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edgeray · 2 months

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“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

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Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt.

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes.

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them.

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here.

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be.

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead.

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage.

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly.

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it?

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form.

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you.

"Someone wants you."

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight."

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight."

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else."

"They're not someone you or I can refuse."

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh.

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.”

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking.

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting.

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both.

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you.

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken?

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself.

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch.

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end?

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face.

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them.

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face.

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily.

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount.

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh.

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client.

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers.

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk.

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation.

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice.

“Sit.”

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own.

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin.

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave.

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly.

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin.

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson.

“Doll.”

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you.

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by:

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds.

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger.

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge.

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste:

They taste like sin.

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them.

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds.

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody.

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh.

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact.

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips.

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you.

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle.

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf.

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips.

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting.

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear.

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward.

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.”

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #guys I'm so tired it's 2AM rn #i have school tomorrow guys #i chose to finish this tonight despite the shit ton of homework I have to do #arlecchino brain rot does that to you #def worth it #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #genshin fics #arlecchino smut #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

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ventismacchiato · 1 year

Text

26 behind the lens — the ship has sunk !

scaramouche x g!n reader

notes; same day but it’s now night time

translations for french at the end of the chapter

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

You hear a knock on the bathroom door, causing you to jump at the noise. You’d been hiding in your shared restroom for a while to update your friends on the situation, losing track of time as you sat atop the counter in nothing but your pajamas.

“Hey, are you alright?” Kuni asks from the other side of the door, “You’ve been in there for a while silently. Better not be jerking off without me.”

“I’m fine,” you call out, face blooming, “I just have an extensive thirty-step skin care routine,” you lie.

“Alright, I’m going to bed,” he hums, and you hear his footsteps walk off.

You place your face in your hands and let out a low groan, hiding a secret identity was not as easy as Hannah Montana made it seem. You hop off the counter and splash some water on your face to make it seem as if you did have a routine. After muting your phone so as to not hear Aether telling you how bad you were keeping a secret you sat on the edge of the tub for a few minutes, collecting your thoughts.

The stress was really catching up to you. What the fuck were you doing?

You turn your mind off and wander out into the bedroom, the only source of light being the beams of white streaming through the curtains. Kuni’s body was turned away from you, his chest rising up and down slowly. He must’ve been exhausted from today.

You quietly crawl under the covers with him, pulling the comforter up to your chin. You were going to face the other way so as to not bother him but much to your surprise, the blankets rustled and Kuni was now facing you.

He lifts his eyelids open and tugs you in close, hands sliding underneath your shirt to caress your cold skin. Your chests are pressed up against each other, which causes you to circle your hands around his waist out of instinct.

“Goodnight,” he mumbles, pressing his face into the pillow, “I’m glad you came,” he trails off.

“I am too,” you reply, letting yourself play with his hair.

“Star confessed to me today,” he says, his words muffled from his face being hidden in the pillow, but he peeks out to gauge your reaction. You pretend to be surprised.

“Oh, what did you say?”

“That I would rather be with you, obviously,” he says, pinching your waist.

“I’d like to be with you, too.”

Kuni blooms red at that, hiding his face back in the pillow.

You’d come clean after Paris.

You wanted to enjoy this for as long as you could.

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

filler

behind the lens !

masterlist — prev | next

sunghoon, yeonjun, and lujiuerhei as scara, felix as kazuha

ngl i kinda regret making ayaka a friend in this au but i’m too far gone ☠️

shadow moth hacking scara’s twt hes in a silly goofy mood

lmk if u can’t read anything in an ask and i’ll zoom in for u,,it’s hard trying to cram everything into ten pics

translations:

merci d'être entré dans ma vie = thank you for coming into my life

author’s notes — lmk if the french is right i trusted google for this one

synopsis — you, better known as STARDUST, and BALLADEER have always been in competition for the top streamer spot on twitch, which is especially impressive since the two of you have never shown your faces. you’ve never been on good terms, constantly one-upping each other in matches and getting into petty arguments on twitter, causing your fans to also dislike each other. that’s until BALLADEER does a face reveal that breaks the internet with his good looks…which makes you realize it’s the same guy you went on a date with last night. the type of date that made you crave to see him again. the only problem was he didn’t know you were STARDUST and he was way different behind the lens than he portrayed himself online to you. should you keep your identity a secret to salvage the relationship or just let him go?

taglist is closed — @captainzep @elysiumarchieve @plinkuro @sakkakuu-squared @eliqusgenma @vuvulia @kunikuzushiit @ins4nebish @stxrgxzxr @lilneps @uma-umie @goubaia @mitsukifilms @caesars-bubbles @wheneverthesunrise @its-like-twilight @kazuhalvrr @erosdevil @thenightsflower @p1utto @noodleshark420 @lxry-chxn @orbitscara @court-jester-stuff @lauragalliart @veyu002 @kaeyas-eyepatch-69 @leathernourishingshoepolish @satowaluverr @lexlapis @drunkwithfever @exhaustedcommunist @vincanzu @ainlaw @ovaliz @kitsuvil @whatamidoing89 @celestair @kunihaver @kazioli @xiaosoneandonly @cridtiins @cherrybeomgyu @asukahiriko @moon-320 @orionicchaos [1/3]

#genshin fics #genshin x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche smau #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #genshin smau #genshin scaramouche #behind the lens smau

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lunarfied · 1 year

Text

WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP ME ?; masterlist

a genshin impact scaramouche x gender neutral reader ; social media au

IMPORTANT ;;

this au is DISCONTINUED. please stop asking me to be added to the taglist and for updates, it’s not going to happen.

SYNOPSIS ; SCARAMOUCHE and Y/N were once lovers. high school sweethearts if you will, but a week before your birthday, he broke up with you and disappeared from your life. you thought you’d never see the boy who broke your heart again until the new roommate moving in with you and your best friends happens to be none other than your ex boyfriend, KUNI.

WARNING ; this will contain slight heavy material at some parts; nothing is set in stone yet though & timestamps do not matter. all characters in this are young adults (18+) unless stated otherwise. written parts are marked with a ✎

GENRES ; friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers to exes to enemies to friends to lovers (lol) fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, social media au, modern au, college au, we will see where the vibes take us….

TAGS ; mommy issues, kinda toxic exes but it’s more of a miscommunication type thing, alcohol and drug usgae, nsfw jokes, family member death, random side ships, etc.,

STATUS ; discontinued. started [dec. 27th, 2022] and ended on [---].

PLAYLIST ; here - give it a listen pls i swear its good

TAGLIST ; closed.

PROFILES : skittle squad + emo band

ACT ONE : first love / late spring

✎ 01 : stream start

✎ 02 : venti the dropout

03 : scara is sus

04 : uh oh

05 : i luv my boyf

✎ 06 : dinner gone questionable

✎ 07 : left on read

08 : sims stream

09: party planners

10 : huggy wuggy

✎ 11 : fucked

12 : flowers have a language?

