#The Second of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers

[fangdokja]

The predator never leaves empty-handed.

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped in a dangerous game of wits and desire, you face a relentless predator who revels in breaking your icy facade—one kiss, one bruise, one twisted taunt at a time. But as his obsession deepens, the line between captor and captive begins to blur, leaving you to wonder who’s really in control.

♡ Book. World Ablaze (WA): For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Childe (Tartaglia) x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella. Blood and Salt - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 10,626

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, rough play, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, descriptions of gore, medical malpractice

♡ A/N. This is a request, but I have yet to complete the required full story (hence, why the proof of request isn't present at the moment). This will most likely have 3-4 parts in total (of course, assuming people don't ask for sequels, but that's unlikely based on my experience...). This first part serves mostly as an intro, the following parts will have more NSFW yandere-centric content.

The Fatui base reeked of damp stone and iron, the stench of blood mingling with the sterile tang of antiseptic. Tartaglia—No. 11 of the Harbingers, Childe to the outside world—dragged himself through the winding corridors, his bloodied boots leaving a crimson trail on the cold floor. His breath came in ragged bursts, his body screaming in protest with every step. Yet his grin was maddening, all sharp edges and dangerous delight, a testament to the high of the battle still coursing through his veins.

When he reached the infirmary door, he kicked it open with a violent thud, collapsing onto a nearby cot with an exaggerated groan. The chaos he exuded seemed almost calculated, like a wolf throwing itself into a den of lambs just to watch them scatter. But here, there was no panic—only your unflinching, cold stare as you emerged from the shadows.

“Number Eleven,” you said, your voice devoid of warmth. It wasn’t a greeting, merely an acknowledgment of his presence. Your white coat rustled faintly as you approached, a scalpel glinting in your hand, more an extension of your being than a mere tool. “Still alive, I see. How tedious.”

Childe’s grin widened, teeth flashing like a predator who’d found something intriguing. “Don’t sound too excited to see me, Doc. I might think you care.”

You didn’t respond, instead peeling away the layers of his blood-soaked uniform with methodical precision. Beneath the fabric, his skin was marred by deep gashes and burns, the aftermath of his clash with the Traveler and the betrayal he’d been unwittingly ensnared in. Your gaze lingered on the wounds, but not out of sympathy. No, your interest was clinical, as if dissecting a particularly perplexing specimen.

“You’ve sustained second-degree burns on your left flank, a puncture wound dangerously close to your liver, and a laceration here that’s…impressively idiotic. Did you aim for the blade yourself?”

Childe chuckled, wincing as the motion tugged at his injuries. “You’re sharp as ever. Maybe that’s why they keep paying your absurd fees.”

“They pay because I’m competent,” you corrected, pressing a cloth soaked in antiseptic against his side. The hiss of the disinfectant biting into his flesh drew a sharp intake of breath from him, but you didn’t waver. “Hold still, unless you want me to accidentally sever an artery.”

“You say that like it’s not intentional,” Childe muttered, watching you work with an unsettling fascination. There was something almost hypnotic about your precision, the way your hands moved with unerring certainty. It was as if you operated on instinct alone, devoid of the emotional tremors that plagued lesser medics.

But it wasn’t your skill that intrigued him most. No, it was the way you refused to flinch under the weight of his presence. Even now, as he bled all over your pristine floor, his very existence a storm of chaos and carnage, you treated him like an inconvenience. Like he was nothing.

“You’re a curious one, Doc,” Childe said, his voice softening to a murmur. “No Vision, no extraordinary strength…and yet here you are, holding your own among the likes of us. Tell me, what keeps you going? What makes you tick?”

You didn’t answer immediately, your focus remaining on the sutures you were threading through his torn flesh. When you finally spoke, your tone was as icy as ever. “Gold and knowledge. Nothing more, nothing less.”

His laughter echoed through the infirmary, low and almost mocking. “That’s it? No grand ideals, no hidden motives? Just greed and curiosity? How dull.”

“And yet you’re still here,” you countered, your eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments. In that instant, something unspoken passed between you—a clash of wills, a silent acknowledgment of the chasm that separated you. “Perhaps you find dullness comforting. Predictable. Unlike your life, which seems to be a perpetual spiral of self-destruction.”

Childe’s grin faltered, his expression hardening. For a moment, the playful veneer slipped, revealing the abyss lurking beneath. The bloodlust, the hunger for chaos, the undeniable truth that he thrived on the brink of annihilation.

“Careful, Doc,” he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You’re starting to sound like you know me.”

“I know enough,” you replied, tying off the final suture with a practiced flick of your wrist. “Enough to understand that people like you only survive because of people like me. Now, if you’re done bleeding all over my floor, get out. I have more important things to do.”

Childe sat up slowly, testing the limits of his freshly mended body. He winced but didn’t complain, his gaze lingering on you as you cleaned your instruments with the same detached efficiency as before.

“You’re cold, Doc,” he said, his grin returning, though it was tempered now, quieter. “But I like that about you. Makes me wonder what’s hiding underneath all that ice.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, turning your back on him as you prepared for your next patient. For all his bluster and bravado, Childe was just another Harbinger—a cog in the Fatui’s relentless machine. And you? You were the blade that kept the cogs turning, sharp and unyielding.

As he left the infirmary, his footsteps fading into the distance, you allowed yourself a single thought:

“Nothing hides beneath the ice. Because there is nothing left to hide.”

────────────

The Fatui base had always been your world. Its cold, labyrinthine halls seemed endless to outsiders, but to you, they were a map etched into your very being. You had grown up here—an anomaly of sharp intellect and colder disposition. From the moment you were brought into this machine of violence and control, you had known your place. Not a soldier, not a pawn, but something altogether more useful: a scalpel, precise and unyielding, in the hands of a master.

That master was Pantalone.

Even now, years later, you could recall the first time you met him. You had been a child, barely old enough to comprehend what survival truly meant. Yet, even then, your eyes had been sharper than most—quick to discern the falsehoods in promises, the flaws in logic, and the danger that dripped from every word spoken by the Fatui. But Pantalone? He had been different. Not warm, not kind, but steady. His gaze had swept over you with the same calculating precision you’d later adopt for yourself, as if weighing your worth in coin.

And you had passed his test.

He had taken you in, molded you into something far greater than the sum of your small frame and deadened eyes. He taught you not to fear the dark but to wield it, to recognize that knowledge was not only power but currency, and that currency could buy anything—even safety. You became his tool, his protégé, and, in time, his shadow.

People whispered about the two of you, calling your relationship “off,” as if they could fathom the intricate balance you shared. Pantalone was both protector and architect of your existence. You owed him everything, and you had never questioned it—not even when he had sent you to the medical sector, claiming your talents could serve the Fatui better there. You hadn’t argued, though the move had felt like being severed from the foundation of your being. If Pantalone willed it, you obeyed. Always.

———

The infirmary door swung shut behind Childe, but his presence lingered like a toxin in the air, a reminder that your life in the Fatui was never free from chaos. You cleaned the blood from your hands with practiced efficiency, the motion automatic, mechanical. The crimson stains washed away, but your thoughts did not. They lingered on the Harbinger’s grin, the predatory glint in his eyes, the way he spoke as if he were unraveling you with every word.

He wouldn’t be the first to try.

You were younger than most of your peers in the medical sector, but none of them questioned your authority. Your skill had silenced the skeptics long ago, and your unflinching demeanor had done the rest. You had no need for their approval, no use for their camaraderie. You worked for coin and knowledge—nothing more, nothing less.

And yet, as you dried your hands and prepared for the next patient, your mind wandered to Pantalone. He had always been your constant, the one unshakable pillar in a world of shifting alliances and blood-soaked deals. Even now, when you were technically independent, you found yourself drifting back to him. After every shift, you would seek him out, trailing in his shadow like a phantom. You never spoke unless spoken to, never imposed. You simply existed in his orbit, waiting.

Waiting for what, you didn’t know.

———

Pantalone was waiting for you when you returned that evening. His office was immaculate, as always, every surface polished to a mirror-like sheen. He didn’t look up as you entered, his attention fixed on the stack of ledgers spread before him. But he didn’t need to acknowledge you; he knew you were there. He always did.

“Busy day?” he asked without looking up, his voice as smooth and calculated as ever.

You didn’t answer. You never did unless the question required it. Instead, you stepped closer, your hands clasped behind your back like a student awaiting instruction.

“You’ve been spending more time in the infirmary than necessary,” he continued, finally raising his gaze to meet yours. His dark eyes were unreadable, his expression carefully neutral. “Is there something—or someone—keeping you there?”

It was an innocuous question, but you felt the weight of it like a blade against your throat. Pantalone’s words always carried an undercurrent of calculation, as if every syllable was part of a grander equation only he could see.

“No,” you replied, your voice steady. “I go where I’m needed.”

His lips quirked into a faint smile, though there was no warmth in it. “Good. It would be… unfortunate if your priorities were to shift.”

The unspoken warning hung in the air, a reminder that your loyalty to him was not only expected but required. You nodded, accepting it without question. Whatever else you were—doctor, tool, scalpel—you would always belong to Pantalone.

———

Later that night, as you lay awake in the sterile confines of your quarters, you found your thoughts drifting once more.

To Childe, with his maddening grin and unrelenting chaos.

To Pantalone, with his icy precision and the unspoken bond that tethered you to him.

Two men, as different as fire and ice, yet both carving their marks into your carefully constructed world.

You closed your eyes, but sleep did not come.

Instead, the shadows pressed in around you, whispers of something darker, something inevitable.

You had always thrived in the cold, but now, for the first time, you wondered what it would feel like to burn.

────────────

The smell of blood and ozone clung to Childe like a second skin, a testament to the carnage he wore as naturally as his smile. When he entered the infirmary this time, the tension that followed him wasn’t just from the wounds he carried but the weight of his relentless curiosity. He wanted something from you—something more than stitches and silence—and you could feel it in the way his gaze burned into your back.

You didn’t look up as he stepped inside, your gloved hands deftly arranging a tray of sterilized instruments. His boots scuffed against the floor, leaving faint streaks of dirt and blood in their wake.

“Back again so soon?” you said, your voice devoid of emotion, a monotone laced with quiet disdain. “I’m starting to think you enjoy being carved apart.”

Childe’s laughter was low and almost melodic, but it carried the edge of something darker. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s accused me of that, Doc. But hey, if it means seeing your lovely face—”

“Sit down.” Your words cut through his like a scalpel, sharp and unyielding. You turned toward him, your expression unreadable beneath the cold veneer you wore like armor. “You’re wasting my time.”

His grin faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, sprawling onto the nearest cot with a theatrical groan. He tugged at his shirt, revealing the gash across his ribs that oozed crimson with every shallow breath. The wound was jagged, messy, and fresh, though your eyes flicked over the faint scars crisscrossing his skin with a precision that missed nothing. Some of them were old, but others—fainter, more deliberate—were far too recent.

Self-inflicted.

You said nothing, your hands moving with mechanical efficiency as you began cleaning the wound. The antiseptic hissed against his skin, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him, but you didn’t pause. Your focus was absolute, your hands steady as you worked.

“You know,” Childe said, his voice lilting as he tried to draw you out, “most people would at least try to make conversation. Ask me how I’m feeling, maybe. Offer me a lollipop when it’s all done.”

“I’m not most people.” Your reply was clipped, your gaze never leaving the sutures you were threading through his flesh. The needle pierced his skin with a precision that bordered on inhuman, the thread weaving through the torn muscle like the strings of a marionette.

“That much is obvious,” he muttered, watching you with a fascination that bordered on unsettling. “You’re like a ghost, you know that? Always here, but never… there.”

You didn’t respond, your silence as sharp as the scalpel resting on your tray. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to unnerve you with idle chatter, and it wouldn’t be the last. But Childe was persistent, his curiosity gnawing at him like a dog with a bone.

“Come on, Doc,” he pressed, his tone turning almost playful. “What’s the harm in a little small talk? You could at least tell me your favorite color. Or your name. I’m dying to know.”

“You’re not dying.” You pulled the thread tight, tying off the suture with a finality that left no room for argument. “Though, at the rate you’re going, that may change.”

He winced as you pressed a bandage against the wound, your hands moving with a swiftness that left him no time to react. “So cold,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something softer, more dangerous. “It’s almost like you enjoy this. The blood, the pain… the control.”

You straightened, peeling off your gloves and tossing them into the waste bin with practiced ease. “I enjoy being paid,” you said flatly, turning away from him. “As long as your mora is good, I’ll keep you alive. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And if I stopped paying?” he asked, his grin returning, though there was a sharpness to it now, a glint of something feral in his eyes. “Would you let me bleed out on your floor, Doc? Would you even blink?”

You paused, your hand hovering over the tray of instruments. For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the faint hum of the infirmary’s ventilation system. Then you turned back to him, your gaze meeting his with an iciness that froze the air between you.

“Try it,” you said, your voice soft but laced with steel. “See how far your charm gets you when the mora runs out.”

His laughter echoed through the room, low and almost mocking. “You’re fascinating, you know that? I’ve faced gods, monsters, and everything in between, but you? You’re an enigma.”

You said nothing, your silence more damning than any reply. You had seen men like him before—thrill-seekers, chaos incarnate, desperate to shatter anything they couldn’t understand. But you weren’t something to be broken. You were the scalpel, the blade that carved through the chaos with ruthless precision.

And Childe? He was just another wound to stitch shut. Another patient to patch up and send back into the fray.

As he slid off the cot, testing the limits of his freshly mended body, he flashed you one last grin. “You can’t stay silent forever, Doc,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “One day, I’ll get under that icy skin of yours.”

You didn’t reply, your back already turned to him as you cleaned the instruments. His footsteps echoed as he left, the sound fading into the distance. And when the infirmary door swung shut behind him, you allowed yourself a single thought:

Some wounds weren’t worth healing.

———

The first time Childe tried to woo you, he began with something grand—fireworks in the desolate tundra of Snezhnaya. The sound cracked through the frozen air like gunshots, brilliant bursts of red and gold illuminating the oppressive gray skies. It was loud, jarring, beautiful, and utterly wasted. You didn’t even glance at the window. Instead, your focus remained on the gory mess of a Fatui soldier who had botched a mission and returned in shreds, your gloved hands threading sutures through his mangled flesh without a flicker of distraction.

“Really?” you’d muttered, your tone laced with quiet irritation as the walls rattled from the explosions outside. “Do you think this is the time or place for such nonsense?”

Childe, standing in the doorway, had grinned. “Come on, Doc, don’t you think it’s romantic? You and me, blood and fireworks. What could be better?”

Your only response was a glare colder than the frost creeping up the infirmary windows. It wasn’t disdain; it wasn’t even anger. It was complete and utter disinterest, as if he were nothing more than a shadow on the periphery of your world.

But he wasn’t deterred. Childe was nothing if not persistent.

———

The next week, he tried subtlety. He left small tokens for you, each more thoughtful and intimate than the last. A book of medical texts older than the Fatui itself, its leather cover worn and cracked. A jar of rare herbs cultivated only in the depths of Enkanomiya, their use obscure but undoubtedly valuable. Even a delicate scalpel forged from Orichalcum, its blade so sharp it could slice through bone as easily as paper.

You accepted each offering with the same detached efficiency you applied to everything else. The book was shelved without comment, the herbs labeled and stored in your inventory, and the scalpel placed neatly among your tools.

“Do you like it?” he’d asked one day, leaning casually against the doorway as you cleaned instruments. His tone was light, but there was a razor edge beneath it, a hunger for validation that he masked poorly.

“It’s adequate,” you replied, your gaze never leaving the bloodstained tray before you. “Thank you.”

That was the first time he saw your lips move in something resembling politeness. But the faint spark it ignited within him was immediately extinguished by the icy void in your tone.

———

When subtlety failed, Childe turned to extravagance again. He stormed into the infirmary one day with a wolf pelt draped over his shoulders, its fur as white as freshly fallen snow. Behind him, a Fatui recruit dragged the hulking carcass of the creature, its size dwarfing that of any normal beast. Its eyes stared lifelessly into the void, its jaws frozen in a snarl even in death.

“For you, Doc,” he said, his grin feral, the blood of the beast still splattered across his face. “Thought it might make a nice rug. Or maybe a coat. Something to keep you warm, since you seem so damn cold all the time.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. You simply looked at the beast, then at him, and said, “Dispose of it. You’re contaminating my workspace.”

For the first time, he faltered, his grin slipping into something closer to frustration. But he recovered quickly, chuckling as he signaled for the recruit to haul the carcass away.

“Playing hard to get, huh?” he muttered, half to himself. “Fine. I like a challenge.”

———

By the third week, his persistence had taken on an edge of desperation. The gifts became more frequent, the gestures more elaborate, and his presence more intrusive. He appeared in the infirmary at all hours, sometimes with fresh wounds and sometimes with none at all, just for an excuse to linger in your space.

