» marriage out of love, loving Cantarella, making out, loving sex
❣ Wife!Cantarella who is so in love and so happy to be loved in return that she doesn't even try to hide it, not only becoming even more clingy but also growing used to show you and your relationship off in not so subtle ways at any chance she gets
❣ Wife!Cantarella who, from the moment you have promised each other to marry has been unable to stop eyeing your matching rings, getting mesmerised by how far she has made it in life, how now she has someone to relay on, someone to love and someone that loves her too
❣ Wife!Cantarella who always kisses with gentleness right before the passion, who keeps her lips against yours until she runs out of breath before pulling away just enough to breath, who's feels a shiver run down her spine when she can feel your breath against her skin, who bites her lips when she is starting to feel turned on
❣ Wife!Cantarella who always takes the time to have a small and peaceful chats with you, before going to bed, she sits down at your side, legs crossed and bouncing one in idly as she hears you talk about your day, playing with your hair or hand gently, eyes fixed on you with the most loving gaze, ready to hum a lullaby and help you relax if you need it, to kiss your stress away and just be there to help you like you always do for her
❣ Wife!Cantarella who always take your hands and lead you through the now peaceful castle, your shared home, playfully dancing around, not letting go of your hands and filling the air with your shared laugh, who's playful antics always end up in a kiss or two, or rather, to make out sessions
❣ Wife!Cantarella who's eyes seem to be unable to get out of you, who's hands always finds yours, who's body always turn to your side, who takes every chance she has to cling to your side, to step as close as she can and remind you how much she truly loves you
❣ Wife!Cantarella who smiles to herself whenever she is wandering through your shared house and reminds all those times you have made her yours over all those rooms, who as long as you two can have enough privacy has never had troubles with becoming yours right where you were, who doesn't care as long as her beloved spouse fills her completely and fill her pretty womb, as long as you don't stop kissing her and your hands hold her like if you were meaning to never let go of her she doesn't care where you two are
❣ Wife!Cantarella who's kisses always come accompanied with clinginess, her hands tangling with your hair as she whimpers softly under the kiss, a quiet plea to don't let go yet, to please stay close to her at least a little longer, who when you accept to don't let go yet immediately jumps into the opportunity, grabbing her arms around you to bring you even closer, bringing one legs between yours to try and get even closer, to make sure you are enjoying the moment just as much as she does
❣ Wife!Cantarella who's obsessed over the idea of taking time, to kiss like if you have all the time in the world, to let your hands and lips roam all over her body all you may please, to let you explore her and memorize her skin and weak spots to heart, to let you unwrap all her secrets like if you own her and let you use all that things you learn to make her become a complete puddle, to make her legs shake, to make her pussy wet and clench over nothing but the anticipation, all for her beloved spouse
❣ Wife!Cantarella who also knows your weak spots to heart, who knows exactly how to turn you on, who may be trying to to tease you and get your attention enough so you will take your wife to the bedroom and make her yours again, and yet whose words are always filled with love and touches coming with gentleness, who would never tease you where there are prying eyes because seeing you getting turned on is a privilege only your beloved wife gets
❣ Wife!Cantarella who is unable to truly express how much love she truly holds for you, who would be able to cry just because of how happy you truly make her feel, who wishes to make you feel as happy and loved as you always make her feel so she ends up doing a lot for you, who's is more than happy to work on you with her boobs or rub her wet pussy over your length, who would bend down, raise her pretty ass for you any time you ask, who would ride you or even let your hold her hips up when she can't think properly anymore
❣ Wife!Cantarella who will always love when you fuck her no matter how because she is so full of love for you, so addicted to you and your love, who is just hoping with all her heart that you can feel as loved as she feels whenever you touch her because, in her eyes, you deserve the whole world and more
Your body is burning up, you’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, whimpering and crying for Cantarella, and yet she still won’t touch you.
“Please,” you whine, you try to reach for her, only to tug uselessly at the rope tying your wrists above your head.
“Shh, precious girl,” Cantarella coos at you, her touch is cold against your cheek as she brushes away a tear. “Didn’t you beg for this? Beg to be my test subject?”