✎ 13 : family bonding

✎ 14 — : the party

✎ 15 — : talk to me

16 — : hungover (bonus)

17 — : omori (bonus)

ACT TWO: francis forever

✎ 18 — : picnic

✎ 19 — : oops

✎ 20 — : raid shadow legends

✎ 21 — : tbd

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3rosx · 2 months

Text

Modern au haikaveh, Kaveh got sent to the clinic for some injury, and he like slept there. He didn't realize Haitham was there with him the whole time, skipped his classes and just read his books while sitting next to Kaveh's clinic bed (he's say something like self-study is better for him than what the teachers are teaching, I feel like he's a nerd like that) and then when Kaveh wakes up, he sees Haitham there. Asleep on his seat, the sun is setting, picture this golden hour with the sun rays shining in all the right angles. Kaveh reaches in and brushes some hair out of Haitham's face and whispers something like "he's so handsome" (he has a tendency to talk to himself when he thinks no one is listening) and he didn't see the way the tip of Alhaitham's ear blushes red because he heard it. He wasn't really asleep.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin imagines #kaveh #kavetham #haikaveh #genshin impact kaveh #genshin impact alhaitham #alhaitham #genshin fics

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ddostoyevskyy · 1 year

Text

↭ 𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄...

❝a person who is attracted, whether it be sexually, romantically, or otherwise, to intelligence or intelligent people rather than to the physical appearance...❞

↭feat. Diluc Ragnvindr, Kamisato Ayato, Kaedahara Kazuha, Albedo, Al'haitam, Tighnari, Kaveh.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞... I already saw someone doing this with SAPIOSEXUAL. And, I thought I’ll do it with Sapiophile, instead. EMOTIONALLY, POLITICALLY, POETICALLY, ACADEMICALLY Intelligence. And, I’ve already put the four men (Albedo, Al’haitam, Tighnari, Kaveh) all in one, so, I hope you won’t get confused.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬... Nothing much. Just these men being attracted to a person with brilliant mind and soul.

MASTERLIST.

Request open!

✗↭... 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐑, 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂; The Darknight Hero.

For someone who is strong needs someone who is smart.

Although, Diluc is also a smart man, I think, he needs someone who is emotionally smart. Someone who can understand and emphatize with his hidden feelings because I don’t think he’s a person whose quick to attached to someone.

Since, Diluc is rather an opposite to his burning vision, he’s outmost personality is intimidating and cold. Most of the time, I always see him as someone whose having a hard time dealing with his own emotions.

At times, he’s really just hard to read and oblivious at some point, yet his body language seems to disagree with this words.

If you knew him well enough just by looking at him, and he trust you enough to show what he really feels, he respect your judgments and what your perspectives in some sort of situation where, maybe, he’s being to insensitive, he’s being to ignorant or abrasive — but, he’s never arrogant.

Being emotionally smart is equivalent to being emotional too (I’m emotional, yes). So, when it comes to arguments with him, he’s actually careful with which words he’ll be going to use — he’s actually concern when you’ll avert your eyes away from him whenever an argument is starting to get heated. He’s aware enough to hold your hand whenever you’re getting emotional — or when you look like you’re about to cry.

And having a partner whose emotionally intellectual is surely what he craves for.

✗↭... 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎, 𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐓𝐎; The Yashiro Commisioner.

He’s a menace in society.

Politically smart is not only talking about the politics itself — it is also discussing about how an individual will handle such leaderships — which Ayato executed perfectly. A partner who is such a great leader and has a strong beliefs and ethics in able to reach their designated goals in life is what attract him the most.

Moving on, I think, Ayato will be attracted to someone whose politically smart.

A person whose enable to strive with their own talents and can argue politically and financially and a selfless leader is his ideal. Although, he want someone loyal — as long as his partner is loyal to the public and honest is what he desire of.

And, having someone politically smart as his partner — that just mean you’re always with him in social gatherings.

He always watch how you interact with people whose trying to negotiate and interact with the Yashiro Commissioner himself. Although, he’s not meeting or conversing with people if they are not approved by you — he’s always wary with people, so having you is an advantage for his position and for his safety.

Although, when the same thing happens to you, he’s there to protect you when the time comes. You’ve been awfully smart around his own business, practically helping him out on his own paperworks and now, it’s his time to prevent your reputation to be ruined from something that is a false accuse.

He’s a menace in society, so he want his partner to be someone like him too.

✗↭... 𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀, 𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀; Scarlet Leaves Pursue Wild Waves.

This pretty boy. I love him. He’s attracted to someone with brilliant mind. And, when I say brilliant mind; those who see something or the world more deeper. Basically, someone who likes to double meaning. Kidding aside, Kazuha is one poetic man. And, someone who view the world and everything like how he sees it is what he admire the most. Having the same perspectives in life with a person you’re attracted to is ideally. He’s a passionate lover, and he’s more open about his emotions unlike, Diluc. So, I don’t think, Kazuha still needs someone emotionally smart — maybe, someone whose wide with vocabulary and loves to express their emotions and thought like a poet is what he’ll love the most. He would love a partner whose carefree and loves to travel just like him. Discovering more and more to the world while you’re spending time with each other is very ideal too. While you’re out there telling him how was your day and what happened after a long day without seeing him with using foreign words or you’re literally acting like you’re in a theatre stage; all expression and with a smile on your face, he will silently listen while holding a pen and paper; jotting down some of your words of wisdom in his pocket notebook, so he can reread it again and again. He’s calm as a breeze, and having someone with wise words that would swoon him over like the calm waves in his roaring seas is what he desire the most.

✗↭... 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐎; Kreideprinz, The Chalk Prince. 𝐀𝐋’𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐌; The Acting Grand Sage. 𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈; The Avidya Forest Watcher. 𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇; The Renowned Sumeru Architect.

These men are SMART, SMART. They have the certain knowledge with how things works, especially in the medicine and architectural field. Although, Kaveh’s prototypes amd sketches is a little too weird, yet too modernized in the literal world. They don’t seek for common sense, rather they seek for more knowledge that will gain them for their own or their daily lives. They will want to have a partner who will help them strive for their future (although, Kaveh and Al’haitham is already graduated, Albedo is literally a walking chemistry, and Tighnari is a master on his own field), they will eventually learn from someone whose academically smart. For Al’haitham, he’s got a little care for the world — always has his eyes on his book. But, when he found your own book which you carry around — he found way too many sticky notepads and doodles which he found way too messy (but, he’s a mess himself), although he found those sticky notes really useable in a some sort of a way — he started to be more eager to know about you and how you seek for knowledge by just reading a book. Although, he, too, loves to read. He found comfort in your book which has those sticky notes plastered in every pages. Albedo — oh, he’s one hard opponent when it comes to science and he loves to sketch! So, imagine him having a partner who loves science too — but with anatomy. He saw one of your sketches in his laboratory — left unattended and open which is quite rare for you to do — you always has your sketchbook as close as possible, because your sketches is quite... sketchy for other people. When he found out what your sketchbook really contains, he’s flabbergasted at first. Seeing muscles, bones, cells, skins, female and male anatomy — and, oh, what is that? Is that his arms...? With his gloves? He found your sketches rather strange.... although, it was quite a very detailed drawings, he can’t help, but to be fascinated rather than creep out. And, he admired you more than before. For Kaveh to be such a burnout architecture with an engineer partner is a quite interesting pair. Imagine, both of you pulling an all nighters just to finish a single design which will be rejected later. Kaveh loves to watch you sketch, completely forgetting about his own work when you are currently sitting by his side, eyes glued to the work that is due the next day. You still look amazing, despite not sleeping for days and he envy that (although, he himself is a beautiful man). He admire the way your fingers graze across the canvas and how the sound of the pencil scratching on the paper reaching his ears. Often time, you would help him with his work, making sure that his work will surely be approved by the engineers (which is you, yourself) and he admire how you pointed out such mistakes on his own canvas. But, the only mistake he ever did is not listening to you and just staring at you the whole time you tried to explain some possible changes on his work. Tighnari is a very intelligent man. He’s very wise with his words. He’s very logical, especially with plants and a promising physician (whennnnn will it be my turn to be oneeeeeee). So, having someone in the same field of work will be a challenge for him. Someone better than him? You knew so much about medicines and herbal methods which he has yet to conquer. Although, it fascinates him how you work within the field and the forest, despite always being stuck in your own work room — you always find yourself being treated by him, despite being an own doctor, yourself. Are you purposely getting yourself hurt, so you can slide through his office and get treated? Although, he doesn’t mind. As long as you will tell him some of your medicine secrets and knowledge, it doesn’t matter! At the end of the day, all of that information vanished — only left by your lingering scent on his office that had his tail wagging and cheeks flushed.

