Wanderer X Reader - Blog Posts

Telling Scara you love him so much while cradling his face with tears pouring out of ur eyes.

Wanderer is the type of guy to hate PDA, despises it, would spit on it if he could, but when it comes to you? He doesn’t mind as long as you’re happy, he likes seeing your smile.

Wanderer is the type of guy to genuinely let you use his hat as an umbrella, pressed up against him as rain falls around you, his face bright red and turned away from you.

Wanderer is the type of guy who doesn’t get sick at all, puppet things, and when you’re sick he doesn’t fully know what to do, so he will always go to nahida or tighnari and hesitantly ask what to do.

Wanderer is the type of guy who used to think crying made you weak, so when he saw you crying infront of him, he was confused why he also felt sad and somewhat happy knowing you felt that comfortable around him.

Wanderer is the type of guy to carry you places, I’m not kidding, he’ll fully pick you up bridal style and use his vision to take you to your destination, even if it’s all the way in mondstatd.

Wanderer is the type of guy to be so utterly concerned when you choose his name, not in a genuinely worried way, but in a way that screams ‘wtf’

“How do you feel about Babygirl?”

“I beg your pardon? Is that even a name?”

“Ok then..cumslut!”

“IM SORRY?!”

Melody of the Forgotten

The grand opera house of Sumeru City was the jewel of the nation’s artistic world, a towering edifice of stone and glass, alive with music and drama. Its stage had seen performances that transcended the mortal plane, and its corridors echoed with the whispers of stories long forgotten. You had been drawn to it from a young age, captivated by the splendor of the performances, the allure of the music, and the dream of one day performing on that hallowed stage yourself.

And now, that dream was within reach. You had been accepted into the opera’s prestigious company, your voice singled out as one with great potential, a rising star in the world of song. The opera house had become your second home, its backstage corridors a maze of opportunity and challenge.

But there was another presence in the opera house, one that the performers rarely spoke of—at least, not aloud. There were stories, rumors whispered among the stagehands and the older performers, of a phantom who haunted the opera house. He was said to be a master of disguise, a shadowy figure who could slip between worlds unseen. His moods were as tempestuous as the sea, his emotions unpredictable as the wind. He was both feared and revered, his influence felt in every corner of the grand theater.

No one had ever seen his face. And those who claimed to know more often spoke in cryptic tones, as if afraid to say too much. Some said he wore a mask, hiding some hideous deformity, while others claimed that he was a spirit—an echo of an ancient, forgotten soul who could never rest.

You had dismissed these stories at first, focusing instead on your training. But soon, you began to notice strange things—small, unsettling signs that you were not as alone as you once thought. At times, you would catch a fleeting glimpse of a figure in the wings, watching your rehearsals. Doors that had been locked would mysteriously open, and you would hear faint whispers in the corridors when you were sure you were alone. Most unnervingly, though, you began to find letters—perfectly folded pieces of parchment, slipped under your dressing room door.

The first letter had been a simple compliment: “Your voice is like the first breath of dawn—pure, yet aching with potential. Do not waste it.” It was unsigned, written in an elegant hand, but you had a suspicion it was from the phantom.

From that point on, the letters became more frequent, sometimes offering advice on your performances, other times cryptic messages that left you pondering their meaning for hours. And slowly, you began to realize that the phantom, whoever he was, had taken an interest in you—an obsession, even.

One evening, after a particularly demanding rehearsal, you lingered on the stage, watching as the candles in the chandelier flickered, casting long shadows across the empty seats. The house was quiet now, the other performers having retired for the night. You stood alone in the vast, echoing space, your heart still pounding from the intensity of your singing. You could feel eyes on you, though you saw no one.

"Why do you hide in the shadows?" you called out, your voice barely above a whisper, yet confident.

There was no immediate response, but you could sense something shifting in the air. Then, from the darkness of the wings, a figure stepped into the dim light—tall, with a slender frame and an air of theatricality about him. His face was obscured by a half-mask, covering the right side of his face, leaving only his left eye visible, cold and calculating.

It was him. The Phantom.

Or rather, Scaramouche.

He was known by many names—the Balladeer, the Wanderer, the Sixth Harbinger—but here, in the shadows of the opera house, he was the phantom. His movements were precise, his posture one of practiced elegance, as though every step was part of an unseen performance. His dark hair framed his mask, and though his lips were hidden in shadow, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you.

"You're brave," he said, his voice smooth and velvety, with a hint of danger lurking beneath. "Most would flee at the mere mention of me. But not you."

Your breath caught in your throat, but you refused to look away. "You’ve been watching me."

