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yourheart-inmyhands · 24 days

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Hello friend!

Would it be alright if I request some angst content with the Archons + Neuvi + Arlecchino where the darling is injured to a lethal extent, where they are hanging by a thread (your choice if it was self-given or otherwise).

Maybe some of them took darling's company and time for granted so having them be so close to gone is like a wake up call to them, and they become 10x more overbearing, and perhaps a little loving? Thank you!!!

🍌anon

Hi thank you so much for the request! Unfortunately I don't really do more than 3-4 characters in one post anymore so I did half the characters you asked for, but you are 100% free to send in another request for the others <3 I hope you enjoy :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including mentions of violence, mentions of delusional behavior, mentions of reader being sick, hurt, and otherwise injured, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk.

Arlecchino:

Arlecchino might be a bit cold and standoffish, but she was never a cruel lover. She just didn’t trust herself to get any closer to you than she was. She’d sleep in the same bed as you at night, buy you gifts, and eat meals with you, but affection was a difficult thing to get from her. Arlecchino has feared being close to someone not because she doesn’t want to be loved, but because she doesn’t want to experience any more loss in her life.

She thought that by keeping you at arm’s length she could protect you, but in fact, she had been wrong. Sitting by your bedside, ears blocking out the dull beeping of your monitors as she stares. Not at your face, she can’t bring herself to look at your gorgeous features after letting you get this hurt, but instead, she stares at your hand. It lays limp on top of the bed sheets, and as much as Arlecchino hates to admit it, she wants nothing more than to hold it right now.

It’s almost as painful as the first time she saw you all bandaged up, wires all over you as you lay on the bed, looking more so asleep than in the coma the doctor said you were in. The desire to hold your hand, it made her fingers twitch, her nose scrunch and her heart hurt. Arlecchino loved you, undoubtedly, but she just couldn’t bring herself to be affectionate with you on this level. Against her will though, her hand seems to move on its own, creeping up the side of the bed and gently scooping up your limp one. Arlecchino was never one to cry, a barely audible curse leaving her lips as she bites them, trying to steady their trembling as she turns her head, blinking away the building tears. She hated crying, but she hated even more that this was the first time she’d ever held your hand, a time when you couldn’t even return it, couldn’t even be awake to feel it.

Neuvillette:

Neuvillette is distraught, both because of how long it took him to notice how bad your cold had been getting and because he didn’t even notice till a small hoard of angry melusines stormed his office. It wasn’t like he was trying to be ignorant, he had just been busy and figured that you’d get over your cold soon. Humans are strong and resilient, a mere cold shouldn’t be that difficult, especially with some melusines caring for you.

He had rushed home immediately, finding you curled up under a mass of blankets and yet still shivering, a gathering of melusines around you fussing and frantic over your continuous decline. While Neuvillette wanted to reassure them that you’d be alright, looking at you in this moment, he couldn’t even reassure himself of that.

A week had passed since Neuvillette had rushed home, refusing to return to his office until you had made a full recovery. He spent most of the day laying in bed with you, helping to keep you warm by holding you close, his natural body temperature being higher than humans helped greatly with this. He wasn’t worried about catching your cold, dragons had much hardier immune systems, but he was worried about your slow recovery rate. Even with the gracious help of the melusines, you had rapidly declined before he came around to ensure you were recovering. A small part of him wonders what it was that was making you worse, he knew the care the melusines provided was above and beyond what he could do himself. The small part of him that doesn’t know hides the smaller part that does know what was wrong, that small bit of denial that his ignorance was making you worse.

Zhongli:

It had been a long time since Zhongli last felt the warm, sticky feeling of blood on his hands, the front of his suit splattered in it and his polearm drenched in it. Despite having once been the war god, it was never something Zhongli enjoyed, which was why he made the change to the god of contracts. Yet in this moment, he couldn’t refrain from the violent nature that lurked within him.

Seeing you crumpled on the ground, an ever-growing puddle of blood beneath you as a gathering of treasure hoarders laughed and stalked off, hands holding belongings stolen from the innocent citizens of Liyue, you included. It left a gross feeling in his chest, a sickening, growing rage that he couldn’t dismiss. His first move was to evaluate your condition, making sure you were stable before demanding Xiao, his most treasured Adeptus, take you to the Bubu pharmacy. His second course of action was to summon his polearm, following the obvious trail the attackers had left behind.

Zhongli didn’t even bother to clean up before going to visit you, his once pristine image now stained as he stalked into the pharmacy. He was covered in dried red, yet not a spec was his. He didn’t even need directions to know where you were, silently walking over to the cot you were laid on, pulling up a chair to sit beside you as he nodded in regards to the doctor himself, Baizhu. There weren't many in Liyue that Zhongli trusted to treat his beloved well, but Baizhu he knew was a capable doctor. Looking at Xiao, who stood silently in the corner, watching over you till Zhongli arrived, the tall man dismissed the Yaksha, who knew exactly what mess he was being asked to clean up. It was in this moment, watching skilled hands drag a needle through your delicate skin, stitching up wound after wound, that Zhongli swore he’d never leave your side, not even for a moment. He couldn’t lose you.

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harmonysanreads · 11 months

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「 note : written before fontaine/character(s) release. i promised crumbs :>」

If you decide to not entertain Yandere!Lyney's whims and wishes, he'll bombard you with all his tricks and mind-games til you grow dizzy and fall right into his arms. You can be certain and assured that he'll always be there to catch you.

Although her blank face rarely gives it away, Yandere!Lynette is enamored with your reactions. Every smile, every laugh, every gasp, the faintest and most prominent traces of bewilderment, amusement, irritation, distaste— are inscribed in her memory and she's always on the silent search of more.

Yandere!Arlecchino likes to present herself as your knight in shining armor, she appears in all the right moments and whisks you away from the dangers in a flair of chivalry. You're so enraptured by her charm that you never question the sudden increase of disturbances in your life, or how she's the only one to help you from them. Unbeknownst to you, the Knave keeps a tally of all the times she's been courteous, crossing out another day from the one she'll collect her debt.

Yandere!Wriothesley would absolutely hate himself if you were intimidated by him and ran away the moment he entered your radar. He understands that his countenance and reputation is at fault, but still, would it be such a tragedy if you two could just converse normally? He tries, he really tries to be reasonable even as you interact with everyone else merrily but as his jealousy and yearning threatens to consume him every day, he's uncertain of how much longer he can remain understanding.

If you try to defy Yandere!Clorinde — let's say by rejecting the meals she has prepared for you or by denying the clothes she tries to dress you in — she'll keep the firing point of her gun firmly placed on your head, occasionally charging it with crackles of electro to further affirm her stance till you yield and do as she says. No amount of sobbing will make her budge until you've completed what she's asked of you but worry not, she never forgets to call you good and reward you for your compliance at the end.

Yandere!Neuvillette calls you his moon, not as a term of endearment (he insists it is, though you've learned to not trust his smooth words anymore) but as a reminder of the perfection he seeks from you. He holds himself with the utmost propriety and etiquette and demands the same from you. His name has already succeeded in chaining your being to his, the only thing left is for him to mold you into his ideal spouse.

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allfearstofallto · 2 months

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Yandere! Arlecchino x Fem! Reader

TW: 18+ MDNI, Yandere themes, BDSM, Pet Play, Name Calling (. pet), Heel Kissing

Imagine being Arlecchino's personal pet. Being doted on and pampered like an dog. Collared like one as well, you have a red strap of leather around your neck, with her name etched into it. You tremble when she loops her finger through that band to pull you closer, placing a belittling kiss on the tip of your nose.

You're so soft spoken, your eyes so empty and dull. You stand so straight, never slouching, never looking upon anything unnecessary. Never speaking unless spoken to. You'd look to your master before making any decisions.

"So well trained you are, my pet," she'd murmur, her hand gripping your cheeks. You could feel her nails, claw-like and sharp, digging ever so slightly into the fat of your face.

Always collared, but rarely leashed, Arlecchino would sometimes put a long chain around your neck, a vibrant red strap at the end for her to hold. You'd trail after her, the sound of her heels clicking almost luring you into a trance. Let yourself fall behind and you'll be met with a harsh tug at that chain, pulling you forward, and making you stumble.

"I hate punishing you," she'll purr, but you'll still be on your knees before her. She'll sit in front of you, extending one of those heeled feet out to you. You're expected to take that shoe into you hands, hold it as if it were delicate and place a chaste kiss against the tip of it. Look up at her while you're doing, meet her eyes, and you'll be met with a very subtle smile on her lips.

"Such a good girl for me, my pet,"

#genshin #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere arlecchino #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #yandere Arlecchino x reader #genshin arlecchino

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pavosnoctua · 4 days

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cw: yandere, mdni, minors dni, isolation, mentions of harming others, imprisonment, afab reader, some spanking, slight dubcon touching. yandere content. i do not condone.

Arlecchino is not a jealous woman, she understands that it is human nature to need to talk to people so she gives you a chance to socialize, a single chance to not mess it up with her lingering nearby. She loves you in your pretty red sundress, anyways.

She is not a jealous woman by any means, but when that mean touched your upper arm, she's already gripping his hand. You think she's going to break it, but Arlecchino releases his hand.

"Let's go."

"But-"

"I said let's go." the sharpness in her voice is to not be disobeyed, so you duck your head and follow her home, one bag of groceries clutched in your arms. She says nothing as she unlocks the door, allowing you in.

Your apartment is no longer bright and fun, the way your curtains are now black out and windows sealed.

"From now on, I'll do all of your grocery shopping." she says as she takes the bag of groceries from you and examines every item. Each inspection takes a good few minutes and you pray that's the end of it. "I do wish you weren't such a distraction for the children."

You're a bit grateful you are but you say nothing.

"Strip."

"A-Arlec-"

"Do not question me." So with a ducked head, you obediently do so. Arlecchino sits down on the couch, gesturing for you to come join her. She never makes you feel exposed until she's about to punish you and you tremble as she maneuvers you across her lap. A hand brushes across your buttocks. "You are much too old for spankings but it's clearly the most effective form for you."

"But why am I being punished?"

"I am not punishing you, I am merely reminding you-"

One strike is gentle, enough to feel the sting but not enough to ache.

"-of your place-" she hits harder this time and tears prick at your eyes. "With me." Each strike is precise and intentional, her nails scrape at your skin and you whimper after awhile when she rotates between strikes and massaging. "Do you understand?"

You nod.

"Yes, ma'am." you rasp out. Her fingers brush, ever briefly, over your wet slit.

"Hmm." she massages your aching ass as you cry softy. "I need to return but I will be back in a few days to check on you, and we'll discuss a new living arrangement for you."

You nod and she strokes your cheek.

"Good girl." Arlecchino softly kisses you before leaving. You sit, on the couch, drawing in a few shaky breaths. This isn't how you wanted your life to go.

Arlecchino may not be a jealous woman, but she is a possessive one.

#yandere arlecchino #yandere arlecchino x reader #yandere arlecchino x y/n #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin #arlecchino #arleccino genshin #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino x y/n #afab reader #gi x you #gi x reader #mine.txt

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ataraxiaspainting · 19 days

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The Grand Design.

Yan Arlecchino x F Reader.

Synopsis: Spring is soon to arrive in Fontaine, thawing out the waters and making the land greener. After weeks of being held within the walls of Hotel Bouffes d'ete, The Knave has promised you that you may go to the Florence Festival together as a reward for your good behavior. Though you are now here, you soon are reminded of how Arlecchino’s definition of a reward is quite different from yours. Still, it is best to remain on her good side. The man you two are following should have known that well too.

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulation, kidnapping, stalking, spoilers for Arlecchino's story quest, and minor character death/violence.

Word Count: 4.1k.