Disclaimer; This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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koohito · 10 months

Text

BY YOUR SIDE | KAMISATO AYATO

tags: FEM!reader, marriage trope, dad ayato, alternate universe, OC (kaizen kamisato), casual inside joke, fluff everywhere (plenty of kisses), reader and ayato can’t keep their hands to themselves (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

wc: 2K

a/n: as my first tumblr fic, i initially wanted this to be shorter (abt 600 words) but i got carried away. also, i wanted this posted on fathers day, but then again i need to make tons of revisions so im a tad late (just pretend this was posted during fathers day hehe). I HOPE U ENJOY ◕⩊◕

Ayato came to a halt, enamored by the sight of you and your two-year-old son sleeping peacefully on your shared bed.

The rainy, lazy Saturday morning at the Kamisato estate seemed to have a cast a tranquil spell. Having finished his morning shower, Ayato donned his khaki shorts and polo shirt, ready to start the weekend task that waited him. The papers on his office table beckoned for his attention, but the gloomy weather and the empty side of the bed tempted him to abandon his tedious work.

Your son had rolled over to your side, holding onto your nightdress while resting his cheek against your chest. He must have rushed to his parents’ bedroom upon being startled awake by the loud thunder, luckily finding the doors unlocked. Unconsciously, you cradle your son’s head, gently nuzzling his temple.

A tender smile graced Ayato’s lips as he observed this scene. Gods, seeing his two most cherished beings in such serenity made him wish to freeze time in this moment. Ayato tossed his hair towel lazily into the hamper before taking out his phone. It’s not even 8 o’clock yet. He captured two pictures of you and your son, snug and cozy, and decided to make one of them his lock screen. Just as he was about to give in to the temptation of returning to bed, a work email notification from one of his business colleagues caught his attention. His jaw clenched abruptly, and he let out a soft sigh.

Approaching your side of the bed, he carefully pulled the comforter over you, making sure not to disturb either of you. Leaning in, Ayato pressed a gentle kiss on his son’s hand still clutching your hip. Then he placed a tender kiss on your exposed shoulder, followed by another on your temple. You stirred briefly before drifting back to sleep.

You knocked on Ayato’s office door, peeking inside to check if he had any scheduled calls before entering. “So, you’ve been wearing my fuzzy slippers! I was searching for them everywhere,” you exclaimed, grinning as you noticed him tapping his feet on the ground with your slippers. Approaching him, you stood behind his swivel chair, wrapping your arms around his chest from the back, your face nestled beside his. “Morning, Ayato,” you greeted, peppering the side of his face with affectionate kisses.

“These slippers are so comfortable, I’m sorry,” he chuckled, setting aside some of the papers to cup your cheek, his eyes still fixed on his laptop screen. “And good morning to you too, my love. Did you sleep well? Is Kaizen awake?”

“Mhm,” you replied, planting a final kiss on your husband’s cheek. “It would’ve been better if you had joined us back in bed,” you remarked while smoothing his chest. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

An hour later had passed when you finally woke up. Your son was no longer nestled beside you, so you assumed he must be in his room or with his father. Swiftly changing your nightdress into something casual, you went through your morning routine. “I only had orange juice this morning and I planned to cook breakfast, but I had an early meeting,” he explained as you watched him organize his papers, neatly tucking them beside a non-fiction entrepreneur book. He swiveled his chair to face you, pulling you onto his lap. “Anything you want for breakfast? I’ll cook,” he offered, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Or, if you prefer, we can go out today since the rain has stopped.”

You genuinely wanted to spend the day out together with your two boys, to make up for the busy weekdays. However, you couldn’t help hesitate as you hadn’t prepared any itineraries for dining or strolling, and the damp weather didn’t make it easier. “I do want to go out honestly, but I’m not sure where we'll go yet. Plus, I know you’re busy with work today, and I don’t wanna trouble you,” you admitted, reaching up to tuck a strand of your husband’s hair behind his ear. A small, tight-lipped smile graced your lips as you offered your thoughts.

Always so considerate, Ayato thought fondly. He let his gaze linger on you for what felt like a minute before leaning back into his chair, pulling you in closer to him, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder. “I’m done for the day, my love, so you don’t have to worry,” he reassured you, his thumb tracing idle shapes on your waist. “I know a place that serves breakfast, and we can take a stroll there afterward. They also have a kids’ area that our son will love. We can even stay there for lunch and dinner as well.” Ayato breathed in the scent of your shampoo, planting a quick kiss on your head. “That is, if you want to.”

“Absolutely, that sounds like a perfect plan,” you responded blissfully, the corner of your lips curling up. You shuffle slightly against his lap so you could face him fully and cupped his face in your hands. “Thank you for thinking this through and making time for us, even though I’m sure you still have unfinished business waiting on that desk,” you said, giving him a peck on the lips. “Regardless, it’s the weekend, my love. You deserve some leisure too. I’ll even treat you to a massage place if we come across one today,” you chuckled, gently stroking your thumb on his face. “I love you.”

Ayato had a teasing response in his mind, but you surprised him with a gentle kiss. The citrusy taste from the orange juice he mentioned before mingled with the kiss. He hummed, pulling you closer by the hips as the kiss deepened. He realized that he didn’t need a massage when being with you was the the way to relax. No matter how busy he is with work meetings, he made it clear that his priority was managing his time for you and Kaizen. With a smile on his lips, he caressed your neck, his thumb lightly brushing your jaw.

Three years of marriage, and you never ceased to be deeply enamored by this man. Each day, he managed to make your heart swell with affection. “There’s a kaitenzushi place nearby,” he broke the kiss, and you opened your eyes. “I remember you saying you wanted to try their nigiri sushi before,” he recalls his memory on you watching a video about this sushi train, gushing over how badly you wanna try them and wondered how many dishes you both could finish. “How about we go there for dinner later this evening?” Ayato suggested, lightly nipping your lower lip. “Yeah?”

You nodded in response, endeared the way he remembers. “Okay,” you said, beaming, and he grinned in return. His expression softened into fond amusement as you leaned into the palm of his hand. Your mouths coming together once more, yet before he could lengthen your kiss into another extent, your son came rushing adorably into the room with a ball in his hand.

