your roommate was… interesting, to say the least. not that you really had many expectations—unlike apparently everyone else, you didn’t come to university with a plethora of friends packed in your bag. you had no names to list on your housing contract, no familiar faces to look forward to when you came home, just you, a handful of cardboard boxes and a lingering sense that you’d forgotten something.
there was nothing you could pin about him. nothing in specific, no one catalyst you could point to. sure, you don’t see him often, but that isn’t inherently a bad thing. there’s nothing wrong with not going out much, there’s nothing wrong with being a quiet person when you’re living with a stranger. the common room is clean, the sink is (relatively) empty, and none of your things in the fridge have been eaten. he really, by all standards, should be a perfectly fine roommate, but…
albedo was a quiet man. you first met him when you moved in, delicately pouring exact amounts of water into a small tins over the sink without a single sound or stray droplet. he looked up, you exchanged names, and that was that. the rest of your day was spent unpacking in your room, barely hearing the click of his door closing.
you never quite asked what he was doing that first day, but you could put two and two together. he had a habit of leaving pencils or erasers or other supplies on the coffee table, and you often ran into him when he came out of his room to fetch them. you’re not quite sure how you never see him in the living room when you never told him your schedule, but… well, whatever. it didn’t take a genius to know that the guy with charcoal smears across his hands was an artist. and, if you’d somehow missed those, you sometimes ran into half-used palette in the fridge, beads of paint in a myriad of colors sealed neatly in plastic containers, changing every time you checked.
you weren’t sure why they were always there, as you’d definitely seen one when he was in the dorm, but… well, it’s not really your business, is it? maybe he’s busy, maybe he doesn’t want to paint, maybe he’s taking a nap, who cares. you grab what you need and go back to your room; there’s more important things to worry about than a stranger’s hobbies. honestly, you shouldn’t spend so much time thinking about him. you could hardly claim to know someone you never saw.
well, except when you did see him.
you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge as you came back from your chemistry lab, not minding the usual palette of paint beside it. also as usual, you heard his door open as he remembered some random item, not minding the sound of his footsteps as you receded into your own room-
“wait! ah- please…”
you forgotten what his voice sounded like. it’s mostly out of shock, not recognition, that you turn around, seeing him lingering in the entrance to his half of the dorm. his hair is loose around his shoulders, catching the light from the window and glowing gold. his apron is stained with a rainbow of paint, matching the perpetual lines across his hands, and he seems a bit too nervous to be talking with someone he’s been living with for a few months now.
“…i couldn’t make it to the lab today,” he starts, words measured and not at all like his original call, practiced instead of panicked. “could i borrow your notes?”
…you’re in the same chemistry class? you’d never noticed. then again, you’re not sure you could pick him out of a crowd—it’s not like you two were exactly close… but giving him your data was honestly a non-issue. normally you wouldn’t think twice about it, except if he was in your lab section then he should know the rules about missing them.
“you’re going to have to retake the lab anyway, aren’t you? my report won’t help you at all.”
he blinks, like he’d forgotten that fact, and you half hope that’ll be the end of it. you still have your own work to get to, after all.
“still… it would give me something to reference, so when i do it i’ll know if my results are reasonable.” his brows are drawn, genuinely worried, crystal blue carrying a surprising amount of emotion despite the careful cadence of his words. “i’d greatly appreciate your assistance on this matter… i don’t have a reliable way to contact anyone else in the class.”
it only takes you a few moments to weigh the pros and cons. at worst, your partner can back you up if he tries to steal your work. at best, nothing happens and you’ve earned a bit of goodwill.
you shrug, taking off your bag and setting it on the counter, unzipping the main pocket and digging for your lab manual. you find it and flip to today’s lab, mentally wondering what an artist would think of the irritated scribbles down the side of the page. whatever the case, you hold it out toward the hallway he was before, only to find him barely a foot away. he’s stood over your shoulder, letting your manual bump into his chest without a flinch, without an ounce of the worry from before.
without an ounce of anything at all, really. his face is flat, empty, just staring down at the words in front of him without seeming to read them at all.
“…sorry,” you start, “i didn’t hear you-”
“don’t be sorry.” with a blink, he’s back, taking the manual with a gentle smile. “thank you for your help. i’ll return it by tonight.”
“…yeah, take your time.”
you’re not going to question what or why whatever happened did. it’s.. just easier if you don’t. you grab your bag and go to your room, focused on anything else.
you don’t find it in the common area, on the coffee table or by the sink or in any reasonable area. he doesn’t knock on your door to return it. no, instead, you trip over it the next day as you leave your room, squinting in the dark to see it laying on the carpet, a note taped to the front.
yeah, you’re not reading that. not now, at least. you’re certain albedo is a nice guy, if socially awkward, but… you can give him the benefit of the doubt later. you shove the note in a drawer and forget about it, going to class. if you just ignore it, you won’t have to deal with it.
it must not have been anything important, because he doesn’t ever bring it up again. it’s almost as if nothing happened. there’s a new pencil on the common room whenever you walk by, he ducks his head and smiles sheepishly when grabbing it, and nothing is new. you try to look for him in the lab, if only to be courteous, but never find him. it’s not a big class… but whatever, you’re not too familiar with his face anyway. after a week or two, you stop trying.
it’s wishful thinking, really.
you have to do a double take when opening the fridge one day, the paint on the palette looking, from the corner of your eye, like a human hand. it’s just skin-toned paints, delicately mixed into a color that somewhat looks like yours.. by the looks of it, he must have fussed with the tint for a while. normally there’s only small bubbles of paint, but this is excessively fine refinement.. he must just be a perfectionist.
you can’t leave your room without running into him. not just like before, with brief intersections as he grabs what he’s forgotten, but actual interactions. he sits on the couch, drawing in a small notebook, asking you about your classes like he’s not supposed to be in his own classes. sure, he could be taking some online, but it’s like he never leaves the dorm.
he asks as usual, one day, what class you’re going to. when you finally gather your courage and ask why he himself isn’t going to the lab, he startles, like he’d forgotten he was attending. there were plenty of reasons why he wasn’t going—maybe he was in a different section of the class, or he had a car and had reduced travel time, or quite literally anything other than silence. but he sat there, staring at you like you were the one who had mixed up your schedule, with the same painfully empty look as before.
you left soon after that.
if asked to describe albedo in three words or less, you’d fumble for a few moments before landing on “fine, but weird.” if asked to do so with any other level of detail, you’d probably end up saying the exact same thing.
and that’s fine. you didn’t really expect to become best friends with your roommate. but for archons’ sake, he’s just so… uncanny.
you’ve never seen any other food in the fridge but yours. you cannot remember ever seeing or hearing him leave or enter the dorm, or ever remember not seeing some sign of him being there. his door was perpetually closed, the faint sound of scratching coming from behind it, and he’d just… freeze at random. like he recedes into himself, leaving a hollow husk until he returns, eyes left as flat disks set into an unfeeling face. there’s nothing inherently wrong with not showing many expressions, but whatever he’s got going on is far more concerning than that.
so really, who could blame you for being curious? his sketchbook is just there, laying open on the table, only partially masked by the small bag of supplies next to it. the door to the bathroom is closed, you really shouldn’t be invading his privacy like this, but it’s not like he even bothered to close it.
still, it’s wrong.
still, having something solid to point to could really help if you ever need to make a complaint to an RA.
oh archons, this is such a bad idea.
before you can convince yourself not to, you walk over and sit in his usual place on the couch, picking up his sketchbook and gritting your teeth through the fact that there’s no way this is morally justified.
the current spread is plain. it’s entirely in pencil, repeated iterations of different kinds of jewelry. rings, with ornate spirals and diamonds along the sides, leading into a gem of many different cuts. some simple stud earrings, some hoops, a necklace draped around a half-drawn bust, the chain sketched to look like blooming flowers strung together. there’s some notes in another script, but other than that, it’s entirely normal. there’s nothing weird about a guy that draws bracelets in his spare time. but your mind itches to find a justification, searching for proof, and you’re already in too deep. despite your better judgement, you turn the page, doing your best not to drop it when you do.
it’s you.
you, at least six times on two pages alone. smiling, waving, fixing your hair, by the seven you feel faintly sick, fingers digging into the pages as you try to rationalize what you’re seeing.
it could just be a one off. maybe you have a particularly interesting face to draw? except the next page is the same, and so is the next, and you flip through them all with the edge of your thumb and it’s all you.
all of it. every single page that has ink on it has your face. from the very front to the very back, with only a page or two of white left, and it’s clear that the jewelry was an intentional decoy. there’s a spread dedicated to just your hands, one to various outfits he’s seen you in, one- archons, one in various stages of undress, barely granting you the dignity of keeping them from the waist up. the worst part, really, is how accurate they are, clear proof of just how much time he’s spent staring at you.
you recognize his voice now, quiet and measured as he calls your name. that could just be your heart in your ears, though.
he has that same blank expression again, standing in the doorway, looking between you and the book. you’re certain he can see the paled fingertips of your grip on the cover. “do… do you not like them?”
“…what?”
he settles back into himself, sad, shoulders slumping and eyes downturned. “they’re just practices, i promise. the actual painting looks much better…”
bile threatens the back of your throat. “the painting?”
“yes, the painting. the one i mentioned in my note…”
…the note. his note. the one you didn’t read. the one he gave you after a grand total of one significant interactions, before which you all but considered him a ghost. and he decided that making a painting of you was a normal thing to do?
“…it makes sense you forgot it. i can’t imagine i’ve ever come close to properly capturing your beauty… it doesn't matter the medium, i never seem to get it right...”
he crosses his arms, picking idly at his lips with one hand, like he’s discussing a particularly annoying problem on his homework and not the fact that he has drawings of you topless. after a few moments of mumbling, he shakes his head. “i’ll do better. i promise i will. one day i'll draw something that finds even a fraction of your perfection.”
you don’t care. all you want is to get out of here, to lock your doors and try not to call the cops while he’s in earshot. “it’s fine, albedo”
the lie is a poison that seems to sting him upon arrival, a ripple of shock crossing his impassive expression. “it's not fine, not at all. how can i call myself an artist if i fail to impress my muse? please, give me time, i promise i can do better-”
“it’s fine,” you repeat, setting the sketchbook down and realizing with another stab of disgust that he’s written your name on the front cover. you stand, hands buzzing with the echo of what you’ve witnessed, not caring for the crestfallen look on his face. “…you’re a talented artist,” you grit out.
Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader (+Scaramouche) [Genshin].
Word Count: 4.4k.
Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.
TW: Modern AU, AFAB!Reader, Non/Con, Oral Sex, Slight Corruption Kink, Cucking, Mentions of Blood/Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Implied Stalking, Reader and Scaramouche Are In A Long-Term Relationship, and Nonconsensual Drug Use. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
Not a lot of people really understood why you loved your boyfriend as much as he loved you.
Not to say you didn’t get why. You knew he came off – rough, brash, jarring apathetic at best and openly antagonistic at worst. He was jealous, and childish, and you’d chided him more times than you could possibly count for arguing with your friends and picking fights with strangers and generally treating the world like a malicious, erratic entity that’d either take you away from him or turn you against him if given even the slightest chance. He wasn’t possessive, or over-protective, just… worried. In a line of work like his, he had a good reason to be, but that wasn’t exactly something you could explain to other people.
Kuni was aggressive, and loud, and disruptive. But, he was kind, too, and he had a soft spot for kids and animals, and he knew how to be gentle with you, even though you’d never taken the time to teach him. He bristled and pouted when you mentioned doing something without him, sure, but he’d never put his fist through a wall or pretended he could ever spend any amount of time mad at you, even if he didn’t like the things that took you away from him. His job was dangerous, and he had a right to be paranoid, but it didn’t matter how much of a drooling, snapping guard dog he made himself out to be to the rest of the world – not when he came home and fell into your arms, as docile and as loving as a housecat. Most importantly, Kuni loved you, and that was enough for you to love him just as much.
Hence why you panicked when you woke up hours past midnight to an empty apartment, the space next to you cold where your Kuni should’ve warmed it. Hence why you didn’t think twice before getting out of bed when you noticed an unread text sent from Kuni, asking you to meet him at his coworker’s apartment, vaguely hinting at an injury bad enough to keep him from coming straight home to you. Hence why you were now on that coworker’s doorstep, barely dressed and still holding your breath, in the middle of the night. Because you knew that Kunikuzushi loved you.
And, unfortunately, you loved him too.
You’d already knocked – twice, in fact – but you couldn’t hold still. You checked your phone. You tried to call Kunikuzushi, but to no avail – cutting straight to his voicemail after the first ring. You glanced to either side, wary of having to explain yourself to any passing residents before remembering that you were standing in front of the door to a penthouse in a building that seemed to balk at the idea of having more than one tenant per floor. Finally, you raised your hand to knock a third time, but the door swung inward before you had a chance. An ocean’s worth of relief washed over you all at once, and mindlessly, you threw yourself forward, wrapping your arms around Kuni’s ne—
“Woah there.” And then, with an airy laugh, “It’s good to see you too, (Y/n).”
You jerked back suddenly enough to throw yourself off-balance, but a pair of hands caught you by the shoulders, keeping you on your feet. For the first time, you thought to glance up, to recognize that the man in front of you was very much not your boyfriend and that you’d had very little reason to believe it would be. It took you a long second of staring blankly at his disheveled ginger hair and startlingly bright eyes for you to place him as ‘Childe’ – Kuni’s coworker, probably the one he complained about the most often. You’d known him as long as you’d known Kuni – met them on the same day, in fact – but the two of you weren’t close. He was the extraverted type, friendly to the point of agitation. The type of person that you felt exhausted after so much as thinking about spending time with, for lack of a kinder way to put it.
That didn’t matter, though. You’d spend the rest of your life singing his praises if he told you that Kuni was alright.
“Childe, where’s K—” You cut yourself, trying to remember what Kuni had asked you to call him around his work-friends. “Where’s Scaramouche?”
Another laugh, this one more full-bodied than the last. “Right, right. You’re just like him – all business, no pleasure.” He stepped back, retreating into his apartment and gesturing for you to follow. “Could you lock the door behind you? We’ve already had a pretty rough night.”
You nodded vacantly, only half-listening as you scuttled into his apartment and hastily slid the most accessible four out of a total six deadbolts into place. Childe walked ahead of you, making his way to an open kitchenette and riffling through his cabinets as he went on. “Sorry for dragging you all the way out here. Normally, I try to keep this place reserved for espionage-purposes only, but tonight was kind of an emergency. I’d give you the details, but—” He flashed you a smile, fishing two mismatched mugs from the highest shelf. “Ignorance is bliss, right?”
It took a remarkable amount of self-restraint not to scream. “Did Scaramouche get hurt?”
“Coffee? Tea? I’ve got wine, too, if you need something stronger.” You crossed your arms over your chest, digging your nails into your sleeves. “Oh, actually, maybe I don’t. Like I said, I’ve got a homier place out of the city, but my younger sister really loves the vi—”
“Childe.” Your tone was curt, cutting. Immediately, he shut his mouth, looking towards you. You sighed, taking pains to emphasize each individual word, as if he wouldn’t hear your desperation unless you all-but spelled it out for him. “Is. My. Boyfriend. Alive?”
Immediately, his expression softened. “Of course, angel – didn’t I mention that? He just got a little banged up. I think he’s still sleeping it off in my bedroom.” Instantly, you crumpled into yourself, shutting your eyes and letting out a deep, relieved exhale. Childe didn’t move to comfort you, but his voice took on a softer undertone – like he was trying to be a little more sympathetic. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known you’d want to see him right away, but it’s so late, and you seemed so worried, I figured a pick-me-up might be…” He struggled, his head lulling to the side. “…helpful?”
And people wondered why you preferred Kuni. At least he pretended to respect your time.
But, you were in Childe’s home, and he was right – it was very late and you were very, very tired. “…tea would be nice,” you admitted, collapsing into the nearest seat – the stool at a small, impeccably clean bar attached to his kitchen. “Thank you. And I’m sorry, it’s just— It can just be so much, especially with what happened to Signora. The stress gets to me, sometimes.”
Childe hummed. In less than a minute, a mug of hot, murky tea was set in front of you, and you drank greedily – suddenly aware of how strung-out you felt after rushing half-way across the city in the middle of the night. If he cared about your manners (or lack thereof), you couldn’t tell. Childe only grinned as he sat down next to you, propping his chin on his fist. “Honestly, I’m surprised he even told you about all this. My siblings still think I’m a toy salesman.” It was your turn to stifle a laugh. You were so used to Kuni that it was difficult to imagine him passing himself off as anything less than what he was. To a lesser extent, that went for Childe, too. His ‘innocent big brother’ act couldn’t have been very convincing. “It’s amazing that you’ve stayed with him. There aren’t a lot of people who’d put up with that, and Scaramouche doesn’t seem like the appreciative type.”
You shrugged, draining your mug entirely. “He’s hard to read, but he cares about me,” you replied, when you were finished. “The least I could do is care about him, too. Even if I do kinda wish he’d make it a little easier for me.”
Childe didn’t respond, not immediately. When you looked to him, his smile had softened into something more sincere, more sentimental. “Lucky guy,” he muttered, and you were suddenly aware of how long he’d been staring at you. “When you’re all mine, I promise I won’t stay out a second past midnight.”
It took you a moment to catch his phrasing (‘when’ rather than ‘if’), another to process why such a simple slip-up was enough to make your stomach turn. Rather than address it, you let your eyes fall back into your lap and drummed your fingertips nervously against the side of your mug. “…do you think Scaramouche’s awake, yet?”
“Oh, angel.” He leaned toward you, cocking his head to the side. The gesture didn’t seem as innocent as it had a few minutes ago. “You really believed that? And here I thought you just wanted to spend a little more time with me.”
Alright. Cool. Great. Without thinking, you tried to stand, but your body was suddenly uncooperative, less numb and more woefully disobedient. You tried to get your feet on the ground, to grip the edge of the bar, but as soon as you tried to lift your own weight, you crumpled; buckling onto the countertop as Childe watched on, passive and simpering. You tried to open your mouth, to yell, but your jaw suddenly felt so slack, your tongue heavy and beyond your control. It was all you could do to snap towards Childe, your panic silent but more than apparent. He just shook his head, letting out a low whistle as he pushed himself onto his feet.
“Your little boyfriend mentioned that you were a lightweight. I didn’t think it’d be this bad, though.” You felt his arm wrap around your waist, another looping under the bend of your knees. Effortlessly, he lifted you off of your stool and hauled you against his body, your shoulder knocking clumsily into his chest. You felt something nuzzle into the side of your neck, and choose to believe it wasn’t his face. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he muttered, his voice low and his delight palpable. “Try to keep your eyes open. I promise, I won’t do anything unless I know you’re here to enjoy it, too.”
The sentiment provided less comfort than he seemed to think it would.
Your body might’ve been out of your control, but you were still very much conscious and, even worse, very much aware. Your eyes flitted over the blank walls of his apartment as he passed through different rooms and hallways, eventually coming to a door nestled as far from the main body of the apartment as possible. With a shallow grunt, Childe shouldered it open and stepped into a bedroom – this space only slightly more personalized than the rest of his apartment. The walls were still that bland, non-descript grey, the bed sheets a respectable wine red, but you caught a wallet and phone left on the otherwise untouched dresser, the disparate pieces of a blood-stained suit hanging in the closet he’d left open. A few polaroids of a figure you couldn’t make out were piled on the bedside table, and your boyfriend was slumped over in a chair in the far right corner.
…
Okay, so maybe your mind was a little more affected than you’d thought.
Childe hadn’t been lying when he said Kuni got hurt. His shirt was unbuttoned, pushed far back on his shoulders, revealing the bandages wrapped around his shoulder, his side – both visibly damp with fresh blood. More damningly, he was restrained. Even at a glance, you could make out the silver cuff binding his wrists to the arms of his chair, the braided ropes doing the same for his ankles. He’d been gagged, but not blindfolded. You’d never seen his eyes so wide.
