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pearlywritings · 4 days ago

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Home is where chaos lives

synopsis: after facing the suffocating noble society of Fontaine you can't wait to return home to the mischief incarnate - your boyfriend.

pairing and characters: Dahlia x fem!reader

tw: fluff, established relationship (dating), reader is the organist at the Church of Favonius, Venti

word count: 2.8k+ words

a/n: if you want to see more of my organist!reader AU - check this out and also this. Once again biggest smooch to @ladyphaethon-blog for listening and contributing to my yapping.

You can’t help but fidget, you can’t control your heart, which is speeding up and slowing down erratically, sending heat and goosebumps across your skin. You feel as anxious as a little kid about to have their first performance in front of a huge crowd; but it’s not the bad kind of anxiety, it’s born from excitement, from desire to return to where you belong. It’s the yearning, and the closer the City of Mondstadt becomes, the worse the feeling gets.

You have to clench your fists not to rush out of the carriage the moment it finally stops and wait patiently for the coachman to hop off to open the door for you. It’s hard not to feel like every passing second is killing you as you step outside, as you receive your luggage, as you assure the kind man with graying hair that you can carry it all over the bridge on your own, as you offer him a little bow with a word of gratitude and turn around.

The weight of your bags is almost non-existent and the walk across the bridge is as smooth as it can be with maneuvering all these pigeons pacing around (you don’t forget to greet Timmy). The knights at the front gates salute you with beaming smiles and don’t even ask to provide identification papers. They almost ask about your trip to Fontaine though, but you move past with a quick ‘later!’, and they make a mental note to pay a visit to the tavern in a day or two, the place where all rumors gather.

Anticipating the similar questions from the citizens you’ll inevitably meet on your way, you make a wise decision to slip away into the closest alley, even if it’s going to make your path home a little bit longer.

Distant, but no less familiar sounds fill your ears: the laughter of the kids running around, the noise of the market, the muffled conversations streaming from the open windows, the rustle of the trees and grass… Even the air is different - it seems like the Anemo Archon himself sent a gentle breeze your way, and it’s joyously whispering ‘you’ve returned home’ in your ear.

To you though it doesn’t feel like it yet.

Your house winks at you with a sunbeam caught in the front door’s small peep window, and a smile stretches your lips when you see such a dear curvy handwriting on the note stuck to the wooden surface. Judging by the presence of someone else’s voluminous penmanship, your boyfriend utilized a peculiar way of communication with one of your student’s parents, who wanted to know whether or not you were back already. And, oh, you are so back.

The key slips into the keyhole, turns two times and is left just there as you swing the door open. The bags are abandoned on the other side of the threshold, and for the first time since stepping on that bridge just outside the city you stand motionless. Closing your eyes. Slowly breathing in. Almost yielding and going inside: to let the smell of calla lilies and something baked the evening before to envelop you, to fall face first onto your shared bed and hug his pillow, to be responsible and unpack your things before moving forward–

Your eyes snap open.

Your mind wails miserably.

And then you slam the door shut a little too quickly, a little louder than you would’ve usually done so, and hurry to lock it. As absurd as it sounds, you need to go to church. As soon as possible.

The stone walls of the houses are almost a blur as you pass them, even though your pace is still closer to your normal walking than to running - as if the wind is on your side. The noise of the city gets more muted the louder your heart begins to beat in anticipation and the higher you climb the wide stone steps leading to the square in front of the Church of Favonius. You can’t recall ever feeling so... desperate and it sends shivers down your spine.

One flight of stairs after another, turns and walks across the pavement - the path is so familiar, yet so agonizing today. You start noticing the growing ache in your strained calves, the bid of sweat collecting on your brow, growing breathless… Whoever built this city knew how to hold back and wear out an intruder.

On the fifth row of steps the thought flashes by: what if he is not there? What if he is down there, in the city right now, buying groceries, conversing with the townsfolk or even sitting at the tavern in search of juicy rumors? Maybe you should’ve walked the main street to have had an opportunity to ask about his whereabouts?

At last the steps have ended; you catch yourself on the edge of the balustrade, sharply inhaling. An exhale is more controlled, as you take a short moment to even out your breathing, before one of the sisters sees you and gives you a strange look - you’d rather avoid explaining what prompted you to to the cathedral.

‘No need for them to have second thoughts about me possibly having done something and now requiring a confession.’

Pushing off the warm stone, you move into the shadow of the white arcade, which half-circles the square in front of the Church of Favonius. The cool air makes you promptly forget the challenging way up, and, you think, at least descending will be easier if your boyfriend happens to not be where you hope to find him.

However, Lord Barbatos must’ve heard your prayers and answered them, as, upon lifting your gaze, you immediately spot the lovely shade of pink - slightly tousled hair of a dusty rose. Its owner is standing several feet away from the statue of Barbatos, dressed in the finest robes of white, black and burgundy, with his head thrown back and gaze turned to the sky. You think he has a hand pressed to his chin, but it’s hard to tell with his back turned to you.

You can't stop yourself.

“Dahlia!”

As if startled from a deep slumber, the young man shudders, and his head whips around. Confusion swirls in the violet pools which in a second widen with utter disbelief.

“Flower..!?”

Your feet move with the mind of their own. You run.

The deacon barely has time to spin around and open his arms before you crash into his embrace. You hug his shoulders, clinging; your knees buckle a little, but the young man is quick to wrap his arms around you, drawing your body even closer to his, pressing his fingertips to your ribs, making you pleasantly shudder and nuzzle into the side of his head with a blissful exhale. His heart rate picks up, almost matching the erratic beating of your own. You smile into his hat. You want to kiss him so badly.

Instead something in your chest snaps, and, fueled by an indescribable urge to let it all out, you start rambling.

“Archons, I missed you so much,” you breathe out, tightening your hold on your lover, “I missed your stupid smirk, your funny comments, your tendency to cause chaos, your clingy self… Everyone back there was so prim and proper, speaking in flowery language and looking so haughty and lofty, it drove me insane,” the complaint is followed by your forehead falling onto his shoulder, as your grumble, “high society, my arse.”

For a moment Dahlia is gobsmacked. The initial shock of finally seeing you after the two months you’ve been away in Fontaine, visiting your sister’s family and giving concerts per her arrangement, has slowly dissipated, but the fact that you literally rushed to him and started talking his ear off first thing upon arriving, surprises him. Yet he doesn’t deny he adores this side that you don’t show often. You, the reserved one, missed him. You, the stoic one, need him. This alone makes him feel giddy.

