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fartistt · 6 months

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DRINK IT!

vampire au harbingers (signora, scaramouche, arlecchino, tartaglia, dottore) gender neutral reader content warning(s): blood, gore, pain stuff, death mention, some religious imagery a/n: happy halloween 🎃 i dont actually genshin so dont expect this regularly -🍝

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LA SIGNORA!

—La Signora feeds from the heart. She demands nothing but pure devotion, nothing but your undying loyalty promised from her. Does the heart not represent love and passion? Where else would a vampire like her feed from you? Her cold fingers would trail against the fabric covering your torso so carefully, her nails pressing with just enough pressure to make you shiver. And when she sinks her fangs into the left side of chest, the chill of her breath that settles on you feels like the only reminder of the fact that she’s an undead monster of the night rather than a human lover whispering sweet nothings to you. The pain subsides to nothing as her fangs tear and sink into your soft flesh, and when your blood stains the crevices of her lips, you can’t help but think that she looks the most beautiful when she ravishes you.

Your vision spins, and you’re only vaguely aware of the pressure bubbling up inside your throat. You know you should be more wary of your surroundings, more wary of the fact that you teeter dangerously on the precipice of life and death, but you know your captor too well. She adores you, equally to the point of which you worship her, and she could never punish someone like you with something as permanent as death.

“Does it hurt, little love?” She cradles you in her lap. Her dress billows like flames around her, pooling in waves of velvet and ember by her legs. Her fingers play with the outline of your face, and despite the coldness that prickles your skin, you feel warm.

You shake your head, unable to answer. Your own clothes are in tatters, ripped into small pieces on the floor and abandoned. Blood stains your chest, and a fresh pair of bite marks decorate the older ones on the left side of your ribcage. Through your hazy vision, you see La Signora looking down at you with a smile that she reserves only for you.

“Good.” Her fangs, dyed crimson, glisten like rubies. “I would hate to hurt you. But you wouldn’t mind. I know you wouldn’t. You love me too much.”

She’s right. Any pain might remind you of who you were before you became enamored with her. But everything outside of her embrace is unfeeling and unwelcome, and you feel happy when she holds you like this. She makes you feel needed, and in turn, you give the part of your body that befits your other half. It’s the only part she’s missing, but you have more than enough to sustain the two of you.

She leans down and presses her mouth against the top of your forehead. Her lips, always perfect and poised, are sticky and warm with your blood. A shiver trickles down your spine, and her thumb strokes the apple of your shuddering cheeks. The red drops of your blood spread across her mouth and your skin in a hauntingly twisted kiss, an oath and a reminder that you could never belong to anyone else.

“I love you,” she whispers.

SCARAMOUCHE!

—Scaramouche feeds from the neck. He hungers. Too monstrous to be human and too empathetic to be human, the vampire desires nothing more than the warmth and comfort of having his cravings satiated for once. There’s nothing that makes him feel more powerful than to hold you down and to take a bite out of your neck, to feel the vulnerable thrashing of your body as you cling to life. Spurts of your blood fills his mouth, and he drinks like he’s gone mad, taking in mouthful and mouthful, swallowing and sucking as if he’s a starved man devouring honey rather than a beast feasting on his kill. It’s only afterwards, when he sees your glassy eyes clinging to whatever strains of your consciousness that you can, does he realize the horror of what he’s done. But he can’t deny his nature, and for every step his human heart takes forward to give you the dignity you deserve, his vampiric instincts drag one back.

“Stay still! Stay fucking still!” A shrill voice invades your ears. You writhe against the hard floor, your limbs splaying out and struggling against whoever is pinning you down. He sits on top of you, his hips pressing down against your navel and his hands digging down on your shoulders.

Your throat burns. He takes bites of your neck like an animal, flesh and blood staining your skin and the air, the noxious scent of iron filling your nose. You scratch and kick at whoever is holding you down, and the boy sneers at you in between desperate mouthfuls of your blood. In between the adrenaline and the pain, you don’t know what your panicked mind can make out: is it fear that keeps you fighting?

His fangs are attached onto your jugular, buried into your flesh. He drinks, and his lips are pursed around your skin, determined to drain you until you’re nothing but a shell. In his eyes, it’s clear that your humanity means nothing. After all, what is morality to a depraved monster like him? The only thing he can feel is the hunger that gnaws and claws at his stomach, demanding that he be fed before any sense of clarity can kick into his body.

