A 1920s time period piece. I made this as historically accurate as I could. It is more historically inspired and set in London. This is for @justamegafan
Yandere 1920s Imagines: Parlor Maid
Yandere Socialite x Fem Maid Reader x Yandere Nobleman
TW: Wlw, internalized homophobia, messy love triangle between siblings (Not incest), bullying (mention), yandere behavior, abuse of power, uncomfortable situations, two emotionally constipated nobles, and unhealthy relationship dynamics
Duchess Frances and Duke William Monroe had always fought over toys and trinkets since they were young. These small squabbles never ended, even when they reached adulthood. Especially when they both had their sights set on you, the pretty little maid. Both siblings were incredibly competitive over you, their sweet, oblivious maid.
You had been with them since they were children since you were the daughter of a maid. And once you were a teen, you worked for the family too… and those two siblings made your life a living hell. You had no idea that they did such awful acts upon you for your utmost attention rather than sadistic pleasure, but how were you to know the truth? They merely learned love through what they observed between their cold parents.
Frances used to cut your hair without your permission and stuff the remnants into a tin under he bed, while William had a much stranger habit. He enjoyed keeping your dirty socks. They were both so strange to you as the years went on. What started at childish bullying turned into a strange dynamic they had with no other house servant.
When adulthood finally came, Frances Monroe became a diva. Unlike her war commander brother, who threw elaborate parties and had gaggles of women dancing on his arms, she’d flaunt her furs and jewelry amongst the party guests. And she made you, her maid, do her hair and makeup multiple times a day just so she could have your hands on her. Frances adored the attention she recieved from other women, but didn’t like the attention of men… the socialite didn’t quite understand why, but she gravitated towards you. You were the only one who indulged her every command and it made her feel special. Even though Frances failed to realize you didn’t quite have a choice.
Your hands were constantly making finger waves in her French bob. You swore your hands were in the permanent shape of the comb and your hands smelled constantly of sugar water. Yet Frances was never satisfied.
“Redo it. You can’t possibly think this hairstyle is acceptable for my party guests.” She’d tell you each time despite how good the hair looked. This was all to have your constant attention… and to keep you away from her older brother, William.
When you finally had free time, you’d be hounded by William who wanted you to fetch him all kinds of assortments. Whether it was drinks or snacks, he’d ask for them in bountiful amounts. Yet that wasn’t the worst part, the worst part was when William had you feed him and it was always a show.
William would beckon you over like a dog in front of so many people before he’d have you nearly straddling his lap to hand-feed him an appetizer or an olive from his martini. His blue eyes would be half lidded and dazed… like you were yet another woman he wanted as a conquest. It made you sick.
You hated those two spoiled brats. The hours you worked as a servant were so long and demanding and the pay? It was so low, you almost felt like a pet rather than a worker. You worked multiple jobs since the Monroes' cutback on servants in the manor. There were hardly any male servants due to the ongoing war… and you knew it was only a matter of time before one of the few men left in this house might try to put their hands on you. You had heard stories from other maids… and you had no interest in being a bed warmer and ultimately, known as a trollop it’s why you’ve been saving most of your checks. You needed enough for a ticket to sail across the Atlantic to America… maybe you’d find a better life in New York than working for this awful Duchy.
You sat up as you went to the hidden hole you had hidden under your mattress where you kept a metal tin full of shillings. You had about £14 that you’ve collected over three years. It’d be enough for a boat ticket… You only made about that much a year as a parlor maid. Which was more than what you made years ago. You were grateful for the meager pay rise because you were that much closer to freedom. You packed your tin back where it was before you made sure it was secure once more. The last thing you needed was for someone to discover this… you had been talking to a sailor for a few months now on getting on the hair and he promised you a spot if you ever truly needed it. You took great advantage of your looks to get what you wanted. And you were hopeful that he’d keep his word.
The days went on and you noticed William began to seek you out more and more. Whether it be to ask you to fetch him a beverage or to stand as close as possible beside you while you dusted. It unnerved you how he looked at you, yet the older maids could do nothing to help you.
“I’ll be going to war soon,” William told you softly. His blue eyes filled with longing. “…meet me in my room tonight.”
Frances angrily stormed into the room when one of the maids let it slip that William asked you that request. Her blue eyes were narrowed as her pin curls were still pinned to her head since she had waited all morning for you, specifically, to come to her room to take them out despite her having a personal maid.
“How dare you indulge my brother! You are to be at my beck and call, not his!” She huffed in annoyance, her pale cheeks flushed red. “I’m far better company than that sheik! Look at my hair! I need you to fix it.”
You obediently followed her to her room as she practically dragged you. Frances complained the entire time as you fixed her blonde bob for her. The socialite was leaning into your hands the whole time which made your job even more difficult. If only you looked up to see the dazed expression on her face, then you’d know how Frances really felt. Frances felt the feelings for you that a man would feel for a woman and that really upset her. Because Frances knew she could never truly have you. She’d have to marry a nobleman one day. Unless… She took you back with her.
It rained that night, but you quietly went to William’s room as he asked. You didn’t want to upset him since William had a worse temper than Frances, herself.
He was quick to wave you over to him as he sat in his chair. His blue eyes studied your form in an emotion you could only describe as reverence. Which was odd since he was a known ladies' man. Yet you never truly looked into whether or not he genuinely joined those ladies in his room. He was just a privileged elite in your eyes anyways.
“You’ve grown so beautiful.” William quietly told you, and his hand went to grab yours. His grip was as tight as the coils of a snake around its prey. “It’s not fair that my sister keeps you all to herself.”
The moment he went to try to pull you into his lap, you quickly tried to push away from him. His blue eyes widened before they became half-lidded. Did you enjoy teasing him? How naughty…
“I’m sorry, my lord. I hadn’t meant to offend you-“ William chuckled as he continued to let his hands roam your body. He had been holding back for so long but no other woman could get him quite as worked up as you did.
“Nonsense. I’m finally able to appreciate you and your beautiful body now that my father isn’t here. Do you know how hard it was to keep all the men away from you all these years? I didn’t want another man to ever touch you, sweetheart.” William smiled. “I’ve been carrying a torch for you for years and now I finally get to touch you.”
The moment he went to pull you in for a kiss, you shoved him before you fled. The Duke hardly had time to register what had just happened before he gave chase. If you glanced back, you would have see the expression of pure panic on his face. William had thought you liked him too… You had never lashed out like this before!