“Well, okay, my sister and her husband are cool,” meanwhile you continue, leaning back a little, now facing him, “probably the brightest thing of my trip aside from the opportunity to get familiar with local pipe organ, but the public– argh! Sometimes I couldn’t help but wish you were by my side, but then remembered your trickstery, but then again thought that I didn’t care as long as the nobles before me left me alone, yet the next second realized I’d have been the one apologizing for your antics–”

You stop abruptly, when the air in your lungs runs short, and inhale sharply. The deacon in your arms uses the pause to tiptoe and press a peck to your cheek. His hand leaves your side and rises to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, as he moves lower, kissing your chin this time. The fingertips skim from the shell of your ear and down your neck, sending shivers down your spine. This seems to break your focus.

“What a blessing to see my flower’s face and hear her lovely voice,” his tone is light and a tad bit teasing, anchoring you, and the violet eyes locked on you are full of warmth and adoration, “In his prophecies the Anemo Archon promised me a life-changing encounter, but I couldn’t dream of the gentle wind that would return you to me. Truly my life has changed right now - I learnt a thing or two about my beloved, notably her hidden lack of tolerance for uptight people.”

You stare at him, blinking, still feeling the strokes of his fingers against the side of your neck; his other palm slides to the small of your back, settling there in a familiar manner. The way his peach-pink lashes flutter and lips pull in a content grin after hitting you with his usual but oh so dear cleric nonsense prompts the urge to kiss him resurface.

You love him so much, it makes you look stupid.

Both your palms cup his cheeks, unbridled affection swirling in your gaze and eventually flowing into your voice.

“Please, never change.”

And your mouth presses into his. Dahlia seems to have been waiting for just that, as he answers with rivaling vigor, threading his fingers through the hair at the back of your head, pulling you closer. Slowly your hands slide from his cheeks to settle on his shoulders. Deepening the kiss and letting your lover take initiative, you catch yourself thinking that you can care less about making out with the deacon under the wings of the Barbatos’ statue in front of his church. You are so gone.

However, before things could turn into something more heated you definitely would feel embarrassed about, the man draws back, but still stays close enough to have you lean your forehead to his. Catching your breath, trying to calm your poor overdriven heart, you glance at your boyfriend. He is flushed, lips a bit swollen, fangs peaking as he is taking laboured breaths and eyes are closed. He smells like wax and wine, but at the same time like something baked and flowery, and this scent envelopes you gently, washing away the memories of perfume-filled halls and streets with a hint of oil and hot metal.

You let out a chuckle. Joyous, it brings Dahlia out of his blissed rest, gaze focusing on your smiling face. You look so beautiful.

“You are unspeakably fine right now,” he breathes out a quiet compliment, settling both his hands on your waist. “In combination with those things that brought you despair in Fontaine, it makes me want to commit various crimes against peace and quiet, just so you are happy.”

This makes you falter. Realization finally dawns on you, when at last a sinful smirk adorns his pure-looking face. Oh gods, you spoke too much too soon.

“ …you are going to cause drama on purpose?”

“Yep,” he winks and then lowers his head, pressing a lingering kiss on your jaw. You, on the other hand, lift your eyes to the sky, internally dying a little.

“Which probably includes me feeling second-hand embarrassment for you.”

“Oh, absolutely,” another kiss, to the corner of your lips.

“And no one, as always, will realize it’s your doing.”

“Only Barbatos will know,” a fleeting peck on your nose and a pull on your waist.

Oh well, you totally brought all of these on you. Your gaze softens and, fully accepting your fate (but not without a slight shake of your head), you let him press your bodies close once more.

“I really am home.”

Dahlia parts his lips to say something, probably another pretty cheesy line that’ll have you rolling your eyes with a bashful smile, but instead of words a melodious trill rings out. You blink at him. The deacon blinks at you, closing his mouth with a quiet clang of teeth. But the music doesn’t disappear with the action, streaming in a slow, gentle plucking of chords.

Confused, you start looking around. The square is uncharacteristically empty; there is not a single nun at the gates of the cathedral either. Several birds are jumping across the tiles of the ground, but you are not stupid to confuse their chirps and whistles with an actual lyre.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you catch a realization flash across Dahlia’s face. His fingers start trembling on your waist, and when you fully turn to look at your lover, the young man is shaking with concealed laughter. Cheeks puffed up and became rosy, eyes closed and eyebrows knitted together, as this boyfriend of yours is biting on his lip, lowering his head, but lifting left hand instead, pointing somewhere above.

Following the direction of his outstretched arm, your gaze falls upon the stone robes of the Anemo Archon’s statue and then travels higher and higher up, until it stops at the open hands, from the side of which someone’s leg is hanging, swinging to the rhyme of the music.

Wait a second…

You squint.

A few silent moments of observation later your eyes widen almost comically. You recognize those white–

“...You have to be kidding me.”

Oh, this is the night, It's a beautiful night, And we call it bella notte.

You can practically see it in your mind - one particular third-wheeling bard, sprawled between the two joined palms of the god’s embodiment; one knee bent, the other leg hanging off the edge; the lyre resting on his chest and fingers lazily caressing the strings, as the young-looking male is singing to his heart’s content.

Is this blasphemy?

Look at the skies, They have stars in their eyes, On this lovely bella notte.

The deacon in your embrace forces his breath out in a harsh exhale, masking an involuntary chuckle with a cough. You glance at him with a blank expression.

“What is he doing up there?”

Side by side with your loved one, You'll find an enchantment here.

“The wind picked up a new song sheet of his. He climbed up to retrieve it. I watched him from below in case he falls.”

“Oh, really.”

Something deep in your gut wonders if this is somehow a set up.

The night will weave its magic spell, When the one you love is near.

Set up or not, there is no way you are dealing with this right now. Suddenly, the vibe and the people of the Hydro region weren’t your biggest headache. You simply forgot how the real headache feels like, and who causes it.

It’s so discombobulating in the current time and place, that it sobers you up to the point you forget all of your previous complaints.

For this is the night, And the heavens are right On this lovely bella notte, On this lovely bella no–

This absurdity must end.

“It’s the middle of the day, Venti, what night!? Get down!”

“Hey, you didn’t let me finish my song! I was creating the mood for you two–”

“GET DOWN!”

And, unable to hold back any longer, Dahlia buries his face into your shoulder, bursting into laughter. He doesn’t mind that you pay no mind to his cackling, arguing with the bard over his head instead, but feels warmth spread in his chest, when your arm settles around his shoulders to keep his body steady.

Ah~ he missed that. Sure, he enjoyed how clingy and talkative you were just moments ago, the trouble-seeker always knew he’d have gotten to see such a side of you one day too. However, as a sane man in love, he missed your attitude way more. The responsible, irreproachable, quite steadfast and ready-to-talk-some-sense-into-him woman who is almost immune to the chaos he summons to be in his presence.

You truly are back.

Dahlia just can’t wait to bring you home.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #dahlia x reader #dahlia x fem!reader #genshin dahlia #genshin impact fluff #organist!reader au

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pearlywritings · 5 days ago

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meow.