*~*~*~*

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Brutus (Instrumental) by The Buttress

I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE by Måneskin

Bernadette by IAMX

Who Is She ? by I Monster

Bang Bang Bang Bang - Remastered 2021 by Sohodolls

Deutschland by Rammstein

Sex with a Ghost by Teddy Hyde

Beautiful Is Boring by BONES UK

Teeth by 5 Seconds of Summer

Swimming Pool by Marie Madeleine

*~*~*~*

“Something wicked this way comes, and as I set to face it, I'm unsure, should I embrace it, should I run? What motivates me? Hatred? Is it love?” – The Buttress, Brutus

*~*~*~*

The room that The Knave put you in when you first arrived here never fails to seem smaller than it is. Your designated bed is placed in the middle of the wall farthest from the locked doors. There is a large window on each side made of up pink and white stained glass, but no matter how much you attempt to punch them, they never shatter. The floor has carpet on top of it, just soft enough for your bare feet to feel comfortable.

Arlecchino never lets you out of your room even for meals, and thus had a wooden table installed in front of the right window. There are two chairs too; one for you and one for whomever is put up to the task of watching you while you eat. Only to make sure you’re getting enough nutrients, she said after you gained enough courage to ask. I don’t want you to get ill. You had attempted to skip meals before, but as soon as the children who had cleaned up your plates and trash after every meal had found out, “Father” was soon notified. She was not completely furious, but she was most definitely not pleased. She scolded you for what felt like hours. All you are doing is lowering your strength… surely you’ll understand eventually.

You don’t throw away your food anymore, after she was the one that oversaw you eating every day for around three weeks, her eyes seemingly staring into your soul.

At first, you ate your food because you wanted the children in charge of watching you to not suffer punishments if they were not up to the task.

But after having enough conversations with Arlecchino, your motivations changed. Once an agent of the House of the Hearth used the vacant room beside your own to sneak out and run away. From the sounds you heard from the other side of the wall, it seems they were found out immediately. Arlecchino didn’t seem distraught when she visited you a few minutes later. Her appearance was not unusual, but from the crashing noises, you knew that the agent must have tried to fight The Knave herself.

They were not successful, that much was clear. Arlecchino hadn’t even broken a sweat, while they were fighting for their life.

There was a gift for you in one of her hands. A small black box with a red ribbon. You soon connected the dots. The escapee had the worst luck. Arlecchino was already on her way to your room, and just so happened to witness them opening the unlocked window. They didn’t scream though, despite all the other loud sounds of throwing vases and such, which also showed Arlecchino finished off her target quicker than they could beg for mercy or help.

Here at the House of the Hearth, everyone is responsible for their own actions. Loyalty shall not go unrewarded. Obedience shall not go unsupported. But… Foolishness shall not be without a hefty price to pay. Lies shall not be without precious items being taken as due compensation.

So, now your top priority is to be on your best behavior solely for yourself.

Every child here looks up to you. They have treated you as such ever since you woke up behind locked doors. But they also ensure that Arlecchino’s lessons are as drilled into your skull as her lessons are drilled into theirs. They ensure that you remain compliant.

All in all, they have taught you more about the House of the Hearth than “Father” ever could. The children scold you whenever you don’t follow the House’s long list of rules as if they are your caretakers. In a way perhaps they are, in Arlecchino’s point of view, but you would never admit to that. They reward you whenever you remember to water the few plants they had placed beside your bedroom window and cheer whenever you greet their savior with a bow and a good afternoon, Madam. They take away the few books Arlecchino has given you whenever you refuse to eat and yell at you whenever you refuse to even look at her.

Why are you so ungrateful?

We only want what’s best for you!

Do you wish to break Father’s heart?

So you don’t disobey them anymore. You had realized that they were not disciplining you to have The Knave not be mad at them. No. If only it were that simple. They discipline you because they want you to be a part of their family. That is why the younger ones slip drawings of you underneath your doors. That is why the older ones joke around with you during mealtimes.

You don’t throw out any drawings given to you.

You attempt to laugh at unfunny jokes. To get access to more freedoms, you must be on your best behavior.

You have to get the children’s blessings to even be considered good enough to step into the House’s flower garden.

It has a glass ceiling with all sorts of carved plant designs on top. Rainbow Roses. Romaritime Flowers. Lumidouce Bells. Lakelight Lilies. There is a path right down the middle to see each of them in all their glory. At the end of it, there is a small tree just big enough to shadow one or two sitting people. That place has become your sacred spot. You read and even take naps there, when your unbendable schedule allows it.

That place is also where Arlecchino first proposed an award for behaving well for the children.

Lyney tells me you are adjusting well. You noticed that her tone was the smallest bit higher, but you didn’t pay attention to the way the corners of her mouth pointed upwards just slightly.

You didn’t answer her, instead nodding your head.

I trust his judgment, and therefore you can choose a reward from the two I have selected for us.

As soon as she says the first option, your hearing gives out. Your mind is focused on it and it alone. The Florence Festival. An opportunity to finally sweep your hands on blades of grass and feel the wind flow into and out of your hair. It’s paradise, plain and simple.

*~*~*~*

The small circular table’s wood is light in color, and its iron framework leaves little to be desired. The chairs possess a similar appearance due to the use of the same materials, but the top rounded rail has a fake red rose attached. It was likely formed from melted ore that was poured into molds instead of being carved by hand, but you don’t dare ask about it to the one sitting across from you, sipping her hot beverage and looking at the flower fields in the distance.

You don’t want to see anyone get in trouble for your pickiness.

Right?

You observe in silence as a single petal drops from the vase of flowers between your two dishes, almost as if the universe is conspiring to vex Arlecchino much at the expense of the fates of those who cross her.

You are unsure as to whether or not you count.

The food on your side compared to the food on her side could not be more different; rainbow macarons and a latte and steak tartare and a cup of black tea. But they still have a common similarity despite their appearance and ingredients; they are outrageously overpriced.

The main dishes you can understand. After all, they are this cafe’s specialties along with the top two bestsellers. But the drinks are another matter entirely. You cannot possibly comprehend in what world would a cup of tea with no sugar or cream amount to ten thousand hundred Mora and that being a reasonable price. The same thing with your latte, but you figure that the added sugar and cream had understandably raised the price.

Though twenty thousand Mora for something that took less than ten minutes to prepare when you lived by yourself is evil. Some guilt stirs within you when you think about the total amount of Mora Arlecchino has spent on you thus far on this little outing. You two have not even made it to the Florence Festival’s famous entrance arch yet. In addition, surely there will be other things she will get you, either by your request or by hers.

The Knave raises her hand like a corpse arising from its slumber.

“From what my information sources have told me, this… ‘Florence Festival’ is about the arrival of spring. It sounds rather wholesome, in my opinion… and it sounds like something the children would like to partake in, next time.” She looks down at your still full plate. “Is the cuisine not up to your expectations? We can go somewhere else if you would like.”

You shake your head, and pick up the pink macaron in an attempt for Arlecchino to not call over a rather unfortunate waiter. “No, no… It’s fine. I promise… Peruere.”

You spoke her true name with a softness akin to a dove’s plucked feathers. She does not smile, but instead leans over and grabs the red macaron off your plate. You do not stop her. Her teeth sink into it right up to the center where the raspberry jam is. The filling leaks out onto her lips, but soon blends in as they share a similarly saccharine hue.

“It is unkind to lie to me.”

Between her fingers, the macaron is crushed to near dust within a single motion. Arlecchino does not scowl, but there is a small frown on her face. A tsk sound. Disappointment.

“They’re… rather stale, aren’t they [First]?”

“I shall call over the foolish owner of this establishment, and then we shall go see the rest of this festival.”

You pray not for the owner, but for you. Arlecchino's vigilant gaze is constantly fixed on you, making selfishness seem like a mere reflex.

*~*~*~*

“I must admit I have other plans relating to this festival.” Arlecchino sighs, slowly her walking speed until she comes to a stop.

You copy her movements like you are her reflection, but unlike what she sees in pools of blood, you don’t speak when she does.

She puts one of her clawed hands near her chin as she continues. “Consider it to be an immovable obstacle, if that is how you wish to see it. But I still need your help regardless.”

You suppress all feelings of wanting something else than taking orders day in and day out, not wanting your metaphorical leash to be pulled. Arlecchino looks to her right, past the stalls of event sellers, and to the back of a young man.

“If it also makes you feel better, you shall be rewarded for assisting me.” She offers. “After our task is done, I shall buy you anything and everything you want here. The cafe was just a little sample of all the wonders I can give you if you earn them.”

Your focus is not on her words but on the stalls. It is unintentional, she knows that. But she has never been one to tolerate disrespect from anyone, and so she snaps her fingers to bring your gaze back to her. You look up at her like you are one of her apostles. She has attained your attention, your fear, and your eyes once more, all without harming a single Crystalfly. Who knows how long this will last before you regress back to old habits? She hopes for your sake, that the day you divert from her love is the day this world falls down. Even then, she will catch up to you no matter how many people she has to bury, or even if she has to bury herself.

You two will never be apart, because she won’t let anyone do so, even if it was the Tsaritsa herself.

“Yes, Arlecchino?”

Your voice is not nearly as trembling as it used to be, but to her, that is a great thing. It means that you have the strength to carry yourself properly, but you still depend on following the rules to not be scolded. Newer children who did not ask to be in the Fatui have acted similarly once she has given them a stern talking to. Their heads are tilted upwards, and they have their one hand on their chests. The other is always behind their back with two of their fingers crossed. While you possess the former, you do not possess the latter anymore. Arlecchino is proud of you, for that. You must have learned plenty from the children. While she is not your father, she is still the head of the House of the Hearth, and all other body parts follow suit.

Like the spider she so loved growing up though, if the head is cut off in any way, the legs will still be able to flourish. She learned that from observing specifically jumping spiders. When a much larger spider came, it bit off her chosen jumping spider’s head and left the rest of the corpse. The legs scurried away.

The legs still lived their life even without the head in place. The children will follow suit eventually, once Arlecchino eventually perishes. Though you will follow her. She expects nothing less. Thus, she already has preparations for what is to come on that fateful day.

It will be painless though. She guarantees that.

“Follow him,” She orders. “Befriend him, if you would like. Just please don’t get too attached, now.”

*~*~*~*

When you’re off to do your task, Arlecchino reminisces of better times. She sighs, sits down on one of the nearby benches, crosses one leg over the other, and looks down at her black hands. The same ones that hold others that are brimming with purity. Though she has never touched your hands, she can tell they are warm and soft, and everything else hers are not, from how much hand lotion you use each week and how often you manicure your nails. She doesn’t want to ask you, but the reason for this is unknown to her. Is she afraid of rejection? No. That cannot be it.

You wouldn’t dare reject her, after all, that you learned never to do at Hotel Bouffes d'ete. Lyney and Lynette were your main teachers if she remembers properly. Though, now that she thinks about it, Foltz must have had some lessons for you as well. He is not a cruel boy to those who have earned Arlecchino’s trust, but at the same time, he has no mercy for those who break Father’s rules. Lynette must have stopped him on multiple counts every time you acted out of line.

Foltz is too impulsive, while Lynette is frankly too calculating.

That is why she chose Lyney to teach you most of the ropes she set out.

Lyney is good at that sort of thing.

He has the power to get everyone to listen to his beck and call with a simple smile and a few words. She also trusted he would help you feel more comfortable, as Lyney always gives gifts and speaks more gently to newcomers. With his help, Arlecchino knows very specific things about you, details that outsider Fatui spies would never be able to grasp. Whether or not you told him those things is insignificant. Lyney may not be as observant as Lynette, but he still has a knack for seeing finer habits and actions. Arlecchino also knows though that because of the twins’ bleeding hearts, they often bury anything Foltz will tell on before he sees them. After all, Foltz still has yet to grasp certain aspects of your body language and speech patterns because he doesn’t see you as often as he wants to, but Lyney and Lynette know much more because they spend the most time with you.

She doesn't mind it at all, because they treat you like family. That is all Arlecchino wants when it comes to you, to make you see their way and for everyone to get along.

…

If only the faces of the Hearth stayed the same, that they only grew and never lessened. It disappoints her, whenever she has to deal with people that are ordered to be erased.

But even after they are erased by her, sometimes the dead come back in surprising ways. Like the man you are following. It pains her, somewhere deep down. She knows that it is for the best of the House, but emotions cannot be suppressed forever.