“Wait! Please-“
But you rushed into your room and took out that little tin full of money from under your mattress before you fled down the staircase. A few servants merely gave you a glance at first until they saw the young master chasing you. The room soon descended into pandemonium, which of course attracted Frances to exit her room in shock. Her blue eyes widened when she saw you rushing out the door in only your maid uniform and your little, metal tin.
“Wait! Where are you going?!” Frances soon descended the stairs as well, yet she wasn’t quick enough. You were out that door. Both siblings screamed for you over and over again, but you drowned them out.
You ran down the streets of London, grateful that you were a fifteen-minute run to the Tilbury port. You practically threw the money at the sailor you had spoken to for all these months to take you away this very instant, the poor man was practically at a loss with how inconsolable you were. Yet he allowed you onto the ship. You had escaped your hellish life as a servant for the Monroe Duchy… unaware that your nightmare was only just beginning.
PAIRINGS. footman john x fem! featherington maid! reader
SYNOPSIS. not being paid enough by lady featherington, you complain to john who makes you a tempting offer during the ‘maid war’.
WORD COUNT. 2.1k
WARNINGS. reader is treated unfairly and is exhausted. financial abuse.
the air in the featherington kitchens is thick with the smell of cheap tallow candles and the sharp, stinging scent of vinegar. your back aches from hours of hunching over the floorboards.
"move faster, girl! the drawing room won't polish itself, and lady featherington expects the brass to shine like the sun by morning," mrs. varley barks, her own face flushed with the stress of keeping a crumbling household looking like a palace.
you don't look up, your fingers stinging as the harsh cleaning solution seeped into the small wounds on your knuckles. the wounds you got from stitching a tear in prudence’s oldest silk gown. a gown that had been dyed three times already to make it look like a new season's fashion.
the other maids are whispering in the corners. snide remarks about who had finished their chores and who is lagging behind.
in the featherington house, every mistake is a reason for a deduction in pay, and every maid is looking for a way to stay in mrs. varley’s good graces at the expense of someone else.
you reach into your apron pocket, feeling the few coins you had received last week. it was a pittance. you had counted them a dozen times, hoping the math would somehow change, but the reality remained: after the "economizing" lady featherington had insisted upon, there was barely enough to cover the cost of your own tea, let alone send anything home.
the sound of a bell clanging violently from upstairs makes everyone jump.
"perhaps it’s miss philippa," varley snaps. "maybe she’s dropped her embroidery again. go on, and don’t you dare let her see those red hands. put your gloves on, though god knows they’re more thread than wool now."
you stand up, your knees cracking, and wipe your hands on your stained apron. the opulence of the hallways upstairs is a cruel joke compared to the damp cold of the servant’s quarters.
as you hurry up the back stairs, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a silver tray. tired eyes, hair escaping its pins, and a look of quiet desperation that you can't quite mask.
the weight of it all, the endless work, the lack of pay, the constant fear of being let go, feels like a stone in your chest. you just need to get through this final hour. you just need to make it to the back gate.
the thought of john, of his calm voice and the way he actually looks at you like a person, was the only thing keeping your feet moving. you adjust your cap, take a deep breath of the dusty air, and step into the hallway, bracing yourself for another round of demands.
you step into the drawing room.
lady featherington paces the drawing room, her eyes darting over every surface. "the silver, girl! it looks too dull. if the guests see a single smudge, they shall think us destitute."
"i’ve polished it twice today, my lady," you say softly, keeping your head low. your stomach gives a quiet, treacherous growl; the kitchen rations have been cut back again to ensure the "proper" hors d'oeuvres could be served at the next promenade.
"then polish it a third time," she snaps, though not with malice. more with the desperate, sharp edge of a woman whose world is built on a crumbling foundation. "and mind the beeswax. use it sparingly. we must make the tin last until the end of the month."
mrs. varley enters then, clutching a small wooden box. she catches your eye, a flash of shared exhaustion passing between you. she opens the box to reveal the week’s wages. lady featherington looks at the coins, her lips thinning into a tight line.
"is that all that remains after the grocer was paid?" the lady asks.
"it is, ma'am. the prices in mayfair are rising, and with the girls needing new ribbons—"
"yes, yes," lady featherington interrupts, waving a hand. she turns to you, her expression almost apologetic for a fleeting second before the mask of the matriarch returns. "you’ll have to take a reduced portion this week. we must all make sacrifices for the family’s standing."
she hands you a few meager coins. it isn't even enough to cover the cost of the tea you’d brewed for them that morning. they aren't throwing plates or shouting insults; they were simply squeezing you dry, penny by penny, to keep their own feathers plucked and proud.
"thank you, my lady," you whisper, though the words feels like lead.
"be quick with that silver," she calls out as she sweeps toward the stairs. "and don't let me find you idling. there's plenty of work to be done before the sun sets."
you tuck the coins into your apron, the weight of them mocking your empty pockets.
as soon as the house settles into its evening hush, you know exactly where you need to go. the alleyway is the only place where you aren’t just a budget line to be trimmed.
the lanterns of mayfair flicker low, casting long, wavering shadows against the stone walls of the alleyway behind grosvenor square. it is the only place quiet enough for a stolen moment, far from the prying eyes of lady featherington.
the damp night air clings to your skin, but the heat of your frustration is enough to keep you warm. you pull your cloak tighter around your shoulders, the fabric thin and fraying at the seams. a constant reminder of the featherington household’s "delicate" financial state.
john is already there, leaning against the cold brickwork, his livery crisp even in the humidity of the london night. when he sees you slipping through the back gate, his weary expression softens into a genuine smile that reach his eyes, a stark contrast to the sharp glares you’d been receiving from mrs. varley all day.
"rough shift?" he asks softly, reaching out to steady you as you step over a muddy puddle.
"rough doesn't begin to cover it, john," you sigh, leaning your forehead against his shoulder for just a second, letting the scent of his clean soap ground you. "between the extra polishing for the upcoming ball and the constant errands for philipa and prudence, i feel like i’m running on nothing but tea and spite."
he chuckles, a low, comforting sound that vibrates through his chest. "i’ve heard the whispers through the servants' hall. it’s cutthroat out there lately, especially with the ton breathing down everyone's necks for the season."
although it is cold, the heat of your frustration is enough to keep you warm. "it would be manageable if the pay matched the labor," you say, pulling back to look at john, your frustration finally bubbling over. "i checked the ledger again when the housekeeper wasn't looking. the featheringtons are... well, they’re 'economizing' again. i’m doing twice the work for a pittance."
you pull a few meager coins from your pocket, the metal dull in the moonlight. "i can barely afford new stockings, let alone save anything for my mother’s medicine. mrs. varley has us scrubbing the floorboards with vinegar until our hands bleed just because lady featherington thinks the house smells of poverty. i’m invisible until a ribbon needs ironing or a corset needs hauling."
john’s smile fades, replaced by a look of quiet, simmering concern. he steps forward and catches you in a brief, firm embrace. "you’re trembling," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your hair.
