Title: Pliant.

Genshin [All male characters] When you ask “What would you do if I disappeared?”

Notes: Feeding everyone.

Characters: Aether, Albedo, Bennett, Chongyun, Dainsleif, Diluc, Gorou, Itto, Kaeya, Kazuha, Razor, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Thoma, Venti, Xiao, Xingqiu, Zhongli, fem!reader

Warnings: not proofread, hints of death, implications of dying, mentions of death, bit of crack, bit of angst, bit of fluff, bit of everything

Personal Favourites in this work: Venti, Diluc, Albedo, Xiao

Aether

His sister is already missing. What do you think he would feel if you ask something like that?

The fear in him is real. It seems endless, all this looking around for his sister. Adding you going missing into the mix, it was like torture. Like an endless spiral down into an endless hole.

“Aether? It’s just a hypothetical question, you don’t have to think about it too mu–” you were really just blurting out thoughts and nonsense.

He pulls you in for a hug, one arm tight around your waist and the other behind your head. “Please don’t” he whispers. “I don’t have anything else,”

He’ll become a shell of himself if you disappear. He’d look for you, but he’ll shed tears every night. 

Keep reading

Title: Clingy.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Wanderer x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Modern AU, Non/Con, Blood, Intimidation/Threats of Violence, Toxic Relationships, Emotional Abuse, Slight Financial Abuse, and Codependent Behavior.

On your third date, your boyfriend-at-the-time demanded that you give him a spare key to your ‘shitty shoebox of an apartment’, despite refusing to so much as let you into the penthouse Ei had leased for him while going to a university a hundred or so miles away from the multi-story, marble sculpted, beachside mansion he’d reluctantly flown you out to when he got sick of listening to you ask why he still hadn't introduced you to his moms eight months into your relationship. That probably should’ve been your first red flag, but somehow, you’d persisted. He brought out your competitive side, like that.

He made you want to dig your nails in, plant your teeth in your neck, and refuse to let go. It wasn’t good for you, but nothing he did was good for anyone. That never stopped him from doing it, though.

You could only assume that this – Kunikuzushi, your boyfriend of eighteen months and your ex-boyfriend of one, splayed across the couch in your living room, the keys he’d never given back dangling from his ring finger and the phone you’d forgotten when you left for work that morning in the other – wasn’t going to be good for you, either.

You didn’t say anything at first. It was all you could do to groan, to shake your head, to pretend you didn’t see him or didn’t care long enough to throw your messenger bag onto the nearest chair and tear off your jacket. He’d clearly made himself at home. A textbook was open on your coffee table, a drink from the cheap, trendy café he’d always whined about having to take you to sitting half-empty next to it. He wasn’t looking at either, though, his attention entirely centered on your phone. You didn’t have the energy to pretend to be surprised. He used to like to go through your conversations and delete the contacts he ‘didn’t trust’ when you were together, too, but you’d been more willing to write it off as the cute-but-concerning tick of a jealous boyfriend, back then. You must’ve fallen out of practice after your breakup.

You opened your mouth, but he was ultimately the one to break the silence. “You know Ajax?”

You crossed your arms. “Why are you here?”

“I mean, I know you’re in the same microbiology course, but c’mon, him? The fucker couldn’t tell a proton from a nucleolus. Honestly, I’m surprised he hadn’t flunked out yet. Give it another semester - he’ll be gone by spring, I promise.”

“I didn’t say you could come over.”

“I texted you last night. Did you try to block me again?” You’d blocked him, then reported his number, then changed yours when he’d started using burner phones to drunk dial you in the small hours of the morning and leave disjointed, rambling voice mails about how well he was doing without you, how much time he had now that you weren’t pestering him, how many people he’d slept with since the last time you'd seen each other. All of it was bullshit, obviously, but it was his bullshit. Somehow, he always knew just how to get under your skin. “Scratch that – I’ll take care of it. I should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to get through a month without my help.”

You grit your teeth. Swallowing as much of your anger as you could, you stepped in front of him, snatching your phone out of his hands and retreating before he had a chance to take it back. You were tempted to look at what he’d been scrolling through, see which conversation had gotten him so upset, but you forced yourself to turn off your phone completely, to set it down on the far side of your coffee table and think about something else. It’d take hours to fix the damage he’d done, to unblock all the acquaintances he didn’t approve of and the apologize to all the friends he'd insulted under your name. You’d rather get rid of him first, then try to fix everything he'd already started to tear apart. “Get out.”

He scanned over you, his eyes lingering on the wrinkles in your button-up shirt, the cheap material of your dress pants. “Y'know, if we were still together, you wouldn’t have to put up with that shitty job. You could just quit and finally move in with me.”

Once, you’d let him buy you a new laptop when yours gave out in the middle of the semester and you didn’t think you’d be able to scrape enough up for another before you next exam. It’d been a used model, already a few years out of date, and you swore up and down that you’d pay him back when you had the money, but he’d held it over your head for months, smirked and gloated and taken every opportunity to remind you how grateful you should be to have a boyfriend so willing to spoil his oh-so-unfortunate partner. He hadn’t let you pay him back. He hadn’t let you pay for anything until he’d gotten tired of playing savior and went back to acting like a brat, too desperate for your attention to care if he was in-charge. You doubt he’d be any more bearable if you actually moved in with him, if you lived in his house and relied on his good-will. If you actually depended on him.

But, rather trying to say any of that in a way he’d understand, you sighed, clenching your eyes shut. “It’s an internship and I need it for my major. Get out.”

His scowl wavered. “When did you get so bossy? This isn’t going to work if you think you can tell me what to do.”

“I’m not bossy, you’re just a prick. Get out.”

He sat up, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Cut it out. I’m not going to want to get back together if you keep acting so immature.

“I don’t want to get back together with you.” And then, gesturing towards your door. “Get. Out.”

If nothing else, that seemed to shut him up.

It took a few seconds, but eventually, he responded. There was an airy laugh, a thin smile, a certain air of hurt disbelief as he sat up. “You really aren't kidding, are you?”

You didn’t indulge him with a reaction. Rather, you watched with a pressed scowl as he pushed himself to his feet and stepped toward you. He was in his usually ‘too cool to try, but too bored not to’ get-up – ripped jeans and long sleeves striped in black and violet, half a dozen rings and bolts pierced into the curve of each ear and a belt from a brand you couldn’t name, but knew you were supposed to tacked on to further feed into his ego. He must’ve been here all day. His short hair was more disheveled than he usually liked it to be, and you could see more irritation in his dark eyes than you were used to, paired with a certain type of frustration that only ever slipped out when you managed to keep him waiting. You hadn’t, technically (you couldn’t be late to meet someone who you didn’t want to see), but you didn’t bother trying to point that out.

“I thought it’d be nice to see you after… How long? Five weeks?” He glanced down, starting to toy with something in his back pocket. “I thought we could order lunch, talk for a while, maybe watch a movie or something. Then, I don’t know…” His smile took on an apologetic lull, almost pleading. “Kiss and make up? It’s not like any of this is new for us.”

He wasn’t wrong. You’d been together for a year and a half, and most of that had been spent caught up in ear-splitting, tear-inducing, world-ending fights. He’d burn the notes you borrowed from your classmate, and you'd refuse to talk to him for a week. You’d decide you were over his constant mood swings and go on a date with the cute guy from your calculus class, and he’d mail a slab of raw meat to your best friend because, in his own words, ‘you couldn’t come up with such a stupid idea by yourself’. It wasn’t balanced, you would never be able to give as much as he took, but still. When he started yelling, you did too, and when he showed up at your door a few days later, his eyes still bloodshot from crying, you always took him back. Because he was Kunikuzushi. Because you loved him.