She almost weeps when she thinks of a familiar face but closes her eyes before tears can fall.

“Pierre Snezhevich,” she says. “You had the chance to be reborn, took it… and now, for what? This time you are destined to die for good, I’m afraid.”

She takes the bundle of dried daffodils from her pocket and lays them beside her.

*~*~*~*

“I… daffodils are my favorite flower.”

The man takes but a few steps closer as he says those words, smiling. But the moment you attempt to bridge the gap yourself, he stops and looks around. His pointer finger adjusted his glasses as he looked more in peril than happy. The other hand drops the bundle of daffodils near his feet, and you see them both retreat into his leather jacket’s pockets.

You don’t move any closer, afraid that you may scare him off with any sort of movement. You don’t move any closer, afraid of scaring him away and invoking Arlecchino’s wrath. If you fail this mission, who knows how long it will take before you’re allowed to go outside again?

You simply wait in place with your hands in front of you, and attempt to give him the most comforting smile you can muster. But your acting skills are still subpar when compared to The Knave and her children. So because of that, the man doesn’t move from his position either, scowling.

“Need something?” He asks, making it glaringly obvious he doesn't trust you in the slightest. “If you have something to say… say it already. Please.”

“Uh… I just complimented the bouquet in your hand. I… don’t really have anything else to say in particular, I just wanted to strike up a conversation.”

The man looks past you, and you don’t hear a verbal response.

Instead what you hear is the clattering of high heels touching the path’s bricks.

“Ah, dearest, here you are.”

A familiar clawed hand rests just above your collarbone, the arm just above the opposing shoulder. You don’t speak and only watch as the man’s expression delves little by little into complete terror. His eyes widen and his knees crumble.

“Eric Draftler… What a surprise. We haven’t seen each other in a long time.”

“You… two know each other? I was just asking about the daffodils,” You play into the lie, this little image Arlecchino told you to sketch with hardly any directions on whatever to do. The wind leads the daffodil petals on the ground into the air, and soon some of them are gone. Only the leaves remain. “This… is my fiancée. Arlecchino.”

“Didn’t I just tell you we know each other?”

“Yes but still,” You don’t look into her eyes, instead staring at Eric’s shadow from across the path. For you know what is lurking within their depths, somewhere deep down in there. Disappointment, and a scolding waiting to happen. You can practically hear it now, her voice edging on anger with no ounce of any other emotion in her tone. “I just wanted him to remember if he… forgot. That’s all.”

Gradually, as you both proceed, Eric begins to move further and further away from you, walking backward. Eventually, you manage to guide him to a less crowded section of the festival, almost as if you pushed him there.

“Tell me, why did you kill Ginelle?”

Arlecchino’s voice is no longer friendly, and her grasp on your neck area is tighter. But you still don’t dare to ask her to stop, because that will make your injuries far worse. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fatui scum.” Eric hisses, his arms now covering his stomach as he turns paler. “I have never met you.”

Arlecchino lets go of you, crossing her arms as she gets closer. “Oh really?”

“Not in person at least!” Eric says, almost yelling. “You-”

As Arlecchino puts a finger to her lips though, Eric’s voice gets quieter.

The clattering of high heels also gets quieter as she gets the closest she can be to Eric without giving up the illusion of common courtesy. She shakes her head and looks down on him. Arlecchino never tolerates anything other than murmuring voices, gentle singing, or absolute silence.

It’s something you have come to know quite well. This rule has no exceptions.

“Now, now, Mister Draftler.” She leans just slightly. But her head is still held high. “I just wanted a conversation. I promise you that this conflict can result in no physical fighting if you just listen to what I have to say.”

Eric does not move back anymore. While his mind is most likely forwarding the flight response, his body is stuck at a standstill. It’s a stance you have grown to know well when Arlecchino approaches someone; them being an enemy, a friend, or otherwise is of no significance to her. All she wants is control, and to appear above everyone else.

Whether to guide, defend, or crush depends on your perspective more than hers. She has the power to make dreams come true but often chooses to conjure nightmares instead. They teach better lessons that way in her opinion, regardless of whether they are the last lesson they will ever learn or one of the first in a long line of those to come.

“You’re simply overreacting, I’m afraid.” A tsking sound emerges from her throat as she continues to look down into the eyes of her already-defeated foe. “I do not wish to detain you and bring you to Snezhnaya for further questioning. My dear [First] will be all alone with no one to care for her quite like I do if I have to go all the way to the Zapolyarny Palace to oversee your trial and due punishment. I am sure you don’t want that either, yes?”

Eric does not respond, putting his hands back in his pockets.

“You know your past life, don’t you?” Arlecchino asks, no, states. “You most likely don’t remember anything but key fragments, but that is more than enough to justify giving you the death sentence. When you attempted to sneak out via that room next to [First]’s, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. You repay me by killing your own sister?”

While Arlecchino does not tolerate loud noises from other people, she has nothing against raising her own voice. So, she does just that.

“How dare you.” She steps just a bit closer, having her arms crossed once again. “You were my child once, Pierre. But no longer.” Arlecchino puts a hand out towards Eric and squeezes. The man begins to choke, clawing at his throat.

You put your hands over your eyes, and wait until it is over.

…

You’re not sure how long it takes for Eric to die.

It couldn’t have been more than two minutes, you think. But time dragged on as you attempted to blur out the sounds of Eric’s gasps and scratching.

From the little bit you allowed yourself to see, you could have sworn Arlecchino was smiling.

“You didn’t do the best job, I’m afraid.” You hear The Knave say, and realize she is talking to you.

“I’m sorry.”

She sighs then, you think. The clattering of her high heels gets louder as she approaches you. Then a thump.

“It’s alright. You still managed to get the target distracted while I did the rest. In addition, this was not a terrible outcome for your first mission.” Arlecchino puts a hand on your head, and you uncover your eyes, looking up at her. “Be proud, [First].”

Her nails don’t poke into your scalp like you feared they would. You’re grateful for that.

“Well, a deal is a deal, yes? Let us enjoy this festival while it lasts.” She turns around to look at the body behind you two. “Oh, and don’t worry about that. It’ll stay here to teach a lesson to fools.”

You weren’t worried about that in the first place.

You’re worried about what will happen to you when your plans of escaping are executed.

“Is something the matter?”

You attempt to smile, but if anything you look exhausted. “No. I’m just… happy.”

“I’m glad.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #author aya #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #yandere arlecchino x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #i got mona instead of her so this is the next best thing i can have </3

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jessamine-rose · 13 days

Text

⋆˚♱ଘ Red Sky at Night, Shepherd’s Delight ଓ♱˚⋆

*slides in with more Church AU ideas* May I interest y’all in Priest! Arlecchino x Devotee! Darling?? Do enjoy this sweet story ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

Tw:: yandere, manipulation, psychological trauma, stalking, blood, violence, death, religious abuse, self-flagellation, harassment, MDNI, pls take note of these warnings

Note:: FICTIONAL depictions of religion

♡ 3.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ As with most nations, the Church is the highest authority in Fontaine. This is especially true for the Court of Fontaine, a city that boasts a strong faith in God. However, it is this same faith which has been corrupted by the Church to spin a web of lies, prejudices, and hypocrisies. Still, there is hope for that city, as provided by its head priest Arlecchino.

♡ Not much can be said about her previous life. In the past, she was known as Peruere, a quiet orphan from the House of the Hearth. Raised by her predecessor Crucabena, Peruere followed in her footsteps and claimed to have felt a calling to priesthood. There was a beauty to it, the idea of a child giving back to the Church by bringing its followers closer to salvation. At least, that is how the public perceived her vocation.

♡ In truth, Peruere’s motivations were different. Shortly after her ordination, Crucabena disappeared under mysterious circumstances and her authority was passed on to Arlecchino. Immediately afterwards, she began to reform the Church and the House of the Hearth. She challenged the Church’s falsehoods, eliminated the other corrupt priests, and preached a more compassionate form of worship.

♡ Despite her efforts, however, scars run deep within the city. The children weren’t the only ones harmed by Crucabena; her influence spanned the entire Court of Fontaine, from religious schools to devout families. In the latter’s case, it can be difficult for Arlecchino to reach out to individuals and correct their beliefs. But some have taken to her like a moth to flame, actively seeking out her enlightenment. One such moth is you.

☾⋆｡ ๋

“Excuse me, Father!”

The Church is silent in the wake of mass. Footsteps and voices echo as believers depart to go on with their daily lives. The children are walking through the exit connected to the House of the Hearth, their solemn demeanors giving way to laughter. Only two people remain.

As always, you linger behind Arlecchino, head bowed.

“Ah, ______.” She turns around to face you. “Is something the matter?”

You look the same—shy expression, modest clothing, rosary in hand.

In a quiet voice, you tell her, “I am in need of your guidance. Yesterday, I…can we discuss this in your office? I’ll try to keep it short this time.”

“Ah, of course. Follow me.”

By now, it has become routine for you to approach Arlecchino after weekly mass. She leads you down a hallway and into her private office, her confident gait juxtaposed by your meek footsteps. A few words are whispered to a passing nun—orders to prepare your favorite tea and desserts.

In the meantime, she takes a seat on the sofa and gives you a polite smile.

“Go on. You have my undivided attention.”

☾⋆｡ ๋

♡ If Arlecchino’s trauma led to her disillusionment with the Church, then yours brought you “closer” to God. Technically, there is nothing wrong with your devotion—you pray everyday, treat people with compassion, and derive a sense of solace from your religion. The harm lies in your blind faith, your total dependence on Arlecchino’s spiritual guidance.

♡ While you’ve accepted Arlecchino’s stance on religion, you still abide by Crucabena’s doctrine when it comes to your own religious life. You abstain from all vices. You repent for actions which barely count as sins. You are in a constant state of shame, guilt, paranoia, confusion. She can only imagine just how traumatic your meetings with Crucabena were.

♡ Still, you make for enjoyable company. It is common for Arlecchino to see you in the House of the Hearth bearing gifts for the children—and she can tell the difference between performances and your genuine acts of charity. When you aren’t confiding in her, you inquire about her hobbies, her favorite things, her life before priesthood. There is something so pitiful, so precious about your trust in her.

♡ Which is why Arlecchino is quick to notice a shift in your attitude. It begins with you sitting in the middle pews during mass, rather than your usual spot in the front row. During communion, you avoid eye contact and accept the wafer from her with trembling hands. There is a decrease in your private meetings. Fortunately, there is no need for her to investigate; rather, you provide the answer on a silver platter.

♡ Confessions are a wellspring of valuable information. Be it a direct admission or small details, such encounters have aided Arlecchino in punishing those who commit evil under the guise of virtue. Neither is it difficult for her to deduce one’s identity through their voice and mannerisms. So when she recognizes you beyond the screen, she wonders why you opted for the confessional rather than your usual face-to-face confessions with her.

☾⋆｡ ๋

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned. My last confession was one week ago.”

That is the first thing you tell her. From the center compartment, Arlecchino can imagine you doing the sign of the cross. The ritualistic gesture lends a short-lived grace to your movements, your hands honed by years of practice.

A pause. “Pardon my insolence but I must know: I am not speaking to Father Arlecchino, am I?”

Oh?

“You are not,” is her swift response, spoken in an altered voice. “And why do you ask? Does your confession concern the head priest?”

What secrets could you possibly be hiding from her?

She hears a hitched breath. “No! I just don’t want her to know. So please, what I’m about to tell you…don’t breathe a word of it to anyone else.”

“But of course. And what do you have to confess, my child?”

There is the sound of beads clicking together—your rosary, an old violet-and-black set designed by Crucabena. Arlecchino owned an identical one up until her death.

“These past years,” you whisper, “I have been consumed with carnal desires.”

She sits up straighter. “Desires?”

“It’s complicated,” you mutter. “There’s this person I’ve known for years, and I’ve always looked up to them as a fellow believer. Yet over time, I’ve been plagued with…impure thoughts of them. They captivate me. Their attention brings me joy and anxiety in equal parts. They haunt my thoughts in debauched fantasies. Yet we aren’t even married, much less lovers.”

