about your quality. “And don’t think I didn’t see you mess up when we were practicing with the eggs earlier. I saw you lose some shell into your bowl of egg whites.”

“That never happened,” Scaramouche snaps, and yeah, it didn’t, but there’s only two of you—and, for once, no cameras to prove you wrong.

“It did,” you insist, putting the knife down as you spin around to face the man. “Or are you telling me that you weren’t paying attention, either? That you’re bad at cooking and bad at figuring out where you go wrong?”

Scaramouche’s eyes narrow into the glare you’re so familiar with. He steps forward, trapping you against the counter, and he lifts his chin with the arrogance you’ve grown to hate so much in these last few weeks.

“You’re lying,” he hisses, face getting close. “Does making up these stories make you feel better? Do you do this because you know I’m going to beat you by the end of this competition?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, and then his face is even closer.

“I think you do,” he drawls, and he’s about to add more when you decide you’ve had enough so you jerk your head forward and kiss him.

He seems annoyed by even that.

“Couldn’t even let me finish my damn sentence,” he huffs, glaring, and you reach a hand up to thread your fingers through his hair so he can’t pull away.

These kisses are all teeth and all hatred. Neither of you likes the other. No, you actually hate the sound of Scaramouche’s voice, and he’s informed you countless times that he’d rather die than be forced to engage in conversation with you. But, you’ve mutually acknowledged each other as the hottest people in the competitions (even though you both think your individual selves more attractive than the other), therefore this little friends-with-benefits-minus-the-friends developed quite naturally.

“Fucking bitch,” he hisses when you’ve kissed him for too long, when his lips are swollen and his chest heaves for air after you’ve let him pull away.

“Yeah?” You smirk. “This fucking bitch made you hard.”

You roll your hips forward, and the action does little for you but you know Scaramouche’s body, and the way he instinctively groans is anticipated and calculated on your end.

“Then this fucking bitch had better do something about it,” the man says, and you smirk, knowing you’ve won.

“Yeah?” you taunt, rolling your hips forward again. You smile as you capture Scaramouche’s lips once more. “You want me to jerk you off again? Out here, where anyone can walk in on us?”

“Fuck no,” he hisses, and you know Scaramouche is gone when his lips stray to your neck, leaving fresh hickeys against already-bruised skin. He sucks violently, causing pain to your nape because he’s not mean enough to do it to your pussy, and you laugh. “Do you ever let me just finger you? You whine like a needy whore until I use my mouth. So suck me off, fucking bitch.”

“Maybe I will,” you say, thinking about it.

Then, you start thinking about yourself. And, sure, it’s a little selfish to not want to give oral to a man who often lets you receive it so often, but do you really want to fuck him again? With the next competition so soon? You started fucking Scaramouche because he was interesting: because the way he threw you onto a bed and made you feel small despite his stature was different. He’s not just hot: he’s beautiful, and you welcomed such a marvelous sight into your bed easily.

“Maybe I won’t,” you decide, remembering how quickly you grew out of it.

Scaramouche is rough. And gruff. And intense. But that’s about it. If you tug his hair when he’s about to cum, he’ll respond the same way both times (by growling and cursing you before fucking you harder). If you graze his cock with teeth, his response will hardly vary (jerk his hips backward before threatening to face fuck you—a threat he never actually follows through on). If you climb onto his lap while he’s doing something important, nothing can change his automatic response (to chastise you and mock you for being such a horny slut, all with one hand pressed against the dip of your spine as he makes you ride his thigh), and you’re convinced that there’s nothing left to experience from him, nothing left to take from him.

So, convinced it's not worth it, you smile and shove Scaramouche off you.

The man stands there awkwardly for a moment, waiting for you to do something. And, sure enough, there’s been dozens of times now where you’ve shoved him onto a couch before climbing on top of him and riding him to oblivion, even more times where you’ve just pushed him to the ground before having your way.