Because you knew he’d make your life hell, if you didn’t.

Which was exactly why you couldn’t just… kiss and make up, this time. Not if it’d mean swallowing your pride and letting him get everything he wanted.

You sighed, but kept your arms crossed, your expression stern. “I’m tired, Kuni. I don’t want to do this anymore.” You paused, bit down on the side of your tongue. “It’s not good for either of us. We’re not good together. I don’t want to pretend that we are.”

His smile wavered, but didn’t fall. “What do you mean, babe?”

“I mean,” You braced yourself, shut your eyes. “I think you should leave.”

At least he seemed to hear that. You watched with as little sympathy as you could manage as his grin cracked and fell away, as his shoulders slumped downward, as he let out an airy chuckle that cracked halfway through. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“We broke up a month ago.” And he’s been insufferable ever since. “And we’re not getting back together.”

Parted lips, glassy eyes. He raked a hand through his bangs, doing what he could to blink away the tears slowly forming in the corners of his eyes. This wasn’t new, and yet, you still found yourself struggling not to break, not to embrace him and mutter soothing nothings while he sobbed quietly into your shirt and wrapped his arms around your waist and, inevitably, ended up on his knees, his face buried between your legs as he made you cum until you forgot why you’d been mad at him in the first place. “Fine. That’s fine. Honestly, that’s great. I don’t know why I’d ever want to be with such a heartless bit—” His voice broke before he could finish. He made a half-hearted effort to wipe at his eyes, but that only drew more attention to the tears starting to roll down his flushed cheeks, only made you more tempted to pull him into a kiss and act like this had never happened. “Fine. If you’re really that sick of me, I’ll go.”

He pushed past you, starting towards your door. That was what you wanted. Kunikuzushi gone, your apartment empty, your life just a little less fucked than it always seemed to be when he was a part of it. You should’ve let him go. You should’ve stood there until he was gone. You should’ve let him leave.

But you heard another hitched sob, a string of muttered swearing, and something in your chest broke open. With a shallow sigh, you dropped your arms to your sides, forcing yourself to speak through clenched teeth. “…do you want a hug before you leave?”

Kunikuzushi glanced over his shoulder. “A hug? What do you think I am, a toddler?”

“It's the only thing I'm putting on the table. Do you want it or—”

You never got the chance to finish. His arms were already around you, pinning your arms to your torso as he buried his face in your shirt. You choked back your protests, forced yourself to fight the instinct to push him away, and in a few excoriating seconds, his hold on you loosened, his back straightening, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder and his lips pressing into your neck. There was a lingering8 kiss laid onto your jugular, then another to the corner of your jaw, but you didn’t bother to try and push him away. Instead, you only shifted in his arms, nudging at his chest. You’d gotten yourself into this, called him back when he was a few steps away from leaving. You only had yourself to blame. “I didn’t say you could—”

“I knew you’d change your mind.” A hand fell to the small of your back, the heel of his palm pressing into the base of your spine. “You always do. You always make the right choice, in the end.”

You opened your mouth, ready to remind him that you weren’t taking him back, but you hesitated. He was always weird, just a little too hostile, just a little too desperate to keep you close to him, but you didn’t trust the levity in his voice, the way his smile pressed into your skin despite how close he’d come to crying a few minutes ago. “I think…” You trailed off, bit down on the side of your tongue. “I haven't changed my mind. You have to—”

Something flat and stiff pressed into your back – the blunt edge of a switchblade. His switchblade, you realized, dredging up hazy memories of bandages wrapped around thighs and hollow promises that he’d be more careful, next time. You heard his nails drum against smooth metal, felt something cold and sharp cut into the skin above your shoulder blade, and you froze, your mind instantly going blank.

He laughed, the noise cracking and airy. Warm breath fanned over the crook of your neck, and he melted into you, nuzzling into the curve of your throat. “I love you.” And then, pressing the blade into your flesh. “Say you love me too.”

Automatic, robotic. The only thing you could spit out through grit teeth. “I love you.”

Another laugh – more giddy, this time, more eager. If he noticed your reluctance, it clearly didn’t bother him. The switchblade was pulled up to the nape of your neck, then drawn in a loose arch to your collarbone, the tip never leaving your skin. “I mean, yeah, obviously. That’s why we get to stay together, even when we’re at each other’s throats.”

He paused, burrowed into you. In turn, you were dragged further into his chest, but pushed away just as quickly, allowed to get just far enough to make it possible for Kunikuzushi to raise his free hand to the collar of your shirt and drag you into a clumsy, rushed kiss – too rough and too forceful for anyone but him to enjoy. His teeth scraped against your lips, his tongue dragging over yours, but he pulled away with a breathy groan, his pale cheeks flushed and his eyes still glossed over. “…you didn’t get with anyone while I was gone, right? You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

How could you? He hadn’t given you room to breathe, let alone get past anything more than a first date with someone new. Even when you’d been together (actually together, not fighting or on a break), he’d been so suffocating, so possessive, you’d never been able to get any further than heavy petting, oral, his body on top of yours and your legs wrapped around his waist before he said something you couldn’t brush off and the night devolved into something... less romantic. It was hard to be with someone like Kunikuzushi, someone who acted like they’d rather give up the air in their lungs than a second of your time. Even after a year and a half, it was hard to let your guard down around him when he seemed so willing to give you every reason you ever could've needed to keep it up.

You guessed you should’ve expected this, looking back on it. He’d was bound to get tired of waiting for you to trust him eventually.

This was just his way of letting you know that he’d never really needed you to, in the first place.

Stiltedly, you shook your head, and he let out a relieved sigh. “Perfect. That’s why we’re supposed to be together.” He kissed the corner of your lips, then your forehead. “You’d never hurt me.”

He didn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he took you by the hand – his fingers intertwining with yours as he turned and tugged you forward, moving to lead you further into your apartment. The switchblade left your skin, falling momentarily to his side, and for a few brief seconds, you considered trying to get away, jerking yourself out of your hold and running as far away as you could get from him and his fucking issues. You made a passing effort, but Kunikuzushi’s grip turned crushing as soon as you began to shift, and you gave up before he could break something more vital than your heart. He was between you and the door, you and your phone. He had a knife, a weapon. He had you, and until he decided he was done, he wasn’t going to let you go without a fight.

With little ceremony, you were drawn out of your living room and into your cramped bedroom. Kunikuzushi let go of your hand, but you didn’t have time to run before you were being pushed onto your unmade bed, before he was straddling your waist and pinning you to the center of the mattress. The knife was brought back to your neck, but quickly plunged lower, slid beneath your uppermost button and used to separate thread from fabric. Somehow, annoyance managed to overshadow your panic, if only for as long as it took for one rational thought to be followed by another. This was your nicest shirt, one of a handful you’d splurged on for your internship, but it wasn’t like Kunikuzushi would ever understand anything like that. It wasn’t like he’d ever tried to, before.

The tip caught on the slight dip below your diaphragm and you winced, a few dots of red immediately seeping into white fabric. You winced, beginning to protest on reflex. “Kuni’, that—”

“I’ll take care of it.” Absentminded, only half conscious that he was speaking at all. He reached the hem, pulling his switchblade free and letting your dress shirt fall away from your chest and over your shoulders, as useless as it was embarrassing. “I’ll take care of everything when we’re done. Just sit pretty and keep your mouth shut for a while.”