Who are they?

A spider has taken up residence in a corner of the ceiling. It sits in the center of a silvery web, waiting for its prey.

She clears her throat. “And what is the matter with that? It is true that many view lust as a sin. But carnal desires are natural and not evil as to warrant eternal damnation.”

Silence. Most likely, you are mulling over what she just said; discernment isn’t your strong suit.

It’s just like you to fret over an ordinary crush. But who is this person that ensnared your heart? Do they know you as well as her?

Arlecchino continues speaking. “Moreover, no human is immune to temptation. From what you told me, it is clear that you have made active efforts to suppress your lust. So is it not possible for you to resist this so-called temptation, if not distance yourself from the object of your desire?”

“But how can I resist temptation when its very source lies in the Church?!”

Even Arlecchino is caught off-guard by your outburst. It is followed by your horrified gasp.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

Your next words are spoken in an even softer voice. “It’s Father Arlecchino. She is the one I desire.”

A fly buzzes through the latticed screen of the confessional. It briefly hovers around Arlecchino before she swats it away.

“Ah, I see. Now I understand.”

“She hasn’t done anything to me!” you add quickly. “I swear, it’s purely one-sided. And that is what distresses me most of all. She is a woman of God, dedicated to the salvation of His flock, yet here I am making a mockery of her righteousness.”

“And what do you see in her?”

“Where do I even begin? She’s kind. I know there are people who speak ill of her, claiming she preaches falsehoods, but I’ve witnessed her compassion with my own eyes. The orphans love her. The Church is warmer, more welcoming under her authority. And…”

The fly has taken a liking to the spiderweb. Spying its prospective prey, the spider begins its crawl towards the edge of the web.

You take a deep breath. “She knows of my religious struggles yet has never given me reason to fear her judgment. She is the one who helped me discern my vocation. She is the one who put a stop to my self-flagellation, even though that penance was assigned by Mother Crucabena. She is the one who has reassured me, time and time again, that I am worthy of God’s love. She…”

That is when you burst into tears.

For the next few minutes, the only sounds in the confessional are your choked sobs and rosary beads. Arlecchino herself remains silent but her thoughts are just as discordant.

Her gaze drifts to her necklace. It is a far cry from Crucabena’s rosary, a long chain from which hangs a silver cross adorned with ornate engravings and crimson jewels. When she presses down on a specific jewel, the pendant separates to reveal a hidden blade.

How long has it been since she struck Crucabena with that false symbol?

“I’ve tried so hard to be good,” you continue between sobs. “All my life, I’ve done my best to resist temptation and abide by the Church’s teachings. So why…? What I feel for Father Arlecchino—it’s disgusting, it’s not normal, it cannot be called love. But I…”

Your voice trails off. In her mind’s eye, Arlecchino sees you kneeling with your head bowed and your rosary looped around your clasped hands. If only she could wipe your tears.

“And I am truly sorry for all my sins,” you sniffle. “Now please, Father, what is my penance? If you tell me to distance myself from Father Arlecchino, then I will do so at once. If anything, I think she’d prefer it; I’ve wasted enough of her time.”

“Hush, my child,” she says sharply. Then, in a gentler tone, she adds, “Give me time to think.”

The fly is caught in the spider’s web. From her seat, Arlecchino watches as the spider bites down on the struggling insect and wraps it in silk, sealing its unfortunate fate.

Well, this was an unexpected answer, but not an unfortunate one.

In truth, she cares little about her vow of chastity. It is but a minor offense compared to those of her fellow priests. As for your attraction towards her, it doesn’t bother her at all. Her own sentiments require further reflection but for now…

“Why not put your desires to the test?”

There is the sound of beads hitting the floor. “Excuse me?”

In a calm voice, she explains, “There is nothing inherently sinful about falling in love with a priest. Rather, the fault should lie in the priest who cannot commit to their vow of chastity. But that, too, can be put into question—after all, nowhere in the religious texts is it explicitly stated that God demanded celibacy from His shepherds. It is for this reason that other denominations allow their priests to marry and procreate.”

“I see,” you mutter. “Though I doubt our Church would permit that anytime soon.”

“Who knows? As for the matter of your penance…like you said, it is impossible to escape the object of your desire. So why don’t you continue your usual interactions with Father Arlecchino? It will enable you to discern whether what you feel for her is truly lust or love. And should you ever confess your feelings to her, she will be the one to instruct you on what to do.”

“Is that all? Surely, there must be another—”

She cuts you off. “That is the only way. It is my belief that you need only desire something with sufficient intensity and God will answer. Or are you doubting my words as a priest?”

Your fearful “no!” puts an end to your confession. Thus, you recite your prayers and leave the confessional. After a while, Arlecchino makes a stealthy exit.

Just as she expected, you are still praying inside the Church. With your dried tears and tightly clasped hands, you make a perfect image of repentance.

Shaking her head, she walks down the hallway and into her office.

The tea table is empty. That will change tomorrow; she already has the perfect choice of desserts in mind. Cakes, tarts, macarons, all of your favorite treats.

The next day, an invitation is delivered to your doorstep. The envelope bears the official seal of the Church of Fontaine.

☾⋆｡ ๋

♡ Since then, Arlecchino has treated you differently. In the past, her religious counsel took the form of reassurances, open-ended questions, and reminders that only you can discern your own fate. But now she finds herself giving you more specific lessons and instructions. She invites you to more tea parties and private events in the House of the Hearth.

♡ She is also more…physical these days. During mass, she puts the communion wafer in your mouth, a gloved thumb brushing against your lip. On your walks to her office, she places her hand on your back, forcing you to match her pace. At one point, she even pulls you aside and tells you to disrobe so she can see if you are wearing your scapular properly. There is a moment of silence when your scars are exposed, followed by the warm sensation of her fingertips tracing your skin.

♡ However, it doesn’t take long for another issue to arise. One mass, Arlecchino notices that a certain individual has moved to the front pews to sit next to you. This continues for weeks, with him speaking to you before and after the service. You’re clearly uncomfortable around him, and it reaches the point that you mention it to Arlecchino during a tea party.

♡ Quietly, you explain that you are being harassed by one of your coworkers. For weeks, he has been bothering you at work, walking you home from mass, showing no signs of accepting your blatant rejections. Even worse, no one is taking your distress seriously due to his popularity within the Court of Fontaine. Normally, Arlecchino would be quick to eliminate him but she decides on another solution which would kill two birds with one stone.

♡ Her suggestion is that you stay in the Church for a few weeks. It is a convenient arrangement on both sides—the children are already familiar with you; the House of the Hearth has no shortage of rooms; and in the worst-case scenario, it can serve as a trial period for nunhood. In the past, Arlecchino did deem your personality fitting for a life of religious service, though you disagreed on the basis that you weren’t “worthy” of such an important role.

♡ It doesn’t take long for you to adjust. The House of the Hearth is quiet, secure, shielded from outside disturbances. The children are friendly to you, and they all agree that you’d fare well as their caretaker. Best of all, Arlecchino has more excuses to spend time with you—barbeque parties, walks along the sea, meetings with the other priests and nuns, nightly conversations in your room. It feels like home.

♡ One day, you are fitted into a nun’s habit. It looks perfect on you, with a few embellishments to suit your style preferences. Arlecchino personally helps you into the outfit, fixing the buttons and smoothing out imaginary creases. The final piece is a cross necklace identical to her own; she casually reveals the hidden blade and claims it is a self-defense mechanism. When you cast your gaze upon your shared reflection in the mirror, a flustered smile adorns your face.

♡ Still, you are undecided on your “true” vocation. Eventually, you decide to return to your job and think it over. Arlecchino personally escorts you to your house and insists that you keep your cross necklace, if only to replace your “missing” rosary. Once the front door is shut, she casts a harsh glare upon the figure across the street. Later, her children are assigned to keep watch over you and your stalker.

♡ For the next few days, all is well. Your daily life resumes. Arlecchino keeps a close eye on you through her children’s reports and her own inspections. After mass, the two of you enjoy another tea party, and you make no mention of your stalker. When the news reaches the city of an upcoming celestial phenomenon, you eagerly accept Arlecchino’s invitation for a viewing party.

♡ The crimson moon rises, bathing the world in a blood-red glow. While the children gaze at the moon, Arlecchino waits for you in front of the orphanage. Strange, punctuality is one of your virtues yet you’re late. Just as she is about to leave for your house, Freminet frantically approaches her and leads her to the Church.

♡ Red. It’s all over you, and not from the moonlight. The first thing Arlecchino sees is you curled up on the floor in a state of shock. In the heart of the Church lies a familiar figure—your stalker, writhing on the floor as blood pools from his chest. Lynette stands over him, ensuring that he won’t escape, while Lyney tries and fails to console you.

♡ All three of her children are wearing their crosses. Yours is on the floor, its blade exposed and tainted with blood. Lyney is the one who explains the situation to Arlecchino: They heard a commotion in the Church and by the time they arrived, you had driven your cross into your stalker’s heart. He had attacked you and paid the price.

♡ Calmly, Arlecchino tells Freminet to bring you to the orphanage. Once you are gone, she walks up to your stalker and stomps on his head, piercing his skull with her stiletto. Lyney and Lynette are told to dispose of the body, clean up the church, then return to the party. The crimson moon serves as a silent witness all throughout.

☾⋆｡ ๋

“Father, your face…”

As soon as he sees her, Freminet leaves your room and closes the door behind him.

“Freminet.” Arlecchino wipes the blood off her cheek. “That sinner has been dealt with. You may return to the party.”

“Oh? Okay.” He nods, casting a worried look at your door. As he walks down the hallway, one of his hands comes up to touch his cross pendant.

With that, Arlecchino enters your room.

Even in your change of clothes, your visage is painted crimson by the moonlight. Your body is slumped against the bed, knees on the floor. No sounds leave your lips save for short breaths. Tiny crescents mar your arms—a coping mechanism or an attempt at penance?

Wordlessly, she sits next to you and pats your head with a gloved hand.

“Father.” You are the one to break the silence. “What just…”

“That man is dead.” She says it plainly, her tone void of judgment. “He won’t be able to torment you any longer.”

You immediately look up, eyes glossy. “Are you sure?! Did I…?”

In the blood-red moonlight, your anguish is clear as day. Your hands tremble, nails digging into the mattress, before clasping together in a graceless effort to steel yourself. But the familiar gesture does little to calm you, all prayers futile in the wake of your sin.

“This is it. I’m really going to burn in Hell,” you sob. “I didn’t mean to—what should I do, Father?”

This time, Arlecchino spares no warmth in consoling you. She adjusts your body so that your head rests on her lap, letting your tears drip onto her cassock. Her hand remains on the back of your head, stroking your hair.

“There is no need to fret,” she says gently. “Before the moon sets, the Church will be purged of that man’s filth and it will be as though he never appeared tonight.”

You shake your head. “Even then, you…God knows what I have done.”

“Listen to me.” She tilts your face upwards, her expression firm. “All you did was use your cross necklace for its intended purpose—to save yourself from harm. And yet even in the face of evil, you claim to be the one who sinned. None of this is your fault, ______.”

Her other hand caresses your cheek, wiping away your tears.

“Perhaps it is all part of God’s plan,” she muses. As she speaks, she kneels to your level and holds your hands, intertwining your fingers. “We live in a cruel world and it is only in places such as my Church that safety can be promised. Should you take the veil, no other sinners would dare to violate your virtue.”

Your next words are soft, hesitant, filled with disbelief. “Are you saying that I can still become a nun?! That you…you don’t mind keeping me around?”

“And for what reason would I deny you sanctuary?” she asks, her expression shifting to a frown. “As a priest, it is my duty to shepherd God’s flock. And as a person, it is my desire to protect those I cherish. Everything I do is for your own good.”

For once, you are rendered speechless. All you can do is stare at your lap, at your hands clasped together.

When Arlecchino leans towards you, her grip prevents you from drawing back.