“Mimi!” he called out in his sweet baby voice that startles you and Ayato. Quickly making space between you but still seated on your husband’s lap, you turned your attention to your son. “Mimi, I, I sit on Dada too,” he exclaimed, his cheerful features and curios eyes assessing his parents before dropping his ball and extending his arms towards you, waiting to be picked up. Kaizen giggled, and you smiled back broadly, reaching out to him tenderly. However, Ayato beat you to it as he scooped up your child in one arm, settling him on his lap.

My boys. It was amusing and heartwarming to realize that despite your son inheriting only the hue and shape of your eyes, he looked like an exact replica of his father. You smiled inwardly, silently watching both of them interact. The way your son’s face lit up with laughter in his father’s presence was a striking resemblance of the two of them together. It's truly amazing, you thought.

You playfully poke your son’s cheeks, making him giggle with delight. “Do you want to take a shower with mommy, baby?” you asked giddily. “We’re going out today, all three of us!”

He squeals with joy and reaches out his arms towards you. “Where we going now, Mimi?” he asks as you lift him up, his arms resting on your shoulder while he stands on your thighs. “I go… go eat ice cream today!”

“Mhm,” his father agrees, patting him on the head. “You can shower with mommy first, and then we’ll get you ice cream.” Ayato clears his throat, his arms slipping around your lower back. You turn your head to look at him, unsure of what he’s about to say. “Unless… Mimi wants dada to join you guys in the shower too?”

“Oh, please,” you say, rising from his lap and swat his shoulder. Carrying Kaizen with you, you give your husband an incredulous look. He burst into laughter, and you can’t help but shake your head, trying to suppress a smile. “Dada has already showered, baby. I think what your dada needs to do is eat his breakfast.” You raise an eyebrow at Ayato.

But your son’s innocent eyes blink at you, and in that instant, you know you’re in for some negotiations. Kaizen not only inherited Ayato’s features but also his stubbornness, or maybe he got it from you. “But, but I want Dada, Mimi! Dada shower too!” he squeals, squirming himself free from your arms. “Dada shower too, please.”

Ayato continues chuckling from behind you, standing up and taking Kaizen from your arms. He grunts playfully as he lifts the boy higher, holding him tightly. Kaizen giggle in excitement in return, swinging his arms in the air. You follow behind them as your husband start walking out of his office. “Kaizen,” he calls, and your son immediately looks at him. “Do you want dada to shower with you?”

“Oh my god, not this again,” you mutter.

“Yes! Me and, and Dada, Mimi shower too!” Kaizen responds.

“Alright, little man, we’ll do that some other time, okay? We’re going to swim in the pool, too. How’s that sound? You like swimming with Mimi in the pool, and we’ll bring your rubber duckies to play with,” Ayato says, kissing his son’s temple. “Would you like that?”

“Yes, dada. I play with duckies at the pool,” he responded, turning his head towards you. “I swim in the pool. Mimi and dada outside the pool, dada.” Kaizen giggle, his dimples popping out from his plump cheeks. “You and mimi shower only.. I play ducks at the pool!”

Just when you thought you were witnessing an adorable father-son conversation, Ayato bursts into laughter again. “You don’t want us to join you in the pool? Mimi will be sad, baby,” he says, trying to contain his laughter.

“Um, I give Mimi duckies! Mimi will be happy, and I give you duckies too, dada!” your son says innocently, clapping his little hands before hugging Ayato’s neck and facing you. “Mimi, I give you duckies in the shower, okay?” he tells you with his big doe eyes.

Goodness, who could say no to this little pumpkin? “Sounds good to me, baby,” you reply, ruffling his hair.

“You sure you don’t want mimi or dada to swim you with you in the pool, Kaizen?” Ayato asks.

He shakes his head while still on Ayato’s shoulder. “Mimi and dada… and duckies in the shower!”

Ayato reaches his free hand out behind him, waiting for you to intertwine your fingers with his. He turns his head towards you, giving you a subtle wink as the corner of his mouth curls up. Your heart flutters.

“Whatever you say, pumpkin,” your husband says, a hint of amusement in his voice as he guides you towards your shared bedroom. “Mimi and dada will stay in the shower then.”

You can only chew the inside of your cheek and give his hand a light squeeze. You son is too smart for his own good at times, but this time you just let it slide, grinning with adoration. Feeling a surge of fondness for your two boys.

#ayato x reader #ayato x y/n #kamisato ayato x reader #genshin impact #genshin oc #kamisato ayato #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin fics

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snekjoy · 6 months

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My favourite ever kavetham thing to write will always be the different ways they hug each other.

Alhaitham comes home, the endless nonsense from his subordinates finally having gotten to him and made him well and truly exhausted after work for what feels like the first time.

He opens the door and Kaveh (who didn't have work today and therefore is quite chipper and upbeat in his "Welcome home!" from the divan) gets up to go and greet him, expecting just a kiss and to be asked if there's coffee brewing.

Instead, Alhaitham rests his forehead against Kaveh's shoulder, his eyes closed and a heavy sigh leaving him. Kaveh frowns, his hand meeting Alhaitham's and holding it.

"You okay?" He mumbles, and Alhaitham doesn't reply. He just lifts his arms and hugs Kaveh tight, like a crying kid does to try and hide from the world.

Kaveh is worried. Alhaitham usually doesn't let other people get to him too much, so this is concerning to him, but he knows that pressing for details isn't what he needs, so he just hugs back. They stay there, quiet and still, for a few moments.

"Some days feel longer than others." The scribe says into blonde hair, and Kaveh hums in agreement.

"I get that. You want me to leave you alone for a bit, let you calm down?"

"No." He hugs Kaveh tighter. "I want to be near you."

The architect smiles, his fingers finding grey hair and fiddling, twirling a strand between his index and thumb.

"Okay. We can get food ordered in?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." He moves to try and look at Alhaitham, who stands up straight. He looks tired, but his eyes are focused entirely on Kaveh's face, and there's a sort of affection underneath it that makes his heart warm.

"Now take your shoes off, you'll drag dirt in."

#GRAHAHRGAHRAERA #soft alhaitham we freaking love you #genshin impact #genshin fanfiction #genshin fics #fanfic #kavehtham #kaveh genshin #alhaitham genshin #kaveh x alhaitham #alhaitham x kaveh #haikaveh

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aestherin · 27 days

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KEEP MY HEART

goal 21: available for sale

one of my favs for sure HAHAHA i've been waiting to write this chapter ever since i outlined my ideas 😭 also apologies for the long wait :>

also how are you guys? i hope y'all are doing well :))

KEEP MY HEART — scara x reader smau

previous . masterlist . next

SUMMARY — you find plenty of guys around you attractive, but there is only one you’re willing to make the first move on: the guy you first saw during your older brother’s soccer game. spoiler: he's a player from your rival university.

