You froze, heart hammering against your chest. Before you, Dottore casually mixed yet another suspicious concoction on his desk. It might look as if he was indifferent to other people’s eyes, but you knew better. He studied you just as much as he did to his test subjects, except it was a bit more… subtle. Maybe because he didn’t want to frighten you further, or maybe because he merely wanted to keep his observations to himself for whatever reason.
Until now, that is.
You gulped, gripping the clipboard close to your chest.
“It’s… it’s nothing, sir! I just need enough rest and I’ll be back to normal.”
Dottore hummed.
“Is that so?” he mused. “Well, that won’t do. I can’t have my little assistant falling ill in the middle of her duty, can I?”
You looked down, not knowing what to say. You’d expected the medicine to work faster, because you’d be damned if you ended up being one of his lab rats due to a measly sickness. But then again, your job could be rather strenuous sometimes, depending on how enthusiastic he was to a project. All these overtimes would only worsen your weakening condition.
“I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll try my best to take good care of myself in the future.”
“No, you don’t need to push yourself so hard. Even the most hardworking assistant needs a break once in a while, am I right?”
Hesitantly, you nodded.
Dottore smiled and gave you a bottle of pills.
“Drink this one time a day, and you’ll surely improve in no time. But beware, it might make you feel... Ah, languid temporarily.”
You observed the bottle cautiously, holding it somewhat far away from your face as if it was a ticking time bomb. And, well, almost everything from him was dangerous anyway. You didn’t need to be his assistant to know about that.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll certainly drink these pills.”
It was more out of politeness than sincere gratitude, really, but he didn’t need to know that. Accepting whatever your superior gave you was the sure-fire way to survive in the Fatui, especially if you worked under the Second Harbinger.
Dottore grinned, all sharp teeth and edges, and patted your head as if you were a child. You hated it whenever he did this – whenever he touched you, honestly – but his condescending affection was far better than his sadistic treatment.
“Don’t miss a day, alright? It’ll be a shame if something were to happen to my dearest assistant.”
You swallowed and forced a smile.
“Of course, sir.”
***
You certainly wouldn’t drink those pills.
Just because you accepted anything from your superior didn’t mean you had to use it, especially if it was from the Second Harbinger. You weren’t that stupid or desperate for their favor. And you definitely didn’t want any of his creations inside your body.
So, you decided to ignore the prescription and search for the medicine from your own apothecary. Much to your disappointment, the bottle was empty. You sighed and massaged your temples. It was a bit too late to go out, but hopefully, the apothecary was still open.
You grabbed a coat from the hanger and left your house. The cold night breeze immediately hit you the second you stepped out of the threshold, sending shivers down your spine. You buttoned the coat and went to the nearest apothecary, intent on buying a new medicine.
And, luckily, it was still open.
Your face lit up as you rushed into the building and purchased the medicine. But instead of the typical green pills, you were given the white ones. You frowned.
“Um, don’t you have the green ones?”
“I’m sorry, but that product was already sold out. We only have this one.”
You bit your bottom lip thoughtfully. Maybe the formula hadn’t changed, but with a different color? Although, you couldn’t deny that it looked suspiciously similar to the one from Dottore. But it was just a trick of the eye, right? This apothecary had been proven to be capable of healing any illnesses, and not to mention, it was the only one in your neighborhood. Sighing, you thanked the seller and returned home.
It would work. It had to work. So that you could fool Dottore into thinking his creation succeeded in you.
Hesitantly, you put one of the pills inside your mouth and downed it with water. Then, you did your night routine and finally lied down on the bed. You stared at the darkness that enveloped your room and sighed.
Now, you just had to wait.
***
You were getting weaker.
You didn’t understand how it could happen. You’d been diligently drunk those pills, but your condition never once improved. Had the apothecary lied to you somehow? Had they sold you the wrong medicine, or worse, a placebo?
No, it couldn’t be. You trusted it. You trusted them. They’d never disappointed you before, so why now? For all his pet names and touches, Dottore was still a predator. A mad scientist and doctor hell-bent on pushing the conventional rules of practice and experiments. If you showed the slightest bit of weaknesses, you’d be torn apart by those sharp teeth faster than you could swim to safety.
But, alas, you couldn’t deny your trembling body, or your ragged breath, or your blurry sight. And before long, you collapsed on the cold floor of his lab. The clipboard fell with a clatter beside you.
“My, my. It seems that my dear little assistant is thoroughly stricken by her illness.”
You panted, discerning a pair of dark boots standing before you through the haze in your eyes. Dottore crouched and lifted your chin slightly, inspecting your sweaty face.
“Oh, yes. It seems that the medicine works wonderfully on you.”
Your breath hitched.
“What… what do you mean, sir?”
“Why, I’m referring to the pills that you’ve been consuming, of course.” said he nonchalantly. “You know, the white ones?”
If you had even the slightest bit of energy inside you, you would’ve definitely escaped already.
“I don’t…”
“Oh, I know you didn’t exactly drink the ones from me. Instead, you’ve chosen a more… roundabout way.”
No, it couldn’t be.
“What are you… talking about, sir?”
“You purchased the medicine from the apothecary near your house, yes? Luckily, with the right amount of persuasion, I’ve managed to convince the seller to switch the green pills with mine. Only for you, of course.”
Your stomach dropped. Insane. He was insane. And slick.
Truly the epitome of a mad scientist and doctor. Of a Harbinger.
“Why…?”
“Why not? I’m a scientist at heart, darling. I can’t possibly pass up the chance to experiment on you, can I?”
Your eyes began to sting.
“But I… have been working for you…” you whispered in sadness, in disappointment, in betrayal.
“And I’m fully aware of that, sweetheart.” Dottore cooed, caressing the hair that had been let loose from your bun. “But don’t worry, I’ll be sure not to conduct any harsh experiment on you. A special treatment, just for my dearest assistant.”
By now, the tears had spilled from your eyes and created little pools on the floor.
“Oh, darling. Please don’t cry.” He lifted your head to rest on his lap and wiped the tears with his gloved thumb. “Just to think of this as another overtime, alright? Except your payment is much more… personal. After all, you’re the only subordinate who’s lucky enough to have the Second Harbinger to care for you~”
TW: time regression, cheating (mentioned), yandere, delusional behavior, etc.
“No!” (Your name) shot up from her bed, body covered in a cold sheen of sweat. Her lungs were on fire while her breathing was labored. Her hands fumbled at her neck as her heart pounded in her chest harder than a hammer against wood. She was alive… but how? She had been poisoned by her husband’s mistress…
(Your name) clambered from her silken sheets. The young lady nearly tripped on the fabric from her haste, but she had to scramble to the mirror… she had to make sure.
(Your name) gasped at her reflection in shock. She was twenty again… no longer was she the sullen, neglected thirty year old wife of Duke Blackburn. She was once again the young Countess (Last name)! She had the means to start over again.
(Your name) sunk to her knees as she smiled at her ceiling. A few tears fell down her cheeks as she sucked in a shaky breath. She wouldn’t waste this second chance, no. She’d get her engagement annulled and live a peaceful life this time… no matter who she had to eliminate. (Your name) would pay her fiancé and his mistress back ten fold for their betrayal.
.
.
.
(Your name) cut up her breakfast with the smallest of smiles on her lips. A week had passed since her time regression and her personality has done a complete one eighty.
No longer was Countess (your name) naive and meek, she was a brighter existence with a determination to learn more knowledge. A change that startled the people around her… especially her father.
Her father, the count, seemed quite curious on the sudden change in his only daughter. (Your name) had always been a young woman interested in romance and fairytales, yet that girl was no longer sat in front of him… she was a stranger now.
“My dear, are you not interested in any sweets?” Count (last name) softly asked his daughter who hadn’t touched any of the desserts presented before her. “These have always been your favorite…”
“I’m sorry, I’m just not interested in sweets anymore.” (Your name) gave her father a soft smile. It wasn’t a lie, she lost her love of sweets in her past life when her husband had made constant comments on her body over the years.
Count (last name) frowned before he sighed. “You also haven’t sent Trishan any letters recently… is everything okay between you two?”
Ah yes… Trishan was his name. (Your name) had called him Duke Blackburn for so long that she had forgotten his name…
“I don’t think he liked me that much is all, father.” (Your name) replied softly. “Plus he’s been awfully close to Lady Serpico’s daughter, Lady Gia.”
Count (last name)’s expression quickly darkened at the mention of Lady Serpico. That nightmare of a woman had damaged the reputation of his wife many years ago before they had gotten married… could she have sent her daughter to try to do the same to his darling (your name)? Was this why she had been acting so strange? Had Duke Blackburn made his daughter feel inferior to a snake?
“I will look into it, my dear daughter.” Her father rose from the table to pat his daughter’s head in an affectionate manner. “I love you so much dear… don’t you ever forget that.”
Of course (your name) hadn’t forgotten that, that’s why she used her father’s love to her advantage. Perhaps he could free her from this fate if he annulled the engagement once he found out about the affair?