“You know, most people would’ve fallen for me by now,” he said one evening, lounging on a cot as you stitched up yet another gash on his arm. His voice was smooth, but there was an unmistakable tension in it, a crack in the facade. “I’ve got charm, looks, power… What’s your deal, Doc? Are you even human under all that ice?”

Your needle paused for the briefest of moments, so subtle it was almost imperceptible. But Childe noticed.

“You’re wasting my time,” you said, resuming your work with the same detached efficiency as always. “If you have nothing useful to say, keep your mouth shut.”

His grin turned sharp, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re good at shutting people out, aren’t you? Makes me wonder what you’re hiding. What’s so broken in there that you won’t let anyone in?”

You tied off the suture and stood, your gaze meeting his for the first time that night. There was no anger in your eyes, no hint of offense. Only an emptiness so profound it was almost suffocating.

“You misunderstand,” you said, your voice as cold and unyielding as the Snezhnayan winter. “There’s nothing to hide. Nothing to break. Now leave.”

For a moment, Childe said nothing, his grin frozen on his face like a mask. Then he laughed—a low, bitter sound that echoed through the infirmary.

“You’re really something, Doc,” he said, standing and rolling his sleeve down over the freshly stitched wound. “But I’m not giving up. Not yet.”

As he walked away, the air seemed to thaw in his absence, but you felt no relief. You knew he’d be back. Childe was like a storm—relentless, chaotic, and impossible to ignore.

But storms could be weathered. And you were the unyielding mountain in their path.

────────────

The infirmary was silent, save for the rhythmic drip of water leaking from somewhere in the cracked stone ceiling. It was late—too late for anyone but the most desperate to seek your aid. Yet there he stood, leaning against the doorway, his grin wolfish and unsettling in the dim light.

“Doc,” Childe said, his voice a soft murmur, edged with something dark and teasing. “I think I’ve finally figured you out.”

You didn’t respond, didn’t even look up from the scalpel you were meticulously sterilizing. His antics had long since become white noise, something to endure rather than acknowledge. But then the sharp, metallic scent of blood hit your nostrils, stronger than usual, and the faintest flicker of curiosity crossed your features.

When you finally turned your head, you saw it.

The corpse was slumped in a wheelbarrow, its flesh discolored in ways that defied the natural progression of decay. Greenish-black veins spiderwebbed across its chest, branching out from a festering wound that pulsed faintly with some unholy residue. Its face was twisted in agony, frozen in the grotesque contortion of its final moments.

“This one,” Childe said, gesturing toward the body with a dramatic flourish, “wasn’t easy to find. Some poor bastard from the Abyss, infected with something… interesting. Don’t ask me what it is—I figured I’d leave that to you.”

He stepped closer, dragging the wheelbarrow into the center of the room. The corpse’s arm flopped out limply over the edge, leaving a wet smear of blood and ichor across the pristine floor.

For the first time since you’d met him, you froze. Not in disgust or revulsion, but in something far more profound. Your cold, unfeeling mask cracked—just a little—as your gaze locked onto the body. Your eyes lit up, faint but undeniable, with something akin to excitement.

Childe’s grin widened, sharper now, predatory. “You like it, don’t you? I knew you would. You’re not like anyone else, Doc. You see beauty in things that’d make most people vomit.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you approached the wheelbarrow, your footsteps slow and deliberate, as if drawn by an invisible force. You knelt beside the body, your gloved hands ghosting over its mottled skin.

“This… decay pattern,” you murmured, your voice almost reverent. “It’s… unusual. The infection—it’s accelerated, but localized. Post-mortem processes are suspended in some areas and hyperactive in others. This isn’t natural.”

Childe leaned against a nearby table, watching you with a mix of amusement and fascination. “Took me days to track him down. Thought it might be worth your while.”

You glanced up at him, and for the first time, your expression wasn’t entirely empty. There was no smile, no overt display of emotion, but the faintest glimmer of gratitude lingered in your eyes, fleeting yet unmistakable.

“This… will require thorough examination,” you said, your voice steadier now. “It’s rare to encounter something like this. You’ve done well.”

His grin faltered, just for a moment, replaced by something softer. But the feral edge returned quickly, his satisfaction bleeding into his words. “That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve ever gotten from you. I’ll take it.”

You ignored him, already lost in the intricate web of disease and decay before you. The scalpel in your hand gleamed under the flickering lamplight as you made the first incision, your movements careful and precise.

Childe didn’t leave. He stayed, watching as you dissected the corpse with a surgeon’s grace and a scholar’s fervor. There was something hypnotic about the way you worked, your focus absolute, your cold detachment melting into something closer to passion.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice softer now, “you almost look happy.”

Your hands paused mid-cut, but you didn’t look at him. “Happiness is irrelevant. This is… intriguing. That’s all.”

He chuckled, low and almost smug. “If this is what it takes to make you intrigued, I might have to start raiding morgues more often.”

You said nothing, but the faintest tilt of your head suggested you’d heard him. For Childe, that was enough.

As the hours stretched on, he remained a silent observer, his usual bravado muted in the face of your singular focus. The corpse became a canvas, each incision revealing new layers of mystery and horror.

And for the first time, Childe felt like he’d won. Not completely, not yet—but he’d found a crack in your armor, a weakness to exploit.

In the end, it wasn’t charm or extravagance that piqued your interest. It was the grotesque, the morbid, the unknown.

He could work with that.

———

The first time he brought you a corpse, you hadn’t spoken, but your gloved hands trembled faintly as you reached for the scalpel. He didn’t miss it, the subtle shiver of anticipation. Since then, Tartaglia had made it his mission to unearth the macabre, dragging the dead and the dying to your doorstep with an unrelenting grin.

And you let him.

It wasn’t that you encouraged him. You never spoke more than necessary, your tone clinical and stripped of anything personal. But Childe was a hunter, and he recognized the thrill of a chase when he saw it. Each corpse, each grotesque offering, became a challenge. How far could he push? What limits could he break to see that faint flicker of interest in your otherwise impenetrable gaze?

He started small—a soldier infected with a rare disease, his body a roadmap of bloated veins and necrotic flesh. You dissected him with mechanical precision, but there was a spark of intrigue in the way you lingered on the abnormalities, your fingers tracing the patterns of decay like a sculptor studying a masterpiece.

Then came the elders, their bodies twisted by experiments gone wrong, their deaths soaked in cruelty and despair. When he placed the first one on your table, your fingers stilled for a fraction of a second. He swore he saw your lips part as if to speak, but the words never came.

“Not enough?” Childe asked, leaning against the doorway like a specter, his voice low and dripping with mockery. “Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll do better next time.”

And he did.

He brought you a man who had died screaming, his throat raw and his eyes bloodshot from ruptured vessels. He brought you a corpse riddled with scars—self-inflicted, deep grooves carved into flesh by hands trembling with desperation. He brought you a woman whose limbs had been twisted and reshaped into something monstrous, her body a canvas of agony.

Each time, you remained silent. But your actions betrayed you.

You rearranged your office with meticulous care, creating more space for the specimens you insisted on keeping. Your tools gleamed under the harsh lamplight, organized with obsessive precision. Chests appeared, their contents locked away and guarded like treasure.

When you thought no one was watching, you would pause to run your fingers over the edge of a scalpel, or linger just a second too long over a particularly grotesque dissection.

Childe was always watching.

“Death,” he said one evening, his voice soft but laced with something unhinged, “is what makes you tick, isn’t it? You don’t care about life. You care about the end of it.”

You didn’t look up from the corpse on your table, its chest cavity split open to reveal the mess of rotting organs within. But your hand faltered, the scalpel freezing mid-cut.

He grinned, sharp and triumphant. “I knew it.”

The next day, he didn’t bring you a body. Instead, he brought you something… alive.

The man was barely breathing, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven gasps. His skin was pallid, his lips tinged blue, and his eyes—wide, bloodshot—darted around the room like a cornered animal.

“I found him in the Abyss,” Childe said, his voice almost conversational. “Something about the air there eats away at the lungs. He’s got maybe an hour, tops. Thought you’d enjoy figuring out why.”

You turned to him, and for the first time, he saw something that wasn’t cold indifference. There was a faint, almost imperceptible light in your eyes—a glimmer of hunger. Not for the man’s suffering, but for the knowledge buried in his dying body.

Without a word, you moved to the table, gesturing for Childe to lay the man down. Your hands worked quickly, methodically, cutting through flesh and peeling back layers with a precision that bordered on artistry.

“You don’t say much, do you?” Childe murmured, leaning against the wall as he watched. “But you’re fascinating, Doc. You think I don’t notice, but I see it—the way your eyes light up when you’re unraveling the mysteries of death. It’s almost… cute.”

You didn’t respond, but your fingers tightened briefly around the scalpel.

The man died less than thirty minutes later, his body convulsing as whatever toxin the Abyss had left in him completed its work. You didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, as you cataloged every detail of his death.

When it was over, you turned back to your tools, your face unreadable. But as you reached for the next specimen, Childe caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

For anyone else, it would have been horrifying. For him, it was victory.

He kept going, kept digging deeper into the grotesque and the morbid, searching for the perfect gift to draw out more of those fleeting reactions. A cursed artifact that reeked of death. A vial of blood that wouldn’t clot, its origins unknown. A severed hand that twitched on its own.

Each time, you accepted his offerings without a word. But your actions spoke volumes.

You started locking your office door when you weren’t there, a sign that the items inside were too valuable—or too personal—to be left unguarded. You began staying late into the night, the faint glow of your lamp visible from the hallway as you worked in silence.

And when Childe brought you a corpse so riddled with death that the very air around it seemed to decay, you didn’t hide the way your hands trembled as you reached for it.

For the first time, you spoke without him prompting you.

“This is… adequate.”

It was the closest thing to praise you’d ever given, and Childe’s grin widened, feral and triumphant.

“You’re welcome, Doc,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Anything for you.”

────────────

The room reeked of formaldehyde and rot, a scent so cloying it seemed to stick to the walls like tar. Instruments gleamed under the sterile glow of the overhead light, sharp and surgical, reflecting faint silhouettes of the monstrosity on the table. The corpse was extraordinary—a tangle of twisted limbs and decaying flesh that almost pulsated with the remnants of a life steeped in agony.

Your gloved hands worked with meticulous precision, slicing through cartilage and peeling back tissue as though unwrapping a gift. Every movement was mechanical, devoid of hesitation, and yet, your voice—low and steady—cut through the silence.

“Why?”

It was the first word you’d ever directed at him unprompted, and Childe, leaning against the far wall, froze. His usual grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of something darker, something less rehearsed.

“Why what, Doc?” he asked, though the rasp in his voice betrayed him.

“Why are you doing this?” You didn’t look up, didn’t pause in your work. The wet squelch of flesh beneath your scalpel filled the air. “Your motives don’t align with anything rational. It’s not charity. It’s not loyalty to the Fatui. So why?”

It wasn’t suspicion in your voice, nor curiosity, but something colder—an analysis, a dissection of his intentions as sharp as the blade in your hand.

He chuckled, a sound too light, too rehearsed, for the weight of the question. “You think I need a reason to spoil you? Maybe I just like seeing you happy.”

“You’re lying.”

His grin faltered again, but you didn’t give him time to recover.

“You’re a harbinger. A soldier. A predator. You don’t invest time and resources into something unless you expect a return. That much is obvious. So what return do you expect from me? What does someone like you want with someone like me?”

Childe pushed off the wall and took a step closer, his boots echoing against the cold, sterile floor. “Maybe I just find you interesting. Ever think about that? You’re not exactly easy to impress, Doc. It’s a challenge.”

You finally paused, your scalpel poised mid-air as you turned to face him. Your gaze was unreadable, cold, and clinical, like a microscope zeroing in on a specimen.

“A challenge?” you repeated, the words slow, deliberate. “Challenges are fleeting. This… obsession isn’t.”

Childe tilted his head, his grin sharp and fox-like. “Obsession, huh? Big word for someone who doesn’t like to talk.”

You ignored the jab, your tone unchanging. “Let’s enumerate the possibilities, shall we? One: this is a power play. You want leverage, perhaps to undermine Pantalone or someone higher. Two: it’s a trap—an elaborate game meant to sabotage me in the future. Three: it’s personal, though your reasons for targeting me specifically remain unclear. Four—”

“Doc, you’re overthinking this,” he interrupted, his voice laced with mock exasperation.

“I don’t overthink,” you shot back, your words cutting through his like a scalpel through flesh. “I calculate. And you don’t fit any predictable pattern. You’ve given me resources, specimens, and opportunities that no one else would, and yet you’ve asked for nothing in return. Why?”

He took another step closer, the dim light catching the sharp edges of his face. “Maybe I do want something in return. Ever think of that?”

“Then state it plainly,” you said, turning back to the corpse on the table. Your hands resumed their work, steady and unbothered. “I’m a scientist first, an entrepreneur second. I don’t play games. If there’s something you want, say it. If not, leave. I don’t have time for irrationality.”

Childe was silent for a long moment, watching you as you worked. The sound of the scalpel slicing through sinew filled the air, almost rhythmic.

Finally, he laughed, low and humorless. “You’re something else, Doc. You really think I’d try to sabotage you? If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.”

“Precisely my point,” you said, not looking up. “You’re not stupid enough to waste time on something pointless. So why?”

He stepped closer, until the scent of blood and steel mingled with the faint trace of ocean salt that clung to him. “Maybe,” he said, his voice soft but edged with something dangerous, “I just like you.”

You didn’t pause this time, your scalpel slicing cleanly through a tendon. “An irrational answer.”

“But not untrue.”

Your hands stilled for the briefest moment. You didn’t look at him, but your voice softened, just slightly. “If that’s your reason, then you’re more unhinged than I thought.”

He chuckled, stepping back. “Maybe I am. But you’re still keeping the gifts, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. But the faint glint in your eyes as you focused on the corpse before you spoke louder than words.

────────────

The metallic tang of blood was faint in the air, masked by antiseptics and the sterile chill of the room. Childe sat perched on the edge of the examination table, his shirt hanging in tatters around a freshly bandaged wound that seeped sluggishly through the gauze. The injury was deep—slashed through layers of muscle—but it didn’t stop the faint smirk pulling at his lips.

“You know,” he drawled, tilting his head to watch your hands as they methodically wiped down your instruments, “for someone so cold, you sure know how to bleed a guy dry.”

You glanced up, your expression unreadable, though your eyes flicked briefly to the absurdly large stack of bills he’d laid on your desk. “A fair price for the quality of treatment,” you said flatly. “Unless you’d prefer a hospital’s guesswork and subpar sutures.”

“Fair?” he scoffed, though his grin only widened. “I’ve paid assassins less than this. What’s next, Doc? You going to charge me for breathing in here?”

You didn’t look at him as you packed away your tools, your tone calm and clinical. “Considering how much oxygen you waste talking, it’s not a bad idea.”

The laugh that burst from him was sudden and sharp, echoing off the stark walls. “You’ve got a sense of humor under all that frost, huh? Cute.”

You ignored him, stepping to the side to retrieve a sealed vial from your supply cabinet. “Hold still. The last thing I need is you bleeding all over my floor.”

“Careful,” he teased, leaning closer as you prepared a syringe. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re worried about me.”

“I’m worried about pathogens,” you retorted, plunging the needle into his arm with mechanical precision.

Childe winced, though the smile never left his face. “See? Always so gentle with me.”

“Hold pressure on that for ten minutes,” you ordered, handing him a sterile pad before turning back to your desk. “And don’t touch anything. The last thing I need is your germs contaminating my workspace.”

He watched you, his blue eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of mischief. “You’re all business, huh? No time for pleasantries? Not even for this?”

The sound of something small and metallic clicking against the edge of the table drew your attention. You turned, your gaze locking on the object he held—a small, unassuming box, worn but intact, its surface etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly in the low light.

Your composure shifted imperceptibly, but he caught it: the faintest widening of your eyes, the slight hitch in your breath.

“You recognize it,” he said, his voice softening into something almost triumphant.

You stepped closer, reaching for the box, but he pulled it back, holding it just out of your reach.

“Childe,” you said, your tone neutral but firm, “don’t play games.”

“Games?” he echoed, his grin turning sharp as he looked down at you. “This isn’t a game, Doc. It’s a gift. But I think I want to see you work for it.”

You frowned, narrowing your eyes. “You’re bleeding out and still find time to play childish tricks. Hand it over.”

He tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Hmm, let me think about that… No.”

Your frustration was palpable, though you refused to show it. Instead, you straightened your posture and regarded him with cold calculation. “If you want me to analyze it, delaying only prolongs your ignorance. And if you’ve damaged it in the process of acquiring it, there’s a high likelihood it’s already unstable. Do you want it studied, or do you want it destroyed?”