TAGLIST I (closed)

@kararisa @krnzysh @syriiina @your-kuya-pogi @xiaosonlybeloved @xiaomainlmao @cindywasneverhere @coquettemaiden @sunsethw4 @lunavixia @calickoh @arealistonao3 @youthingazi @zyilas @mondaymelon @yukiipc @heartswonder @st0pthatsgay @ozzierenato @astreaa-express @shewolfmiko @lovelyycherries @myaaones @countessqin @aloveablechaos @letthewindlead @lunaavity @local-blueberry-boy @luminestars @layla240 @useless-potatho @atlaszi @alatusorrow @lahsram2201 @sakiimeo @user11918163805279 @vqazx @neigesprincess @kunicrush @yoursockstinks @hotgirlshit5 @mikctp @crucnhice @apotatouwu @yuaenri @sammybeefangirls @miko1ly @deffenferofjustice @etherisy @sagegreenthinks

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vriothesley · 9 months

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you, diluc, and the language of flowers in the city of mondstadt.

pairing | diluc / gn! reader genre | fluff, slice of life word count | 3.1k+ notes | also an old fic reposted from my old blog. i’ve only done minimal changes to this, and it’s basically my take (kind of?) of the mondstadt flowers’ language / meaning :)

You almost miss it—the hushed word that rolls off his tongue as you pass by Flora’s display of flowers.

“Beautiful,” he says to no one in particular. You wonder if he really intends to say it out loud, or at all, eyes bright and glancing over to each potted plant, lingering for a moment longer on the arrangement of Cecilias.

It is but a fleeting moment, and maybe it was just a trick your senses had chosen to play with you because before you could even begin to think about what he means, he takes a step forward and continues his walk; neither confident nor modest, not standing too proudly but not hunching either.

He walks as if he’s thinking of nothing else but the way the pavement beneath his feet carries him as he strides across the Mondstadt streets.

He exudes what you would expect Diluc Ragnvindr to exude: a presence that would make the second of awe he had of the flower blooms dancing with the wind seem like it was only a figment of your imagination.

Diluc stops in his tracks, slowly turns on the balls of his feet and raises his brows at you—not of authority but of just genuine curiosity.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you only realize that you’ve been standing in the same spot for a time now. You feel the heat creep up your face.

“Yes,” you cough. It’s unsure, embarrassed. You hurriedly catch up to him, jogging a few steps before repeating, “yes.”

Diluc nods, and you try not to think about it again.

“Is this fine?” you ask, cautious and patient as you squat down and pat the grass at the edge of the lake. You watch Diluc as his steps stutter for a moment only before nodding and settling down beside you.

Diluc accompanies you to your travels after the little encounter at Floral Whisper, and he remains silent for most of the time. Unfortunately, you did think about it. His quiet whisper of beautiful and the even quieter wonder his eyes had shown. You did think about the possibility of seeing that Diluc once more, childlike and bright, for maybe a second longer next time.

Your gaze wanders across the lake, then to the small bed of rock where a waypoint stood, glimmering shyly in blue. There are frogs jumping around and lizards crawling everywhere.

“Are you afraid of them?” you wonder aloud before you could even bite your tongue.

Ah, you think, oh no.

After adventuring all morning to purge nearby hillichurl camps and jump around collecting crystalflies, Diluc had suggested finding a place to rest. A quick dip in cool water has always been pleasant, so you led him to Springvale. The chatter of the hunters in the town just behind you and the swishing waters of the waterfalls seem to be enough white noise between you and Diluc. You’re both tired as well, so of course Diluc wouldn’t interest himself in such idle chit-chats.

Diluc shakes off his boots and rolls his pant legs up, sits on the edge, and dips his feet in. It seems methodical but you wonder how much of this is his routine. He is a renowned adventurer, after all. He says not a single word and you don’t really mind. Maybe you could just pretend that you never asked the question at all, as embarrassing as that is. This is Diluc and you know him, not interested in small talks and whatnot.

But he hums, and it’s quiet, before he snorts, “No.” The small smile playing on his lips stupefies you and it is the second time that you doubt your senses—did he just laugh? Was that even a laugh? Or did he just find my attempt at a conversation pathetic and he thinks I’m ridiculous and– “I’m not afraid of them, but they are bothersome.”

It feels as if the weight has been released off your chest. So it was a laugh, huh. Who knew.

You soon follow suit, submerging your feet in the cold waters of the lake, watching as the surface ripples and distorts the reflection of his bright red glory. You lean back, not being able to stop the sigh of relief that escapes your mouth. The silence covers you like a blanket and it feels delightful. There is nothing but the waters washing away the soreness of your feet, and the fiery red man sitting beside you, and the beds of Calla Lily flowers behind you, and the boar across the lake.

(You wonder if Kaeya were here and would agree on making an ice bridge just to catch the boar and get a few pieces of raw meat because you assume that none of you would want to swim.)

(Oh, speaking of Kaeya.)

Your hand reaches to pluck a Calla Lily out of the grass and you bring it close to your face, fingers delicately twisting and eyes scanning the flower as if you’re trying to pry its secrets apart. You’re not, and the flower probably holds no secrets anyway. You’re just thinking about how the Calla Lily is actually more known as the chubby lotus of Mondstadt and you want to giggle even more because — “Isn’t the Calla Lily Kaeya’s favorite flower?”

Diluc stops swinging his feet to turn to you, and he snorts. It’s a laugh, and you’re sure this time.

“What a silly thing to ask me,” he says.

“I had a feeling you’d know what his favorite is.”

Diluc nods, and he props his arm against the grass bed to lean back, watch the afternoon clouds. You don’t know if the nod is an affirmation of the Calla Lilies being his brother’s favorite flower, or of the fact that he knows. Maybe both.

The blanket returns and the silence stretches until the sun starts to set. You wonder if you should ask Diluc to go back to the city now, or to wait for him to ask instead. You watch the side of his face and gauge the next words to say, but nothing comes.

Diluc notices this, probably, because he breaks the silence instead. “Do you like them?”

You furrow your brows instead of giving him a proper answer so he clarifies, with a shade of pink tinting his cheeks.

“The Calla Lilies, I mean.” Diluc clears his throat and looks away, the water splashing when he kicks and you wonder if this is another glimpse of the childlike Diluc you saw from befote, in front of the flower shop inside Mondstadt’s gates.

“They’re okay,” you answer meekly. “They’re pretty, but I don’t like the way they taste.”

You continue to describe how the taste of the chubby lotuses feels absolutely repulsive on your tongue and how you were forced to drink Calla Lily medicine when you were a kid, when you get sick. They work, but that doesn’t take away the fact that these cute, orange flowers are better off to be admired than to be consumed. Diluc listens intently and the sun is now nowhere to be seen. The night has fallen and the Calla Lilies around the lake of Springvale bow as if to nap, and the story-telling of how you have a love-hate relationship with the flower has come to an end.

“Yeah,” Diluc breathes, maybe as an affirmation to everything you’ve said; an assurance to say that he did listen to every word, so he repeats, “yeah. I think so too.”

Diluc had told you that he doesn’t get the appeal of Dandelions. They’re just bulbs of tiny seeds, he says, and he doesn’t think that they’re on par with the beauty of the rest of Mondstadt’s flowers.

Maybe he just doesn’t know how the Dandelion seeds spread their wings.

The moment you both had the opportunity to wander around, no commissions or duties whatsoever, you grab his wrist and pull him outside the city walls—Diluc’s well-kept and upheld image and presence be damned. The winds sing of freedom and the Dandelions sway to its tune.

“Dandelions,” you start, letting Diluc’s wrist go to allow you to crouch in front of a stem of one, “ride on the wind. Even without its feathered wings, it still holds the hope from afar within.”