No amount of paralytics could’ve stopped you from thrashing against Childe’s loose hold. You squirmed and writhed, kicking weakly at his legs and shoving haphazardly at his chest – doing whatever you could just to get away from him. “K-Kuni,” you called, your voice hoarse and trembling. You heard him try to say something behind his gag, but if it was anything intelligible, it’s meaning was lost behind the buzzing in your ears, the sound of blood rushing through your veins. Childe made a half-hearted attempt to hush you, and you snapped in his direction, baring your teeth. “Let me go, I can’t—He’s hurt—”
“He’s fine, babydoll. Don’t pay him any mind.” You tried to throw your elbow into his stomach, but there was no real force behind the blow – a kitten burrowing its milk teeth into the throat of a lion. “Kuni…” He mumbled as if you hadn’t moved at all. “Is that his real name? You can call me ‘Ajax’, if you want. I don’t mind Childe, though, not when you’re the one saying it.”
You could’ve strangled him. You might’ve if he hadn’t abruptly dropped you, letting your body collapse onto the center of his bed. You made a desperate attempt to scramble to the nearest edge, but you’d barely hauled yourself onto your knees before he was on top of you - his hands around your waist, nudging you gently onto your back. Again, you tried to struggle, but all you managed to scrape up was an airy fractured whimper quickly drowned out by Childe’s laugh, the weight of his body as it slotted against yours. One hand remained on your waist while the other pressed into the mattress next to your head, his chest a hair’s width from making contact with yours. You’d never known Childe very well, and yet, it still surprised you to see just how lifeless his eyes seemed, when you thought to look closely.
“I’ve wanted to do this since the day we met,” he muttered, nearly under his breath. “We were on a job, had some time to kill between clients. He didn’t even notice you, just saw that I was about to get my hands on something I liked and decided to be competitive. I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have let him get to you first.”
He paused, his smile taking on a manic note. “I’ll never let it happen again.”
And then, he was kissing you. Surprisingly, you quickly found that you preferred his rambling. It was messier than it had any right to be, considering he was the only one moving. You liked the way Kunikuzushi kissed you – delicately, tenderly, never quite trepidatious but always careful enough to warrant your active and enthusiastic participation, if you wanted anything more than a quick peck to your cheek. Childe wasn’t Kunikuzushi, though, and he wasn’t careful with you – at least, no more careful than he had to be to make sure his teeth didn’t draw blood as they scraped clumsily over your lips. His tongue raked over yours, and as far as you could tell, he wasn’t happy unless he was on the verge of tearing your jaw from its hinges and making it that much easier for him to crawl inside of you. You were thankful when he finally pulled away, but it was difficult to appreciate the way he panted against the curve of your neck; pressing long open mouthed kisses into vulnerable skin as his hands fumbled with the hem of your top. You tried to sit up, to see Kuni, but you were too weak to speak, let alone move. That might’ve been a small mercy, in retrospect. The last thing you needed to see was the love of your life’s expression while his polar opposite sunk his teeth into your throat.
Your shirt went first – dragged over your head as Childe pulled you into another hasty kiss, this one blessedly short-lived when compared to the first. You’d gotten dressed in a rush, meaning you weren’t wearing anything underneath your shorts, something Childe acknowledged with a sharpened edge to his grin, a hopeful murmur of “All for me?” He pried himself off of you as he worked, settling into the space between your open legs. You heard something heavy and forceful slam into the wall on the other side of Childe’s bedroom, but didn’t process that it must’ve been Kuni for long, blissful minutes.
It was only when you felt his hand cup your cunt that you snapped back into your own mind – your hands darting to his wrist, as if that would be a violent enough protest to stop him. Of course, it wasn’t, and of course, his expression only grew more saccharine as he ran two fingers down the length of your slit, his gazing fixed unblinkingly on the apex of your thighs. “So pretty…” And then, making no attempt to hide his self-satisfaction, “Scara’s never been this nice to you, has he?”
Despite your lack of control, you felt your entire body stiffen. “You can’t—”
“But, angel, I think I have to.” He leaned down, his lips brushing over your navel, then the arch of your pelvic bone. “Can’t just let a pussy this pretty go to waste, now, can I?”
You shut your eyes, but not quickly enough. You still caught the sight of Childe’s hand curling around your thighs, of his tongue lapping over your cunt before everything went dark.
It was difficult to say why you and Kuni never slept together. Part of it was mutual aversion – he was cagey about everything, his body included, and even with more readily intimate partners, you’d never really had an interest in sex, especially if it meant pushing Kuni into something you didn’t want and that he wasn’t comfortable with. You’d been more than happy not to think about it at all, but looking back, you wished you had leaned a little more into it, if only so you weren’t so startled by the heat of Childe’s mouth against your pussy. Immediately, it was too much – your thighs snapping shut around his head as his tongue laved over you, circling your clit, dipping into your entrance. Childe only let a throaty moan, deep enough to leave you clenching your eyes shut that much tighter, gritting your teeth as you swallowed back your reactions – pained or otherwise. There was no way Kuni, your Kuni could’ve ever thought you were enjoying this, but still. You didn’t want to make this any harder for him than it had to be.
(You made a point of not thinking about yourself. You didn’t know if you’d be able to survive this, if you made the mistake of considering how you were supposed to live with yourself when it was over.)
For all his talk, he couldn’t have had much experience. He was experimental, overeager – never satisfied with abusing your clit or attempting to fuck his tongue into you when he could be splitting his attention between both. Eventually, one of his hands fell away from your thigh, his middle and ring fingers slipping into your (admittedly, humiliatingly accommodating) entrance and splitting apart, adding yet another sensation to the list of things you’d spend the rest of your life trying to forget. You wanted to cover your face, to pry his head out of the space between your thighs, but lifting your arms seemed like a Herculean task, and the most you could manage was digging your nails into the bed sheets and hoping, praying that it would be over soon.
It was a few seconds later that, with a bittersweet tinge, you realized you’d get what you wanted.
Childe was sloppy, but effective – a soldier left untrained but devoted to the cause, nonetheless. You felt something alien and amorphous tighten in your lower stomach, a new pressure joining the hollow weight in your chest as he curled his fingers and found something sensitive, something vulnerable, something easy to exploit. It would’ve been better to brace yourself, to pretend it wasn’t happening at all, but panic instantly overshadowed your sense of logic, and your mouth was open before you had a chance to stop yourself. “Don’t,” you spat, reaching out blindly, your hand finding his hair. This time, his reaction was less of a moan and more of a growl. “Please, stop, stop—”
If he cared whether you were begging him to get away from you or singing his praises, you couldn’t tell. He seemed to melt, nuzzling into the plush of your thigh while burying his face that much deeper into your cunt. You could feel his smirk bite into your skin as his lips sealed around your clit and sucked. Instantly, you were thrown over the ledge; your body stiffening as your vision burnt white behind your eyelids. It was a miracle that you managed not to moan, but the prolonged, wavering whine that was forced out of you instead wasn’t much better.
Your self-restraint was a miracle, and Childe’s impatience was a mercy. He drew back hastily, his mouth finding the inside of your thigh, then the jut of your hipbone – eager to keep some part of you pressed against some part of him at all times. It would’ve been more bearable if that kept his mouth too busy to talk, and yet, he still found a way to strip you of even that comfort. “So good for me,” he mumbled, interrupted constantly by his own desperate need to suck and lap at every softened, tender spot you had. “I knew he had to be neglecting you, no way someone like him could ever take care of something like this. You don’t have to worry – I’m not gonna be that mean to you. I couldn’t, even I wanted to.” He paused, bowing his head and stifling a laugh. “Don’t think I could ever go another day without taking care of that pretty pussy.”
But, his altruism proved short-lived. With a raspy groan, he pulled away from you, allowing just enough distance for the sound of shifting fabric and the sudden heat of something vile and unthinkable to fill the space. Again, you were talking before you could stop yourself – as if you hadn’t already tried asking him not to. As if the sound of your voice had done anything but spur him on. “Please don’t, I’m not—I haven’t—” And then, meeting his prying gaze, as every thought seemed to catch and stick in your throat, “I’ve never done this before, Ajax.”
He stopped moving above you, but his eyes never broke away from yours. “You’re a virgin?”
It seemed so juvenile when he said it aloud, so trivial. Reluctantly, you nodded.
Impossibly, his expression seemed to brighten.
He was so annoyingly vocal. There was another soft groan as he straightened his back, a grunt with no real strain behind it as he pulled your limp body into his arms. You almost let yourself relax as he carried you off of the bed and across the bedroom, but any relief you might’ve been able to feel evaporated in an instant as he all-but dropped you in front of Kunikuzushi, now rigid in his restraints. You could see dried tear tracks tracing lines down his cheeks, a hostile grimace in the corner of his lips. He must’ve been crying, but he wasn’t anymore. That was good. You’d always hated seeing Kuni cry.
Unable to support yourself, you started falling towards him, but Childe was there to catch you – his arm winding around your waist, pulling you into his lap. “You’re so perfect,” he muttered, before looking toward Kuni. “Be thankful. You’ve got the best seat in the house.”
There was a second of stilted silence, a reassuring squeeze to your side. Distantly, you felt Childe bury his face in the crook of your neck and drag you flush against him, aligning the head of his leaking cock with your entrance. His hips ground into your ass in a reflexive, sort of bucking motion, and just like that, he was inside of you.
You heard Childe’s breath catch, then a whimper in your own voice. At the same time, something cracked, and you noticed that Kuni was gripping the arm of his chair with enough force to splinter the wood. You hoped he wouldn’t hurt himself.
Childe proved to be tragically energetic. With another partner, your paralysis might’ve made things difficult, but he seemed more than happy to bounce you in his lap, grinding and thrusting into you from below in turns, moaning and mewling whenever your traitorous body tightened around him. Again, you found yourself wishing that you’d rushed Kuni just a little more – if only so you’d be better at blocking out the feeling of defined veins grinding against the walls of your cunt, of his considerable size stretching you to your limits. His hands were everywhere – kneading at your chest, groping for purchase near your waist, rubbing quick, tight, awful little circles into your clit – but you did your best not to care, not to react, not to acknowledge the airy gasps and miserable sobs trickling past your lips every time Childe’s body pressed flat against yours. You could hear him talking, something about ‘the next nine months’ and ‘loving husband’, but the specifics were lost on you. You’d never been able to stand the sound of his voice, and tonight hadn’t done much to endear you to it.
His climax (and, by extension, yours) was embarrassing. Best not to mention it.
The sound of Childe’s panting filled the room, only occasionally accompanied by your little, pitiful cries. His grip loosened at some point, most likely to let him admire the way his cum dripped from your entrance where it was still stretched around his cock, and only half-intentionally, you lulled into Kuni’s lap, crossing your arms over his legs and staring blankly at his beautiful face. It took a few tries, but eventually, you managed to reach up and hook your thumb around his gag, pulling it down with some effort. As the thin piece of fabric fell limp around his neck, he spoke.
“I’m going to kill him.” And then, his voice still cold as ice, “I love you.”
For the first time, you weren’t sure you entirely believed him.
It comes out that hybrids weren't that uncommon. Whether it was Inazuma and the Youkai, or simply Sumeru, they could be found all over Teyvat. And still, the sight of a peculiar little rabbit caught Tighnari's interest.
The forest ranger was still unsure about what made you stand out. Was it the pair of the fluffy ears on your head? The way you'd scurry and avoid him at any given chance? He knew for a fact that you displayed a sense of fear around him, that knowledge occupying his mind most of the time.
He didn't know much about your life, nor did he really understand why someone like you would work with his subordinates. Tighnari was faintly informed about your apparent passion for animals and plants; or how badly you wanted to help people with the medicinal knowledge you hoped to earn.
It sounded weird to him, how you chose to learn from his student rather than the source itself. It was only when he saw you that he finally understood.
He didn't discriminate, that's what he told himself each time he stopped himself from speaking something awful. But, to put it simply, you were... a rabbit. Not only smaller, but weak, physically and mentally. Not even a vision in sight. Tighnari felt like it was some sort of a cruel joke.
You'd go about your day, happy as ever, helping around his subordinates before he'd show up in the corner of your vision. He saw exactly how your hair practically stood straight on your ears and head, how your shoulders tensed. The way you'd swallow and excuse yourself, doing everything but walking past him.
The forest watcher quickly realised why. You were a mere rabbit after all, and he was a fox. A natural predator of such a small animal. Maybe it shouldn't come as a surprise, that'd you'd fear. Tighnari himself often had to fight the urge to just turn around and follow your tracks.
It was mindless, led only by instinct. A cute little bunny, practically helpless in his territory. The humane side of him kept him from behaving on his urges. And yet the animalistic side, the side he couldn't deny, almost screamed at him to do what he was supposed to be doing.
Each time the thought of getting you and biting you was interrupted by a shake of his head; he wasn't a wild fox. The biologist knew better than to ruin his persona by his own sick desires.
One way or another, that continued. He hoped you'd quit the job and let someone better take the place; maybe that's what he told himself at how infuriating you became each day. You hardly ever spoke to him, (rather, you nodded dumbly at what he said and turned to leave), and he still found more than enough reason to get rid of you. Was it because he genuinely disliked you, or was it because you woke up the parts of him he hoped would rest forever?
He didn't like to consider this question too much ; his mind convinced him it was his own fault. He shouldn't be gawking at a girl like that. Tighnari was aware he could be selfless at times, and that thought was quickly replaced by the fact that, perhaps, just maybe, he was lying to himself.
It was in fact, all your fault. A small rabbit like you couldn't really do the job well. Sure, you were always on time and ready, always prepared for everything. And yeah, maybe you had some education on the forest, but it wasn't that special. He had plenty of people with the same qualities.
A part of him wanted you gone just for the sake of his peace of mind. And maybe the other was aware of what he'd do if the thoughts plagued him still.
It was odd really. As right as it felt to imagine you beneath him, crying, shaking and twitching; it felt equally as wrong. After all, he was a man. With a working brain, fully capable to make his own decisions.
Still, seeing your little tail twitch beneath the ranger coat; the way you struggled to carry the heavy things out of your home. It.. it shouldn't make him think about just how weak you are. He should be doing his work instead of mindlessly watching you go about your day; mouth agape and pupils dilated. It occupied his mind most days after a while, and he still had no reason to fire you.
Sure, you were a woman; weaker. A rabbit; way beneath hybrids and even humans. So visibly inferior, trying to appear helpful. Why didn't you quit? Why, why did you have to continue, knowing fully well you ran the moment you saw Tighnari? Were you doing this on purpose? Wiggling your little fluffy tail as you made your way into hiding?
It frustrated the fox to no end.
You teased him left and right. That's what you did. Sure, he didn't have much basis for that thought; but you behaved on your instinct to get away; if you did so, why couldn't he?
Surely if you simply ignored your gut feeling and behaved like a normal person, then he'd be able to do the same, without his mind screaming at him each time you turned to hurry away. If you only acted decent, maybe then he wouldn't be so focused on you doing what you naturally were supposed to do.
It felt almost as if you wanted him to go feral, and you'd have what's coming for you. It didn't matter if your avoidance of Tighnari was caused by just general fear of men or him specifically. All of that simply made him crave to violate you more. You worked there for a while, and it got as bad as to make his cock strain in his pants, having to excuse himself at the sight of you practically running back to your place of residence. Tighnari was a man of patience, but even such a patient man wouldn't be able to stay sane with such a sweet little rabbit constantly around here somewhere. His ears were sensitive with how big they were, and the urge to follow you by the sound itself was becoming harder to resist. He felt like his body was fighting to stay put instead of following the sound of you disappearing. Tighnari truly tried to stay decent, until one unfortunate evening you were tasked with giving him reports of the withering. Or rather, the withering that was getting fixed.
It didn't matter in the end what you had to carry in. But you wanted to be brave. Tighnari wasn't that bad despite being a fox.. right? He behaved around you, and even after months of you working there, you weren't pounced on even once. It was as if your fear was irrational, which only made you more frustrated. But you couldn't be scared forever. That's why you agreed to carry the reports, your fingers shaky when you knocked on the doors to his office. If it could even be called that.
"Who's there?" A question so normal. And yet your hands shook, gripping the thick stack of papers harder. You however did your best to keep your voice from shaking; "y-y/n."
Good moment of silence followed. Tighnari didn't know how to feel upon knowing it was you to knock on his door. He already had an issue with composing himself as it was. "Come in."
But he'd feign normality; you'd come in and hurry away like always. Watching you open the doors, so unsure as you stepped in.. oh it did things to him, and he forced himself not to look at you properly, instead writing something on some paper. Perhaps a list of the things he had to buy, maybe something random. "I have the.. the reports from today. Yasmin meant to do that but she felt sick, so she sent me instead." With each word you felt more confident. It was good. You were fine.
"Is that so? Alright, thank you. Feel free to put them on the desk somewhere."
His reaction was surprisingly normal, and so you walked closer to the desk to set the things down. You were unfortunate enough to notice his eye twitch, the sense of fear returning again. With a sigh he put the pen down, pushing his seat back. At that exact moment, Tighnari didn't have any bad intentions. Yet. He just wanted to talk about your behaviour. As you tried to turn to leave he clicked his tongue. "I think there is something we are yet to discuss, don't you think so?"
You simply stepped back, eyes wide. "I actually ha-have to-" you eyed the doors. He didn't seem like he was getting up. "Have to go-"
"Stay."
As afraid of him as you were, for no reason apparently, him saying that had you stood still completely for a good moment. But the moment you regained enough sense to take a run for it, you managed to get past the door.
His fist hit the desk, Tighnari forced himself to stay put. It hurt him physically to just.. let you leave. It was unnatural. No predator would simply let their prey walk about unharmed. And still he found himself breathing in and out slowly, pupils dilated as only one thing went through his mind. With his heat being ever so close he'd have to go away into solitude soon, maybe not seeing you would do him well. Maybe he'd come to his senses and remain calm, eyes mindlessly staring down at the desk.
Tighnari tried so hard to stay decent.
But it wasn't his fault that, by nature, you weren't even supposed to be there. You were wasting your potential in a job that was meant for.. actually smart people. That's what he'd tell himself to console his own mind. It wasn't your purpose.
But who could blame him after months of that feeling? It was terrible. Hard against his gut, frustrating. Nothing short of anger inducing, in a way where even gripping his bow tight didn't help. None of this was planned, it was messy. But a day after you came to his office he changed the schedule suddenly.
Tighnari couldn't feel bad for plotting anymore. The sight of your wide, scared eyes. The little twitch of these fluffy ears; the way you fiddled with your fingers in fear. It was what replayed in his mind on and on for the rest of that evening, having to palm his hard length to the memory itself. Oh how he wanted to see that face again. To tell you to stay put, with you being scared enough to obey whatever he'd say. Without thinking it through previously, he decided to finally deal with the situation at hand.
You were meant to go with Yasmin to the forest to carry some of the things, and yet that suddenly changed, and you'd go with Tighnari.
It felt like a cruel joke of sorts. Going with.. him.. into the forest; when it was already dark. Especially after what happened the day before; you felt like the archons played some sick joke on you. The temptation to call in sick was.. overwhelming. Unfortunately it was too late, as you only learned about the change when you saw Tighnari instead of Yasmin.
Everything went great. Not for you of course.
He prepared for that the entire day; he wouldn't kill you, no, and he'd be lying to himself if he said it wasn't planned. As impulsive as it was, he still prepared for it after all.
"She feels a little sick after yesterday's foraging, and asked me to accompany you instead." He started. Tighnari seemed so friendly, you felt bad for this irrational fear. You knew he wasn't a bad person, (he was), and still. It felt wrong, he handed you the note from her. She was your usual partner after all; and he didn't want that change to be too alarming. The note read;
'Hello y/n! Sorry for the lack of notice about that change, I know how you feel about unexpected plans. I'm really sick, so come by when you're done! Since we meant to go to the northeast part of the forest, I decided that Tighnari should accompany you. You know, he knows the way around there better than me. Stay safe, I'll be waiting.'
The idea that she'd wait for you was comforting enough. Not that she would.
The note wasn't even from her
Sure, you knew Tighnari wasn't a terrible being and wouldn't plan anything; but it didn't help your paranoia. Taking the note and putting it into one of your bigger pockets you nodded, arms crossing over your chest as means of self assurance.