Yet, all you do is turn around.

“What the fuck?” he snaps, stepping closer as you reach for the knife once more and redirect your attention to the carrots. After looking away, you realize that they really are thicker than they should be, and you find yourself doubly focused on the task, realizing that you truly might need to step up your game.

“Sorry,” you hum, not sorry at all. “But I’m a little too busy to suck you off now. A wonderful person informed me that I need a fuckton of practice julienning these carrots, you see, so I think I’ll get to that first.”

“You bitch,” Scaramouche hisses, and he tries to swivel your hips around, but you remain planted where you are. “Seriously? You’re doing this because of one comment I made? I did you a favor by telling you about the mise en place challenge, don’t be such a—”

“If I’m a bitch, then you’re an ungrateful whore,” you say, starting to cut carrots once more. “And you know what, maybe if you say that, I’ll fuck you. If you be very polite. Change it up, a little. Get on your knees ago go ‘please fuck this ungrateful whore. I promise I won’t be mean.’ I’d like that. Say that, and I’ll consider it.”

Your voice turns high and mocking at the end, but Scaramouche goes silent. You ignore him for a moment, merely continuing to chop your carrots, but curiosity gets the best of you and you eventually peek at him through the corner of your eye.

“S-say it again,” he whispers, ears burning red. The look on his face is novel, something you’ve never seen before.

It makes your heart flicker with interest.

You want to tease Scaramouche for this so bad, and doing so would be so easy, but…you think about what brought him to this point. The mocking lilt you took on as you pretended to be obedient. The way you’d even pressed your legs together as you played the role of a horny, pathetic slut.

Your lips curl into a smile.

You’d been losing interest in him, as of late. Hatred can only go so far, after all. The constant fight you experience when you’re with Scaramouche, the way he always picks on you, always belittles you, always tries to make you feel less than for no conceivable reason…it’s exhilarating in the beginning, but it loses its attraction. You know your worth. You know that what spills from Scaramouche’s mouth when he calls you an “ugly brute” are nothing but lies.

But then.

Then.

Then, you think about just how affected he is by you—pretending—to be obedient, to be nice, to be an ungrateful whore but his whore. Your eyes skirt over his high cheekbones, which are red in embarrassment for the first time, and you realize that you’ve discovered a button that you never thought Scaramouche had, a side you never imagined he would be willing to entertain.

He seemed so into brat-taming, you think, that I never realized he might appreciate obedience, too.

You abandon the carrots, deciding that rectangular strips of orange will be nowhere near as interesting as what you’re certain Scaramouche is about to show you.

“Is this what it’ll take for you to be nice to me?” you tease, and the man looks away.

“Very well.” You step forward, lifting one hand to his shoulder and the other to his chest before batting your eyelashes prettily, letting the slutty look of want take over. Your tits push into his arms, the same ones he’s always said have looked so nice in this particular apron, and you hope he can feel the pressure you rock against his crotch.

“I promise I won’t be mean to you, Scara. And maybe I’ll even say some nice things to you in bed,” you say, smiling gently.

“So won’t you fuck this pretty little whore?”

At once, his eyes gloss over with something hungry, something starved, something ready to devour. and you realize that he’s been waiting for this. Waiting for you. And he may not have tamed the brat, but this willful compliance, the way you readily let him pull your body flush against his instead of pulling his hair and fighting him for his neediness, has to be the next best thing.

You smile as he kisses you for the first time without teeth but with charm, with all the rugged desire he’s kept locked away from you. The moment his hands grip your waist and his lips come colliding with your own, you’re sure of it.

This was the right decision.

MASTERLIST

Word Count: 2.3k

Notes: i am trying so hard to write the next chapter for Oh, Sister! and every time it just. is not working </3 so here’s some scara spice instead

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#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin smut #scaramouche smut #balladeer x reader #genshin #female reader #slight degradation #dirty talk #grinding #implied sex #no feelings

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