Really, you could only wonder why you hadn’t dumped him sooner.

Your pants were next, slits carved into the material over your hips and ruined fabric torn away. He moved to cut off your boxers, too, but seemed to hesitate, to linger, to find the strength to pause just long enough to drag two fingers over your clothed slit and press the pad of his thumb into your clit. You hissed at the friction, but Kunikuzushi only smiled, dipping his head low enough for his lips to ghost over your collarbone, then the midline of your chest, then the tender spot just below your navel. The last was accompanied by a slight groan, throaty and deep. You did what you could to block it out. This would be better if you didn’t think about it, if you just imagined he was trying to win you back after a fight, that there was a wilting rose in his other hand and not a knife already stained with your blood.

It was almost a mercy when his hands finally slipped under the hem of your boxers, doing away with your last layer of protection with only a slight laugh and a lilting smile. You did what you could to relax, to lean back and close your eyes, but Kunikuzushi’s weight was an ever-present anchor to reality, only made worse as he shifted lower, as he pulled your legs apart and threw them over his shoulders. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into the inside of your thighs, his teeth ghosting over tender flesh as he sucked harsh bruises into whatever he could reach. This was his favorite part, by far. He’d always been clingy – possessive to the point of total, nail-biting, jaw-locking paranoia. At first, you’d been able to write it off as a sort of overeager enthusiasm that came with a new relationship, but he’d never stopped. He was always ready, always desperate to dig his teeth into your skin and leave as many marks as you’d let him – or rather, as many as he possibly could before you were able to pry him away. Even then, you’d tried to think of it as cute, just one of the quirks of your immature-but-loving boyfriend. Now, all you could do was hope it’d be over soon.

It took him full minutes to actually reach your cunt, for his tongue to lave over your slit. Instantly, you stiffened, clenching your eyes shut and attempting to ignore the heady sounds of his whimpering moans, the feeling of his tongue tracing patterns in your entrance. It was sloppy, messy, all drool and teeth and clutching hands, but warmth flooded into your core as the bridge of his nose ground into your clit, as his hands wrapped around your hips and dragged you that much closer to his mouth. Everything he did was dirty, but he knew you, knew your body, knew that you’d have to spread your legs as soon as his tongue thrust into you.

You arched your back as two fingers slid into your entrance alongside his tongue, scissoring you open while his attention shifted to your clit – his lips sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves while he sucked gently. If he hadn’t been so vocal, it might’ve been more bearable, but no, he couldn’t seem to stop whining into your cunt, to stop sending waves of those awful reverberations from your clit to your core every time he whimpered or grunted or moaned. Before you could stop yourself, your hips were rolling weakly against his mouth as he nursed you through your sudden climax. When you fell limp, his mouth fell away, but his hand still cupped your pussy, his fingers still curling and thrusting inside of you.

He didn’t slow down, didn’t let up, not until you were crying out and clenching around him, not until you could feel the slick running down your thighs, soaking into your sheets. He didn’t stop until you were babbling – spitting out incoherent pleas for him to slow down before the overstimulation turned from overwhelming to agonizing. You were forced to endure another kiss to the inside of your thigh, the wet sound of his tongue running over his fingers, but he pulled away in a few seconds, finally letting you have just enough space to breathe. Even that was temporary, cut short by his lips crashing into yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, as little as you wanted to. You could feel him panting against your lips, and it was all you could do not to scream.

He pulled away abruptly, grinning. “You’re a virgin.”

It wasn’t a question, but you found yourself shaking your head, denying it on instinct. “I never—"

“You didn’t have to.” There was a peck to the corner of your lips, another to your cheek. “I know everything about you. Your parents were too strict to let you date in high school, and none one’s ever lasted more than a couple of weeks with you before me. Since you wouldn’t so much as take off your shirt around me before our three-month anniversary, I’m going to assume you weren’t a total slut before we met.”

You narrowed your eyes, shoving gently at his chest. You just needed space. You just needed him to get away from you. “So?”

“So,” he leaned in, his smiling growing that much wider. “I’m going to ruin you.”

It was something about his tone, the dark glint in his eyes as he leered over you. Your heart dropped in your chest, and very distinctly, something very large and very sharp began to crawl up your throat.

You started to shake your head, but he was already edging jeans downward, already freeing his cock – the flushed tip leaking precum in fat, white pearls. His weight was enough to keep you pinned down as he aligned himself with your entrance, as he traced the head over the length of your slit, and his eyes never left your face, your expression painted with heavy strokes of horror and disbelief. He never wavered, never blinked, even as he thrust inside of you, bottoming out in a single uninterrupted motion. Even as you cried out, the sound more pained than anything else. Even as you felt a single, warm teardrop fall off of his cheek and onto yours. You hadn’t realized you’d shut your eyes, not until you forced yourself to open them, not until you found him cloudy-eyed and grinning above you.

He was crying, again.

Huh.

You thought he would’ve given up on that, by now.

He wasn’t gentle. He’d never been delicate with you, but right now, it felt like he was trying to be rough, to pin your legs against your chest and split you open every time he moved his hips, every time he found a way to hit something deeper and more sensitive inside of you. You tried to scream, but your voice caught in your throat, strangling itself into something more akin to a cracked whine and a few broken whimpers. The stretch, the pressure was more than you could take. You couldn’t stop yourself – going rigid underneath him, your eyes rolling back as your mouth fell open in a silent, agonized cry. Your reactions, however involuntary, only seemed to spur Kunikuzushi on, his pace growing more erratic and his breath now coming in quick, shallow pants. No matter what you did, it just made him worse.

You could hear him talking, distantly – little mumbled tangents forming between thrusts. “You’re just so—” He cut himself off with a long, wordless moan. “We’ll do this every day, until— until you know you don’t need anyone but me. Then, you’ll love me, and you’ll never have to—” He thrust deeper into you, letting out a fracturing laugh. “And then, I’ll rip out your tongue and cut off your legs if you try to leave. We’ll always be together. No one will ever, ever take you away from me again.”

You weren’t with him. You didn’t want to be with him. If it wasn’t for his immaturity, his manipulativeness, his fucking knife, this wouldn’t be—

His knife.

Both of his hands were on your thighs, his nails digging into your flesh, keeping your knees pressed into your chest. He wasn’t holding it. He couldn’t be.

Without daring to look away from him, you groped around the mattress blindly, your fingertips eventually brushing against something cold and metallic – his switchblade lying abandoned on the edge of the bed. You took it up before you could hesitate, gripping the handle tightly enough for the sharp corners to bite into your palm, for your hand to cramp and go numb by the time you found the strength to actually lift it up. You didn’t aim. You didn’t have time to, not unless you wanted to think about what you were doing, not unless you wanted to let Kunikuzushi win. Not unless you could—

The curved tip just barely made contact with the skin above his collarbone before you faltered, before he had time to catch your wrist in an iron-clad hold. You tried to let go of the switchblade reflexively, but his hand shifted to wrap around yours, to keep the blade pressed into his chest – applying just enough pressure to break the skin. “Do it.” Soft, drawn out, too eager to mean anything good. “I’d let you carve your name into me, if you wanted to. All you'd have to do is ask.”