Without a further ado he began to walk towards the path you'd go by; it taking you a few seconds to catch up. For now he allowed you to stay behind, softly whistling as he walked. "What exactly made you take on this job?"
The question seemed random, completely tearing you from the thoughts you had about going back to the vile. "Me? Uh- I guess I just like biology.. and nature. I like, uh, helping around."
He knew it wasn't how you spoke to your coworkers. But he wasn't going to point it out, instead thinking. Oh how cheery and smiley you were whenever you talked with other people, but when it was him, you'd stutter and shake. It was.. he shouldn't be seeing that as something worthy of a boner, and it took all the strength he had not to turn around and stare.
"Hey, I don't recall going down this-" you cut yourself off. Your body didn't allow you to behave boldly around him. "This.. path last time.."
Truth was it wasn't even the northeast. It was an opposite direction, where he usually stayed for his solitude during these oh so hard and lonely days. "Don't worry too much, Yasmin isn't that good at navigating. We are going with a different path that's a little straighter, so it won't take long."
As much as your mind told you to run, that it was a trap, you rationalised with the idea that Tighnari was a nice man. Nothing bad has happened to you so far. And still you couldn't push the thought that something was wrong, the guilt of suspecting him of misdeeds continuing.
Both the shame and suspicion mixed even more when you saw the unfamiliar landmarks.
As appreciative as you were of the scenery around; the vibrant plants, the birds. Even the darkening sky, you only could come to one conclusion.
It definitely wasn't northeast.
Your fear could be smelled in the air, and Tighnari couldn't care less about you being aware. As long as you did what you were told, he didn't mind. He needed to shove his hands into his pockets so his hands didn't get twitchy from the rising excitement.
Increasingly, it became more and more alarming. You shouldn't listen to the fear factor but the instinct that told you "something is deliberately wrong" won. You stopped walking after a moment, taking a step back instead. Maybe if you were quiet enough- you knew he had big ears, yeah, but being idiotic, you simply chose to be delusional; that you'd get away in one piece.
"Where do you think you're going?" He asked, turning to you with a confused expression. You were far enough from civilization. He didn't care about hiding his intent anymore, stepping closer.
You took another step back. "I need to uh-" you wanted to say you would go behind a bush, but no. You just wanted to get away. "Need to?"
There they were, these scared eyes, almost glossy. You were humiliated with your lack of thought, instead murmuring "Sorry" a couple of times, turning to run for it. Saying sorry was mostly for accusing him of such predatory things, which unbeknownst to you weren't just your perception.
Tighnari didn't essentially want you to run in that direction, but still waited a moment before he followed, frowning. He didn't mind that game at all.
Maybe he was happy you ran. Maybe that was enough of an excuse to chase after you.
Every turn you made was sharp, and the moment you heard him in the distance you went out of hiding and ran again. It was getting dark after all, your vision wasn't that used to the darkness. Tighnari however? Navigating was more than easy for him; he was forever on your tail. No matter your realisation and how you took sharp turns to deceive him; you could still hear him. He wanted you to hear him; make you scared.. It wasn't the usual mating ritual for his kind, but that would do.
And running after you, seeing you disappear behind trees or rocks- it woke up something in him. Something so out of character that just whined to break free. The joy he felt over doing something as sick as this terrified him, it felt wrong. As much as it felt right. Nature wise, this was to be expected. But could his humane part live it down? He wouldn't ponder over the question in the moment, instead focusing his senses on finding out where you hid.
You were lucky you were fast.
Curling up behind the tree you cursed internally, hand on your mouth not to breathe too loud. And still you heard him walking, unrushed, calm. He knew how you smelled like; even if you were far, he'd find you by that alone. "Y/n. Come out, the play is over."
After realising he was too close you slowly walked towards another tree, silent, which was successful. He didn't seem to notice. "Oh you poor little rabbit, it's dark, so come out of hiding."
The way he spoke confused him, so out of character for him to speak with such sadistic spark. And yet, the joy he felt from all of this alone was overwhelming, fulfilling. Something he never felt before. It didn't really matter you were terrified, at the edge of tears.
He didn't really want you to come out of hiding. The ranger didn't understand himself when that occurred, he in fact wanted to be the one to drag you out.
You muffled any terrified noise that could escape you. Maybe you were right. Maybe he was just a predator. You tried not to feel bad; it couldn't have been some sort of play. He wasn't playing. It was for real.
It took you a moment to realise that you could die there, realistically, and no one would know. Maybe Yasmin, but still, the note wasn't from her.
It took you too long to realise that.
A branch snapped right behind you, and you felt your shoulders jump. Everything went quiet, the only thing sounding out were the wind, the leaves. The forest was beautiful at night, but you couldn't find any peace in admiring the beauty now.
You slowly straightened to start shifting behind yet another tree, looking behind you to see if Tighnari was there.
Not spotting the fox you walked forward, looking behind you the entire time.
The tree was almost there. Almost. A few steps away, one, two-
Your internal counting was interrupted by your terrified shriek, the rough feeling of an arm on your waist knocking the air out of your lungs.
Tighnari tugged you over to the side, successfully knocking you off your feet, down onto the grass. It was soft enough, he wasn't worried about hurting your delicate frame.
"There you are." It was incredibly easy to find you, and for some reason the fact he.. he found you; it filled him with pride of sorts.
Tighnari didn't experience that animalistic kind of joy before. He wished he could feel bad for it, but he didn't.
The grass made the landing less painful, but didn't change the fact the situation wasn't pleasant. You stared at him, wide eyed, hands digging into the surface below as you tried to sit yourself up, to shift away and kick, but he already moved to sit on your waist somewhat; in fact supporting himself with his knees, not putting that much pressure on you. Your hands swatted at him and his face but he easily grabbed your wrists, shoving them above your head.
"Stop." He groaned out, the sound almost animalistic. You felt sick, your lips shaking as you felt tears come to your eyes even more so than before.
If you knew how happy that made him, maybe then you wouldn't cry; him telling you to halt was enough to get you to freeze.
Tighnari felt like telling you why this happened so your dumb little rabbit brain could comprehend, but with how animalistic he felt, his brain couldn't find proper words for that phenomena. Instead he just stared right down at you, the moon that shined from behind the thick crowns of the trees illuminating him slightly, outlining his features. With how he was on you now, the ranger looked scarier than before. He was strong, you knew this would be over.
He would eat you and bite you. And he'd tear you apart with his hands alone, he'd devour you and he'd kill you and you'd never be found aga-
The fennec lowered his face to your neck, his breathing surprisingly calm. You tried to tug your wrists out one last time, but his grip on them became painful. If you were so scared of death, he'd use it as a bargain chip. "Stop moving around. If you do, I may just eat you."
He in fact didn't want you to quit your struggling, he just wanted to scare you even more. Entertain him while you were at it, there was nothing comparable to the raw happiness he felt when he held you down effortlessly.
Your breathing hitched, a sob leaving as the tears finally rolled down your cheeks. He wasn't going to comfort you however, eyes narrowed as his sharp canines brushed down your neck, making you jump. "N-no no pllease- please don't-'' you didn't want to die here. You didn't want to be ripped apart.
Tighnari was doing his best not to kill you really; he rationalised that, if you're alive, he may enjoy you more, for a longer period of time. But he wouldn't say that, maybe it was borderline sadistic, how knowing just how scared you were was a turn on.
The explanation pushed itself on his tongue, as if he wanted to excuse himself; but that other side of him didn't want to say it. If he did, maybe you'd be less scared.
And he couldn't have that yet.
"Are you scared? Oh you poor thing." It was fake, he didn't feel bad for you. You could feel just how overjoyed he was, especially with.. the way his already hard length pressed against your body. You thought you'd puke with how sick you felt at that moment.
Maybe you were right, Tighnari was nothing but a predator. It made you feel worse that this bastard probably got off to this sort of thing. You'd die at the hands of a man who was turned on by your fear, it couldn't be worse.
His single hand was enough to grip your wrists together, other hand sliding lower down your head to grip the base of one of your ears. The fox shuddered, it felt so nice. Soft, delicate, the fur so warm it made his hand tickle. His ears were smooth despite the fur being slightly thick, and yours were so soft and fluffy. Tighnari could not help himself, hand gripping both the ears. That way he could tip your head to the side easily, biting your neck near the shoulder. Not enough to draw blood, but just enough to be scary, a shriek leaving your throat at the painful, unpleasant sensation.
You were too scared to be defiant really, sobbing out weak and quiet pleas, eyes squeezed shut. But ah he held your ears firmly, not tight; simply to keep your head in place, low growl leaving as he moved to bite lower down your shoulder.
It hurt; another tear rolled down, which he noticed, licking it clean off when he pulled back.
Never did you see Tighnari in such a state, he was.. twitching, so were his ears, the tail occasionally shifting to hit the ground. It wasn't wagging in this sense, the movement sharp yet slow, inconsistent. Like he was losing it. "Le-let me go.." another quiet protest, but even if you tried to shift away, his grip was too strong. And it wasn't like you could get him to listen either, eyes narrowing as his ears moved back, with such a stance you stood no chance, hand leaving your ears alone as he gripped the front of your clothing, practically tearing it off.
It was so fast, so primal, you whimpered again, continuous hiccups leaving. Your legs kicked at the ground, feet digging into it to try and press away. But maybe all you did was tire yourself in the process, eyes intently watching every movement you made.
Temporarily he let your wrists go to use his hands, tugging at any bottom layers you could've worn. Despite trying to move away, he only tugged you back to himself. "Tighnari p-please stop I won't- I won't tell anyone j-jUst stop-"
It was pathetic, the way he chuckled at the offer filling you with even more dread. "Don't worry bunny, you won't have much chance to do it anyway."
That was it. This meant he'd eat you- he'd- he'd rip you apart. You wanted to scream if not for the paralysing sense of fear, fingers sharply grabbing your thigh as he instead settled between them. Before you could form any further protest, his hand slammed near your head. As much as your hands tried to push him, the ranger took them and pinned them back above your head, the vine that grew nearby wrapping around your wrists.
Such misuse of his vision made you boil inside, but you didn't have too much time to think about that; now, that your wrists were immobile, he could lift your thigh further, leaning to it shamelessly to suddenly bite it.
He didn't bite to blood of course, Tighnari did indeed want to rip you apart. But he was barely, just hardly preventing himself from that, instead reducing it to bites. Which still hurt, your leg jumping at the sudden impact. It ached.
Your eyes teared up further when he licked the wound, kissing down your thigh more before biting again. He was very aware it would bruise, so he leaned to the second thigh, low, lips pressing into the flesh as you felt Tighnari's canines against your skin. It seemed he was making a hickey this time, uncontrolled hiccups and cries leaving when he bit it again.
You truly didn't want to say a thing anymore; even if you saw how his eyes watched you intently when he dipped down further, to your heat.
Tighnari had to have you understand; all of this was your fault. You were smelling so nice, technically he couldn't really eat you the way he wanted to, but that would suffice.
There was no buildup, tongue pressing into your clit.
His hand squeezed your thigh to keep it open, the other hand gripping your waist tightly. You tried to kick at him again, but with how hard he gripped you, any move resulted in extra pressure being applied. It forced you to stay put and take it, his tongue rubbing against your sensitive spot before his lips pressed into it more, giving it a light suck. Tighnari was testing the waters, eyes still tearing into your soul, the look absolutely feral, pupils thinned out like a cats. Ironic truly, and so you avoided his gaze, tipping your head to the side with a whimper.
You tried not to blame yourself for it feeling nice, any and all sounds held in until he decided enough was enough, movement of his tongue faster.
And suddenly it was overwhelming, breathing shaky and ragged as you cried, hips trying to move. Thankfully his hand was there to keep you from shifting in any way, fingers digging into the softness of your flesh as a warning. But you didn't control it. He was overstimulating you and he knew that, eyes narrowed. Maybe he was really trying to make it worse for you, alternating between all kinds of movement. Sucking, rubbing, moving his tongue in circles, it was all harsh, fast. Each time his lips pressed against your clit you felt you might pass out, the pressure with which he stimulated you was too much for a rabbit like you. You didn't want to come, you didn't even want it to feel good.
In fact, you'd rather be in pain the entire time than to feel your core tightening around nothing, shaking your head with a sob. It was stupid, to believe he'd stop; recognising the signs he just kept further, the occasional feeling of his sharp canines keeping you in a constant state of fear. After that the tension just exploded, warmth rushing through your body as you shook and twitched, the orgasm so fast you couldn't cry out. What you did was whine, eyes wide as you stared up into the sky.
Maybe killing you wasn't all that he'd do. Maybe he'd violate you first- maybe that was fate worse than death for you.
Tighnari didn't seem to mind the internal monologue you seemed to be having, soft hum following as he bit his glove, sliding his hand out of it before his fingers pressed to your heat.
It felt too right; how he enjoyed your struggle and tears. And he technically didn't that much to cause you pain in the first place, digits easily sliding into your slick heat. "N-nO-"
"Oh quiet, don't forget your place now, okay?"
His hand slid off your thigh, instead gripping the front of your cheeks. Simply making you see the ranger properly, a truly sickly expression on his face. Tighnari forced you to stare him in the eyes as his fingers pushed inside you, up to the knuckle, the sensitiveness from before making your hips jump uselessly. "stop being defiant and maybe you'll survive."
He wouldn't actually kill you. But threatening you and watching you cry; shake from fear- God it made him feel more aroused than he'd ever admit. Tighnari didn't give you time to adjust, he was too impatient; instead he moved his fingers a little, back and forth, testing the waters, before he thrusted them properly, the movement sudden and fast. And he wasn't slowing down, even when sobbed out a plea.
"Get used to that, bunny." The fennec murmured, head tipping to the side a little. "hear it? It's all you. That's what you're supposed to be; prey. Then behave like it."
You in fact had the misfortune to have sensitive ears, just like Tighnari, the wet noise each time his fingers moved into you wasn't something you could tune out. It felt wrong at first, too much. "H-hn-nno- don't- hHa.." but that quickly turned into pleasure, seeing your terrified face when you felt the feeling change? It engraved in his mind. But he didn't want to wait any longer, fingers pulling out of you as fast as they entered.
Before you knew it you heard him undo his pants, taking out his already hard length. His hand grabbed your thigh again to lift it on his shoulder, the tip moving over your entrance once or twice before he thrust himself inside. The intrusion was met with you tightening, trying to get him out.
It only earned a groan of pleasure from Tighnari, and he rather quickly allowed himself to bottom out, free hand grabbing your ears again. An alternative to hair grabbing, even if he technically could still do that one. "m-nnha-" you hated the sounds of his pleasure, face buried in your neck to find a new spot to bite. He didn't say anything after, mouth and teeth pushed into the skin as he slowly began to move.
You felt full; it was confusing really. How deep he was; each move making you feel split open like an item. Speechless was a way to describe you in the moment, eyes unsure whether they should widen or shut tightly, body shaking against him.
It hurt; but he was sure you could grow used to that; after all it wouldn't be the last time you'd end up this way, another grunt leaving as he thrust his hips particularly hard.
Tighnari cared more about satisfying his own feral side, as much as he still didn't want to keep you in pain for.. too long. He allowed himself to pick up the pace even when you whined that it hurt, movement overwhelming you.
He was settled in your neck, so he finally let your poor ears go, instead using that hand to hold your hip tightly. His movement picked up in peace as he pushed into you faster, as if uncontrollably, biting you again to hold your body in place. "H-hnh.. y-you're sso ti-Tight-"
The fennec thrust quick, fast, each time his skin hit yours you cringed at the sound. And you cringed when the movement started to fade into pleasure rather than pain; that's when you started to try and occupy yourself with your thoughts. But it was useless, the pleasurable feeling of him rawing you clouding your brain.
It didn't make the current situation better of course, every single piece of you shaking and shivering with fear. "Ss-such a cute little bunny, I-i'm- hHha ffuck-" he whimpered, biting into your neck again. He didn't curse often, ears twitching at any sound. Maybe you silently hoped someone would come by and rescue you, but it quickly proved to be impossible. He wasn't letting you go in any way. Grip as tight as before, and the force of his thrusts increased. You felt it was hard to breathe, the particularly harsh movement making your stomach tight again. The ranger growled into your neck.
You felt sickened at how he made this seem like your fault.
"G-gonna- come if you keep- hhAa.. squeezing 'm like thhat-"
You shook your head. A part of you hoped you couldn't really get pregnant with a fox, but even if that wasn't the case, the urge to breed you and creampie you over and over was too big to handle. The moment you came suddenly had him pushing into you deeply, breathing ragged as his cock twitched inside of you. Tighnari ended up coming, pulling back from your neck to watch your ruined form. Hair out of place, ears laid apart, your cheeks glistening from tears in the moonlight. You had no tears left to cry, hiccuping.
You hoped that was over, he pulled out, and took a moment to breathe. Didn't seem like he'd be conversing with you, and as he focused on his bag to look for something, you lightly shook your hands out of the vine. As much as you couldn't feel your legs, you slowly turned on your stomach, grabbing the grass in front of you to tug away.
Barely a metre in you were losing hope. Your body felt like it couldn't support you anymore, even your head wasn't helping you figure out where you're going. You suppressed your sobs in fake hope that there was a way out, maybe if you screamed loud enough some travelling folks could help you, maybe-
A hand landed on your ankle and squeezed it in a gentle manner and your heart began to pound as if it was not your own, your ears blocked all sounds in favour of your heartbeat and all the energy you had evaporated from your body. You wondered if your heart would drop out of your chest. The way his hands slithered further up with a second hand accompanying him made you let out panicked, short breaths. Every movement reminded you that you were never in charge of how this would end.
“It was a sad show to watch, really.“ So the predator toyed with his food some more, “I was hoping for another chase but you're too fucked dumb to defy me anymore.“
A rough pull was what you were met with, the mixed grounding beneath you scraping your naked skin in that same moment, scratching you. It earned a shriek; the wound was not deep, yet enough to make you faintly aware of the blood dripping down the underside of your arm.
The claw marks left in the dirt would fade away as would you. The rain would wash it away and remove any evidence of your struggle, your new mate would keep you hidden.
Unreliable summary: Your date doesn’t show up after hours of waiting; in frustration you drive over to Pantalone’s house, knowing he’ll always comfort you. / You get into a car accident due to a deer in the headlights—deer, dear? Does it matter?
Warnings: Yandere, car crash, implicated kidnapping, Pantalone is rich, descriptions of dead/mangled body(ies), DEAD DOVE DON'T EAT
Note: This is a rewrite of THIS fic from my old blog.
"Hey, it’s me. Your phone has been going to voicemail for a while—you’re probably asleep, but I'm almost at your house. I know, I know, I shouldn't have come to your home in the middle of the night, but once again; you were right."
You press your lips together during the silence that follows. The road ahead is dimly lit by lanterns that do a poor job of showing the way. Only your solitary headlights indicate what's ahead of you.
Disappointment has yet to leave your system as you recall the events from a few hours before."It’s annoying. I wish I could see through people like you do."
Earlier in the evening, you'd been getting ready for a date with a guy who never showed. Unfortunately for you, these occurrences have become normal. The worst part is that hope remains within you. No matter how often it happens, you still believe the next would be better.
You wonder why those assholes bother to chat when they never plan to show.
A bitter sigh escapes your lips. You’re rambling again… how embarrassing.
For a moment, you hope Pantalone will leave his voicemails unread. Perhaps that’d save you face when you’d wake him up in the middle of the night—but you know better. Pantalone does not let anything go unnoticed. Sooner than later, he’d pick up his phone to hear your aimless talking and waste of time.
“Anyhow, I’m almost there. Since you gave me the keys to the gate; I’ll be entering your property. Sorry, not sorry.”
There is a short silence before you end the voicemail.
Although you know you shouldn’t drive and call, the road to Pantalone’s home was—and will always be—abandoned. Not once have you seen traffic coming in or out. Keeping one eye open will be enough.
As you continue forward, the gates surrounding his estate come into sight, and no matter how often you see it, you continue to be in awe at how much he owns.
You’re not sure what his job exactly concludes, Pantalone is a private person, but you know he organises parties for nobles in Snezhnaya. Only the top percentage of people are invited—vision wielders with high ranks, the top businessmen, and daughters born into money pleading for his attention; they all flock for an invitation so they can have the possibility to fall in his graces.