#being silly with moots #the kitten is adorable though 😭#pearlsonal

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pearlywritings · 11 days ago

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*nervous laughter* I am so gonna regret this

Sudden urge to write another part for the "Sometimes the name doesn't matter" series (part 1, part 2, part 3) I hope you are not fed up with me yet

So, same rules - four characters for the post and the poll that'll help determine these lucky men. Since this poll doesn't let you pick multiple options, vote your favourite man and comment under the post if you wanted to vote for someone else from the list (!) as well. Those will also be taken into consideration during counting the votes.

P.s. Trust me when I say I spent more than one day picking the men I haven't written yet. Some were brushed off because I have no idea how to write them, others - because at the moment I couldn't envision them in a marriage (you may find it surprising given some of the choices on the final list...), ultimately keeping only ones for whom I could come up with an idea for a drabble on a whim.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #baizhu x reader #ifa x reader #thoma x reader #pierro x reader #dottore x reader #dahlia x reader #dainsleif x reader #xiao x reader #kinich x reader

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pearlywritings · 25 days ago

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PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO PIERRO

#I'm so not normal #so happy to see my man #thank you hoyo for the crumbs #dhsgansgakabyaqkbaianwiq #genshin impact #pierro genshin impact

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pearlywritings · 1 month ago

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I think Phaenon wants me

Or else why his weapon came in the first ten-pull (16-th after Anaxa's)

AND THEN A DOUBLE (81th and 83th after last time's lose to Fu Xuan BUT STILL)

#unbelievable #my best friend probably wants to strangle me 😔✊#phaenon #pearlsonal

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pearlywritings · 1 month ago

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Pierro with xylophon?

Absolutely YES

On the side note - If I had a nickel for every time I used the passing of another Harbinger as the starter of the story for Pierro, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

In the darkness, by your side

pairing: Pierro x fem!reader

prompt: secret relationship

word count: 2.2k+ words (oh wow)

tw: bittersweet, established relationship (marriage), immortal lovers (you and Pierro are Khaenri’ahns), religious themes (reader is the head of the Snezhnaya's church), spoiler warning for the Archon Quest of Natlan (just to be safe)

~ The Music of the Night event ~

The throne room of the Tsaritsa’s palace was an epitome of nobility and grandeur, as far as Pierro could remember - beautiful marble pillars and masterfully woven tapestries breathed life into the huge space, serving as a decorum for the majestic throne, decorated with local precious stones and gems and placed on the eight-stepped pedestal. The woman seated in it was the image of warmth and compassion, accepting the two refugees from the doomed land with a heart full of love. A heart that was not yet shackled by an everlasting blizzard.

Star-shaped eyes travel across the walls covered in ice, across the blue pillars gleaming in the magical light, across the floor that, if desired, could easily be considered as an ice rink. There is only a new carpet laid out on the way from the huge doors to the throne, but it has already been covered in quaint patterns where the foot of the Archon stepped. The throne itself looks nothing like the one in the Harbinger’s memory - no gold, no bright gems and no cornflower blue velvet - only blue unfeeling ice, spiked like crystals in different directions.

The Cryo Archon whom he diligently serves is sitting akin to an unmoving statue. Her stare, hidden behind an intricately laced veil, is certainly cold and her lips are pressed into a thin line. Hands, clad in white gloves, are locked together and are resting in her lap, as she is waiting.

And he is patiently waiting too, standing at her side, in this skin-crawling freezer.

Finally a Fatui agent announces the arrival of Her Eminence. The ice seems to slightly retreat from the gates, allowing them to open wider, immediately creeping right back as they close with a loud thud. The sound echoes in an almost empty space, but it’s not enough to muffle the sounds of the heels. The carpet crust crunches under your feet as you move closer and closer, with hands clasped before you in humility and head bowed in reverence.

Pierro takes in your figure: the undoubtedly gorgeous high priestess’s robes are hidden under your travelling coat, lined with fur, the usual ceremonial archbishop’s crown is currently replaced with a warm mink hat, but the face-covering veil is ever-present. Your hands, decorated with long embroidered gloves, soon rise to lift the flowing material, gracefully tucking it over the hat.

You are two feet away from the steps, when you finally lift your gaze. You are not looking at him, but the Jester is the one mesmerized, even though no emotion appears on his stoic face. He listens to your lovely voice fill the throne room as you greet Her Majesty, watches you ascend the steps when she lets you with a ghost of a smile, which the Harbinger catches from his view of the woman’s profile. Your hand softly cups under her fingers and lips press to the gem in the middle of the back side of her glove. The Archon’s voice rustles in greeting as she draws her arm back; the ruler returns to her motionless state.

At last you grace your husband with a glimpse. Being different in your positions but equal in this very chamber, you are to simply exchange the words of salutations and blessing. But you do hold his dark sky-night stare longer than necessary as you move backwards, down the steps.

“I presume your mission was a success,” the Tsaritsa addresses the matter, and you break eye contact, paying full attention to the goddess now.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Lady Mavuika personally received us and provided the accommodations Lord Pierro so kindly negotiated for me and my subordinates,” you bow your head to the man. “The locals didn’t put any obstacles in our way. Moreover, many brave warriors of the Pyro nation volunteered to be our guides to the Ochkanatlan, once they had learned why we set foot into their lands.”

“That’s honorable,” the Archon agrees. “Please, go on.”

“It is indeed as the returned soldiers reported - at the top of the ruins of an ancient city there is the Throne of the Primal Fire, and…” you falter momentarily, an image flashing before your eyes. The one of a fallen comrade. The one of a fellow cursed Khaenri’ahn. “...Lord Capitano’s body remains dormant on it.”

The cracking sound of ice doesn’t scare you, but the drop of the temperature almost makes you shiver. The Tsaritsa remains still. Not a muscle twitches on the Jester’s face.

You puff out a cloud of warm air, ready to continue.

“We respected his wish for Natlan to be his place of final rest, just as you ordered, Your Majesty. Even though we couldn’t give him proper burial service, we still made sure to do everything to commemorate Lord Capitano’s sacrifice. And for 40 days we served 40 Divine Liturgies for the repose of his immortal soul.”

You decide not to tell her that every day you sent the priests and guards away for a little bit, so you could sing Thrain long-forgotten rhymes in a language few people would understand. You saw his chest move in slow breaths, saw how tight his grip was on the sword handle, and you knew that people like you wouldn't be gone so easily. So you sang. Hoping it would reach him. Believing he’d know he was not forgotten and his actions were not in vain.

You’ll tell your husband about it later. You both lost a dear comrade. You know he’ll share your sentiment and will praise you for kindness.

The Cryo Archon wouldn’t.

It doesn’t matter to her on a personal level.

Not at this point anyway.