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to. You didn't want any of this, but Kunikuzushi pressed the blade in his skin regardless, letting out muttered confessions of love and loyalty as a thin red line formed in his flesh, as blood dripped down his chest and disappeared behind the loose collar of his shirt, blotting against the dark fabric. He guided your blade to his lips, next, making a small nick in the corner of his mouth before taking the switchblade out of your hand and tossing it onto the floor, out of your reach. It would’ve hurt less if he’d tried to hurt you, too, taken the blade to your skin after his own. If would've hurt less if he’d acknowledged that you’d tried to do anything at all.

You didn’t have much time to linger on that thought, though. He was already moving again, already making up for time lost by fucking into you like a man crazed. With no preparation, no warning, he jerked forward, his chest pressing into yours as he kissed you, as he forced his tongue past your teeth and smeared his blood over your lips. It felt like you were drowning in nickel, being slowly suffocated by some nameless, slick, oppressive force. It felt like you were choking, despite being able to breathe, to think as clearly as you’d ever been able to around him. It felt like you were going to die.

But, you weren’t. He’d never be so kind, he’d never let you have that kind of comfort, not when he was still grinding into you, not when his cock was twitching against the walls of cunt and he was groaning into your mouth without reservation. You could feel your poor overstimulated pussy clenching around him, your vision burning white around the edges as, for lack of anything more stable to hold onto, you wrapped your arms around his neck and raked your nails over his back, clawing into whatever you could reach. If he noticed, if he cared, it only worked to drag him that much closer, to leave him as deep as he could possibly be when he finally finished, when you felt something warm and vile flood into you.

He stayed like that for a long moment, silent and unmoving, his chest pressed into yours and his lips trailing from your mouth to your throat, settling just above your jugular. It was a small mercy when he finally pulled away and straightened his back, easing himself out of you and wiping the blood off of his face, his neck. You watched from a distance as he fixed his clothes, before pushing himself to his feet, never sparing you so much as a second glance. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Pack your stuff, and make sure you’ve gotten your shit together by then. I’m not letting a mess like you into my apartment.” He paused, lingered long enough to smile. With no sense of visible urgency, he walked to the side of your bed, retrieving his switchblade and kissing your forehead softly, gingerly, with a kind of tenderness you could only wish he’d found a few hours earlier. “I love you, babe. Even when you act like a fucking idiot.”

His grin pressed into flesh, cutting and cruel.

“And I’m so, so glad you’ve realized that you love me too.”

Hi! I heard that you’re taking in requests! May I ask for a reader who was kidnapped by scaramouche? She was socially isolated to the point stolkholm syndrome kicks in for reader? 🚶🏼‍♀️

summary. socially isolated darling who develops stolkholm syndrome for scaramouche

warnings. general yandere themes, stockholm syndrome, social isolation, breif descriptions of injury, emotional manipulattion/abuse, scara calls you a slut once.

you had been so stupid. so naive to think that scaramouche wouldn't find out about your little fling with one of the fatui lackeys that worked for him. it was risky to even allow feelings to fester for another person, but someone who worked for scaramouche? that was just dangerous. you should've known better.

but, honestly, it couldn't have been helped. he was the one sent to your room after punishments that left you needing medical attention. he was so soft and caring when wrapping bandages around you or applying ointment to heal electrical burns. he talked to you gently and made sure you were okay. he was there for you in a time of need, and you were able to find comfort and safety in him. it was inevitable that feelings would form between the two of you.

it was an accident that scaramouche found out. you don't really know exactly what happened, but you do know that he found out by overhearing his lackeys teasing you're secret lover about his crush on you.

scaramouche was livid. he came into your room, grabbing you roughly and dragging you out. you were scared as you fumbled to keep up with his fast paced steps, but you didn't struggle against him or say anything. you didn't know where you were going until he tossed you onto the hard, cold ground of a cell.

"if you want to be a slut so baddly, then i'll just have to fucking keep you locked up where you'll never see anyone but me ever again." he told you before slamming the door and leaving you there all alone.

you thought he would let you out eventually, but it's been two months since then. it was okay at first, you actually even enjoyed the silence and alone time. but after a while it scared you. you didn't like being alone anymore, and it didn't help that the cell he kept you in was dark and cold, which only made you feel more scared and alone.

right now you were laying in bed, clutching tightly onto the sheets that you held over your head. it had been at least an hour since you've been trying to fall asleep, but no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't. you felt like you were going to throw up because of how tired you felt. you were so miserable.

you breath hitched when you suddenly heard the door to your cell creak open, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your stomach when the eerie noise filled your ears. you didn't move, or say anything, just simply layed there, waiting for what would happen.

sometimes he'd come down here to drop off food and the he'd leave, other times he would linger to berate you in some way. you didn't like how cold he was towards you during your time down here, it made you feel so small and helpless, and it just reminded you how badly of a situation you got yourself into — how badly you fucked up.

"y/n." he called, voice cold and emotionless. you didn't answer, merely pulling the sheet tighter around your form. he took that as an opportunity to continue, though.

"you want out, don't you?" you shifted, lifting the sheet only enough to see him standing a little ways from the bed, but you remained quiet. you watched as he walked to where a chair was in the cell and he sat down, leaning back and crossing his arms against his chest. he then looked at you, making you pull the sheet back down to cover yourself.

"just admit that i'm all you need, all that you want, and you can come out." he said, amused.

you held your breath as you contemplate his words, unsure of what to do. you're afraid of admitting he's right — because he is, you do need him, you depend on him, really, but you don't know how to feel about that yet and it scares you to think about it. but then again, you hate it down here, you hate it so much it makes you want to cry just thinking about staying here any longer.

scaramouche takes your long silence as refusal, because before you can muster up something to say, he begins to leave. clicking his tongue, he mutters a 'fine' as he stands from the chair and starts walks towards your cell door.

"wait." you whispered meekly, just barely loud enough for him to hear. "pl—lease... don't leave me here al—lone again."

you couldn't look at him, too ashamed that you finally succumbed to him. but you were so scared, you didn't like being alone and he was here, with you, willing to comfort you and finally let you out of this suffocating cell. you didn't really have a choice but to accept that he really is all that you have or you'd be left down here alone again.

when you think about it, he's really not all that bad. it's just when you upset him that things get scary for you. otherwise he cares about you, makes sure you're okay and well, and he can also be sweet. he'll gently kiss you, call you sweet little nicknames and simply hold you tightly in his arms. he's attractive too, you cannot deny that.

you don't have to keep resisting him, you think. it's pointless and only ends in painful punishments that make you end up regretting you ever defied him. it's okay to give in to him and accept that you're his, you tell yourself reassuringly.

"oh?" he sounded mockingly, turning around to look at your pathetic form that was shivering under the thin sheet. "finally come to our senses, have we?" you flick your eye up to look at him momentarily, and he's smirking down at you like he'd finally won — which technically, he has.

you quickly look away, nodding your head ever so slightly. "please." you hesitate for a moment, tears welling in your eyes as you swallow thickly. "I–I need yo–you."

you don't hear him say anything after that, only the creaking of your cell door closing. you don't look up to see if he left, you just assume that he did.

a whimper escapes your quivering lips and you grip tightly onto the sheets of the matress where you lay. too busy wrapped in the fear of being alone, you don't notice light footsteps walking towards you.

you flinch when a calloused hand touches your cheek, the gentle stroke of a thumb lulling you back into comfort. you look up and see scaramouche sitting crouched in front of you, a soft, barely there smile displayed on his lips.

"shh, sweetheart. there's no need to cry, i'm right here."