His laughter was sudden and sharp, filling the room like a jagged blade. “You really are fun, Doc.”

When you reached for the box again, he held it even higher, forcing you to step closer, your fingers brushing against his arm. He smirked down at you, clearly enjoying the contrast between his towering frame and your smaller stature.

“You asked me once what I wanted in return,” he said, his voice dropping into something quieter, more dangerous. “Do you really want to know?”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “What I want is irrelevant to this transaction. If you want something, state it plainly. Otherwise, leave.”

His grin softened, but the intensity in his eyes only deepened. “What I want…” he trailed off, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “…is to see what happens when someone finally breaks you.”

You stared at him, unblinking. Then, as if his words were nothing more than static, you extended your hand again, your tone clinical. “The box, Childe.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours as though expecting some hidden reaction. But when none came, he let out a low chuckle and finally handed it over.

The moment it was in your grasp, your demeanor shifted ever so slightly. You turned it in your hands, your fingers ghosting over the intricate runes with a reverence you hadn’t shown to anything—or anyone—before.

“Careful,” Childe said, watching you with a mix of amusement and something darker. “Wouldn’t want you to fall in love with me, now.”

You didn’t respond, already engrossed in the artifact, but the faintest ghost of a smile flickered across your lips. Not for him, not even for the jest, but for the promise of discovery in your hands.

———

The air hung thick with the faint hum of restrained energy. Your hands moved with practiced precision, fingertips ghosting over the etchings on the artifact’s surface. Its texture was cold and alien, the runes faintly pulsing beneath your touch like a dying heart. You had already spent hours analyzing its composition, mapping its structure, tracing its origins in the decayed husk of ancient civilizations. And yet—no matter how you probed, no matter what tool or technique you applied—it would not open.

Your patience, like the artifact, was wearing thin. You sat back, your fingers pressing into your temples as if to physically suppress the rising irritation. The solution hovered just out of reach, taunting you like a phantom, and it infuriated you.

“That’s a new look on you, Doc,” Childe’s voice cut through the oppressive silence, sharp and teasing, as he leaned lazily against the doorway. His bloodied shirt hung loosely around his waist, exposing a web of bruises and neatly bandaged cuts. His smirk widened when you didn’t respond. “Frustrated, are we?”

You ignored him, your focus locked on the box. “It’s not frustration,” you said evenly, though the edge in your voice betrayed you. “The mechanism is deliberately obscured—hydro-based in nature, reinforced with a layer of delusion energy. It’s intricate. Too intricate for brute force or conventional methods. I need—” You stopped abruptly, realizing your mistake.

Childe straightened slightly, his eyes narrowing with interest. “You need… me?”

You looked up, fixing him with an icy stare. “I need you to deactivate the hydro lock.”

He stepped closer, his smirk softening into something almost boyish, though the mischief in his eyes remained. “What’s the magic word?”

You blinked, deadpan. “Deactivate it, or I’ll find someone who will.”

“Aw, come on,” he said, feigning a wounded expression as he closed the distance between you. “Don’t be like that. You’re always so formal with me, Doc. What happened to sweet-talking your favorite patient?”

“You’re not my favorite,” you said, your tone clipped.

“Ouch,” he said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “You really know how to hurt a guy. But seriously—” he leaned over, his voice dropping into a low murmur, “—you’ve got to give me something in return. You’ve been running up quite the tab on me lately, you know.”

You straightened, glaring up at him. “You’re already compensated.”

“Am I?” he asked, tilting his head in mock confusion. “You charge me a fortune to fix me up, and now you want me to hand over this for free? Doesn’t sound very fair, does it?”

“Fairness is irrelevant,” you snapped, your patience thinning dangerously. “If you don’t deactivate the lock, this artifact is worthless. And if it’s worthless, so is whatever leverage you think you have.”

He laughed—a deep, rich sound that reverberated through the sterile room. “Oh, Doc, you’re adorable when you’re desperate.”

Your expression darkened, but the heat behind your irritation only seemed to fuel his amusement.

“You’re always so cold, so composed,” he continued, circling you slowly. “But now? Now you’re practically begging. It’s cute. Like a little kitten swiping at something it can’t reach.”

“I am not begging,” you said sharply, though your tightly clenched jaw betrayed your simmering impatience.

“Not yet,” he teased, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in closer. “But you’re getting there.”

Your hands clenched at your sides, but you forced yourself to remain still, your voice sharp and cutting. “If you’re not going to help, then leave. You’re wasting my time.”

He chuckled, stepping back just enough to stay out of your reach. “Fine, fine. I’ll help. But—” he held up a finger before you could speak, “—only if you give me something in return.”

You frowned. “What do you want?”

He grinned, his expression turning wolfish. “Oh, I don’t know yet. But I’ll think of something.”

“Then we have no deal,” you said curtly, turning back to the artifact.

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could pull away. His grip was firm but not painful, his tone playful yet edged with something darker. “Easy, Doc. I’m not here to cheat you. I just want a little… cooperation.

You yanked your hand free, glaring up at him. “Cooperation implies mutual benefit. I fail to see how indulging your whims benefits me.”

“That’s because you don’t trust me,” he said, his tone mock-solemn. “Which is fair. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

“Then prove yourself useful,” you said, your tone colder than ever. “Deactivate the lock.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening as he stepped closer, until you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. “You really don’t get it, do you?” he said softly. “I like seeing you like this. All that frost finally cracking.”

You stared at him, unblinking, your voice low and dangerous. “If you’re trying to provoke me, you’re wasting your time.”

He smirked, leaning in until his lips were inches from your ear. “You sure about that?”

———

The silence stretched, charged and crackling like static between you, his smirk still curling at the edges of his lips as his eyes bore into you, sharp and glittering with something dark and unrelenting. Childe stepped closer, the faint scent of blood and salt clinging to him, a predator inching into his prey’s personal space.

“Tell you what,” he murmured, his voice low and playful, a dangerous lilt underscoring his tone. “I’ll deactivate the lock if you give me something first. Let’s say… a kiss.”

You stiffened, the cold detachment you clung to like armor flaring to life in the icy glare you shot him. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all.” His grin widened, toothy and unapologetic. “Come on, Doc. It’s a fair trade. One little kiss, and you get what you want. Or…” He tilted his head, the faint glow of his delusion sparking faintly at his fingertips. “I could just walk out and leave you with this unsolvable puzzle. Your call.”

Your hands clenched into fists, the frustration pooling in your chest threatening to spill over. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he asked, his voice mockingly sweet as he leaned in, the heat of him a sharp contrast to the coldness you tried to exude. “Or are you just afraid you might like it?”

“I won’t indulge your games,” you snapped, shoving him back, though it was like trying to move a boulder.

“Oh, but you already are,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement as he caught your wrist in a firm grip. “And that’s what makes it so fun.”

Your glare could’ve cut glass, but Childe only found it endearing, his eyes alight with a predatory glee. “You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

“Let go,” you growled, yanking at your arm, but his grip held firm, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist in a way that sent an unwelcome shiver skittering up your spine.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that curled like smoke around your ears. “Not until I get what I want.”

Before you could retort, his lips crashed against yours, hard and unyielding, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck and pull you closer. The kiss was hungry, almost brutal, his teeth catching on your lower lip and tugging just shy of pain.

Your initial shock froze you in place, but when his other hand slid down, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him, your instincts kicked in. You shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge, his strength a wall against your resistance.

“Stop—” The word barely left your lips before his mouth was on you again, his tongue sliding past your defenses to taste you, hot and invasive. His hands roamed, one trailing up to tangle in your hair while the other slid lower, gripping the curve of your hip.

“You’re so tense, Doc,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and teasing as his teeth grazed your jaw, trailing down to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. “Relax. I promise I won’t bite—well, not too hard.”

———

Childe’s lips descended on yours again, this time with an aggression that bordered on feral. He shoved you back against the cold metal of the vivisection table, the force of his body pinning you down as his mouth claimed you. The taste of copper bloomed between your lips—a mix of his split lip and the sharp nip of his teeth against your skin.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he growled against your lips, his voice low and ragged, his hips grinding down against yours in slow, deliberate movements. “Always acting like you’re untouchable.”

Your protests were muffled as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with an almost punishing fervor. He tasted of salt and blood, the metallic tang mingling with the faint scent of iron that clung to the room. His hands were everywhere at once—one tangling in your hair, pulling your head back to expose the vulnerable line of your throat, the other gripping your waist with bruising force, his fingertips digging into your flesh as if to brand you.

The vivisection table’s sterile, cold surface pressed against your back, amplifying the heat of his body on top of yours. He shifted his weight, pressing his knee between your legs to force them apart, his hips grinding down against you with a primal urgency that sent shockwaves through your body. His breaths came hot and ragged against your neck as he pulled away just enough to trail his lips and teeth down your jawline, his tongue lapping at the blood he’d drawn from the bite marks he left in his wake.

“You don’t even realize, do you?” he murmured, his voice a low growl as he licked the streak of blood from your collarbone, his teeth scraping against the delicate skin. “How damn irresistible you are like this—cold, detached, thinking you’re above everyone else. It just makes me want to ruin you.”

You squirmed beneath him, your body stiff as you tried to push him off, but he only laughed darkly, catching both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head. “Ah, ah,” he teased, his free hand tracing the line of your hip before sliding under the hem of your shirt. “You’re not going anywhere, Doc. Not until I’ve had my fill.”

His fingers brushed against the bare skin of your waist, his touch both searing and possessive as he explored every inch he could reach. The contrast of his rough callouses against your unmarked skin made his blood sing. He’d expected resistance, of course—anticipated the cold glare you’d level at him, the sharp words you’d try to cut him with. But what he hadn’t expected was the sheer thrill that surged through him at the realization that you were so inexperienced. Untouched. Pantalone hadn’t even laid a finger on you.

It made him feral.

“You’re so pure,” he murmured, almost reverently, as his teeth grazed the shell of your ear, his hips grinding down against you again, harder this time, as if he couldn’t contain himself. “So perfect. And all mine.”

Your sharp intake of breath was the only response you managed as he pressed his full weight against you, his movements becoming more frenzied, more desperate, like an animal in heat. His lips found yours again, his tongue tangling with yours as he kissed you with a hunger that bordered on violent, his teeth biting down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

He pulled back just enough to admire his handiwork, his thumb swiping across the bead of blood that welled up before he pressed it to your lips, forcing you to taste it. “See that?” he said, his voice rough and dripping with satisfaction. “That’s what you do to me.”

You glared at him, the fire in your eyes only fueling his desire as he leaned down, licking the blood from your lip before trailing his tongue down your chin, your neck, and lower still. His hands roamed with abandon, one sliding beneath your shirt to cup your chest, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin with a pressure that made you gasp despite yourself.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” he muttered, his voice low and almost reverent as his fingers explored further, memorizing the curve of your body beneath his touch. “You try so hard to hide it, but I can feel it. The way your body reacts to me, no matter how much you try to fight it.”

The metallic tang of blood filled the air as he bit down on your shoulder, his teeth sinking into the flesh just enough to leave a mark but not enough to break the skin. His hips ground against yours again, harder this time, his breath hot and heavy against your ear as he whispered, “You drive me insane, you know that? I’ve been holding back for so long, but now that I’ve got you like this…”

He trailed off, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was as much about possession as it was about desire, his hands tightening on your wrists as if to remind you that you were completely at his mercy.

You bucked against him, anger and desperation flaring in your chest as you tried to twist free, but it only made him chuckle, his voice low and almost affectionate. “Go ahead,” he said, his breath brushing against your ear, nipping and sucking at your earlobe. “Struggle all you want. It just makes it more fun for me.”

His tongue darted out to lap at the blood from the bite marks he’d left on your neck, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine despite the fury burning in your veins. His hips moved against yours with a rhythm that was almost punishing, the weight of him pressing you into the table as his hands continued their relentless exploration.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice raw and filled with a dark kind of satisfaction. “Every inch of you. Mine to touch, to taste, to ruin.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, the raw intensity in his voice making your stomach twist in ways you refused to acknowledge. But the irritation bubbling beneath the surface finally boiled over.

———

Your body tensed, muscles coiled like a spring, your mind rapidly calculating trajectories and weak points as his weight pressed you against the cold steel of the vivisection table. The air around you was thick with the scent of blood, copper and salt mingling with the sterile tang of antiseptic. His breath was hot against your ear, words teasing and playful, but there was a weight beneath them—a hunger that set every nerve in your body screaming.

You bucked against him, your movements sharp and purposeful, but he didn’t so much as flinch. His hands were unyielding, his grip ironclad as he laughed softly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Is that the best you’ve got, Doc? I thought you were supposed to be clever.”

Your lips curled into a snarl, your calm composure cracking like thin ice under pressure. “Get off me,” you hissed, venom dripping from every word.

But your resistance only seemed to spur him on, his grin widening as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Why would I, when you’re finally letting me see the real you?”

With a sharp twist, you freed one hand and reached for the blade you’d hidden beneath the table—a weapon forged in desperation, its edge honed to lethal precision. The movement was fluid, seamless, the blade slicing through the air toward his neck in a blur of silver.

He caught your wrist effortlessly, his reflexes honed by years of bloodshed and battle. His eyes gleamed with a predatory light as he pinned your arm back down, his smirk returning, sharper and more dangerous than before. “Really? You’re trying to kill me now?” His voice was filled with mock disappointment, but there was a spark of something darker beneath the surface, a flicker of genuine thrill. “I’ve got to admit, Doc—that’s kind of hot.”

You glared at him, chest heaving, your mind racing as you struggled to find another opening. But he simply held you there, his weight pressing down on you like a predator savoring its prey. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and almost affectionate as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your lips. It was slow and deliberate, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that was as much about control as it was desire.

When he finally pulled away, your breath hitched—not from lack of air, but from the sheer audacity of it. He chuckled softly, his gaze raking over you with a lazy, shameless intensity. His fingers brushed against the marks he’d left on your neck, his expression turning almost reverent as he took in the sight of you—hair disheveled, clothes rumpled, lips swollen and tinged with blood.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice filled with dark amusement. “All messed up like a common street whore. And it’s all because of me.”

Your eyes narrowed, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. You clenched your fists, willing your composure to return, but it was like trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands.

“You’re disgusting,” you spat, but your voice lacked its usual sharpness, the words trembling ever so slightly as you forced them out.

“And you’re beautiful,” he countered, his gaze burning into you with an intensity that made your stomach churn. “Especially like this. Messy, flustered, and pissed off. Damn, I could keep you like this forever.”

You shoved at his chest, finally managing to put some distance between you. He stepped back reluctantly, his hands raised in mock surrender, but the way his eyes lingered on you made your skin crawl. He looked at you like a starving man gazing at a feast, his breath coming faster as he debated something silently.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned, your voice low and dangerous as you grabbed one of your smaller inventions—a compact firearm designed for precision and lethality. You leveled it at him, your grip steady despite the whirlwind of emotions raging beneath the surface.

He whistled low, his grin widening. “You’ve really got a thing for sharp little gadgets, don’t you? That one’s new, isn’t it? Packs quite a punch, I bet.”

“Do your part of the deal,” you said coldly, your finger hovering over the trigger.

He held up his hands, his movements slow and deliberate as he stepped toward the artifact. “All right, all right. Don’t shoot, Doc. I’ll play nice—for now.”

You watched him warily as he placed his hand over the artifact, the air around him shimmering faintly as he deactivated the hydro lock. The runes flickered and dimmed, the mechanism clicking softly as the artifact opened at last.

“There,” he said, turning back to you with a grin. “Happy now?”

Your eyes remained fixed on him, your gun still trained on his chest. “Leave,” you said, your voice as steady as the weapon in your hand.

He tilted his head, his grin turning almost wistful. “You really didn’t like it? The kissing, I mean. I thought we had something special.”

Your glare was answer enough, but he only chuckled, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. But don’t miss me too much, Doc.” He stepped toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, and by the way,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, playful drawl, “you look even sexier when you’re ready to kill me. Makes me want to stick around and see what else you’ve got.”

Before you could respond, he slipped out of the room, his laughter echoing faintly in the air behind him. You lowered the gun slowly, your hands trembling as you tried to process everything that had just happened.

The artifact sat open on the table, its secrets finally laid bare—but your mind was anything but clear.

────────────

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[genshinincorrectquotes]

Dottore: Shut up, everyone. I’ve done something brilliant.

Pierro: Ah, Dottore, my head of research and development. 

Fatuis:  I’m sorry, but we…

Dottore: Apology accepted. Now try to keep up with my mind-numbing genius.

Pierro: Dottore, what did we say about interacting with other people?

Dottore: The cue cards. Fine. “Hello, Pierro, and others.”