(Your name) calmly slipped her tea as a ghost of a smile crawled on her lips. She’s moved her first chest piece, she wondered if her dear fiancé would enjoy the shame?
.
.
.
Trishan shoved all the papers off his desk, his hands clutched at his chest while he struggled to breathe. Where was his fiancée? His darling fiancée?
Trishan’s blue eyes scanned the papers in hopes to spot a letter from her, the ones she used to always send him during this time.
He’s returned to the past before he was blinded by greed… before his long affair with Gia Sherpico… before (your name)’s murder. He could make it all right now since he had the chance to be the husband his beautiful, loyal wife deserved!
Trishan frowned when he hadn’t found any new letters. Was (your name) in good health? She was always such a frail woman… perhaps he should go visit her? Yes! She’d probably be so happy, she always had such a beautiful smile.
Trishan began to gather up all of the papers with a smile on his face. He had already ended things with lady Gia the moment he returned to the past, that snakelike woman wouldn’t pull the rug under him this time! He would not let her sweet lies fill his head and turn him against his darling wife. His innocent wife who had done nothing but love him…
Trishan couldn’t bear to find (your name)’s cold body again… he couldn’t live with himself if she died again. If her lips were blue and she laid in a pile of her own blood like some grotesque halo. No, he would protect her this time!
Trishan sighed dreamily at the thought of this second chance. He’d visit her this weekend with her favorite flowers, baby’s breath! They do mean every lasting love, after all!
A shame Trishan failed to realize was that a large bundle of baby’s breath smelled like feet…
.
.
.
“I’m sorry, but my daughter doesn’t wish to see you.” Trishan felt his blood run cold when he was denied entry into the Count’s home. (Your name) didn’t want to see him? This had to be some sort of sick joke! Yes… that was it.
“Very funny, Count (last name).” Trishan waved off the count as he tried to enter the estate anyways. His large bouquet of baby’s breath caused Count (Last name) even more ire.“(Your name) will be thrilled I’m here-“
“My daughter doesn’t deserve a man who can’t keep it in his pants and someone who’s gift her a bouquet that smells like feet.” The count shoved Duke Blackburn back a few steps, the baby’s breath now laid in a puddle of petals at his feet. “Good day to you!”
Trishan could only stand there in shock, his hands clutched at his chest while his breathing was ragged. It wasn’t supposed to be like this… they were supposed to start over. They were meant to be.
Trishan tried to gather up the flowers in haste but they were already too trampled to fix… he’d have to get her a new bouquet. Perhaps a better scented one at that?
Trishan glanced up at the door, hopeful that this was all a big misunderstanding. (Your name) could never hate him… her father must be keeping her away from him.
Pancakes and Waffles [Yandere! Bounty Hunter x Fem! Reader]
Warnings/ tags: yandere themes, description of violence, mention of murder, weapons, depiction of violence against reader, sadistic behavior, age gap (reader is 20ish and Yan is 30ish?).
+
"This place might be a dump, but the breakfast is always surprisingly good, isn't it?"
You jumped slightly at a casual remark, turning to find a middle-aged man at the table next to yours. His smile, somewhat bright, was accompanied by a gaze of peculiar intensity, his brown eyes fixed upon you as he leaned on the palm of his hand. You managed only an awkward laugh, instinctively reaching to pull your hood up, partially obscuring your face in a subtle attempt to shield yourself.
"Oh, definitely! The bathroom here's always a mess, but let me tell you, the pancakes are absolutely worth it!"
You aim for brevity in your response, silently hoping that he would take his leave and proceed with his day. However, the persistent man appeared to have different intentions. He nodded thoughtfully in response to your words before interjecting, "Yeah, the pancakes are good, but personally, I think the waffles here are even better."
"Waffles are good too."
You found yourself inwardly cursing, yearning for the man to depart. Gripping the handle of your coffee mug, you raised it to your lips, striving to steady your trembling hands as you savored the warm, bittersweet liquid. The notion of abruptly leaving crossed your mind, but you resolved to endure a while longer, intent on avoiding any undue attention.
"You from around here?"
The man persisted, his gaze burning into the side of your face as you continued to sip your coffee, attempting to ignore his unsettling stare.
"Well, I'm just from a couple towns over. Just here to visit some family," you replied.
The lie slid smoothly from your lips, its delivery as effortless as the gentle cascade of silk ribbons. Setting your mug down upon the wooden table, you lifted the fabric of your sleeve to your lips, the delicate lace trim brushing against your skin as you wiped them clean. The subtle gesture, though simple, was executed with a precision that belied the unease stirring within you.
"I didn't think many people actually lived in this town, so that's surprising."
He mused with a laugh, the sound melodic and filled with amusement, causing you to steal another glance in his direction. His dark hair, tousled slightly, framed a pair of warm brown eyes that sparkled with a hint of mischief. His features, while bearing the marks of experience and maturity, still retained a boyish charm, adding an intriguing depth to his appearance. His smile, genuine and inviting, seemed to suggest a shared moment of lightheartedness, despite the underlying tension in the air.
"Yeah, it's a pretty small town. Are you from around here?"
"No, I'm just here visiting family too," he replied, nonchalant.
Your gaze drifted to his table, noting the absence of any food or drink. There was no coffee, no plates, no silverware—nothing, despite it being breakfast time. It struck you as odd; most people would take advantage of the complimentary breakfast offered by the motel. Could he have finished his coffee already? That seemed unlikely; you were among the first few people to arrive at the dining hall, and you were certain you would have noticed him if he had been there before. Another detail caught your attention: despite the early hour, the dining hall was unusually quiet. Typically, there would be a few families up early, grabbing a meal before hitting the road, or staff bustling about, preparing for the day ahead. However, today was different; it was just you and the strange man. Even the staff responsible for food preparation seemed to be absent—perhaps on a break?
"This town is so quiet, it's like a nice getaway sometimes, you know? A break from the city."
Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you forced a smile, trying not to read too much into them. Your fingers gripped the fabric of your pants tightly, a subconscious gesture of unease. He was just making casual conversation, you reminded yourself, but you couldn't shake off the feeling of caution.
"I agree, it's nice out here, especially with all the nature and stuff," you replied, keeping the conversation light. You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you, an overwhelming urge to bury your face in your hands at the realization of your oversight. The motel was situated in the heart of the desert, surrounded by nothing but sand and cacti. What "nature" were you even talking about? The irony of your comment was not lost on you, and you couldn't help but chastise yourself for the slip-up.
"Right? It's a good escape from the bustling city."
Yet, it appeared the man was toying with your words, subtly teasing you without missing a beat.
"May I ask for your name?" he inquired politely, prompting a moment of hesitation within you. Why did he want to know your name? You stared at him, your brows furrowing slightly as you pondered whether to be honest or to fabricate a response. After all, your first name shouldn't matter, should it?
"...[First Name]."
"It's nice to meet ya, miss [first name]. The name's Alex."
He seemed content with your response, inching closer to you and dragging his wooden chair along with him. The warm light of the dining room enveloped him, casting a soft glow that gently softened his features and lent a sense of comfort to his demeanor. As he drew nearer, you couldn't help but notice his impressive build; he was quite muscular, his physique accentuated by the black, form-fitting T-shirt he wore, which highlighted his broad shoulders and contoured muscles. You also observed traces of scars and injuries scattered across his hands, along with a small cut on his cheek, adding a rugged edge to his appearance.
"You seem quite familiar with this place. Are you a regular visitor here?" you asked, your tone curious as you studied him, trying to unravel the mystery that surrounded him.
"No, I was born and raised in another shut off town before getting sent off to the military. What about you?"
You contemplated the possibility of him having a military background, which would explain his demeanor and appearance. However, you also couldn't shake off the thought that he might just be a man who regularly found himself in mischief. Regardless, you knew you should be wary of him; if he were to try to take advantage of you, it would be challenging to fend him off. Unaware of his intense gaze fixed not just on your face but also on your lips, which tended to part subtly whenever you were lost in thought, you continued to engage in conversation.
"I've lived in the city with my mother for a couple of years so you're right it's nice place to escape to."
He nodded in agreement, a gesture that seemed to convey a sense of understanding, yet it lack sincerity.
"I bet it's a good place to escape to, especially for people who are sick of the city and criminals like you miss."
Your body freezes at his words as your eyes widen in surprised, your mind racing to understand his words, on what he truly meant by that. You observe his face, trying to look for any signs of other emotions besides being relaxed, yet you couldn't detect anything. You see him reaching into the side of his pocket, causing your mind to race like crazy as you quickly stood up from your chair. Was he pulling out a weapon? A knife? A gun?
"You can't be serious," you replied in disbelief, the cheerful smile you once wore now replaced with a look of apprehension. Slowly backing away, you watched as he stood up from his chair, his size and height suddenly more imposing. Your eyes caught sight of a holster around his waist, the gun within becoming more apparent as his hand gripped it firmly.