Imagine aether right, and you know how literally in dialogue options he's starting to get more annoyed with people asking him things and never helping him so he just has that pent up anger, well imagine reader (not being aware of this anger) asking him for a favor and he just snaps

and then noncon things happen

(cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, loss of virginity)

You’re too nice. He knows this. From the way you constantly apologize after you make your request, to the way you fidget anxiously in front of him, it’s obvious you’re just a shy citizen in need of some help. Aether has quite the reputation among the nations, not only as their helping hand but also as a strong-willed traveler who can defeat all sorts of powerful enemies without breaking much of a sweat. When he isn’t traveling and fighting, he’s helping people complete simple tasks. Like raking leaves, saving wanderers from hilichurls and slimes, and even making food deliveries. It gets tiring after a while—having so many people rely on you to do their daily chores. At first it didn’t bother him; he’s happy to help and get the reward in return.

Now he’s just exhausted. After the events that transpired in Inazuma, he desperately needs a break. It seems like Aether can never go a single day without being pestered by someone in need of help. It’s annoying. At this point the payment is hardly enough to keep him invested. Why can’t people do these things themselves? They’re perfectly capable! Why ruin his good evening with their frivolous, simple requests?Can’t they see that he needs his rest—that his ultimate goal isn’t helping people? It’s finding his sister and he hasn’t gotten any closer to achieving that goal!

So when you ask him to look for a bracelet you lost while doing some work around the house, Aether is so fed up. He spent the majority of his day helping people and he was hoping he could avoid helping one more person until tomorrow. But you just had to stop him on his walk. Just had to ask him for help. Just had to lose a bracelet, which is something you can look for perfectly on your own. Something snaps inside him when he eyes your anxious features and hears your stuttering apology. You’re not truly sorry, are you? It’s just a ploy to get him to sympathize with you—to help you out of the kindness of his heart.

You can keep whatever payment you have for him.

For someone so slim and short, he’s stronger than you thought he’d be. He grabs you with rough, calloused hands and you let out a startled noise. He’ll help you as long as you help him; that’s fair enough, isn’t it? The least you could do is offer your help in return since he’s always helping so many people. And it’s easy to keep your wrists pinned above your head while he grabs at the fabric of your shorts and rips a sizable hole in it. Your underwear meets the same fate, torn with brute strength alone. You’re too stunned to speak or struggle and your body trembles against the wall he’s pinned you against.

It’s only when you feel something prodding at your entrance that the words come to you. “S-Sorry! I’m sorry, so please—“

One of Aether’s hands leaves your wrists and comes to cover your mouth when he thrusts in. Your cries are muffled as he fills you up, slotting himself inside your tight, gummy walls all the way to the hilt. Your ass is pressed against his hips, his cock hitting all the spots your fingers could never reach, and you try to reason with him.

“Hm?” he mumbles, somewhat dazed. It’s been so long since he’s relieved himself. His hand isn’t enough; he needs to be inside someone warm and soft, and you’re perfect for that. In truth, you just caught him in a bad, pent-up mood. He’d apologize, but it seems like you’ve already done enough of that. “Speak up. I can’t…mmh. Can’t hear you.”

His hand pulls away from your mouth and he’s happy he did that because now he can hear your pretty voice. Your sobs and moans mix together so wonderfully when he pulls out and eases himself inside once more. You’re babbling nonsense, saying whatever comes to your mind in hopes that he might take it easy on you. Are you a virgin? He’s certain that word slipped from your lips. Oh, but now he feels a little bad for roughing you up like this. :( No wonder your virgin hole is hugging his cock so tightly and you’re crying a lot. It must hurt, right?

That’s too bad. He needs you to be good for him. Just let him use you for a little bit and then he might consider looking for that bracelet. You can be good for him, can’t you?

“Feels good,” he comments, his breath brushing against your ear. “Inside. Feels really good. You’re doing well. Just—hah… Just stay like this.”

It takes a while before you can actually ignore the horrible pain and focus on the delicious sensation of his cock moving in and out of you. It breaks your poor heart that your first time isn’t anything like how you dreamed it would be. Aether’s grip on your wrists lessens and you manage to find his hand amidst everything, feebly gripping it.

Aether’s not sure why he hasn’t done this sooner. You’re perfect for him, a warm, snug place for his cock. And it feels so good to finally take what he wants—to finally help himself to this. You really did catch him on a bad day. He can’t find it in himself to complain about how everyone seems to need his help and can’t do anything for themselves when he’s so close to cumming. Forget being angry. Now he just wants to finish inside of you. You’ll let him, won’t you?

pantalone always made a habit of asking if you wanted anything from him before going about the rest of his day. 

opulence is his vice that you’re forced to consume alongside him — he won’t stop pestering until you give in. throughout his years, he’s witnessed many courtships, his main takeaway being that gifts are well-received. the thoughtfulness that goes into making these gifts so special in the first place… he’s never been able to grasp that element of it. hence why he grants you the privilege of dictating what you want. and it is a privilege. the destitute upbringing he had makes him sensitive to you freely rejecting what he would’ve killed to have. 

you don’t want to feed his fantasies, but that just won’t do; he may cling to his pride but you cannot. 

you must ask for savory meals prepared by the finest chefs or you will be fed gruel. if you do not explicitly request fine clothes fit for royalty you will be dressed in tattered fabric. everything that was ever your possession must be upgraded, so he may prove what you worked for pales in comparison to his own wealth. it’s a constant battle between preserving yourself or allowing him to mold you to his preference. 

every morning, he comes to part the veil hanging over your bed, waking you from a dreamless slumber. and just like every morning before that, the first question on his lips is as such: 

“what shall it be today? i do hope you’ve been giving it plenty of thought.” 

Remember that one thirst about scara and Xiao fighting over creator LIKE WE RESPECT NEED AN ACTUAL SMUT ABOUT IT

Authors note: I LOVE this kind of stuff. We need more threesomes in SAGAU.

CW: Jealousy, yandere themes, double penetration, afab reader, gn pronouns, fainting, rough sex, blowjobs, breeding, SAGAU, praise, degradation, attempted aftercare, not proof read

You had just recently introduced the both of them and tried to make them get along. It felt like you were trying to get feral cats to bond. Xiao had been around far longer than Scara, and it bothered him that he had to share you.

When you brought Scaramouche home the first thing Xiao did was grab you. He was in defense mode, why was another man touching you??? He thought for sure you were being brainwashed. Once you explained the situation, Xiao was still furious. How dare you bring home another man, and expect them to “get along”?

You were worried about your sex life with the both of them around. You already had enough issues with Xiao fucking your brains out when another man looked at you. You didn’t think Xiao would be able to watch you kiss Scara without ripping him to shreds. You tried to start out slow, by having them both sleep in the same bed as you. You should have known slow and steady isn’t Scara’s thing. If you constantly insist you can’t to anything with Xiao around, he’ll fuck you in the middle of the night while everyone else is sleeping.

You began to feel guilty for doing all of this without Xiao’s knowledge, so you asked him to participate. When the day finally came that they were both willing to try a threesome, they were as jealous as ever. Both so determined to make you love them by making you cum more than the other.

Xiao desperately gripped at your chin, forcing your lips to connect with his. Loud wet noises echoing through the room as he placed open mouthed kisses against you. Between breaths you could hear him growling and panting repeating “Mine.”

Annoyed at the fact your lips were occupied, Scara made his way to your chest. He didn’t bother taking off your clothes normally. He tore at the fabric, the buttons on your shirt popped apart and revealed your chest to him. He didn’t waste any time before taking your nipple into his mouth. He used his free hand to toy with your other nipple. He lightly bit at your chest earning a muffled scream from you.