"i'm angry, john," you snap, though your voice cracks.
he pulls away just enough to take your hands in his. his large, warm thumbs brush over your knuckles, tracing the raw, red patches where the stitching and the scrubbing have bitten deep. he doesn't offer empty platitudes; he looks at the coins in your palm with a hard, protective edge. "it's more than cruel," john says firmly. "it's theft. they're standing on your back to keep their heads above water. you’re not invisible to me, and you're worth much more than whatever coins they’re hoarding to keep up appearances."
he looks back toward the grand, brightly lit pillars of the bridgerton house, where music drifts from the drawing room, then down at you with a thoughtful glint in his eyes.
"you know," he starts tentatively, "the bridgertons are different. they’re a handful, heaven knows, but they treat us like people. they actually know our names, and the ledger there is honest. there’s a vacancy coming up in the scullery, and i heard mrs. Wilson mention they might need another lady’s maid soon with hyacinth growing up."
he squeezes your hands, his gaze intense and sincere. "you don't have to fight this alone. do you want me to put in a word? ask if they’d see you for an interview? i hate seeing you run ragged for a family that doesn't appreciate the soul you put into your work. i’d much rather see you across the hall than across the square."
you look at him, the warmth in his gaze doing more to comfort you than any extra pounds ever could. the idea of being near him every day, in a house that doesn't feel like a sinking ship, feels like a dream. "you’d really do that for me? after all the trouble with the households being at odds?"
"in a heartbeat," he whispers, leaning down so his forehead rests against yours. "let me talk to the butler tomorrow morning. we'll get you out of that house, i promise."
you look away, your gaze drifting toward the darkened windows of the featherington house. "i don't know, john. the mood in the square is... poisonous lately. lady featherington is already paranoid, and you know how the ladies are acting. it’s a war out here. i heard the countess of pembroke practically bought a cook right off the sidewalk last week, offering double the silver just to spite her neighbor."
you bite your lip, feeling the weight of the situation. "the featheringtons don't have enough staff as it is. if i leave for a house as grand as the bridgertons, and for better pay, lady featherington will see it as a desertion. or worse, she'll think lady bridgerton is trying to 'poach' me. it might make things even harder for the girls who stay behind."
john’s expression remains steady, though a small, weary smile touches his lips. "it isn't poaching to offer a fair wage for honest work, even if the ton treats us like prize horses at an auction. let them have their petty wars. the only thing that matters is that you aren't the one paying the price for their pride."
he steps closer, blocking the wind. "the featheringtons might have fewer hands, but that is because they don't value the ones they have. let the ladies fight over their silk and their staff. i just want you somewhere safe, where you can actually breathe."
you look back at him, the logic warring with your fear of the fallout. "you think mrs. wilson will see me?"
"she knows quality when she sees it," he says confidently, giving your hands one last, firm squeeze. "and she knows i wouldn't bring her someone unless they were the best. let me handle it. you just be ready to say yes."
you look down at your hands, the light of the lamps catching the raw skin of your knuckles. the prospect of the bridgerton house is a light at the end of a very dark tunnel, but the fear of the "maid war" still gnaws at your stomach. lady featherington is a woman who sees every loss as a personal insult, and the gossip in the square travels faster than a carriage.
"i want to, john. i truly do," you whisper, pulling your hands back slowly to tuck them into your apron. "but i need to think on it. if i leave now, with the household in such a state, mrs. varley will make life miserable for the others just to compensate. and if lady featherington finds out i'm moving to a house she's already jealous of... it could get ugly."
john looks like he wants to argue, his mouth opening to tell you that you owe them nothing, but he stops himself when he sees the genuine worry in your eyes. he nods slowly, respecting the weight of the decision.
"i understand," he says softly. "it's a lot to weigh. just don't wait until there’s nothing left of you to save."
you offer him a small, tired smile, stepping back toward the service entrance of the featherington house. "alright, i think an interview with mrs. wilson wouldn't be that bad."
Make it a Sylus married only for politics and that the King’s consort is largely always just spending her time at a villa in her home country, “it’s so hard being away from my mother after father’s passing. She needs me.”
You were just a scullery maid, but you’d snuck away to watch the king’s guard spar. You and several other girls. It was an open secret. The knights liked to peacock for blushing maidens and the girls enjoyed the show of sweat-slicked bodies and straining muscles. It wasn’t uncommon to later spot pairs in shadowed alcoves where a girl’s giggles fill the air and the low voice of a knight charms her.
You just happened to follow along for an added, secret reason. You watched intently how their practice blades cut through the air. You’ve always wanted to learn how to wield a sword.
It’s just no one expected the King to show up midway through practice.
All your fellow maid-hands scattered like flower petals and the knights were noticeably more on edge as their King criticized their forms, making them spar against him of all people. You were fascinated. You should’ve gone back to your duties, but instead you watched.
Just when it’d seemed like the area had been deserted, you walk out into the clearing to pickup a practice blade of your own and try to replicate the motions you remember seeing.
“And here I thought I had myself a little problem in the castle staff. Good to know it’s just a wayward kitten trying to sharpen her claws.” A low, amused voice suddenly speaks close at your back. You can’t even whirl on the intruder to your secret time before heavy hands settle your hips and a foot kicks out your feet into a wider stance.
“Your stance is worse that a squire’s. Keep it wide, and knees slightly bent. It’ll help your reaction time be faster.”
A hot breath tormented the sweat-damp skin on your neck. You couldn’t help but notice that this man was huge as his body pressed to yours to adjust your sword stance perfectly.
Now, I enjoy a bit of a perv Sylus from time to time. Just a hint. A sprinkle.
Just imagine the size of his bulge pressing against you. You’re trying your best to not die from mortification at being caught up in such a situation.
“M-my lord…?”
“Do you want to learn how to fight, kitten?”
“I-“
“Be here at dawn. Let’s see if you can keep up.”
Then just as quickly, he’s gone. You’re so bewildered you don’t even know you’ve made it back to the servants quarters until someone is calling your name and saying you’ve been granted a private room, much to the pointed glares of many others. What the hell is happening?