You glance at Diluc, his presence still alluring as ever, and you wait for any sign of agreement or, at the very least, acknowledgment from him. He sways on the balls of his feet, brows knitted, before adding, “In a sense, the Dandelion represents the romantic spirit of love and freedom.” There is a hint of mischief in the corners of his mouth. “Right?”

Right. You could only roll your eyes at the red-haired man before turning your attention back to the Dandelion once again. You scoff at him—at the very obvious fact that of course he knows that. “Someone has the Mondstadt library archive entries memorized,” you tease.

Diluc imitates your position with his legs squatted and elbows rested on his thighs, except he’s an arms-length away from you and the Dandelion so you don’t really consider that as making a ton of progress.

You carefully pull the stem of the Dandelion and take a few steps toward where Diluc is, still crouching and all. He watches you move closer and there is evident confusion in his expression, but he does not dare to move.

“I learned about Dandelions because they’re used in winemaking,” he retorts to your earlier jab that, to be quite honest, you’ve already forgotten.

You raise the bulb of Dandelion to his face, between you and him. You sway it carefully, only letting a few of its seeds fly away. Diluc remains confused, and he does not even try to hide it.

“I used to make wishes on Dandelions,” you beam, voice just as bright. “I believe that they could carry my desires to Celestia when they fly with the wind.”

The presence that Diluc Ragnvindr carries falters for a second when it sinks in that your words are not a story, but a suggestion. You should try it, you mean to say. Make a wish.

A sudden gust of wind blows, and a number of dandelion seeds fly—to you, to your left, towards the water, to the bridge, and to–

Oh no.

The presence that Diluc Ragnvindr carries falters—completely now—when his nose crinkles and he sniffs and sniffs and he tries to rub away the itch in his nose but… well, he sneezes and it blows the rest of the seeds on the Dandelion bulb away.

With eyes wide, you watch as his cheeks and ears turn bright red. You would joke about how you almost don’t know where his fiery red hair starts and ends if you aren’t so shocked with it either.

“I…” he trails, then he sneezes again. “I made a wish before it all flew away.”

This time, your mouth drops. That’s… unexpected, isn’t it? I made a wish before it all flew away. Perhaps this is another glance at the childlike and bright Diluc you’ve been wanting to see again since.

Diluc smiles sheepishly. “I like Dandelions, but they make my nose itch.”

The laugh you’ve been trying to hold back now comes in full force. It starts with a chuckle, and then it turns into small chortles, then it’s now just good, good laughs. Diluc, without a hint of the authority he always embodies, laughs with you.

Visible winds are what the citizens of Mondstadt call the plant that adores the wind—the Windwheel Asters. In Stormterror’s Lair, its petals spin and spin and you remember that Vind once told you that Windwheel Asters cannot grow in places with no wind nor plagued by strong storms. The orange flowers find rhythm in winds of gentle and nourishing give.

“It’s unbelievable, almost,” you tell Diluc with the raise of your fingers, a gesture to exaggerate your disbelief. “These asters seem out of place in Stormterror’s Lair.”

“Yes,” he affirms, then bends down and picks a flower by his feet. Its petals still spin in all its beauty and the contrast of its vibrance against the backdrop of the ruins, dark and alone, emphasizes the very purpose of it. Visible winds.

Diluc walks forward to hand you the aster, then he trudges back to pluck himself another one. He continues, “But they only grow where there are tender winds. It only means that the lair is not as desolate as the citizens believe it to be.”

You know what Diluc means. That Stormterror is still Dvalin; that he is still one of the Four Winds, the entities that the Anemo Archon entrusted the safety of Mondstadt to.

You know what it means. You know– that there are still protectors of Mondstadt even if they are nowhere to be seen, impalpable but still ever-present, like–

Wind. This is, after all, the nation of wind.

Diluc probably does not mean refer to himself with his words at all, but...

You fiddle with the Windwheel Aster in your hand and you watch its petals make the presence of the gentle winds known. An invisible force that guides the city of Mondstadt. Then you recall the gloved hand that holds the heavy claymore, the red hair that slashes through the breeze. Each move in a battle, calculated and done with grace.

You remember the legend of the Darknight Hero and how Diluc doesn’t want the people to know his name. You remember Diluc and you believe that there are still protectors of Mondstadt even if they are nowhere to be seen.

At late noon, the surrounding areas of Wolvendom become clear of any threat of hillichurls and Ruin Guards.

Diluc looks as if he isn’t tired at all, the sweat trickling down the side of his face seeming like a mere ornament. The sun is starting to set and the oncoming night paints the road up the territory of the Wolf of the North. The fiery-haired man props his claymore on the ground, steadying before he leans against it. You’re spread out on the grass, not even bothering for shame and modesty anymore.

“Unfair,” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at Diluc. “How are you not exhausted after all that?”

Diluc gives you a small laugh, and he looks at the row of Small Lamp Grasses across. “It has become routine to me.”

You follow his trail of sight, propping your elbows against the ground to sit up slightly. The wildflowers sit in silence and you almost hear crickets deep in the woods of Wolvendom, empty in the slowly unfolding night.

“We don’t have anything else for today, right?” you ask, the question lingering on your tongue. Diluc hums. “Then…”

“Then?”

“Would it be alright if we stay here until nighttime? Just until the lamp grasses light up.” There is heat growing on your ears, so you supply almost immediately with, “It’s alright if you don’t want to! I just want–”

“It’s fine,” Diluc cuts you off. He settles his claymore down and sits at a safe distance beside you. “They don’t show their wonder until night, after all. I want to see them light up, too.”

Diluc walks as if he’s thinking of nothing else but the way the ground beneath his feet carries him as he strides across Mondstadt.

He exudes what you would expect Diluc Ragnvindr to exude: a presence that definitely would make the second of awe he had of the flower blooms dancing with the wind seem like it was only a figment of your imagination.

You know this. You’ve seen it for so many times and it still twists something in you. Something deep inside you. The thing is, though—the childlike and bright Diluc Ragnvindr is not a figment of your imagination, after all.

At the base of the Starsnatch Cliff, a lone Cecilia sways with the breeze. You think there is nothing special about it, for there are probably several more of the flowers on the way up. Diluc thinks otherwise.

Diluc asked you to come along with him somewhere. That somewhere, you find out now, is Starsnatch Cliff. The lone Cecilia comes into his view and he wastes no time to stride towards it. He crouches, removes his glove, then traces the petals of it with a nimble finger.

This is Diluc, still. You know this. You’ve seen it for so many times and it still twists something in you. This is not a figment of your imagination.

Mirth swirls in his fiery red eyes and somehow, he looks younger. Boyish, and unlike how he usually is. He turns to you and ushers you to come closer, so you do. This is the Diluc who stood in awe in front of Floral Whisper that day.

“Cecilias are my favorite,” he begins this time. “I don’t know why, but I’m just so drawn into them. They’re beautiful.”

Beautiful, the whisper and wonder of it all fit Diluc Ragnvindr in his entirety.

Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t have done this. But it’s too late now, isn’t it? You’ve knocked on the large wooden door of the Dawn Winery manor and you’ve heard the footsteps of the young master growing louder at each second. Maybe–

The door opens and it reveals the embodiment of beautiful and you’re speechless. Maybe this is a mistake, but maybe you don’t mind making this mistake.