“I thank you for your hard labour,” she says evenly, “ it will be repaid generously. I also appreciate you visiting me first thing after arrival. Rest assured that your attendants will be cared for, isn’t it right?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” your husband opens his mouth the first time ever since you exchanged pleasantries. “The Fatui agents already have all the instructions.”

“The Tsaritsa’s benevolence knows no bounds,” you bow with a polite smile.

“As for you,” her voice gets quieter and you think you hear the ice chain the doors stronger, the layer thicker, “even though you’ve been absent for more than two months, I am willing to give you one more week to take a break. Nothing will happen to the cathedral if you stay out of its walls for a little bit longer. And I…remember the agreement. Pierro,” the Harbinger turns his head, piercing eyes boring into her figure, “you are excused for a week as well.”

As the two of you bow to Her Majesty, you can finally feel exhaustion crash you like a heavy wave. When you put the veil back over your face, the Jester has already descended the stairs, joining your side on a respectful distance. The ice crawls back from the entryway once again, pulling the heavy doors with it, opening the passage for you two.

You do not speak and no one in the hall dares to make a sound. Slowly, with grace and dignity Her Majesty’s most trusted Harbinger and High Priestess walk to the exit; you are not surprised to see the carriage already waiting for you. Pierro opens the door and offers you a hand - big, strong, reliable, and you smile behind the flowy fabric, putting your palm onto his and setting foot on the first step.

The heavy curtains are drawn tight and your husband doesn’t make a move to light the lamp. Despite your usual disposition of sitting across from each other, today the man takes the spot by your side and lets you lower your head onto his shoulder. He knows you are tired, he can guess your state of short-lived fatigue from getting used to the cold of the Cryo nation again after over a month spent in probably the hottest region in the entirety of Teyvat, and he practically senses your grief. Because a part of him shares it.

So he lets you rest on him in the darkness, gently tucking the veil away from your face and holding your hand in his. Even so, you decide to at least break the silence.

“Please be merciful and tell me you have no plans for us for at least two days,” you murmur, rubbing your cheek against him. “I feel drained and a tad bit miserable, and want to sleep through it. Preferably with you by my side,” the last part is said quieter, but Pierro hears. He always hears you.

“No plans,” he answers simply and hears you exhale in relief. “I intended to make them together with you, but it can wait until you rest properly.”

“Good. Because you could definitely use some too. Don’t think I didn’t notice the darkened skin under your eye and the heaviness of your gaze.”

A tiny flicker of warmth pierces through the man’s heart at your concern. Of course you noticed, he couldn’t expect less from the love of his eternal life. His state couldn’t be helped though - if he wanted to spend this god-sent week with you, alone, uninterrupted, without bugging thoughts about the remaining paperwork back in his office, he had to put some extra effort and time into his work.

“Your worries for me are unnecessary, yet appreciated nonetheless,” you huff at that, but are not actually annoyed with him - having been married for longer than half a millennium inevitably makes you learn all the nooks and crannies of your husband’s character. “While we still have quite some time, would you like to share your opinion on Natlan?”

You are sure he wants to use this conversation to distract you from your thoughts. Shift your focus from the mournful memories that inevitably overtake your mind when the silence begins to settle. And, interlacing your gloved fingers with his, you gratefully seize the opportunity.

“It was…what I was prepared for, but at the same time wasn’t. After a small eternity of living in Snezhnaya, it was so strange to see land completely bare from snow. Everything seemed different. Lively, too many vibrant colors, different architecture, different culture, different people… Even the sky looked somehow unfamiliar, even though it’s the same fake one. The climate was bearable, thanks to the cryo-induced gems sewed into my robes - you are farseeing and I love you for this. However the ever-blazing sun, lack of precipitation and the every-day travel from the Flower-Feather Clan to the Ochkanatlan and back was borderline nightmarish.”

As he is listening to your grumbling, Pierro finds it not only favorable for you, but also refreshing for himself. Cold indifference of the Cryo Archon, the silent fear and respect from his subordinates and his own dreary thoughts create a mind-numbing mundane. If he is completely honest - witnessing you perform your High Priestess duties only helps the longing, but not the frustration. So, hearing you like this - raw, emotional and real - make the routine lose its grip on his neck.

“...and I couldn’t do much aside from what my mission prescribed, except for my alone time with…him, - which I specifically asked for, - your soldiers were watching me like hawks. So much for a breather...”

Because he ordered them to. He was not risking losing the only good thing remaining in this cursed world. In the past the need to protect you pushed him to pull you into the position you currently hold, even though he never imagined it would've one day required your service outside of Snezhnaya. Unfortunately Pierro wasn’t the one with the upper hand to demand anything from the Pyro Archon, given he had to negotiate an unhindered access to the first Harbinger’s body, but he still made sure to deliver the covert but no less warning message within his masterfully woven words - should’ve anything happened to the Snezhnaya’s beloved High Priestess, the people themselves would rise in righteous rage.

“...however, interacting with the Quacasauruses was quite entertaining,” there is a sliver of a smile in your tone, though he notices your speech slowing down, growing quieter and your head pushing heavier against his shoulder. “You know they are like big birds with long legs and lush plumage of different shades of pink… Locals said it’s quite hard to win over such a creature, especially if you are a foreigner. And can you imagine it...? A couple of younger ones actually approached me…”

Yes, he can.

“...but enough about me. I, too, want a couple of words of how you’ve been–”

Suddenly you shoot your hand up and over your mouth. A muffled yawn doesn’t escape the man’s attention, nothing ever does. A brief glance at you and even in the dimness of the carriage he makes out your eyes rapidly blinking, desperately trying to chase the drowsiness away. With a low hum Pierro turns to the window and tugs the curtain a little bit, glancing outside.

“I promise we’ll continue this conversation later. We’ll soon arrive and I need you to pull yourself together and hold out till we are behind closed doors. Can you do that?”

“Doubt I would’ve managed playing my role if I couldn’t do such basic things,” you say it like he’s told you something silly and chuckle quietly, sitting up straight. The man gives your hand a squeeze. Of course, my dear. You smile.

While you are busy checking your clothes just in case and adjusting the veil, the man carefully moves onto the seat opposite from you - the carriage doesn’t even rock. The lamp is finally lit, but by the time it happens nothing in the confined space is able to tell a story of the two lovers finally sharing a serene moment together.

#the music of the night event #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #pierro x reader #pierro x fem!reader #pierro genshin #genshin impact fluff

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pearlywritings · 1 month ago

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Morning blessing

synopsis: the deacon wants his morning kisses and is going to be sneaky about it.

pairing and characters: Dahlia x fem!reader

tw: fluff, established relationship (dating), reader is the organist at the Church of Favonius

word count: 1.3k+ words

a/n: if you want to see more of my organist!reader AU - check this out

The morning in the Mondstadt City is graced with a gentle breeze and melodious trills of the birds. The sun is rising in the East, showering the ground with its light, peaking in the citizen’s houses, playing with the colors of the cathedral’s stained glass windows. The сity is rising from sleep, the night’s tranquility giving way to the day’s vivacity, and the smell of steaming breakfasts is filling the air.

