#nsfw.type

[windblooms]

*scuttles into your ask* h-hello, can i have a scenario where the reader is zhongli's secretary that always cleans up after his corporate messes wwww (bonus points if he "shows his thanks" with a private moment in his office and an impromptu dinner after >:3)

sobs 

gender-neutral reader.  nsfw.  corporate au with a dominant ceo geo dad in a suit :^)  998 words. 

if there’s one thing you like better than zhongli’s pay, it’s probably his cologne. 

it had taken quite a bit of coaxing from him to tell you exactly what he was wearing – “burberry,” he answered, somewhat awkwardly, and at the time you only chuckled.  zhongli had never struck you as the self-indulgent type, despite being the ceo of a multi-million dollar company and possessing spending whims that spoke loudly about the size of his wallet.  but he was notoriously tasteful with his preferences, so you supposed his keen senses had attracted him toward specific scents in the brand. 

but you’re not one to dwell on details, especially when you think it smells much better on the both of you.  when the doors of his office are locked and you’re pulling at each others’ clothes, making out in the warm hue of city lights below, you decide that there is, in fact, also one thing you like more than his cologne: his voice, in your ear, spilling obscenities that you know only you could make him say.

“so this is what you’re into?” you exhale, taunting, into the side of his neck, body jolting against his.  “making love to your secretary on top of your desk?  i would have never imagined the modest zhongli to be into such things.” 

zhongli’s fingers, long and calloused from nights gripping pens too tight, use your thighs as leverage as you’re positioned upright on the table.  the control he exerts onto his thrusts has yet to falter, something that you’ve committed to influence, and thus has prompted you to be a bit more mouthy than usual.  he has yet to punish you for your cheekiness, although you theorize that, if there’s one thing that betrays his patience, it’s the flash of his eyes to yours as soon as those words leave your lips.

although he doesn’t visibly appear amused by your dialogue, his voice is noticeably lower as he responds.  “i enjoy what i enjoy,” he quips, and for good measure, digs his teeth into the spot just below your jaw, tongue escaping between his lips to tease at your flesh.  your body instinctively shivers; zhongli, emboldened, chuckles at your reaction before continuing. “the table just so happens to be convenient.”

as if the archons would believe that.  the last time the two of you had been alone in his office was about two weeks ago – two weeks since your last “hook up.”  you have half the mind to call him out on his obvious impatience for sex, but you do enjoy the way he tries to keep up his act.

two can play at this.

with a voice as saccharin as honey, you bring your lips next to his ear.  “but there’s a sofa in your office, mr. zhongli.”  your voice sounds too innocent to be yours, but you don’t have the time to be guilty for riling him up; you especially don’t cease your antics as you hear his breath hitch – frustrated –, and for a split second, his pace slows.  “is there a specific reason we’re still using this desk?”

uncharacteristically, zhongli stops his thrusts inside you entirely.  genuinely bemused, as your plan was to keep him going, your eyebrows furrow as he pulls his face away from your figure and out from between your legs.  zhongli, standing upright behind his desk, regards you as one would a disobedient pet, and from his static state, you assume he’s annoyed.  maybe your teasing went to far this time, and you’re about to apologize for ruining the mood, opening your mouth to speak – 

when he silences you by shoving two fingers in your mouth, and pushes your back flat against the desk so suddenly that the force of your body sends utensils crashing to the floor; your legs are lifted up so that they rest against his shoulders, and you suddenly find zhongli’s face very, very close to yours.

“for once,” your boss starts, tone chilling as he leans into you, causing your legs to fold at your hips.  you feel him once more enter your body, and with each word, he pushes himself further into you until he’s hilted.  you’re left, half-choking and half-moaning on his fingers; his eyes narrow, and lowers his face so that his lips are only a breath away from yours.  “i’m grateful i had film installed on the windows.  it allows me to ruin you in this way.”

and he proceeds to fuck you into the desk. 

the position you’re in has left you without any stability, and you resort to clawing at his back, feeling as if you’d need to rip off his coat from how savagely he was pounding himself into you.  each time he thrusts, your body jerks forward, and you can swear that even the desk is moving.  all that your senses register are his breaths, violent and ragged, and his burning length inside your core. 

too far in the haze of paradise, you feel your eyes roll back, zhongli’s fingers still on your tongue.  what escapes your mouth is a mixture between a gag and cry as you relish in the pressure he gives between your legs, all while he’s fixated himself on your expressions. 

“if you wanted this,” he starts again, and you open your eyes to the timbre of his voice.  “you could’ve asked.”

there’s no fun in that, you want to snap back, but your mouth is stuffed with his fingers, and he doesn’t bother to remove them.  what he does do, instead, is laugh, and presses his lips to your neck once more.  