By now, you’ve been able to guess he works as a finance minister for Snezhnaya. If not, something similar will be the answer.
Yet, despite his charming personality and social life, Pantalone continues to appreciate the quiet over the chaos of Snezhnaya’s capital.
At the end of each week, he’d return home to his mansion for the weekend.
You can't blame him.
With one last turn, you arrive at the entrance to the large gate. Usually, it’s closed. However, tonight you find them wide open.
You can’t find a reason why they should be.
The car slows down as you hesitate to intrude into his property.
In the distance, a gentle light is cast inside his mansion.
Is he still awake?
With uncertainty, you let your car roll past the gates, speeding up in curiosity. Wanting to be secluded, Pantalone has surrounded himself by nature to hide. You have to drive through the dense greenery before you reach the lights in the distance.
Your frown turns into a smile when suddenly the upbeat tune of your ringtone echoes through the car.
“Pantalone!” You pick up, holding your phone to your mouth. Your voice is upbeat—you didn’t expect him to call back so soon. You’re surprised he doesn’t comment on its loudness.
“Dearest, would you be so kind as to tell me where you are right now?”
You raise an eyebrow before a chuckle escapes your lips. “Did you or did you not listen to the voicemail?” you ask.
Only a mere few minutes have passed since you ended the one-sided call. If he had listened to it, he would’ve known that you were on the way—already approaching his home.
Background sounds on his end of the call muffle his reply. For just a second, you take your eyes off the road to turn up the volume.
“Are you busy? I hear lots of people.”
You glance at the road as you keep one hand on the wheel. Then, you turn back to your phone, trying to adjust the volume again.
“Pantalone? I can’t hear—”
A loud crash makes you drop the phone before you finish your sentence. In a panic, you release the gas pedal; trying to break instead, resulting in the car drifting as it loses control. Instinctively, both your hands reach for the steering wheel. With all your power, you try to go against the current your car is trapped in—hoping to stabilise it, but failing as you drive over a hobble. Instantly, a thud is created, and something slams against your window, breaking it and shattering shards of glass across the front seats.
Your arms fly up in front of your face, losing your grip on the wheel as you brace yourself. In seconds, you fly forward as another crash happens; and this time your car comes to a full stop. Instantly, the airbags register, pushing your body back into the chair with immense force.
Your ears buzz as you struggle to breathe, feeling like the wind has been pushed out of your lungs. A million thoughts enter your mind and at the same time, you can’t register any of them. Time passes too fast, yet too slow. You try to grasp what happened, watching darkness swallow you whole when the headlights flicker one last time before turning off.
ㅤ
It’s dark, it’s silent.
Faintly, somewhere distant, you hear the motor continuing to hum.
The sound becomes louder and louder until you hear a familiar voice.
“Y/n—?!”
Pantalone?
You hear Pantalone’s voice through your phone. A dim white light tells you it must still be in the car. With only the artificial- and moonlight to guide you, you try to recall your surroundings. Did your phone get thrown back to the back or front during your crash?
As the sound of voices continues to increase, they become deafening. With a throbbing head, you push the deflating airbag out of your way, clicking the seat belt loose and climbing out of your seat with shaky legs.
You take steps forward.
One…
then two…
—you think you stop after that.
Cold air falls into your face, embracing you like death’s hands tickling your face as he debates whether or not to take you with him to the afterlife. Behind you, the front door of the car falls shut. After the slam, the blinkers go off; beeping as one of the orange lights flashes on and off.
You take a deep breath.
Your entire body pulses as your body sways. You have to put your hand on the car to keep yourself upright. Slowly, your other hand reaches for your head. Aside from the confusion, you don’t feel any pain. You wonder if it’s the adrenaline.
Right.
What did you hit again?
A deer?
You block out the distant voices as you make your way around the car. By keeping one of your hands against the metal surface, you circle it without losing your balance.
Without the headlights shining the path ahead of you, it’s hard to see what might be on the street. But, even without lights, no one can miss the mangled silhouette crawling forward. Its legs are bent; one loose to a point where you fear it’d fully snap off if it continues to drag its limbs across the cement.
Suddenly, its head turns up and it cries out like a human. The sound brings chills to your bones and the hollow feeling it leaves behind makes a sob escape your lips. A small button nose lifts into the air as it looks at the moon shining above the gates.
You are paralysed.
A button nose?
The figure crawls again, using its twisted arms to move forward and dragging what remains left behind onto the concrete floor.
You blink through your tears. The world continues to spin and you eventually force your eyes closed. The voices in the background are becoming increasingly louder, making your head scream as it becomes too much. Almost instantly, your body starts to feel warm as pain floods over your being.
The silhouette on the floor is still there when you open your eyes.
Long hair is matted with blood and dirt. Eyes threaten to cave in as the circles under its eyes claw holes in its skin. Sharp cheekbones peek out, cutting through the air as it drags its nails through the rubble, inching forward slowly but surely; much like a poor animal.
You now realise it’s crawling away from the house.
Right…
Pantalone.
You turn around back to the car. With the adrenaline leaving your body quickly, you need to tell him to call for an ambulance.
Before you can do as much as turn, a light is cast upon you. At that moment when you see her clearly, the girl screams in agony—not in pain but out of despair.
Her clothes are ripped, and blood pools up around the middle of her body and she seems skinny, underweight even. Likely, she was already in a bad state before the crash; underweight and starving at the least. Her figure is already dishevelled and now deformed because of you.
Hysterically, she claws forward, further gashing her skin and leaving more blood in her trail.
The thick long stripe of blood going from her body to the end of the car; down under your feet.
Did you hit…?
…No…
“Y/n.” Pantalone steps between you and the girl. With ease, he shields the sight from your eyes. His eyes inspect your body,
Much as if you were his priority.
“Can you move?” he asks.
His figure is blurry yet his face is so perfect… much unlike the girl. Your limbs feel weak as the image is etched into your mind like an ugly scar. Every time you close your eyes, you see her. Even as the people surrounding you reach over to Pantalone to help, the cries only double and combust into a choir of anguish.
Pantalone says something to you, but you can no longer process what he’s saying.
He seems calm…
You think of how easy it’d be to fall in his arms and believe everything to be a dream. Surely, it must be—!
The back of his hand comes up to caress your cheek, dragging a line of thick blood from your forehead to your chin and staining his gloves
His eyes open, and the intense colours of his irises flood sense into your brain. With his hand keeping your head steady, he says, “you’re alright, my dear.”
Then, he repeats it.
You’re alright.
Pantalone wouldn’t lie to you. He hadn’t lied in the past, and neither will he now. You choose to believe him.
His hands hold your face. He brings you closer until his lips fall next to your ear.
You diminish your thoughts as you let his voice carry over.
You got into a car crash because you hit a deer. You lost control of your wheel, ran into a tree, and as a result of the impact you got a concussion—your mind is scrambled, trauma making your memory warped and untrue.
He repeats it, whispering the words like a gentle song as his arms turn you around. One hand creeps up to your neck, while the other pushes the small of your waist forward.
You got into a car crash because you hit a deer. You lost control of your wheel, ran into a tree, and as a result of the impact you got a concussion—your mind is scrambled, trauma making your memory warped and untrue.
Lights shimmer onto the roads. For a moment, you’d believe they’re fireflies. Voices surround you, either barking orders or following them with timid voices. Pantalone’s presence stands out among the others. His warmth makes you continue forward. You want to continue forward with him.
He repeats the words.
You got into a car crash because you hit a dear. You lost control of your wheel, ran into a tree, and as a result of the impact you got a concussion—your mind is scrambled, trauma making your memory warped and untrue.
The next time you open your eyes, you’re in Pantalone’s room.
His silken sheets are a beautiful dark violet. They feel soft against your skin. When you place your head against the pillow, you smell his natural scent mixed with a soft lavender. It's different from the perfume he wears daily—more subtle and inviting—but you find that it suits him. You wonder if the lavender is a remnant of the many bath scents he uses.
You savour the short moment of your headache disappearing. The fresh and calm scent makes you want to turn around in his bed for longer. Your fingers dig into the mattress, enjoying the remaining warmth, and then you close your eyes.
You think of last night.
You clearly remember the date date-gone-wrong; and the crash too, but you fail to recall how you got to Pantalone’s house. Did you pass out?
You know you shouldn’t have called without driving, and you know you shouldn’t have assumed his roads would be abandoned as always,
But…
What got in your way…?
As you shovel through your memories, Pantalone enters the room unannounced. His expression shifts from a frown to something you’d describe as relief.
He apologises for entering before knocking.
“It’s alright. I’m the one who should say sorry. I…”
Your headache returns as you try to remember what happened.
“I can remember crashing my car but everything after is fuzzy, like… a scattered memory or dream…?”
You stop, taking a moment to find your following words.
“It’s like my brain stopped working.”
Pantalone sits next to you on the edge of the bed and places his hand near yours. His fingers snake forward, reaching to intertwine yours in his. “The doctors tell me you suffer from a concussion. I believe it’d be best for you to remain in my care until you’ve recovered.”
“I’ve already made a big enough mess. I wouldn’t want to bother you more.”
You place your hands down on the blanket that covers your legs. Your fingers fiddle with the fabric as a way to distract yourself. Only now, you notice that you’re dressed in an oversized pyjama, which you assume is Pantalone’s. You are left to wonder when and how you got changed.
Pantalone tilts his head, eying you down from over his glasses. You know that look, he’s sent it many times before. Never does it fail at making you feel small.
He brushes his thumb over your knuckles and you realise he has shed his gloves. It’s a rare sight and you take comfort in his natural warmth when he squeezes gently.
“You can depend on me, dear. I’ve informed my assistant that I’ll be home this week. You only need to recover; let me figure out the rest.”
You sigh, letting out a mix of disappointment and frustration pointed towards yourself.
“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have called while driving, but—“ You groan in frustration. A fragment of yesterday flashes through your mind. “It just… ran in front of my car. I don’t know what animal would do that.”
You recall the first impact into the second. The pain in your body is a reminder of what it felt to take one hit after another.
When you lift your head from your hands—you gaze at Pantalone. The hand that had held you is now under his chin. He appears to be lost in thought, slightly frowning with lips pursed as a habit of focus.
“’lone?”
His frown turns into a soft smile at the sound of your voice and he puts his hand on your knee. “Sorry, dear. Just thinking.” He continues, “let me fix your problems. In the meantime, rest. I shall be here if you need anything.”
You watch him stand up from the side of the bed, patting your knee affectionately before disappearing into the corridor.
As much as his presence calms you, you sense a feeling of dread.
You’re missing something.
You try to summarise last night’s events one last time.
It starts with the date. An hour before you left for the restaurant, he had messaged you; telling you he was excited and ready to see you. Then, when he fails to show up, you call him, but end up with an ‘unknown number’ response. He had blocked you.
After this, you drive home, only to turn around as you arrive home and decide to head to Pantalone’s instead. You try to call him, feeling guilty for showing up unannounced in the middle of the night, but he doesn’t pick up and you leave a voicemail instead.
You pass his open gates—did you open them?—and your cell phone goes off as Pantalone calls you within mere minutes of the voicemail being sent.
When you can’t hear him—why couldn’t you hear him?—you turn up your volume.
You crash… but you run into something first.
What did you run into?
Something ran from the woods into the pathway.
You remember vaguely getting out of the car, but you’re not certain…
What comes next…?
No matter how much you try to shuffle the events; certain things remain a mystery. Gaps are left unfilled as you toss and turn under the soft sheets. On the feathered pillow, you lay your bandaged head in defeat.
You try to push the questions out of your head, letting the lingering scent of Pantalone consume your mind. When you close your eyes, you force the cries of last night out of your mind. A vague image of a mangled body comes up. You try to remember Pantalone instead.
His reassuring words, his gentle touches. His generosity and never-ending patience with you; even in this situation. You think of how calm he is and how restless you are.
Sooner than later,
It’s not enough.
You sit up and toss the covers from your body.
The cruel cold embraces you. A chill crawls up from your feet to your neck. You remember it similarly last night.
If you could, you’d stay in his bed forever. Alas, your mind plagues you and even he could not bring comfort in your darkest hours.
The room has been darkened, yet, stipes of stubborn sunlight continue to escape the cracks of the thick curtains. The time is evident to you even before you pull open one side. In the late morning sunlight, all of Pantalone’s property is visible.
Unlike last time, you now see his beautiful garden. At the window, you can see the gardener tending to the plants available in Snezhnaya below you. You see the few servants walk around at the front of his mansion. Then, your eyes follow the gravel path that’s framed by trees.
Your car is gone,
But the long trail of blood on the street remains.
To your surprise, it drags into two directions, as if there were two separate entities. One seems to have combusted into a pool at a tree, while the other continues to drag towards the gate for a few meters.
The image of a mangled woman pops up in your head. You remember her dirty and worn-out clothes, her leg that had been twisted at an inhumane angle, her bones that stuck out from beneath her skin.
“Y/n.”
You let the curtain fall from your grasp and you turn around.
Another flash pops up in your mind. You remember the stranger that walked up to you with the flashlight, the other people who Pantalone yelled at, the way the mangled woman started begging for her life when one of the men crushed her skull with his boot.
Two hands place themselves sturdy on your shoulders. You jolt backwards, but Pantalone’s hands keep you close.
His expression is peaceful. Gentle. Calm.
So many things you’re not.
He calls out to you again, dragging one of his gloved fingers like a familiar habit over your cheek. So so familiar.
His eyes remain closed and he users you back to his bed, telling you that you’re still unwell and that you need rest.
You ask him about the mangled woman.
He frowns.
“Dear, your brain is shaken from the crash. When I, alone, came to your car—you were passed out. I had to carry you back to the house.”
You ask him about the trail of blood and your missing car.
“I first called a mechanic to drag your car away, then I called a friend who works as a vet to carry the deer away.”
Pantalone holds your head in both of his hands. His thumbs brush over your cheekbones, and he brings you closer to place his lips against your forehead; leaving chaos in its wake.
“The doctors told me your head suffered from injury after the impact. I feared I might’ve underestimated it. Your mind is already filling these gaps of your mind with horrid ideas. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you.”
He looks solemnly down at you.
“That, my dear, is why you should stay here. I can take care of you until you’ve recovered. I’ll call a private doctor for a check-up. He should be able to tell you if it’s advised to go home or stay under someone else’s care.”
You nod your head.
It’s slow and unsure, but you show your trust in Pantalone.
You’ve been friends for so long… He wouldn’t lie to you.
You trust him.
After all…
A ludicrous laugh escapes your lips at the notion.
ㅤ
“—as if a woman would be running at your property. It’s nonsensical, right?”
UMMM, HI????? SORRY I JUST SUDDENLY DISAPPEARED???? ALSO Left -> Right reading hehe anyways
I got busy the past few months, so I wasn't able to have some time to post any fics for that time. However, I am still working on the 2nd part of "This is not love, Scaramouche". Just writing on it whenever I have the free time or if I wanna procrastinate on much more important stuff lmao
BUT! For this time, I drew this short comic from a scene of my other fic, "Freshly Squeezed Sunsettia Juice". And if you still remember that one, I took some creative liberties on changing the scene from that fic into something more scary??? uncomfortable???
Since it's been a while since I've really focused on writing and had some more time to ruminate over my version of yandere scara/wandere that I'm able to flesh him out better that fits what I know of him.
I yapped too much now. So, I hope you enjoy this comic :DDD
Warning: Murder (not you or him), Vampire Scaramouche, angst(?), yandere, attempted suicide (you), suicidal thoughts (you), power imbalance, locked up against your will, married against your will, many forcing stuff (nothing explicit), biting/drinking blood/sinking for fangs, Scara can read your thoughts, teleport, really strong. And an unnamed character.
This was so long for some reason, uhh.
Four years ago. You never found the reason and purpose of living. You were on the edge of a cliff, about to jump off and die.
Until someone held you so tightly... "My love..." A voice calls out, who?
"I'm not-" and you passed out.
You wake up groggily in a royal-ish and gothic like designed room, each and every corner lavishly designed and a portrait of a woman who looks like you lies there in the middle, with a man.
Then the said man appeared in your face.
"You're not even her..." He grumbles, "I want you to marry me." He proposes.
You were taken aback, who wouldn't be? A man abducts and suddenly proposes to marry you.
"..What—" he immediately interrupts you, "I am not giving you a choice." He states
...and that's how your life ended, where you found out that the man who abducted you was named Scaramouche. And he's not really a man per se, more of a vampire honestly.
And that just terrified you. Because what? Scaramouche is basically that one vampire your town had angered because they ended up murdering his wife!
Not only that, why would anyone save you at all? When you have done nothing for the town and the town literally wants you gone... You're left with no choice honestly.
You don't even know why it hurts you, but, you found out that the only reason he wanted to marry you was because you looked similar to his late lover... It shouldn't really hurt you.
So you're just outside, just in his garden, the moonlight hovering above you. You sighed...
Your life really ended. You can't even see the sun anymore...
The meals he ate that he demanded you to prepare for him like a wife should — terrified you...
He doesn't even love you...
And you're locked up in the castle because of his paranoia.
Sometimes you wished you could just run away.. but where? Where would you go? You have nowhere to go.
You can't really go anywhere...
You just wish you could die.
You shut your eyes and deeply inhaled.. and exhaled. Then you open your eyes only to see the one who ended your life — Scaramouche.
He looked upset.. I mean, he always looked upset, his eyebrows are always furrowed, his lips are always curved into a frown, his dead indigo eyes are always dead... And when he's more mad than ever? He'd have an eerie forced smile on his face... Or a death glare.. he's really just unpredictable, it scares you. Everything about him scares you.
"Why are you outside? I've been looking for you." He spoke, and you averted your gaze and sat up. "I was just—"
"Can you stop it?" He snapped, you're confused as your eyebrows furrowed and you look at him. "What?"
"You are aware I can hear your thoughts no? I could hear from a mile away how much you want to die.. to get away from me. It irritates me. Stop it." He demands, you avert your gaze, your lips pressing into a firm line.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He's agitated, why are you so meek?
When he wants to see his first late lover unto you, he can't, he just sees you, and it's making him annoyed that his dead heart is starting to beat because of you, it irritates him.
Every little thing you do. Why can't you just do it for the sake of doing it? Why are you doing it for him? When he does see you do something for yourself — it's even worse! It's either running away or dying. He hates it. Stop.
He couldn't help himself but hold your arms firmly, at least firmly to his standard, but bruising to you. He stares you down as you look at him, why? Why are you so different from her?
His mouth slipped that question and you're just confused even more.
The more you keep on thinking of dying, the more he imagines you dead, the more he gets scared. He doesn't want to admit it, but he fell for how you are, for how different you are, from just yourself...
Maybe fell is an understatement... He's obsessed with it.
He wants to see more of you. He wants to see you act like him... He wants you to be an actual wife of his.. someone he can live his undying life with... Someone that isn't his dead lover. He can never replace his dead lover, but he definitely can be with you.
The fact that despite all these thoughts of dying and things, you stayed with him. You didn't run when he gave you so many opportunities to, you didn't get away from him.. you practically signed up for this didn't you?
You practically wanted him to never ever want you to die and to be gone ever again...
So stop it.
Stop trying to die.
Stop.
He can't let you die. No.
His grip is still firm on your shoulders as he gets on his knees — to your level — then places his face to your neck, nuzzling it (making you shiver).
Then opening his mouth, and bite.
He just bit your neck, and your face paled as the pain hit you. As you feel his fangs sink into your neck.
You're a weak mortal. You also have a weak mindset. So.. even though it takes time, he'll definitely turn you into a vampire so you can stay with him forever.
He never wants to tell you at all, but.. he's actually done this already when he started falling for you two years ago in your four year relationship.
Whenever you slumber in the chamber he gave you, so vulnerably sleeping, your neck to your shoulders exposed for him to feed on? He just can't keep his fangs out of it. You're practically begging to be with him forever with that.
So he'll do as you told him to. He'll make you a vampire so you could be with him. You asked for it, no?
Well either way, you never really had a choice.