Xiao pulled away from your lips with a sigh, he tugged at your underwear frantically. Out of instinct, you tried to cover yourself up with your hands. Scara pulled away from your nipple with a loud pop noise, before holding your hands together above your head. Xiao spat on your clit and rubbed slow circles around it before getting shoved out of the way.

“You’re in my way, move.”

Scara snarled and tried to situate his way in between your thighs. He started with kissing up your thighs in order to tease you. You could feel his hot breath against your heat and it was driving you mad. He slowly dragged his tongue up your folds and pulling away as soon as you reached for more.

“You obviously don’t know what you’re doing. I’ve been serving the creator far longer than you, only I know what they like.”

Xiao tried to move Scara’s face out of the way but he refused to budge. Both of the boys’ cheeks were pressed up against one another, both shoving and pushing trying to get an advantage on tasting you. Their tongues quickly moved all over your pussy, both watching your facial expressions to see which spots made you squeal the most.

Xiao’s pace was aggressive and fast, sucking at your clit with no intentions of stoping until you were screaming. Scara’s pace was painfully slow, it was meant to torture you, and have you rub against him for more. The intense friction had you gripping their hair, trying to pull them off of you.

You tried to close your legs, but they stopped you. Xiao got annoyed at your attempt to halt his movements, so he shoved two fingers in you. He watched as you dug your elbows in the mattress, trying to pull yourself away. It was impossible for you to close your legs, both of their body weight was pressed up against your legs. Once they were satisfied Xiao lined himself up with your entrance, nails piercing your thighs trying to stabilize himself.

Once he made his way into you, his grip loosened. He ran his fingertips over the indents from his nails scattered across your thighs. He stretched you out without warning, his cock separating your gummy walls. No matter how many times you fucked Xiao, he still acted like a virgin. His tongue always rolled out of his mouth at the slightest movements, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling to the back of his head. He was doing his best to ram into your cervix, in hopes that he can pull your attention away from Scara.

Scara harshly dug his fingertips into the softness of your face, looking directly into your eyes. He made sure that no matter how good Xiao made you feel, you couldn’t turn your attention away from him.

“Does he fuck you better that I do?” He asked with a cynical smile on his face.

You stuttered barely able to get out an answer. There was barely any blood left in your head, all of it had rushed to your pussy. You opened your mouth to form an answer but got interrupted by a particularly hard thrust. His eyes narrowed as he began to smirk, he knew you wouldn’t be able to answer.

“Yes- wait- No! I-I don’t know..I can’t….”

He laughed at you, and rubbed the tip of his cock against your bottom lip.

“Wrong answer, doll.”

He applied pressure to your jaw forcing you to open your mouth. He took advantage of the small opening and stuffed his dick as far down your throat as he could. You could barely breathe, the wind was getting knocked out of you with every swing of the boys’ hips. Xiao hitting your cervix repeatedly, while Scara bruised the back of your throat. The feeling was painful but so intoxicating.

“You’re doing a terrible job. Didn’t anyone teach you that your supposed to apply suction during blowjobs?”

As much as you tried you just couldn’t focus on sucking him with the way Xiao was plowing into you. You did your best, but just ending up drooling over him. He grabbed your throat and squeezed it, allowing the area around his cock to tighten. You choked and teared up, pushing against his hips in hopes to have some room to breathe. Xiao grabbed your arms and held them behind your back, using them as a handle to fuck you harder.

Xiao rutted up against you as fast as he could, rapidly chasing his orgasm. He couldn’t be bothered to pull out so he came as deep in you as he could. Scara noticed and demanded they switch positions so he could cum in you too. As soon as Scara got in you, he tried to find the right angle to hit your favorite spot. His cock rubbed up against your fucked out walls and caused you to let out uncontrollable moans.

As much as he wanted to taunt Xiao by railing you into the bed, he just couldn’t. The familiar bubbling feeling in his stomach threatening to leak out of his cock stopped him. He instead switched to long slow strokes, while still trying to go as deep as he could.

“Are you trying to put them to sleep?”

Xiao felt a sense of accomplishment seeing how Scara wasn’t keeping up with his pace. Scaramouche ignored the insult and continued with his slow pace. The contrast between his movements and Xiao’s previous rough pace had you gripping onto him, begging for more. The more he started to get into it, the more he pushed Xiao out of the picture. He grabbed your face and kissed you so Xiao couldn’t use your throat, and always kept his hand on your clit.

Xiao eventually got enraged and man handled you away. He positioned you on top of him and shoved himself back deep inside you. He had you lean up against him so Scara could have access to your hole too. You screamed and grasped at Xiao’s shoulders desperately trying to prepare yourself for the intense stretch.

Neither of the boys thought that you could get any tighter, the feeling of you clenched around them made them go crazy. Scaramouche bounced you up and down, watching as both cocks slid in and out of you. His eyes were fixated on you, and he couldn’t look away. Xiao brushed your hair out of your face and told you how good you were doing, while Scara repeatedly smacked your ass telling you how much of a whore you were. The difference between their words was overwhelming your brain. Both your mind and body were exhausted.

You were already on your nth orgasm, and you could feel your body slowly start to shut down. You passed out, but neither of them noticed. They continued rutting into you with no restraint like wild animals. Soon enough you were dripping cum from all of your holes. Xiao checked your face, only to see you were completely out of it.

Both he and Scara carried you to the shower, one trying to hold you up while the other washed you off. For your sake, both were doing their best to ignore the fact they were still rock hard. You slowly opened your eyes to see the both of them, still naked, arguing over who made you moan more. They were changing the sheets while yelling insults about the others performance. When they noticed you had woken up they helped you over to the newly made bed. You sleepily settled down and tried to pull the covers over you before getting jerked to the left.

Xiao had a death grip on your waist and had no intentions of sharing. Scara grabbed your arm and tried to maneuver your body from Xiao’s grip. It continued all night, you constantly being pulled back and forth, and one of the boys occasionally trying to slip his cock into you again. They often sounded like children arguing over who likes the TV show more. In the middle of the night you’d hear whispering along the lines of

“I swear to celestia if you don’t let me hold them, I won’t hesitate to wipe out Liyue.”

“Know your place, puppet.”

Be prepared to be asked who your favorite is. It doesn’t matter if you tell them you love them equally, they will still try to pry a “real” answer out of you.

I honestly wasn't expecting to have 4 parts to this series, but voilà!

I mourneth not f'r thee! Pt.4

Yandere Diluc + Jean

Tw: yandere behavior, stalking, owning.

Note: not proofread.

Wc: 1180

Jean had been somewhat skittish for the past days, jumping at almost every sound and slipping up at random times; it seemed like the usually composed and meticulous Jean had vanished. Although clumsy and jumpy, Jean seemed to smile more, she looked happier, more excited for some unknown reason - to the knights and people around her, at least.

Some saw her blush, cheeks turning bashful pink when she stared off or when small trinkets caught her sight. She would shake her head and reassure that she wasn't sick, on the contrary, she was doing exceptionally fine; and on Friday, she expressed that she would take a day off on the following day.

It caught everyone off guard.

Lisa and Klee were extremely curious, Kaeya smirked and chuckled as he walked away and Albedo - as usual - was too caught up in his experiments.

Whatever would happen during the weekend would stay a mystery to everyone but Kaeya.

"Jean! Over here!"

Her head wiped towards the voice, calling her so sweetly to let her know. Her nervous frown broke into a soft smile as she walked to you, dandelions neatly wrapped in hand. She greeted you bashfully, bowing her head as her cheeks burned red.