[tunafruitt]

--> ||❝ The Creator has a.. LOVER?! ❞

SAGAU || Warnings: fluff, gender neutral reader, slight crack, reader gets called a test subject and is implied to be used as one [Dottore’s part] OOC w/ Dottore..? Idk I haven’t finished sumeru yet </3

[ The people of Teyvat find out their grace has been romantically involved with someone for a while now.. what do they think about it? ]

Character(s): DOTTORE, XIAO

-> [ DOTTORE ]

“The Doctor is the Creator’s suitor? As in… the Second of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers? Are you sure that’s him? You are? Oh.. is— Is Your Grace feeling okay? I don’t see why anyone would be willingly involved with the Fatui Harbingers. What?! No! I’m not saying that’s not okay. Your Grace can do whatever they want! Hmph..”

The people of Teyvat felt conflicted to say the least. They weren’t judging your ability to make choices! They really weren’t… they just thought that there were better choices out there for Their Grace!! Yeah, everyone knew you liked the harbingers even before you descended, but couldn’t you have chosen a less deranged harbinger? For example… uhm... none of them.

Dottore could really care less what everyone else thought of his relationship with you though. He got the full package! His lover was the All Mighty Creator, and now he has a new “test subject”! (he says it affectionately.) Dottore knows people hate him even more than before, but who’s the one with the Creator’s arms wrapped around them, head over heels? This benefits him in so many ways. Wether it be research, obtaining materials, or just being able to have something more to use against the rest of the harbingers.

No one would ever dare voice the opinions they have of him while you’re in the vicinity. They’ll listen to you talk about a “date” you had with Dottore, which was really just you and him in his lab…. and he’s using you to help with his research. Hearing this, the rest of the allogene’s eyes are twitching, their fists are clenched, they’re FURIOUS. Not at you! Never. They’re mad at Dottore. How dare he use you as a test subject?! (you volunteered) How dare he use you to try to make another god?! (you thought that sounded fun) How dare he be IN LOVE with the All Mighty Creator?! (you fell first.)

When the two of you are seen in public, the streets go QUIET. Dottore carries this eerie aura with him, everyone knows who he is. And adding to the fact he’s a harbinger, he is also now recognized as the Creator’s suitor. Everyone besides you feels the silence and the stares, including Dottore, but if his lover is happy does it really matter? <3

In conclusion, everyone hopes Dottore dies. It’s not that they don’t want to see you happy. In fact, the entirety of Teyvat is glad you’re experiencing love and joy, just not with HIM.

─ִ━━ ꯭  ───ׂ─ִ─ ��͜͡✿͜͡  ─ִ──ׂ──  ꯭  ━━ִ─

You spend a lot of days in Dottore’s lab. Today was one of those days.

You were conversing with one of Dottore’s younger clones. The clones, while being segments of Dottore, have their own distinct personalities. The one thing they hold in common is the love they have for you.

You love talking to the clones and giving them breaks from whatever days-long tasks Dottore gives them, but you miss the Dottore who’s the last thing you see before you fall asleep and after you wake up. You haven’t seen him since yesterday! Is this really how your boyfriend treats his lover…. who also happens to be the Creator???

And so you decide to go look for him. Who would’ve guessed he was sitting where he always was; his desk. Once you’ve spotted him, as payback for leaving you alone, you decide to sneak up on him. You try your hardest to silence your steps as much as possible in this hollow and echoey office of his.

“I can hear you, Y/N.”

“No you can’t... C’mon Dottore! Cut me some slack. I haven’t seen you since yesterday… and you didn’t even come to say good morning to me today!”

“Good morning.”

“It’s 4:00 PM, love. Take a break. It’s not like I’ll die anytime soon… can I even die..? Uhm.. that’s besides the point. You can conduct your experiments on me and do you research later. Come entertain me, please?”

“Are you asking because I have a choice?”

Your silence gives him an answer. You pull him up from his chair by grabbing his hands and pull him into a hug. You lean in closer to peck his cheek. He leans into you and grabs you by the waist to pull you closer—

“Doctor, the segments have finished—“

“Oh.”

-> [ XIAO ]

“Oh! One of the adepti? THE VIGILANT YAKSHA?! S-sorry that caught me by surprise… So the Yaksha is dating the Creator, huh. His tales have been documented for millennia’s, yet he’s rarely seen in public… I guess even someone like that can’t help but fall for Our Grace.”

So that must be why you always cooked Almond Tofu… Well, since Xiao IS the Conqueror of Demons, I can see the people of Liyue being quite happy. Jealous? Yes. But who’s even more jealous? Mondstadt. Why couldn’t it be one of the Knights of Favonious or something? But they guess you’re happy and that’s enough… (Though it could’ve been with them.)

Xiao is seen a little more often with you now that it’s confirmed you two are dating. Not too often, but if you want to go try out a restaurant in the city of Liyue, he’ll never say no. He may not speak much, but according to rumors is Liyue… “his eyes are always on you, listening to anything and everything the Creator has to say. It’s clear he’s fallen completely in love!” (Said by Chef Mao, probably.)

Being Xiao’s partner may seem awkward from an outsiders perspective, but he’s surprisingly sweet! He still won’t talk much, but he’ll reply to any questions you have, no matter how stupid or obvious they are with full genuity. Him being the Conqueror of Demons and you being the Creator, you both live busy lives…. so his eyes literally light up when you two are both able to finally see each other after a long time. <3 (he’s head over heels guys help.)

The adepti would be so PROUD. They probably already knew you and Xiao had a little something going on even before it was announced because of the way Xiao seemed slightly more happy. This lead to then being suspicious and eventually seeing him and you together… doing the most intimate thing ever…..

…. HOLDING HANDS. UNDER THE MOONLIGHT. But they kept quiet so don’t worry!

─ִ━━ ꯭  ───ׂ─ִ─  ͜͡✿͜͡  ─ִ──ׂ──  ꯭  ━━ִ─

“Xiao! I found you.”

As per usual, Xiao was sitting on the roof of Wangshu Inn. Today was one of the days where both of you were busy. You had a meeting to attend, and he was doing his job as The Conqueror of Demons. It was night by the time you were able to see each other.

“You should’ve called my name, Your Grace. It would’ve been easier for me to find you.”

“Yeah but I like looking for you. I always know where you are since you’re in the same spots anyway. And besides, I like how Wangshu Inn looks at night!”

You always thought Xiao looked pretty, but he looked especially pretty under the moonlight. His face seemed to glow more than usual today. Maybe it was the warm colored light radiating from inside of Wangshu Inn, or the light reflected by the moon shining down on him. Maybe it was the fact he had missed you so much that seeing your face again brought him a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Your Grace?”

“Oh, sorry Xiao, I lost my train of thought. Let’s go eat! I’m feeling hungry… today’s meeting was waaayy too long… C’mon, I’ll buy you something!”

“No need. I’ll be okay with just accompanying Your Grace.”

“Agh, stop calling me that. Y/N? Can you say Y/N? Please Xiao?”

“… Y-Y/N..”

“See? Not too hard right? Ok let’s go eat! I’ll make you Almond Tofu how you like it.”

FINALLY DONE OOHMYGODDD sorry this took so long. Idk what I should do next so feel free to request anything… ANYWAYS THE FIRST PART OF THIS GOT ALMOST 700 NOTES??? omg stop guys I’m giggling and blushing aughshsgghh. But seriously thank you so much I’m bawling

[sh1-n0bu]

I’d like to order some nsfw genshin impact SAGAU stuff:

More specifically, its when the Creator uses a vessel different from Wanderer, their main, and he gets jealous all the time.

So, when they descend on teyvat, one of the first things they do is fuck the jealousy out of him so badly he cant speak. (Yes its overstimulation because MAN…)

♡︎ 𝙢𝙮 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙙 ♡︎

characters: sub!AFAB!wanderer (or scaramouche) x nb!dom!reader

warnings: overstimulation, dacryphillia, jealousy, oral fixation, squirting, fingering, slight cult-ish and religious undertones

notes: hhhh my first sagau smut

kabukimono adored the creator.

how could he not? he was just a mere creation and a vessel of the god of all gods.

the first to tell the poor, discarded puppet of you was niwa. when seeing how everyone in tatarasuna worshipped a being called divine creator, the poor puppet couldn’t help his own curiosity and ask. in response, niwa patiently explained to him how there was once an ancient being. a god of all gods. one who even reigned over the archons, celestia itself. one who created teyvat, blessed it with life and in their weakened state, went to an eternal rest.

kabukimono adored the creator with the hollow remains of where his heart is meant to be. an empty shell filling with fuzzy feelings, smile spreading on his face whenever he goes to pray at your shrine, offerings of small yet precious things left in your altar. he only hoped it would please your soul.

kunikuzushi has secret reverence and respect for the creator.

you took away his friend, his home, his family and yet he still hopes for your guidance. carrying hope in the shape of a small wooden carving that he made, which he clutches closely to his chest.

during restless nights and moments when he feels himself slipping, losing hope, losing sight of loving you — he clutches the wooden carving to his chest. tight, tight to the point it leaves a dent in his pale hand and whispers into it. how he wishes to be in your care. how he hopes that you didn’t abandon him. how he hopes that your loving arms would hold him one day. how you are the only source of life he has.

how all the blood he shed was meant for you. a sacrifice for you. to appease you. to bring you back to teyvat. to see you in flesh.

kunikuzushi has secret reverence and respect for the creator.

scaramouche despises the creator.

you left him. when his own mother betrayed him and left him alone, he was lucky to be found by nagamasa. he was lucky that niwa was kind enough to let him stay at tatarasuna. how you were so cruel that even after all the metal and iron, gold and silver he molded and modeled to make tiny offerings to your altar. how you were twisted to give him small slivers of hopes in the form of niwa and the sick child, yet to take them away.

he hates you. despises you. loathes you. every little altar he sees, he hopes to destroy it. every statue of you he glimpses at, he uses his delusion to shock the old and eroded stone until it breaks and crumbles. oh, how badly he wished to do the same to you.

the sixth of the eleven fatui harbingers won’t even hesitate for a split second to spit on your name even in the presence of the tsaritsa. childe always looks down on him whenever he does. the ginger’s hands twitching, delusion and vision mixing up together as he tries his best to hold himself back from jumping on the short arrogant puppet.

and yet despite it all… scaramouche still clutches the small wooden carving of you. holding it close to his chest as he secretly whispers in his mind how much he wishes to please you. the puppet only hopes all the bodies he piled up would satisfy you, even just a little bit.

wanderer loves you dearly.

he has been wrong this whole time. you were never twisted, never sick in the head nor heart, never wishing to manipulate him, never wishing harm or pain upon anything. you were gentle. loving. every life form you passed by would swoon and sway, hoping to touch you. even touching your clothes or robes would be enough.

when be first got his vision, he heard your voice in his head. it was the same loving warmth that enveloped the traveler. it was warm, gentle, loving but still not fully there. when he protected the traveler and the floating thing, he could hear you cheer for him. for him.

but when an array of shooting stars engulfed the fake skies, wanderer looks up as always. blue ones, purple ones and then he felt it. a certain pull in his chest. like how red strings of fate tugs on your pinky in all those fairytales.

and he follows.

running, running, running — until he eventually reaches an odd place. a clear sky, one that looked real and one that cradled him in a gentle warmth.

“yeeesss!! you’re finally home! welcome home, wanderer!” a voice rings in his head loud and clear. excitement, happiness, elation, joy, pride — all sorts of emotions bubble in him, ready to burst out. but instead it fell down in the form of a tear. a happy tear.

it was you. it was the creator. the all-knowing, all-loving one. and you wanted him! him of all people! and you were happy that you had him!

yet wanderer doesn’t get it.

if you loved him so much, wanted him, pre-farmed for him as you said and even got his signature weapon, why were you using someone else? why use that cocky cryo user from mondstadt? why use his brother who is equally cocky but knows how to keep it hidden? why use that annoying old archon who flaunts that he is your oldest and most devout follower? or even the yashirou commissioner!

was he not enough? was he not strong enough? did you needed to “farm” for his talent materials? if so, no need! he already went ahead and got them for you when you logged out! everything to make him the perfect dps as you called is all there and ready!

strange.

why was your other characters are all either dead or on 1hp when you log in? only wanderer is there — your main — in full hp. standing proud and cocky with the same grin.

——

it’s tough to be a god.

no seriously. all jokes and that damn catchy song aside, it was indeed tough to be a god. especially when all these powerful people who can literally control elements and even gods themselves were worshipping you. how can you be a god of all gods?

well, you found out the answer to that question on one of your earlier days when you got a little bit too curious. all in the form of an ichor bleeding out of your palm that you sliced. and perhaps a bit pressured too. after all, being put on a pedestal for everyone to see and worship and grovel to is hard to deal with. especially when you were suddenly thrown into a world that you thought was only fictional!

but there was also something else that was incredibly, unbelievably, astoundingly hard to deal with was your main. the puppet who was abandoned. the short, sarcastic asshole. but never towards you! he would hate to make you even slightest bit sad or angry.

and yet he does it anyways.

going out of his way to stalk down some poor merchant you like buying things from to buy most of their stock so you won’t visit the merchant’s shop again. picking fights with your acolytes when you show the slightest hint of favoritism. hell, he almost killed childe. but of course, the battle lusted ginger loved the thrill and had asked for more future fights.

which all led to here. him getting his well deserved punishment.

poor wanderer thinking he was all too slick. how he was doing everything behind your back so you wouldn’t know anything. how you would stay innocent to his actions while he goes and picks another fight. but you noticed. every single jealousy inflicted actions wanderer had pulled and orchestrated, you knew.

anyone could walk in right now and see what was happening. anyone of your pathetic other acolytes could walk in and see how good you were fucking him. fingers knuckles deep into his cunt, fucking him so good, so deep.

and dear stars and you, wanderer wanted that. he wanted those pathetic worshippers to see how you favored him above them.

wanderer had lost his sense of self and mind long time ago. the moment you wrapped your hand around his throat to manhandle his tiny body to sit on your lap, his mind was gone. a blank sheet of paper.

the puppet doesn’t remember how many orgasms you’ve wrung out of him but he loved it. he wanted it. he wanted more. he wanted your fingers to fuck him open.

in his hazy mind, lust ridden babbles and overstimulated body, he can feel it. how your other hand is keeping his labia spread open. how you apply pressure around his cunt. how your fingers are squelching into him, creating a filthy wet shlick! shlick! noises.

how your hand keeping his labia open goes to tug on his clit. pinching the bud of muscle as he writhes and screams in your lap. squirting over your fingers again like a common brothel whore. and he loved it. by the stars above, he loved it.

because deep in his most depraved part of mind, wanderer knew that he was a whore. your whore. your common brothel cheap whore. your whore who would spread open his legs for you if you asked for it. who would eagerly finger himself so he can provide you with some sort of entertainment. who would take your hand and guide it inside his shorts, not even bothering to wear undergarments, so he can give you easier access.

he doesn’t remember. doesn’t want to remember how many times he came. when you place him on your own throne, legs propped on both sides on the armrest, his wet, slick covered pussy and hardened sensitive clit for the world to see, all he can think about is how good it feels.

when you get down on your knees in front of him, it feels like a sacrilege. shouldn’t it be him who’s on his knees in front of you, trying and hoping to please you?

yet all of his thoughts fly out the window when your fingers stretch his sensitive pussy open again. fingers hooked on the inside slightly, just enough to open up his inner labia and for you to admire his gaping hole. waiting eagerly for you to claim it once again.

“your gra—aanhg!! grace! grace! your grace!! f-feelsh good. feelsh good feelsh goodfeelsgoodgoodgood ghk—! aammh!♥︎“ the jealous puppet whines and babbles on, your title falling over his lips over and over like a mantra as he drools. mind long gone, sanity on the thin line between delirium and lucidity. struggling to comprehend just what is happening.

he feels your mouth on him. tongue lapping at his juice greedily like an insatiable animal while he struggles to keep his legs open. hand twitching, hesitating for a moment before he grips onto your hair tightly — his only anchor. he can feel everything too greatly.

body sensitive, pushed over the boundaries of his virgin state. he could feel how you suck on his sensitive clit, forcing him to squirt into your mouth.

if this was how you would treat him to stop his jealousy induced rampages, maybe wanderer should do it more often.

[wiltedivinity]

ıllıㅤ𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ; all you saw was red. the blood in his hands, the blood on their bodies, the blood on your own, and the color of the roses you're engulfed in. he wondered at the fact on how far you've brought yourself to get away from him, physically and emotionally, knowing you won't even get to escape a few meters. but you wondered... why?