"Yeah, it's a good place to lay low after smashing the mayor's head, huh? Definitely caused a ruckus back in the city."
Without a moment's pause, you hastened towards the door, but Alex made no attempt to pursue you, instead advancing steadily as if he were a predator stalking its quarry. Your heart throbbed in your chest, your palms grew clammy, and your legs trembled with each step, yet you persevered, determined not to falter. Upon reaching the dining hall's entrance, however, you discovered the doors were firmly locked from the outside. Despite your efforts, they remained resolute, denying your escape.
Stupid doors!
"Can't blame you though, the geezer was known for being a jerk to women. But hey, did you know that old dude had connections to the underworld?"
As his words filled the air, you abandoned the locked door and made a desperate dash for the window. Your hands, slick with sweat, struggled to maintain a grip on the chair you intended to use to shatter the glass. With a surge of adrenaline, you swung the chair, the sound of impact echoing through the room as the glass resisted your efforts to break it. Suddenly, a deafening gunshot shattered the tense silence, causing you to scream in terror. The chair slipped from your grasp, clattering to the floor as you frantically sought cover. Heart pounding, you dove behind the nearest object—a salad bar—hoping it would shield you from the unseen danger lurking outside.
"Many of his clients were pretty pissed when they found out their little puppeteer was gone. Hard to control a dumb guy like him to do their bidding."
Peeking surreptitiously from behind the salad bar, your heart pounded as you endeavored to comprehend the unfolding turmoil. Alex remained composed by the window, a sardonic smile adorning his lips as he observed your futile escape attempts. The gun in his hands glistened under the diner's dim lights, taunting your existence and deriding your futile endeavors to evade both it and its wielder.
In that pivotal moment, you grasped the gravity of the peril enveloping you. Alex transcended mere acquaintance; he embodied imminent danger. Your survival hinged on evading his grasp. Crouched behind the salad bar, your mind raced, grappling with a decision. Should you risk exposure by making a break for it, or bide your time in obscurity, praying for timely rescue? You almost laughed at yourself for entertaining such a thought. There was no one who could help you at this point. Your eyes caught sight of a fire escape just across the room.
"That's why they sent me after you!"
The sound of footsteps approaching made your decision for you. Without a second thought, you bolted from your hiding spot, darting towards the emergency exit. The adrenaline fueled your movements, propelling you forward as you pushed past tables and chairs, nearly falling onto your knees yet you were desperate to escape the danger that lurked behind you.
As you neared the exit, your hand outstretched to push the door open, a smile of relief almost gracing your lips, another loud bang shattered the air. Yet your hopes were shattered. In an instant, you found yourself falling to the ground, a wave of surprise washing over you. Agonizing pain shot through your calf as you hit the floor with a resounding thud, knocking over tables and chairs in your descent. No, no, no! You were on the verge of reaching the door; just a few seconds more, and you would have made it.
"C'mon now miss, I feel bad if I have to hurt a pretty little thing like you."
Alex sighed softly, the sound carrying a weight of resignation as he closed the distance between you. His movements were graceful, almost silent, despite the heavy boots he wore. With a practiced motion, he holstered his pistol, the leather creaking softly as it settled against his side. As he reached you, his hand moved to his temple, rubbing it gently as he regarded the wound on your calf with a mixture of concern and contemplation. His gaze lingered on the injury, his expression unreadable, before he finally spoke, his voice calm yet tinged with a hint of regret.
"You should be happy I'm a great shot cause some other hunters would have shot you dead instead."
You couldn't stifle the instinct to turn, your gaze a glare tempered by agony. Did he anticipate commendation for sparing a more fatal shot? His countenance betrayed no hint of remorse, a grin like a scar etched into his features, persisting despite the violence he had wrought upon you. He knelt, the motion fluid, almost mocking the pain you endured. His eyes met yours, unwavering, as if daring you to challenge the twisted logic behind his actions. The silence between you spoke volumes, a clash of wills and morality, set against the backdrop of your suffering.
"You left me no choice," he said, his voice a blend of indifference and justification. But in that moment, as you struggled to comprehend the depth of his callousness, all you could muster was a silent, seething glare.
"Y'know, I thought you would be the tough type after hearing about what you did, but you're definitely the scaredy type.”
The scene was fraught with tension as Alex's finger grazed your cheek, his lips puckering in a gesture that would have seemed comical under different circumstances. However, the pain you were experiencing kept any amusement at bay. It dawned on you, belatedly, that his seemingly innocuous questions and comments had been a facade for his underlying suspicion. His laughter, tinged with pity and amusement, cut through the air, underscoring your predicament. In his eyes, you were nothing more than a small, defenseless rabbit, caught in his trap and unable to escape, your vulnerability adding to your perceived charm.
"No hard feelings, miss. I'm just doing my job.”
You watched in terror as he pulled out a taser from the pocket of his pants, his laughter mocking your fear. With a click of a button, the electrical power began to crackle, and he held it out in front of you, the weapon a cruel testament to your helplessness.
"Hey, don't look at me like that. The cloth-over-mouth method is just in movies. This is going to knock you out cold for hours.”
“...are you going to kill me?”
He paused, as if considering your question, before finally shrugging, his expression unreadable.
"Who knows? Since you're a cutie, I might be able to convince the bounties to spare your life.”
He replied with a smirk, bringing the taser closer to your neck. With a deft motion, he activated the device, the blue crackling electricity illuminating your face. He held it just inches away from your skin, the threat of pain palpable in the air. As he drew his hand back, he almost affectionately petted your head, a stark contrast to the agony coursing through your body as the taser made contact. Your scream pierced the air, drowned out only by the crackling of the taser. As you faded into unconsciousness, his mocking voice lingered in your mind, a bitter reminder of the cruel fate you faced.
"Goodnight, [First Name]. Don't sleep too long, 'cause I'll be here for you, waiting.”
Warnings ; Angst, child neglect and brief mentions of death. Mamaguro dies after Megumi is born.
•–· It wasn't easy being the first born, before megumi was born everything was still normal at some point. The last fun memory you had was when your father laid beside you, watching you read some comic book and he saw how your smile shined so brightly at the sight of some printed pictures. Toji never had that experience.
He watches his own son in silence, your mother is sleeping already. The bump in her stomach is so visible you couldn't help but close the comic book shut, Toji was a bit surprised as his eyes followed you when you stood up from the futon and made your way to your mother. “Kid, what are you doing—” It's only then he realizes late you were kneeling down and pressed your ear on your mom's stomach.
You feel the baby slightly kicking inside of her stomach, your little brother is in there and your eyes widened when you felt it kick on your cheek. Your mother groaned a bit and Toji just laid his head on the pillow near beside her, his hand caressing her stomach. “Dad, do you think he'll like me?” Five year old you asks. Toji hummed in agreement.
“He will, you two are brothers and it's only natural that you two will have a connection.” Toji spoke. “If he doesn't like you, that's also natural. He'll eventually grow out of it, he's still a baby.” You only keep silent and the sound of small snoring could be heard, it was definitely your dad's. You look up to see your mom sound asleep as the lights are still turned on, you stood up and flipped the light switch.
You go back to bed with your mom and dad.
—
It went on so fast, your brother was born and he was named shortly after. Megumi was his name, your father said so. At first you thought it was a silly name for a boy, you were outside of the hospital room. Fingers fidgeting anxiously when your father hasn't come out of the room yet, what was taking him so long ? And how come you're still not allowed inside, you were six years old already ! When your dad gets out of the room, his hands are curled in a tight fist.
Sweat forming on his forehead, his eyes were wide as he stayed glued on the floor and it seemed like he was out of breath. Many questions run through the inside of your head but one question only stands out, why does it look like your father has cried a lot. He has never cried before even when you broke his watch one time, the one that your mother gifted him.
You got off the seat, walking a little fast towards him and Toji flinched when you touched his hand. Even the skin of his hand was drenched with cold sweat, he uncurls his fist and his sweaty palm was all you could feel. “Listen to what i'm gonna say, alright.” It didn't even sound like a request, he kneels down as he sighs again. “Go home and just heat up the leftovers we had last night, i'll be with your mom for now.” He takes your small hands and gives you the key to the home.
You simply nodded, confused. What's up with his humour tonight ? But you didn't care, you couldn't wait to see Megumi soon and your mom as well. It must have been a painful process but you knew that your mom was a tough lady, she endured it by being so silent ! The doctors were screaming and your dad got even scared, that just proves that your mom was stronger than anyone else.
The hospital wasn't so far from home anyway, you hummed as you walked around the streets. When you heard the thunder rumbling from the clouds you didn't hesitate running already ! You can't risk getting sick, mom wouldn't want that especially when she's also getting better. “Mean rain!” You yelled repeatedly until you finally reached the apartment complex. You took the key out from your pocket and put it in the key hole, twisting the door knob as it opened.