“All you must do is listen to me,” she whispers. “Until our mortal deaths, I will be the one to lead you away from true temptation and deliver you from evil. Does it seem agreeable to you?”

“I…I guess so,” you whimper. Nervously, you meet her gaze, your eyes alight with a glimmer of hope. “If it’s you, I can believe it.”

“Good. And remember this always, ______.”

The crimson moon shines brightly, casting a blood-red halo around your savior. And as Arlecchino pulls you closer, your lips a breath away from a kiss, a secret is divulged with the fervence of a sacred prayer.

“God still loves you. As do I.”

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Capitano

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

…Don’t ask me how many times I broke down over Priest! Arlecchino. Just don’t. To all of the Arle simps out there, I hope I did your wife justice. And may you all suffer from brainrot bc I refuse to be the only one in pain (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

Lastly, lots of love to @diodellet for beta-reading this fic and my mutuals for indulging my brainrot. I hope this was worth the wait <3

Tag an Arlecchino enjoyer!! @navxry @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @ainescribe @vennnnn-diagram @stickyspeckledlight @harmonysanreads @ddarker-dreams

#arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #yandere arlecchino x reader #yandere arlecchino #yandere genshin #genshin x reader #fatui x reader #yandere fatui harbingers #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: death #tw: stalking #tw: abuse #g/n reader #mdni #jessamine-writing

167 notes · View notes

yanderehsr · 8 months

Note

If it's not too much, can you do a fox hybrid/foxian soldier! Reader that works for columbina, arlecchino, jingyuan?

And don't forget to eat three times a day and drink enough water!

Sure, hope you'll enjoy😁

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour, Kidnapping, Murder

Columbina: You don't really work all that much, she has stationed you outside her bedroom door, you are to protect her mansion should it ever come under attack. You never really do anything tho since who would be foolish enough to attack Columbina of all people, she who can rival gods and has a high political power in Snezhnaya.

Columbina adores your ears and tail, at some point she will drag you into her room and tie up your hands to the bed, she will hum a tune as she lay there petting you ears and cuddling you, this should be your new job, free of stress and full of her.

"My beautiful dove, how come you aren't talking to me, you wouldn't wanna make me mad now do you"

Arlecchino: She doesn't think you should work as a fatui soldier at all, just look at you, you are so fluffy. Nope, she gives you work at the orphanage, no one will stop her if she relocates you, you are a mere soldier and she is the top dog around here, you will listen to her or face the consequences.

Arlecchino let's the kids play with your ears and tail, it gives her a warm feeling seeing you spend time with them, she herself plays with your tail when you two are alone, don't you dare struggle for she is not afraid to hit you to make you obedient, you are hers, nothing will change that.

"Truly foolish if you to think I care about what you want, you are mine, now come here so I can pet you or face the consequences"

Jing Yuan: He always has his hand on you, whether he has time off or is working he will always have time to have his hand on your head and play with the fluffy ears, it's relaxing for him having something to do at all times, he has trapped you with working for him forever, you will never escape him and no one would believe you if you revealed what he is doing.

Jing Yuan also likes to nibble the ear when he is feeling lazy, seeing you blush and stammer, trying to push him away is always a sure way for him to get back his energy, he doesn't regret a single day now that you are by his side, and you will stay by his side until death do you part.

"You have no idea what you do to me, you make me crazy just seeing you, make me completely lovestruck just by hearing your voice. I can't believe you're mine"

#yandere #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere female #yandere male #yandere columbina #yandere columbina x reader #yandere arlecchino #yandere arlecchino x reader #yandere jing yuan #yandere jing yuan x reader

472 notes · View notes

ordowrites · 2 months

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Red

cw: modern day au!, mdni, minors dni, yandere, obsessive behaviors, possessive behaviors, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, sugar baby dynamics, afab reader, marking, biting, allusions to sex. i do not condone anything in this story. unbeta'd.

Her favorite color of lipstick is red, it stains your skin every time she kisses you, amongst all the purple marks she insists on leaving on your skin where you can't hide it. Arlecchino is never quite satisfied when it comes to marking up your skin, and you're pretty sure she's just a few steps away from finding a way to permanently mark you. She, at least, has some need for privacy because you aren't on your knees in public for her.

It started off as a simple exchange - she would pay you to go to dinner with her, accompany her to different places, you could finally afford rent so long as you gave yourself in return. A beautiful, rich woman like her could have anyone she wanted but she chooses to indulge and spoil you instead. If you want the expensive dress you've been staring at for a few days, well, all you have to do is simply ask. Of course, this isn't free.

"You're very lucky," your friends say with slight envy. "You don't even have to work anymore." And you don't tell them that your relationship with her means you're no longer allowed to date anyone, and you're pretty sure she has ties to criminal organizations so you can't really leave her. And now, you really can't, not when you're free of debt at the small expense of your past life.

She isn't so controlling that you can't go out anywhere, but she is certainly with you. All of the time. You've elected to never really go out with your friends anymore, not when she tells you that she thinks so and so is just using you, and "you should consider doing something else that isn't getting drunk at a bar" and little, subtle nitpicks about the company you keep. You've slowly weaned out your friend group until there's very few left, and all your contacts are people she knows and approves of.

Arlecchino buys you coffee from your favorite coffee shop, the way you like it, and softly kisses you with those bright red lips, leaving some of her lipstick smudged on you.

The two of you are getting ready for some party with a colleague that Arlecchino hates - Pierro, you think vaguely - and it's a very big, lavish and important thing so of course, it takes all day to get read for. You are more like a pet for her to show off than a companion these days.

You're dressed in that lovely dress you wanted - she had picked the color, because of course she did. Your hair is styled the way she likes it, your make up about complete. Arlecchino sits next to you, her striking eyes peering right into your soul as she frowns, clearly dissatisfied with your current get up.

"Is...something wrong?"

"No." she says, after a moment as she reaches for a tube of lipstick, uncapping it. With her other hand, she gently but firmly grips your face and gently paints your lips with her favorite red. Arlecchino's favorite color is red, you remind yourself, trying to ignore the way your skin crawls and the desire to flee from the room.

"I just think you look lovelier in red, my dearest."

#yandere cw #yandere genshin x you #yandere arlecchino #yandere genshin x reader #yandere arlecchino x you #yandere arlecchino x reader #yandere arlecchino x y/n #yandere imagines #arlecchino x you #arlecchino x y/n #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino imagines #ordo.txt #ordo.text

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belphiesreverie · 2 years

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Platonic yandere fatui(plus the tsaritsa) thoughts? Doesn't matter if reader is young, teenager or adult lol

Once again going purely off vibes bc we don’t know much about most of them!

Just gonna write small excerpts for each of them but feel free to request more in-depth hcs for any of them! Scaramouche already has a full set here! 💕💕

Pierro is the strict father figure. What he says goes and will be obeyed without question. If he tells you to stay with one of the harbingers for the day then that’s where he expects to find you. When he gets to spend time with you himself though, he’s a lot softer and happy to do whatever activities you would like to

Capitano is like a second shadow. He doesn’t really interact with you face to face, preferring to stand nearby and watch over you like a guardian. The type of friend that scares off people who make you uncomfortable except 10x scarier

Columbina is the clingy best friend. She’s practically attached to your hip at all times and loves to drape herself over you at every opportunity. She gets super pouty when you pay more attention to others in her presence

Arlecchino is the doting older sister. She brushes your hair for you, she makes you breakfast, she escorts you if you’re going out anywhere. But she also likes to keep you on a strict routine and doesn’t take nicely to transgressions. It’s for your safety after all

Dottore is the scary cousin. The one you dread to spend time with because he’s always up to something and insists you help with his schemes. Sometimes he makes you sit and watch whilst he does autopsies on the recently deceased, and you could swear some of them look eerily familiar

Signora is the pampered friend. She likes to show you off by walking side by side with you. But not before she’s picked out what you’re wearing, and done your hair and makeup. She wants to be seen with you, but you have to match her standard. You have to show everyone why she’s the only one fit to stand at your side as your dearest friend

Pantalone is like your rich best friend that buys you whatever you desire. If you look at anything even a fraction of a second too long, Pantalone will have his wallet out before you can blink. He’s also definitely not above bribing people to stay away from you if he doesn’t like them hanging around

Sandrone is the smothering mum friend. She pampers you and loves to dress you up and just sit around with you. Doesn’t let you do anything yourself in fear of hurting yourself and insists on leaving everything to her puppets

Tartaglia is like the fun older brother. He already has experience looking after his younger siblings so you’ll be joining them. He likes to take you to fights to show off but won’t let you try incase you hurt yourself. He is fiercely over protective as well, anyone who dares to even look at you wrong can expect to be on the wrong end of his bow

The Tsaritsa is like an overprotective mother. She fears for your safety out in the big scary world, so she keeps you safe in the expanses of Snezhnaya where she and her trusted harbingers can watch over you

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

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Guide to Surviving the Yan Harbingers.

Play nice with Columbina, but not too nice. There’s a happy medium that she wants you to situate yourself in. On one hand, it would displease her greatly if you were to ever clearly express your distaste. Still, it would ruin her fun if she acted like a totally lifeless doll. She delights herself in seeing the frustration dancing within your eyes. The way that you seethe internally, acting oh so hard to keep it together in the face of such dire circumstances. In a most innocent tone, she’ll ask provocative questions crafted to make you stumble. Isn’t Scaramouche so impossible to please? Dottore an amalgamation of ego that you’re forced to endure? Columbina knows that by phrasing it like an inquiry, social etiquette will urge you to respond in some way, and forces you into a waltz where the tempo is always off. She adores the way you dance for her. Don’t worry, she’ll stop you before you say anything too damning; if you get in trouble with the others, it means she won’t get to see you as often...

Don’t flinch at the cold kiss of metal caressing your skin upon Sandrone’s prompting. She settles for nothing less than perfection when it comes to her work. When it’s her turn to have possession over you, you’ll be invited into a workshop that few if no one else has ever seen; discarded mechanical limbs littering the floor that you must step over. The creations lying within might look familiar, she tells you. And indeed they do. Atop a crudely shaped torso, with frayed wires poking out from what should be the shoulder socket if traditional anatomy was observed, is a head boasting unblinking eyes the same shade as yours. It’s a work in progress — a love letter to her favorite muse. A croaking voice box whirrs to life within the hollow husk, staccato-like syllables stringing together as the machine says it wants to be just like you. Sandrone claims her little project has been begging to feel your skin as of late. You’ll let it, won’t you?

Know that if you reciprocate Signora’s affection in full, you might just get burned. Ice is not always meant to be thawed and she is proof of that. You stoke embers within her that she long thought were locked away by the Tsaritsa’s gift, and in doing so, unwittingly place yourself in danger. Signora knows her accursed physiology well enough to sense this. Hence why she treats you with such biting apathy. You are to sit quietly in her presence so she can retain control over herself. If she’s in a good enough mood, you’ll be allowed to entertain yourself with books or other silent hobbies. Still, despite the precautions, her gaze always ends up drawn to you. She’ll part her lips, considering possibilities too good to be true. Thoughts of having you brush through her hair or humming the music she heard in better days of her life tempt her. When you meet her eyes, her face hardens, and she asks who permitted you to do such a thing. Signora learned from her past that feeding the flames never ends well.

Exercise the utmost obedience with Arlecchino. Her commands are absolute and meant to be followed to the letter, even if they make your life more difficult in the process. She’d rather not acknowledge that the others — underserving as they are — hold any sway over you. To do so would surely stir up strife. She orders you to take off Pantalone’s many adornments in her presence, to scrub your skin raw until Signora’s noisome perfume no longer permeates your skin. This inevitably leads to problems anyway, with you at the unfortunate center. Arlecchino has you traipsing across a tightrope to satisfy her wishes. She firmly believes that you’re wasted on the others. If she had total control over you, she knows she could make not only herself happy, but you as well. In fits of frustration, she’ll tell you that they put so little consideration into your wellbeing. You wonder if she’ll ever examine her own actions with such scrutiny.