ㅤ⨯ if any of the following trigger you, please click off: dead dove: do not eat ; non-con ; female!reader ; violence ; (minor character) deaths ; assault ; possessiveness ; yandere themes ; choking ; toxic & unhealthy relationships ; forceful actions ; suggestive themes ; semi-smut ; threats & insults ; angsty? ; childe is an asshole ; not proofread

ㅤ⨯ archive :: taglist :: inbox / appeal information :: 18+ ONLY

Why… Why… Why… You wanted to ask. You wanted to scream out till’ your lungs give you in. Your feet were planted on the ground firmly, refusing to move an inch as you watch the Harbinger pierce his blades into the chest of your mother repeatedly, the water of his weapon slowly being stained with dark blood, blood that’s mixed with different victims that have witnessed his wrath. Including yours. You eye the wound on your arm, the red liquid was still dripping and staining the ground under you. “Why…” it barely even came out as a whisper, more like a simple breath of the wind most people would ignore but not to him. What can you expect from a man that made You, a person he should have cared less for, his main priority in his life.

“Why…?” you sobbed out, bringing your head up from the floor to find him staring right back at you. The Harbinger stands up and carelessly lays your mother figure to the ground before kicking it out of his sight, dissipating his water blades into thin air as blood continues to stain him and maybe you in the process. “‘Why,’ you ask?” Childe hums, making his way towards you, raising his hand to meet your cheek but you slap it away before he could even touch. “Answer me.” you grit your teeth at the man who was smiling sadistically at you.

“Wow, what a feisty girl. Didn’t know you had it in you, love.” he chuckles, his hand coming in contact with your hand, gripping it and dirtying it with mixed blood. You groan and pull your hand away from his grasp and land a hit on his face. You leave him breathless for a second before his pupils dilated, touching the very spot you slapped him on and caressing it. “You’ve changed quite a lot.”

“I could say the same for you, Tartaglia.” you scoot away from him, your fists clenching in case he makes another move on you. He simply just laughs, each breath he takes, his laughter goes lower and lower until he is glaring at you with that very same sinister grin on his face. “As much as everything you do makes me breathless,” he says through his smile, “You speaking my codename isn’t it. Change that up, hun.”

“Nothing you do will make me change what I feel about you.” A hint of resentment was visible in your eyes, your pupils decreasing its usual size. You tried… Tried to seem threatening but to him he adored it. Even if you managed to intimidate him, he wouldn’t really back out, can he? He knows he’s stronger. He’s a survivor of the Abyss, the Eleventh of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. Even if he was the Eleventh, the title of being a Harbinger alone is impressive and shows a symbol of great power and strength.

“You think so?” Childe sniggers. “I know so.” you reply boldly, attempting to stand back up only to get knocked down by the stomach by Childe’s elbow, “Oh, we’re not done yet. You’re staying here until our business is done.” you glare at his response, what does this man mean by business? If he means torturing you more than you know that seeing your family die before your eyes is more than torture. You attempt to dart away from him if standing wasn’t an option but he stops you by gripping your ankle.

“Get your fucking hand away from me, Tartaglia.” you sneer but it doesn’t stay for longer when he has his hand around your neck and pins you down, using it as a leverage. You can see his eyes darkening from your lips simply saying his title. “Like I said… You’re staying here until our business is done, [Y/N].” he emphasized with a growl at the end of the sentence as he quickly squeezed your throat. You felt the wetness in the corners of your eyes drip as he pushed you further into the ground. Eyes widening instantly when you realize he’s blocking your airway by choking you, his grip on your neck was unbearably tight and if he continued to stay like this you would–

You can’t breathe, you’re letting out panic and quick pants from your mouth as you try to get his grasp from your throat by pulling his wrist away but he’s stronger… You know that. So why not give up? You don’t want to. You can’t either. You try to kick him off with your legs punching his gut, Childe only groaned and laughed. “Hah,” he sighs, but that quickly turns into loud laughter.

“Haha!” he jests, pushing you on the floor as your consciousness slowly slips away from you. “Go on! Keep trying, it makes the job easier. Just look at you, turning blue from my hand around your throat.” he muses, a grin forming on his face sinisterly. You want to argue, but not in this situation. You could barely breathe and voicing out your thoughts will worsen. But in the end, you’d faint from the loss of breath and he would win in the end. He can easily overpower you anytime he wants. That’s a perk of being a Harbinger trained under an unknown woman from the Abyss.

“Sleep well. I’ll be waiting.” he coos lowly, your eyelids drooping lower as you let out your last breath before you faint. Once you do, he slowly pulls his grasp around your throat and admires the handprint on it. A nice dull, desaturated red. Almost the color of the blood of his opponents. Childe brings your unconscious body into his embrace and carefully stands up, looking back to see the limp figures of your family members laying on the floor, all bloodied and dismembered from his hold. If he could be honest, it was their fault, they disapproved of him ever since he was a member of the Fatui and the idea of their precious daughter to get associated with him was something they’d never want. You were okay in keeping contact with him and didn’t think much of his status. But that didn’t go through with your family. They even go as far as to separate the two of you and cut all ties with his family in order to keep you safe and away from him.

Oh what a bad decision they made.

.

.

.

Your eyes groggily open, and your body twitches beneath the mattress you were sleeping on. Your hand tries to touch your brow, but something prevents it. You examined your wrists and discovered that it was connected to the headboard of the bed, leaving you vulnerable and unable to move. You struggle under the restraints, desperate to be freed but a door has already been opened before you could move any further. "Ah, you're awake," says a familiar voice from the other side of the room, as footsteps approach your bed.

“I hope you don’t mind the chains. I didn’t want you escaping so this was a better alternative!” A glee came from Childe, that broad and boyish smile of his not wavering one bit when he sees your harsh glare. “Let me go,” you growl, shuffling on the bed aggressively but it only worsens the pain on your wrists.

“Oh come on, don’t get mad at me now. Be thankful you got chained in my bedroom instead of something much brutal.” He grabs your chin to stop you from moving too much, his grip is tight, one wrong breath and he’ll tighten it more so you sit still.

All of the sudden, his grin widens, but not in a good way. “Or maybe you’d like what I originally planned more.” The dark glint on his eyes becomes evident, “But let’s get you fed first. It’s been hours since you’ve passed out and you must be starving after that long!” And it switches up all too suddenly. It’s as if the man forgot that he kidnapped you and did monstrous things to your family.

He then places the tray on a desk near the bed. Childe eyes the handcuffs on your hand and shrugs, “You’ll get used to this.” He assures you, taking the hot, steaming bowl of soup and placing it near your face, the spoon already scooping the broth and placing it in front of your lips.

“Come on. Say ‘ahh’” the ginger-head instructs, blowing air on the spoonful of stew so you’re able to consume it. You wanted to protest but your stomach grumbles before you can do so, making the harbinger chortle. “Might as well open your mouth. It’ll make things easier for you… And your stomach.” He points out.

You purse your lips, shaking your head. This causes Childe to frown heavily, “You really are stubborn, aren’t you?” His jaw clenches, “You’re lucky I’m a patient man. Now, eat.” He shakes his hand, a little too aggressively but not enough to spill the bouillon. “No,” You furrow your brows, turning your head away from the spoon. “You heard me the first time.” You argued back, your fists already clenched. You would’ve thrown a punch on him if you could if it weren’t for the handcuffs.

“You really don’t know who you’re messing with, [Y/N].” The way he spoke your name was strong, almost intimidating. “I can shut the fucking mouth of yours if I wanted to. Hell, I’ll do that right now.” Childe smiles grimly, the sinister gleam on his eyes shine, the hand that was holding the spoonful of soup placed inside of his mouth, his free hand clutching onto your shirt and pulling you raspingly into his lips, forcing you to drink in the hot liquid.

You feel his tongue penetrate through your lips, forcing them open. Your chin was trapped between his fingers and he uses this to tilt your head backwards so you can drink the broth that he pours. You feel yourself coughing into Childe’s lips but he doesn’t budge one bit, only pushing you down the mattress with his arm behind your neck. Your attempts in pushing away were fruitless, so your only choice was biting his lip until it bled.

Fortunately that worked, though he didn’t pull away instantly. He let his tongue explore your mouth before doing so, it seems like he was enjoying how the soup tastes mixed with his blood. Childe lets out a few breaths before looking down at you, the corners of his mouth still stained with a bit of red liquid and dried up broth. “Don’t you think I’m done with you. You barely finished a portion of the soup.” He chuckles, his hand making its way to the bowl to scoop more fluid into his mouth until your foot kicks his thigh, making him freeze and look towards you.

“I-I’ll eat… Just not from your mouth.” You try to reason with him but he continues to drink up the liquid, his cheeks puffing a bit from the soup taking up the space inside of his mouth. You just know that he wasn’t going to do it your way by the way he’s leaning down on you and pressing his lips against yours. Pouring in whatever he has in your mouth yet again. You furrow your brows as tears flow down your cheeks, the taste is bitter. It leaves a bad taste on your tongue and a fog in your mind.

.

.

.

You pant heavily, your chest was visibly rising from up and down as you stare up at Childe without breaking eye contact. The man didn’t show one bit of remorse for what he’s done to you. That shit-eating grin that was spread across his face shows it. He shuffles and rises up from the bed, taking the half-eaten bowl of soup before walking away. The moment he’s at the door, he turns his head to look back at you, eyes watching you from head-to-toe before nodding and walking away, seemingly amused.

You shake on Childe’s bed, throwing your head back as you sob. What have you fucking gotten into? Your eyes are squinted tight, your wrists are still painfully wounded from how forceful Childe was when handling your body not too long ago when you’re trying to set them free from the chains. To set yourself from things getting worse. You couldn’t stop wiggling your body on the mattress in an attempt to loosen yourself from the handcuffs.

This could’ve ended differently… Maybe if you knew and saw the red flags in his letter or the way he acted when he was around you, you would’ve escaped. But you should doubt that. The man’s a Harbinger, a child who fell into the Abyss, a striving and unmatched warrior and most importantly, a manipulative companion who always gets what he wants. And you being a long-time friend only worsens it since the both of you knew each other more deeply than anyone else. He knew your weaknesses, your likes, dislikes and everything.

And you don’t know any of his weaknesses. It was hard to guess. You only knew a few and it was you. But being his weakness also means being his strength, you know how you get him. You were his source of motivation. If you weren’t then he wouldn’t be torturing people to tell him about your whereabouts ever since your family cut ties with him.

“Don’t sleep on me now~ We still have yet to clean you up!” Childe chimes in the room once again, a towel in his hand as he approaches and kneels on the floor. His arms are on the mattress of the bed, his head firmly placed in between them as he stares at you. “I haven’t bathed you properly and seeing the stains on your shirt, you wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping in something dirty, right?” He attempts to sway you. “I may be a bad guy, but I’m no monster.” You wanted to laugh. What the actual fuck does he mean by that?

You decide not to protest. You were too tired to do so and your lips could barely sound out a breath. “Good girl.. You’ve finally learned your lesson!” Childe grins at the wig hut of your tired face, the blush on your cheeks evident from the messy and hard kisses he’s been giving you. He trails his finger on them, slowly moving them downwards until they reach your neck, carefully grasping it, causing you to choke on your deep breaths.

“Good girls deserve rewards, correct?” Childe tilts his head with that stupid grin on his face. He must be proud at how much of a mess he’s made out of you. How much control he has over you. He knows you know it, he’s laughing to himself right now. “So let me reward you..” His smile drops, as well as his voice.

He didn’t waste a millisecond to bring his right arm under your knees and his left arm beneath your back. Shaking you a bit so that you wouldn’t sleep when he bathes you. “Stay awake for me, pretty. Don’t want you drowning.” He snickers with a teasing grin on his face. He takes quick but careful steps to the open door that leads to the bathroom. He sat you down in the bathtub and prompted you to take your clothes off. You can feel the embarrassment bubble up inside of you as well as your jaw tightening. “Come on, now. Don’t get too shy~ You’re gonna get used to this soon enough.” he traces the shape of your cheek before he lets his finger move lower to your neck to unbutton one button of your collar.

“You’re a big girl now, right?” He murmurs softly, grabbing your hand and placing it on your shirt, silently commanding you to undress. “But I don’t mind if I could do it instead. I’d be more than happy to see you trust in me in this.” Childe was trying his best to go easy on you. He knew he wouldn’t go anywhere if he continued to torture you.

He’ll make sure he’s all you can rely on. The only person you can trust in this dim cabin in the middle of nowhere.

“No.. I can do it.” You push his hand away as you slowly unbutton your shirt, each time you show a bit of your skin with each button, his gaze intensifies. He couldn’t help but put his hands on the sides of your stomach, his thumb brushing the soft and bare skin. He leans in and uses his teeth to drag the collar of your shirt to the side to reveal more of your figure. “So pretty..” he praises, licking a stripe of your shoulder. You sat there, frozen and clutching onto his shirt, attempting to push him away.

He notices this and controls his urges. He’s not gonna do anything, yet. “Undress the rest of your clothing for me.” He pulls away and stands up to discard his gloves. You do as he says and unzip your jeans, kicking them off. You were only left with your undergarments and the way he eats up every bare skin of your body makes you feel unsafe to what he’s gonna do next.

Childe really has a hard time breathing at the sight of you. God he’d just take you there right now but he slaps himself to the thought of it. “Not yet..” He scolds himself internally. He’ll do it once the time is right. For now, he needs you cleaned up. “Take those off too.” You swore you heard a low grunt at the end of his sentence but you didn’t dare question it. You unclip your bra from behind, struggling a bit from taking it off before finally letting it fall off your shoulders and onto your lap. 

Childe stares at you, admiring every curve and contour but he snaps out of it once your hands lowered to take off your underwear too. His eyes were stuck on your lap and at the sight of your cunt. He lets out a heavy huff he didn’t know he was holding for so long and grabs your undergarments, placing them in the sink. A moment later, he turned on the water faucet and washed your naked body with soap. Occasionally brushing the scars (that he made) with his thumb to soothe you (as well as admiring it as if it’s a work of art.)

It didn’t take too long to finish bathing you. It’s probably the first time you’ve behaved around him but that doesn’t mean you’ll tolerate him for long. Childe gently grabs your chin and tilts it upwards for your eyes to face him. You thought he’d do something he wasn’t supposed to but he just simply caressed the bruise on your cheek. You could only sigh and hope whatever he wanted to do just finishes.

“Let’s get you settled..” Childe gets up from his kneeling position and grabs a white towel. He turns his head and gestures to you to get out of the tub. You did what he commanded and stood up from the water and stepped out of it. You cringe at the cold breeze meeting your skin as the water droplets sticking on your drop to the ground.

You notice the ginger-haired man’s hesitance when seeing your bare body in all of its glory. The water made your skin glisten a bit, all he wanted to do now was mouth your neck, your collarbone, literally anywhere. He wasn’t being picky at this point. He just wanted his hands all over your body.

He couldn’t contain himself much longer and dropped the towel as he desperately strides towards you to wrap his arms around your waist and pull your wet body on his clothed one. His hands obsessively ravaging your hips and your back, “Fuck… So pretty for me, yeah?” He grunts at the feeling of being so close to you, chest-to-chest, trapped in his arms with no escape and no choice but to deal with his horrid affection. “All for me…” His fingers pat your bare hip until it reaches your ass, squeezing it lightly. You froze and clutch onto his shirt, “Stop… Please..” You plead, but he growls. “Fine..” he responds but doesn’t let you distance yourself from him.

Childe grabbed the towel that fell on the floor, he turns to you again and dry your body up, periodically brushing your intimate parts with his lips, saying it was to quicken the process. He wasn’t even trying to make a better excuse.

With one last stroke of the towel around your breasts, he pulls away and admires his work. “I’ll get you some clothes. Come with me.” he places the towel on a towel rail and leads you to– most likely– his room.

He sits you down on the edge of the bed as he explores through a closet of clothes. Maybe… Just maybe you could knock him out. He was really distracted at the moment but you don’t have anything to attack him with. Even if you did, you’d be dead. He’s not that weak nor does he have slow instincts to sense what’s wrong.

“Hey..” Childe snaps his fingers in front of your face, snapping you out of your trance. Your eyes widen and blink a few times before looking up at him, confused. Childe stares at you for a moment before letting out a chuckle and sighing, amused at your act. “Done daydreaming, sweetheart?” he teases before handing you some folded group of clothes. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay like that for too long. But I don’t mind such a sight either way… I’ll think of other ways to heat you up if you let me.” He smirks and you internally cringe at his remark in trying to bed you.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Childe.” You grin awkwardly at him and attempt to grab the clothes from his hands but he refuses to give you it. “[Y/N].” He spoke your name. He sounded mad, as if you did or said something wrong and offending. “Yes, Chil–”

“Don’t call me that.” He cuts you off with a stern tone. The way his eyes narrow at how your lips voiced out his name— his codename to be specific. A name that’s normally used by either enemies or acquaintances that he's barely close with. “It’s Ajax.. Just call me that, [Y/N]. It’s just two syllables and four letters.”