You had. You’d been so confident, too. You’d thought the aphrodisiac would be a fun thing, like foreplay; you didn’t expect this burning, unrelenting need.
Cantarella settles more firmly between your thighs. The frills of her dress brush against your oversensitive inner thighs. She reaches between your thighs, and you gasp and squirm. She’s still fully dressed, and you’re naked, tied, and practically drooling slick across her fingers. The dichotomy makes you shiver. She lifts her fingers to show you the wetness on them, and you clench around nothing.
“Please please, Cantarella,” you’re babbling now. She smiles sweetly, then leans in to kiss you, muffling your pleas. You feel the thrum of her tacet mark against your tongue.
“Alright, I suppose I’ve tormented you enough,” Cantarella muses. She presses between your thighs, stroking before sinking two fingers into you. You pant, arch your back, and roll your hips into her touch. “I’ll give you what you need so desperately.”
Can I get uhhhh..... Zani and Cantarella (separate) being married to a royal (like fifth in line for the throne) from a distant nation and Rover finding out when she meets the man himself when he comes to vist his wife. Like Ella is just flirtily with everyone but the moment her man is back she’s just... clingly. (That girl is touch starved you cannot convince me otherwise.)
The real shocker is Zani, because she catches Rover ‘flirting’ with the reader and the employee is suddenly very possessive in a classy but intimidating way. Commenting casually that the reader is her man and she’s not sharing so back the fuck-
“Between My Hands and No Other’s”
Tags: Zani x Reader, Cantarella x Reader, Male!Reader, Established Relationship, Secret Marriage Reveal, Protective Partner, Possessive Behavior (Classy But Intense), Touch-Starved Partner (Cantarella), Soft Domestic Moments, Public Display Of Affection (PDA), Subtle Power Dynamics, Fluff With A Side Of Tension, Mild Jealousy.
Warnings: Mild Possessiveness, Public Confrontation (Verbal), Intense Stares/Intimidating Behavior (Zani), Overt Physical Affection (Cantarella), Light Power Imbalance, Implied Authority/Power That Could Turn Dangerous, Minor Social Tension Between Characters.
Ragunna’s Averado Bank was built to intimidate—vaulted ceilings, marble floors, and the kind of silence that made footsteps echo like accusations. You stepped inside, accompanied by your retinue, the faint gleam of your signet ring catching in the light. Being fifth in line to a royal throne wasn’t a title that turned heads everywhere, but here, people noticed.
Zani noticed first.
She stood by the reception desk, immaculate as always—white shirt pressed to perfection, red ribbon tied with military precision, high-waisted black pants hugging her form, and that ever-present cape draping elegantly from her shoulders. Pale skin, dark red eyes, black horns curving upward… She looked every inch the Montelli family’s most formidable employee.
And, of course, your wife.
A fact no one here—not even Rover—knew.
Rover was leaning against one of the marble columns, chatting with a junior banker. She spotted you and brightened immediately, striding over with the easy grin of someone who had no idea what she was walking into.
“Well, well,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Didn’t expect to see royalty gracing the bank today. What’s the occasion? Missing me already?”
It was harmless teasing, the kind Rover threw at everyone. You chuckled, replying in kind, but before you could answer, the faint click of heels cut through the air.
Zani’s approach was slow, deliberate—the kind of pace that said she wasn’t in a rush, but you’d better be ready to listen. The shadow of her cape fell across you before she stopped at your side, her gloved hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder.
“Your Highness,” she greeted, voice smooth but edged with steel. “I wasn’t informed you’d be visiting today.”
“Surprise,” you said, smiling at her.
Her gaze didn’t linger on you, though. No—those crimson eyes locked onto Rover with the precision of a hawk sighting prey.
“Rover,” she said evenly, “I see you’ve met my husband.”
It was a casual enough sentence… until the weight of the last two words sank in. Rover froze.
“…Your husband?” she repeated slowly, looking between you and Zani as if trying to reconcile the idea with reality.
“Yes,” Zani replied, voice still perfectly polite, perfectly calm. “Mine. And I don’t share.”