Your defenses only still when your mind nearly goes blank. The loss of blood makes you go almost limp, strength escaping your body as the dark-haired vampire steals it out of you. He gasps and wipes at his mouth, the warmth of your blood spreading inside of him before he shoves himself off of you, practically collapsing next to you.

The boy cries. He scratches at his mouth, his voice almost like a scream as he buries his head in his hands. Gone is the bravado of the outcast vampire, journeying alone like a lone ship, and his decorated shell is peeled back to reveal the emptiness that remains underneath.

“I’m sorry-,” he sobs, cowering next to your barely conscious form. “I’m so, so sorry.”

ARLECCHINO!

—Arlecchino feeds from the thighs. She prides herself on her wisdom and her power. A true hunter stays a step ahead of its prey. An apex predator remains on the top of the food chain not purely because of its might or power but because of its wits, and like any vampire worth their reputation, she has cultivated her place in the world through careful planning and preparation. The thing to fear most from her isn’t her outstretched claws or the razor-sharp fangs waiting to dig into your veins; it’s the head atop her shoulders, always waiting and always thinking. What an honor it must be to see a woman like that on her knees, her lips hovering above the bare skin of your thighs and just waiting for the right moment to feed. It’s a faux show of intimacy as her mouth moves up higher and higher. Her tongue swirls around the puncture wounds left by her teeth, making sure she drinks up every last drop of blood that comes from you. Nothing escapes a vampire like her.

You wonder if salvation remains for you. The place that Arlecchino calls home reminds you more of a gilded birdcage than that of a vampire’s rich castle, undoubtedly a Machiavellian reminder of what she’s capable of. You’re nothing more than a figurehead, seated atop a golden throne as she kneels before you, slotting herself in between your legs.

Sharp claws slide up your bare skin, and the cool air makes goosebumps prickle on the top side of your thighs. Your body feels weak, trapped in your own skin. Your strength has been sapped away by her feeding, and she looks up at you with unreadable eyes as the last of your blood disappears down her throat.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” She asks. It’s not a question she asks out of genuine concern for you. Everything she does is calculating and explicable only to her. But her intentions are clear this time around; you have to stay alive for her sake. Who else could give her the sweet blood she craves if something were to happen to you.

“Yes, Arlecchino.” Her name is like poison against your tongue, and yet you still let it linger anyway. You don’t have the strength to run away from her or to fight back. She’ll know the moment even the thought of rebellion enters your brain, probably faster than you’re aware of it yourself.

She rubs the sore spot on your thigh, right where she had bit you. The flesh is numb and swollen, your body desperately trying to heal itself after the wound she inflicted onto you. This is what a true predator-prey relationship is like, with her keeping you in her grasp, knowing that you exist only to give her the sustenance she requires.

Truly a cunning woman. Not entirely heartless, but in that perfectly measured middle ground of both fear and respect.

“Good. It wouldn’t do either of us any good if you were to grow weak.” She rises from her feet, and you watch with hazy eyes as her snow white hair emerges into your view. She stands with her back straight and her head raised, peering down at you as if she wasn’t the one staring up at you with a mock reverence just seconds before.

A hand reaches forward, and her frozen palm cups your face. This isn’t affection, nor is it a reward.

“Now rest,” Arlecchino commands unfeelingly, “Regain your strength so that you can sustain me.”

TARTAGLIA!

—Tartaglia feeds from the wrists. It’s wrong for a vampire to become fond of anyone, but that’s the predicament Childe finds himself in. You’re a human, vivacious with your own life and hope and dreams. You have likes and dislikes: things that make your eyes sparkle when you talk about them and things that make you scrunch your face up with scorn at the mere thought. How could he not be enraptured? He loves playing the role of a teasing gentleman. He loves the pursuit, winning over your trust bit-by-bit by seducing you with his well-timed charms. He finds it so endearing how easily you present him your hand when he bows before you, his once shiny eyes turning dark and sultry. Did you expect him to kiss your hand? No—that was never his plan. Not when he can sink his teeth into the veins in your wrists and drink to his heart’s content, the thrill of chasing you down just as sweet as the result itself.

The way the man in front of you steals your blood feels downright lewd. You’ve always known that there was more to Childe than he let on, more to him that the flirtatious young man that stuck to your side. You had constantly wondered what exactly he was after, but you could have never expected someone like him to have hid his fangs so expertly.

His tongue lathers and laps at your wrist. He sighs happily against your bloodied and torn flesh, like he’s laughing to himself and enjoying the gruesome sight of you frozen in your tracks, too terrified to yank your hand away from him or to even fend him off in any capacity.