“...”

Childe notices your silence and sighs, feeling frustrated. “Just this once at least.. Please?” he begs and you swore he looked pathetic like that. You can’t believe this is the exact same man who just committed manslaughter yesterday and got rid of your whole family. “...Ajax.” You mussitate,  a hint of annoyance within your tone from his persistence.

You were unable to catch the self-satisfied smile he had on his lips. Childe lets out a content hum as he places the pile of clothes on your hands and pushes you to sit on the edge of the bed. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He expresses his mirth fatuously, “Get dressed. I’ll take a bath. Behave for me, alright? Don’t go out without my permission.” He spoke softly, holding your shoulder, his grip was threatening but soon enough softened, taking it out of your body. He stared at you for a moment, his gaze on you didn’t waver as he studied every detail on you.

With a turn of his heel, he left and entered the bathroom, closing it and locking it as water started running inside.

You sat on the bed's edge. Feeling overwhelmed, the sound of his voice, the way his touch sends shocking shocks through your body. You were overthinking what had just happened and didn't see how your body began to shake from the cold. You wore the long-sleeved sweater and pajamas gently, shaking the thoughts out of your head. It strangely fits... Did he get your size while you were sleeping? But it didn't appear brand new if he did manage to get your size and buy clothing for it.

You stood up and walked onto the exit door of the bedroom you were in, looking towards the door where Childe was bathing. When you're close enough, you palm the knob and turn it slowly so as not to create too much noise.

The corners of your lips raise a bit when you successfully open the door but it soon drops when you hear another door creak behind you. “What do you think you’re doing?” an austere voice rumbles from a few feet. Slowly turning your head, you’re met with the sight of Childe’s bare chest that was dripping with hot water.

You were so distracted by his sudden closeness that you didn’t notice his hand closing the door while leaning in front of you so it couldn’t be opened. “Be a dear and get out of the way.” his tone wasn’t as gentle as before. You warned yourself not to get him mad or else you’ll face something you’ll regret. You let out a sigh as you take a step to the side and awkwardly walk towards the bed to sit there again. Childe seems to calm down from the way his shoulders slump as he locks the door. He turns to look at you before making his way over to the bed, “Look at me.” he commands, gripping your chin harshly.

Once making eye contact with you, he stayed silent. You knew what he was saying from how his eyes were narrowing while he let out uneven, heavy breaths.

It didn’t take long for him to pull away in pure silence so he could dress up. Once finished, he crawls over to you and forces you to lay down on the mattress with his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you locked within his embrace. You feel his nose brush up against your nape, breathing in and familiarizing your addicting scent. “You smell divine..” The man murmurs from behind, his hand palming your stomach in a loving way. He feels the way you tense up from his touches and he hums, grinning from the feeling. “Relax… I won’t do anything yet.”

His ‘reassuring’ words only served to stiffen you up. Childe sighs before his grip tightens around you and wraps a leg around your pair. He decided to just stay silent, assuming you’ll get used to his presence around you soon enough. It’s not like you have a choice either way.

.

.

.

“Dear…” Childe murmurs longingly as he turns his body to face yours. He’s been tossing and turning all night during his sleep and he didn’t notice that until now. He opens his eyes tiredly with a sheepish smile as his arms wrap around the soft figure in front of him, “I’m so sorry about that… Did I wake you?” he asks, his tone tinged with a bit of guilt.

No response.

Childe purses his lips as he shakes his head and sits up, gripping what seems to be your shoulder and forcing you to look at him.

But it wasn’t you. It was just a pillow.

Upon his realization, he quickly got up and searched around the house for you. It’s not like you’ve gotten far, right? Not to the point you’re outside the cabin he’s trapping you in. All the doors were locked, windows closed shut so that your weak body couldn’t open it.

That is, until he noticed the front door lock on the floor. He wouldn't have seen your escape if it weren't for the gleaming metal flashing in the dark. As he slammed the front door wide, he noticed footsteps, footprints pointing towards the woodland that encircled the lodge. He grits his teeth before donning the dark, heavy coat that had been hanging nearby before stepping out to get you and take you back inside.

Even though everything was dark, he could see where he was going. Where you were going. It won't be long before he catches up with you. He realizes you didn't go very far. You're too lost in this forest and you'll end up back where you started(. There’s a reason why he set up this specific forest when trapping you). Do you really think you can escape him that easily? He chuckles to himself. It’s amusing. It’s good to have some determination, some hope at least, but it’s also good to be realistic. 

.

.

.

You ran and ran as fast as you could, away from the cabin in the woods, away from the creature within it. Your feet hurt severely. You’ve underestimated how harsh the winter of Snezhnaya is, how the breeze alone causes your whole body to turn numb from the cold. What’s worse was that you couldn’t stop moving no matter what. Even a single second counts, driving you closer to your escape.

You struggle to breathe after all that movement, causing you to stumble against a thick tree root. You pant, taking heavy breaths to regain your composure but you can’t really be calm in a situation like this, can you?

You stood up, dusting the snow off your clothes as you continued forward, trembling a bit from feeling the sudden warmth rising up your body. Fuck… This is gonna be the death of you..

You hear footsteps tapping behind you, approaching you slowly and surely. A howl can be heard from behind that was soon followed by a growl. You slowly turned your head in search of the source of the sound and quickly regretted it. The sight of the darkish Rifthounds glaring at you sent a shiver on your spine. They were quite far but it didn’t take awhile for them to start noticing your presence and preparing to teleport or sprint at you.

You saw the Rockfound Rifthound instantly turning its body, disappearing for a second before appearing right in front of you, about to swing its tail to attack you. You shriek out loud, your legs instinctively move to the opposite direction only for you to instantly get knocked forward when feeling the tail make contact with your back. Groaning, you attempt to get back up, ignoring the sights of the Whelps drawing nearer towards you.

You clenched your fist before grabbing a big enough rock and throwing it at the Rifthound that just attacked you to catch it off guard. Seeing it roar in pain and the Whelps looking towards their leader, you took this chance to escape from the creature's grasp.

Never have you felt this much adrenaline rushing through your vines. You felt so dead yet so alive right now…

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a static of Electro rotating over to you. The projectile makes an impact on your side, causing you to get pushed and injured in the process. You grunt gutturally, clutching your hip and left arm, hissing as the sting worsens the more contact it has with your hand and other solid things.

You look over to your side, spotting a Thundercraven Rifthound nearing you along with its accompaniment of Whelps. Your hands swiftly touch the ground swiftly, moving it in hope to find another rock but to no avail.

You were trying to think of a way to escape this but there was no way out. You were surrounded by the mobs, and they looked like they wouldn’t let you off the hook easily. You spot a current of Electro and what seems to be aiming at you. You pulled your arms to your face, blocking whatever was about to touch you.

You hiss at the feeling of the electrifying scratch on the small reveal of your skin and twitch when hearing the wail of the Rifthounds around you. Another guttural sound erupts not so far from where you sit, causing you to press your face deeper into your arms.

“Get up.” Someone spoke, their tone serious and authoritative.

It took about a few seconds to do exactly that. You spot that the Rifthounds were gone, only leaving parts of their body left behind. You knew you weren’t strong but it did surprise you that every single one of them was taken care of. “T-Thank you, mister–?”

“I said– Get Up.” His voice booms through you, causing your ear to ring a bit. You perk your head up with your eyes squinted, “Apologies… I–” A breath was taken away from your lungs upon feeling the man’s hand wrapped around your neck, dragging you from the ground up to the sky. The hand squeezes your throat tightly, making you swing your legs on instinct to kick whoever was holding you. “All under my mercy now, huh? What happened to your acts of disobedience? Did it all get thrown out the window once I teach you your lesson?” The man scoffs, harshly dropping you on the snowy ground and kicking you on your stomach, making you turn and tumble down into a group of bushes.

You hiss, the feeling of small pricks picking into your skin, causing small but nasty scars that leave you groaning. You couldn’t see, some even scratched near your eyes and for you not to get blinded by them, you squint your eyelids shut.

“Please– I’m sorry! Let me out!” You sob, trembling in fear, in the stinging pain of the pricks. “Oh, are you now?” The man walks towards the bush, tapping his foot as he watches you struggling. ”Do you mean it?” He plants his foot on top of the bush, slowly but surely deepening its form to strangle you more.

“Yes– I do! Agh–”

“Beg for your life if you mean it.” He deepens it once more. Even if you were under this confined space of a bush, you can spot the sadistic grin plastered on his face, clearly enjoying every second of your suffering. “P-please… I plead.. For mercy. Please.. I can’t br–eathe-hah!” You breathe heavily in between your words, the form of the bush only trapping you little by little. “Do you promise… Pinkie promise to not escape out of my grasp? To obey my every command, dearest?” You feel your hand being taken out of the bush and into the cold air outside. You whine, feeling the small pricks touch your skin in the process.

A pinkie awaits to intertwine with yours, “I’m waiting.” He reminds by delving his foot deeper, causing you to cry out in agony and wrapping your pinkie around his, “I promise! Please!”

“That’s my girl.” He jests in amusement as he pulls away, cracking his knuckles and stretching his body to dive in and carefully but surely pull you out of the spiky bush. He cringes a bit once spotting the small spikes in your skin. He sighed and decided to take care of them later since keeping you warm was his priority right now. Taking his jacket off and wrapping it around you, he made sure the pricks didn’t bother you on the way back to the cabin. He takes a look at the rose bush one last time before picking one of it up and placing it on the chest of his jacket.

He caresses the petals before his fingers meet your chin to tilt them up, “C’mon.. Rest. You’re gonna need it.” He hushes you quietly before forcefully closing your eyes.and pecking your forehead. You couldn’t soften up in his presence even if you wanted to but the way your body just betrays you, forcing you to go limp to gain rest it needs, it gave you no choice to stay awake even if you wanted to.

.

.

.

“You’re awake, I see..” A voice spoke from above. You twitch, turning your head to the source and furrowing your brows upon spotting the oh-so familiar, scarred and freckled face that was right in front of you. You attempt to push him away by nudging your knee against his abdomen but that was countered from a sharp pain coming from both your legs. “..Ahah–!” You let out a roar of discomfort. Chidle grins and jests upon seeing your face contort in displeasure, “You should think twice before doing that. I still haven’t fully catered your body yet.”

He pulls your leg lightly which is enough for your body to get dragged onto his lap. “Don’t move.” He commands, emphasizing it with a squeeze of your thigh.

You internally whimper when you feel him slowly but surely take the thorns out of your skin. “How cute.” he laughs softly, patting a wet, warm towel on the small open wound. “You’re doing great. Just as you should. Continue behaving for me, will you? It’s not like you’re going anywhere with these.” He plays around with the chains around your ankle that was connected to a wall. “It fits you well, don’t you think?” Childe murmurs lovingly, as if he’s admiring the work he’s done on you… Trapped, under his mercy, with no escape.

After finishing up the wounds on your left leg, he leans in close to your face, his hand cupping your waist to bring you closer to him, close enough to place a kiss on your forehead. “There we go… Such a behaved little thing.” Childe jests before standing up and dusting his pants. “Hopefully this will be enough for you. Sleep well, alright?” He pats and ruffles your hair, his hand sliding down to your cheek and caressing it. “Don’t try escaping me. Because next time, you won’t even get to be sleeping under this damnation.”

You tried to bite his palm because it was so close to your mouth, but he took his hand away and quickly brought it back to hit you, turning your head the other way as your cheek erupted in pain. His hand catches your chin and angles it violently in his direction as you hiss. He's grinning viciously, his eyes twitching with annoyance at your attempt to turn the tables on him again, “Still being a bitch? Thought you learnt your lesson… Maybe I should’ve left you to rot.” He snarled, gripping your chin tighter.

“Waste of fucking breath.” He pushes you against the wall and lets go of you, standing with a displeased expression and turning to take his leave as you groan in pain. You clenched your hands into a fist as you watched him climb up the stairs and reach for the door. Childe looks back, glancing upon you one more time before smiling in content to himself and shutting it, following with the sound of a key locking in.

You were now by yourself. But then again it was much better than having to be breathing the same air as the man who just hit you.

You side meets the dirty mattress under you as you hug your knees, seeing as he didn’t give you a blanket to keep yourself warm. You were unable to muffle down your silent sobs, clutching onto your own cheek as it continued to sting. You question… You wonder, why?

…Just why?

°

Ouch… Huh?

You groggily opened your eyes, the feeling of something biting your neck. A wet sensation was followed after and you instantaneously snapped out of your tired trance to grab whatever was in front of you. “Ah– Geez… Relax, will you? This mattress is dirty enough.. Wouldn’t want blood to stain it too..” Childe groaned, his hand groping your hip harshly to make you pause. He pulls his face away from your neck, wiping the saliva dripping from his mouth. “H-hey! Have you not had enough already?!” You screeched and tried to get him off of you but were unable to. “Shut it.” he scoffs, shutting your mouth by forcing his lips onto you.

He slips his hand underneath your shirt, touching every part he wishes. “You feel so divine.. I wonder how you’d feel around me, yeah?” He grins against your lips. His tongue intrudes into your wet cavern, drinking in your moans and muffled noises. The wet sounds of his mouth against yours, showing how desperate he is for your taste.

You whine, feeling Childe’s hand exiting your shirt to enter your shorts instead, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your clothed cunt. He sighs, pulling away from the kiss, admiring the string of saliva connecting your lips. Licking his lips, he brings his face close to you until you are nose-to-nose. 

“Wanna try that out with me, my dear?”

© wiltedivinity 2024. reposting, plagiarizing, translating, claiming authorship or any form of unauthorized use is strictly prohibited. legal action may be taken against violators.

[fatuismooches]

Angst time :3 💕

The Traveller takes down several Fatui resources to cripple them, specifically Dottore's channels since he is currently the biggest threat so far between the Eleven, he had presented himself as someone cunning and wouldn't stop for anything for his research. Rigid and unreasonable unless there is a bargaining chip.

The Traveller spares nothing. From the Traveller partnering up with Beidou to sink multiple Fatui vessels carrying materials. To going after the many, many Fatui stations in Sumeru with Dehya and Candace.

The Traveller did so in hopes of making Dottore more agreeable, he won't listen to anything unless control has been taken from him.

It works, but not in the way the Traveller had anticipated.

Dottore laid down arms not because of his experiments slowing down to a mere crawl, no - it's because his lover's condition has grown severe.

All those channels the Traveller had pruned? They had the materials needed to create the medicine his lover needed on a daily basis.

All those rare cultivated materials, gone. Either lost to sea or set ablaze. Ever since the cut-off, Prime himself and his segments have been scrambling to look for alternatives in Snezhnaya until they could get a hold of the proper materials.

But it is not enough, his lover his rapidly deteriorating and he could only stall it.

What has the Traveller done...? Unwittingly holding the Second Harbinger's heart hostage by chance. They can now make their demands, but - the Traveller is certain that Dottore will soon retaliate once this crisis is over.

The Doctor was not a man to mess with.

Well, any normal person wouldn't mess with any of the Harbingers in general, but it's no surprise that Il Dottore is especially on this list, taking into account his sheer strength, along with intelligence and cleverness that was hard to find elsewhere. The Traveler was no stranger to this, considering everything that went down in Sumeru as well as the numerous other deeds the Harbinger had done. Not to mention they remember how tough the Knave was, they couldn't fathom what Dottore was capable of. So although this isn't their usual course of action, they don't hold anything back. It's a lot of work, so much, to even cause a dent in the Harbinger's operations considering how many steps he is ahead of them. The blonde almost thinks it's all for nothing. Until it's not.

It is quite strange - one would think you would need to outwit Dottore with a superior mind, but instead, he falls due to his heart, something most people think is absent from the Harbinger. The Traveler had heard of you only a few times, all when they were eavesdropping on other agents. Every time they hear a whisper about the person called [Name], they believe it to be mere rumor and gossip, for it is that ridiculous. The Doctor having a lover? The Doctor having a partner he genuinely respected and loved? Who would ever believe that?

It's not until now the Traveler realizes it's no rumor. Childe is the one who ends up telling them, because there was no way Dottore would admit his weakness to them. From the Eleventh's expression and their heart, the blonde knows they've done something very, very, wrong. But how could they have known? How could they have known a man as cruel as the Doctor would care for another as well?

Regardless, the Traveler may be temporarily ahead, but anyone could guess that Dottore doesn't take any sort of aggression against you lightly in the slightest.

(You fluttering in and out of consciousness, waking up to blurry sights of a new segment every time. When they notice your blinking eyes, they simply place a hand over your eyes and a kiss on your forehead, motioning you to go to sleep once again so the pain is more bearable. You beckon for them to squeeze your hand tightly, so you know that both of you are still here. The only thing Dottore can promise is that he'll make it better soon. As soon as he deals with some pests.)