He tilted his head slightly, a slow, deliberate gesture that sent a shiver down your spine. "Yes," he admitted, with no hint of apology. "Your voice—it is unlike anything I’ve heard in years. Pure, yet raw. It needs... guidance."

His words hung in the air, and you felt a strange mixture of fear and fascination. Scaramouche was as much a part of the opera house as the stone pillars and velvet curtains, and now he stood before you, a living mystery wrapped in enigma and shadow.

"I don’t need your guidance," you said, though your voice trembled just slightly. "I’ve made it this far on my own."

He chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "Is that what you think? Do you believe you’ve come this far through sheer talent alone? No... you’ve had help—whether you knew it or not."

His words sent a chill through you. "What do you mean?"

Scaramouche’s visible eye gleamed with amusement, and he took a slow step closer. "I’ve been behind the scenes, pulling the strings. I have arranged for you to be noticed by the company, whispered in the ears of those in power. Without me, you would still be singing for an empty hall. You owe me... everything."

Your mind raced, trying to comprehend what he was saying. Had he been manipulating your career from the start? The realization struck you like a cold wave of fear and anger.

"I didn’t ask for your help," you said, your voice firmer now, though your heart was pounding.

He laughed again, this time with more cruelty. "No. But I gave it nonetheless. And now..." His eye darkened, his tone shifting to something far more possessive. "Now you belong to me."

The finality in his voice left no room for argument, and for the first time, you felt the weight of his obsession settle over you. You had always thought of him as a distant figure, a myth that haunted the opera house, but now, here he was—real, tangible, and far more dangerous than you had imagined.

"What do you want from me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Scaramouche’s gaze lingered on you, his eye narrowing slightly as if assessing your every thought. Then, in a swift motion, he moved closer, his gloved hand reaching out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I want your voice," he said softly, but there was a dark hunger in his tone. "I want it to sing only for me. I want to shape it, control it, make it perfect."

You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, his fingers cold against your skin. "You don’t understand," he continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, almost tender. "I have waited so long for something... someone... who could complete my music. I’ve seen mediocrity, incompetence, but you... you are different."

His obsession was suffocating, the intensity of his words sinking into your bones. You could feel the weight of his desire pressing down on you, and for the first time, you understood the full extent of his control.

"I’m not your puppet," you said, your voice shaking with fear and defiance.

Scaramouche’s lips curled into a cruel smile beneath his mask. "No... you’re not. You’re something far more precious. But make no mistake—you are mine."

The candlelight flickered as his words echoed in the empty opera house, and you felt the walls closing in around you. You were trapped in his web, caught between fear and fascination, between a desire to run and an inexplicable pull that kept you rooted in place.

"I can make you a star," he said, his voice turning soft, seductive. "I can give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Fame, fortune... all of it. All you have to do is sing for me."

You hesitated, the temptation of his offer gnawing at the edges of your resolve. There was something irresistible about his words, something that made you want to believe him, to trust him.

But deep down, you knew the truth. Scaramouche was no savior. He was a phantom, a manipulator, a creature of shadows who sought to control you for his own ends.

"You don’t control me," you said firmly, stepping back from him.

For a moment, Scaramouche’s smile faltered, his eye flashing with anger. But then, just as quickly, the mask of calm returned.

"Perhaps not yet," he said softly, though his tone carried an unmistakable threat. "But in the end, you will sing for me. Because there is no one else who understands you like I do. No one else who can bring out the true potential in your voice."

He stepped back, his form blending into the shadows once more, his presence as ghostly as ever.

"You will sing for me," he repeated, his voice lingering in the air as he disappeared into the darkness. "Sooner or later... you will."

The opera house was silent once more, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a curse. And as you stood alone on the stage, you knew that your fate was now intertwined with his, bound by the melody of his obsession.

even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise—scaramouche/wanderer

a knock. comes with another one. and another. and as if sensing the urgency between those tired yet soft knocks on your door, you open it.

"wha—" your breath was knocked out of you when suddenly, someone had let themself fall into your chest and hugs you tightly. so tight that you can feel your spine going to snap at any moment.

"kuni...?" you look down, eyes boring through his indigo tresses.

"i..." oh, you heard a sob.

carefully lifting you arm, you raised your hand above his head and gingerly caress his dark locks. the soft pads of your fingers scratching his scalp that almost makes him melt on the spot.

"(name)," he whispered your name.

"yes?"