You struggled a little reaching it but you finally got inside the house, you take off your drenched shoes, not putting them in the shoe rack as you'll hang them to dry later. You'll be waiting for your father until later, you walk inside of the bathroom. Taking off your clothes and leaving them on the floor, you turn on the hot shower. Washing off any dirt from your body, nothing felt sticky on your skin anymore. You wondered again, "How long will it take for mom to come back ? Hm.”
—
She's dead, it slips out of Toji's mouth when he's drunk and staring at the ceiling. You complained about the milk running out and because of that Megumi wouldn't stop crying at all, the whole day without Toji being present felt like a punishment at some point. “What?” You asked, not able to process the information. You held Megumi in your arms, Toji wasn't back home for a few days after the night Megumi was born. He only came back soon with the brother you were hoping for.
The small cup is empty on Toji's hand, he blinks and he stares back at you. “She's gone, she died after Megumi was born.” No, you weren't angry by the fact that Megumi was the reason for your mother's death, you were angered by how your father had said it so casually. Did he not feel any emotions ? It's as if this was already expected, why was he like this ? You couldn't understand, you were still a child.
Six years old to be exact, it was said so casually your immature brain didn't know what to do.
“Grow up.” He says.
And you did grow up, Toji has been absent for most of the time. Leaving you to take care of Megumi alone, you struggled to make him homemade meals. You saw what babies are fed on the TV and you wanted to make that too, but you lacked ingredients and you didn't want to risk burning the whole building down. You had a stool to help yourself reach things, you'd make instant ramen easily and fed Megumi some.
This wasn't healthy, you knew that. You missed mom, her home cooked meals and the chicken soup she'd make during your birthdays. You didn't like sweets that much, you liked the soup with a lot of ginger. Megumi babbled words, you thought about what it must be like if mom was here holding him right now. You wouldn't struggle trying to feed him on the high chair.
But it's fine, this is all fine. You can take care of Megumi, you don't need anyone else besides your mother. She's there to guide you, even without her physical presence you know that she's still there by your side. Your father must have been busy with work, he was always in these kinds of jobs. You once saw him wiping one of his swords.
But enough of that, it was time to give Megumi a bath. “Megumii, it's bath time! Are you excited?” Your Megumi happily replied by blowing raspberries as he raised his hands towards you, you smiled and kissed them. You carried him up and took him to the bathroom, getting the duty done as soon as possible.
—
You're nine years old when Toji decides to drop you and Megumi off in another new place, you didn't know what was going on but he was smiling. You were confused until a new woman opens the door for him and hugs him tightly, Megumi holds your hand tightly and you look down to see him whining quietly as you carry him up. “Meet your new home, Megumi and [Y/N]. Starting from now on, you'll stay with your new mom.”
That word again, when was the last time you've heard it ? 'Mom'. It sounded strange and before you knew it, a new child was inside the picture frame. "Meet my daughter, Tsumiki. I think you two are almost the same age, right? That's cute.” Tsumiki seemed polite, she offered you a warm smile while Megumi only clung to you tightly. “Let's get inside.” Toji said.
You all ate dinner in silence, it wasn't that great. The woman wasn't really a cook and Toji most likely just bought cheaper food that you can just heat up so no one would be bothered. Megumi tugged on your sleeve, you hummed and it caught Toji's attention when you leaned down to listen to Megumi's whisper on your ear. You nodded in agreement and stood up from the chair. Tsumiki was curious when you helped Megumi get off the chair.
“Where's the bathroom if you don't mind me asking, please?” Tsumiki's mom had such bright red lips from her lipstick, you missed your actual mom. She spoke with no politeness, the tone of her voice sounded so, so unattractive. Why did your dad even get with her? “It's the last door at the end of the hallway, sweetie. Left door.” You didn't like it, even Megumi doesn't like her.
You guided Megumi in the bathroom, Toji stared at you two. As his new wife held his hand he almost flinched if it weren't for her kiss on his cheek, he only rolled his eyes as she laughs softly. Tsumiki only stared at the scene, putting her chopsticks down and standing up from her seat. “You can just leave the dishes in the sink and I'll wash them once you two are done eating, you can just call me.”
Tsumiki's mom didn't really care much and just nodded, Tsumiki walked to her room and opened the door inside to her room.
It wasn't so great fitting inside of this new family.
—
Megumi is Four years old when Toji leaves him in your care, he leaves with no goodbye besides you and Tsumiki looking worriedly at Megumi as he stared down up from the balcony to see that his only parent was walking away. Unaware of being abandoned already, Tsumiki stared at you and you finally looked up to look eye to eye with her. “I'll prepare dinner, alright?” You simply nodded back.
You pet Megumi's head, ruffling his hair and he huffs making an annoyed noise. “He's going to work again, hmph.” Megumi crossed his arms to his chest, clearly upset. Your Gumi shouldn't be frustrated, too much negativity can curse the whole house. You only sighed softly, kneeling down and kissing him on the forehead.
“You have me, don't worr—” And before you know it Megumi's yell could have probably woken everyone up in the streets, even the neighbors at each room in the building from his yell. “I don't need you, nii-san ! I want dad, you're different and you're not him! I just want dad.” Ah, you understand now. It was normal for a child like him to have tantrums, you didn't even hear Tsumiki panically running towards you two.
“That's okay, i'm sorry but i also can't bring him back here.” You knew that Megumi probably had a lot of questions loaded inside of his brain, he's still a child and he can't know the truth. Everything that's happening around him shouldn't be known. A child, that's what he is. You're the same as Tsumiki, you and her were just ten years old. Not even close to being a teenager yet. “You have to promise you'll get him again, you'll get our dad.” Megumi didn't even cry after he saw his dad disappear in the dark streets.
The busted street light couldn't even let him see his father's figure one last time. “You know i'm not some superhero, Gumi. I'm sorry but maybe you are! You can be a superhero and find dad.” Tsumiki stared intensely at Megumi.
“I just wish you would stop trying to make everything all happy, that's not the way it is when everything is just messed up.” A four year old said all of that to you, a literal child. Sometimes, you just think about what would this little child say once that you die. It's either an accident or you just ultimately kill yourself when you can't handle everything.
But your mom wouldn't want that, how about your dad? You bet he wouldn't care anyway, just like when mom died. You stare at Megumi with a soft gaze, a cordial smile until then you finally stood up and took his hand in a gentle manner. Taking him inside of the home, Tsumiki moves out of the way and sighs. “I know it's rough but we'll just go past it like we always do, Gumi. With Tsumiki we can manage, isn't that right Tsumiki?”
She simply nodded in agreement.
Everything will just remain fine, even without their father or Tsumiki's mother it's all fine. You guys don't have much money but you'll manage despite being just children, no matter how hard it takes you know that there's always a solution to a problem.
When Childe put an empty lunchbox on the island counter, it took an embarrassingly long time for you to know what it was and what purpose it served.
“I want to bring your food to my workplace.”
Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice your astonishment or preferred to ignore it. You looked at him, at the coldness in his eyes that seemed to melt whenever they settled on you, and frowned.
“You can cook by yourself.”
He shrugged.
“I can, but I want your food.”
You looked at your own cooking hesitantly. It was a simple fried rice with egg. Nothing too fancy, and certainly not as delicious as his. Childe had the ability to make any food taste like a five star restaurant cuisine, and as painful as it was to admit it, you were insecure about it.
How could you envy your own captor? This wasn’t right. You must’ve spent too much time with him.
You pursed your lips.
“Do it yourself. This portion is mine.”
While it was true that you were planning to cook only for yourself, you’d accidentally made too much. And he knew it, that was why he asked for it. Stupid opportunistic bastard.
“Oh, come on. I always cook for you. Can’t you at least extend the same courtesy once in a while?”
No, you couldn’t. Because that meant he’d realize what a poor cook you were, and he once again bested you in something as simple as domestic chores. Therefore, it’d only solidify your perceived dependence on him.
“No, you do it yourself!”
“Why not?” he whined, pouting.
“Because…” Because you were jealous, dammit! Even if you didn’t plan on being a housewife, you were still a human being with insecurities. Petty, but painful nonetheless. “Because I don’t want to cook again.”
“That fried rice is too much for you. You never eat a lot.”
Screw him for stating facts! You wished he’d just shut up for once.
“Well, I’m in the mood for it.”
That was a lie. While you could certainly eat lots of snacks, especially when you were about to have your period, heavy meals were a whole different matter.
Childe raised an eyebrow.
“I can do this all day, you know? Unless…” he smirked mischievously, eyes glinting. “This is your ploy to get me to stay with you.”
You resisted the urge to shudder.
“Why would you need to bring lunch to your office, anyway? You’ve never done it before, and you can always eat out.”
“Well, I’m in the mood for it.”
Your eye twitched when he repeated your retort earlier. You knew you could just relent just so he’d leave soon, but at the same time, you weren’t ready to face his silent judgment of your subpar cooking. Never mind the fact that he only truly judged you whenever you tried to escape or rebel against him.
“Or, you know, we could just cook together and–”
“No!”