"Good afternoon, (Name)," she started confidently, yet her expression failed to follow suit. "I hope you've been well since our last outing-"

"You don't have to be so modest about it, just call it a date! I was sure we talked about this on the last one, and the one before, and the one before that, and- well, on every date!" you shushed her, placing her gift on the table to hold her hands. "It's fine for girls to go on dates no? Klee and I go on dates often too! To blow up fishes-"

"I'm sorry-?"

You stopped talking, realizing you accidentally told Jean about your excursions. Sheepishly waving your hands, you tried explaining yourself - for poor Klee's heart.

"Shhhh- don't tell Klee that I told you! She's gonna get all red and cutesy on me! Oh, but don't give her detention, please?"

Jean could only stare at you awestruck, even with the multiple dates she'd gone with you for the past months, she could never get used to your adorable side once she truly got to know you. The more you met up, the more comfortable you grew and the more casual you two acted towards each other; Jean still acted cordially with you, though. She wanted to one-up Diluc, her rival for your affection.

You might've not known or felt it, but Diluc was always spying around the corner, stalling and making sure she didn't do anything out of line or steal you away, what he feared the most. If she were too self-conscious and feared him, she would've kept her distance and stayed out of your life as Diluc wished; but she found something worth the risk, she was determined to have a piece of your heart, however small it was.

You would usually meet up once or twice a month, on Saturday to go on small dates from early afternoon to late at night, with Jean walking you home afterwards. Whenever you would worry, she insisted, saying that she would be fine. She was the acting Grandmaster, she was powerful enough to protect herself at night.

Every date was spent similarly, you met up at Good Hunter for Sara's impeccable cooking and went with whatever you planned: a diner date, exploring Mond, walking around the city or simple talk. Either way, you enjoyed your time with her as much as she enjoyed yours.

This one ended up being a diner date, you talked about many things tonight: your week, your days, things you overheard or jokes shared in either of your workplaces. You had a few drinks - non-alcoholic ones - and so did Jean, a soft vallberry juice. You chatted until the clock struck 10 and she walked you home, from the safe confines of the city walls to the outskirts of the region where Diluc's land was located. Adelinde greeted you at the door, sending grateful nods to Jean with a bow of her head.

"Thank you for walking me home, Jean," you gave her a small peck on the cheek, fleetingly soft like a butterfly's touch. "I'll see you in 2 weeks for another date, right?"

Jean's cheeks burned hotly from the kiss as she nodded, head lowered slightly to try and hide her blush.

"Of course, my office will always be open for you, (Name). Feel free to come by."

"Of course, stay safe!"

Waving at her parting figure, you let Adelinde close the door, it'd signal the end of tonight's date.

"Jean," a cold voice stopped her before she could step foot outside the limits.

She paused, back facing the man cloaked in shadows. When she turned to see who it was - even though she knew the answer - she was greeted by a deathly silent Diluc whose crimson eyes gleamed menacingly in the dark. He stepped forward, out of the dark and into the moonlight.

"I'm getting sick of seeing you buzz around my (Name) like a fly. I've tolerated it for a while only because (Name) had asked to meet you outside the tavern, but it's gone far too long and I will not tolerate you meeting her anymore. Stay away from her, that is my only warning, Jean."

His tone was chillingly dangerous, there were deep-rooted anger and jealousy within his mind that was expressed through his voice and eyes. Jean could feel the chills run down her spine from his stare alone, but she wouldn't budge just from those words. She loved doing things with you, she wanted to continue without him always being there stalking you. She would push him until she got a piece of you.

"Yours? Are you delusional Diluc? (Name) is a person, she's owned by no one, even I know that" the implications of her words were bigger than she let on. "I want her too, I can't get enough of her, that's probably why you're this possessive of her. Although I can somewhat relate, I will not back away."

He scoffed, glaring down at her with a scornful scowl. The atmosphere heated, his pyro vision reacting to his emotions. So did Jean's, her anemo flared in response, they stared each other down, it was a competition.

"I wasn't asking. She's mine, keep your disgusting hands away from her," Diluc spat, embers igniting around him.

"I didn't need your permission from the start. I want her as much as you do, I want a piece of her; and if I have to, I will take her from you, Diluc," Jean hissed, anemo circling her.

None of them were willing to let the other lay claim on you. Both were willing to do whatever it took to have you in their arms, away from the other who they deemed an enemy to your heart.

Diluc who had your heart, and Jean who wanted it.

Title: Supersede

Pairing: Yandere!Wanderer x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 1.2k.

TW: Mild Spoilers, Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of Past Abuse, and Obsessive Behavior.

A few weeks ago, a traveler with golden hair and stars in their eyes tried to tell you that your husband was not the man you’d come to know.

You’d obviously laughed off their attempts to explain how a ‘world tree’ and the plots of Fatui Harbingers would leave you married to a stranger who’d, in a past life, supposedly taken you as his hostage spouse and punished your escape attempts with bolts of lightning and electric shocks, neither of which your dearly beloved had ever shown any affinity for. It was gibberish, all of it – the meaningless drivel of a madman with all the time in the world to construct a story about time travel and false gods and century-spanning calamities. You couldn’t possibly be asked to believe a word of it. You refused to believe a word of it.

Or, you would’ve refused, if your husband hadn’t suddenly started acting… unlike himself around the time of the traveler’s visit.

Even now, he was doing something he’d done before – pouring over tomes older than the two of you combined, searching for something you couldn’t begin to name in the faded text written across tattered pages. He’d read before, sure, but his preference had veered towards travel guides, folk tales, the occasional light novel when you were passing through Inazuma and something about blacksmith heroes or star-crossed lovers caught his eyes, and he would always try to drag you into it, pulling you against his side as he tried to explain the tangled romance between a war-hardened general and rebel spy sent to win her heart (he had a soft spot for stories doomed to end tragically). Seeing him like this, buried among texts as dry as Sumeru’s desert, making no effort to pull you into his lap or coax you out of the bay window you’d balled yourself up in – it felt like you were boarding with a scholar, not a wanderer. It felt wrong.

The fact that you had a window to sit in at all was bizarre. You could count the number of inns you’d stayed at since meeting him on a single hand. Neither of you were fragile, and you didn’t mind sleeping under the stars, seeking shelter in shrines and treetops and stifling your laughter as you tried to teach your husband how to start a fire from scratch for the thousandth time. You preferred it, in all honesty. Cooping yourself up inside always made you feel anxious, trapped, like a fox about to stumble into a lurking snare. Your claustrophobia must’ve slipped his mind, though. That, or he just didn’t care.

You leaned against the glass, curling your tail around your folded legs. Your tapered ears pressed into the sides of your skull, but you ignored it, clearing your throat before you spoke. “You know, I’ve heard there’s a plot of uncharted ruins just west of Apam Wood.” He glanced in your direction, and you grinned, letting your head lull to the side. “Sounds fun, right? If we leave tomorrow, we should be able to—”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Why would I want to waste my time in a glorified pit filled with cave paintings and ruin guards?”

He’d proposed to you in a pit – Liyue’s Chasm, to be more specific. You’d been stranded with a group of miners at the bottom of a temperamental elevator shaft, and he had absent-mindedly admitted that he’d always pictured himself dying as your husband, not your lover. The elevator was ultimately repaired before you suffered any causalities, but he’d made good on his word. You still weren’t sure if the one-eyed captain you’d found performed an entirely legitimate ceremony, but you could still remember how brightly he smiled, what his lips had tasted like when you'd kissed him that day.