"can i—" his breathing is ragged and shaky, you can tell by the way his body tremble under your touch. "can i sleep with you tonight?"

the question almost made you want to coo over him, "of course." although you hate how much he's being bratty by the days, you were not merciless enough to let the poor boy standing in your front door so you guided him to your bed.

with you sitting on the edge of your bed, him wrapping his arms around your neck, sitting on your lap as you adjust him in a more comfortable position, you let him cry. his never ending tears already dampening your shoulder.

rubbing circles on his back, whispering sweet nothings to his ear and a hum of a traditional lullaby from your homeland leaving your lips. with this, you allowed him to be vulnerable around you. to let his cocky demeanor break and flow his emotions out.

it's another nightmare, you guesses. but you didn't ask, you never do, afraid of being too straightforward. it's alright, you tell yourself. he will tell you about it when the time comes.

for now though, you'll settle for comforting the dear wanderer on your lap, hugging him gently and reassuring him that you'll never leave. that you'll stay by his side.

"(name)..." the stiffled mumble of your name causes you to hum. "can i—can i call you mother/father?"

you can't see it, but you can swear his ears are burning red right now. "you can always, dearest."

"mother/father.." he called out.

"yes, son?" oh! the mere mention of the word "son" sent some euphoric shiver down his spine.

"mother/father..." he said once again, as if trying to familiarize himself with the foreign word.

"yes, my son?"

"i love you"

"i love you too, sweetheart."

that night, and the following night, and the night after, and so on, the nightmares never came back.

Wanderer x (Gender Neutral) Reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI, I guess switch reader/Wanderer as there's definitely switching of dynamics, unhinged reader (as a treat), uhhh reader is uhhh well probably very morally ambiguous and is portrayed as at least somewhat obsessed with Wanderer (but he's into it), also ig semi-public sex??? They aren't caught and no one's around so it feels weird to say that but they ARE outside so ..... a little bit of biting/blood (very minimal) uhh think that's about it

Word Count: 2089

Even though your eyes were closed, you could feel his brain working a mile a minute, his overthinking decaying the sense of peace the sunny afternoon previously fostered. Sighing, you opened your eyes. Being caught staring at you, Wanderer blinked and quickly looked away, face flushing. You reached up, flicking between his eyes. 

“Ah!” His hand reached up, grasping at his face as he turned to glare at you. “What was that for?!” His face looked severe, his displeasure apparent as the corners of your lips quirked upwards. 

“You’re thinking too loud.” You tucked your arm back across your chest, your eyes closing again as you rested your head across his lap. You heard him sigh, but with no sign of his mood improving, you opened your eyes once more. This time he didn’t bother looking away as your eyes locked onto his. “Is it about your past?” 

His gaze faltered, his eyes flickering away, and you knew you were dead on. He couldn’t look you in the eye as he spoke, his voice hushed, all that false bravado stripped away, until he was bare and vulnerable before you. “It feels dishonest if you don’t know who I was.” 

“But?”

“But I don’t want you to hate me.” 

You sat up, your knees touching his as you clasped his hands within your own. “I already told you, don’t push yourself. Tell me when you’re ready.” You reached out, fingers clasping his chin as you raised it until he was looking at you again. “Whatever your past holds, it doesn’t matter to me.” 

He looked at you in disgust, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “You say that now.” 

“Hm? I mean it though. It’s not like you’ve ever killed anyone that I personally like, nor have you ever harmed anyone I like. So why should I care?” 

Wanderer’s face smoothed out, his expression an unreadable mask. “Those are some low requirements.” Your hand dropped, his face finally escaping your grasp, as your hand carelessly fell to his thigh. Your chest shook, your head ducked down so he couldn’t see your face. For a long moment, he felt a strike of terror, thinking he made you cry, until a laugh burst out of you. He scowled once more. “Care to inform me of what’s so funny?” 

You took a deep breath, trying to stifle the remaining giggles as you smiled at him. “Yeah, they’re probably low requirements, but I don’t care. I love you, y’know?” A smile remained on your face, but your gaze was sharp. Like a wolf, smiling at the thought of its next hunt. You squeezed his thigh, the pale skin giving way easily, before you moved your hand, grasping both his wrists before shoving him down, into the grass, his wrists high above his head as you invaded his space. Red crept into his face, his shock brief before he glared at you. You didn’t give him the chance to say anything as you kept speaking. “I’d kill for you.” 

His glare dropped, his face unreadable again. “Wouldn’t most humans kill to protect the ones they love?” The words must’ve tasted bitter, for his face dropped like the petals from a dying flower. 