“maybe this will teach you a valuable lesson.”

. . .

"i don’t suppose you’d join me for dinner, y/n?”

“after doing a number on my legs, you expect me to be able to walk outside with you?”

“ah, yes, i guess you’re right.  that’s unfortunate – we can order in for tonight, but i’m sure you’re used to sore legs by now.”

[windblooms]

Can I request a tsundere!fem!reader x Scaramouche where you tell their progression in moving on to a relationship? The hardships they had to deal w/ each other bc they’re sort of similar, you could never imagine those two would ever be together. I’d like the genres to be a bit angst with some NSFW👀👀 thanks in advance if you write this! Luv your work💜💜

tags: a hate relationship?  this turned into a coworkers with benefits kinda thing is that okay anon ahdlfjhlfdj  also: they kinda choke each other im not kidding on this hadlfjdlfsdlf im gonna cry please be careful when reading this

the first time you saw him, you knew that you’d hate his guts.

to this day, you can’t logically explain why your initial reaction to scaramouche was so visceral.  it’s not as if he dressed tastelessly (by all means, he was the most elaborately dressed harbinger in the fatui), or even that he was scowling – or worse, taking out his temperamental vexation on a lowly fatui grunt.  you only remember how you felt: perturbed.  it was as if an omnipotent consciousness had taken you by the shoulders and screamed in your face “he’s got blood on his hands”, and unless you wanted to avoid carnage, you should circumvent him at all costs.

it became difficult, however, when the electro rat himself took measures to single you out; before heading out on missions, he would impose himself in front of you with his frigid, violet leer, demanding your submission to his authority. 

each time, you held his gaze.  and each time, you came closer to spitting in his face.

you valued your position in the fatui.  it was probably the one thing that held your irreverence in check, in the name of the lady tsaritsa.  she had promised you something, just as she had with all of the other fatui members.  with scaramouche, it was easy to assume what he wanted: control.  the acidity in his eyes too easily betrayed his delirium: from the flaunting of his electro vision, allowing volts to ricochet between his fingers to intimidate, to how he discarded grunts if they simply breathed in a manner he didn’t tolerate.  he’s a wicked man, and you loathe, despise,

how you can see yourself in him. 

archons, you’re both so similar it makes you sick.  you understand his craving for absolute jurisdiction, that feeling of wrong when someone questions your meticulous rhetoric, or when events don’t follow the blueprint you’ve preplanned in your mind.  granted, you don’t go around shocking people to death if you don’t get what you want, but you recall too many times when you might have.

the day you realized this, you had snapped your chopsticks in two.  as in, two chopsticks, now in four pieces.  you found it disgusting that the man you abhorred had qualities that you still found in yourself.  and when he stood in front of you again, commanding you to look him in the eye, 

you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yelled in his face.

“why the fuck,” you seethed, nails nearly tearing the fabric in two, “do you care.”

why did he look at you in that way?  the way that someone does when they want to see the world burn and find thrill in the afterglow?  

he’s pure poison – and he was very much aware of that.

as scaramouche’s hands closed over yours, you smelled the burn of fabric.  the next thing you knew, he had you shoved against the wall, your shoulder blades jutting into the structure behind.  winded, all you could do was try and summon your vision, more than prepared for retaliation when he wouldn’t even answer you when you knew he was smart enough to. 

“simple.”  his breath was all over your neck.  static flew from his mouth.  “your place is underneath me.”

when he released you, you weren’t grateful.  you would never give him the satisfaction of believing he had shaken you, or that you would ever consider yourself inferior to a man who would lose his temper at one loose hair.  if you wanted to, you could show him that you weren't an executive just shy of a harbinger’s strength, that you could very much shut down his arrogance and not break a sweat while doing so.

those thoughts died in your head, however, when he took your shoulders and crashed his lips onto yours.

scaramouche didn’t waste a second to bring his teeth down onto your lower lip, pulling on it until you whined and jerked at his hair in retribution.  absolute submission, his acts commanded, but you would not give.  if this is how he wanted to play this game, you would absolutely make it hell for him.  

to this day, you can’t rationally explain why being with someone you detest is so exhilarating.  you’ve determined that it isn’t his company (it’s disagreeable how he insists on keeping his manic ways, although you’re both too stubborn to give in to one another), and it’s not as if your intimacy with him gives you collateral power.  but you can describe how you feel: acceptance.  you won’t ever get over him and his fixation with control, and there’s no way you’re going to yield to his carnal desire for nonresistance.

so, morbidly, you make do with what’s left: physical gratification, and the way you want each other to come undone.