[blitzyn]

rookie mistake

dottore x m!reader

Request: Requests are open right? I hope so 🤞 Would I be able to ask for a sub!(male/amab)reader X dom!dottore? With some blackmail and coercion, preferably leaning towards dubious consent but I’m am a-ok with non-con elements, with a fatui/subordinate reader? If you could add in a small scene of him continuing while talking with someone outside the door that’s be awesome 😎 - Anonymous

Synopsis: You accidentally invade Dottore's office in search of intel.

a/n -> yall i know that i said i was on the fence about writing for genshin, but it was dottore and i love him plus i really liked this idea despite it having collected dust in my inbox for decades. whoever requested this: i love your mind and im so sorry it took me forever to decide to write this!! but just a reminder to whoever sees this, i will not be writing for fontaine unless stated otherwise!!

wc -> 3.6k

cw -> non-con, blackmail, coercion, blowjob, deepthroat, literally getting caught, spit as lube, anal fingering, anal sex, standing doggy position, fatuus/infiltrator reader, guys he calls you a rat because you're a spy, not beta read

Your job was straightforward. But it was also one of the most grueling missions you've ever been assigned to.

With your status as an elite spy, you were tasked with infiltrating the Fatui as one of their ranks to gather information regarding the locations and purposes of specific forts to prevent potential attacks and keep the organization from acquiring knowledge valuable to their cause.

There was absolutely no room for error, lest you get caught and pay for that mistake with your life.

Fortunately enough, the mask everyone was required to wear (with the exception of the Harbingers) concealed your identity, allowing you to execute your orders with relative ease. Of course, it wasn't completely simple. You had to fight your way up the ranks in order to even get a hint of the plan from your superiors, which took years to even get recognized for your efforts.

Several times have you had to go against your moral compass. Several times, you doubted your abilities and questioned if you were even making a dent in the Fatui's plans. Although, when you heard a faint argument due to a lack of resources, you knew you were on the right track.

But one day, you noticed that an agent's office door was left unlocked. There was no one in the hallways, and not a soul knew that you had stolen an important document that recorded data for some valuable supply that you didn't care enough to read about.

Making sure you tucked the paper deep inside your coat pocket, you strained your ears to ensure you were alone before taking the risk and entering the isolated office. It looked like your standard room. Boring, silent, and strangely barren of many decorations. You took a moment to inspect the area before deciding to take a step forward when your blood suddenly ran cold.

"I don't use this office very often," a voice said from behind you. You just about jumped out of your skin, swiveling your head to the person behind you. It took you a moment to put a face to the name you'd heard so many times before, but when you did, you quickly regretted your decision to search for any additional information. "But even so, don't you think it's rude to invade someone's personal space?"

You froze, unable to find the right words. Nothing could explain why you were currently snooping around in an office that wasn't yours—much, much less when it belonged to the Second of the Eleven Harbingers.

You inwardly cursed your naive eagerness to do more than you were asked. Your years of experience as a spy should've kept you from making such a rookie mistake, and now all your work was going down the drain.

The two of you stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, fighting the urge to fidget at the overwhelming feeling of his gaze on you, analyzing your appearance. He broke the silence with a hum, neither intrigued nor entirely disappointed.

"I have heard others spread rumors of a mole within our ranks but thought nothing more of their words as an excuse for their inability to secure our resources," Dottore mused, raising a hand to his chin. "I assume that the mole is you?"

You couldn't bring yourself to reply. Your throat was dry, and your stomach twisted into knots. Not that he cared.

"I must applaud your efforts," he said, a slight smirk decorating his pale face. "Not many people evade our eyes so easily, and for as long as you have."

"But, a word of advice—" He reached into his pocket, pulling out a familiar device. He presented it to you, watching in amusement when you suddenly patted yourself down before looking back up towards him. It was the device you used to contact your organization. "—Make sure you clean up after yourself. It's impolite to leave your items lying around."

You don't remember dropping it or forgetting it somewhere. But that didn't matter anymore. You were stuck in the present with no way of getting out of this situation.

He flipped the device over, dully inspecting it as he continued talking. "After going through your data log, it wasn't hard figuring out what you were going for next. While this normally wouldn't spark any interest in me, this resource just so happens to be vital in my current experiment, and I can't have you tampering with my results."

He walked forward, stopping just a few feet in front of you. He was close enough for you to inhale his scent of sterile rubbing alcohol and metal. It made your nose burn as you watched him intently, tensing and fighting the urge to back away out of fear of angering him somehow. The document in your pocket felt unusually heavy.

"Although, I didn't expect such a seasoned spy like yourself to make such an amateur move," he hummed, ignoring your need for personal space to pull your mask off. And you were helpless against it all. "[Name] [L.Name], is it? Why don't you read the paper you have right now?"

That's when you knew you fucked up big time.

With a shaky hand, you reached into your coat pocket to pull out the report, unfolding it only to realize that it wasn't a report at all. It was a blank piece of paper. But you could've sworn there was writing on it when you grabbed it earlier!

He could see the confusion on your face clear as day as a laugh left his lips, tapping a rolled-up piece of parchment on the tip of your nose to regain your attention. "I believe this is what you're after." With a flick of his wrist, he unfurled the paper that contained everything you needed.

"What—" you gasped, briefly staring at your paper before looking back up.

"It's a shame you didn't think to check the ink before you took it," he said, faux disappointment laced in his voice before it reverted back to its normal tone just as fast. "The ink 'disappears' when subjected to anything higher than room temperature. When you put it in your pocket, your body heat, coupled with the insulation from your coat, affected the writing and turned it invisible."

Fuck.

He planned this out.

You swallowed nervously, taking a deep inhale to steel your nerves, even when it didn't do much to help you. "How... how long have you known?" you couldn't help but ask.

"Not long, really," Dottore casually replied, as if he didn't hold your entire life in the palm of his hand. "I caught you just in time."

"Now," he said with a voice that demanded your attention. Not that he needed to try, anyway. His very presence was almost impossible to ignore. "I'm willing to offer you two options. One, I hand this device over to one of my lovely agents and have them torture you for answers then promptly dispose of you. Or, two—" He waved the communicator in the air, taunting you. "—I have you make it up to me."

It was obvious which one you'd be more tempted to accept, but you knew that accepting an offer such as this from Dottore, of all people, was not a good idea. He knows he has you right where he wants you.

"The second one. I... I'll make it up to you." The words tasted like acid as you forced them out, watching a pleased smirk rise on his face.

"Good," he muttered mostly to himself. Leisurely, he turned around and walked towards the door, shutting it before refocusing back on you.

"Get on your knees," he ordered, placing his hands behind his back as he waited for you to move. He observed silently as you obeyed, staring at the floor in shame. "Crawl to me."

He sighed impatiently upon seeing the conflicted and perplexed expression on your face. "You want to be a rat so badly, don't you? So get down and crawl to me like one."

You were given no choice but to comply despite the absurdity of his request. Hanging your head, you inched forward as the cold, wooden floors painfully dug into your knees, stopping once the sight of his boots came into view. You held back a flinch when you heard the fabric of his clothes rustle as he leaned down to lift your head up by your hair, forcing you to your knees.

Instantly, your eyes zeroed in on the prominent bulge in Dottore's pants, making you painfully aware of what he wanted you to do next. With a suspiciously gentle tug, he brought you slightly closer to him. You could tell he was getting impatient.

"Well?" He questioned, a frown gracing his features. "You don't need instructions. Go on."

You glanced up at him with blatant disgust in your eyes before raising your hands to undo his pants and reveal his semi-hard cock. You suppressed a grimace as you held it in your hand, steeling your nerves just enough to be able to lick a stripe down the side. Flattening your tongue, you moved back up to take the tip in your mouth, letting your saliva slip past the corners of your lips to lubricate the rest of his dick.

You half-assed it all, not bothering to take it all the way down or, at the very least, use your tongue. However, Dottore caught on quick enough with an annoyed sigh. You supposed you shouldn't have been surprised when he tangled his fingers into your hair and shoved you down, but you were caught off guard either way.

You were embarrassed to hear a loud gag sound from you, choking and sputtering on his cock whenever the tip of it slid down your throat. You dug your nails into his thighs when he suddenly shifted and pressed the sole of his boot onto your dick, letting out a muffled cry that only served to please him. He made no move to rub it against you, simply keeping it firmly on your crotch—to keep you in line, you assumed.

You squirmed, internally cringing at the feeling of your drool seeping out the corners of your lips. Fluttering your eyes shut, you tried to focus on your breathing. In and out, in and out, in and—

"Don't look away," he said, refusing to give you a moment of respite, shoving his cock all the way inside your mouth, harshly tugging on your hair at the same time. He fucked your face, ignoring your sounds of protest as he battered your throat. He laughed at your struggle, entertained with the way your tears gathered at your lash line.

"Awh, is this too much for you?" He taunted, shifting his hand to the back of your head to push you down to the base. He sighed contentedly at the feeling of your throat tightening and spasming around him, gently rocking his hips. "You should've thought that through before you accepted the job."

With a painful tug, he pulled you off of his cock. A trail of saliva connected you to him, which you quickly broke when you turned your head to cough into your elbow. He ordered you to get up, unwilling to wait a second before he hauled you up by your arm impatiently. He effortlessly moved your body, pressing your cheek against the wooden door as he pushed on your back, forcing it to arch.

Deeming your position acceptable, he tucked his fingers underneath the waistband of your pants to yank them down to your knees. Your breath hitched at the sudden change in temperature, refusing to lean back and seek any warmth from Dottore.

With one hand on your hip, the other strayed toward your ass, spreading it to inspect your hole. It took effort to keep yourself from fidgeting under his gaze, and you opened your mouth in a daring attempt to get him to hurry up when he suddenly spat on your hole, shoving two fingers inside soon after.

You let out a grunt, clawing at the door he had you lean against. It was an uncomfortably foreign sensation but you were in no position to struggle. A burning sensation emanated from your hole as his fingers forced their way inside, wasting no time to move in a scissoring motion. They brushed against a spot that sent sparks up your spine every so often, taunting you wordlessly.

"You're enjoying this," Dottore said, not as a question or comment, but as a statement. And the worst thing was, he was right. No matter how much your mind made you hate it, your body told a different tale.

You let out a displeased sigh, pressing your forehead against the cold door, not daring to make your words known. Not that he minded. He enjoyed forcing your reactions out of you just as much as having them given to him without a fight.

He made it known with a jab to your prostate, sending a shock up and down your spine so suddenly it nearly made your knees buckle. That was all he gave you before abruptly pulling away, leaving you uncomfortably empty until the quiet ptuh! sound of him spitting on his cock filled your ears.

Fuck. This was actually happening. And you had no way out.

In a last ditch effort to maintain your dignity, you tried to push yourself off of the door but was quickly pressed—borderline slammed—back down with a hand to the back of your neck.

"I don't think you'll enjoy the alternative," he said, the undertones of irritation and impatience evident in his voice. He squeezed the sides of your neck hard enough to ensure your compliance, nearly scowling when you shifted in place. "So be still and behave like a good little thing."

Without missing a beat, he lined the tip of his cock up against your slick asshole and pushed his way inside, forcing a strained cry from your throat. He made sure it hurt, purposefully moving slowly to make you feel every inch and vein.

You whimpered, trying to breathe and calm yourself down. The stretch fucking hurt and you instinctively shifted your hips forward in a futile attempt to ease the pain when Dottore held your hips to yank you back, shoving the last few inches inside you.

You let out a strangled groan, biting your lower lip to stifle your noises as searing pain tore through you. You breathed heavily through your nose, feeling the weight of disgust settle in your chest when you heard him sigh in satisfaction at how tight you were. You winced when he pulled out slowly, only for him to slam back inside with a loud slap.

You jolted, just about ramming your head against the door in surprise. You grit your teeth and pressed a hand against it as the wood audibly creaked and groaned under your weight when he began to move. You tensed upon hearing faint voices beyond the door, peering back over your shoulder in a pathetic attempt to get him to stop.

"W—Wait," you muttered, breath hitching. "There's someone outside...!"

"Then I suppose you're just going to have to be quiet," he replied with an upward quirk to his lips before angling himself in a way that made his cock press up against you just right. You were disgusted to feel heat beginning to pool in your gut, forcing moans past your lips no matter how hard you tried to stop them. You covered your mouth with a hand as you listened to the noises approach. Dottore was (somewhat) merciful enough to press his pelvis against your ass, though that didn't stop him from rocking his hips to cruelly grind his cock into your prostate.

"Dottore?" It took you a moment to process the voice as electricity shot up and down your spine, trying your damn best to stifle your whimpers. "Are you in there?"

It's Pantalone, you recognize.

"Yes. Is there something you need from me?" Dottore replied, shifting his hold on you to start shallowly thrusting. You squeezed your eyes shut, listening to the painfully loud squelching.

"Not at the moment. I thought I heard something... else," Pantalone hummed with a knowing tone, sending a wave of mortification through your body.

"Then if that is all, I'd prefer it if you left," Dottore said, his amusement clear as day in his voice. He didn't even try to hide it as he gave you a punishing thrust, the resounding slap mixing in with your moan as it echoed off the walls. "I'm busy."

A laugh came from behind the door. "Very well. I'll leave you to it."

Dottore refused to wait for him to leave when he started again, this time fucking you so hard you were convinced there'd be a bruise. His fingers dug into your skin, yanking you back in time with his thrusts.

Your legs shook and you bit your lip until you bled, but it hardly did a thing to silence you.

"Look at you," Dottore mused, reaching around to hold your aching cock in his hand. He gave it a squeeze before jerking off the top half, focusing on the tip. "You were never meant to be a spy. You'd be so much better off as my little pet, wouldn't you agree?"

You let out a loud moan, instinctively looking down. You didn't even realize you were so hard, but as you watched the head of your cock drool precum onto the ground, everything felt twice as intense.

"N—No!" You choked out, clawing desperately at the creaking door. "I'll never—I'll never be your pet!"

"No?" Dottore laughed, sounding so unbothered it sent a spike of fear through you, reminding you of just how fucked you were. Swiftly, he swiped his fingers over the tip of your cock before bringing his hand up to push them into your mouth, making you taste your precum. With the palm of his hand, he pressed it against your chin to force your head back.

You let out a groan, feeling the strain on your upper back and neck as you stared at him with fear and disgust.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice," he reminded, pulling out the communicator with his other hand. He slightly shook it, taunting you. "Don't you remember that actions have consequences?"

He pocketed the device as he slid his hand away from your mouth to bring it to the back of your neck, holding it tightly as he harshly pressed you against the cold wood. The side of your face ached, but, much to your horror, the pain only went straight to your cock.

"So just stand there and enjoy it," he said with a groan, his dick pulsing rhythmically as he savored the sensation of your walls clamping tightly around him. "Don't fight how much you like this."

"I don-" Just then, he rammed his cock into your prostate over and over, reducing you into a babbling mess that only proved his point.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, ashamed that you loved the feeling of him so deep inside you, but you hated that it was him fucking you. You could feel the heat in your stomach intensify with each harsh thrust, feel the way your balls tightened in a way you knew you couldn't stop.

"Please..." you whimpered, weak against the wet slapping sounds that filled the office. "I don't want to...!"

You came with a whorish moan, arching your back as your cock spilled cum onto the floor. You could hear the sound of Dottore's laugh through the haze of your orgasm as sparks coursed through your veins, knees nearly buckling.

"Yes you do," he groaned, voice slightly strained. You could faintly hear his labored breathing the closer he got to his own orgasm, noticing the way his movements grew sloppier and weaker. He reached around again, jerking you off despite the lurking overstimulation.

You tightened, sending him right over the edge as he slammed his cock inside you a final time, pressing himself flush against your ass as he came. It was uncomfortably warm as he throbbed in time with each spurt, savoring the way you practically tried to milk him dry.

But he didn't let it last long as he pulled out with a satisfied sigh, enjoying the sight of you, shaky and vulnerable, before him. He graciously gave you a moment before commanding you to fix yourself, stepping back to adjust his own appearance.

"Now," he said, sternly, like he didn't just fuck you within a damn inch of your life. "Why don't you send a message to your organization stating that you're not going back."

He handed you the communicator with a smug smirk, relishing in your distress. Taking in a deep breath to steel your nerves, you accepted the device, reluctantly typing in a message before returning it back to him with regret written on your face.

"Oh, don't look so upset," he pouted, pocketing the device. You weren't sure when you'd see it again. "It'll be easier for you if you cooperate."

He made his way past you, opening the door, sending shivers down your spine at the sudden chill. "But right now, you have a lot of work to do."

cross-posted on ao3

[dreamingcloudie]

❛❛ You Did Well ❜❜

Pairing(s): Dottore x GN!Reader

Type: Comfort Fluff(?)