Your smile sharpened, edge razor sharp as you watched him. “Who said it’d be to protect you?” You paused, giving him a moment’s reprieve to think before you continued. “If you asked me to kill someone for you, I would. Even if it was to just prove to yourself that I’d do it. Even if that person was important. Or had a family. If you asked, I’d end them without a second thought.” You leaned closer, your faces a breadth from touching. “Does that scare you?” 

He scoffed. “How could I be scared? You sound like a dog, begging its master for a modicum of praise.” 

“Woof.” 

He smirked, eyes lidded as he stared up at you, a teasing lilt to his voice as he spoke. “Too bad I’m more of a cat person.” 

“Hmm…” You leaned back, eliciting a gasp from him as you sat directly onto his clothed cock. You hadn’t realized it before, but you could feel he was hard. Your smile never wavered as you took one of his hands, the other remaining in your grasp, and you wrapped it around your throat. “But if I’m your dog, you can collar me.” You could feel his cock twitch beneath you. “You like that idea?” 

Your hand dropped down, but his remained at your throat, until he finally gave a squeeze. He was oddly gentle, only applying a small amount of pressure to your neck. His eyes remained on your neck, his hand encasing it, until you pushed further into him, grinding yourself into his cock. 

He let out a hiss. “Fuck.” His hand, previously at your throat, flew down in a blur. It grasped tightly onto your waist and he gave an aborted thrust upwards. “So pent up you want me to fuck you out here in the open?” His words were teasing, but they were hardly convincing with how red his face was, as barely contained lust shone in his eyes. 

“C’mon you know no one comes out here. We can be quick.” You leaned down, until you were close enough that you could feel his breath on your face. You first kissed each cheek, then his nose, then beneath his eyes. You could feel him getting impatient as you kissed the corner of his mouth, before finally relenting and kissing him. His hand grasped at the back of your neck, pressing you as close as possible. 

The kisses were rough, frantic, and it didn’t take long for him to bite your lip, before shoving his tongue into your mouth. It felt like he was trying to devour you, tongue sweeping into your mouth with fervor. You could feel heat flood your core, blood rushing fast enough it left you light headed. You knew he felt the same, as you could feel his bulge straining the fabric of his shorts. 

You could barely breathe anymore, but he refused to relent, hand keeping you in place and preventing you from pulling away. As his tongue pushed between your lips again, you bit down, hard enough to draw blood. He winced, less out of pain and more out of surprise, but he allowed you to pull away. “What was that for?!” He asked indignantly, his brows furrowed as he stared up at you. 

“Couldn’t breathe…” You panted, your lungs failing you as you tried to draw in sufficient air. You laid your head on his chest, licking the blood off your lips. Your hands wandered, and you quickly untied his shorts before pushing them down. You ripped into the rest of his clothing, fabric tearing beneath your fingers, before you wrapped a hand around his cock. 

“Give me a warning! A-ah!” His hand flew to his mouth, covering it in an attempt to smother his moans as you pumped his cock. 

You shimmied your bottoms down, until you were exposed enough to grind onto him, his cock grinding into your core, his precum sticking to your skin. 

He thrust upwards, his tip prodding at your hole. You yelped, your hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt as you balanced yourself. Grasping his cock with one hand, you lined it up before sinking down to the root in one moment. Wanderer gasped, hands digging into your hips as he bucked into you. The stretch burned, but it shot sparks of pleasure up your spine, and you craved more, but you wanted to tease him. 

“Beg for more.” You said, clenching on his cock, causing him to let out a hiss at the unexpected tightness. 

He frowned, face contorted into a scowl as if he couldn’t believe you’d request that of him. “As if I’d stoop that low.” You pulled his hands off your hips, pushing them up above his head, holding yourself over him as you looked down, your gaze locked onto his. You clenched onto his cock again, grinding down as you teased him. “You think this is enough to have me begging at your feet?” Despite his words, his eyes were hazy, half lidded, lust clouding over his senses as he felt his insides turn to mush as you toyed with him. 

With one hand holding his wrists, the other traced downwards, first his face, lightly squeezing his neck, before grazing down his torso. You grasped at the ruined fabric, pulling it up and over his chest. You brought your hand back down, and brushed a finger over a nipple. The reaction was instantaneous, he gave a strangled yelp, his hips bucking up into you, as if he could further sheath his cock in you. You rubbed circles into his nipple, before leaning down to kiss him again. 

This time was a little bit slower, as you deliberately slowed the pace down, keeping you both at a simmer as you drove him insane from sensation. You pinched his nipple, and when his mouth opened to let out a strangled moan, you shoved your tongue in. You ran your tongue over his, your sudden fast pace overwhelming him. 