The statement was delivered with such smooth finality that the room seemed to drop a degree in temperature. Zani’s hand tightened on your shoulder—not painfully, but enough to remind you that the grip could turn into an unbreakable hold if needed.
Rover blinked, mouth opening to explain that she’d just been joking, but Zani continued before she could.
“I’m sure you meant no harm,” she said, that faint smile not reaching her eyes, “but I would suggest exercising… care… with your words. Especially toward what belongs to me.”
The silence stretched just long enough for Rover to nod stiffly and mutter something about work before retreating.
When she was gone, Zani turned to you, the faintest flicker of softness replacing the intimidation in her eyes.
“You should have told me you were coming,” she murmured. “I would have met you at the gates.”
“Wouldn’t be a surprise then,” you teased.
Her lips curved ever so slightly. “Perhaps. But surprises invite misunderstandings… as you just saw.”
Still, she didn’t remove her hand from your shoulder. In fact, as she led you deeper into the bank, her other hand found yours—an uncharacteristic display of affection in public, but one she clearly wasn’t letting go of any time soon.
The Fisalia estate was a masterpiece of opulence and quiet menace—ornate gates twined with flowering vines, halls scented faintly of exotic blooms, and a lingering taste of salt in the air, as if the ocean itself had claimed the place.
You arrived on a bright afternoon, your carriage rolling to a stop at the front steps. Being fifth in line to a throne wasn’t a position that demanded constant attention, but when visiting another nation’s most infamous family, it came with an entourage and an announcement.
Rover, who’d been helping deliver a package to the estate, happened to be there when you stepped out. She blinked at you, then grinned.
“Well, if it isn’t royalty,” she said, leaning casually against the carriage doorframe. “Didn’t expect to see you in Fisalia territory. What brings you here? Sightseeing? Or maybe you’re here for the company—”
Before she could finish, a soft, melodic voice drifted down from the top of the steps.
“My dear.”
Cantarella Fisalia descended like the tide—graceful, deliberate, her lavender hair flowing with light blue streaks that caught the light like ripples over water. Her parasol twirled lazily in one hand, the sapphire at her throat catching the sun. Those vivid blue eyes locked onto you and seemed to glow with recognition.
Rover actually stepped back at the sudden change in atmosphere. Cantarella didn’t so much walk to you as she did drift, her presence as fluid and irresistible as the sea itself.
When she reached you, she didn’t hesitate. The parasol closed with a soft click and was hooked over her arm; then her hands found yours, fingers lacing together as if she’d been waiting years for this moment.
“You’re early,” she said softly, the faintest note of delight in her voice. “Were you too impatient to wait for me to visit you?”
You smiled. “Guilty.”
She leaned in, her forehead brushing against yours, voice dropping to a private murmur that somehow still carried to Rover’s ears. “Good. I’ve been drowning without you.”
Rover’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait—hold on. You two are…?”
Cantarella turned her head slowly, regarding Rover with polite curiosity—as though only now realizing someone else was present. “Married,” she said simply. “To him. Did you not know?”
Rover’s mouth opened and closed. “I… no. I didn’t.”
Cantarella tilted her head, that ethereal smile curling at the edges. “Then you must forgive me. I am not usually so… forward… in front of strangers. But my husband has been far away, and I…” She trailed off, looking back at you with such raw adoration that it made the air feel warmer. “I miss him too much to pretend otherwise.”
Her hands slid up to cup your face, thumbs brushing along your jaw. “Walk with me,” she urged, already steering you toward the gardens. “I’ve prepared tea. And I’ll not be letting go of you for the rest of the day.”
Rover stood frozen as the two of you disappeared into the estate, Cantarella’s parasol bobbing gently over her shoulder. She had seen Cantarella flirt before—light, airy, with strangers and allies alike. But this? This was something different. The dreamweaver of Fisalia clung to you as though you were her anchor in a world that constantly tried to pull her under.
By the time you reached the garden, Cantarella had looped her arm through yours, her body pressed close. She poured tea with one hand, refusing to release the other.
“You’ll stay the night,” she murmured as she set your cup down. “And the next. And the next, if I have my way. Your kingdom can do without you for a while.”