The sisters of the Church of Favonius are the first to wake up and show up for duty. Figures, garbed in white and black with golden ornaments, move around with grace and purpose. There is a lot to prepare before the morning service, there should be enough time for the choir to rehearse, to chase the remnants of sleep and hoarseness from their voices.

Obviously, you and Dahlia are among the first people to arrive.

The nuns smile when the softness of your calm voice and the tinkling of the deacon’s amused tone echo in the vast hall. Heads can’t help but turn when the two of you walk into the cathedral: him, already dressed for the service, with a skip in his step and eyes crinkled from a smile, holding both his book of hymns and your folder of music sheets, and you, dressed casually with a garment bag thrown over your arm, cracking a small grin or rolling your eyes whenever your companion says something teasing.

That’s like a morning routine for the church - should just one of you appear without the other, and people start worrying. And Dahlia - the little trickster he is, - once proclaimed that your union is blessed by the Anemo Archon himself, so now it is believed that if you receive a ‘good morning’ from the deacon and the organist, it will be a good day for you and your loved one.

No wonder almost everyone is interested in you appearing together.

Today is no different than any other day. You come in together, exchange words of greetings with the sisters, deacon Dahlia hands you your folder and at the end of the hall you part your ways - him turning to the gathering singers of the choir and you stepping towards the inconspicuous door leading to the room with the organ’s console inside.

Leaving the folder on the music stand, you take a moment to change into the cathedral-appropriate garments - white, black and burgundy look nicely on you, which the mirror in the small wardrobe proves once again. Before you and the choir’s leader started dating, as far as everyone could remember, the organist’s attire was different, but, of course, it was bound to be altered due to Dahlia’s ‘fun’ approach to the service. Hey, it’s nice having matching outfits with your boyfriend though!

Carefully folding your clothes (you have piano classes after the morning mass), and putting it aside, you slide in front of the manual keyboards, carefully placing your feet atop the pedal board. The first set of music sheets is opened and you focus on pulling and pushing the drawknobs, preparing for the first composition of the morning.

Your peace and quiet, accompanied by just the rustle of paper and dull thuds of wood is short-lived, as your keen ear catches the familiar sound of an opening and closing door. You have just a moment to sigh in acceptance, before two arms wrap around your middle under your own raised ones, and a chin leans on your shoulder.

“Hello there, beautiful flower,” the warm breath fans against your ear, and you summon all of your willpower not to shiver. You know how much it amuses him and spurs into further action.

“Are you skipping duty, deacon Dahlia?” Choosing to ignore him for now, you glance at the sheets again.

You can feel him pout, with his cheek pressed close to yours.

“Checking on our dearest organist from whom the choir’s performance depends gradually is part of my duty, flower.”

“Your hand traveling up my stomach is also part of your duty?” You finally turn your head to glare at him and are met with a mischievous grin. Doesn't even try to act innocent, huh?

“Come on,” the young man moves closer and your noses are practically touching, “we have a few minutes to spare and I didn’t get enough kisses this morning. Humor me?”

‘Not enough kisses’ was him trapping you against the pillow the moment you woke up and pressing his lips to the corner of yours. ‘Not enough kisses’ is what he calls nearly ten pecks he’s either tricked you into or received from you as part of the usual morning ritual. And he asks to humour him after the borderline heated kiss you gave him in that alley on your way to work? You spoil him.

“I spoil you,” you let your thoughts be known, and the young man chuckles, pressing his nose to yours, softly rubbing against it.

“I love being spoiled by my flower,” he admits shamelessly, making you dodge his next series of rubs and playfully snap your teeth together as if wanting to bite his nose. Dahlia leans back with a boyish giggle.

“This is my morning blessing!” Almost instantly he is back to pressing his body against you with arms tightening right under your chest. “Just one kiss and I'll leave you alone.”

“Till the evening?” You ask with a feigned hope in your voice. Though you already know the answer.

“Mmm, no, can’t promise holding back if our paths cross. Who knows, maybe it's the winds that will bring you to me, and we can't ignore the will of the Lord Barbatos.”

Oh him and his skillfully sly way with words.

Not giving him enough time to react, you spin around on your bench, coming face to face with him now. Surprised by the suddenness of your action, the young man stumbles forward, locked hands sliding lower to the small of your back and face nearly planting into your shoulder. You can’t hold back an amused chuckle. And who said you didn’t have it in you to tease your lover in return?

When Dahlia lifts his head, you don’t waste time and raise your hands to cup his cute rosy cheeks. The violet gaze flickers to your lips and then back to your eyes, and disappears behind the curtain of soft lashes, when he moves forward, pressing his mouth into yours.

For all his well-masked flirting, teasing glances, playful winks and fleeting touches, Dahlia has his moments of calm and slow affections. He doesn’t prod your lips with his tongue, doesn’t nibble on the lower one with his cute little fang, just plants one, two, three lingering pecks, before your palms leave his face and slide around his neck, and he angles his head to capture you in a long, breath-taking kiss.

You start pulling away at almost the same time. His hold around you loosens, as well as your arms move lower until your fingers catch the curved ‘winglets’ on his shoulders. He is gazing lovingly at you, and you know, that your eyes possess the same level of raw emotion, despite your usual unimpressed expression.

“And so I was blessed,” he murmurs like it’s a secret, and a chuckle tumbles from your lips. Oh, he is so unserious sometimes.

Most of the time.

“Mhm, though it took more than one kiss-” his finger interrupts your argument, and you see your menace of a boyfriend straining his ear to hear something. That’s when you recognise the sound of the nearing steps.

“Gotta go, have a wonderful day, see you in the evening, flower,” is blurted out like a tongue twister, and, kissing you on the nose, Dahlia is out of your embrace and is at the door, adjusting his collar and clearing his throat.

The click of the closing door knocks you out of a blissful stupor, and you have to shake your head to chase unnecessary thoughts away. Right, the morning service. The choir. You playing.

As you turn back to the keyboards and run the last check on the console’s preparedness, you think of Dahlia and his shameless behavior, so different from your own.