“Sorry,” you apologize as soon as you come to your senses. Diluc looks down at the bouquet in your hand, an arrangement of Mondstadt flowers with Cecilias at its center. The embarrassment washes into you now and words immediately escape your mouth, “Are these flowers okay? I’m sorry if it’s an overkill. You don’t have to accept it. I know Cecilias are your favorite so I asked Flora to make them like this. Ah, I should’ve asked if you wanted something like this at all. I’m sorry–”

Diluc propels to you, taking the bouquet from your hand and setting it aside. He pulls you closer, holds you by your shoulders then decides to hold your face between his warm hands instead. It sets your skin on fire but it doesn’t hurt, because Diluc protects and never intends to hurt anyone in any way.

This isn’t a mistake, because Diluc Ragnvindr will never be a mistake.

He puts his lips to use in the absence of words, planting a kiss against your forehead, childlike and bright; beauty and all.

#*vriothesley #genshin impact fics #genshin fics #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #diluc imagines #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #diluc fluff

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starz222 · 1 year

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waking up w/ them !

ft. scara, thoma, diluc, xiao

cw sfw not proofread short might be ooc

note let me live my messy sleeper diluc dream

scara — makes you sleep in with him

scara doesn't let go of his arms around your waist, no matter how much you complain or beg. you're still exhausted and have little to no energy to free yourself from his grip. "scara, please. i have to get up." you groan, your throat feels dry and itchy. "good luck," he mumbles into your neck, "'m not letting you go." he pulls you closer to him, his breaths tickling your neck, “hey—” you laugh, “that tickles!”

scaramouche smiles, is this a dream or is this really reality? after so long, he still can't believe he gets to love someone like you.

thoma — breakfast in bed

you wake up and turn to thoma’s side of the bed— he’s not there? you sit up and take the blanket off of you. as soon as you begin to get off the bed, the door opens. thoma walks in with a tray in hand, a stack of pancakes with syrup on the side, your favorite drink, and fruit. “sorry! did i wake you?” he says as he walks over to the bed. “no– not at all. i was just worried.” you move to sit on the edge of the bed. “sorry for worrying you, love.”

he places the tray carefully by your side and sits next to you. “eat well,” he says as he leans in to kiss you on your forehead.

you look back at the pancake, they're in the shape of hearts! "i don't think i want to eat this, you put so much effort into it." you chuckle, "nonsense, i can make those anytime you want!" you pour some syrup and take a bite, "this is really good!" you exclaim. "thank you, it's because i put looots of love into it." thoma says in a singsong voice. how cheesy.

diluc — messy sleeper

you wake up to your entire body aching, and your back on the cold, hard ground. you groan and sit up to realize— diluc pushed you off the bed. you push your weight onto the frame of the bed and see diluc sleeping. the blanket partially on the floor, and the pillows scattered all over the bed. upon closer inspection, diluc’s… drooling? is that why he refused to sleep beside you?

he rolls over to you and pulls you towards him. “are you awake?” you scolded, “...no” he mumbles in his sleep. you laugh and let him spoon you, “don’t leave” he mutters. “i won’t leave you.” soon after, you fall asleep again, this time, in his arms.

xiao — how comforting it is for him

usually, xiao would have nightmares. the karmic debt he has suffered haunts him even in his sleep. he figures that as a yaksha, he didn’t need to. that all changed when he allowed himself to fall asleep in your arms, holding him so tight. no matter how many times he’d complain or convince you that he didn’t need to sleep, your words and actions left him defeated. you reassured him that you’d stay by his side, and that he should just sleep.

for once, he slept really well. the best he’s ever had in fact. he wakes up feeling energetic, like the weight from his shoulders disappeared. even more so when he hears you snoring and still holding him.

is this what you humans call… love? he thinks.

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edgeray · 17 days

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One Hell of a Butler Pt. 2

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader Blurb)

A/N: Wasn't really expecting to write arle content so soon but heck i miss writing and school makes me sad :( i have 4 assessments next week. i hate it here. also for @\megistusdiary and @\servalisms who feed me so well <333 love you guys. anyways, following the same concept as the first part here, this is some time after Reader and Arlecchino has made the contract. What do you guys think about this series? Future edit: It's gonna be a blurb, I say. It'll be less than 1k I say. *Looks at the time.* It's 3AM and the finished product is 2.2k words. Again. How do I do this to myself. I'm not calling this a oneshot though because not my greatest quality. Content Warning: Suggestive. semi-graphic descriptions of violence Series Masterlist

It's funny, really, having a demon as your butler. You could never imagine yourself as the type of person to even consider such a notion, and you certainly were not a believer of the supernatural either. Of course, beliefs change and so do mindsets; after all, your worldview was shattered with one singular event. It is that catalyst that has led you down this path. You used to believe that revenge was just a trope, an exaggerated manifestation of pettiness but as you feel it pump through your blood and inject in its veins, revenge is so very palpable. And with the contract, it's graspable, within your reach. It's like a dessert, waiting to be devoured after the main course. And like a dessert, however, in order to really savor it, one must be patient.

It has led you to this point. To a ball, specifically. The preparations have all been laid out, and you know what you your goal from this event is. The only thing left to do is to prepare the final touches and carry out the plan.

For all your meticulous planning, you don't expect yourself to be hindered before you had even gotten to the event. And defeated by a corset dress of all things. You couldn't extend your arms anymore to reach the strings behind your dress. Of course, you have other dresses, but none were as suitable for this event besides this one; this dress is made especially to carry secret compartments for weapons, a feature that none of your other apparels have.

"Arlecchino," you call out to your butler, and within a moment, the air of the room grew considerably colder, alerting you of the demon's sudden appearance. The abrupt chill invokes a chill down your spine and you let out a breathy exhale as you gazed at the mirror in front of you, and could see your servant's form just behind you, her height towering over you. On her face is the usual subtle smirk when she's with you and her red pupils gleamed just slightly.

"You look beautiful, my Lady," she greets with a low drawl although you knew it was out of politeness than admiration. Her irises burn as you could feel it traverse over your exposed back and you can barely suppress the goosebumps that her gaze provoked.

"I didn't summon you here to ogle me, Arlecchino," you say, maintaining a cool tone despite the warmth that bloomed over your bare skin, pricking your senses. A low rumble comes from the being and she leans forward placing her icy black hands over your naked shoulders, fingertips running across the surface smoothly as it slowly nears your collarbone. Her face nears your left ear, her breath cascading against your earlobe.

"Of course. It was simply an observation, my Lady. But, dare I say, you look simply ravishing." The demon whispers against the shell of your ear, her voice adorning the smallest bit of allure in it, and her hands suddenly grip your shoulders as she emphasizes the last word, then relaxing a moment later. Your inhale hitches but no other reaction is displayed outwardly.

"The strings, Arlecchino," you instruct as a distraction away from the soft flaring of your cheeks.