Seek out Scaramouche even when he acts like he wants nothing to do with you. It was almost a relief the first time he shooed you away — in your naivety, you thought you’d get a well-deserved break from dealing with these impossible creatures. When you actually went to dismiss yourself, it soured his mood for the rest of the day. No, this isn’t what he wants, you realized as your fingers hovered over the doorknob. He wants you to fight back. Tactfully, of course, it wouldn’t do for you to backtalk openly. It flatters him greatly when you persist in staying with him, despite his persistent prickliness. Say that if it pleases him, you’d love nothing more than to spend just a few more minutes in his presence, should he be gracious enough to the grant privilege. He’ll make a big show of sighing and making it seem as if he’s begrudgingly accepting your request. If you insist, he’ll tell you. You can tell you’ve done well by the grin he’s barely able to suppress.

School your facial expressions in the presence of Dottore, who doesn’t take kindly to any perceived criticism of his dubious morality. While you’re only able to comprehend a fraction of his mad lectures, what he speaks of disturbs and chills you to the bone, keeping you away at night as if someone was holding your eyelids open. However, he doesn’t want another critic. He wants you to be left in awe over his uncontested intellectual prowess. It must make the minds of his cohorts look dull in comparison, he figures. A transcendent mind such as his has got to earn your admiration. Dottore feels you’re his cute little pupil. When you appear confused by the depth of his designs, expect him to cling to your side even longer, he won’t be content until you sufficiently understand. This is more of an excuse to talk to you longer, especially since your attention is always in high demand.

Always wear the gaudy gifts that Pantalone insists on bestowing you. Not only must you pretend to be grateful for the displays of profligacy, but you must act excited too. It's enough to antagonize what few shards of pride you have left to cling to. He’ll clasp necklaces around you that feel tighter than a noose, set crowns on your head so heavy with the burden of their jewels it becomes a struggle to look anywhere but the ground. You’re cursed to feel his presence even in his absence. It’s a bitter reminder that at this point, the only thing you’re missing is a collar. The others share your opinion and are free to voice their dissent while you must bite your tongue almost hard enough to bleed. Signora says something daintier that complements your complexion would be better, whereas Scaramouche longs to rip the ostentatious ornaments from you entirely. Pantalone just chuckles and says it’s your decision. Don’t you like his gifts? Always nod when he asks you this.

Be wary of accepting Childe’s supposed sympathy, for he is just as guilty in your subjugation. The best actor is one who makes you forget you’re watching a play. As a mere member of the audience, it is never your place to express dislike of the script, no matter how much the characters on stage oppress you. Childe sets himself up to be your favorite by playing your advocate. He’s not against your suffering, so long as he gets to be the balm that makes it all better. He affirms the thoughts you hold prisoner in your mind, for if you were to speak them, there’d be hell to pay. Makes jokes about how creepy Sandrone’s predilections are or how impossible it is for you to please Signora. Not him, however, he promises that there’s no need to be so on guard in his presence. It’s so tempting to buy into it. You’d do well to remember he is not the ally he portrays himself to be, he’s every bit of an enemy to your self-interest as the others.

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lovesickeros · 5 months

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☆ decadence divine [ act I ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, neuvillette, furina {☆} notes yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings yandere content, stalking (implied), kidnapping (implied) {☆} word count 2.3k

ARLECCHINO

Arlecchino was wont to leave social gatherings to her subordinates– the private meetings were where she thrived. It was so much easier to lure your prey into a trap when you didn't have prying eyes and ears waiting for the barest hint of blackmail.

She clicked her tongue in distaste, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask of the fox as she set down her cup sharply. It was difficult as it was to draw them from the safety of their bubble– at the slightest hint of danger, her quarry would run. A chase would be fun, but she couldn't risk getting caught here. The political nightmare it would cause..it already gave her a headache. She had to be discreet.

They weren't making it easy, however.

Which is why she never liked crowds. But this chance didn't come by every day. She wasn't going to simply let it pass by because of a little danger. She'd have them eventually, it was just a matter of how. There were already numerous of her own lingering in the crowds, hidden beneath the masks that every patron bore. It was difficult to stand out amongst the flurry of masked patrons constantly shifting around the room, moving from one conversation to another, gliding from one dance partner to another.

Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the tile as she stalked through the crowds, keeping a wide berth yet always lingering nearby– she was sure they could feel the vague sense of being watched, but with the huge crowds..her lips quirked into a grin with the barest flash of teeth. There were a great many ways to break them in– she'd spent a great amount of time and mora to get anything she could for blackmail, if she so wished. She had the backing of the Fatui as well if she played her cards right– it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that they were a valuable target, and none of them would dare to question just what she did with them afterwards.

Perhaps a bit of play, first. Test the waters. She was familiar with playing the polite gentleman, despite her status as a Fatui Harbinger. Stage something for her to intervene, perhaps, to look the hero. The look of shock when she revealed the wolf beneath the wool..she could see it already. That wide, doe-eyed look as they realized the monster they've followed blindly like a lost lamb..she was beginning to see the appeal.

All it took was a few hushed words and subtle signals before the tiles started to fall in place, her hand gliding along their lower back as she leaned over their shoulder with a thin, predatory smile. She'd have to organize for the agent to be released later, her eyes following as the Gardes dragged him out of the room in a flurry of curses, but for now..she tilted her head to peer down at them, polite and almost apologetic.

"You aren't too startled, are you? Now now, there's no need to look so..scared, poor thing. I won't let another lay a hand on you," She cooed in a sickly sweet tone, the husky rasp of her voice whispered in their ear like dripping honey. "You have my word. Now, why don't we get you some fresh air? Come. Allow me to escort you."

Her lips pulled into a jagged grin at the relief in their eyes– the blind lamb following the shepherd as it led them into it's maw. Just a little longer, and she could finally have her own caged bird– a pretty thing to admire, to protect, to possess.

Something no one else would ever touch again. Something hers.

NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette was not one for parties. The intricacies and delicate handling of public relations he oft left in the capable hands of Furina, rather then himself. It was only at her behest he even attended at all, but he still felt rather..out of place amongst the bodies constantly shifting through the ballroom like a constant rush of water from one end to the other, no rhyme nor reason to the flow. The only thing that kept him afloat among the tides was the mask of the deer obscuring his face– even if it was exceedingly difficult to truly hide himself among the crowds, most passed over him without second thought.

Though he had to be honest with himself, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it to Furina despite her insistence that his attendance was mandatory. He had his own reasons for coming– selfishness that left a sour taste in his mouth. It was purely by chance he'd seen the briefest glimpse of them prior, and he..was intrigued, that was all.

He refused to let his thoughts linger on the sleepless nights he spent prying every piece of information he could from loose tongues and obscure documents, every moment he managed to squeeze in between trials spent lingering in their most favored locations– cafes, stores, restaurants, the like.

Now a masquerade.

He tried not to let the guilt gnaw at his conscious, but it lingered like an age old scar that still ached.

So he relegated himself to simply residing in the further corner, nursing a goblet of water like a fine wine, trying not to let his eyes stray to the brief glimpses of them through the ever moving bodies filling the center of the room, dancing like puppets in music boxes.

Still, his hand twitched in an instinctual desire– a need to clasp his hand in their own, to touch his lips upon their knuckles, to indulge in a moment of reprieve and unshackle himself from the mantle that bears heavy upon his shoulders. He seeks reverence, worship, but not of himself– but towards the one who had drawn the eye of the dragon amongst the waves of humans he'd seen come and go for a great many years.

No one could compare, he is certain. None have left him as breathless, as hopelessly infatuated, as the one who made him wish only to kneel at their feet in senseless reverence until he could no longer speak. A hopeless man, indeed, if he has never even truly met them.

Instead he's spent his time prying into their life from the shadows. Caution, or simple cowardice?

He dares not ponder.

Yet in his ceaseless pondering he'd blocked out the world without, failing to notice the figure stepping up beside him until their hand brushed against his elbow– just the briefest touch, but it had his pupils narrowing and his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. That touch..bliss. It left him breathless and lightheaded as he tilted his head to regard them, his lips parting in a shaky sigh. They are as beautiful as he remembers– even with their face obscured beneath the mask, he would never forget them.

"Greetings, Monsieur– I hope I didn't frighten you too much." Their laugh made him feel rather faint, just the sound of their voice making his hand tighten around his cane. "..Not at all. I was simply lost in thought." He admitted apologetically, trying to reign in the urge to cup their face between his palms. A dangerous thought. He didn't want to scare them off when they'd provided him a priceless opportunity.

"My apologies, you must have needed something. It was rude of me to have been so absorbed in my thoughts to have ignored you." He continued, gently turning to set his goblet down– offer them his full attention, be a gentleman. The words rang in his skull like a ceaseless alarm, blaring and rattling his thoughts as he gently took their hand in his own. It was a split second decision– an indulgence, but he could simply not help himself. Even with his gloves between them, he felt like he was going to lose his composure just from such a brief touch..

He truly was a hopeless man before an altar, praying for a salvation he intends to bury deep beneath the waves– to keep it hidden in the darkness of the depths that only he can reach. A selfish man, he must be, to even think of it, but it is an itch that he cannot scratch. A need that must be satisfied. He cannot allow any hands but his own to tend to them, to know what it feels to touch them, to hear their voice and see their eyes as he prays– prays like a man starved, devotion born of desperation.

"I hope I did not make you wait too long." He smiles, soft and affectionate, like the bloom of spring beneath the winters chill– yet just as deadly, only masked by the sweet fragrance of flowers.

He had waited too long.

No longer.

FURINA

Furina was right at home amongst the crowds– where the masks obscured the identities of most, it was impossible to not recognize the charming banter of the Hydro Archon beneath the mask of the lamb as she graced the masquerade with her presence, speaking with a silver tongue to any who would listen. A truly enthralled audience fitting for the grandest of performers in Fontaine.

But her eyes lingered not on the people who's praise dripped from their lips like honey– yet so very bitter upon her tongue. Even the mask obscuring her expression did little to hide the longing that had her visibly deflating like a popped balloon. She hated all the eyes on her, really– it was suffocating. She was only putting on a show in the foolish hope that they'd finally pay attention to her. Just her luck, she supposes, that instead she's had to throw herself straight into the role of Archon without a pay off..

They hadn't even spared her a glance! It would be infuriating if not for the fact she couldn't even keep her composure just seeing them across the room. They didn't even have to look at her and she could feel the heat rush to her ears as she forced another smile at the crowd gathered around her. It was unfair how easily they could fluster her without even knowing it– her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage she felt like it might burst.

Her only solace was the fact none of the patrons seemed to realize she'd clocked out of the conversation, her thoughts and eyes lingering on the distant figure– what a lovestruck fool she makes..it was a chance encounter she'd seen them during one of her outings. That was all it took to enthrall her, evidentially, try as she might to have ignore it for months.

They never left her mind for longer then a day, in the end, and she had to face the fact they had managed to enrapture her so deeply she felt like a newborn lamb learning to walk whenever she so much as thought of them. What an embarrassment! She..she was the Archon, she had a reputation to maintain, she couldn't be seen fawning over a human.

But oh, she still longed for it, beneath the veneer of a God. She'd watched them more times then she'd admit even to herself, wishing to find herself in place of those who'd hands were cradled so casually in their own– to hear their voice, their laughter, as often as she pleased..like a fine delicacy she so badly wished to taste, yet so far from her reach.

Would they think her pathetic for her infatuation? She pursed her lips at the thought, trying to bury the sour mood beneath her faux image of the Archon. Yet it lingered, and with only the quietest of excuses, she slipped into the crowd like a ghost– she needed to leave before she did something..stupid. Neuvillette would surely have a few choice words with her if she did, and she was inclined to avoid such a fate.

She..she just needed a moment to collect herself was all. That was it. She could go back to playing Archon for a little longer, she just needed a moment to herself. At the very least, the balcony had been regarded as off limits so late into the party– which gave her an opportunity to slip out of the public view for the briefest of moments. A welcome reprieve– she was starting to feel suffocated amongst the crowds.