Her smile was sweet, but her grip on your hand was firm—a gentle chain you had no desire to escape.
Cw: poisoning, yandere, scared reader, mostly gn terms
First longer-ish fic I’ve written, sorry if it’s not thought out well. Honestly I was just running on how horny I am for this woman. Reader in this is drugged, so that’s why they don’t freak out when told they’ve been poisoned. I know me and all five Cantarella fans cheered for this.
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You really shouldn’t be doing this.
Sitting across from cantarella at the table, watching as she sips her tea politely is when that realization truly sets in. The first thing that you brain thinks about is that you have now betrayed the Montelli family, breaking your oath just from being here. That thought alone is enough to make your blood run cold—the Montelli’s are kind, but not endlessly so. To let you go after this would be foolish, so if you were found after this meeting, you would surely be…swiftly handled.
The second is that, you don’t know if you’re even going to make it out of this house alive. Your eyes flicker down to the tea in your cup, watching as the liquid swirls around in hues of purple and blue. There isn’t much liquid left, most of it already drunk by you and all your naivety. You can only mentally curse yourself, accepting tea from The Dame so easily. Your unsure if your heart pounding in your chest is your own nerves or whatever poison she has decided is fit for you, if you will perish like some of the members of your family are thought too.
“Do not like the tea? I made sure to use my better blends for today.”
For such a smooth voice, it has a way of sending a shiver down your spine. Despite yourself, you straighten your back, facing her with dignity you’re not sure you have. “It was wonderful, the Fisalia family always supplies the best in Rinascita.” You try your best to keep your tone calm, sanded down as to not offend your host.
“Ah, that always pleases me to hear,” Cantarella smiles, painted lips pulled thin as she places her teacup down with a clink. “I supposed I should deliver some pleasing news to you as well. Your drink is not lethally poisoned.”
You didn’t bother with a response this time around, the only indication is a slight hitch in your breath.
“Now of course I know that raises questions in your mind, my dear. Yes, not lethally. I handpicked the flowers and herbs in my garden that wouldn’t result in your untimely demise.” Cantarella’s relaxed tone is horrifying as she speaks to you, acting like it’s the most common thing in the world. You still don’t offer a response to her, your mouth feeling suddenly dry.
“Well? Are you going to respond?”
“…why..? Is there a reason you…poisoned me?”
You don’t even notice when she makes her way over to your side of the table, her fingers grasping your chin to pull it up towards her. She’s gentle, that you notice. Her nails are long, and extremely sharp—but her grip is gentle, soothing almost.
“You’re a Montelli, and while you did go behind your beloved family’s backs to meet with me today, you’re still not very trustworthy. I can’t afford to have you scurrying off, leaving me before I get every last piece of information out of you. This poison just allows me to just that.”
She takes a moment, to let her eyes study you. Her gaze, like everything else about her, is its own unique form of terrifying. Looking into her gaze is like staring into the ocean, forever blue and endless but also powerful. Powerful enough to leave you dead on the spot, right here if she so chooses.
“But I won’t die..?” You try to not focus on the way your hands shake as you ask her that question, trying your best to keep your gaze strong in the face of her own.
“Of course not, my dear,” Cantarella pulls you up from your seat, her hand wrapping itself around you waist to tug you towards her. You never realized how numb your legs were, how hard it is to stand until the only thing stopping you from falling is her. “You far more useful when you’re alive, jellyfish.”
“Jellyfish..?”
You watch her smile widen, but only by a twinge. “Yes, jellyfish. They are such delicate creatures, floating endlessly with no direction…much like you,” she seems to pull you impossibly closer, your chest pressed against hers. You can’t stop yourself from leaning into it, the tiredness setting in quickly. “But that lack of direction can be changed.”
Every nerve wants to shove her away, to scramble back outside the door of this wretched house, but your limbs feel like lead. Your whole body feels exhausted now, the adrenaline in your blood finally slowing down after being overworked for hours at this point.
“You can do great work here, where you will be appreciated for your skills.” You don’t resist much as she leans down, her lips whispering into your ear like a sirens call. “Your new direction will be for the family…for me.”
Barely clinging to consciousness, you can only observe as she leans back, watching your form slump even deeper.