Childe raised his brows in surprise.
“Why are you so defensive, anyway? It’s just food. It’s not like I’m asking you to give all of your portion for me.”
You looked away and scoffed.
“I know that.”
“So? Care to tell me why?”
“Nothing!”
You quickly put half of the fried rice into the lunchbox and pushed it towards him.
“There. You can leave now.”
Childe merely stared at the box for a moment. Then, he took a spoon from the drawer and ate a spoonful. Your eyes widened at his audacity, and with it, your heart began to beat faster.
“It’s good.” he murmured after swallowing. “I don’t know why you’re so irritated, but your cooking is quite good.”
You scoffed again to hide your relief.
“You can stop lying, you know?”
He stared at you, and you wished you could retract your words just now.
“No, I’m serious. It’s good because it’s your creation. Nobody can copy it.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid! If only he was a normal boyfriend, maybe you’d shed tears of gratitude and hug him. But instead, you had to settle on a forced dismissal.
“Yeah, sure.”
Childe ruffled your hair.
“Don’t be insecure. Your cooking is neither better nor worse than mine.”
You wanted to swat his hand away, but just this once, you allowed him this little affection. And a little comfort for you.
“Just go already.”
Childe chuckled and kissed your cheek. He disappeared with another laugh before you could protest, and you were left alone in the kitchen. You patted your cheeks. They felt warm under your palms.
God dammit, you hoped it wasn’t a sign that you were beginning to tolerate him. Or, worse, a sign that you were beginning to like him.
You shook your head and brought the plate to dining room. Focus, [Name]! Maybe next time you could try to slip in poison to his food when he asked again.
yandere ocean spirit. sometimes appearing as charming young man who listens to the stories of the townsfolk with genuine interest.
sometimes appearing as a lovely lady walking down the shore and helping the kids collect the prettiest seashells.
and sometimes appearing as an elegant individual, whose beauty surpasses beyond gender, always found half-submerged in the ocean - long hair cascading down towards the ocean and it doesn't look like it seems to end? like it just blends with the ocean somehow.
torn between following you wherever you go, abandoning his life as a spirit just to be with you like a dog follows his owner; or, dragging you to the depths, in a secluded cave hidden somewhere underneath where she can have you all to herself.
calm waves becoming turbulent and harsh when a boat comes close to where she's got you hidden - fearing that the people might find you and steal you away from her.
yandere ocean spirit who causes the greatest storm the seaside town has ever experienced, a tsunami the people are ill equipped to deal with as you tell them you're going back to the city. who swears they'll wreck havoc to every single city in their wake, flooding and tearing every building down wave after wave if you so much as leave them behind.
promise him you'll stay with him, and he will keep the water placid and safe for the townsfolk. their lives are in your hands.
🎀 Today is Diluc's birthday. However, instead of focusing on himself, he can't help but to fall into his usual lovesick trap of gentle obsession.
yandere! diluc ragnvidr x fem! reader.
Ever since he was a young lad, Diluc could recall every single banquet and celebration which was hosted by the Dawn Winery estate. He could still sense the smell of various colorful liquors and taste the endless sea of pastries and cakes which were served at such events, making the inner child in him smile.
However, Diluc was no longer a young child.
Ever since the passing of his father, the need to throw any grand banquets was thoroughly diminished. While yes, there were certain things he could not avoid due to societal expectations, he still made the decision to keep things to an absolute minimum.
His birthday was not one of them. At least, not by his choice.
Everyone and their mother knew what day it was today and Diluc lost count with how many birthday wishes and gifts he had received. He was a little touched with the plethora of people who wanted him nothing other than joy, but those same people quickly became a nuisance because he could not seem to be with the one he actually wanted to be with today.
And there stood Diluc, hidden in the shadowy hallway as he watched his beloved prepare for the upcoming festivities. With both his arms crossed and his left side pressed firmly against the dark wood doorframe, Diluc decided in that moment that there was nowhere else he'd rather be than here.
His red eyes watched you thoroughly like a hawk, making sure to remember the ravishing scenery before him.
As much as you disliked his gifts, you didn't have a choice but to accept them this evening. The gentle sapphire necklace hung around your neck perfectly, the fine silver glimmering gently beneath the flickering candle flames. Diluc's gaze quickly shifted to your arms as they toyed with the various strands of hair at the top of your head, carefully adjusting the matching pin he had gotten you not too long ago.
He felt his heart skip a beat once he caught a glimpse of the wedding ring on your finger, causing him to nearly lose his composure and blow his cover altogether. His own ring seemed to come alive as he felt it around his finger, seemingly pulsing with a firey need to just take you, to see the light in your eyes, to beg you to please forgive him-
Even now, he could still hear you weep, for each tear felt like a stab straight into his bleeding heart.
Please, don't lock me away, you pleaded.
"I will be with no one but you. I will give you everything you desire but please Diluc-
Do not keep me as a prisoner!"
He sighed as he fidgeted with his gloved fingers. Diluc hated himself for doing this to you, for making you so utterly miserable. He was the one who took you away, it was him who had stolen that precious smile away from you. If you had been a normal couple perhaps this evening could have been more bearable. Perhaps he could have even enjoyed it, with you by his side.
But that was not how things were going to play out.
Diluc was stuck in a Hell of his own making. Every single tear that you had shed and will shed - that was all on him. Money can buy a lot of things but your love was not one of them. A new surge of determination was born deep inside of Diluc on that night of his birthday and he finally knew what his wish was.
He wished to make amends. Perhaps he could learn to live without your love, even if the mere thought made his teeth shake in fury and heart cry out in blind sorrow.
But he needed you to know that you were loved. He needed you to know that he was going to keep you safe. He was going to love you until his very last breath and even then, he would wait for the day of your sweet forgiveness.
you work as a tutor at the house of the hearth; but the father of the children you teach seems to haunt your thoughts.
cw: not sfw, fem reader. employer-employed dynamics, reader calls arlecchino 'sir', chubby reader, reader is inexperienced. arlecchino calls reader 'good girl' and 'darling'. guided masturbation.
You see your employer only rarely, but that does not mean that you do not think about her often.
It’s in the way that the children - your students, the ones you have been engaged to teach basic arithmetic and reading and as much history as you can squeeze in - speak of their ‘Father’. The look of wonder and devotion and just a touch of intimidation that comes over them, even as they chatter to you about the next time she is coming home and what they plan to do to welcome her. It’s in your salaries; perfectly paid, on time, with extra money left in an envelope and a note in beautiful, sharp handwriting mentioning your students by name and how well they’re progressing.
And, of course, it is in the times you see her - for you do not think anybody could see Arlecchino and not think about her regularly for the rest of their life.
She makes you nervous. There is something about her commanding presence; her lovely marble face, the strangely striking appearance of her eyes, the self-assured way that she stands. You think her beautiful, of course - but you have always had trouble around beautiful people, and so you find yourself stumbling over your words, your cheeks burning hot, coming far too close to making a fool out of yourself whilst she keeps a small, polite smile on her face as she watches you falter.
You worry, sometimes, she knows that you find her at once intimidating and irresistible - that something about the way you hold yourself will give away that you have wondered what her nails would feel like, digging into the soft skin of your throat as she tipped your chin upwards - or that you have wondered what it would feel like to have her corner you like a trapped rabbit and have her way with you--
But they are just daydreams. The truth is that you are as green as they come; you had gone to Sumeru’s Akademiya, a child who could not stop devouring books, who was obsessed with learning - and you had returned back to your native Fontaine to teach, and had no time in between that to pursue romantic relationships. The sum total of your romantic experience is a hurried kiss with another student, another beautiful older woman, who had pulled back and laughed at you, touching your cheek gently.
“Aren’t you adorable?” She’d asked you, in a low, sleepy voice with her eyes half-lidded. “Maybe a bit too adorable for just right now. Come find me again if you’re ever in Mondstadt.”
So . . . your fantasies about Arlecchino are just that. Simple fantasies. You have other things to attend to, after all! You care about the children whose education has been entrusted to you - even those who have now grown too old to need your guidance, who you watch flower and blossom and strike out from the House of the Hearth. Even if they stray beyond the nation you live in, though . . . they always seem to come back, to pay their respects to Father.
But it doesn’t stop the fact that sometimes she looks at you, when your paths crossed, with her head tilted just slightly to one side, and you feel like she knows exactly what you’re thinking. She always makes you feel strangely exposed; you keep up with fashion, because you enjoy it, but something about the fripperies of your gowns and skirts and blouses and the ribbons and the carefully chosen accessories in front of Arlecchino make you feel as though she is stripping you down in her mind, so perfectly poised and tailored. So you drop books in front of her. Your sentences get tangled together. You go hot all over and look at the floor--
But still she employs you, and still you hurry home at night and try to ignore the pounding in your chest and the way your breath goes short at the sight of her. Your paths cross only occasionally, you tell yourself. Next time you will be prepared.