🐉 His Claim - Dark Obsessive Arion Targaryen x Maid!Reader
Aerion Targaryen X Maid reader
TW: Dark Romance / Obsession / Possessive
Behavior / Psychological Control / Power
Imbalance / Maid Reader / Arion Targaryen x
Reader / Bastards / Children / Non-Consent Implied
From the moment Arion Targaryen first laid eyes on you, he decided: you belonged to him. Not in whispers, not in fleeting glances every step, every breath, every heartbeat of yours was claimed before you even knew it.
Weeks passed. The castle whispered of his obsession, though none dared speak it aloud. Every servant and noble who glimpsed the children proof of his claim shivered in silence. The eldest, four, had violet eyes like Arion himself, silver hair that gleamed like moonlight, and a sharp, perceptive look that unnervingly mirrored his father. The two-year-old, clinging to your hip, already had a shock of pale hair and the same piercing violet gaze, fists always seeking comfort yet constantly measuring the room.
And the youngest, still in your heavily swollen belly, kicked relentlessly, a tiny life already marked with Arion's unmistakable bloodline.
Even in the grandest halls of King's Landing, Arion's presence was a storm. Nobles bowed, voices trembling as they whispered, for a single misstep, a careless word against his bastards could vanish them from favour or worse. His eyes, violet and sharp as daggers, could freeze a man mid-sentence. Whispers died before they reached his ears. The bastards were untouchable; their existence a terrifying declaration of his control.
In the privacy of your chambers within the Red Keep, he allowed you a fragile breath of reprieve.
"You need not carry the weight of the castle while carrying mine," he said once, voice low, silk-dark, yet chilling. "The children require you, and I..." He paused, violet eyes scanning you as if measuring every movement. "
'...I require them. And you."
He arranged your duties, ensuring you had enough freedom to care for the eldest and the two-year-old, though every errand, every corner, every step you took still fell under his gaze. There was no true independence, only the illusion of it.
——————————————————————————
The children thrived under his obsessive attention.
The eldest would sit quietly on a small cushioned stool in the corner of your chambers, learning the subtleties of the Red Keep under his watchful gaze.
Violet eyes flicking to his father whenever someone spoke too loudly or too boldly, instinctively reading the room, learning the dangerous weight of being noticed or not noticed by Arion.
The two-year-old clung to your hip but recognized Arion in fleeting moments, staring into those violet eyes with a mixture of curiosity and instinctual reverence. Even the eldest would sometimes whisper questions about him, cautious, knowing not to provoke.
Arion adored them not in softness, but in obsession and possession. Every milestone, every word, every glance was a mark of ownership. Yet he demanded loyalty, awareness of hierarchy, and the unspoken understanding: they were his, and through them, he controlled everything you loved.
——————————————————————————-
At court, in the Red Keep, he was a tempest. Any servant who dared glance at your children or you with disrespect felt the weight of Arion's presence like a blade across their throat. Even whispers of discontent fell silent under his violet glare. He did not need to strike; the mere promise of his wrath kept the Red Keep in line.
He watched you constantly, whether carrying the eldest to the small writing desk in your chambers, holding the squirming two-year-old on your hip, or resting one hand on the youngest in your belly. Every gesture, every stumble, every shiver was a reminder: you, and everything connected to you, belonged to him.
"You see them?" he murmured once, trailing a fingertip along your shoulder. "All of them... mine.
Every step they take, every word they speak... reflects on you. Reflects on me. Do you understand?"
You nodded, chest tight, breath shallow. There was no escape. Not in this castle, not in this life. He had woven every aspect of your existence into his claim: the children, your chambers, the court, even your very body.
And yet... there was a strange, suffocating tenderness in his obsession.
When the eldest climbed into his lap in your chambers, Arion's hands rested on the boy's shoulders like a king claiming his heir, teaching him the power of presence, the silent intimidation of a Targaryen in full command. The boy mirrored his father's gaze, violet eyes sharp, learning both fear and authority simultaneously.
The two-year-old, wriggling on your hip, would babble his first words in Arion's presence, and the prince would smile not warmth, but possessive pride watching how his obsession had multiplied into these children, these living extensions of his ownership.
——————————————————————————
Even the youngest, still in your belly, seemed to respond to him. At night, when he would appear at your door, pressing a hand gently but dominantly against your side, you could feel the baby shift and kick, as if recognizing the master of its life before birth.
"You are mine," he whispered one night, voice silk and steel. "All of you. The eldest, the middle... even the one yet unborn. And no one - no one will take you from me."
You realized then, with a suffocating clarity, that his obsession was complete. The children, your chambers, the court they all bent to his will. And you... you were utterly, terrifyingly, irrevocably his.
Warnings: angst, power imbalance, master-servant relationship, the reader was an orphan, inappropriate behavior, mentions of past physical abuse, fluff, hurt and comfort
Mr. Holmes Maid (8)
Mr. Holmes’ maid masterlist
“M-aster. Sherlock, I cannot sleep in your bedroom. If anyone finds out, they’ll call me a wench or worse. Please don’t make me. I don’t want to end up like Mabel, tossed onto the street to sell her soul for pennies.” You pleaded with your master.
“Y/N, my sweet maid,” Sherlock looked torn. He wanted you to stay in his bedroom, but at the same time, he didn’t want you to feel ashamed. “I don’t want to dishonor you. Go to your room. I won’t ruin your reputation. Soon enough, you’ll share the room with me.” Something flashed in his eyes, but it was soon replaced by a kind smile.
“Th-ank you, Sherlock…master.” You nodded, grasping for his hand. “But—will you come to me tonight? I’ll be waiting for you.”
His face lit up at your words. “Of course, sweet maid. I have a few matters to take care of first. I’ll be joining you soon.”
Sherlock thumbed through the papers, every piece of information he had gathered for weeks. “Nothing,” he huffed, flinging a book across the room. “Weeks of investigating her case, and I found nothing.”
“Master?” You knocked at the door, calling his name. “It’s late. You should rest, master.”
“I need to read more…” Sherlock sighed deeply. He rubbed his tired face, disappointed in himself for not discovering more about the person who was leaving you at the orphanage. “I’ll be there soon.”
“No,” you opened the door and stepped inside. “Sherlock, you need sleep. You look worn out, and it’s already so late.” You averted your gaze. “Please.”
“Just a little longer, Y/N.” Sherlock watched you nervously chew on your lower lip. “What is it? Do you need anything?” The observant detective knew that something must be off when you entered the study without knocking.”
“I can’t sleep without you,” you murmured, shyly glancing at your master. He rose from his seat to step toward you. His features softened as he gently touched your cheek.