“Sleep now, jellyfish. I’ve had my eye on you for a while, so don’t disappoint.”
Sebastian stopped halfway across the terrace, tray in hand, and Cantarella watched his expression flicker before he smoothed it into something carefully blank. She tilted her head. Smiled. He set the tray down on a nearby table, bowed, and retreated without a word. Wise man.
You hadn't stirred through any of it. In fact, your head still rested heavy against her shoulder, your breathing slow and deep, and your body had gone completely slack sometime between the third and fourth paragraph of the old Fisalia record she'd been reading aloud. The proper methods for Violaca fermentation, a process she could probably recite in her sleep by now. You'd seemed interested at first. The book lay closed in her lap now, the worn leather cover warm under her palm.
"Look at you," she murmured. Soft strands of lavender hair fell across her shoulder as she shifted to see your face, brushing lightly against your forehead. "Hehe... so peacefully asleep. Right here, where anyone might see." One hand rose to brush a strand of hair from your cheek. Her fingers traced down along your jaw, light as anything, watching your parted lips, the slack ease of your features. "You must learn to relax, you know. You can't help others if you don't take care of yourself." Her touch lingered at the corner of your mouth. "Though I suppose you're managing that well enough at the moment."
She settled back against the chair, careful not to jostle you. The long, trailing panels of her dress had pooled over your lap where you'd curled into her side, white and blue and violet fabric soft against your sleeping form. Her hand came to rest gently in your hair, pale fingers carding through slowly before eventually stilling. She could wake you. Suggest somewhere more private, more befitting a Fisalia matriarch and her partner. But your hand had migrated and found hers at some point, fingers loosely tangled even in sleep, and when she tried to reach for the book again she found she couldn't without disturbing you. Well then.
The afternoon light shifted slow across the pale terrace floor. Somewhere deeper in the castle, she could hear the faint clatter and bustle of servants going about their work, voices echoing down the corridors. None of them had wandered this way yet. Let them talk, when they did.
Cantarella closed her eyes and let her head tip back against the chair. The breeze was cool against her skin. You were warm against her side. She could get used to this, she thought. To someone who wanted her for nothing at all. "To fall asleep beside the Bane so easily," she said softly, thumb tracing across your knuckles. "You really do trust too much." But she was smiling. Her grip on your hand tightened just a fraction. And she made no move to let go.
Warnings: General yandere things, dubious consent, implied established contract relationship (past), kidnapping, written before I did the story.
A/N: It has been a while since I wrote anything and I’m writing for another fandom? Blasphemy! Unfortunately, she has me by the throat and I am going to die on this hill. I am essentially writing this with pure thirst.
—
You felt Cantarella’s presence through her touch.
You felt the cold of her fingers first, pressed against the pulse of your wrist as she caught you in the middle of a promising business talk, then the plush of her chest, as she pressed herself against your back, enveloping you in the abyss that her presence radiated.
It took almost everything you had to recall that you were in a party for the upper class of society, invited by the virtue of your sheer determination, and wasting each precious seconds with your breath caught in your throat was counterproductive to your purpose.
“Do continue your discussion,” her voice tickled your ears. Cold, smooth, laced with something you could not quite describe, the way spoonfuls of honey would be added to conceal the bitter taste of medicine. Even the other party, someone responsible for a rather lucrative sweets business, was stunned into silence, his words caught in his throat as his thoughts on you did a one hundred and eighty.
“We- we were just finishing up,” he finally spoke, hurried, with a trace of fear so real it almost infused the shaky breath he exhaled. “If there is nothing else, I need to go meet my partner. She’d be incensed that I left her alone for too long.”
Partner. You were about to ask, to continue the discussion, anything not to be left alone with the venomous siren currently pressing against you, yet, with the haste he was leaving, you knew that it would be a futile hope. With no one else to serve as a distraction, you were left to bask in the cold of her embrace, your attempt to struggle out with a veneer of politeness withering the moment her hold tightens.
Never painful, only a wordless warning.