You begged, you begged him to stop, you tangled your fingers in his indigo locks, trying to push him away, but he won't budge.
He just continued for a solid minute and stopped, some blood dripping off his lips. As he looked at you and then the bite mark, then to you.
And with his strength, he carried you and teleported to your chambers and threw you on the soft mattress.
Then laying on top of you as he caresses your face softly, his eyes focused as he murmured things that you couldn't make out (it was a love confession).
You opened your mouth to ask, but he quickly interrupted you, he always interrupted you whenever you spoke, it honestly made you feel disrespected, but he doesn't really care about that in the moment.
"You asked for it." That's all he said before he forces you to tilt your head as he sinks his fangs into the same bite mark on your neck, and proceeds to do the painful procedure of turning a human into a vampire...
You wouldn't really be at the same level as him because you were turned into a vampire, but he liked it that way.. because that meant he'd still be superior to you and have some kind of power and control over you.
Like he said... You asked for it the moment you decided to not leave when you had a chance. And you never really had a choice.
I was inspired to do this because of a certain friend of mine (ahem ahem @tnsophiaonly) having suicidal thoughts and having a fixation to vampires (specifically Scaramouche), and yandere ig.
TO PEOPLE HAVING SUICIDAL THOUGHTS OR HAS ATTEMPTED IT, PLEASE SEEK HELP, YOU ARE NOT ALONE!
And @tnsophiaonly YOU GOT INTO THAT INCIDENT BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO DIE FROM IT??? I am so tying you up after you get out of the hospital
POV: You just wanted to celebrate your engagement party with your friends and family in the 1600s, but as soon as you left the scene for a quick moment, your childhood friend, Scaramouche, appeared with a lot of complaints.
⚠️ WARNINGS:
— There will be a lot of usage and mentions of toxic religion / culture.
— This is a slightly Yandere and corrupted NSFW Oneshot
— There will be mentions of teenagers having sex
— 1600s / European Royalty AU
— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns
The party was going perfectly well as you planned it to be. Even without your presence at the main hall in a party that was supposed to be about you, you could hear the hundreds of voices and noises of silvers clicking. You thought that maybe making this party huge would distract your mind off from the most recent events of your life, and it did before your future husband ruined it for you and made you remind that you were just a loser in his game.
Of course it was him, it had to be him. Why did you even believe that he’d ever let you have that much of fun in a party? Now, you definitely did not want to party anymore, and luckily, you also couldn’t. Tears are a nightmare for eyes with mascara all around its eyelashes, the ink is strong. You looked a homeless woman as you crippled through each stair step in search of your room, stepping in the ends of your dress, defeated by the public humiliation he did to you. Why did he have keep making so many remarks about your excited manners towards the visitors, how you referred to him, and how much food you wanted to put in your plate? It made you wonder why did you ever accept marrying him the entire walk.
The story behind your marriage is simple. Your reputation in the city was bad, not enough to make your family miserable, but enough to make all the marriage suitors of your age refuse to take your hand in marriage. You were a girl who liked to have fun and take risks, not sit and chat for hours while drinking tasteless cups of tea in a time where all men wanted the complete opposite in their wives. You also had a very curious case in the past. You and your childhood best friend called Kunikuzushi, or Scaramouche just for you, had promised and announced a marriage that would take place as soon as both of you got inserted into society, but unfortunately, his school offered him a scholarship in France before you two could be inserted, and since you obviously couldn’t come with him, he was forced to choose between success or you. He ended up picking France, which was not a bad decision, but watching his departure was truly painful to your poor heart who had deeply fallen in love with him.
Because of this tragic love story that turned out to be a joke and your questionable personality, everyone lost interest in you and your family, which made you an unmarried woman for two years. In short, being unmarried at such age was a disaster. The only man that had proposed to you was the same one who shamed you in front of your whole family and all those hypocrite visitors. He was the double of your age, ugly, and had really strict standards for his future wife after the loss of his previous wife. After a few test dates with him, you realized that you really did not want to marry him and even repulsed the idea, not because of your love towards Scaramouche, but because he wasn’t ok in the head. He was weird to a point where he confessed he just wanted to make you his wife because he thought you looked very fertile and that you’d be an incredible mother for boys, since you ‘acted like one’, which would not be a bad thing if his eyes never seemed to linger in your crotch for too long and if he kept his hands to himself.
You did not want to spend the rest of your life stocked to such weird man at all. You didn’t feel anything for him and even felt sick in his presence, but your reputation was in such a terrible state that your parents pressured you with the worst and most disturbing threats ever to accept his offer during a huge argument about it.
You’ve always wished to marry a young man of your age, especially Scaramouche, but you had no right or power of choice in that situation. With growing tears in the back of your eyes, you accepted his act of putting a golden ring in your finger. The day still haunted your dreams and thoughts, making you want to cry every single day of your meaningless life just like today.
Luckily, all you had to do that after climbing those long, exhausting stairs was enter the first room at the right. As soon as you touched the golden, cold doorknob of it, you felt your body melt and your tears finally coming out of your eyes with freedom. You held them for so long, you just wanted to throw yourself at the bed and cry until you fell asleep. Still, as desperate as you were, you closed the door very gently, afraid of possibly calling attention.
You stepped out of your heels and finally ran to the bed you slept through your entire childhood. Due to the contact your face made with the sheets, you finally felt comfort to open your mouth and let all your whimpers out. Everything that led to your situation was hitting you again. Your affair with Scaramouche, his departure, the argument with your parents, the betrayal of society to you, the first appearance of that hag you were marrying, his proposal, and today. It all made you so anxious again that you really began to try shutting your mouth again multiple times and swallow all that voice down your throat again, but it only seemed to worsen.
“Y/N?” You suddenly heard a voice inside the room, slightly muffled due to your head being drowned at the wet sheets.
Oh no, someone spotted you.
The fear of it being your husband, an unreliable gossiper or your reputation worsening made you instantly jump up from that position, despite the weird feeling of familiarity on that voice.
“I-I’m sorry, I’ll come down in a few—!” You tried making yourself look normal, but as soon as your eyes gazed upon the person’s shiny purple hair and eyes, you stopped acting.
It was the complete opposite of what your pessimism made you believe it could be, it was a miracle, it was Kunikuzushi. Although his face seemed to be very stressed and he entered the room without knocking, it did not make his appearance any less pleasant to you.
“Scara…” You called his nickname after those 2 years without speaking of it.
Your family made very clear to you that if you ever spoke of the man again to them or your husband, it would lead to your disownment, but calling his name out so passionately like that made all those threats feel useless to you. The first thing you did after realizing that it was really him, was begin walking to him. It was instinctual, so instinctual that your knees stopped trembling just for you to reach him and more tears started coming down. He looked so beautiful and mature… it made you feel even more bad about yourself. You wasted such a handsome man to one that probably has never even tried to look pretty to a lady.
“For how long have you…” You tried interacting, but as you soon as your hand managed to touch him, you broke down once again, this time in his embrace.
You felt so safe around Scaramouche and so hungry for him that you genuinely allowed your legs to stop working, and as expected, he held you with a warm embrace around your entire torso. When he realized you still were as light as a feather, he leaned one hand up to the back of your head and started cuddling it, his face still stressed.
“It was him, wasn’t it?” He whispered with that familiar angry voice of his you wished to hear again, slightly gripping tighter in your head.
The truth is that you secretly sent an invitation letter to the party to him, even if you believed that he would not be able to come or simply wouldn’t come. It was a normal envelope like everyone else’s, but you hoped he’d interpret it as a cry for help.
“W-Wha… what do you mean..?” You whimpered, looking up to his face.
Now that he was so much taller than you, the difference of height was surprising to you.
“I was talking to him, to find out where you were and to just know who the fuck were you marrying, and not only he said he didn’t know with the most careless tone I could hear, but he felt comfortable enough to confess a bunch of weird shit about his intentions with you and that he offended you in front of everyone in the dining table.” He told the story behind his arrival very angrily, but his voice was so mesmerizing to you that you barely paid attention to it. He still sounded like a twelve year-old boy before his departure, but now he sounded like an adult. “Did he really do that, Y/N?” He asked, pulling your chin to him to wake you up to reality, forcing you to go through all he said before again and stare at those addicting purple eyes.
Between all those whimpers and tears, you nodded weakly, making Scaramouche grit his teeth.
“And you’re really… marrying him?” You went quiet for some second in embarrassment after he made that question with the most disappointed tone you’ve ever heard from him yet.
But you had no choice rather than being truthful.
“Yes—”
“Why?” He asked instantly, some of his anger accidentally pouring out.
“I… had to… or I would be disowned and… and..!” You tried explaining, but the memories of the actual threat stopped you from venting too much.
Luckily, he understood your despair at that moment and embraced you again.
“I’m guessing this is all because of me, isn’t it?” He scoffed at himself, but you instantly nodded your head side to side, trying to tell him otherwise. “Oh, Y/N… I should’ve found a way to bring you to France with me…” He whispered in your ear and pulled you even closer to his body, truly seeming regretful of his decisions. “I thought I had forgotten about you over these two years, but here I am, raging over your marriage.” He vented, making your eyes finally open again, but in confusion.
“You’re… angry..?” You asked, leaning your chin up to him again.
“Way more than that, Y/N.” He said very directly, pushing you away from him gently, still holding on your shoulders as he precisely stared to the deepest parts of your eyes. “This has to stop.” He shook your shoulders, making you get even more confused and surprised at his sudden jealously. “I don’t care if it will ruin more of your little reputation, I can’t let you marry that prick.” He spouted more of his feelings, putting a hand back to reach the door behind him to bang it back to its place and spin the lock in knob, then going back to gripping on your shoulders tighter than before, making you slightly whimper at his firmness.
“W-What are you talking about, Scara..?” You asked, trying to believe he was not saying those things.
“Do you know why that man asked your hand in marriage, Y/N? I had a bit of hope that at least I lost you to a good man, but all he wants in you is your fertility and potential to be a mother.” He told you the details of it with a kind of disgust you had never seen on him, making you turn your face away from him in embarrassment of your decisions. “That’s fucking mental, Y/N, why the fuck are doing this?!” He shook your shoulders again, a little more aggressive as he tries to understand you the mentality behind your choices.
“And what else could I do, Scara?! If you know that it’s your fault that I got a bad reputation, why are you acting like this is unexpected?! I was unmarried for these whole two years, I had to accept this! You know how things work for women! If I don’t marry quickly, I’ll be forever stained with it like it’s written in my forehead! Do you know how much I had to fight and work to get this, huh?! Do you think I chose and love this?!” You vented it all out, screaming like you didn’t care about the possible consequences of it meanwhile Scaramouche looked at you in horror.
But you could see that you convinced him, now that he let you go and turned around, beginning to walk in circles in your room with his hands in his hips, thoughtful about you.
“I can’t let you do this, Y/N…” He whispered to himself as he nodded his head around multiple times and you stood weakly exactly where you’ve been this entire hug.
But after some circles, he started to slow down until he fully stopped in front of one of the room’s windows. He kept staring at the garden below the room through the glass, his back turned to you, but you could still feel the anxiety behind whatever he thought of.
His arms crossed firmly, his index finger tapping his arm, and at the same time he took a deep breath, like he was preparing for something.
“Marry me.” He stated, finally finding the courage to stare at you again.
You simply stared at him wordless in your shrunken position, completely vulnerable to his tall figure, although he was far from you. The room remained quiet because Scara needed a response to continue rambling about that brainstormed idea.
“I would’ve accepted losing you to a common man of our age, but not to an old hag with a simple wish to make an heir.” He commented as you thought of what to answer him.
“Scaramouche… are you nuts?! I already am engaged to him, all we need is the actual wedding! There’s nothing to be done about it unless you want to stain my reputation forever!” You finally spouted some of your emotions to him.
“Of course there is, Y/N! Listen to me…” He shouted at you as he approached to you again, holding on your arms again very firmly. “I just came back to this hellhole to see you, but I’ll be soon going back to England and most likely going to stay there for the rest of my life. If you dump this douchebag right now and marry me instead, I’ll take you out of here and implant you into a new society! See?! It really isn’t hard or risky and we will finally marry each other as we’ve always dreamed to! I still fucking love you so much, Y/N… You’ve grown so well and you look so fucking beautiful in this dress… I can’t lose you to that man at all.” He explained the plan to you in a desperate tone, and although you agreed with all of it, you kept your face as anxious as it was.
You definitely loved him back and wanted to run away with him, but how would he get rid of your husband or the church? How would you live knowing that you wasted two years of pure hard work because of the seduction of a man you’ve been lusting for, and who barely has a plan in his own? His plan seems so easily fragile… what if it breaks? You would most likely become the national shame for next centuries.
All those negative thoughts censored the good ones about his plan, making you look away from him as you nodded side to side firmly, making Scaramouche start breathing more nervously in despair.
“I can’t…” You initiated, thinking he’d instantly get mad, but when you realized he didn’t say anything back, and wanted to listen, you continued. “I spent two years fighting for this, Scara… I can’t just… drop everything for a plan that’s not even finished on its own…” You cried, trying your best to free away from his grip with ease.
“Oh, silly Y/N..! All I need now is to find out how will I get rid of that fucking prick, and then it’s done! You know it’s not a bad plan… I really just need to think about this part! I think I can safely state that we still love each other and crave for this… we can’t just pretend it doesn’t exist..!” He argued, banging your foreheads together with a sensible lust to bring your lips together.
“I cannot accept your offer until it’s fully completed, Scaramouche… I’m sorry. It still wouldn’t change the fact that you’ve broken my heart once.” You brought the topic back, which made him barely cry and tighten his grip on your shoulders in regret, feeling like he was losing you. “And… I’ve heard you’ve been seeing a woman named Kujou Sara… so how can I guarantee you’re not just playing with my heart and seducing me into carnal desires..?” You asked, making him genuinely scoff and giggle at your logic.
“Do you really think I’d go this far for carnal desires, Y/N? Wherever you heard about me and Sara, keep in mind that we didn’t work. Don’t you remember? Our mothers have always tried to push us together through our entire childhoods, but we repulsed each other so much that we preferred to bet on the luck of finding another partner! And trust me, Y/N, I had you in my mind this entire time.” He told his version of the story as he confessed his feelings for you. “I don’t wish to simply engage into animality with you, I want to be your fucking husband and the fucking father of your children.” He confessed, feeling the regret of his last actions hitting on him and the anger of your insistence of rejecting him, but you saw him stop for a moment to swallow everything down again and regain some self-control. “I love you, Y/N.” Those words came out of his mouth as easy as any other would, with a smile that you could feel was genuine, no matter how weird it looked.
The impact of his emotions on you made you weaken your body again, feeling safe in his grip no matter how weird he was acting. You felt like you were set back to his seduction, but you didn’t really care for it for that quick moment.
“I… I love you too, Scara, but I really can’t—”
…
!
In a blink of an eye, you saw the gap between your mouths close shut, finally making utility of the unnecessary contact between your foreheads. His lips were glossing yours, no matter if yours were supposed to belong to another man now. He had pulled you that close to him, no matter if you had or had not consented. He predicted that you’d simply accept it like a gift… and he wasn’t wrong.
Scaramouche’s tongue was invasive and hungry to get to feel more of your mouth, and that feeling just made you melt under his attack. Your back leaned backwards, making him have to hold you by your waist in a very hard angle while you held him by his cheeks, but it didn’t matter as long as he got to kiss you. Your tongue soon managed to join his rhythm, which made him groan. Everything between you got very hot and very quickly, only convincing you to kiss him more. It has been two years since you last saw, touched or kissed him, which means your hormones were surely acting higher than you.
You suddenly felt Scaramouche’s hands move to the back part of your tights and pull it up. You groaned in surprise but that didn’t stop you from savoring his lips. What truly made you two separate was the fact that Scaramouche started walking, and in a few steps, your back banged against a cold wall of your room beside your bed. That swift movement made a saliva chord come out from both your mouths, but was quickly ignored by you moving your hands behind his neck and hugging his waist with your legs to pull him to your mouth again, gripping on the back of his hair like you felt any sort of pain in that kiss.
You were almost feeling tears forming in the corner of your eyes as you felt all those years of longing being wasted, but before you could get any more emotional, you felt something gently rub in your crotch. It instantly made you feel uncomfortable, although you had no idea what it was, so you pushed Scaramouche backwards, separating your moths again, to see what it was.
Oh, lord. You two messed up.
It was a growing erection under his pants.
You instantly flinched away from it as a reaction, slightly screaming in fear of it.
“W-Wait..! No! We can’t do this, Scara!” You argued as you tried to push him away and kick the air with your feet.
“Why not, hum..?” He asked, not taking you seriously at all. “I thought you said you loved me too…” He joked, getting his face close to yours again for another kiss, but accidentally forcing the contact of his erection with your crotch even further.
“Seriously, Scara! Stop it!” You moaned as you felt him rub himself against your clothed clit, trying to push him away even harder.
Scaramouche grunted in frustration, but still decided to let you stand up in the ground again and step away from you. After some necessary breathes to recover, he finally decided to speak up.
“What’s wro—?”
SLAP!
You breathed in and out some extras times before using the same hand you used to smack his cheek to wipe the saliva away from your lips and speaking up for yourself.
“Don’t you ever do this to me again!” You argued, trying your best to not scream at him so loudly.
“What’s up with the sudden bipolarity, huh?” He asked in an ironic tone, caressing the cheek that has been slapped.
You had just forgotten how sarcastic and annoying Scaramouche was. It even made you wonder how did you befriend him in the first place.
“This is wrong, Scaramouche, even if I accepted your offer… it would be cruel to betray someone’s trust like this. Sorry if I fooled you by realizing this too late, but you know wives have to keep themselves pure before their marriage, so meanwhile we aren’t an oficial couple, I must keep myself pure for my future husband.” You argued in a more calm tone, rearranging your hair and dress.
“Pure?” He scoffed.
“Yes, Scaramouche. Pure as a saint.”
“There isn’t such thing as ‘purity’, Y/N, and you were never ‘pure’ too.” He ironized, copying your way to pronounce ‘pure’.
“What do you mean?” You asked, slightly losing your confidence as he made those two statements.
“Well… let’s just say I studied a lot about religion and science in France and stopped going to church or believing in God because I found science more logical—” He initiated, making you repulse him and his previous actions even more.
“W-Wha… what..?! Scara, this is devil’s work on you..!” You immediately replied.
“Quiet. I’m not done.” He tried shutting you, but you feared demonology too much to let him give you orders.
“I will not quiet down towards—!”
“Y/N, if you’re so loyal to your religion, why don’t you act like the submissive woman you’re supposed to be and let the man take lead?” He confronted in a harsh, cold tone, this time giving you a good reason to shut up. “When I say I don’t believe in God, I also mean that I don’t believe in Satan, hell or heaven.” He continued, completely ignoring your discomfort and fear.
You feared that Scaramouche you saw was just a demon morphing as him, or that he had allied with Satan, but you still felt like none of those negative thoughts made you like him less or feel less comfortable. According to his words, he really just seemed to have started seeing the world in a different perspective.
“Why would God want you to be ‘pure’ anyway? Why would he not want couples to know each other and be intimate before sealing their relationship as marriage?” He scoffed the logic behind that rule of your religion. “What would you do if that man you’re about to marry likes choking and hurting women physically during sex? I don’t think you’re into those things, so that’s why I’m asking… nor I think that man would be willing to adapt to what you like.” He crossed his arms as he confronted you again, but you didn’t want to say anything else. “And there’s also the fact that you still are not ‘pure’, Y/N, in fact, you’re one of the most impure women I’ve ever met.” He insulted you, making you gasp in shock with his audacity.
“How dare you insult me like this?!” You screamed back at him.
“Insult? It’s a mere fact, Y/N, unless if you consider what happened between us when we were 16, a day before my departure, something ‘pure’.” He scoffed, smirking as he saw your face stone in horror.
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no…
No, no, no, no, no…
He’s right.
You are not pure.
“You opened yourself so easily to me… I was so glad I got to experience sex with you before leaving this stupid city.” He commented, making both of you remember of what happened enthusiastically, but you were still horrified with the incoming memories.