“I’ll be coming with you.” He said, thumb brushing over your skin. “I can finish the papers tomorrow.” Sherlock kissed your temple, making you feel warm. “We will go to bed now.”
The next morning, Sherlock told you to sleep in. He wanted you to have a peaceful slumber after everything you had to endure because of Irene.
He rose early to go back to his study, hoping to find out more about your past. Sherlock angrily huffed when his brother entered his study.
“Mycroft, what brings me the pleasure of your presence?” Sherlock looked up from the papers he was studying. He wanted to find out more about your past and present his answers to you as a wedding gift.
“I heard rumors, brother.” Mycroft stiffly stood in front of Sherlock’s messy desk, glancing at the few belongings his brother got from the nun.
“About what?” Sherlock dismissively asked. He didn’t have time to waste on useless rumors and gossip that people liked to spread.
“You and your little maid,” his brother replied, scrunching up his nose. “I knew you had a barely tamable libido, but stooping so low that you are having an affair with the maid…that’s a new low even for you.”
Sherlock slammed his fist onto the desk, making Mycroft flinch at Sherlock’s sudden outburst. “I did not touch my maid inappropriately. Who spread those vicious lies about her? She’s an innocent and honest woman.”
“Well, your lady friend Irene is running around town, telling everyone you are about to throw your reputation and talent away for a whore. The wench living within your walls.” Mycroft watched his brother’s features darken with amusement. “Is it true?”
“I would never ruin Y/N. I’m going to make her an honest woman. She’s going to be Mrs. Sherlock Holmes soon enough.” Sherlock brushed his brother’s concern off. “Whatever Irene Adler told you were lies. She came here, laying hands on my maid. I had to kick her out for crossing one too many lines.”
“Brother, you can’t be serious!” Mycroft scoffed at his brother’s stubbornness. “Sherlock, you should know your place and hers. A maid cannot become your wife. She’s a worthless wench!”
“What did you say?” Sherlock rose from his seat, knocking his chair over, to storm toward his brother. Mycroft’s ears rang after his brother landed a punch to his face. He stumbled back, not surprised by his brother’s outburst.
“Well, brother,” Mycroft wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think this is a first. You never attacked me for a woman before. Not Lady Lexington, not Irene Adler, nor any other woman. Your little maid must be very special to you.”
Sherlock panted heavily. He glared at his brother, ready to attack him again to defend your honor. “She’s not a wench! My little maid is innocent!”
“I know,” Mycroft smirked at his brother. “I wanted to find out if you are worth calling her your wife.”
“What are you talking about, brother? You are talking in tongues,” Sherlock snapped at his brother. “Moments ago, you told me I cannot wed her! I won’t back down. I will ask for her hand. Mother gave me her blessings and Grandmother’s ring.”
“You seriously want to wed your maid?” Mycroft challenged his brother, stepping toward him. “Yes or no!”
“YES!” Sherlock yelled. “I will ask my maid, my Y/N, to become my wife. I don’t want anyone else but her!”
“Good,” Mycroft replied, unimpressed by his brother’s outburst. “In that case, I have good news. I found out more about her past and why your friend wanted to get his hands on her.”
“Acquaintance, not friend,” Sherlock corrected. “Now tell me what you found out!”
In this NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure, you're a common maid at the royal palace. There should be no reason for you to meet or speak to the Emperor, Kaeldral Nocthos. But why does he keep teasing you?!
Kaeldral Nocthos (OC) x Reader
NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure
🔗 READ/PLAY HERE
🎮 interactive fanfic "Your Majesty, What Is Wrong With You?" by Pizza
📖 Episode 1 of ?
I want a small and cute darling to give Titus a surprise kiss on the forehead. He doesn't deserve it at ALL but I want it
[Tiny maid darling for the space tyrant? Tiny maid darling for the space tyrant.]
"Ah! Your highness, there's something on your face!"
Startled, the emperor presses a hand to his cheek. The emphasis in your voice catches his guard - never have you risen your voice to him before. "What? What is it, my dear?"
"It's just a bit higher. If you would be so kind as to lean forward, I get it for you."
"That would be much appreciated." Complying to the command of mere servant, the emperor kneels. It would take Titus falling to both knees for you to even reach his shoulders to which you stand on your toes to close the remaining distance. Framing his face in your hands, Titus takes note of the warmth of your palms to memory and heart - similar heat transfered to his forehead as your lips met his cool flesh. As he processes what just occurred, you're already flat on your feet and smiling as if you'd dome nothing at all-
Just like the little tease you are.
"It seems I made a mistake. My sincerest apologies, your highness. I will return to my duties as scheduled."
Bowing to your lord, you then turn to pick up your discarded broom - large hand stealing the stick from your grasp before pulling you to the chest of the emperor who's heart you toyed with so carelessly.
"Dearest, must you mock me so? I may be a tad lenient with you compared to others, but did you really think you'd get off so easily? Unless you'd rather face further punishment, I suggest you stay right here and bless me with a proper kiss."
˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 synopsis ꒱ . . . after becoming a maid for venti, you begin to notice his presence around you 24/7. It doesn’t bother you that much, but it does make one particular person’s blood boil…
˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 authors note ꒱ . . . I wasn’t sure if I could put modern devices like cameras and computers in this fic, but oh well.
˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 word count ꒱ . . . 4.5k (I went a bit overboard oopsies)
“It’s 3am already…?”
Venti muttered, resting his face in his free hand while his occupied one clicks his mouse again. His teal eyes struggled to stay awake.
“I could’ve sworn it was 9pm just 10 minutes ago…” he pouts then clicks the mouse again.
Just what is so fascinating about his computer that it has him up this early in the morning? Well, I’m glad you asked.
Venti was looking at his live security footage that covers the whole mansion and the surrounding woods. Yet with all of those cameras he couldn’t get himself to exit the footage of the cameras set in your bedroom.
Archons, what are you doing to me… he thought. But he couldn’t help it. Not when you looked so… divine, so ethereal when you were asleep. So perfect.
The subtle rise and fall of your chest and the peaceful, serene look on your beautiful face drove him mad.
He wondered what you were dreaming about… were you dreaming of him? Were you dreaming at all? Oh, how he longs to know…
“She’s so beautiful… like a goddess. My goddess.”
You could’ve slept in all morning if it weren’t for a certain someone waking you up at 6am.
“Get up, Y/n! We have chores to do this morning!” Maria said sternly as she yanked the covers off your tired body.
“Leave me alone…” you sleepily murmured while yanking the covers back onto yourself.
