Hair Tie (Scaramouche x Reader)

0.3

[NAME] SAT ON A LOG BY THE CAMP FIRE, watching as the sparks from the crackling flames danced skyward. The campsite was peaceful, with only the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl breaking the silence.

Scaramouche and his family were setting up their tents nearby, chatting amongst themselves. [Name's] own mother was gathering firewood, quietly humming to herself as she went about her task.

Scaramouche looked up from his marshmallow, a mock-glare on his face. "Oh, shut up. As if you can do anything better" he retorted, the corners of his mouth twitching with suppressed laughter.

[Name] chuckled, shaking their head. "It's not rocket science, you know. You just gotta keep turning it slowly and steadily. Like this."

They held up their own perfectly roasted marshmallow as an example, the outer shell a crispy golden brown, the inside gooey and melted.

Scaramouche rolled his eyes playfully, feigning annoyance. "Show-off" he muttered, returning to his marshmallow with a determined expression. He carefully rotated the stick over the fire, trying to imitate [Name's] technique.

[Name] watched him struggle, their smile widening. "You're getting there," they encouraged, a hint of amusement in their voice. "Just a few more turns like that and you'll be a marshmallow-roasting pro in no time."

Scaramouche huffed, his focus still on the marshmallow. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the pep talk, I appreciate it," he said sarcastically, though there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

[Name] laughed, enjoying the lighthearted banter. They watched as Scaramouche finally succeeded in roasting his marshmallow to perfection, the result mirroring their own.

"There you go!" they said, giving him a playful punch on the arm. "I knew you had it in you."

Scaramouche feigned a pained expression, rubbing his arm dramatically. "Ow, my delicate skin," he groaned, pretending to be in agony. "How will I ever recover from your brutal attack?"

[Name] rolled their eyes, barely able to contain their laughter. "Oh, please. You're tougher than you look. That little punch won't knock you out."

Scaramouche smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Is that a challenge, tough guy?" he teased, flexing his muscles in a mock-intimidating gesture.

[Name] chuckled, not the least bit intimidated. "Bring it on, tough guy," they retorted, mimicking his flexed pose and pretending to flex their own muscles. "I'm ready for you."

Scaramouche chuckled, impressed by their playful bravery. "You've got guts, I'll give you that," he said, grinning widely. "But don't come crying to me when I whoop your butt."

[Name's] eyes sparkled with mirth. "We'll see about that," they said with a smirk, a friendly challenge in their voice. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve, you know."

[Name] shrugged innocently, a playful glint in their eyes. "Oh, you know, just a few secret moves I've been saving for a special occasion," they said vaguely, a sly grin playing on their lips.

[Name] and Scaramouche found two sturdy sticks and decided to have a friendly fight with them. They sparred playfully, each one trying to land a hit while avoiding getting hit themselves.

The campsite echoed with the sounds of their laughter and friendly banter as they engaged in their mock battle. They dodged and parried, their sticks dancing and clacking together in a rhythm that was almost like a dance.

Despite their light-hearted play, there was still a competitive edge to their fight. They each tried to outdo the other, looking for openings and trying to anticipate each other's moves. The friendly competition fueled their movements, adding an extra layer of intensity to every swing and parry.

[Name] laughed heartily as they managed to land a hit on Scaramouche's stick, nearly knocking it out of his hands. "Got you!" they exclaimed triumphantly.

Scaramouche grumbled playfully, his competitive nature coming out in full force. "That was just a lucky shot," he protested, a mock-scowl on his face.

"Lucky shot, my foot," [Name] retorted, a mischievous grin on their face. "You just can't admit when you've been bested by my superior stick-fighting skills."

Scaramouche feigned offence at their words. "Superior skills? More like cheap tricks," he teased, his eyes glinting with playful competition. "Let's see how well you do when I really try."

[Name] raised an eyebrow, accepting the challenge. "Bring it on, tough guy," they said with a smirk. "I'm ready for anything you can throw at me."

Scaramouche's eyes glinted with determination as he prepared for the next round. "You asked for it," he declared, launching himself forward with a mock attack, swinging his stick with just enough force to give [Name] a proper challenge.

[Name] and Scaramouche continued "fighting", their laughter filling the campsite and echoing through the night. As they went on with their playful skirmishes, they paused for a moment to catch their breath and take in the surroundings.

Looking up into the vast open sky, they marveled at the beauty of the countless stars twinkling above them like tiny diamonds against the infinite canvas of space. The full moon illuminated the entire campsite, casting long shadows and creating a peaceful ambiance.