Perhaps on instinct, she reached for the mask, lifting ever so slightly away..only to let out a startled yelp at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the mask slipping back into place far too easily. It made her lightheaded, even now, but she dared not to dwell on it.

But when she turned sharply on her heel to chew out the person who'd followed her and had the gall to scare her..oh, she was done for, her ears flush with heat. The brief glimpse of their eyes beneath the mask, the curl of their lips as they smiled– her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain it had stopped all together when they clasped her hand.

"Y–you.." She wanted to be angry, to brush them off and leave with her rationality in tact, but the warmth of their hands on her skin rendered her speechless. She was no better then a fish on land, struggling to fill her lungs with air as she drew in a shaky breath. "Ahem, you caught me off guard. That's all. Surely you do not make it a habit to sneak up on people?" She huffed in indignation, trying to mask the fluster that threatened to break through her carefully crafted facade.

Ah, what a cruel twist of fate..she'd slipped away to escape their allure, but here they were, dragging her back into their orbit without even knowing how deep her infatuation ran. They were alone, too..it was a chance she wasn't sure she'd ever get again.

Maybe, just this once, she could do something for herself rather then everyone else.

She buried her guilt, the fear– buried it beneath the need to be seen.

"But if you want to make it up to me.."

#genshin impact #genshin impact yandere #genshin yandere #neuvillette x reader #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #arlecchino x reader #yandere arlecchino #yandere arlecchino x reader #furina x reader #yandere furina #yandere furina x reader #fic tag #pats neuvillette this noodle dragon can be so pathetic #aiming for pathetic desperate and slightly guilty. it gnaws at him knowing he's keeping you like a bird in a cage #esp if you react extremely negatively hes like a kicked puppy #not outwardly but internally hes a MESS. sobbing crying wailing #furina and neuvi sopping wet kittens u found in a cardboard box in an alley #vs arle thinking abt all the crimes shes going 2 commit in the process w/o an ounce of guilt. blackmail? check. kidnapping? check.#a little murder for flavor. as u can see im coping horribly w being practically snowed in rn i need 2 be put down #its like 4 degrees out rn (fahrenheit) and getting colder ueueueue i am dying..........#only thing keeping me going is my furinameow plushie coming. eventually. staying strong just for her.................#also needs 2 be mentioned all the stories r separate ksjfkhdsf #no not everyone in fontaine is yan and trying 2 kidnap sorry for getting ur hopes up..#yet #anyway u cant convince me arle isn't bribing (or just straight up forcing) her agents into doing stupid shit so she can “save” you #and make you owe her #two silly goofy little creatures vs the personification of gaslight gatekeep girlboss (heavy on the gaslight)#also split this up in 3 parts bc. lol. lmao. im not writing 9 characters at once goodbye #also all the masks do actually have significance i have an entire essay on why i gave each animal to specific characters okay

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mistymem0ryy · 11 months

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Yandere Arlecchino x Ballerina Reader

‘Oh who is She’

Summary: As a ballerina in Fontaine’s most prestigious dancing Academy you have lived your life with the intent to serve the arts and being able to provide to your family a next meal. Life in the Opera house flows with the same old mundanity until the growing number of Fatui agents within the country alongside the death of one of your coworkers begins to solidify the already running distaste for the Shneznayan ‘diplomatic’ lackeys. Your opinion about them is as unsavory as the next guy, that is until you meet one of the grand patrons of the Theatre, Arlechinno, whose interest in you and your talent grows concerningly more fierce with every passing performance.

Author’s Notes >>> at the end of the post! please check it out for some clarifications!

Warnings: discussions of pr0stituti0n and the unsavory sides of performance arts, mentions of murder and your common yandere sketchiness

No beta we die like any teenage girl with Slavic ballet teachers

I. A misty memory

The memory of the Genesis of your own downfall has never faded completely from your straying recollections. It possesses a freshness that stings and contorts. It is partially hidden by a cape of fog, a mist deep enough to make you look twice and yet, within its frailty, to provide you with a rough silhouette of that which now inhabits the realms of the unconscious.

Sometimes you wonder if its repression won’t be for the better. You have, for the first time in your life, genuinely reached the understanding that ignorance is truly bliss.

If you had known that a single glance could have harbored the power to throw you into the scorching depths of hell, you would have blinded yourself by the age of 9.

If you had known that the only way out of such an inferno would be through the merciless mountain of purgatory, you would have preferred for your limbs to be frozen whole alongside that six-eyed beast. Perhaps his flowing tears would have purged you of whatever sin you unknowingly committed in order to be cursed with such a fate.

She says she serves a God in her doings. You fear she has mistaken the voice of her unsightly desires for that of divinity.

But perhaps that must be the forbidden truth stuck within our suffocating throats—that our most grotesque and hideous desires are but a reflection of the Gods.

You were wearing black that day, a colour not unknown to your wardrobe, yet it was worn with a completely different intent, if memory serves you right. A girl around your age, red-haired with a blemish under her right eye. You had previously exchanged some vague pleasantries when alone behind the velvet curtains that could rival the tint of her reddening cheeks; she had once gifted you an arrangement of lavenders as a congratulation to your promotion into one of the highest grades within L’Academie and even went as far as to write one of your favourite poems upon the accompanying card attached to their freshly cut stems.

She had a name; you are sure of it, but for some reason you cannot bring yourself to recollect it now, the girl’s body had been found bloody and mud covered in a soiled ditch on Fontaine’s southern border exactly three days before you formally met Her.

She had been charming; even a blind fool would have been hypnotized by Her enticing aura. And you had been exactly that—an ignorant and mindless fool.

It wasn’t the first time she had visited the theater; you try your best to blur the faces of the audience into an unrecognizable blob of flesh during performances, but hers was too marking to dismiss. Her gaze scrutinized each minute move of your flowing limbs, there was a certain hunger behind her eyes that made tremors consume the entirety of your body every time you set foot upon that regal stage.

It was as if you were 8 again and praying that the examiners for the exact prestigious company you now work for took pity upon yourself and did not slander your hard work with a crude rejection.

For the first few performances you presumed her attention was, in the least, wandering through your dancing colleagues too, the recurring meetings between your eyes and hers perhaps purely coincidental. That was until your first solo was presented.

You have been witness to hunger and yearning countless times, having even seen them invading and ravaging the souls of those near and afar from you, the prologue of such fervorous and ardent emotions, always far away from being sweet and clean. Like all things should strive to be.

To mistake whatever plundered her mind for ‘hunger’ or ‘yearning’ would be a bland fool’s mistake, you had unwisely mistaken a building famine for a theater’s infatuation, and that was the first of the many errors you would commit along the line.

Deep within yourself, you knew that at some point between this game of cat and mouse the Opera house ceased from being a place for the upper echelons of society to converse and demonstrate their riches while underpaid artists feebly hoped for recognition of their labors, and it began to belong solely to the two of you.

The stage had become your own dissection table, and you did not know if it was pleasure or terror you derived from her dissecting gaze.

Perhaps your first solo had been the nail upon the coffin. You had refused to look towards her for the entirety of the arduous choreography, depicting the history of Chloé as she is taken unwillingly by pirates, eventually saved before the ravaging, thanking Pan for his graciousness, and once again reuniting with her lover.

Your eyes were directed towards hers only once the music ceased with a harmonious and thundering ending. You watched as, from within the silent public, her gloved hands came together and the first clap clamored through the walls, you felt a weird sense of pride and fear as she got up from her seat inside the private box, all while applauding your performance with an elegant smirk adorning her features, the rest of the audience followed suit, collectively getting up from their seats and filling the Opera house with the sound of resounding applause.

You always felt this clamoring sting upon your scapulae every time your gazes happened to cross; their meeting as quick as their departure, or so you liked to believe.

Even after the closing of the curtains, when the only sound that met your ears was that of ragged breaths and squeaking wood, when the only smell that filled your senses was that of a mixture of human flesh and whatever toxic atrocity held your hair in place, even then you could still feel remnants of her stare covering your body, as if becoming a second layer of skin with every passing performance.

You knew she was Fatui from the beginning; after all, the servants of the so-called Tsaritsa didn’t exactly hide their duties or loyalties, be it by manner of speech or that of dressing. They had good money, though. You knew it. The rest of the dancers knew it. The directors and associates knew it. And sometimes you had to turn a deaf ear to hushed whispers about people mysteriously disappearing in the night without a single trace to be found. Sometimes you had to kill your morals if you wanted your next meal to be within an evening and not within 3 days.

The jeweled and fur-adorned audience could be drowning themselves in luxury and splendour, but the little dolls they so merrily applauded at the end of two continuous hours of Tchaikovsky couldn’t be more far away from such a blissful existence. It had been common for some spectators from the upper balconies to take an interest in certain ballerinas; with time, this commonality became a tradition and eventually a business in its own right. But to discuss it in such a manner would have been blasphemous within the highly adorned walls of the prestigious Theatre, some called it pr0stituti0n, the directors called it keeping their loyal patrons satisfied.

After yet another performance based on local folklore that the rich over-intellectualise in order to differentiate themselves from the common folk, you and your companions sluggishly returned to the poorly lit room where your belongings and whatever remnants of your honour were housed. You were all substituting the attire of Tyrian purple silk with formal dress in the colour of grief. The entire theater was in mourning, or at least that was the image the directors wished to convey.

The death of your fellow ballerina had caused quite the stir within Fontaine’s journals; the cause of the death of this poor girl was being discussed by intellectuals in fancy cafés and by drunks in dirty taverns, and yet you knew there was no real mourning behind it all. Her corpse was their quirky theme for the weekend chatter; a life had been lost, and her memory too would vanish from public memory within a week or two. The headline writers pointing to a possible murder would die out with time and enough pocket money on the directors’ part. Perhaps this was your first direct contact with the fragility and lingering nature of the human experience—to be forgotten, you presumed, was but a logical step in the grander scheme of things.

Some hours before it all went astray, you and other members of the Theatre’s staff had decided to visit a nearby cathedral before beginning the preparations for the performance destined to take place that same day. You had cleansed yourself before entering, scraped your knees upon the humidity of the wooden floor, and even lit your votive candle in front of the mosaic depicting the Hydro Archon.

You selfishly wanted to pray for the health of your family, perhaps even for a better salary, and yet you found yourself solely asking why—what greater good could the death of such a simple and honest girl have brought into this world? Was there a greater meaning behind her early departure? Did she at least have the grace of a painless death? Wherever she is now, is she happy?

The silence you received from the other side was deafening, like slaughter.

You could feel the intensity of an unknown gaze upon the left side of your face. You refused to even cower in its direction, to whomever that glance belonged to, it was most probably of no God that could fulfill your wishes.

You still remember how your knees ached as you gathered yourself from a praying position. How you had bid a good day to the priest upon your hurried leave.

How you had petted the church’s cat that sluggishly showed you his black furred belly as you passed by his way.

How you had offered whatever lingering candy you still gathered inside the pockets of your ageing trench coat to some street kids that always went to you for their sweet tooth (the little rascals).

The commute towards the curving golden gates that encircled the greenery belonging to the theater was too mundane to serve as a presage. The Archons had sent you no omens, no foreboding whatsoever. The birds chirped away the same conjunction of clashing tunes, the melody of human society waking up from its slumber and beginning its unceasing movement was the same you had experienced on a loop for years.

Would you have entered the theatre’s doors if you had known what awaited you at the end of the day? Would you have been able to escape your future if only you had thought twice after the performance, after lingering gazes filled with want and something more?

Perhaps yes, perhaps no. There really is no use in pondering such things now, but you cannot deny that they do serve as interesting thought experiments to pass the time with.

No matter how many times you attempt to recollect the happenings of that day, they always re-emerge from whatever mental corner you’ve confined them in different forms, different silhouettes, different essences. Your memory has slowly lost the trust you had once graced it with, but no matter how many times you repeat that forsaken day in your diminishing mind, there is one thing that always resists change, one single constant within the writing of your doom.

The altar had smelled of chrysanthemums and lavender.