That day, you were simply sitting in Scaramouche’s bed with him, talking about how you felt about his departure. Not only you knew he was going to leave you, but another girl you two knew as kids, Kujou Sara, was also moving to France, and that made you feel extremely insecure about your slightly romantic relationship with him. You asked him if he planned marrying her if he didn’t come back, but he took it as an insult and instantly spilled out that if he could ever marry you, he would, but it was impossible at the moment because you two were too young for the church to allow it. From that point, things got hot and romantic very quick, and you two lost notion of time and morality as you two made love to each other for the first time in your lives.
“Do you… really promise to- ah~! marry me if you come back, Scaramouche..?” You asked between moans and whines as you hugged and scratched his back and he forced his hips into yours like a starved dog.
“Of course, Y/N, of cour—” He was about to answer, but a sudden gasp echoed in the room in the spot of the door, making you two stone in horror and stop everything.
“WHAT IN GOD’S NAME ARE YOU TWO DOING?!” Scaramouche’s mother, Raiden Ei, screamed at the both of you with a very noticeable disgust in her voice.
And you two were forced to stop.
“Yeah, right? How many slaps that costed you again? 50?” He asked as he realized you were having flashbacks of it.
Ei was not kind towards the situation you both were in and reported your sin to your family, which caused the biggest problems you had to face: your family’s scolding and not allowing that secret to spread. Your parents had gone so mad during their scolding that they instantly made you also receive punishment from the church to somehow recover what you lost that day. The sister who heard your forced confession betrayed your little trust and forced you to receive 50 slaps with a piece of wood in your bare nude buttocks. What hurt you most is that not only your lover couldn’t defend you but the sister did not forgive your sin and told you with the roughest voice tone she that you’d never get your purity back.
It was so traumatic and humiliating that your mind decided to blur those moments out of it to make your life less miserable, but now it has all been brought back by the man you wanted to defend you at that moment.
“You see, Y/N? We have stoped being ‘pure’ long time ago when we did that! We’re both screwed in this society, so if we stick together, nothing will change in our reputations! We’re perfect for each other, Y/N! Why can’t you see it?!” He whispered in your ear after walking up to you again, extremely desperate for your consent to kiss you one more time.
You didn’t want to admit that he was right about the logic of purity or you not being pure… you didn’t want to awaken those dark moments at all. What if someone was behind that door listening to it all..? It would truly be the end of your name in England.
“Come on, say it, Y/N… you know you still want to be my wife and get away from this hellhole of a city.” He begged with a petty voice, extremely lusty for you.
His cheeks were red and his mouth trembling to touch yours again.
You lowered your head, beginning to tear again as you resisted your desires, no matter how much it ached your heart.
But your need to cry was suddenly replaced by the sudden movement of one of his legs moving upwards, kneeing right under your crotch.
“No need to cry, my love… I’ll make sure that this guilt will vanish as soon as you agree to my plan of getting you out of this marriage… There is literally no good reason for you to say ‘no’..!” He whispered as he started rubbing his knee against your folds, causing to gently hiccup in tears and slight pleasure and try pushing him away. “See..?! You still like it when I touch you here… you want more, don’t you..? I don’t think even think I need to hear your voice to know it’s a ‘yes’!” He grunted under your neck as he begun moving a hand under your dress and kissing your neck.
No matter how much your memories made you feel horrible, you knew that Scaramouche would be the remedy of it. You knew that he would present you plenty pleasure if you accepted what he was trying to do with you right now, you knew he’d make you the happiest woman on Earth if things went well, you knew you’d love being the mother of his children, you could easily predict your future if you say ‘yes’ to him.
Your feelings are a mess, really. But now that they seemed to have finally stick with something, you didn’t want to let go.
“Oh, God! If you’re watching this, please forgive me for my sin ahead… I just want to feel him once again… I just want to spend some time with him!”
“Please don’t let this be a demon trying to take advantage of my weaknesses! Please let his plan be real and not an attempt to simply seduce me into carnal activities!”
“And if he really wants to be my husband… please let me have it! I really need it for my happiness!”
You said to yourself in your mind.
“Scara~…” You moaned out before he could your private spots.
“Yes, my love?” He answered excitedly, stopping his movements to hear what you had to say after moaning his name so perfectly.
“Please… get me out of here!” You begged, finally weakening your body for his benefit in that situation, making his purple eyes glow and widen in joy.
“Oh, Y/N, I will… I fucking will.” He groaned, instantly stopping his attempt in teasing your core and moving his hands to your tights to pull them upwards.
In seconds, you were spun around and thrown against your bed, but it really didn’t make you feel uncomfortable or any pain because the make-out session that begun was simply numbing your mind of everything around you. He was on top of you and perfectly positioned between your legs, making you able to feel his erection slightly poking and rubbing against your swollen cunt.
His hands were quick in beginning to push all the layers of your dress upwards as his mouth still pushed your head father into the mattress. He had no time to make a full preparation for the moment, nor did you want it. You just wanted to feel that man inside you already, anything blocking you from it was simply annoying, no matter if it was related to him making love to you.
His mouth suddenly separated from yours, making you open your eyes in agony of being too far from him, only to find him leaning his whole body upwards and his hands moving to your pantyhose like a starved dog. Unlike with the dress, his hands weren’t as gentle with your pantyhose, barely ripping it apart as he brutally pulled them down.
“S-Scara..! Be more careful, those were expensive!” You asked slightly stressed, trying your best to close your knees from him, but he held them like he’d die if you did that.
“S-Sorry.” He said absolutely careless about it, only focusing on the teasing view of your exposed tights and underwear. “Fuck…” He grunted as he moved his hands to his belt.
He was quick on undoing his annoying pants and you helped him by sliding your underwear down too, saving some time for him. He smirked at your will to commit carnal activity with him as he grabbed his own cock and pulled it out, beginning to stroke it gently in front of you. You were somehow too ashamed to look at it, so you simply threw your head aside and moved a hand to your wet entrance as your body relaxed, gently inserting two fingers inside it to also prepare yourself even more for him.
“God, Y/N… you never fail to make me as hard as a brick. Can you even guess how many times I touched myself for you?” He smirked as his cock twitched at the view of you preparing yourself to receive him.
He felt like he could cum already if he kept stroking himself with that view in front of him, but he really was just preparing himself for the moment too.
As soon as he felt a sudden hard pulse from his cock, he knew he was ready and leaned down close to you again, using a hand to take yours away from your cunt and properly position his cock in front of it.
Your hands went to the corners of the pillow under your head, gripping on them nervous about his length.
“Are you ready, my love?” He asked between some shaky breathes.
“Yes…” You whispered, and he finally begun slowly pushing his way inside you.
The scream that came out of you as a reaction to it would only get higher and higher the deeper he went, making your entire body crumble under him for a quick moment when he finally stopped at the tip of your cervix, successfully inserting all his length inside you. Despite knowing that in your religion sexual pleasure was sinful too, even in marriage, that heat wave his entrance gave you was too breathtaking to make you care about those stupid rules.
“Lord almighty…” He groaned and smirked at the sensation of being surrounded by your mushy, tight walls. “If only I had time and condition to see you naked again… thank God I’ll make you my wife, Y/N, because I want us to do this every single day of our lives.” His voice cracked multiple times during his speech as he begun creating a slow rythym to his hips, pleasuring taking over his senses too.
He was slowly pulling out and then rocking all the way in quickly, creating a tortuous rhythm that mostly explored your G spot, which only made you feel weaker and weaker under him. Unintentional plap noises were coming out from the rocking of both your hips and his balls every time he thrusted, which would be something you’d be worrying about if your mind wasn’t numbed by the overwhelming pleasure you received. Tears were beginning to form in ecstasy as your legs instinctively hugged his hips tighter, wishing for more depth into his movements.
“Do you really think… that man would or could ever… make you feel like this, Y/N?” He asked, pausing to moan and breathe sometimes, not minding the fact that you barely had any consciousness left to answer.
“N-N… no…” You moaned out, making his smirk widen.
“Only I can… and I fucking love it.” He whispered to himself as he slightly sped up his rhythm.
The way he whispered with that husky voice made you feel his dick suddenly get bigger and more invasive inside you, making Scaramouche grunt, although you didn’t understand what happened.
“Fuck… if you keep tightening like this, I might be unable to keep making my way inside…” He teased right in your left ear, making you throw your head aside even more.
His blood circulation felt like it had dropped all the way to his dick, because somehow he managed to get even harder than he was with the struggle of passing through such a tight space as your pussy.
Due to him getting his face so close to your head, Scaramouche moved his mouth to your neck, his harsh breathing tickling your warm skin too. Your legs twitched in surprise and Scaramouche grunted again, meaning that you probably tightened your cunt around him again.
And it was definitely the case since now you could hear some low, soggy noises whenever he pulled out from you, something that was not happening until this point.
“You still like it when I fuck you nice and slow like this, don’t you..?” He asked, making you face away from the moment in front of you. “Don’t be ashamed, I love making this to you…” He teased again before going back to his make-out session with the muscles of your neck.
Your hands finally got enough from endlessly gripping in a pillow and moved to his back, scratching it in the same intensity as his thrusts, making him slightly crumble on top of you too. But since he had his clothes on, his back was mostly protected from your nails unlike your poor, swollen cunt, being savored so relentlessly no matter how fragile and sensitive it is for his touch.
“Tell me, Y/N… who’s your husband..?” He asked, stopping his attack in your neck again just to lean up and stare at you with those hungry, shining purple eyes, unintentionally getting your hands away from his back too.
“Y-You…” You answered, still staring at him with your pathetic sex face.
“Who’s ‘you’?” His menacing voice made you remember of just how Scaramouche liked to explore everyone’s limits and capacities just to make himself more proud.
You had fallen for these tricks multiple times as a kid, so you eventually learned how to avoid them. And although you knew he was doing it again now, it didn’t seem like a bad idea to make him more invested in your capacity of being submissive.
“Scaramouche… or… Kunikuzushi… Raiden…” You used all your energy to make your response the most teasing it could to fuel his pleasure.
And it worked, since you saw his eyes and smirk widen in lust as he heard you perfectly answer him.
“Yeah… that’s right. I am your husband and will soon be the father of your children… it’s just very unfortunate that I can’t afford to cum inside you and impregnate you right now… because I really wanted to.” He answered in a low tone, his constant breathing taking over his voice, speeding up his thrusts to a more tiring one, like he was beginning to get seriously involved with the moment.
You felt so sinful on allowing yourself to be so kinky and aroused with Scaramouche’s kinky personality too, but God would forgive you for this, wouldn’t he? He is such a nice person… he can feel that you’re just trying to feel your loved one again, right?
“You’re mine, Y/N… mine, mine, mine…” He grunted, leaning down again, but this time to kiss you with all his hunger and passion.
And before you could hug him again, he grabbed both your wrists who were gripping the pillow again and locked them right there, having full control of you. And you, in pleasure at feeling so confident to let him deal with you as he wished, arched your back up and widened the gap between your legs, allowing the mess of the sex between your hips to have even more depth.
It didn’t matter if your brain barely had any oxygen to process everything that was going on, Scaramouche still knew exactly how to bring you to ecstasy even if he got the chance to have sex with you once without even having an orgasm. Did he really study that much in France? It even made you jealous for a quick moment before your mind went numb again because of the lack of air that passed through your mouth in that kiss.
And Scaramouche was mean enough to force your tongue follow his in the deepest corners of your mouth, taking over anything that you had control of at that point. But don’t worry, Scaramouche was struggling on his own. He was giving the job of keeping himself on top of you only to his arms, which was causing an agonizing pain that he was trying to ignore. His sloppy socks were also making hard for his feet to keep his hips at that perfect angle that gave sharp thrusts at your weak spots, needing to crawl up again multiple times.
Luckily, he was feeling something build up inside his crotch, meaning that both your agonies would be done soon.
He sped up his rythym, causing you to clench around him once again for that momentary peak. It really felt like you were simply sucking him in rather than him thrusting.
He suddenly separated your tongues and leaned up his entire torso at the same time. His hands also moved back to your hips, pulling them up to successfully thrust you rough and fast as he smirked in pleasure of miring your defeated body shaking and trembling in rythym of his violent sex with hungry, widened eyes.
Due to the new position and rhythm, the bed begun doing the classic cranky noises whenever it moved up and down too. But, honestly… you guys had locked the door, in a took at second floor of a mansion where music was taking over everyone’s ears in the first floor… why the fuck would you care about it?
Your hands, no matter how weak they felt, moved to his wrists, simply hugging and caressing them in acceptation of his control over you, almost telling him that you desired him to keep controlling you until it ached. Your head was also thrown back as a reaction to his brutality, also feeling something build up inside your crotch.
“You’re gonna cum too, aren’t you? It’s getting way too sloppy down here…” He scoffed as before finally allowed himself to also fully focus on bringing an orgasm to both of you like a dog in heat.
His head arched all the way up too, beginning to also focus on feeling every single curve of your wet walls surrounding him perfectly. He was so focused on pleasing himself with your defeat rather than your pussy that he didn’t realize just how well you were taking him inside you.
“So fucking right and warm for me… it’s addicting, I’ll be honest..!” He used all his remaining energies to make that comment, and you accepted it like he had complimented your dress.
That peak felt like heaven to the both of you, but before you two could turn off your minds from each other and appreciate the perfection of the sex happening between your hips, all the orgasm that had been built up to this point suddenly bursted out disastrously from both your systems, causing a deep groan to come out of him and a loud scream to come out of you.
Scaramouche was still paying attention to the moment because he knew he couldn’t finish inside you, so as soon as he felt his dick pulse hard because of his seed aching to come out, he pulled out from you and covered his tip with a hand, twitching in the agony of it wishing it was still shoved inside you as it spilled seed inside your womb while you simply allowed your own fluids to overcome your insides until it was tipping on your entrance.
Scaramouche was so shaky that it actually brought him to stop smirking and hiss with his teeth gritting on each other, still miring the scene of the disaster you two created and the cream pie in your entrance, swollen in red.
“Fuck…” He grunted, taking his hand to his eyes when his dick finally stopped spilling cum, getting annoyed at the mess it was. “Stay right there… I’ll take care of this mess.” He said, back to his normal voice tone as he crawled away form your body.
And now that fresh air could reach your body, you could finally feel just how sweaty you had gotten. You still had dress on, so you knew that the maids of the home would not have a fun time cleaning it up. Your makeup was probably also completely ruined too but you couldn’t confirm it. Scaramouche was probably feeling it too, since he also had clothes on, even more than you.
You couldn’t even tell where Scaramouche had headed because you all did was focus on staring the rooftop, but he soon came back with his hands rubbing each other under a cloth, another one in his pocket, and with the clothes he had taken away from you.
“I’ll tell the people downstairs you suddenly got sick, okay? Don’t worry, they have no idea what a person looks like after sex, they like to keep themselves ‘pure’ after all…” He explained as he wiped out your cream pie and put your panties and pantyhose back to their places in you.
And right after, he pulled out the other cloth in his pocket, folded it some times, rested it on your forehead and covered you with the sheets of the bed to make the play of ‘being sick’ more believable to whoever would come in to check on you.
“Expect me to knock on your window every night from now on, ok? Just like I did as a kid. I’ll be coming up to tell you how our little plan is doing and how it will work and to also check up on you.” He said with a surprisingly cute smile as he patted the top of your head and kissed your forehead, even it was covered by the cloth. “See you soon, my love, I love you.” He said before leaning up again and walking towards the door while rearranging his tie, closing it so gently that you couldn’t even hear its knock.
“I told you it would work, Y/N… if only I could show you the face the priest made when I gave him the money to make a fake marriage certificate… it was hilarious..! But it doesn’t matter to you now, does it? I know it’s hard to keep up with me, but this is the only way we can go for a fourth kid…”
tw - implied non/con, unhealthy relationships, forced codependence, and unbalanced power dynamics.
Wriothesley knows you don't belong with him.
He has since the day you arrived, all shrunken posture and wrung-out hands and doe eyes blown out so wide, he could've sworn it took you days just to blink. You're far from the first inmate to ever be unprepared for live in the fortress, but even the most petty of criminals usually have a hardened edge, a callous over their more obvious vulnerabilities. You're not a criminal, though - not really, not when you're surrounded by people with blood on their hands, and even your rougher corners are still velvet soft. It's almost impressive, honestly. If he didn't know better, if he thought there was any way it could possibly benefit you, he might think you've left yourself so exposed on purpose.
He knows he's not supposed to play favorites, but he can't help himself. You wouldn't last a day in his fortress if he didn't pull some strings, show some preference, get you a comfortably isolated position filing papers and making tea in his office, where he can keep you at a distance from the more blood-thirsty inmates. It'd be dangerous to let you bunk with someone who might be able to pick out that underlying shake in your voice, who might realize just how easily you'd crack under any amount of pressure, so he tells his guards to look the other way and gets you moved into one the fortress' few private quarters - your new room down the hall from his, just so he can make sure you're not being harassed outside of working hours. The standard-issue inmate coveralls don't exactly suit you, either, so he has a more fitting wardrobe commissioned; all delicate and silken, no harsh burlaps or coarse leathers. You protest, at first, claim you feel conflicted about accepting gifts from your superior, but you come around quickly. After Wriothesley confiscates your prior closet during a routine inspection, especially.
He does make you work for your privileges, of course, even if he can't say you've really earned as much as he does for you. Those fat, adorable tears drip down your cheeks as you struggle to take him down your fluttering throat, as your own drool and his arousal renders the ivory satin of your top transparent. You cry when you're pulled into his lap, too, sobbing into his coat as he rocks you gently on his cock, careful not to bruise your fragile skin and risk shattering one of the few delicate things he can afford to keep to himself, and you carry on for hours after he's had his fill, after you've fallen asleep still leaned against his chest - whimpering and sniffling, nursing your wounds without ever thinking to thank him for not drawing so much as a drop of blood. In his weakest moments, he pictures you somewhere else, somewhere kinder; wrapped in fleece in front of the hearth of a countryside cottage, or dressed in finery on a balcony of Palais Mermonia, where your softness wouldn't have to be so strictly preserved. You'd be happier on the surface. Fuck, if it's possible, you might even be softer on the surface, as tender as he tries to keep you while you're both trapped a thousand leagues underneath it.
You'd be softer, but you wouldn't be with him.
And he's willing to sacrifice just a little of your softness, if it means being the only one who gets to enjoy it.
Summary: Albedo has been frantic about keeping you far away from Dragonspine for reasons unknown but when Sucrose asks you to go to Dragonspine to gather some ingredients for her you can’t help but go there however when you arrive Albedo doesn’t seem at all upset over your sudden arrival in Dragonspine… rather he seems uncharacteristically enthusiastic.
guys this is my first fic so erm I'm sorry if it’s really bad :[
Warnings: typical yandere behaviours, non-con kissing, both Albedos being little creeps, Y/N needs a break and has official permission to execute them both, Y/N is a smidge naïve, Manipulation, gaslighting
The brisk air of Dragonspine doesn’t sit gently in your lungs, instead its crispness demands your attention. Each breath is invigorating. You were never one to focus on meditation or breathing techniques, seeing little interest in self-reflection or mindfulness however on mornings like this one on Dragonspine with the bright morning sun rising to full mast you couldn't help but feel rather contemplative.
Admittedly you were not as alchemically inclined as your lover, the chief alchemist of the Knights of Favonius however when sucrose entered Albedo’s office late at night in a state of utter disarray as the samples of flora she had procured from Dragonspine had seemingly vanished from under her very nose you couldn’t help but take pity on the poor girl in her panic. Tomorrow morning she would be too busy refining the remaining electro hypostasis’ lightning prisms from her last journey outside the walls of Mondstadt for yet another experiment… She simply wouldn't be able to make the trek to Dragonspine and back while also completing all of her tasks but despite her pleading the knights were far too busy to waste their time collecting mere greenery.