“Go on, tell me, something about starting capital?” She whispered. A shiver crawled down your spine, and in that moment, the party dress with a rather generous opening you wore, in an attempt to attract a few possible connections, as unsavory as they may be, felt as if they had dissipated, leaving you even more naked and vulnerable.
Your tense silence, and your pitiful attempts to reply, to ask just why and how she was here, only earned a low laugh from her. “Is there a reason I cannot be here?”
It was as if you had disappeared from view, leaving the two of you the sole people and the rest as merely animated decor. Even as you tried to move, no one paid attention to your struggles, a veil of blue barrier, possessing the visual texture of water, had separated both of you from most of the crowd. It was so faint, it would have blended with the walls of the place, even if all but the most observant gaze upon it. You cannot reply, tongue heavy in your mouth, but she did not see any reason to wait for an answer.
“You are so tense, what frightened you so?”
Cantarella paused for a moment.
“Were you upset that you lost such a pitiful catch?”
“This has nothing to do with you,” you finally snap, each word ground out with such force. “Lady Fisalia, our deal was one of our mutual satisfaction, and it has been completed. We have nothing to do with each other now.”
“Oh, but we do,” her reply was easy, unbothered, laced with authority the way one would chastise children. “Do you know that if you wash the pollen of a flower from your fingers improperly, its substance would still linger?”
“Is that a threat?”
“Merely a simple fact.”
You didn’t miss the way she did not provide a yes or no.
“I am not your property, nor do I wish to be. I will be leaving shortly.”
“Always in such a rush. You should things a little slower,” she replied, her thumb grazing over your lower lip in a slow, intimate touch. You took a step forward, pulling yourself away from her before your anger could shift into repugnance, and perhaps she was finally finished toying with you, to your relief, as she resisted less than you expected, and you were free—
The fleeting illusion shattered, as you feel cold fingers wrap on your hand. Slow, deliberate, giving you a taste of relief before ripping it apart with casual cruelty.
“Case in point.”
She pulled then, wrapping your waist with her other hand as the position forced you to face her. Her smile was one full of sincerity, one that looked polite on the surface, yet with frayed edges that offered a glimpse of her hunger, raw and passionate, treating you with such familiarity in public without regard for the possible fallout. It was a contrast to how your every nerve screamed danger, yet you still had to keep your impression and dignity as intact as possible.
So you bite down your retort, tongue brushing where her thumb touched your lips.
“You will let me have this dance, will you?”
“If I refuse?”
“Then do so, break free of my embrace.”
Cantarella’s grip on your waist held down with the strength of a vise, a feat that contrasts with the rather delicate facade she presented.
Even with knowledge of how deadly it is to tangle with her, the dark and murky waters she would drag and imprison you in should she saw the opportunity and gains from doing so, you were still caught off-guard, searching your scattered thoughts, only for potential answers to slip through your fingers when she took you on a slow dance her grip puppeteered you into following, your half-hearted revenge of trying to step on her feet thwarted as soon as you thought of it, turned into something beautiful as she guided you with a firm hand, humming a slow, ethereal tune without a care to your resistance, or perhaps, she considered it an addition to her haunting song.
She directed you to a slow dip, and it was then, you realized that you were entirely at her mercy. Perhaps if her hold on your waist had slipped, falling flat with embarassment would be a more tolerable fate.
“Go on, what troubles you so, dear (Name)?”
You open your mouth, to answer, but you realized, the world has started to move a little slower.
Her lips curved into a knowing smile, and then, as soon as you were about to answer...
She captured your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.
Even as the world faded with the grace of parting curtains, she did not allow you to look, within her eyes, drowning out most of your vision, your terrified expression was reflected within, while your tongue danced with hers, tangling in a dance that was once familiar, a familiarity Cantarella refused to allow you to forget even for just a moment, a familiarity she coaxed, guided, shaped by wielding her knowledge of your body against you.
However, even through the slowed world, through the clawing, sharp, persistent sensations of her touches, you still hear the voices of conversation that faded into gibberish, before silence reigned the place.
There was only two sets of footsteps.
Silence had allowed realization to pierce through what remained of the illusion.