She rolled her eyes at your disobedience, “Ugh, Lord Barbatos said that I’m basically responsible for making sure that you do your work. And that includes waking up in the morning! Now… get up!”
Maria attempted to pull you off the bed but only left you dangling upside down off the mattress, the white sheets are now a mess to be cleaned up later.
“When did he ever say that?—“ You fell off the bed, head first on the hard, carpeted, floor beneath you. “-Ow!”
She stifled a snicker while watching you you scramble back up to your feet, “He told me yesterday. Yesterday when you were off doing something in the next room over.”
She gestured over to your bed with the sheets hanging down off the side, “Now go make up your bed and get in your uniform.”
“It wasn’t me who messed up the covers!” You pointed at the bed.
“Well I didn’t sleep in it last night, now did I?”
Maria left your room shortly after you had made up the bed, leaving you to get dressed and get your things ready.
You were walking down the hallway to help prepare breakfast when you caught sight of Venti in the corner of your eye. Of course, you were just about to greet him, but he seems to have beat you to it. Coming up behind you, he wraps his arms around your waist.
Your body stiffened, completely surprised my his sudden displays of affection. but your muscles relaxed when you remembered that you’d begin to notice the master of this mansion becoming a bit… touchy and clingy towards you for the past few — few days?
Wait, how long have I been here again?
Your first day here was yesterday, correct? Then why does that feel so long ago? Maybe you just can’t remember the time in between. It seems Maria remembers — but this isn’t important right now.
Giggling quietly, he leans in close to your ear, “Good morning my favorite follower.” His voice dropped to a whisper, “how’d you sleep last night, hm?”
His hot breath against your ear made a chill run down your spine. It wasn’t a negative reaction, really, more of an uncomfortable one. You couldn’t think straight with him this close to you, and your mind went blank. He took notice of your change of demeanor and a smile tugged on the corners on his lips.
“Good morning… Venti,” you said slowly, cautiously, as if you had forgotten how to speak for a moment.
He hummed in curiously at your tone and loosened his grip on you until he let go completely. Well, he let go of you because he heard the quiet footsteps of someone walking nearby.
“Oh? What’s with that tone, Cecilia?”
He walked over in front of you and leaned in a bit close to your face, his voice teasing, “You still a bit tired?”
The color rose to your cheeks when you thought, Is he flirting with me? He has to be flirting with me.
You cleared your throat, “Ah- ahem… No, no I’m fine, Venti. Im Just… I’m just thinking of something.”
“Oh really, now?” While his right hand he lifted yours and kissed the back of your knuckles, while the other caressed the side of your face.
A playful smile formed on his pretty face, “Have a nice day, my devoted follower.”
And he walked away.
You watched him walk down the hallway before you- Wait a second… what’s this on my ear?
You gingerly touched your right ear and felt something and grabbed it. Your face lit up when you brought it into your view. It was a beautiful white flower.
A Cecilia.
As you were staring in awe at the beautiful white flower, you wondered if he had given you the one from his hair. Maybe I should ask the next time I see him…
“What’s that?” Asked an all-too familiar voice from behind you. Maria. When did she even get here!?
When you looked behind you, you had noticed her peering over your shoulder and at the flower in your hand.
“A flower…” you muttered.
“Where’d you get it?” She asked. But she already knew the answer to that question. Maria knew everything about Venti, especially what he loves.
“I got it from Venti,” you looked over at her then back down at the pretty flower and putting it back where it was behind your ear.
She only hummed in response, brushing past you to go eat breakfast downstairs. She muttered something else but you couldn’t quite catch it. You didn’t care anyways.
You decided it’d be best if you were to just head downstairs anyway.
Walking by, you passed another maid, whom you don’t know the name of, carrying a tray of food. For Venti… you thought.
You stared at her until she disappeared past the corner. For some strange reason, you wished it was you bringing that food up to him.
Was it… jealously that you felt? No, it couldn’t be. You’re not jealous. I’m not jealous. You forcibly pushed those thoughts to the back of your head and continued to make your way to the kitchen.
When breakfast was over, you were wiping the counters in the kitchen. You heard footsteps approaching you but you assumed it was another maid coming down stairs. Turning around, you ask, “Hey, have you seen Mari-“ but you were cut off by a finger being brought up to your lips.
It was… a different maid. One you haven’t seen before. Her long, black hair stopped at her waist and her light grey eyes stared into yours in fear.
“Shh… keep. Your voice. Down.” Her eyes narrowed at you, then looked over to the security camera in the corner of the room.
“Wh- what? What’s going on!?” You whispered a bit too loud for her liking.
“Did… did he give you that flower?” She pointed at the Cecilia in your hair.
Your brows furrowed in confusion. What’s with everyone and this silly flower? “Ye- yes? What about it?”
She only sighed, “My prayers to Barb- the Archons go out to you…” You would’ve said something about her hesitation of saying “Barbatos,” but before you could open your mouth she was already gone.
Your hand came up to gingerly caress the delicate flower, what could possibly be the hidden meaning behind this flower? When turning around to walk back upstairs you saw Venti. Again. It’s — it’s almost like he’s everywhere.
Is he following me or what?
“Oh,” he blinked in surprise, his face them forming into a small smile. “Did I scare you again? You’re so jumpy, Y/n!”
You laughed nervously and rubbed your arm, “Yeah… guess so.”
“Do you like apples, my pretty flower?” He asks rather suddenly and… and it actually catches you off guard. What do apples have to to with anything?
You blink in bewilderment, “Uh… yeah. Sure, they’re good.”
With a little laugh, Venti reaches over the kitchen counter and grabs a bright red apple from the bowl of assorted fruits.
As he took a bit of the delicious, red apple, he stared at you the entire time. He found enjoyment in your uncomfortable demeanor.
Before you knew it, he had walked away. Red colored your cheeks, but you knew it was wrong to be attracted to Venti, a god.
Finally upstairs again, you look everywhere for Maria. You asked every maid you came across and checked every room you passed. Why are you even looking for her, you ask? Well, you forgot where the library was and today was your turn to clean it… or was that yesterday?
It took you a good 20 minutes before you finally found her. She was in her “own bedroom” sitting and praying on her bed. Not wanting to interrupt her, you tried to walk past her room undetected but she inevitably caught you in the end.
“You could’ve came in,” she said, a bit more calm than she usually is. When her eyes landed on the flower in her hair you could almost see her eye twitch in an emotion you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
“I- I didn’t know if I…” you scrapped that sentence and started over, “have you been avoiding me?”
“Avoiding you?” She scoffed, “For what?”