But you are not prepared, the day that Arlecchino meets you in the hallway (your arms full of books and the work of the children that you intend to look over that night), running late with your hair ribbons askew and your dress crooked and she looks at you and says, in a voice that brokers no argument;
“Won’t you stay a little longer and have afternoon tea with me?”
“Do I make you nervous?” The red crosses in her eyes bore into you as she pours you a steaming cup of tea into a delicate teacup. You sit primly, your hands folded in your lap, your feet together, feeling entirely too exposed alone in this room with her. “You shake like a leaf whenever I speak to you.”
You wet your lips awkwardly, your throat dry, as you reach out for the teacup. You notice your hands are shaking and try to stop them, but she leans forward herself and places one of her hands over yours, steadying you. You stare up at her, eyes wide, whilst she looks down at you with something calculating and predatory in her gaze.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice very soft. You can feel your cheeks going hot against your will, and you wonder what you must look like to her - because you feel like a rabbit who is about to be pounced on by a wolf. Arlecchino slowly and purposely guides your hand back down, to put the teacup back on the saucer, and you begin to get the strangest impression that her invitation for ‘afternoon tea’ was actually an invitation for something entirely different. Her hand comes back up, and one of your idle questions is given an answer as you feel her sharp nails dig into the soft skin under your chin, tipping it up as she leans in closer. Close enough that she could kiss you, if she wanted - close enough you can smell the scent of Rainbow Roses and smoke that lingers on her clothes.
“Oh,” says Arlecchino, and she smiles at you and something about the smile makes you go hot and cold all over all at once. “Don’t be. It’s terribly cute.”
You don’t know how you end up sprawled out over her lap, your thighs hooked over the arms of her chair, as she takes control of you - but before you know it, that is the position you have found yourself in. Her hands roam slowly all over you, savouring the feel of your skin - soft and warm, generously curved - beneath her long, elegant fingers.
“These ribbons drove me to distraction today,” she murmurs against your ear, as you melt helplessly against her and she tugs at a brightly coloured red ribbon that trims your blouse. “I kept thinking about tying it around your pretty wrists instead.”
“M-Miss Arlecchino--”
She clicks her tongue at you in admonishment, running her thumb over the seam of your lips.
“Call me ‘Sir’, darling.” You practically fall over yourself to rectify your mistake, your tongue messy and heavy in your mouth, and you win a little chuckle from the woman who has you at her mercy. “You’re just so eager to please, aren’t you? What a good, obedient little thing.”
“Please--” You whisper breathlessly, as she tugs at the ribbon completely and the throat of your blouse falls open. Her nails scratch a slow line over your neck, almost like a threat, and you shiver again helplessly under the touch.
“Please what?” She murmurs against the shell of your ear. “You know, I did employ you as a tutor . . . for an academic, you’re rather inarticulate.” One button of your blouse, torturously slowly. The next, and she smiles against your bare skin to see the way your chest is rabbiting. “One would think you’d never been touched like this before.”
She knows.
There’s an edge to the way she says that, a note that’s teasing and suggestive, and it tears from your throat a little whimper of embarrassment that, in turn, makes her let out a sigh of satisfaction.
“My, my,” Arlecchino says to you - two more buttons, and your blouse is barely fastened. You’re inordinately glad you wore pretty underwear today, though you suppose it must look rather fussy to Arlecchino. “Have you not, sweetheart?”
“Sir,” you whine out, feeling tears spring to your eyes at the humiliation of the whole thing. Despite the humiliation, though, heat spirals out from between your thighs - your matching fancy underwear, you know, is soaked through. “Please-- it’s embarrassing--”
The final button, and Arlecchino’s fingers are running over bare skin now. The pudge of your stomach, the curve of your chest through the ruched cups of your brassiere.
“Say it,” she says to you, her voice sharp in the command. She circles a finger over your nipple through the lace and chiffon and you squirm in her lap at the sensation of the bud puckering and hardening. “If you want me to touch you, you understand, you have to at least have the confidence to tell me the truth. Or I’ll just send you home without your blouse and with your poor little aching cunt untouched, hmm?”
“Sir--!”
She grabs your cheeks between thumb and forefinger, squeezing the roundness of them roughly. The Father of the House of the Hearth, after all, is not one to be intimidated by whining or begging. She has plenty of experience dealing with brats. Her fingers still as she waits for you to do as she asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut and hiccup out a sob of longing.
“I--I’ve never . . . had anyone else touch me . . . l-like this--”
She lets out a pleased purr in the back of her throat.
“There,” she soothes. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Good girl.” She drops a kiss on the side of your forehead like a reward, her hands sliding over your body to find the catch of your brassiere. There’s a brief tussle of movement as she ensures you are shed of both your blouse and your underwear, and then you’re once more on her lap, your entire top half bared, only your skirts and stockings and underwear still on. “And if I’m honest . . .” She moves back to your ear, pressing a kiss on your jawline beneath the earlobe. “I rather like getting my claws in someone before they can learn any bad habits. I, too, am an excellent teacher.”
She takes a firm hold of you, pulling you even closer to her so that her hands can each take a palmful of your breasts. You feel exposed before her; the rolls of your stomach, the way that your chest sags into her grip, but Arlecchino does not seem to care about these things - instead she just sighs like you’re a fine wine she’s sampling, palming and squeezing the heavy weight of them.
“You’re such a pretty thing beneath the flounces,” she says to you, plucking idly at your nipples between thumb and forefinger - the movement sends hot lightning flashes of pleasure right down to the space between your legs. “If I were in charge, I think I’d leave you naked in my bed. Much more practical like that, don’t you agree?”
“I--”
“What about kisses?” She asks you, not letting you say anything. Your head is spinning pleasantly, and you cannot say that you are annoyed she’s stopping you from making a fool of yourself. “Are you as unversed in those, too?”
“I--I’ve kissed . . . someone--”
“Just one?” She laughs, a not unkind noise. “Oh, just the one kiss, I see. Poor thing, your cheeks are like Pyro slimes. Come here. Let me show you how to kiss someone properly, hmm?”
Arlecchino pulls you into a kiss that is so unlike the one you once had that to call them both by the same name seems a great disservice. There is no other way to describe it; she claims you, her mouth like a conquering king, your own the battlefield. Her teeth tug at your lower lip and you are helpless to do anything but open your mouth, let her tongue sweep over yours. She tastes like fire and tea, some of the little cakes she had offered to you - and you whine helplessly, clutching at her slacks because there’s nothing else you can reach in the position she has you in.
She lets go of your face with a satisfied sigh, and your head lolls back against her shoulder as she delicately wipes a smudge of her lipstick from the corner of your mouth.
“Let’s get this off you,” she says, tugging at the frills of your skirt. “Let me see you, darling.”
You’re only too eager to assist, embarrassed but needy, wanting but nervous. The fastenings at your waistband are unhooked, and then she is carelessly sliding it off of you until you are back before her in nothing but your underwear and your stockings, digging into the fullness of your thighs. For a moment, you are embarrassed again of your softness - but Arlecchino grabs your hips, pulling you back bodily onto her, and you realise from the possessiveness of her movements that she does not see it for a moment as something to be ashamed of.
Arlecchino’s hands are hungry as she squeezes at the softness of your thighs, as her palms sear hot across your stomach, as her fingers drift towards the gusset of your underwear. Her touch is feather-light, there, but you keen even so - terribly aware of every movement, even the smallest brush of her fingers. Arlecchino clicks her tongue against your ear again.
“So sensitive,” she whispers. “I’m afraid I might hurt you, and I’m afraid I’d very much like it. Why don’t you show me how you touch yourself?”
Your breath gets caught in your chest. Her suggestions so far have been, perhaps, embarrassing - have put you at a disadvantage due to your lack of experience. But nothing so far has been quite so brazen. You burn with the unease of it, but Arlecchino is already grabbing your hand, placing it over your soaked underwear.
“Don’t worry about making a mess,” she murmurs into your ear. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. My pants are soaking.”
She seems to enjoy watching you squirm as you whimper again, face hot. But her hand does not move, keeping your own anchored against your underwear until you do as she asks and shyly, nervously, rub at yourself through the sodden fabric just a little.
“Oh, darling,” she breathes, condescension dripping off every syllable. “You’ll never get anywhere like that.” You are inarticulate with your touches, still trembling and shaking at the strangeness of all of this - and you have done this, of course, but never with an audience! Never spread out over someone’s lap as they critique your technique!
“Sir, please--”
“You’re supposed to be a teacher,” she admonishes you. “You’re supposed to know everything, are you not? Have I really got to help you with something so simple as touching yourself?” She’s enjoying it; the sight of you, normally so prim and shy, utterly undone by her every word and action. Her hand moves over yours, holding it, guiding you to press two of your fingers together and circle over your swollen clit through the underwear.
It’s different, with her guiding you. You turn your head to try and bury it against her collar as she continues to mercilessly guide you into circles, sniffling pathetically - but she just coos, just nudges you back so you watch the visual of her hand over yours between your thighs.