Fear must have etched itself so clearly on your expression the moment released the kiss. Sweetness still lingered on your tongue, mixed with a faint aftertaste reminiscent of floral tea. She finally released your hand, though her hold on your waist remained firm, as she traced the contours of your face, brushing a stray hair and tucking it behind your ear. The trailing touch of comfort and fire, loathe as you were to admit the former, stopped on your chin, as she tilted you head to look at her.
“I have made sure there is no one to separate us.”
You open your mouth, wanting to ask, to yell, but it felt as if your mind cannot catch up, muddled in a mire made of her manipulation. The place has twisted into an unfamiliar, yet still lavish room, illuminated by silver moonlight that lends an ethereal glow to the walls.
“Where is this—“
“It is always a marvel to see the effect of what your mind could conjure with a little push,” she smiled. “You believed that luck allowed you to sprout wings, ready to soar into the skies,” she spoke, lowering your body, down, until you feel the plush of velvet sofa on your back, “only to wake up as you sink in the cold embrace of the depths.”
She placed one leg between your thighs, keeping them parted.
“You have a choice, would you accept, or do I need to break you in properly?”
A choice offered, yet with the privilege of choosing revoked. Her manicured nails slip through your parted lips, playing with your tongue as her other hand made short work of your clothes. Though the grace that accompanied all her movements remained, she cared little about the material, tearing it apart the way one would set aside wrapping paper on a gift. With embers already burning deep in your belly, higher thinking had started to suffer, and familiarity, muscle memory, took the forefront, tongue dancing with her fingers, soaking in the familiar taste of her.
Though her hand wanders the curve of your body, igniting trails of heat and stoking the burning fire in your belly, her gaze was fixed on yours, filled with a ravenous hunger, the kind of hunger from a living being deprived of her meal for days. Even so, her movements were slow, methodical, savoring each twitch of your expression, each interrupted breath. As your resistance melted away, she coaxed you to press your shamefully wet core on the plush of her thigh, jolts of addicting pleasure becoming an incentive for you to obey.
“Beautiful. In my hands, this is the most fitting state for you,” her breath ghosted over heated skin, marking it, soft lips carving into what would bloom into a myriad of bruises, soothed by the circling of her tongue.
Even with the pleasure of her thigh between your clothed sex, it was not enough. Never enough.
Only to incentivize, to make you pliant.
Even though you attempt to chase the sensation again, she held you still, pulling out perfectly manicured fingers now covered with strings of your own saliva. Embarassment colored your cheeks in a vivid, warm blush.
“Patience, dear,” her whisper drips sugary sweetness, an order of passion promising a cold embrace in her presence. The nights back then, when mutual pleasure were the first thought, eclipsing even the contrast of your titles and positions, guided your movements and hers, all reservations drowned in familiar embrace as she played with your dripping core, coaxing you to sing in a raw tune of the love and obsession entwined in the very fabric of your connection with her.
The coiling heat crashes into a wave of pleasure that for a moment, you saw white, thoughts dispersing in clusters of stardust. Her traces on your bottom lip still tasted deliciously sweet, pulling you from exhaustion as the taste doused the flame in your belly once more. Your expression, all blissed out, reflected in Cantarella’s deep blue eyes, glinting in quiet satisfaction. Her smile ensnares you in her spell, and for a moment, a dark moment, you considered her offer.
Even if it meant sinking into the depths of her embrace, without any hope to taste the fresh air of the surface.
Yet, deep down, realization had already sank in, a choice offered, without the privilege to choose.
“Are you already exhausted?” She mused, amusement lacing her question as she touched your cheek, directing you to focus on her with a deceptively gentle nudge. “The night is still young, and you have not returned the favor.”
Not a threat, a promise.
“Let me guide you, and tomorrow, you will understand your place, even if I have to etch the rules to your bones.”
Hmm~ Can we get some Yandere Canterlla with a with a M.reader or Gn. Reader who's a member of the montelli family? I feel this would work if the reader, despite being a montelli, is an outcast among them
Petal in Poison
Summary: In a city-state torn between tradition and progress, you are an outcast of the Montelli family—cast aside for your sentimentality and refusal to conform. Seeking solace, you find yourself in the company of Cantarella Fisalia, the enigmatic and dangerously devoted Matriarch of the rival Fisalia family. What begins as comfort quickly curdles into obsession as Cantarella declares you hers, drawing you deeper into her surreal world of poisoned beauty and illusory peace. As her love turns possessive, you must decide: escape the dream, or surrender to her sanctuary.