And that you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #dahlia x reader #dahlia x fem!reader #genshin dahlia #genshin impact fluff #organist!reader au

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pearlywritings · 1 month ago

Text

On the strings of each others' souls

synopsis: general headcannons and scenarios on the romantic relationship between deacon Dahlia - the leader of the choir, and you - the organist.

pairing and characters: Dahlia x fem!reader

tw: fluff, colleagues to lovers, established relationship later, reader is the organist at the Church of Favonius, reader is taller than Dahlia, Venti is the wingman

word count: 4.4k+ words

a/n: Shoutout to my dear friend @ladyphaethon-blog, who has been listening to my yapping about Dahlia and came up with several scenarios that ended up being written here. Thank you, love, you brain is sexy <3

You met Dahlia when he officially joined the Church of Favonius - first as the Lord Barbatos’s oracle, then as a deacon and a leader of the choir. Before that you, of course, heard about a young man, who was skilled with his words and knew how to regulate conflicts - you had some respect for him in absentia. When he proclaimed to be bearing the will of the Anemo Archon, you were among the skepticists. But after you became colleagues and grew closer, your doubts quite quickly dissipated.

Being the organist sort of predetermined your close acquaintance with Dahlia - you and him both working with the choir. While your feelings towards getting a new colleague were neutral (you just hoped he'd have been better than his predecessor), the young man was thrilled - new acquisition meant new emotions. And boy, did he remember the emotions from your first meeting. When he was first led to an inconspicuous door to the side from the organ’s pipes and stepped inside your domain, Dahlia thought he witnessed something sacred. He had never given much thought to how the great instrument operated or wherever even the player was placed, but, seeing you, seated in front of the three rows of white and black keys, leaning forward to scribble something in the music sheets while the fingers of your free hand were floating across the keys without pressing and feet moving around the board of pedals without stepping, he was mesmerized. And only when you glanced at him and called his name as if making sure it was who you thought it was, did he snap out of it and, plastering the humblest smile he could muster, walk further into the room.

From then on Dahlia started building his opinion of you. At first, disappointedly, you appeared to him exactly what the church in his mind was - boring. Serious, barely smiling, sticking to the work and not letting him stray from it - the newly ordained deacon found it hard to believe that you both were in your twenties - coevals! But soon he started to take notice of things. How you’d laugh occasionally with the sisters and even crack a harmless joke. How you’d speak softly with the younger ones, make sure to praise the singers when they got better, even help them adjust their uniforms. If he was completely honest, he once caught you helping Barbara tying her pigtails. The girl lamented her late awakening which resulted in a lack of time to get ready properly, and you only smiled, brushing her locks and promising her it’s alright. On more than one occasion he'd watch you frown your brows or widen your eyes adorably, or shake your head with a smile full of acceptance, while grading your student’s theory homework (ah, yes, he also learned you give piano lessons as a part of homeschooling) during the breaks between the choir practices, having occupied one of the benches in the second row.

He then talked to the other nuns. Somehow he managed to get information from the several families who hired you for their kids. And his initial take on you was gradually reformed. He began to figure it out, realizing that you were so closed off only because you were in the senior position to him - helping a newbie adjust, making sure he knew you weren’t there to fool around and that working with you might be a challenge, and suddenly, he was alright with it. Buuuut it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try and break the ice.

Dahlia was a peculiar phenomenon to you. Everybody who had eyes and looked longer than five seconds would’ve caught the sight of the mischievous glint in the violet eyes or the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when another reformative suggestion of his brought change to the usual course of things in the cathedral. Plus you saw some of the hymns he carried in his choirbook - he even showed you some himself, asking if it was possible to transfer them from the lyre to the organ. You had no idea how he managed to fool everyone. Yet you promised to discuss the possibility later.

It was easy for you to say that he had little imps dancing in his head, when you had spent quite some time with the man. Absolutely not because his bright aura and showing persistence drew your attention to him. Still, you admitted that you had caught onto his attempts to worm his way under your skin quite fast, you were not stupid or blind, or oblivious. After some time he started to try and evolve the conversations, first with simple talks about the weather and later on asking, as if in passing, how was your day. He would bring something to snack on with the tea - and it was his idea to have breaks (unnecessary ones, since you had rarely spent more than an hour together. Though you came to enjoy them). He would also ask for permission to linger a bit after your discussions were over and hover next to your sitting form, closely watching you operate the organ’s console, occasionally questioning this or that pull or press of your fingers. And you patiently explained.

Four months in you could claim with certainty that you two had become good acquaintances. The kind that not yet teased each other, but already shared jokes and gave the same people a silently judging look. Your expression around him was still mostly neutral, but every time Dahlia had managed to get a sincere smile - no matter how small it was, - from you, or a half-hearted roll of your eyes, or a glare, or his name said in warning…the young man felt the so-beloved feeling of excitement blooming in his chest.

“I think you have a little crush on our dear organist!” Venti once giggled after the deacon confided in his god (or rather spilled the tea about your surprised face one evening over the bottle of wine). Dahlia stopped mid-sip, and then slowly lowered his glass, staring at his friend. Come to think of it… the bard had a point. The young man had to admit it: he enjoyed the little moments you spent together. He finally found your mostly unphased behavior refreshing. He’d been speaking about you to others more. Sometimes he caught himself musing if he should’ve invited you to tug along to the tavern after work. He looked forward to singing you a new rhyme he learnt from somewhere and preened when you clapped and offered him few, but sincere words of praise. The first time you told him you thought he was the right pick for the leader of the choir because you found his voice heavenly? He was speechless and bashful. Ultimately, if we return to his and Venti's conversation, your expression morphed into one of sheepish bewilderment because the deacon decided to be a little tease and called you ‘flower’... Who calls their colleague a flower!? “You know what, Venti? I think you are onto something.” "*gasp* I AM!?"

Nice shot, Venti.

After that fateful conversation, Dahlia began paying closer attention to you. First thing he finally noted was your height. Since you usually greeted him while sitting and the conversation rarely happened on foot, the pink-haired herald never addressed the fact that you were significantly taller than him. Like, eye-level-with-your-collarbones taller. Sometimes your chest, if you had heels on. Did it bother him? As if. It felt strangely exhilarating when he had to lift his head just to look into your calm as the lake surface eyes. Imagination drew pictures of stepping into your embrace and tucking his head under your chin, content and secure, pressing his cheek to your softness… Oops, he was moving too fast too soon in his head.

The second revelation came in the form of the shift in your dynamic. It was no longer only Dahlia coming to you. Now you also sought him out. You'd approach him before morning service and offer to share your breakfast - had little time to eat at home, brought too much with you. Instead of talking to one of the nuns, you went to him directly if something of concern happened. You'd even take your time and walk closer to say hi if you spotted him in the city. The most earth-shaking instance so far, that almost made his heart skip a beat, was you finding him after a little organ concert you gave every Thursday, and showing him a folder with music sheets. “I managed to transfer that song you liked from the lyre to the pipe organ. I can play it to you tomorrow, during my own practice.”

Your voice was even, but Dahlia didn't miss the way your eyes held sparkles in them, and how your lashes trembled when you looked at him, truly looked at him.