You shifted on your feet, you always thought she held herself to a far harsher standard than she deserved, constantly focusing on her shortcomings as Albedo’s apprentice rather than acknowledging what an accomplished and gifted alchemist she was in her own right. You walked towards the distraught green-haired alchemist, firmly grasping her on each shoulder. At your steady grasp sucrose looked up at the reassuring smile you gave her “Sucrose! Don’t fret so much, you’ve already done more than enough. I’ve got it handled, I’ll head to Dragonspine first thing tomorrow morning and I'll have the samples for you before lunchtime.” For the first time since Sucrose entered the room you could feel your lover's eyes rising from the notebook where he had been scrawling away his recent findings for the past few hours, his turquoise eyes piercing into your body as though if he stared hard enough he’d be able pierce your subconsciousness and reprogram you, as though if he impressed his vision into you long enough you would eventually be remade in his vision, as though staring could somehow convince you to rescind your offer.
Although Albedo was typically indifferent about how you spent your time and who you associated with, you couldn't help but notice that recently he had been very clearly trying to shepherd you away from the snowy peak of Dragonspine. Any ideas of visiting him while he was working was quickly shot down with a “It’s not worth the trek, most of my work in Dragonspine will be done soon enough, there is no point in journeying all that way”. Any mentions of stopping by to drop off some warm food for himself, Sucrose and Timaeus was quickly halted with a “we pack more than enough food and there are plenty of braziers around the camp, please don't worry yourself” much to the dismay of Timaeus. It felt as though every attempt to come see him working had been instantly stopped by some rebuttal he had regarding it as a waste of time and energy.
It would be a lie to say your heart didn’t ache with every blatant refusal to your attempts to visit him on the mountain. He let Kaeya, Klee and Sucrose visit him freely but he seemed particularly insistent that you do not come to Dragonspine, that you don't even entertain the idea. In spite of Albedo's recent reluctance for you to venture to the frozen mountain, you refused to be deterred. This particular voyage was not a selfish endeavour for your own entertainment… no! Sucrose needed your help and you refused to let her down. It would be a breeze to wander about the mountain picking flowers for a little while before meandering back to Mondstadt to what would likely be a hero’s welcome from the young woman, besides with your pyro vision strapped to your waist you sincerely doubted any hillichurls would be causing you issues and you knew well enough to steer clear of any Fatui outposts placed along the winding frozen pathways.
The mint-haired woman let out a deep sigh of relief, her breathing steadying as she looked at you hopefully “really?! You will? Thank you so much Y/N I- I don't know how to repay you I-'' you laughed warmly at the girl’s gratitude “think nothing of it! It’ll be a piece of cake, besides I haven't left Monstadt’s walls in weeks, going out and exploring will do me some good.” It seemed as though this past month almost every commission took place within the walls of Mondstadt, if you had to clean that blasted statue of Barbatos or tell that creep Albert to knock it off one more time you were going to go crazy, on the rare occasion you were given a commission that left the walls of Mondstadt it was something mundane like a food delivery to Springvale and back. You hadn’t had a single combat commission in weeks. you had filed several complaints to Katherine about the distribution of commissions and despite her promises to reach out to her higher ups regarding potential flaws in the commission distribution system, she still hadn't gotten back to you.
With Sucrose’s issue resolved and her mind soothed you gently guide her to the door of Albedo’s office “It’s getting late and I’m sure you’ll have a busy day tomorrow” you say to her, clasping the bronze door handle and holding the door open “I’ll see you tomorrow, verdure in tow!” you exclaimed as you watched the girl amble over to the exit of the Knight’s headquarters, waving you a polite goodbye.
You softly shut the thick oak door to Albedo’s office not wanting to disturb the diligent genius, taking his silence during your conversation with sucrose as a sign of him returning to his work. Ever the academic, Albedo rarely allowed himself to be distracted from a task once he had dedicated himself to it, however upon turning around you were greeted by Albedo still staring at you intently, his eyes having never once left your frame. His pupils were dilated, the darkness engulfing his iris leaving only a sliver of blue as an outermost ring. He didn’t blink as though afraid you would slip from his grasp the moment he shut his eyes. His body was still, his entire being focused on watching you as though he was waiting for something to happen. He hadn’t written a word since your mention of Dragonspine, his studies completely paused as his pen stayed pressed on his crisp white notepad, a thick ink blot seeping into the page and staining it but in spite of this, the observant Albedo didn’t make any effort to move the pen.
Seeing Albedo so on edge subsequently had you unsettled. You gently walk across the plush red carpet approaching Albedo, taking the pen out of his hand and setting it down on his desk before he could further sully his work. Only upon your contact with him did he seemingly snap out of the daze he was in, blinking softly. His eyes still zeroed in on you but they seemed softer, less frantic. Upon setting the pen down you began to wrap your coat around your shoulders “you know what i said to sucrose is right, i should be heading home soon before i have to bump into the crowd of tavern crawlers on their way from The Cat’s Tail to The Angel’s Share” you joke gently attempting to lighten the mood, Albedo barely manages a smile at your jest. instead getting up and shoving his arms haphazardly into the sleeves of the jacket he stripped off hours ago “let me walk you home. It’s getting far too dark for you to be wandering about Mondstadt alone. I wouldn't be able to rest well unless I knew you made it back safely.” You smile bashfully at the consideration he's shown for you.
“Oh Albedo, i don't want to be a bother I'm sure you have plenty of things to-”
“I insist.”
“Well if you insist” you smile softly, your heart fluttering at his show of chivalry
You nodded and fiddled with the buttons of your coat, your fingers trembling as Albedo stood by the door waiting for you to be ready to leave. Upon noticing your battle with your buttons Albedo quickly faced you as he placed your hands by your side to instead button your coat up himself. The moment you were suitably clothed to brace the cool Mondstadt evenings Albedo’s arm snaked around your waist as he ushered you out of the Knight’s headquarters. Your cheeks warmed at his gesture as the reserved alchemist’s hand enclosed your waist tightly, pulling you closer into him as though he was trying to mould you together, unable to be separated by anyone or anything. You attempted to initiate some small talk as you wandered through Mondstadt, however Albedo hardly noticed. He muttered vague replies or made noises of affirmation as you discussed your day and how cold it had been recently and how excited you were for the next Windblume festival. Instead Albedo’s eyes were fixed intently on the shadows the dim streetlamps of Mondstadt cast as though a ghost was about to peer out from one of the alleys. As you reached your home you opened the door yet Albedo's hand didn't move from your waist. You stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to release you from his grasp but he didn’t move his hand until several awkward seconds had passed before he hesitantly allowed you to walk through your front door. “Goodnight Albedo” you whisper gently before pressing a gentle peck to his cheek. You disappear behind your door trying to forget about Albedo’s peculiar behaviour tonight, fretting about what could have possibly made him so troubled. In spite of your concern about Albedo’s recent behaviours you slipped into an uneasy sleep, unaware of how he remained steadfastly on your doorstep like a statue keeping watch until the sun began to peak over the rolling hills of Mondstadt and he reluctantly retired to his own abode.
●・○・●・○・●・
The crunch of the fresh layer of snow beneath your shoes invigorated you as you continued your trek along the mountainside. Your head felt light as you inhaled the overwhelming saccharine scent of the half dozen sweet flowers you had found, your hand clutching the stems of the flowers gently, determined to bring Sucrose back the best possible samples. Alas you couldn’t help but feel as though your luck had all but run out when you began to search for mint. Perhaps some traveller had plucked the last of it in this area or maybe you were just unlucky. You bent over in the snow, your head almost grazing the ground as you sifted your hands through the snow hoping your fingers might latch onto even a mint sapling, that perhaps the constant winter snowfall had simply covered up all the fresh mint. After a few minutes of sifting through the mountainside snow you began to instinctively reach for your weapon as a distinctly humanoid presence loomed over you… there shouldn't be Fatui this far from the main path but perhaps these were scouts for a larger group. You held your breath not wanting the person to realise you were aware of their presence until you were ready or you were forced to act, likely the latter. As several minutes passed and you still pretended to be focused on the frost dusted ground beneath you rather than the presence looming over your form you were confused as to why they hadn’t approached yet… perhaps it was just some freezing adventurer too sheepish to ask for help so they were simply waiting to be noticed… or perhaps it was an inquisitive little snow fox or boar who would scurry away the moment you acknowledged it yes, that sounded much better. You would turn around and be greeted by some shy little forest animal who would flee the moment you acknowledged it. Yes. That was it. Nothing bad is behind you. You began to repeat in your head as you rested your numb hands on the hilt of your weapon before taking a deep breath and turning around.
Of all the potential scenarios you imagined being greeted by, seeing Albedo staring at you in utter shock was not one of them. You exhaled softly before you began to chuckle in relief, pressing your hand over your thumping heart as you chastised your over-active imagination. You smile gently “‘Bedo I didn't think I’d bump into you, what are you doing on this part of the mountain?” You awaited a response yet you weren’t greeted by one, you looked back up at Albedo but instead of him offering you a small smile or him trying to usher you off the mountain he simply stood there staring at you as though it was the first time he had truly seen you. He drank in deep breaths, his mouth slightly agape as his eyes danced across you, blinking softly as though trying to dispel some sort of illusion “Albedo? Everything okay?” you ask gently, your mind already on slight alert after his peculiar behaviour last night. Suddenly he let out a deep gasp as he stuttered out “what are you doing here? I thought… i thought you weren’t fond of Dragonstone…” you look up at Albedo in utter confusion “Not fond…? Albedo what are you talking about, you’re the one who practically forces me off the mountain” you say, half joking, half serious.
Albedo’s gaze becomes cold as he spits out “of course I do” with a venom unfamiliar to his voice, his eyes glaring into the ground with such profound hatred it startles you. He quickly remembers your presence and haphazardly attempts to regain his composure with a deep breath and a few blinks before he says in an even tone “then what are you doing here then Y/N? Shouldn’t you be in Mondstadt?” Your heart beat steadily accelerates as you feel your skin crawling as Albedo stares at you, his gaze seeping into your skin as he drinks in every little detail, his eyes fixating on every mole and birthmark and freckle, desperately imprinting them into his mind like this is the last time he might ever see you “we discussed this last night remember? I’m looking for some flowers for Sucrose’s experiment” you state, your voice tight as my body tense like a coiled spring ready to launch itself out of the grasping hands of the alchemist.
Albedo puts his hand on his chin as he begins to mutter “Sucrose… Sucrose… Sucrose… Sucrose!” he had sounded utterly befuddled by the mention of her until the final mutter of Sucrose seemed to ignite some spark of familiarity, like Sucrose was more of a passing acquaintance rather than his most promising protégé.
“Yes of course Sucrose needed some flowers like we discussed last night”
“Yes that would appear to be the case” You giggled breathlessly, trying to ignore the pit of bile bubbling in your stomach “I just want to find some mint and then I'll begin the trudge back to Mondstadt”
“Oh… some mint? I think I know where you might be able to find some”
“O-Oh are you sure I don't want to be a bother and I don't want to get in the way of anything or be a nuisance or knock something important over in your lab” You stuttered out sheepishly, trying to find any way to get back to Mondstadt.
“Nonsense I’ve set up a temporary second camp just a little ways up the mountain, follow me. I’m sure we’ll find plenty of flora up there”
“Okay yes you’re right” You beam trying to ignore how tight the grin feels, like your skin is cracking underneath it. He holds out his soft cool palm waiting for you to grab it. You gently settle your hand in his unable to hear how his breath hitches softly as your numb fingers are clutched by his, a barely noticeable flush spreading across his complexion. Each step in the direction of this second camp makes your foot feel heavier until eventually you’re practically shuffling through the snow. As you wind through the passageways of the mountain you can’t help but feel like you’re going far too high but each time you ask Albedo about the new camp’s location you’re greeted by the same excuse “just a little ways further.”
“‘Bedo…” you stutter out “I should turn back, I need to get these flowers back to Sucrose soon. I promised she’d have them by lunchtime and the sun is getting rather high”
He stopped in his tracks, the hand that had been grasping onto yours tightens with an unnatural grip “but we’re almost there” he smiles out, the smile far too large and toothy to look natural on him, mimicking a lion baring its teeth far more than a reassuring grin “just a little further” he repeats once more as he continues up the path, your hand still held tightly in his. You had followed him for as long as your reason had allowed but now you were venturing into parts of Dragonspine unknown even to you as he dragged you up yet another beaten path. You smile half heartedly, trying to ignore the primal sensation of fear when Albedo smiles at you, the undeniable emotion of something being deeply wrong every time he tightens his hold on your hand.
You stop walking and begin to try to coax your limb out of his grip but the gentle tugging of your hand out of his makes his smile drop. He balls his now empty fist as he pauses and stares down the offending limb as though it had personally wronged him. you stare at your feet, your eyes darting between your snow scuffed boots and the sweet flowers clasped tightly in your other hand as you try to avoid albedo’s gaze permeating through you. Albedo’s lack of social adeptness was often something you found endearing, another quality which raised the alchemist’s standing in your eyes but right here in the crisp morning air of Dragonspine with the sun shining far too bright, there was never another quality you despised more. The chief alchemist simply stared. you tried to move. You could apologise to Albedo for your behaviour later but as you were about to move your legs his fist grasped onto your wrist with a bruising grip. You reflexively dropped the sweet flowers that you had kept grasped securely in your hand as Albedo’s cold hand fixed around your wrist. You couldn't find it in your panic stricken haze to even think about the flowers that were now resting on the cold mountain snow.
You yelped out in pain before looking up at Albedo for an explanation for his sudden change in demeanour. He offered none, instead he shifted his cold, stiff body closer against yours so your fronts were pressed together, chest to chest. He breathed down on your face, his breath wasn’t warm or wet like you had expected, instead it felt cool on your skin. Snowflakes settled on his long lashes as his pupils dilated, flickering to your lips. You stood stock still as confusion began to cloud your mind. Albedo’s gloved other hand rose to your lips, gently caressing them. “So warm…” he muttered absentmindedly as he traced the curve of your cupid's bow before his finger fell down to your lower lip. You enclosed your only free hand around Albedo’s, coaxing his fingers away from your lips instead you placed it down by his side “‘Bedo… I promised Sucrose those flowers, I need to get back to Mondstadt soon” his expression hardened before he finally acquiesced. Albedo’s dismay at you having to leave so soon was apparent until a mischievous glint alit in his eye. He tightened his grip on your arm before he whispered against your lips “I'll let you return to Sucrose if you promise me adequate compensation…” you could have laughed at the absurdity of Albedo’s demands “compensation?” you guffawed “You can't be serious Albedo.” he pulled you closer, no space was left between you as he tittered airily, running his hand softly through your hair “shh shh shh… I don't want mora and I don't want favours, I just want” his cheek flushed pink in spite of the confidence he exuded as he breathed out “I just want a kiss. That's all.” You were perplexed at Albedo’s request, since your relationship with the chief alchemist had been formalised he had rarely felt the need to formally ask for permission to kiss you but the Albedo here and now was blushing like a virgin at the mere thought of it.
Typically you might have questioned his sudden change in behaviour but with some divine intervention seemingly handing you a way out of this awkward exchange on a golden platter you didn’t feel inclined to throw it back in the face of whichever archon had decided to bless you with this opportunity. Instead you leaned in softly before pressing a gentle, hesitant kiss to Albedo’s lips. To your relief his remaining grip on your hand loosened as your lips skimmed his but the sudden slackness didn't seem to affect just his hand but rather his whole body as he didn't kiss you back. Instead Albedo kept his eyes tightly shut as his entire body froze, the only part of his body that seemed tense was his furrowed brows. It was as though he were in a state of deep contemplation, focusing only on memorising the feeling of your warm lips on his. With his attention completely on the feeling of your mouth slotted against his own and his arms resting loosely by his sides, you took the chance to quickly separate yourself from him, turning away and fleeing along the frosty pathway down the mountain in a desperate attempt to escape the unnerving encounter.
You couldn’t hear Albedo calling out to you or following behind you so once you had made significant distance between where you and Albedo had been standing you turned to face him. To your surprise Albedo hadn’t moved an inch, he stayed exactly as you had left him, as though suspended in the moment in which your lips left his. The only difference is that this time his eyes were ignited with a cold determination, a look you knew to be unique to Albedo when he made a breakthrough experiment, when he found an ingredient he had been scavenging for months to find, when he finally located a dusty old tome or scrap of paper which had the information he needed and now when he stared at your frame scurrying down the mountain. As the base of the mountain came into view and your nerves began to settle you realised that in your desperation to get away you had left the flowers on the snowy ground. You halted for half a second, your foot pivoting as you prepared to venture back up the winding path but as your eyes met the incline up the mountain you were filled with paralysing nausea. Every single instinct in your body was fighting against the idea of going back up the mountain. Whatever interaction you and Albedo had shared up there, a raw, primitive, instinctual part of you knew that it had been wrong, that it had been off, that if you went back up the path then you truly believed you would not make it back down the mountain for a second time.
●・○・●・○・●・
Almost slipping down the mountain in your haste to escape your peculiar encounter with Albedo you didn't dare stop until you reached the Adventurer’s camp on the outskirts of the mountain where you finally felt the hammering of your heart slow for the first time this morning now that you had escaped the sheer cold of Dragonspine but even then with Albedo’s peculiar behaviour these past few weeks and in particular today you still couldn't feel at ease, even as you began to trudge out of the Adventurer’s camp and back towards Dadaupa Gorge.
You almost did a double take when you saw a frantic Albedo hurrying towards Dragonspine, his hand resting tightly on the hilt of his cinnabar spindle, his body tensed and ready to pounce. “...Albedo…? How did you get down here so fast?” you called out, eyeing the alchemist wearily. You had never felt more bewildered. Upon hearing you call out to him Albedo’s hand loosened on the hilt of his blade. He ran to you and wrapped you tightly in his arms, one arm wrapped around your waist so tightly it was suffocating you, the other clawed into your hair, his fingers digging into your scalp. He pulled you close as he had on the mountain however this time he buried his head into your neck as he inhaled deeply.
As you stood there embracing the startled alchemist you could feel just how intensely his hands were trembling but you couldn't help but pry for answers in your state of bewilderment. You were certain Albedo had been behind you as you descended the mountain and even if he had followed you down (which you suspected he had) how would he have gotten ahead of you? Albedo hadn’t been leaving Dragonspine when you met him here but rather he had been approaching, he had to have come from the direction of Mondstadt. You asked louder this time “Albedo, how did you get ahead of me?” You were up on the mountain last time I saw you.” At your declaration Albedo finally peeled his from your neck, his manic eyes darting across you assessing for any damage before he finally seemed to regain some semblance of awareness “how did i… i know dragonspine like the back of my hand Y/N. it wasn’t hard to overtake you” Albedo stated trying to steady his voice. Although it’s likely the Alchemist knew the Mountain far better than you did… you didn’t fully believe him. You couldn't fully believe him. Not when you saw how terrified Albedo had seemed as he bounded towards the mountain in such a distressed state you almost didn't recognise the alchemist, not when you felt just how tightly he had clutched onto you as though you were about to slip through his fingers, not when you could feel how frantically his heart was beating as he held you to him.
You continued to insist Albedo explain what had happened, why he had been acting so strangely. The expression in Albedo’s eyes was unreadable, something you had never seen in the chief alchemist’s eyes before, something almost reminiscent of fear. As you both traversed down galesong hill towards the city of freedom you stopped Albedo and turned him to face you as you whispered in a pleading tone “Albedo please… just explain to me what happened up there. I’m not upset with you, I'm just confused. What happened up there? You seemed rather out of sorts.” Albedo’s lips grew into a thin line, the expression on his face was a grim one but instead of any explanation he simply pressed the back of his palm to your forehead “you’re burning up” he mutters. Yet again Albedo’s actions fill you with nothing but confusion.
“Burning up? What are you talking about Albedo? I feel fine just please, answer my question” you cry out, frustration beginning to rise as he dances around your question yet again
“Yes, you’re shivering too and it’s clear you’re in a state of confusion, from these symptoms I’d estimate that you’re suffering from the early stages of hypothermia” Albedo says in an even, methodical tone
“H-hypothermia? Albedo what on Teyvat are you-?” you pause as Albedo begins to take off his coat, wrapping it tightly around your shoulders
“Honestly you should have dressed warmer if you were planning to go to Dragonstone, you need to take better care of yourself Y/N. now come on, you’ll need to be treated for this but I'll only be able to do it back in Mondstadt where we can warm you up” Albedo said wrapping his arm around your waist as he began to walk even faster towards Mondstadt, keeping you tucked closely into his side. You didn’t feel weak and you didn’t feel tired, the rational part of your mind wanted to doubt Albedo’s diagnosis but an equally significant part of you wanted to accept what Albedo said, to dismiss this whole morning as some strange illness induced hallucination. yes that must be it... You insisted internally. You’re unwell and this illness is messing with your head like Albedo says. You’re not being completely rational so right now just need to trust Albedo and head back to Mondstadt for treatment and you need to forget how Albedo keeps glaring at Dragonspine with pure loathing as though daring the mountain itself to come and try to take you from him, It must just be the cold getting to you.