“I don’t know, it just… it seems you just ran away after you saw me with Venti’s flower in my hair. And I got lost trying to find the library.”
A sigh escaped her lips, “I’m not avoiding you. I just… those are just his favorite flowers.”
“Speaking of which, how do you even get the Cecilia’s when we’re surrounded by wood? I can’t remember where in Mondstadt they grow… but I would imagine it’d be nowhere near here, correct?”
“I’m not sure how he gets them, but Lord Barbatos can do anything! Yet still, I would love to leave the borders of his Mansion and find out what would happen to me if I wandered too far in those fascinating woods.”
“But if you leave… you’ll die. You’re the one who told me that.”
“I’m aware. And so what?”
“So what?” You echoed.
Maria’s eyes look up to the ceiling as she rests her hands on either side of her reddening face, “I’d let my god do whatever he wants with me, for I am only a vessel whose only purpose is to worship and serve him.”
She diverted her eyes to yours, your skin going pale, “And if that means dying, well, so be it!”
Maria was a bit… strange… that you knew. But you never would’ve guessed that she was fucking insane!
“So you’re telling me…” She can’t be… but it fits together all too well, “You’re in love… with Barbatos…?”
“Barbatos…” this is the first time you’ve actually referred to him as such that wasn’t in a mocking way. Maybe she is rubbing off on you…
Her dark eyes jolted to the ground and her hands on her face moved to cover her eyes.
“Shut up, Y/n! Just- just shut the hell up!” She snapped. Did you… finally get her to break?
“So what if I am!? What if I am in love with my ultimate creator, huh!? He was in love with me first anyway! But you’re taking that away from me too, yeah?”
You blink in bewilderment. What did she just say? “He was in love with me first?”
Love… Venti… Venti loves me? You wanted to laugh but could only say, “I never took anything away from you, what are you even going on ab—“
“-oh don’t you try to play dumb with me you- ugh! I see the way he looks at you. The- the way his hands are always all over you…! You enjoy that don’t you, Y/n? You enjoy watching me seethe with anger as he gifts you the same flower he once put in my hair.” You could see the tears welling up in her dark-brown eyes, but she fought them back, “You just hate me, don’t you?”
Is that what that flower meant? You are Venti’s current obsession love?
And is that what she really thought of you? That you were taking the “love of her life” away from her? You were taking her place as Venti’s fixation.
She cannot be fucking serious right now…
She’s jealous of you. Well, more so of Venti’s obsession with you that she believes you caused. But in reality, you have zero control over who he falls in love with.
“You’re crazy- this is crazy!” You exclaimed, raising your voice.
“It’s crazy to be in love with the man who’s been protecting me and the rest of us for all this time? To envy those who receive all of his time and affection, leaving none for me… I- I’m not ashamed to be in love with Barbatos, I am a loyal follower of him, my god.”
“That’s why you call him ‘Lord Barbatos,’ right?”
Maria was going to say something but but her lip, deciding that was the best thing to do anyway. She rushed out the room, brushing against you on her way out. She muttered something that you couldn’t exactly hear but it was along the lines of, “Lord help me…”
Still not knowing where the library is, you aimlessly walk around the Mansion until you’re standing right in front of his door. It was wide open and you could tell he wasn’t in there.
Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have a little peak, is what you would’ve said if you didn’t care about your life.
Nonetheless, you walk in there anyway.
You immediately notice his desk he was sitting at when you first came in here some days ago. On it was an empty glass that smelled vaguely of… apples? Apple cider? What’s with him and apples and flowers…?
You walked around his bedroom and curiously searched through his items. Walking around his bed, you felt your foot hit something and you paused. Kneeling down, you found a box and a calendar.
This is very… random… you thought while looking through the calendar.
You flipped through the pages until you found when the checked off X’s ended. That must be today… you thought. But on today’s box on the calendar, there was a star.
Strange.
Looking over the boxes again, you noticed one that said “Y/n’s first day…” two days ago? If I got here two days ago… why can’t I remember yesterday?
Before you drove yourself mad with questions, you put the calendar aside and opened the pretty heavy cardboard box. Inside it were different flies titled with the names of each of the maids here.
You were just about to reach for Maria’s when you stopped yourself and grabbed yours. You couldn’t remember anything about you and who can blame you for being curious?
Opening your file, the first page was an image of you. But… it seemed like an off-guard photo. How exactly did he get this photo? I wish I could fucking remember…
The next was… more… photos of you. From what you could tell from the images, you lived alone and worked in an office.
“This is so weird…”
You felt uncomfortable but even more curious, so you flipped to the next page. On it seemed to be his handwriting which wasn’t the neatest so it took your a bit to read it all. Basically, you’re a Fontainian detective investigating a case about missing women in Mondstadt in between the ages of 19-22.
Your blood ran cold. “Fontaine… Fontaine… where is Fontaine…” you muttered, desperately trying to remember the layout of the Teyvat map but you just couldn’t. Is that why you’re in Mondstadt? You’ve just assumed that you’re from here this whole time. It never dawned on you that you are actually from Fontaine, and a detective at that.
Your eyes widened in fear when you flipped to the next page and it was multiple photos of you sleeping. You don’t recognize the room so you assume it was before you lost your memory. Deciding that was enough information for today, you go over what you just found out in your head.
“So… so… I’m a detective that was investigating a case of missing women that just so happens to match my exact situation. So I must’ve moved to Mondstadt from Fontaine then was abducted a little bit after that?”
Gingerly, you put the file back where it went then pulled out Maria’s. You could tell hers was missing a lot of papers, but your attention was taken away by a small pill bottle hidden in the box.
Taking a look at the pill bottle, you read its label. ‘Made in Fontaine.’ How funny.
The bottle was almost empty and the big bold letters under the side affects said, ‘MASS CONSUMPTION OF THIS DRUG MAY CAUSE DISTORTION OF TIME AND MEMORY LOSS.’
Is that why you can’t remember yesterday? Or that it feels like you’ve been here for weeks?
Opening Maria’s file again, her words from part one come back to you when you asked her how long she’s been here, “About 6 months, but it only feels like a few weeks… oh, how the time flies by…”
Looking at the bottom of her file, she’s only been here for a bit less that two weeks. Every other maids’ has the same date. Except for you.
Did he kidnap you because you almost caught him? Were you so good of a detective that even an Archon was scared of what you could uncover? Or was it something else? Was it because he was obsessed with you?
You froze when you heard footsteps approaching the room. Then you realized — you had found all of this stuff way too easily.
Quickly packing everything up and shoving it under your bed, you run out of his room, almost running into another maid in the process. It was the dark haired one from the kitchen.