And he came on Friday. And he listened. And he felt the feelings bloom. And he sang, first by your side and then stepping outside and filling the grand hall of the cathedral with his voice alongside your music. It was uplifting, it was the creation of something new, something dear, and he paid no mind to the sisters or the members of the congregation who stopped whatever they were doing just to witness his smile, the perfect sync of his melodious voice and the majestic instrument that was playing quieter, softer. For him.

Dahlia ran back inside the room with the slam of the door that almost made you scold him. But you simply had no time for that, not even a second to stand up, as the deacon hugged you tightly around the shoulders in the rush of feelings. He was laughing, he was wearing the widest smile you’d ever seen him possess and he was rocking your bodies from side to side in an unconcealed excitement. He was elated when your fingers softly curled around his arm, squeezing, and the side of your head lightly bumped against his cheek. It took everything in him not to press a kiss to your hair.

And that was then that he realized it was pointless to beat around the bush and asked you to join him in the tavern that very same evening.

“Hey, I was thinking…” It took him around half an hour of hurried praises and a ton of questions you diligently tried to keep up with, but he was finally more or less calm. You let him sit on the organ’s bench together with you. Hips touching, shoulders snug together, and his palm resting on top of the back of yours, as the fingers moved across the keyboard. You told him it’s an exercise you use to show your students how relaxed a hand should be. And it was the closest you’d ever been with him. “Yes?” Your head turned and hand stilled. But he made no effort to remove his. “Why don’t you join me at the Angel’s Share today?” Violet eyes gleamed, and you could swear you caught the glimpse of hope in them. “I rarely see you anywhere after work, unwinding. I promise you good wine and good music.” “Master Diluc’s tavern?” You hummed, glancing to the side, brows drawing together in thought. “I’m afraid it’s too many people and different sounds for my liking. It may not seem like it, but sometimes I can get a minor headache from playing for too long. I would like to avoid making it worse.” “Oh,” the sudden discovery made Dahlia’s enthusiasm waver slightly. But as his mind was rushing to come up with something else, your hand turned, letting his palm slide into yours, curling the fingers around his tentatively. “However… I don’t see why we can't save the evening at the tavern for another time and go to the Good Hunter to have a nice dinner instead.” “Are you…” his breath hitched and he couldn’t dare to believe his luck, just not yet, “...are you asking me out?” “Well, technically it was you who asked me out first,” a sliver of tease slipped into your voice, “I simply suggested a different location.” “So…it’s a ‘yes’?” “Absolutely.” “We are going on a date?” “Mhm,” your gaze shifted to his hand and fingers started playing with his. The deacon’s shoulders relaxed. His digits carefully, just one knuckle in, slid between yours. His head tilted back a bit, and mouth released a relieved sigh. And Dahlia fully accepted the fact he was taking his crush out. “Oh, thank Barbatos…” Then, as if remembering something urgent, he slightly bolts, sitting straighter. “Oh, also!” “Yes?” “Can I keep calling you ‘flower’?” To his surprise a small smile graced your lips. “Ask me that after the fifth date, and I promise to think about it.” And you winked. Dahlia was positively gone.

It’s been a couple of years since you officially started dating. Deacon Dahlia, known for his blessing to hear the will of the divine, the young herald with an aura of piety who always has a kind word of advice for the troubled, and you, the Church of Favonius’s organist and composer, a collected young lady, who gives piano lessons and looks after the younger sisters of the church.

To some your union came as a surprise, other citizens were more observant and were suspecting something when you first started to appear together in public for your dates. And very few, like sister Victoria, saw the signs long before.

In any case, people are happy for you. You honestly look good together, and the members of the congregation actually believe it was your mutual devotion to Lord Barbatos that brought your pure souls to each other.

But Dahlia will never ever fool you. Sometimes, in the back of your mind, you have that annoying thought that your love made him worse. If before his smile was pretentiously humble, now it looks like sin whenever he graces you with his glance.

His attitude shifted too. Now, with you, he doesn’t have to hold back and pretend he is not a menace to society (and you personally), doesn’t need to think twice before deciding to tease you; you accepted him as your lover and he sure isn’t going to waste any opportunity to do what he enjoys doing most. Bring fun and chaos into your relationship.

His fantasies are a reality now. Nothing can stop this man if he wants to hug his girlfriend (only you). He fawns on you like a pink-furred kitten, sliding his arms around your waist and placing his cheek atop your chest, sighing dreamily. He calls your height difference just perfect, and when you reprimand him (effortlessly) for his behavior, he turns to face you, plants his chin right between your breasts and gives you a goofy smile.

But he is also greedy. Embraces were quick to become ‘not enough’ for him, he soon started to desire kisses. He loves the challenge when he wants one. Catching you by surprise and smooching you as you sit or hovering over you while you are lying are, obviously, good deals. Though they don’t get him going like standing kisses. He loves the playful banter when he asks you to lean down. He isn’t insecure to use the bench or the steps, or the edge of the fountain to jump onto and get his portion of pecks. Archons, for the longest time his unserious ass even had a folding stool on him all time while at church. Sweet and innocent Barbara thought the deacon used it to put his elbows up while praying. Dahlia whipped it out whenever he wanted to get his lips on yours.

Is into making out in random places. Could be the second floor at the Angel’s Share, where you two are tucked in the corner while everyone is celebrating downstairs; chairs half-turned to each other, your mouths moving together in sync, and his hand is held down against your thigh with your own, cutting off his sneaky attempt to paw at you. Hoisting you onto the barrel behind the Cat’s Tail works too - he has a perfect opportunity to invade space between your spread legs and hush your discontent whispers with as many kisses as he wants. Slipping into your ‘work room’ before, in-between and after the practices just to steal some more? A given. Archons, you can even lift him up against the church’s wall and he’ll wrap his arms and legs around your body with vigor, smashing his mouth into yours. He’d even make sure to curl his toes in the shoes just for the giggles.

As matter of fact, Rosaria - who, as you now know, can move soundlessly - once caught you in that very position, when she was trying to skip choir practice. You think the three of you had a staring contest for like, two minutes, before Dahlia, ignoring you hiding your face in his neck and silently dying inside from embarrassment, negotiated with his subordinate, that ‘she saw nothing and you two didn’t see her either’. Still hoisted up. With legs around your waist, swollen lips and everything.

The only case that was worse than that, happened a couple of months into your relationship. Having stayed late to finish some work on picking the new composition for the choir’s repertoire, Dahlia got impatient. The moment you turned away from the manuals of the instrument, your lover was on you. He learned the hard way that the human back slamming against the keys of the pipe organ created a truly LOUD cacophony. Almost at midnight, no less.

You don’t know what exactly Dahlia told the sisters to cover your…blasphemous actions, and you don’t want to know to save your dignity, but the day later your impish boyfriend told you that everything was alright and it only cost him two bottles of the fine dandelion wine for using the Anemo Archon’s name.