“Shall we get your underwear off too?” She phrases it as a question, but it’s not one - she is already peeling off the frilly cotton, inching it down your generous thighs. She laughs a little meanly when she sees just how large the damp, darker patch is, and you think you will cry. Every feeling you have ever had is magnified a thousand fold here, in this incredibly vulnerable position spread over the lap of your employer.
(There are whispers that Arlecchino is even more than that; that there is a secret purpose behind the orphanage you have been employed by. But you do not put much stock in rumours, even when the children look at each other strangely and whisper when they think you cannot hear them. The thought of who you might really be letting touch you . . . You wish it did not stoke a fire in you even hotter and brighter than before).
“There we are,” she murmurs. “Good girl. Look at you. Look how pretty you are.” She deals your sex a short, soft slap - her palm comes away sticky, the noise indecent in the little room she had brought you to for afternoon tea. “I wonder how much prettier you’ll look with three of your fingers stuffed inside of you?”
Another strangled noise from your throat at the easy way she says the filthy things, and Arlecchino merely makes a soft huff of laughter.
“Carry on touching yourself for me,” she says to you. “Let me see.”
It’s an order, and you know that orders from Arlecchino are to be obeyed. Shyly and hesitantly again, you bring your fingers back to your sex. She rests her head against your shoulder, and moves her own hand; uses two of her fingers to make a ‘v’ shape and places them on your sex, using them to spread the plump outer lips aside so that you have better access to your clit and your entrance, still soaking and leaking slick out onto Arlecchino’s lap.
You’re hot and awkward as you touch your clit; as you try and mimic the circles that she had drawn on you earlier - but you are not brave enough to keep at it, and before long you have returned to your own faithful back-and-forth motion on your clit, your hips moving in little thrusts to try and prolong the sensation. You can hear yourself in the charged air; the hot little pants, the whimpers of frustration that none of it feels as good as it did when she was in charge. Arlecchino, though, merely watches you struggle.
You cannot see her face, but you can imagine the look upon it; the barest quirk of the lip, the single raised eyebrow. You carry on as best you can, trying to think of all the things you would usually think of - but it all spirals back to where you are, what is happening, and the fact no fantasy can truly compare.
Her voice is a little thick when she speaks next, and you realise with a strange jolt of pleasure that your inarticulate touching is still having an effect on her. It’s almost unnoticeable - but Arlecchino’s normal tone is so very poised, even the smallest change feels like a blaring siren to you.
“Put two of your fingers inside of you,” she says. And then, as you inexpertly slide two of your fingers inside your channel, she lets out a shuddering breath. You’re wet and tight around yourself, aware that you must look a mess - but Arlecchino’s fingers are sliding between your sex, moving to touch the space on your clit you just vacated, and your entire mind goes blank. “Don’t stop. Let me see you move them.”
You do your best, but Arlecchino’s own movements are just too much. The sensation of her dragging the pads of her fingers over your swollen clit; the way she circles and flourishes and swirls . . . you try, desperately, to keep your fingers in some kind of rhythm as they slide in and out of you, but before you know it you’re using your other hand to clutch at her arm and whimpering as you hump upwards into her touch.
“I ought to stop you,” she tells you, but she doesn’t for a moment stop her ceaseless assault on your clit; the wet, sticky clicking noise of your slick between her fingers. “You’re being a brat.”
“Please, Sir,” you whisper, babbling, “I’m . . . it feels so good--”
“Flatterer,” she murmurs, in that low, hungry voice. “You’re lucky that you look so very pretty like this, and that I am perhaps more soft-hearted than I appear . . .” Tears are running down your cheeks, sniffling, whimpering, helplessly moving your hips in time with her touches. Nothing seems to exist but the feel of Arlecchino’s fingers on your clit and the firm, certain way she touches you. “Be a good girl and come for me.”
The order tips you over the edge. The knot of heat in your belly comes undone and you whine helplessly as you buck into her touch, and you feel a gush of your own slick wet the fingers that are still stuffed inside of you. Your thighs try to clamp shut around the sensation, but the position that Arlecchino has you in with your thighs over the arms of her chair stop you from doing it - and so does she, still working her fingers over your clit through every trembling moment of your orgasm.
You come back down, panting, aware of the wetness between your legs and your nakedness, the stiff points of your nipples and Arlecchino’s fingers on you and the fact that Arlecchino is still dressed exactly as she was when she caught you in the hallway.
She moves her hand, and to your surprise she presses her fingers against your lips, forcing your mouth open.
“Taste yourself,” she tells you, and you are still so in awe of her that you can do nothing but obey - the slightly tangy taste of you lingering on your lips. You’re even more surprised when she uses her other hand to pluck your hand from between your thighs and guides the two fingers that had been inside of you to her own mouth, her tongue hungrily drinking in the wet webs of your slick. “Well. Aren’t you sweet?”
The unprofessionalism of what you’ve just done begins to creep up on you, shame drenching your back. All of those talks about ethics that you’d had at the Akademiya - but Arlecchino takes your head and turns it and gives you another firm kiss, another bite to your lower lip, another conquering that makes you feel weak at the knees. Your own taste lingers in your mouth, but, too, it lingers on her lips, and she seems supremely satisfied as she pulls back.
“I’ll be away on business for the next week,” she tells you. “In Snezhnaya. I’ll bring you something back.”
“Sir--”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she continues. “That little apartment you live in - well, it seems a shame, when we have so many empty rooms, and a live-in tutor would be far more beneficial - don’t you think? The children do adore you, and it seems so very practical.”
It’s a bizarre time to be having a business meeting, with your slick staining her clothes, with your own clothes a crumpled pile, with your position so terribly open and exposed - but all you can do is blink at her, and she smiles at you like a cat who has gotten the cream. She pats your cheek.
“Besides,” she says. “It will give us far more time together. And I do have so much more I’d like to teach you.”
This story is supposed to be for Childe, but somehow it turned to Dottore lol. Not quite yandere bc it’s just the beginning. Maybe I’ll write the sequel once I have enough time and motivation.
As youngsters, both you and your boyfriend had done some pretty stupid things.
For you, it’d be following your boyfriend to the city after he promised you that he’d find an easier and more lucrative job in there. Your parents had wanted you to take over their small business and didn’t really believe in the necessity of a college, while you dreamed of achieving higher than a high school diploma. So you ran away with him, much to their disapproval. Your father had even threatened not to accept you into their house again once, and although it’d pained you deeply, you tried to remain optimistic.
One day, you swore to yourself, that you’d prove them that you could enrol in a college and show them your diploma.
But alas, you should’ve known that searching for a job in the city was harder than it was in the village. Not to mention, you both had made another stupid mistake by accidentally having a baby. Despite this, you decided not to abort her and tried your best to raise her. Your boyfriend did a freelance job here and there, earning just enough to survive another day.
Still, it wasn’t enough. With childrearing, came increased necessities. Your meals got decreased from two times a day to one time a day, with your stomachs constantly growling and your bodies getting skinnier. Your boyfriend became desperate, and the friction between you both worsened. He argued that you should put up the baby to adoption, while you protested vehemently. Your dream of going to a college felt so far away now, like a silly childhood fantasy.
Until, one day, your boyfriend got a job again. A stable one, this time.
You’d been so happy, especially because he truly brought home a lot of money now. His promise was finally fulfilled after years of struggles and stress. He bought a house, with enough rooms for a proper nursery and a small office. He also pampered you with fancy clothes, shoes, lotions, and cuisines.
For the first time in your life, you got a taste of wealth.
But there was a ‘little’ problem: your boyfriend never told you what his job was.
He always dismissed you every time you asked him; begged him, even. He only told you to just ‘enjoy your life now’. And you would, you would have, had he not come home late at night so often. Had he not come home bloody and bruised sometimes. Clearly, it wasn’t a typical corporate job. Either he worked as a bodyguard of some sort, or he was doing something shady.
Sometimes you wondered if you’d been more persistent, more inquisitive, he’d eventually spill everything out and you’d be able to stop him. But sometimes you wondered if it’d even change things, if it was already too late, if he was too far gone and now you were being pulled into his darkness too.
“No matter what happens, don’t come out, okay?”
Never in your life had you seen him so distressed, so disturbed. It wasn’t the same kind of anxiety he’d have at the thought of poverty. No, it appeared to be worse than that. And, admittedly, it didn’t help much to your already frayed nerves.
“What do you mean?! What’s happening?! Who’s that man outside?!” you hissed, pointing at the door.
“[Name], just listen to me please!” he beseeched, almost desperately. “Hide and don’t come out, even if you hear any noise.”
The warning felt too vague, too ominous, but it wasn’t as if you could do anything other than obey. You picked up your baby from her crib and hid in a closet while your boyfriend dealt with the mysterious visitor. For a while, there was a muted conversation. Later on, your boyfriend began to sob and beg. It sounded incoherent from this distance, but you knew he was pleading with his very soul. Pride be damned.