At this year’s Lantern Rite, you happen to cross paths with a dragon, much to the chagrin of the one who holds you in the palm of his hand. The result has you trapped between them.
Warnings: Very brief mention of nsfw at the end, implied kidnapping, forced relationship, yandere behavior. Basically my version of what would have happened if Zhongli and Neuvillette actually met at the Rite…
Despite the contract irrevocably binding you to the Lord of Geo, its progenitor allows you a surprising number of freedoms.
Sometimes, you can pretend like he didn’t steal your life away with a simple signature. That he didn’t back you into a corner, making you decide between two evils: to be his wife and mate, or watch as everything and everyone you ever cherished suffer the wrath of the rock.
Why me?, you would plead aloud, desperate for any loophole, any escape from your contract. Why a mortal geologist with only a few mora to her name?
You’re one of the few who appreciates the rock over the gem, my precious lapis, he’d reply cryptically. Always riddles and non-answers, layered statements garnished with polished words.
If you could reverse time, you would have refused his invitation for tea that first time. Little did you know that each of those subsequent meetings, each time you spent listening to his fantastical tales shared between steaming cups, you were digging your grave a foot deeper, his hold on you constricting an inch further.
Perhaps if you had rejected him outright, he would have viewed you not as a unique mineral, but as another insignificant pebble in a sea of endless, colorless sediment. As no more than the dirt beneath his boot.
Instead, you must seek refuge from him and his stifling, suffocating presence in the times between the cracks, like now, as you take in the transformed Liyue Harbor, adorned with lights and colors brighter than any precious stone.
Hailing from Liyue, the Lantern Rite has always been a time of celebration and reflection for you and your family. Now it represents one of the only times the invisible shackles are lifted from your frame.
Although Zhongli does initially insist on walking you through the harbor, arms interlocked as he parades you around while monologuing about Liyue’s rich history, he permits you to venture off on your own and explore while he entertains his associates or work clients during the day. Although you know there are constantly eyes on you, usually a certain grumbling yaksha, this precious time almost feels like normal.
Today, you’ve decided on a stroll through Qiaoyang Village. The quiet, leisurely existence that its inhabitants have adopted fills you with a rare tranquility. Walking at a slow pace among the many street vendors, the scent of tea leaves, fresh mint and spices, permeates your nose, beckoning you forward. Your tea stocks at home are getting a bit low, you mentally remark, and having some of your own gives you an excuse to occasionally opt out of the times Zhongli wants to drag you out again.
Your mind set, you turn to find yourself a fraction of a second from running straight into a wall of boxes.
No—looking down, you spot a pair of black and gold boots, leading up to black trousers and elegant blue robes. A pair of matching gloves holds the boxes in place. There’s actually a person carrying all of those parcels.
Due to the boxes obscuring their view, they notice you too late—with startlingly quick reflexes, they manage to avoid running into you, but given their sudden halt mid-step, the boxes in their arms go toppling to the ground.
You gasp at your stupidity and immediately drop to your knees to maintain the stranger’s fallen goods. Embarrassed at your carelessness, you stumble over your words. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t see you—”
A gloved hand rests on your own scrambling fingers, calming your frantic attempt to organize the items. “No apologies necessary. I am the one at fault for not being more alert.”
Turning to face the stranger, who is now crouching beside you, the air in your lungs extinguishes as your eyes lock.
Undoubtedly, this man is one of the most handsome individuals you’ve ever laid eyes on.
Long, silver hair cascades around his sharp, defined features: almond eyes with striking lilac irises, high cheekbones and full lips, a tall, muscular frame clearly sculpted with subtle muscle. His attire—sapphire robes, adorned with lighter accents and intricate whirls of ocean blues—is clearly of expensive taste and sophistication. The jabot and dewdrop pendant around his neck suggest he’s Fontainian, perhaps associated with the court there.
You must look like a gaping fish out of water, for the man helps you to your feet with a kind smile. “I must have given you quite the startle. Are you feeling alright?”
His deep baritone rings through you, similar yet so unlike the proud voice of the Geo Archon you’ve grown accustomed to. Blinking twice, you regain your bearings and pray to the Seven—excluding one in particular, who would be very unhappy with you—that the man didn’t notice you gawking at him. “Ah, yes, I’m fine. Again, I’m very sorry for being so distracted. If any of your items are damaged, I’m more than happy to pay for replacements.”
“That is quite generous of you, but I can assure you that won’t be necessary. You see, these boxes merely contain tea, nothing more.” To prove his claim, he bends down to retrieve a box that opened when it landed, revealing simple, sealed bags of leaves.
Your shoulders sag in relief. It truly seems like no damage was done. “Well, at least let me help you wrap them up together. I know a trick that will make carrying them all much easier.”
The white-haired male nods, followed by a subtle smile. “That’s very kind of you. I accept your proposal.”
After a quick stop at another stall to buy twine, you start to work on binding the boxes together. You count more than ten in total—who needs that much tea, anyway? The amount of it is almost comical, but you can’t bring yourself to actually poke fun of the man. Not when he’s looking at you with such an endearing smile. Like he’s seeing you, not just the wife of the Lord of Geo.
Your face heats. “So,” you start, trying to focus on your knots and ties and not the stranger’s eyes boring into you, “can I ask why you’re carrying so much tea?”
“Well, I originally was transporting some goods back to Fontaine for my friends and colleagues, but I decided to partake myself. It was buy ten boxes get half off,” he replies, as calmly as if he were stating an obvious fact.
You can’t help it. A giggle escapes your lips as you quirk your head to the side. The innocence with which this man admitted to being scammed endears you greatly, and you can’t help but play along with him. “You know, that’s a pretty good deal.”
He smiles, then, a subtle thing paired with a tinge of pink along his cheeks. “I thought so, too.”
Your smile grows in tandem. Speaking to others, especially other men, without your husband hovering above the conversation is quite rare for you these days—though you have no doubt you’ll be questioned about it later once Xiao reports the encounter to him, if he hasn’t already—
A hand rests on your shoulder, the landing a bit too heavy and the grip a bit too tight. “Ah, my beautiful wife. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
The sound of Zhongli’s voice sends a jump through your bones. Archons, you knew you were being followed, but you’ve never been located and corralled this quickly. A flame of indignation, which has long since dimmed from an inferno to a mere flicker, sparks in your chest. You’re rightly upset that your time has been cut short, and even before you learned this interesting and undeniably attractive foreigner’s name.
You look up at Zhongli and open your mouth to explain the situation, that you were merely helping the other man secure his absurd amount of tea boxes, but the words die in your throat.
The Lord of Geo’s amber gaze is sharp and deadly as stone, directed at the other man. His jaw tightens and he grinds out, “Neuvillette.”
The silver-haired man’s eyes narrow as his gaze roams from the hand on your shoulder to meet Zhongli’s gaze. “Rex.”
Your brow furrows in confusion as you glance back and forth between the two men who look two moments away from ripping each other to ribbons. It’s obvious they know each other, and the name Neuvillette rings a bell of recognition in your mind. But what really concerns you is the term by which Neuvillette called Zhongli. To your knowledge, no one refers to your captor as Rex Lapis except Xiao, who knows of his draconic—
Oh. Oh.
The realization slams into you with a wave of clarity as your head slowly turns toward the other man. The silver, slitted pupils, the shimmering blue horns and pointed ears, the aura of power and hydro around him…
Horrified, your mouth falls open as you truly take in this man, Neuvillette.
No, not a man. The restored leader of Fontaine, the Hydro Sovereign.
You’ve been casually conversing with not only a dragon, but also the Chief Justice of the Region of Justice. One of the original powerhouses of Teyvat, from which the Seven gained their gnoses. And, given the death of the Hydro Archon, there is currently only one in existence restored to their full power.
“Shit,” you breathe, a bit too loudly. Purple and gold irises snap to you in sync, one filled with thinly veiled concern and questioning and the other with building anger and possession.
On cue, Zhongli snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you taut against his side. You swear you feel the hint of claws digging into your skin through the fabric of your dress, the remnants of his exuvia form.
“I had hoped to avoid meeting you here,” Zhongli states, eyes roaming over the scene, the scattered tea boxes, the twine in your hand, as he pieces together the situation, “but my wife is too kind for her own good sometimes.”
Neuvillette’s eyes browse over your form, examining your tense muscles and downtrodden eyes, the arms that remain at your sides. He’s seen cases just like this time and time again in court, but even so, it doesn’t take a legal profession to ascertain that you’re not particularly fond of your husband. And given Morax’s propensity for contracts, Neuvillette’s senses immediately go on alert.
The Chief Justice clears his throat. “Not at all. I think it quite generous of her to have dedicated her time to making my travels easier.” He tries to give you a reassuring smile, but you’re too focused on Zhongli who, despite his collected demeanor, you realize is a thread away from snapping.
Just what kind of battle between dragons have you gotten yourself into the middle of?
“Is that so? Perhaps she took pity on an old man such as yourself. I hear it can be difficult to carry so much after you’ve departed from your prime.”
“Old man?” Neuvillette barks a laugh, but quickly coughs and regains his composure. “Quite ironic coming from you, Rex. Besides, I feel quite reinvigorated these days. One can only assume it’s due to the balances of power returning to their rightful due.”
Zhongli flashes a hint of his canines, the only giveaway to his building rage. “Rightful is quite a biased term. We wouldn’t want to start a war now, would we?”
Neuvillette’s eyes glint like a sword ready for battle. “And you would know quite a bit about inciting wars, wouldn’t you, Rex?”
Dear Archons, you need to stop this before these two lunge at each other’s throats.
“Zhongli,” you try to placate with a soft voice, the name and tone you know he so adores from you, “I believe that Neu—uh, the Chief Justice was on his way back to Fontaine. I only wanted to help him wrap up his purchases correctly for the journey. If we assist him together, then we can head to the Pavilion for tea after, yes?” Part of you is disgusted at yourself for having to grovel, but you can’t allow two immensely powerful draconic beings to brawl over tea in the middle of the village.
Though you have an strong inkling that the argument isn’t over tea.
Your suggestion hits home. Zhongli’s muscles relax as he peers down at you, those immovable, amber eyes softening slightly as he drinks you in. The roaming hands across your back and waist, however, hint that you’ll be getting an earful in private. Though of the likely punishments he has in store for you, that’s the least of your worries.
With a single snap of his fingers, Zhongli uses the power of geo to bind Neuvillette’s parcels together. “There. Consider the issue resolved. My wife and I have matters to attend to.”
Zhongli quickly begins to pull you away, and you think you hear a growl over your shoulder from Neuvillette’s direction. “Careful, Rex. I would be most displeased to have to take one of your contracts to court. In the face of the law, they aren’t as omnipotent as you believe them to be.”
You wince, the statement hitting a bit too close to home. Zhongli, on the other hand, goes as still as stone. “That sounds awfully like a threat, Neuvillette.”
“A mere warning. It is of your own fault to read too deeply into it.”
Neuvillette then turns his attention to you, placing a single tea box into your shaking hands. You have no clue when he separates it from the rest.
Leaning in, his voice drops, low enough to be directed to you, yet you know Zhongli hears it clearly. “You are more than welcome to Fontaine. I will see to your accommodations personally, if you so choose to visit. I believe a spirit like yours would be greatly appreciated in our nation.”
All you can do is shake your head forlornly. Never in a million lifetimes will Zhongli allow it, not even before this encounter. You’ll have to settle for seeing Fontaine through your dreams alone.
Straightening with a frown but understanding the position you must be in, of the contract that binds you to the Geo Archon, Neuvillette lets the matter drop. He turns to leave, but not before throwing over his shoulder, “And her name isn’t wife, Rex. It’s…”
You swallow thickly. “(Y/n),” you finish, a mere breath.
Neuvillette gives you a final smile in return. “My offer will always stand, (Y/n). Happy Lantern Rite.”
Moments after he’s out of sight, Zhongli dips his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent and rubbing his over your skin. “You stink of that other male…but I know how to amend that.”
Needless to say, you did not make it to tea that afternoon.
It wasn’t until that night when Zhongli was asleep, clawed limbs and scaly tail entangled with your naked form, that you deem it safe to open the tea box Neuvillette had gifted you.
Core pounding, you grimace as you stand, the many possessive and claiming bite marks and bruises across your skin even worse than usual. He didn’t lie about wiping any scent of the other dragon away, if the past few hours of nonstop sex were any indication.
You make your way to the kitchen trash, where Zhongli had immediately disposed of it upon arriving home. Heart pounding, you lift the lid.
Felines are deserving of their accolades. Merit embodies their nimble spines and ductile limbs; bodies like pliable sand, threading their way through knots, twists, cavities and labyrinths. The prince of the hunt flexes and swipes his talons and his prey are swift to falter, their necks wringed and their spines contorted in ways that are unnatural to their physicality.
“I’ve got you now.”
At times, though, even a cat doesn't remain undefeated.
“How stupid are you to think that a cheap disguise would work against me?” He almost sounds amused, his words an arctic hiss against your ear. Reaching up, Scaramouche claws at the thick cloak that veils your face and tears it to your shoulders. Your hair is quick to mime the departed elements, hanging in disarray across your face. A mantilla of unkempt tresses, veiling whatever thoughts sketch your visage.
The Balladeer regards the sight of your person with a sort of contemptuous delight. Forcefully knelt at his feet with your wrists bound behind you and your head drooped in defeat—or in pensiveness. It's a shame Zapolyarny is so devoid of windows. What light finds it's way into these all-too familiar stone chambers is too sparse to see what expression you're making.
“Well? Say something. Or have I rendered you incapable of speech?”
Tentatively—begrudgingly—you tip your head back, back, back until your irises lock with the hypnotic indigo tinctures belonging to the predator who leers dauntingly above you. Locks of such a hue that only you could wear part like the red sea, revealing a thin, perhaps solemn, ambiguous smile—the last expression the harbinger could anticipate. Or desire.
“Thwarted again, hm?” You chuckle and it sounds like frost, “and I even took extensive measures to conceal my tracks. No good?”
“Failures are bound to repeat themselves.” Scaramouche doesn't nuisance himself with that syrupy facade he wears to rope his targets right between his molars. Malice is a noisome stench in the air as he adds, “This is the seventh time I’ve had to retrieve you. I'd figure you’d have learned your lesson by now, but time after time you insist on making yourself a burden to fetch.”
“There's no harm in trying, is there?” You maintain that strange curve on your plush lips. It’s difficult to tell what you're thinking, or feeling.
“‘No harm’, yet you delude yourself into believing that a time would come when you could successfully evade me. I wonder how long it’ll take until those dreams of yours crumble and die.”
“You know, there’s a word for what you are,” you state after a thoughtful pause. “I think it’s called: overbearing.”
What a strange girl with a strange smile. Normally, Scaramouche would meet such defiance by smiting his poor victim to dust within the blink of an eye. In your displays of resolve, though, the invincible harbinger finds himself crouching to your level, trailing a slender hand against your windpipe. How easily he could squeeze the life from your throat until you begs for reprieve; choke you of your indignation. Instead, he allows it to linger there without purpose, applying no pressure, grasping nothing.
“And there’s a word for what you are.” He nearly whispers. Difficult. Stubborn. Irrevocably his. “Irrational, when I only want what’s best for you. And what’s best for you, is to offer me your complete submission.”
“Even though I’d sooner offer my life than yield to you?” A new tone makes itself heard in your cadence. Such words, such simple, few words, reveal what lingers beneath your otherwise indifferent facade.
Sagacious. Provocative. Challenging.
Of course, you're testing the boundaries of Scaramouche's resolve, as he does with yours. Suddenly, the atmosphere is taut and palpable with tension for what may become of the future.
Sly, sly little songbird.
Something most unanticipated happens, and you reveal your hands, which you freed from their binds. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise Scaramouche, what with your prowess in the art of escape, but regardless your smile stretches in the presence of the astonishment that lifts his eyebrows and makes his eyes flash white, if only briefly. You take your time observing such a paltry display of rare, raw, emotion, how it shapes the contours of his features at the command of your actions. And gently, you take his hand that graces your throat and tenderly place it on your cheek.
"Ah... You've always been this way, haven't you, Kunikuzushi? Since the very day fate first connected your eyes to mine? " You slant your head into his cold hand with all the fragility of a shedding lotus petal descending into a reservoir, resting your cheek against his cold, liquid touch. Although, the action is far from affectionate. Rather, it's reminiscent of a sort of obstinacy, wearing the facade of love.
"You pine for my heart like you're starved for my flesh.” You take his hand and pass it through your cloak, poising it on your chest, right above your pumping heart.
"But... Perhaps I have no heart to offer you. What then? What will you do when you realize, there is no flesh to pick from my bones? No heart beneath my ribs?"
Scaramouche trudges through your words, running them across his mind. No plausible answer makes itself seen. He relinquishes his hand from your face.
A cat may not have wings, but it is unrelenting.
“If you have no heart…” He murmurs, before smiling a bitter smile, “Then I’ll make you learn how to love.” how to love him. “I’ll create a heart in the shape of my love, and then I’ll take it. By force if I must.”
"You're willing to create something, just to seize and destroy it..." His words taste like blood upon your tongue. Strange. Carrying pleasantry and uncanniness in a sordid congruence. your lips falter from their smile.
"What a rotten soul you have... When will you realize that your avarice will be your demise?"
A wry, perhaps relenting chuckle emerges from your throat. Then you sigh.
"Perhaps we were made for each other." “
Then why do you run from me? Why do you fight, when you’re meant to be mine?” He asks, vehement, pertinacious.
"But that is where you're mistaken, Scaramouche. You see—” You direct your pointer finger to his chest, resting it in the junction between his collarbones.
“—You're tenacious in pursuing me. But I'm," You points at herself, "Tenacious in avoiding you. We are made for each other like the same ends of two magnets. The same, yet destined to be apart."
There it is, another one of your challenging remarks. The chirping nightingale wriggles free and unfurls it's wings, just as the cat thinks the bird is trapped beneath its paws. And oh, how infuriating, how exhilarating you are. Hatred is a simmering tempest that ignites the harbinger's temper. He despises how affixed he is to you, to the thought of trapping you beneath his claws, only for you to fly free and rejoice your liberation in song. It's petty. It's pathetic. It's irresistible. The Balladeer scoffs.
“Is this all just a game of push and pull to you? Just how long are you willing to avoid me?”
“How long are you willing to pursue me?”
“Until you submit to me.”
“Then, until you set me free.”
Scaramouche can only watch as you put on your hideous, inhuman, anomalistic smile. Fine, then. If nothing else, he’ll build you a gilded cage to lure you into a golden prison disguised as a paradise. He’ll rip your wings from your body, flesh and bone marrow hanging in loose tendrils, so to erase all notions of flying free from your unreadable mind that he tends to make his possession, until you’re bleeding so sweetly beneath his claws. His beautiful songbird, who sings in the shape of his love.
Because you were made for him. He, the heartless one, who wishes for a heart. For your heart, which you are't willing to offer. Which you wish you never had.
You’re the only one to believe he still has a soul. That he ever had one, rotten as it may be.
Scaramouche cannot let that go. Regardless of how many times you flee from his talons, he will find you and chase you to the very ends of this earth.
Can you do part 2 of This is not love, Scaramouche when he loses his memory and gets it back Thank you
:OOO HELLO :DDD YES I've actually been brainstorming for it. DW I long have planned on writing a 2nd part for it.
All I can say as a tiny spoiler is that Scara/Wanderer would be more mellow/softer but much more protective of Reader. So, he'll be actively pursuing them more with a different approach than their previous meeting.
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