A brief pause as you observe through the mirror the gleam of mischief in the demon's black pits, and her hands move down your shoulder, only the pads of her fingers brushing ghosting over your shoulder blades and yet it feels like the heat from the contact drips down onto your skin. It's a lagging pace, deliberate and feather light as it finally reaches the farthest down string. Prodding fingers caress against your back as she begins maneuvering the strings masterfully, each graze seemingly lingering as it seems like she takes every opportunity to memorize the texture of you on her fingertips. When her painstaking process draws close to its end, she ties the strings together, making it tight enough to make you groan and arch your back from the sting. When you do, she traces a finger up the curvature of your spine.

"Arlecchino," you chastise with a shuddering breath. Hands find themselves on your hips, clawed fingertips faintly digging into you and you're suddenly pulled to her being, chest meeting against your spine.

"You can't possibly fault me for my behavior when you're far too delectable, can you?" She voices against your nape, cold lips just barely hovering over it while you feel hot air stroke against your hair. You shudder. A small ire wells up inside of you and you break from her grasp easily.

“You know better than to fool around now of all times,” you huff irritably, before spinning around. “Now, are you dressed yet?”

Your breathing halts once your eyes scan Arlecchino's body. Donning a midnight black tailcoat alongside matching slim trousers, a white button-collared dress shirt with scarlet ruffled cuffs, and finally, a simple jet black necktie. It is not very different compared to her usual apparels, and yet your sight cannot help but stagger over her. She's devilishly handsome, you begrudgingly admit to yourself, objectively pleasant to your view. You get the sense something is missing from her appearance, however, perhaps a mark of yours on her neck. You bite your tongue in reprimand to suppress any more carnal thoughts and you shift your focus away.

“Is it to your liking, my Lady?” A smug smile graces her kissable lips.

“It's appropriate enough. You're missing something,” You reply back cooly, and you dig around the nearby drawers for the items you search for. Upon finding them, you find ebony gloves and then promptly fling them at the demon's face. They hit squarely, and slide off her mildly shocked expression with a comical, slow pace. It gives you more satisfaction than it should.

“There,” you remark with a blank expression but a tone matching her prior pomposity. “I suppose you're presentable as my servant now.”

You brush past her, comforted by the fact her eyes follow your form with each step.

—

Upon arrival at the ball, it's nearly overwhelming–chatter fills the room and surrounds you at every angle, suffocating you under the noise of whispered gossip. A suited server comes up to you with a glass of some presumed luxurious beverage, no doubt costing a ludicrous amount. You swivel the untouched drink in your hand as you survey other guests, searching for a particular face in general. Arlecchino should be doing something similar right now, if she hasn't already found her target.

The person you're looking for is no longer to be found, at least in your approximate vicinity. You grind your teeth together and your hand bunches the fabric of your dress in a fist. An advancing man steps into view and strolls towards you, confidence and snobbery exuding from his walking.

“Would you like a dance, my Lady?”

You can't help but cringe at the addressment, the term sounding only right from one particular individuial's tongue. But nonetheless, a cordial smile masks your disgust and you agree to it, letting the man lead you to a slow, and quite frankly, boring waltz. His movements are just flamboyanes to cover up his sloppy movements, and it only makes you wonder how a demon can so masterfully practice an art made by humans. During the dance, you try to fish him out of any useful information, but the daft male is incapable of doing anything besides leering at you.

You could feel at the back of your neck someone else's stare–one that kindles like the flames of hell. You smirk to yourself. Maybe you can use her gaze, taunt her through this. You lean ever so closer, lurching forward to whisper something in his ear and you let his filthy hands wander your form a bit.

When you finally part from him, enduring one last, disappointing dance, you say your farewells to him. Not out of respect as a dance partner but because you know his life will end in a few minutes. You only hope she remembers to dispose of the body and clean up the evidence.

You find that she reappears by your side in less than fifteen minutes. It's cute that she does it when you're not in the vicinity, like you don’t already know what she did. How fortunate for you that you've already isolated yourself to a lone balcony when she finds you. Otherwise, people may accuse the two of you as undignified lovers.

Shortly afterwards, the two of you return to the main location of the ball, and again, you're in search of a certain man. Arlecchino has yet been successful in finding her target and you wander the dance floor once again, though this time, you decline any dance requests.

Your gaze follows that of a group of men eyeing something, and you trace for what they're looking at. With great irritance, you discover it's the demon that they’re leching over. Something ugly coils in the pit of your stomach, an ugly sensation filling your being the longer you watch their gaze, like a feeling that what they are coveting after is one of your belongings.

“Arlecchino,” you softly gruff under your breath. You observe from across the large room that her head perks up immediately, reminiscent of how a dog would when its name is called, and without even looking, she steers through the sea of ball-goers towards your direction.

When she’s finally in front of you, there's an aggravating, knowing grin that Arlecchino fails to hide. “Yes, my Lady?”

You reach out to tug her necktie to you like a leash and she compliantly lets you pull her face towards you.

“If people keep leering at you like that, they'll become an inevitable hindrance,” you lie straight through your teeth, hating the way her eyes crinkle in amusement as she sees right through you. The two of you know you're lying.

“And what are you going to do about it, my Lady?” You should order her to wipe that complacent sneer off of her face, shouldn't you?

“This,” you give her neck time a harsh yank and your lips brush against her neck, teeth biting her skin and your tongue lapping at the bite mark. It's a quick, stinging action that makes the demon grunt lowly but she's yet to pull away. She wouldn't dare to, not without your instructions.

You pull away only after a few moments because it's not a mark made out of passion or affection. It’s a mark made out of desperation, out of possessiveness, to remind those who she belongs to and who can touch her.

“Don't you dare hide it,” you demand, indignation creeping up your words. You release her, and she simply nods, her gloved fingers dabbing the mark. Walking away, you feel strangely content–what was missing from Arlecchino's appearance is there now.

You call for her one last time during the ball. When you've led the man you were searching for into a private guest room, and you loosen his lips with the suggestiveness of your actions and the alcohol you slip in his hands. The information that spews out to you is useless, the furthest thing to what you desire even when you’ve pushed yourself far past what you'd like. He simply doesn't have what you want, you frustratingly recognize. You've let this man undress you until you're nearly half-naked for nothing.

At the moment you acknowledge that this entire venture to this ball was for naught, you kick the disgusting man in the face, hard enough to hear a crunch underneath your heel and in his clutched hands, his broken nose bleeds. You sigh and start redressing yourself, thankful at least you didn't allow him to derobe you any further while he chucks insolent expletives and meaningless threats at you. He dares to reach out his hand for you with your back against him and it is then you mutter her name.

“Arlecchino.”

And like every time, she materializes right where you want her to, in between you and the vermin, blocking you from his sight.

“Yes, my Lady?” She purrs as the man sputters out in shock, tumbling back.

You don't even look over your shoulder to give a command, instead, opting to fix your hair. “Dispose of him.”

There's no need for you to watch the bloodbath. You're familiar with how she kills now. It lasts no more than a few seconds and when you smell soot, you know she's done. You turn around, the last few embers of his body dissipating in the air. There's no remnants of him anymore, the room is spotless clean, except for the smear of blood on her cheek.

“Don't you demons know how to clean yourselves?” You chastise with an exasperated click of your tongue and extend your hand, your thumb wiping the crimson droplet from her face and then guiding your thumbpad to her lips. Her tongue darts out, and laps up the last trace of him with a deliberate swipe.

It ignites a blaze in your chest and your heart drums.

“Take me home, Arlecchino. We're done here.”

“Of course, my Lady.”

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