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3 years ago

β€” π†π„ππ’π‡πˆπ ππŽπ˜π’ 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 π“π‡π„π˜ πƒπŽ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 π’πŽπŒπ„πŽππ„ 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐒 π˜πŽπ” ✫

β€” π†π„ππ’π‡πˆπ ππŽπ˜π’ 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 π“π‡π„π˜ πƒπŽ

𝐟𝐭;; xiao, diluc, ayato, scaramouche

𝐭𝐰/𝐜𝐰;; mentions of blood/bleeding/bruises, scaramouche thinks about choking someone, implied violence, this is being written before ayato’s official release, so inaccuracies may occur. apologies for any grammar errors.

β€” π†π„ππ’π‡πˆπ ππŽπ˜π’ 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 π“π‡π„π˜ πƒπŽ

β€” π—πˆπ€πŽ feels his breath hitch. Your pained expression comes into view, and suddenly, his vision is filled with red red red, because you’re hurt and there’s blood everywhere and why is his chest aching? Mocking laughter brings his daze to a halt, and Xiao distantly realises that now, his vision is tinged with red for an entirely different reason.

β€” πƒπˆπ‹π”π‚ starts to choke up. β€˜Not again,’ a distant part of him cries out, β€˜Not them too.’ He prays to every God in Teyvat, in the hopes that this is all just a nightmare. But the blood that stains your clothes is all too real, and Diluc can only escape reality for so long. Slowly, he begins to stand, and his knees nearly buckle underneath his weight. His fingers tremble with the need for his claymore, and his eyes burn with a newfound vigour.

β€” π€π˜π€π“πŽ releases a deceptively calm chuckle. Blue eyes that usually shimmered with amused mirth, now held the frigid glare of an icy storm. Quickly, he shoots a brief glance in your direction, his eyes softening at your bruised and battered form. Ayato leans down to press a tender kiss against your forehead, before gracefully rising to his feet. As he gazed upon the person who was foolish enough to harm you, his lips curl into a slow smirk, one that does not reach his eyes.

β€” for a brief moment, π’π‚π€π‘π€πŒπŽπ”π‚π‡π„ is left stunned by the sheer audacity. The amount of insolence is almost laughable, don’t they know who they’re messing with? His hands shake with barely suppressed rage, itching to reach out and wrap themselves around the fool’s throat. Instead, both hands clutch his sides, and a hollow, mocking laugh leaves his lips. His eyes glint with the promise of vengeance, because what goes around, comes around, and scaramouche is more than happy to deliver.

β€” π†π„ππ’π‡πˆπ ππŽπ˜π’ 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 π“π‡π„π˜ πƒπŽ

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