As I said -you don’t want to know.

But for a half of a year Dahlia was banned from your domain.

(You nearly brought back this prohibition once you learned that the Holy Lyre der Himmel was first stolen and then returned broken. You had your suspicions, you are not proud of it, but just for good measure you make sure Dahlia knows how delicate, despite its massiveness, the organ is, and how hard, not to mention expensive, it is to fix your instrument.)

Not only Dahlia changed because of the relationship - you did too. Got more sociable, experimental, daring. It came to you as a surprise that being showered with affection and becoming the center of attention of the man you love can be as agreeable as others described it. You are still the responsible one and often mutter at your partner’s shenanigans, but you do not deny that being loved by Dahlia, spending every day by his side feels like a blessing. Even if this ‘blessing’ acts like he has two pointy horns and a sharp-tipped tail.

You are still not the regular at the taverns, but occasionally, on a night before a day off, you would join your lover and your (now mutual) friends. On evenings when you do not, you still stop by on your way from the late classes to pick up your boyfriend and go home together. Dahlia always laughs, when you turn to Diluc or any other barmen on duty and ask genially, if your boyfriend turned the peaceful evening into another messy chaos.

Speaking of friends…

Venti, the notorious bard you’ve seen and heard of before, is now the third wheel in your relationship, but this wheel is FUNCTIONING. Someone wise once said: ‘if you can’t beat them, join them. But if you are too sane to join - just roll with it.’ That’s the path you chose, becoming the observer of their trickstery.

Dahlia once told you, that ever since his friend had found out about the crush the deacon had on you, he’d beg at least twice a day: “please, please, please, get together it will be so fucking funny and wholesome”. With hands clasped together and eyes lifted skyward. (as if this man isn’t a god himself)

Then you were informed that Venti was actually your wingman - self-proclaimed, of course. How come? Very logically: had it not been his proposition, Dahlia wouldn't have joined the church and met you. Well, maybe he would've, somewhere in the city, but at the cathedral he could see you every day! And fall in love! You let him think what he wanted, while Dahlia just smiled into his drink.

There are times though when you admit you owe it to Venti - like that one conversation on an evening you barely remember.

“Soooo, Dahlia calls you a flower, huh?” The bard muses when your boyfriend leaves the table for a refill with a kiss to your temple and a quiet murmur of a nickname that stuck. “Yep,” your lips pop the last letter like it’s a vexation, but an unconscious action of gliding your fingertips over the ring with a flowery pattern on your hand tells the wind god a different story. “Aww, does it mean he’s your little bug?” “What?” You shoot him a look, surprised. The bard twists the teal-died braid between his fingers, puts his chin on a free palm and gives you a toothy grin. “Come on, isn’t it obvious? He can’t get his hands off of you, he practically climbs on you. And if you are a beautiful flower, he should be an itty-bitty beatle.” The man watches you ponder his words, witnesses the moment when an idea gets into your head, and relishes in the devious smile that stretches your mouth. “Venti, I don’t say it often - but you are a genius.” “Tee-hee, so I’ve been told~” When Dahlia is finally back, three mugs are placed on the table, and he reclaims his seat by your side, you catch him off guard with a peck to his lips and a sweet, practically saccharine ‘missed you, cuddlebug’, and Venti bursts out laughing nose first into his mug.

Ultimately, Venti is Dahlia’s man. His backup. His partner in crime. His wingman. You can only cover your face with a hand when the bard, already drunk and wobbly, bends down, wraps his arms around his friend’s legs and hoists him up, swearing it’s only because your lover wants a kiss. From you. No, asking you to lean down is not an option today, absolutely not.

You are so tired of them /aff

You three are like a modern sitcom. The company of three where: 1) two are dating; 2) the third one is drinking at the expanse of the other two; 3) the third one is also a god and the guy from the pair is his herald and they are best buddies; 4) the herald’s girlfriend is in a permanent state of wanting to smack the other guy on the back of his head, yet every time lets him crash at her house.

By the way, living with Dahlia is…an experience. No, he is responsible with his chores (though he doesn’t miss an opportunity to use their completion as an excuse to demand affection), and isn’t one to bring other people around (Venti is an unspoken exception). But he gets so clingy when left alone with you in the comfort of your shared space. If you cook something, he is attached to your back with arms wrapped around your waist. If you lounge on the sofa, he comes and drapes himself over you like a weighted blanket, expecting headpats and getting away with his hand wiggling under your shirt. If he is the one sitting and you come into the room, he lights up and pats his lap. Even if there are plenty of places to sit down (he just loves how he can put his head onto your chest when you settle on top of his thighs sideways, says your heartbeat calms him). Practically, he leaves you alone only if you ask him to and during the hours when you need your concentration being directed solely to music.

He steals the blankets. Which isn’t that much of a problem, considering he hogs you into his arms as well. Giggles, when you repeat the ‘cuddlebug’ nickname sleepily for the tenth time, and throws his leg over yours for good measure. Sometimes he sings you off to sleep, using that high beautiful voice for your ears only. Never lets you out of bed without a morning kiss (you tried, but he is quite a light sleeper). On several occasions has played harmless pranks by handing you his shirt instead of yours or hiding socks the way you have to wear a mismatched pair (no one sees, but he knows, and it brings him joy). Always has an attentive ear, a soothing silence and a warm embrace to offer when you feel down.

All in all, Dahlia is a good boyfriend. Yes, he does things that leave you wondering how people still see him as a perfect image of a cleric, but he never makes you a part of a drama that could cause any form of harm. He’s a huge tease, but while his mouth is flirting, his eyes gaze at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and named at least ten in his honor. He is attentive, supportive and ready to step in if someone bothers you (on more than one occasion he, wearing the most innocent look his skills could provide, rage-baited the person who was making you uncomfortable, making it so the knights were forcing them from you and taking them away). He remembers stuff you like, surprising you at least once a week with a trinket that caught your eye or a favorite snack of yours that is sold on a specific day at a specific time, or something else that’ll delight you. He also doesn’t forget important dates, even if they are your personal ones. You were gobsmacked when last year he asked how you two were going to celebrate the 5-year anniversary of your successful career as the piano teacher (you forgot about it!). But most importantly…

Dahlia loves you. Loves you like the sun that plays with the colors of the stained-glass windows. Loves you like a long walk home when you can talk and talk about what your future holds. Loves you like you are a mystery he’ll never unfold, but will happily try again and again. Loves you like a constant that his drama-seeking self didn’t know it so desperately needed.

And when your hand finds his, and you whisper earnestly an ‘I love you’ back, Dahlia believes his life has truly been blessed.

taglist: @ghostlymoons, @queenskippy

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #dahlia x reader #dahlia x fem!reader #genshin dahlia #genshin impact fluff #organist!reader au

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