Author’s note: This will be a series of approximately 5 parts, some from Arlechino’s perspective and others structured as reminiscences such as the one just presented. Since Fontaine is still not out, the characterization of Arlecchino could with the coming of new information and lore become erroneous so I feel as if it is my duty to inform you that I am molding her personality based off of the new trailer and imbuing her with certain characteristics of fictional characters I personally think would be similar to her!

#arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #fatui #fatui harbingers #fatui harbingers x reader #Genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #fontaine #fanfic #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere arlecchino #yandere arlecchino x reader #genshin imagines

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harmonysanreads · 2 months

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Hi Harmony! I just noticed that your requests are open and I decided to drop by with a small request I thought about for weeks.

I was thinking about Arlecchino for a while, and it made me ponder of the concept of Arlecchino with a darling on a reincarnation AU. Maybe Arlecchino has met her darling at such an inconvenient time, and every time that it has happened, only she remembers their past lives.

It probably goes to the point that Arlecchino starts devising ways to be able to keep her darling safe, because each time they would meet, her darling gets into an accident... And it would seem that each time she tried, then it would simply fail. And it would push to a point where she resorts to one of the more not so morally good methods.

I don't know if this counts as a req. or a brainrot, but I offer you this idea because I think it could be interesting to think about sometimes. You're free to deny it btw if its typical, hard, or overall you can't write it <3 I completely understand if that's the case.

(p.s.: this is the one running @yxstxrdrxxm BAHAHAHAHAHA I'm sorry if I haven't replied to your message during OLC, I dont know how to talk to you w/o sounding really awkward </3 also!! hydration check! Anyways thats all, have fun with the idea + I hope you have a great day Harmony :D)

Pantomime Of The Night

yandere!arlecchino x reader

cw(s) : yandere, vampire!arlecchino, mentions of blood, murder, slight gore, non-consensual touching, unbalanced power dynamics

wc : 2.1k

a/n: omg hiii! would you believe me if I said I was just thinking about you before getting this ask? also please don't worry about my message! i had a hunch that you might be in a situation of sorts. thank you so so much for requesting arlecchino because i've been itching to write for her for a long time! i decided to go with vampire!arlecchino for this because i thought it'd suit the reincarnation theme well. i hope you enjoy it<3

lovely illustration based on this fic by a lovely person <3 (spoiler alert!)

At the deepest hours of the night, even the innocent crackles of hearthfire sound as clamorous as gun-shots.

You're dazed by the flame's continuous dance until the aroma of freshly brewed tea reaches your senses and the servants have left. A sharp clank from Arlecchino's glass and the weight of her gaze prompt you to meet her eyes. The light from the fireplace casts shadows on the other half of her fair face, she seemed to have foregone her usual taught posture in favor of a relaxed one. One of her hands supports her cheek while the other holds the wine glass, the beverage within sloshes as the claw-like accessories on her fingers curl around the object.

Your side of the table is far more decorated, desserts that you've never even seen in your impoverished mortal life and that tea you've grown fond of over the course of your stay in her mansion sit appetizingly. All beckon you to feast, all seek to fan the flames of voracity and you offer but a thoughtless stare in return.

The master of the house seems to have noticed your lack of appetite as she finally breaks the stretched out silence, “These are all confectioneries of the highest quality from the town and as I recall, all of your favorites. But you give them no more than a blank stare... you've also not taken a sip from the tea. May I inquire why?”

The raspy tone of her observation has your arms covered in gooseflesh, though, you note she does not sound as confused as her words suggest. You can feel her onyx eyes gloss over every part of your person, inspecting and dissecting each and every visible clue. You swallow dryly, “It’s just that it's way too late in the night,”

“Yet you look as ready as ever to head out. Tell me, have you been anticipating my return, dearest?”

Arlecchino stares pointedly at your attire, likely referring to the traveling clothes you have on instead of the silk nightwear that she had gifted. Your shoulders tense unconsciously, there's something about the way she speaks at this instance that has your heartbeat crescendoing. The silver haired woman gives you a few more beats of anxiety, her talons scrape against the dainty glass.

“I’ve been informed that you have not eaten anything since yesterday.”

The words escape her painted lips easily, but they don't fail to send a jolt through your system. Throughout your stay, she'd never spoken to you like this, like you were one of her children who did not know better and decided to cross a line. That realization renders you further puzzled, you did nothing wrong to begin with, but her tone made you feel as though you were on the verge of doing so. You clear your parched throat and gather yourself to meet her eyes. This time, you do not allow yourself to wilt at the force of her burning stare.

“Arlecchino, I have something to tell you.”

The addressed woman straightens up at your sudden serious tone, her hand abandons the wine glass on the table and you inhale involuntarily at the scratches that now decorate the object, “I’m all ears, dearest.”

Your brows crease, as usual, Arlecchino is courteous, too courteous for someone who makes it obvious she's informed of something that she wasn't supposed to know. She's been like this ever since you and your travel-partner stepped foot in her ambiguous estate. Initially, you were touched by the hospitality she and her adopted children had shown you. Your greed lulled any arising suspicions, you neither questioned why she'd been so generous to a commoner with nothing more than fifty mora to their name nor did you bother to think about how she was affording all those gifts. You naïvely wished to believe in her kindness and that nothing was wrong about this house. But of course, self-woven deceptions last so long.

“Before you mistake me for being ungrateful, I did plan to inform you before leaving. Me and my friend are extremely thankful for the care your house has shown us, but we cannot stay in one place forever.”

“Why not?” you halt at her abrupt question but she follows up before you could even part your lips, “Have we lacked in any area to provide you with the adequate comfort? Have any of my children said something? If it's the latter, I'll apologize in their stead, they can be quite playful at times, I'm sure you understand.”

You stare dumbfounded at the sudden turn this conversation has taken, she wasn't supposed to behave like this. Why is she searching for a reason to make you stay when she should've been happy that a burden was about to be lifted off of her shoulders? Are all nobles this pushy?

“I—” you cut yourself off as the silver-haired woman leans in without warning, her shadow envelopes the delicacies laid out on the small table.

“Or… have you seen something?” she drawled.

You cannot hold back a flinch this time. A curse echoes in your mind at your stupidity, this was no ‘conversation’ to begin with ; this was yet another trap and you'd willingly played right into the palm of Arlecchino's hand. If there's one thing you've learned about this mysterious noblewoman, it is that she enjoys the process of dragging answers out of everyone. From the very beginning, she was aware of your scheme but, she chose to wear that mask of courtesy one more time and lured you out in the open, unguarded. If only your friend arrived to fetch you from your room at the right time, you wouldn't be in this messy situation.

Your eyes dart from her unblinking expression to the sharp accessories that adorn her gloved fingers and something about them forces you to reply quickly.

“No! I mean, you know that I'm a traveler, do you not? It's already been six months since we came to your estate, me and my friend were starting to.. crave that adventurous thrill—yes! We were starting to miss being on the road and decided to depart in the early morning.”

Once upon a time, your late mother had told you that some people in this world are like spiders. They're always at the centerpiece of their lair, leaving intricate translucent webs for unassuming prey to get tangled upon. Although the croaked warnings of your bedridden mother did not make much sense to the younger you, you understood now exactly what she meant.

“Incorrect. You were planning to escape with that friend of yours, weren't you?”

The hearthfire burns bright, shrouding Arlecchino's expression in shadows. The chilling octave of her voice defeats the warmth of the fireplace and has every muscle in your body stiffened. Escape? Her word choice never ceased to baffle you throughout this faux tea-party. She speaks as though you were her prisoner instead of a guest. She tilts her head and has the audacity to look betrayed as though you were a possession she held dear, and not a random human she decided to take pity upon.

Arlecchino runs a hand through her silvery hair with a sigh that actually indicates ennui and you bite back a scowl, “Honestly, I do not understand why you even befriended that thing. He's an obnoxious blabbermouth with a nose bigger than his brain. And he's loud, too. You've always preferred to mingle with level headed people with a sufficient intellectual capacity in the past and here you are, glaring at me as though—”

“Don’t speak like you know me!”

You pant after the force of that outburst, your voice ricochets across the walls of her room and further beyond. You open your mouth to continue but stop when you notice a strange flicker in the silver-haired woman's eyes. It's gone in a blink and is replaced with irritation just as quickly however.

“Oh, but I do know you. I know you better than you know yourself, in fact. I know that there are exactly 11 moles throughout your body, I know all your preferences and fears. Don't believe me? Did you really never stop to question how I managed to give you things that catered to your tastes? How I knew what you desired even before you did? Or were you so mesmerized by the words of that friend of yours to pay minimum attention?”

If the tone of a person's voice could kill, you'd be rotting in a ditch by now. You would've never believed someone could sound this malicious while not even raising their voice. You want nothing more than to shrink away but the adrenaline accumulated through your anger pushes you to keep digging your grave.

“And so what if that's exactly how it is? You have no right to have a say in who I choose to be ‘mesmerized’ by!”

A ‘ha!’ laden with disbelief escapes Arlecchino's lips. Fine silvery strands bounce at the mocking tilt of her head, “So what will you do now? Walk out of the gates with that waste of space like nothing happened?”

“Oh, you bet I will!” you fume, rising from the chair and turning on your heels. You barely take one step away from the table until the full weight of Arlecchino's malice crashes down on you and you remember something important.

“Arlecchino, where is my friend?”

The silver haired woman leisurely raises her wine glass at your stilted words, “In my glass.”

You swivel towards her, blinking several times as if to confirm you didn't mishear.

“Well, here and… probably in the stomachs of my pet vultures, excluding the carcass, that is. I'll admit, the taste is subpar compared to the trouble I went through. That thing kept on screaming until one of the vultures tore its heart out. Ugh, my ears are still ringing.”

Your wide eyes tremble towards the glass in her hand, the deep red liquid within sloshes to the direction of Arlecchino's hand ; paired with her words, your friend’s destiny becomes a no-brainer. All your wits abandon you in that instance and in a moment of sheer panic, you take a step back. Arlecchino promptly interferes with your plans, the door and windows close with no little sound and the table and your chair disappear without a trace—all in the snap of her fingers.

“What are you?”

You would've screamed if you didn't forget how to use your lungs. But then again, you doubt anyone would come to save you from her clutches even if you did. Your eyes connect to her onyx ones and in that moment, she appeared far less human than she'd been this whole encounter. Her pupils flash as two red xs and you feel an invisible pull tugging you to her side. The temptation dominates any coherent thoughts until you find yourself an arms length away from her seated self. Her claws dig into the flesh of your arm and yank you to her lap.

Free from the haze of that strange sensation, the first thing that permeates your senses is how cold Arlecchino's proximity is. Your palm meets her chest in a feeble attempt to push her away but all it does is stun you when you notice the absence of a heartbeat. You feel the sting of something sharp on your chin and waist, your eyes glance back and forth between the sources—dread pools in your stomach. Because of your closeness and the light from the fireplace, you're able to see that the sharp objects you'd mistaken for accessories are actually her nails and the gloves, her real skin.

Perhaps your trembling was so pitiful that Arlecchino could not help but soften her gaze, “Do you truly not recall?”

You look up at her, thoroughly perplexed. There's that previous glint in her eyes again but you've already accepted that understanding this woman was beyond you. One moment she accuses you as though you've been unfaithful, then she vividly describes how she murdered an innocent man and the next she looks almost… hurt?

“Recall what?”

The silver-haired woman’s red lips part and you gulp as unnaturally sharp fangs sneer at you. Albeit, she does not answer you and you wonder if you should get accustomed to playing mental gymnastics with her just to get a simple answer. Her talons let go of your waist and drag their up to your collarbone, creating a deliberate and irrepairable tear on your clothes. Her nails drum against your skin for three seconds before they latch onto your throat.

“Although, that'll no longer be an issue.”

She forces you to make eye-contact with a sharp tug on your chin, the color drains from your face as her cool breath washes against your skin. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but are quickly shushed as you feel her fangs sink into your lower lip.

“Because, we'll have ample time to get acquainted with each other starting from today.”

#requests: batch two #answered #yandere #yandere arlecchino #yandere arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #arlecchino #the knave #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin imagines #navxry

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