If it hadn’t been real, if it hadn’t really happened, then you wouldn’t be able to remember it so clearly. If he wasn't your husband, then you wouldn't see

“How about Vanarana, then? The sky there is supposed to be such a sight, no poet can describe its beauty in fewer than a dozen pages.”

“I’ve heard the same kind of thing said about Yashiori Island, and Dragonspine, and Cuijue Slope. I’m beginning to think the poets are the ones at fault.”

You shrunk into yourself, pursing your lips. Finally, he seemed to notice your melancholy, pushing himself to his feet with an airy sigh and reluctantly shutting his tome. In a few seconds, he was at your side, seated across from you in the cushioned windowsill. All he had to do was uncross his arms and you were lurching towards him, slotting yourself against his chest and burying his face in the fabric of his shirt. There was a breathy laugh, more demeaning than anything you’d heard from him before the traveler’s visit, but you chose to ignore that, to melt into the arm wrapped around your waist, the fingernails slowly raking over the base of your ears. That, at least, hadn’t changed. He’d always found your circumstance – as an unaging puppet with no heart and an immortal kitsune with no supernatural abilities – particularly romantic.

“I know you’re bored, but what I’m doing is necessary.” Right. His all-important mission, handed down from Lesser Lord Kusanali herself. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe him – it just wasn’t like your husband to care about the goals of archons. You two had never stayed in the same place long enough to be bothered by the ongoings of gods and goddesses, before. “We’ll be traveling again in a couple weeks. And when we are, I promise, you’ll be treated to every mediocre view and monster-infested colliery this shithole of a nation has to offer.” He flashed you a grin, kissing your cheek. “Think of it as... compensation. For how good you've been for me, so far.”

You were quiet, for a moment.

Then, you brought your hands up to rest on his arm, asking softly, “Do you remember where we met?”

His hold on you tightened ever so slightly. “In Inazuma, obviously.”

“Do you remember how?”

He opened his mouth, then hesitated. Instantly, you felt your heart shatter in your chest.

But you didn’t pull away. If anything, you only sunk further into him, going near-limp in his hold while he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips just barely ghosting over the column of your throat. Even his affection was had changed, all lingering touches and sparse hints of fondness where there used to be stolen kisses, unabashed praise, as much love crammed into every possible second, like the hundreds of years you’d spent together still weren’t enough for him. Like this new person in front of you, this distorted imitation of your dear husband, was simply too used to having you in the palm of his hand to ever entertain the thought of a world wherein you might’ve been anywhere else.

“Are you…” You started, reluctantly, quickly trailing off. It took you a few seconds to find your voice, to swallow down the knot of tension forming in the back of your throat, but he waited, more patient than he’d ever been before. “Are you still my husband?”

He didn’t hesitate, this time. “Of course,” and then, with his lips still pressed against your skin, “I’ll be whatever I have to be, for you.”

The comfort was minimal, if there truly was comfort to be found in his words at all. He was a stranger to you, a replacement, and yet, you stayed quiet, bit your tongue as he pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses into the crook of your neck, the dip of your shoulder. You burnt where he touched you, and you didn’t trust the way his teeth scraped against your skin, but what else were you supposed to do?

Your husband was gone. If the traveler's words were anything to go by, he was all you had left.

visions

Ummmm if requests are open can I request yan!ayato x f!reader. Reader discovered she's pregnant after being forced into a marriage by ayato, and decides to plan an escape?

tw: fem reader / pregnancy / yandere / controlling behaviour / mentions of drugging / physical imprisonment

i am 50 years late, but some thoughts:

ayato smiling more than usual when he finds out the news from the healer—and of course, this healer is loyal to him too, a woman that's a part of his shuumatsuban operatives. so he finds out immediately. of course he does. he wraps his arms around you and murmurs that it's amazing, how much happiness you give him (as if you'd ever, willingly, given him anything.)

ayato is a family man. he cherishes the idea of family, always protects and chases after the concept, on account of his father and mother passing away early. the entire household finds out the news, ayaka first, and she's so enamoured by the thought of having a niece/nephew, always asking after your needs or wants, glancing at your stomach.

you always demur when ayaka asks how you feel, never admitting how it itches at you sometimes, knowing that the child in you belly is of his seed. but it's also yours too. a proof of your survival, that despite ayato having stolen you away from you family (though stolen is perhaps not the right word—bargained, perhaps), you're still alive, if not thriving then at least surviving. you're capable of life, even in the most desolate of places, trapped in a gilded cage of silk and yumemiru.

you dream of the child sometimes, in your arms after birth, peaceful dreams when it resembles your father or mother or you, nightmares when you catch blue tufts of hair and pale violet eyes. you wake up in cold sweat, touching a hand to your stomach, where the bump has begun to portrude, and feel the urge to throw up. ayato is always around you immediately, asking the servant to fetch water, and then murmurs of how he'll protect you, that you won't go the way of his mother and father, because he has that power now.

you heart shrivels whenever he touches you, whenever he makes these vows, resentment beginning to splinter what's left of your ability to feel tenderness.

no. you refuse to let ayato influence your love for your child. if it looks like ayato, you will still love them. but you can't do that if you're forever in the embrace of this man who makes your gums ache, your joints creak, as if you'd already aged a hundred years. in the kamisato estate, love cannot flower at all, so you plan your escape.

it's not easy. you never have privacy to ask for anything, let alone something as risky as passage off of inazuma. but you grit your teeth and forcibly make the opportunity, stray touches here and there, sultry eyes to let him know you're receptive to his touches, and you change. you no longer flinch and act so hateful toward him in private. lowering his guard like this, bit by bit, until he gives you have slivers of freedom that you gulp down like a man dying of hunger, grabbing onto the tiny openings of your windowless castle and prying it open, asking for news here and there until you've cobbled enough savings to bribe a man to take you if not to mainland teyvat, then at least ritou where less people will know who you are.

the bright crack of dawn comes: you sneak out of the estate, surprisingly easy. ayato is asleep thanks to the sleeping draught you'd slipped him last night in his tea, and he doesn't even stir as you remove yourself from his side. you feel the shackles coming off as you tiptoe out of the compound, sandals lifting over the wooden threshold. but then—

"having fun, dear wife?"

you almost slip, catching yourself on the door frame. numbness spreading from your fingertips to your neck, you turn. ayato's standing there, leaning against the wall as he watches you with amused eyes. no trace of anger. just amusement, like a god watching his followers from up on high.

you open your mouth, intending to make your excuses, and almost sob instead. you were so close. so close you'd almost felt it, the sensation of ocean water kissing your fingertips as you sit on that boat, your lovely unborn child beneath your other hand as you'd murmur sweet nothings about how your lives would be nothing but joy.

and now, this. "i know pregnancy boredom is quite unbearable," ayato sighs as he reaches for your shoulders. "but you shouldn't be so mischievous, hm? the shuumatsuban have their hands full as it is, let alone keeping track of my own wife. first that medicine, and now this. you know better than to try to go off on your own. it's not safe."

you shudder as he picks you up, sweeping you up into his arms as he'd done before you'd entered the bridal chamber on your wedding night. left with no avenue but to play obedient, you rest your head against his shoulder and caress your belly while whispering, "i'm sorry. i won't... i won't do it again."

ayato hums. you feel the vibration of it, how it makes a hollow instrument out of your body. "of course you won't. it'll be hard to move with the shackles on your feet, after all."