And then, you heard a sharp, loud sound echoing in the house.
You froze, holding the baby closer to you. What was that? Was that… was that a gunshot? No, it couldn’t be. Who in their right mind would bring a gun, anyway? Unless it was the police…
But he wasn’t the police, was he?
Your baby opened her eyes and started to whine. Your eyes widened in alarm as you desperately tried to calm her down. She was pooping. Damn it! Now wasn’t the time to go out and change her diaper, even if the smell of her poop was unbearable in this small and cramped closet.
There was a shadow under the doors. You sucked in a fearful breath, willing your daughter to remain silent too.
Suddenly, the doors were pulled open.
“Ah, the lady is here.”
The ‘guest’ stood tall and imposing. He had light blue hair and piercing red eyes, clad in a sleek suit. The black coat hang on his shoulders, while a pair of matching glasses clung to his collar. The gun sat snugly on his waist. You stared at him wide-eyed, feeling every bit like a prey being cornered in its own nest by an apex predator.
He crouched and glanced at your sniffling daughter.
“And her baby, too.”
Goodness, what kind of person did your boyfriend associate with?! And why did you have to be the collateral damage?!
“Cat got your tongue, Miss?”
“I…” you gulped. “Please don’t kill us. Whatever my boyfriend did to you, I don’t know anything. I swear!”
“You don’t, do you?”
Oh, how you wished you could just break down already. You couldn’t handle this kind of pressure at all!
“By the way, I heard that you want to study in a college.”
The change of topic was enough to give you an emotional whiplash. You blinked your wet lashes repeatedly, chest heaving.
“How did you know…?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t think I never looked up the background of my own subordinates?”
Suddenly, you felt so stupid.
“Well?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
Your voice was pathetically small, but he didn’t seem to mind it. He’d probably heard it all the time; from innocent women like you to people like your boyfriend.
Your dead boyfriend.
You bit your bottom lip in attempt to remain composed. You didn’t know what he’d do if you decide to annoy him with your sob.
“Why didn’t you enrol, then? Your boyfriend had enough money.”
“I…” you licked your lips that suddenly felt as dry as a desert. “I decided to wait until my daughter is old enough.”
The man was silent for a moment. His crimson eyes appraised you from top to bottom.
“I can get you in one.” he paused, and you were correct to assume that there was a ‘but’ somewhere. “But you’ll have to work for me later on.”
“What…?”
This was bad. You were basically a replacement for him now. Why was it that the one time you tried to make a mature decision, it backfired on you?
“I don’t– I’m not qualified enough for you, sir!”
“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t care what major you’ll take. It’ll probably be useless to me, anyway.”
“So, then, why did you decide…?”
“Debt, sweetheart. It’s easier to force someone to do my bidding, yes, but it’s even easier to use their moral obligation to me.”
You looked down thoughtfully yet desperately, trying to stall the inevitable.
“What would you do… if I refuse?”
“Then, nobody will be getting out of this house alive. Not even your cute, little baby.”
Your stomach dropped.
“But I told you that I–”
“Don’t worry, you’ll have a babysitter for that. And your college will be online, too.”
Your daughter began to cry from discomfort, and it merely increased the pressure you felt.
“Alright, I… I accept.”
“Excellent. I’m sure you’ll be an useful subordinate, Miss [Name], far better than your boyfriend could ever be.” The man rose to his full height and extended a hand; an invitation to fully submerge yourself in the darkness created by your deceased lover. “Now, get up and change your baby’s diaper so we can leave as soon as possible.”
Whenever Vampire!Alhaitham abruptly wakes up at the deep hours of the night, his first impulse is to check whether you're breathing or not, whether your pulse is stable or not and whether the temperature of your body has gone up or down. You are the only being in his long life that has suffused his thoughts with such aching paranoia, such devastating love. He needs to eternalize your existence as soon as possible though, because if the threat of your life extinguishing doesn't end up killing him, his thoughts will one of these days.
Butterflies never know how beautiful they are [Newspaper boy! yuji x princess! Reader]
Note: historical (?), more fluff and bittersweet, no warnings, low-key normal for once
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Yuji stood there, utterly astonished.
You stood on the balcony, tears silently streaming down your face, was said to be a wicked witch. Yet, you appeared so melancholic and delicate, a sight of unparalleled beauty in his eyes. Your sadness seemed to have lend you an ethereal sweetness; a smile would have been redundant, for your frown alone had the power to captivate all who gazed upon you.
You wept softly, delicate tears tracing lines down your elegant face. With a gentle touch, you wiped them away, mindful not to disturb the intricate makeup your maids had meticulously crafted. Leaning against the balcony, your elbow rested gracefully on the edge, your gaze lost in the horizon, seemingly unaware of his presence concealed beneath a nearby bush. Despite the winter's chill, your cheeks glowed with a rosy hue, enhancing your beauty. To him, you seemed like a living portrait, so flawless and perfect in every detail.
As your tears continued to fall, he, driven by a mix of curiosity and compassion, rose from his hiding place among the bushes. Quietly, he reached up and grasped the edge of the balcony, peering through the ornate columns that framed you. With a voice tender and gentle, he inquired, "Pray, may I ask the cause of your tears?"
As the sound of his voice startled you, you swiftly brushed away your tears and scanned the surroundings, puzzled by the unexpected interruption. After a brief moment, your gaze settled on the silhouette of a young man below the balcony. One arm was casually draped around a column, while the other supported his frame as he leaned in to steal a glimpse of you. He appeared to be of common stock, his pink hair adorned with a newspaper cap, his face smudged with traces of ash, and his attire hastily assembled.
"Is someone bothering you..?"
Yuji repeated his question, his tone betraying both genuine concern and a touch of innocence. Your initial surprise melted into a soft giggle, charmed by his earnestness in such a fleeting encounter. You gracefully descended to your knees, your gaze meeting his with a gentle smile. With a slight shake of your head, you conveyed that there was no cause for alarm.
"It's just that... my favorite rabbit ran away," you began, your voice soft and wistful. "And I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to her."
As you spoke, your eyes briefly closed, lost in memories of your sister. She had run away with her lover, an artist, despite your parents' disapproval. You remembered the last moments you shared, her promises to stay safe and out of trouble. You couldn't find it in your heart to stop her, even though you knew the path she had chosen was fraught with challenges.
"Your rabbit...? If that's the case, we could probably go search for her," he suggested, his face brightening with newfound purpose.
You couldn't help but smile bitterly at his words, touched by his willingness to help. As you reached down to cup his cheeks with one hand, your touch was soft and delicate against his skin. He caught a whiff of an expensive rose scent, reminiscent of what noble women might wear to restaurants and gatherings.
"Ah, she's likely wandered far beyond reach by now, but I appreciate your kindness," you replied, your fingers dancing lightly against his skin. Despite the faint specks of ash that transferred to your delicate complexion, you seemed unperturbed, your eyes carrying a timeless elegance. Behind that grace, however, lingered a profound sadness, a silent echo of years gone by that had etched its mark upon your glassy gaze. Yuji found himself deeply moved by your expression, a fleeting moment where his heart danced to an unfamiliar rhythm. Leaning into the tender touch of your palm, he was momentarily lost in the elegance of the moment.
"Why are you crying?"
Your soft voice broke through his moment of melancholy. Looking up, he met your gaze with confusion, only then realizing the tears welling up in his eyes. Your expression softened with a blend of pity and concern as you delicately brushed away his tears.
"Because of your sadness," he replied with unguarded honesty, observing the fleeting surprise in your expression before you gently shook your head.
"I'm not sad, though," you countered, your tone soft yet resolute. You lean closer to him, wiping his tears away and he felt his heart race the closer you were to him. Your hair trickling at the side of his cheeks as he stare into your eyes, mesmerized by the shining stars within them and the way your lips were so soft, and pink. He doesn't think he has ever seen such pretty lips from a woman before. Before the two of you could become even more closer, a voice from behind the door leading to the inside of the manor called out.
"[First Name]..! Where are you.."
After a brief moment of contemplation, he gently released himself from your touch and gracefully descended back onto the bush. Ignoring your startled response, he swiftly turned and ran back into the woods. His heart pounded in his chest, a cold sweat forming on his forehead as he struggled to process the encounter.
As he fled, he couldn't shake the thought: "she must truly be a witch!"
Yes, that could indeed be the only plausible explanation for the tumultuous stirrings in his heart. It seemed to be the reason behind his unexpected emotions, why he felt an inexplicable sadness for you despite the absence of any personal connection. The notion that you might truly be a witch lingered in his mind, offering a peculiar explanation for his inexplicable feelingsUnnoticed by him, your gaze remained fixed on his fleeting figure, curiosity sparking within your eyes. Yet, with a graceful gesture, you chose to set aside your musings, casting one final glance before gracefully retreating into the mansion. Prepared to resume your role as the daughter of the emperor, you embraced the ordinary life befitting the eldest daughter and crowned princess of the empire, taking a deep breath as you greeted your father.