“Don’t be shy,” he breathes. His exhales are like gusts of winter wind on your unassuming body, and it’s another horrifying reminder that the man you once trusted was never human to begin with. His true colors are showing now: a bloodlust-filled smile, an unforgiving grip on your arms, your very life force being shoved down his gullet.

“You’re very pretty when you smile. Don’t you remember all the times you’d smile at me? I’d tell you my dumb jokes, and you’d laugh in a way that made my heart skip.” He licks his lips, and his mouth turns an even messier shade of ruby red. “At least, it would have, had I been alive.”

You’re at a loss for words. Your response weighs like an anchor inside your cheeks. Your lips tremble with fear. Is this man going to kill you? No, he wouldn’t. Not so quickly, not when he seems to be enjoying your suffering this much.

His tongue slides against the two clean puncture wounds in your wrists again, and you wince at the stinging pain that shoots up your muscles. He smiles into the curve of your hands. “But I don’t think this expression is all that bad either. I’ve never seen you make a face like that at me. I forgot how much fun it is to hunt someone down. I bet you never saw this coming.”

Childe smacks his lips exaggeratedly, generous rivulets of your dark blood trickling from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. “I want to see everything you have. Show me all the other parts of you that I haven’t seen yet. Let me be selfish with you.”

DOTTORE!

—Dottore feeds from the mouth. He operates on the tangible, the real, the pain and the catharsis of it. To feed doesn’t simply mean to nourish himself. He wants a reminder of his place in the world, the power he holds over knowledge and his constant pursuit of it, and he wants to see the effects seared in his wake. It isn’t enough to steal your blood, he needs you to feel it just as much as he does: the strength leaving your body and into his, his tongue lapping selfishly at your life force, the stinging pain and the numbing sensation making your knees buckle. Maybe he fits the role of the traditional vampire most closely, making sure you understand your inferiority in every single way as a human, that your existence is to be his experiment and his prey, that he can snuff you out like a candle in the dark if he so much as chooses to do so.

There are bite marks on the bottom of your lips. Some have healed, the flesh scarring over into bumpy lumps, and others are still in the process. But the one tonight is fresh. They’re torn open, left there with a fury from Dottore’s pointed, jagged fangs. A strong hand grips your chin and keeps your face in place.

His mouth is on yours, tangled in a kind of mangled kiss. He sucks and sucks at your lips, your blood staining every inch of your tongue and the inside of your cheeks, as if he’s reminding you of how monstrous he can be. There’s no rhyme or reason to your mind in his way of feeding, but to Dottore, it’s a constant reminder that you have no way of fighting back against him. For someone so cold and so heartless, it’s ironic that he kisses you so passionately to drink your blood.

Tears well in your eyes when he pulls away, and a sticky mix of saliva and blood connects you to him momentarily before it snaps.

“Does it hurt?” His voice is firm, scary. Each syllable is poised like a viper baring its fangs, waiting for a single sign of weakness to finish off its catch. He enjoys your suffering, revels in it, finds different ways to draw it out of you, yet the only constant is his insistence on drinking from your lips.

Your voice trembles, and you nearly choke on your own blood. “‘t hurts- Hurts a lot.”

He smiles behind his mask, and you shudder at the sight of his perfectly lined pointy teeth. Each one sharpened, it’s a mark of a true predator.

And for a split second, you know why he drinks from your mouth. It’s his way of stealing every scrap of humanity from you, to steal something as primitive as the act of kissing from you, so that every part of himself is engraved deep into your own base instincts.

“Good.” Strong fingers grasp at the fat of your cheeks, and he lowers his head so that he’s eye-level with you. You can’t see anything, not with that unfeeling mask in place, but Dottore’s evidently pleased with whatever he sees. Your face hurts where his fingers dig into your flesh, but when he drags his tongue across his blood-stained teeth, you know that this is only the beginning. He’s only gotten a taste of your blood, and a sampling is far from the amount he needs to satisfy himself. It’s only when you’re cowering on the floor, wasted beyond salvation, begging him for mercy, that he might decide that he’s had enough of toying with you.

The cycle is always the same.

Your eyes shake violently at the mental vision, and your chest tightens with cold anticipation. It’s dread, and it’s your body yelling at you in order to preserve your survival. But it’s futile. Not when he’s so much more than you are: stronger, faster, smarter.

“I want it to hurt,” he mocks your horror-stricken form. “And I want it to always hurt.”

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#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #la signora #scaramouche #arlecchino #tartaglia #childe #dottore #x reader #🍝

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