One of his hands slipped from your grip, and he brought it to your neck, squeezing slightly before pushing you away. He huffed, his breath unsteady. He refused to meet your eyes as he spoke again. “More.” 

“Is that anyway to beg?” 

His grip on your throat tightened, the red of his face spreading to his ears and chest as he flushed under your gaze. “Please…more. I can’t take it, just hurry up!” His voice raised and cracked as his bravado melted away. Though, you always found it easy to see through his mask anyways. 

“Good boy.” His eyes shot to yours at your praise, and as he was about to protest, you lifted yourself, before letting yourself fall back down into him, his cock filling you again in an instant. He panted, thrusting upwards to match your pace. 

You raised yourself upwards, before sinking back down onto his cock. You set a steady pace, pushing yourself up and down his cock, until he grabbed one of your arms and yanked you forwards. Off balance, you crashed into his chest, and he took advantage, pulling your arms behind your back, holding both your wrists with only one hand. He bucked upwards, thrusting into you at a brutal pace. You fell forwards, your face buried in his neck as he fucked into you. 

You could feel yourself nearing the end, your core tightening as you felt yourself being pushed further towards the edge. You could tell Wanderer was also near cumming, his cock twitching within you. He just needed one more push. 

As you finally were pushed over the edge, cumming on his cock, you dug your teeth into his neck. “F-fuck!” With a strangled yelp, he came, his cum spurting into you as you clenched around him. He filled you an unnatural amount, cum spilling out of you even with him still embedded into you. 

The two of you sat like that for a few moments, trying to catch your breath, before you lifted yourself again, allowing his cock to slip out of you. “Y-you’re an idiot. Doing something like this outside of all places.” 

“Huh? You didn’t seem to care a few minutes ago.” You said as you fixed your clothing. You definitely didn’t want to walk around with cum leaking from you, but you were going to have to deal with it until the two of you made it back home and you could bathe. 

“Hmph.” He tucked himself back into his shorts, pulling down the ruined fabric of his bodysuit until he could tuck it back into his shorts, as if nothing had happened. Even though you both had fixed your clothes, it didn’t help much. His face was still beet red, and his expression practically screamed he’d been ravaged. It was all you could do to wait until you were in the comfort of your own home for another round. 

You laid next to him, your head laying on his chest as he wrapped an arm around you, the other thrown over his eyes. The two of you rested in the grass together, the cool breeze ruffling your hair as you basked in the affection you were receiving. Ah, but he could give you more if you were in private. You couldn’t wait to get home later.

the mask goes on the minute other people look.

make eye contact. too much, look away. now smile and nod. stop bouncing your leg. make them like you.

those are his thoughts. because too many people have called him weird. too many people have pointed and laughed. too many people made fun of him for just being himself.

oh, but you..

you remind him it's okay to unmask. you smile, listening to him ramble about his interests. you could listen for hours and never get bored.

when you notice his discomfort in a crowd. when you help him communicate when he's too overwhelmed to talk.

with you, the ribbon that holds the mask together comes undone. with you, his mask falls to the ground.

POE, RANPO, dazai, GIYUU, kenma, l lawliet, near, WANDERER, AL HATHIAM, kaveh, LYNEY, and any of your autistic favorites!

Of All Things, I Became...

You always imagined that if you woke up in the world of Genshin, the possibilities of being a Visionless wielder of elements and a slew of romantic shenanigans would lie in your wake. But when you instead find yourself in the body of a Genshin mob with romance likely out of the question, your only conclusion is that the gods of reincarnation isekai hate your guts.

cw. you lost the isekai 50/50 and became a genshin mob

pairing. genshin x reader

notes. i read [of all things, i became a crow] and decided to run with it. i apologize for nothing. i might add more species from genshin depending on my mood lol. this was originally only going to be about an aranara!reader but... i got inspired

Of All Things, I Became...

... an Aranara

... an Oceanid

... a Geovishap

... a Thunder Manifestation

... an Anemo Slime

So you died and woke up as a Genshin mob. At least you got some cool powers out of it, I guess. Results may vary in trying to get a travel companion out of it though. Not all non-human races in Genshin are created equally, you come to learn.

My Body is Mine Once More

Aranara Edition

Oceanid Edition

Geovishap Edition

Thunder Manifestation Edition

Anemo Slime Edition

After ingesting an elemental crystal, you manage to get your body back! More or less. Not everything about you has returned to normal and if you ever get too emotional, you turn back into your mob form. At the very least, you still are able to use your sick ass powers, so that's a bonus!

Traveler Specific

Headcanons