Her eyes widened in shock when she saw you, “What the hell were you doing in there!?”
You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. You were too shaken up. “I- I… sorry. I gotta go,” you ran past her.
I need to get to my room immediately!! You thought, not realizing that the sun has almost set all the way.
Finally reaching your room, you panted. Conflicting emotions running through your frazzled mind. Holding your hands to your chest, you closed your eyes and let out a heavy sigh.
“What have you been up to, Y/n?” A familiar voice rang out. Opening your eyes, there Venti was, standing right in front of you. He had a smile on his face, yet there was a look in his eyes that scared you.
“Y/n…“ he’s barely ever called me by my first name… when he took a step closer to you, you reached for the door handle.
He tilted his head to the side his smile faltering, “What’s wrong, Y/n? You seem so shaken up…” When he came even closer to you, you would’ve opened the door but his hand on your wrist stopped him.
Your eyes glanced to the window behind him, it was nighttime.
“Trust me, my flower,” he caresses your hair, “you do not want to go out there.”
The second he moved his hand off your wrist, you swung the door open and fell to the ground. Rubbing the back of your head in pain, you felt something strangely warm and wet on your other hand.
But when you looked down, you saw not only your bloody hand, but Maria.
Maria with multiple stab wounds to her chest and her throat slit open. She lay on the ground above a pool of blood. Petrified, you screamed and backed away from the corpse. Tears pricked in your (e/c) eyes as you watched him grow closer to you, his hand in his pocket.
“G- get the fuck away from me, you- you murderer!” You shrieked, the tears in your eyes finally rolling down your cheeks. You struggled to get up to your feet as you ran down the stairs, your breaths coming in short and your head throbbing.
Once you finally reached the end of the staircase, your movement was already limited due to the tight dress, so you lost your footing and tripped over something.
Your head hit the ground so hard to felt dizzy, but it’s not the time to be worrying about that. When you caught sight of what you had tripped over, you screamed in absolute terror. She was yet another deceased maid.
It was the dark haired woman from the kitchen and saw after you had left his bedroom. She had an axe in her skull, the blood pooling around her head stained my face due to the fall.
After struggling to get up off the ground, you noticed the flower had fell out of your head. You ran, looking help in any room. And wherever you looked it was either another dead body or bloodstained walls, D- don’t tell me he’s killed everyone!! You panicked.
Just when you thought you had lost him, there was his painfully playful voice, “Haha, you can run, but you can’t hide! I’ll always find you!”
Your heart rate sped up and you panicked, tears streamed down your face as you wiped them away, along with the blood of your coworkers.
The next thing you knew, you were running into the first bedroom you saw. You didn’t think it was stupid at the time, but you hid under the bed. The closest was too small to fit in.
You cupped your hand over your mouth as you heated his approaching footsteps.
“Oh, where could you be hiding, my flower?” He sang. You heard him walk right past the room and the next one. Nevertheless, you stayed silent.
It was all too perfect.
You weren’t expecting to be dragged out from under the bed by your ankles, you screamed and cried at he did so. You knew it was all too good to be true.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t know where my favorite maid would go running off to? I am a god after all.”
Your bottom lip quivered and your body trembled in fear beneath him, “Aw… that fearful look on your face is just adorable…”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small white cloth. Without giving you time to react, he had already pressed it against your nose and mouth. And you blacked out.
You woke up again in an all too familiar room — his bedroom. You sat up quickly, your head aching in pain, but you didn’t give a fuck.
You tried tried moving your arms but they were handcuffed to the bedposts. Beginning to panic, you screamed, “V- Venti! Venti, please… don’t do this!”
You began crying, your tears falling into your lap. It was until a few moments later when you heard a soft tune being played… right next to you?
Opening your eyes, you saw Venti. He had that same damn smile on his face as he stared to you with a look in his eyes that resembled love… but you knew that wasn’t it. If he truly loved me, he wouldn’t have kidnapped me and brought me here.
He was holding his lyre in his hands which also had a decorative Cecilia flower on it. He played a peaceful song on it — a complete contrast to the blood stains on his clothes.
The crimson stained his pale fingers that played the delicate strings of the brown lyre.
Your eyes widened in fear as you stared at him, the tears continuing to rolling down your face. You tried to speak, but every time you opened your mouth nothing came out.
When his song was over, the man set the lyre to the side and wiped some of the blood from off his face with the back of his palm. “Oh, you just love to cry don’t you, my precious Cecilia…” he pouted mockingly, reaching out a hand to caress your flushed, tear-stained face.
Leaning in impossibly closer, Venti pressed his lips against yours in quite a forceful kiss. You wanted to jerk you head away from his touch, to scream, to run away. But you couldn’t… not right now you can’t.
When he pulled away from the kiss he stared at you with a blank expression, “You know too much, Y/n…” He laughed, a bit less playful and a more hysteric. “You’re so lucky I didn’t get rid of you like the rest of them…”
He smiled, “I only kept you because I love you—“
“-Were you in love with Maria? Before me?” You asked, this question has been bugging you since her outburst and you need to know immediately.
Venti froze, his hands on your face falling to his sides. He repeated your question over and over in his mind until he finally said, “‘love’ is a stretch… Maria… Maria was crazy, my flower…”
“Th- then you give her that flower!? Why… why was she so, so damn jealous of me the second we first spoke to one another!?” You screamed, a bit more angry than sad now. In all honesty, you didn’t exactly like Maria, but what he did to her was wrong on so many levels.
“Did you do what you’re doing to me to her? And if you loved her, why did you murder her!!”
His teal eyes closed and he sighed, “If you want the truth, then I’ll give it to you. I did fall in love with Maria at some point, it was bordering an obsession. That is, until I found you,” He smiled.
“Maria was obsessive and a bit delusional. I’ve never put any flower in her hair. She stole it.”
You couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. But it was hard to go against what he was saying when you recall her very last words to you.
“But I knew you would’ve figured that out sooner or later, Little-Miss-Detective.” He laughed a bit, “I knew you would’ve figured me out sooner or later. That why I moved all of those files under my bed. Only someone as daring as you would sneak into my room in look through them.”
“But you’re so smart. That’s what I love so much about you, Y/n,” He presses another kiss to your cheek and you flinch.
Hesitantly, you asked, “A- are you going to do what you did to Maria… to me? Have there been more women you’ve done this to?” You fought back the tears welling up in your red eyes.
“Hey, shhh…. Don’t cry, don’t cry…” he wiped the tears falling from your eyes.