Tags: Cantarella x Reader, Yandere, Obsessive Love, Political Tension, Enemies to Lovers, Poison Motif, Slow Burn, Emotional Manipulation, Tragic Romance, Power Imbalance.
Warnings: Yandere behavior (obsession, emotional manipulation, possessiveness), Implied kidnapping or unwilling confinement, Mentions of poisoning and hallucinogenic environments, Power imbalance and psychological control, Light choking (non-violent but symbolic), Themes of emotional abandonment and trauma, Ambiguous consent in emotional and mental dynamics.
You weren't supposed to be here.
The Averardo Vault glimmered with technological marvels and ambitions you never shared. You were born into the Montelli family, yes—but you were never of them. Too melancholic. Too sentimental. Too slow to chase coin or carve influence.
You were something else. A shadow lingering in halls of light.
And somehow, that led you to her.
Cantarella Fisalia.
The Sea of Dreams. The Matriarch of Moonlit Poison. The woman who should have been your enemy.
Yet here you were. Draped in moonlight and illusions, seated beneath the soft umbrella of a jellyfish-shaped parasol, while she offered you tea that shimmered with hues unknown to natural leaf.
She smiled slowly. That smile never quite reached her eyes.
“Tell me,” she asked, voice like a silk ribbon sliding across the skin. “Do you still mourn them?”
You blinked. “Who?”
“The Montellis,” she whispered. “Your precious family. The ones who left you behind for loving the wrong things.”
Your hand stiffened around the delicate teacup. “They didn't leave me. I just... didn't fit.”
Her gaze deepened. Those eyes churned with something darker than the sea—something that remembered drowning.
“Then why,” she asked sweetly, “do you still hesitate to stay with me?”
There it was again. The undertow in her voice. Gentle, coaxing, wrapping around your ribs like velvet chains.
You had come to the Fisalia estate seeking answers, or maybe escape. Montelli ideals didn’t make room for outliers like you. You thought Cantarella—enigmatic and ethereal—might understand.
She did. Far too well.
But the price of her understanding... it was starting to surface.
“I never asked you to trap me,” you said quietly, carefully. “This dream of yours—it’s not mine.”
She tilted her head. Her parasol trembled slightly in her grasp, like a jellyfish sensing threat.
“You say that,” she murmured, rising from her seat in a fluid, balletic motion. “But when you sleep in my arms, you don’t flinch. When you cry, I am the one who wipes your tears. When you break, I am the one who rebuilds you.”
Her footsteps were soft as rain as she approached, and you instinctively leaned back—only for her hand to gently cradle your cheek, the cold pad of her thumb brushing your lower lip.
“And yet,” she added, her breath like perfume and decay, “you still dream of leaving. Of returning to the ones who traded you for ideals.”
You tried to pull away. Her grip hardened.
“You don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly,” she hissed, the whisper of venom curling beneath her words now. “You are mine. Not theirs. Not anymore.”
The Tacet Mark on her tongue briefly glowed as she whispered something ancient, and the walls of the room shimmered—wavering into a bloom of impossible flowers, soft bells, and gentle tides. Her Illusory Dream.
Your body sank, but not from fatigue—from weightlessness. Like your choices were dissolving.
Her fingers slid down your jaw, wrapping around your throat—not to hurt, but to claim.
“I will not let you drown in a world that rejected you,” she said. “If I must poison every Montelli, every dream they built, I will do so smiling.”
“Cantarella—”
“You call me by name,” she breathed, kissing your temple. “But I want you to call me sanctuary.”
You trembled—not from fear, but the realization that she would never let you go. And a dark, shameful part of you… didn’t want her to.
You were tired of being unchosen.
She had chosen you.
Obsession laced with salvation. Poison sweetened with longing.
The Sea of Dreams would swallow you whole.
And somehow, you already tasted salt and honey on your tongue.