Warning(s): human experimentation, not proofread

wc: ~1.4k

A request by one of the readers! It's been so long I don't know what I'm doing. I feel like I've gotten off track with this one... but I hope you'll like this anyways! The first fic I've written in months. Enjoy! :)

After years of working like a maniac. Earning achievements after achievements. Rivaling all the other people that could only hope to get to where you were today. You finally landed yourself a job at the organization created by none other than the beloved Cryo archon herself—the Fatui. And it was not just any job positions. You got to become the assistant of one of the eleven harbingers—The Doctor, second of the Fatui Harbingers. A very impressive title indeed.

You’ve heard people there were ruthless. It didn’t help that being in such a high ranking yourself, newbie or not, there were high expectations that needed to be met. And whatever it was, you hoped you were ready.

Oh god, oh no. You panicked. It was the first day of work and you were almost late. You arrived in front of the office just in time as you panted. You tried to fix your disheveled hair to make you look like you did not just run all the way over here. To your dismay, someone opened the door before you could make yourself look presentable.

You gulped and looked up.

“Hello, sir,” you greeted, praying he didn’t hear the slight shakiness in your voice.

He was wearing a mask, but you could feel his gaze scanning you up and down.

“Hmph,” he then walked out before continuing, “You are the new assistant, aren’t you? Wait for me inside.”

He was already halfway down the hall when you scurried inside. You could feel your face burning in embarrassment.

Great. You thought. First day and I’m already making a fool of myself.

A few minutes later, he came back in, holding a stack of papers in his hand. He placed them down onto a tidied desk with a sign saying “(Y/n)” on it.

“Usually, I’d go straight into lab work with the assistants on their first day.” He spoke, leaning onto the desk. “But, I decided to try something new today. All of my previous assistants quitted in less than a week, due to them not being able to handle the pressure.”

He continued, “I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you start off with something easy by doing paperwork. If you did well, good for you. If not, I’ll fire you on the spot so you wouldn’t waste my time.”

As expected, The Doctor certainly has high demands. You glanced at the amount of paperwork that needed to be done on your desk. You’ve stayed up countless times to complete your thesis before, this was nothing you couldn’t handle. With this newfound confidence, you firmly nodded your head.

“Understood. I’ll get to them right away.”

From his stance, he seemed to be satisfied with your answer.

“When you’re done with them, just leave them on my desk. If you have any questions, don’t bother asking me. Just solve them yourself,” he said, before entering the other section of the office that leads to the lab.

You took a seat at your desk and picked up a pen.

Well then, time to get some work done.

= = =

For the first week, work wasn’t so bad. Most of the time it was just tons and tons of paperwork. It got boring after a while, but at least you were able to get them done on time. Earning yourself a pleased hum from The Doctor each time you handed them in.

So far, so good.

“The paperwork for today is done, sir,” you said, placing the papers down onto his desk.

He nodded. “As efficient as always. I think you’re ready.”

You were puzzled by what he meant. You wanted to ask but didn’t want to bother him. So you just left, hoping whatever he was implying wasn’t anything bad.

= = =

The next day came and you were up and early, waiting for him at your desk. He entered the office not too long after, but something was different, he wasn’t holding a stack of paper like he normally was. Instead, it was a lab coat.

“Judging by your work these past few days, I’ve decided that you’re ready for something a little more… exciting.” He then threw the lab coat at you, for you to clumsily catch it.

“Follow me.” Was all he said before opening the doors to the lab. You quickly put your coat on before following closely behind.

The first thing you noticed was the pungent, iron-like scent, your nose picked up on in the air. It made your stomach twist and turn. The Doctor’s frame was taller than yours, blocking your view of the center of the room.

“This, as you may have already guessed by the interior, is the lab. And today, we’re going to do some testing with the new liquid I concocted on a volunteering subject.” He then moved away from your view. And what you saw in front of you made your skin crawl.

The Doctor put some gloves on and went over to the person, who was very much alive, strapped down to the operation table with multiple wounds apparent on his body.

“Come,” he simply said, gesturing you to go over to where he was standing.

You could feel your legs wobbling as you walked to him. Your steps were hesitant and your eyes were on the person with a gag in his mouth, muffling his pained pleas. You then felt something in your hand. You looked at what The Doctor gave to you—a syringe filled with some glowing liquid.

The Doctor took some disinfectant wipes and applied it onto the subject’s arm, preparing for an injection.

You could feel cold sweat forming on your palms. You knew experiments would get involved taking up this job. But you were not expecting to have a human test subject. One that was still living and breathing.

This… this isn’t right. Your mind screamed.

The Doctor took a step backwards, giving you some space.

“Go on. Let’s see how you’d do. I’ve read in your resume that you’ve handled syringes and injections before. So this should be a piece of cake for you,” he spoke, eagerly watching your every move.

Should I just call it quit? You asked yourself. Finding it difficult to choose in this dilemma of yours. It took you years of hard work to get here. Should you really quit just because you were simply uncomfortable?

Come on. I’m the assistant of one of the most powerful harbingers. It would be shameful of me to back down just because… You argued. You could feel your heartbeat pulsing violently throughout your body as you raised your hands. The tip of the syringe stopped just inches before the man’s arm.

You could feel it. The Doctor was getting impatient by the second. You could hear the sound of his shoe tapping against the concrete floor, “Well?”

This felt wrong, very wrong. But you had no choice, if you wished to keep this job of yours. You mouthed a “sorry” to the squirming man, before pushing the syrinige into his flesh, closing your eyes and injecting the unknown substance into his body.

“Bravo, took you long enough.” The Doctor said.

“Wasn’t so hard now, was it… hm?” He grabbed your chin and turned your head to face him. You were wondering why he did that until he brushed his thumb across your cheek.

“It seems like you are in distress.”

You touched your cheek slightly and it felt wet.

Well, okay. This is embarrassing. Crying in front of a harbinger. He’s going to fire me now because I’m crying over such a small task.

“I take it this was your first time experimenting on a live human being?” He asked, in which you answered with a nod.

“I figured.”

“I-I apologize for my incompetence, sir! I’ll do better next time and—”

“I didn’t ask you to explain yourself. It was a yes-or-no question,” he said.

“I was expecting you to quit when I saw you trembling. But my, oh my. You did so well.” He carried on, “I must say, you did so much better than my previous assistants. Yes, what we’re doing might be considered morally grey in the eyes of others. But keep in mind, this is all done for a better understanding of science; and of course, to fulfill her majesty’s dreams, in the grand scheme of things.”

He then gave you a little pat on the head.

“So you needn’t regret what you’ve done. All you need to know is that you did a great job. And I must say… you might be my favourite assistant, so far.”

He wiped your tears.

“Do me a favor, and don’t dwell on what happened today, because there would be more of this to come. And soon, you’ll get used to this, understand?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Upon hearing your response, you could see a grin forming on his face.

“What a good little assistant you are.”

[ticklystuff]

Party of 5 for 2

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZHONGLI I LOVE YOU SO MUCH BUT WHY DOES YOUR BIRTHDAY HAVE TO BE DURING THE BUSIEST TIME OF THE YEAR

summary: zhongli just wants ajax for his birthday

———

"Xiansheng, please!"

"I don't see the problem. I'm happy to just have you."

"NO!"

He couldn't resist the chuckle as the scowl on Ajax's freckled face grew more distraught, frustrated as Zhongli continued to tease him along. "It's simply because I've lived a long life by now, Ajax," Zhongli explained amusedly, though this did nothing to temper the other's reactions. "At this point, there's nothing I'd be happier to have for my birthday than my lov-"

"No- No! Stop saying that!" Ajax huffed, interrupting Zhongli yet again, his body fidgeting impatiently from where it straddled Zhongli's waist on the shared mattress. "It doesn't work like that, Xiansheng!"

"Why not?"

"It just- It just doesn't, okay?" Ajax's cheeks puffed, face flustered in a way that Zhongli has never experienced before. "You can't just- I mean, that doesn't even make sense as a birthday present."

"It does to me, though?" Zhongli tilted his head against the pillow, feigning ignorance to keep himself entertained, but there was some truth to his words. Six thousand years was enough for any man to collect any gift under the sun, after all.

But new experiences with someone new... now that was novel and exciting.

"No.." There was the sound of a groan as Ajax placed his hands to his face frustratedly, before sweeping them upwards to brush his bangs back, meeting Zhongli's gaze with determination. "I want to get you something," his finger landed pointedly on Zhongli's chest. "Maybe like a tea set, or something. Anything. It's only fair."

Zhongli paused, before smiling. "I would like my lover, Ajax."

"Ugh, no! How about a fancy party?"

"A fancy party.. for just the two of us perhaps." Zhongli laughed as Ajax inhaled frustratedly, balling his fists in the air.

"Stubborn old man," he muttered with dramatic exhale. "Okay, fine, fine, I'll give what you want, but you should know there are.. many sides to me."

"Oh? Do tell."

"Well first, there's me, Ajax!" he held up one finger before pointing to himself, eyes squinting with the biggest grin. "Cutest boy to ever grace Snezhnaya, of course."

"Mmmm," Zhongli nodded, processing his thoughts. "In the present, yes, but I have lived over six thousand years by now and have had the pleasure to meet.. many people. Don't you think that before meeting you, it's possible I might have met someone else that is, hmmm, even cu-"

"Zhongli, don't."

"Alright."

"Second," Ajax held up two fingers this time, "there's Childe, also me! The handsome and irresistibly charming Snezhnayan diplomat that everyone falls head over heels for instantly, even the geo archon himself!"

That never happened, but Zhongli nodded along anyway.

"And third," Ajax held up three fingers, "there's Tartaglia, another me! Strongest weapon of the Tsaritsa and number eleven of the Fatui Harbingers, feared by all on the battlefield!"

Strongest harbinger, yet only number eleven? "Very impressive," Zhongli's voice betrayed his own thoughts.

"Thanks!" Childe beamed proudly, before getting back to business. "And do you know what's the fourth?"

Zhongli blinked, thrown off by the fact there was more. "You need four names?"

"Xiansheng, that's the not point," Ajax rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, "but c'mon, aren't you curious who the fourth might be?"

"Errr.." Zhongli was sure the cogs were visibly turning his head, perplexed by this new reveal of information. Had he potentially missed something during their usual chats..? No, no, six thousand years is more than enough to time to learn yourself well and Zhongli was absolutely sure such an important detail would not simply fly by him so easily. A fourth name..

"I can give you a hint, if you'd like."

And had Zhongli been his warier self, he would've caught the little glint present in Ajax's eyes, yet the older man found himself so caught up in learning this new layer potentially unknown to him that his earnest interest proved to be his downfall, Zhongli's own eyes finally widening in realization once finger taps drummed along his sides.

Zhongli already knew this side of Ajax.. too well.

"W-Wait, a-ahahahaha!"

"Have you figured it out, Xiansheng?" Childe's eyes never left Zhongli's, even while speaking, observing as Zhongli's expression morphed from shock to that of a giggly fit.

"Y-Yehehes! Y-You dohon't need to do thihihis!" Zhongli managed between snorts, crumbling in only a few seconds. His hands pushed frantically at Ajax's own, but Zhongli was fighting a war lost many times before, the usual tactics employed against him. Just as one hand would tease his stomach, the other would poke at his rib cage, followed by a gentle squeeze to his side, sequenced one after the other to draw out the little squeals of laughter both have grown familiar with.

"No, no, Xiansheng," Childe chided him, expertly pressing his thumbs into the underside of his ribs to apply just the right amount of pressure for breathy wheezes, "you wanted me for you birthday.. and the tickle monster is also me."

The tickle monster — the one being that never failed to bring a smile to Zhongli's face, even on the most stressful of days, always there to brighten both their days in the simplest of ways.

Zhongli really should have just gone with the tea set.

[eepyuii]

frostbite — pt. 4

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn-ish

cw ; brief mentions of drowning, fighting (?)

note ; i’m ngl i’m kinda proud of this chapter, i may have done the smidgenmost cooking. also i will be making a masterlist soon!!

previous | next | masterlist

liyue harbor looked its prettiest at night.

the lantern lights made the city’s colors pop out so much more. from afar, the harbor looked like it’s own galaxy of yellow stars or like a celestial being as lively as its nightlife. this isn’t even the first time you’ve thought this- zapolyarny palace also seemed infinitely more majestic when the lights turned on during the evening. it almost made you enjoy working late shifts.

almost.

unfortunately, aesthetics can’t sugarcoat the things the fatui has done and that you’ve been a witness to. the mass production of delusions, the robbery of gnoses and let’s not even get started on the things the doctor has done. even with eleven harbingers, who all have their fair share of unorthodox acts, don’t seem to rival the blasphemies your very boss has committed. blasphemies you’ve only watched, sitting neatly and keeping your mouth shut, and done nothing about. you’re only undeservingly grateful you weren’t present for the majority of his atrocities. but then again, who even were you to keep count of divine punishments you would never provide to the sinners who warranted them?

plus, now wasn’t the time to dwell on entirely so much.

if you stood lifelessly in the middle of the street for any longer, someone might get suspicious. you choose to head towards the coastal side of the harbor, merely observing the crowds walk back and forth between the street businesses. a few steps further and you reach a small street food restaurant- wanmin restaurant. the line of customers is concerningly big for such a time of day, you shiver to imagine what it’s like during lunch time.

the large, open window of the restaurant shows an older man attending to the customers with utmost friendliness and behind him, a younger blue-haired girl hurries from side to side as she rushes to ready the dishes. you see her look down and speak as if talking to someone incredibly short, so short that they’re entirely covered by the half wall of the window.

you furrow your eyebrows, confused by the sight- that is until the girl turns to you and panic invades her expression.

“guoba, wait! watch out for-“

before she finishes her sentence, you feel a faint thump against your leg. you look down to see… what in all honesty just looked like a teddy bear- except it seemed entirely alive and currently knocked over on the ground, paw wiping its little forehead as if it got hurt on the crash with your calf. next to it was also a small bag of mora, spilling over onto the sidewalk.

you hurry to gather up the coins and put them back in the bag before any slimy passerby could snatch them away while the girl steps over to help up the teddy bear.

“agh… i shouldn’t have sent you out to get groceries in such a hurry and you also need to watch where you go better!” she reprimands the creature, patting it down to smooth away any dirt.

“a-and i’m so very sorry! we’re overflowing with customers today and we were running out of oil so i thought i’d have guoba run to mr. dongsheng’s shop but i guess the pressure got him distracted…” she bows apologetically and the bear follows suit.

chuckling sheepishly, you wave the gesture off. “please, there’s no need for all that… it was just an accident after all.” you look down at the bag of mora in your hand.

“say, why don’t i go buy that oil for you? i’m not busy at the moment and you and… guoba clearly need all your attention on the food.”

her eyes light up as if the second coming of rex lapis has just occurred before her. “you’d do that? oh, that would be amazing! thank you so much…” she trails off as if waiting for you to say your name.

“y/n.”

“y/n! thank you so much, y/n. i’m xiangling, by the way!”

the shop just around the corner from the restaurant and you dutifully wait in line to be attended by mr. dongsheng. you’re almost getting lost in thought until you hear an exclamation from nearby.

“x-xingqiu wait up!” what sounded like a young boy huffed out, sprinting from nearby. you turn to see exactly a young light-blue haired boy in white clothes rushing to catch up with another boy with darker blue hair in elegant navy garbs who was already waiting for him at the bridge to the outskirts of town.

“come on, you slowpoke!” the other boy giggles and as his friend is finally beside him, he abruptly grabs his wrist and pulls him along to run once more.

the display is so genuine and lighthearted that it even makes you chuckle fondly, makes you nostalgic for a simpler time.

you buy the oil and swiftly head back to wanmin restaurant, where xiangling is practically weeping with gratitude. “oh thank you, thank you, thank you! you’re a real lifesaver, please let me repay you- a whole evening of dishes on the house with whatever guests you’d like!” she bows once more.

“don’t sweat it… but i’ll hold you to that.” you nod amusedly and make your way out to leave xiangling and guoba to their arduous cooking.

your aimless wandering through the harbor takes you to the eastern side next, to the passageway between the pool of lotuses that leads to bubu pharmacy. you lean against the railing, watching intently as the fish swim aimlessly through the calm waters- then you turn to watch the people crossing the passageway, couples, families, childhood friends all enjoying the comfortable mundaneness of life.

turning even further, you spot a small girl sitting at the top of the staircase that leads to bubu pharmacy, you’ve seen her before behind the counter of the establishment… qiqi, was it? she sits at the edge of the elevated structure, facing the piers of the harbor as she watches with droopy eyes and what seemed to be a glass of milk in her hands.

the sleepiness in her expression reminds you of how late into the night it must be, urging you to head back to your quarters and get whatever sleep you can.

on your way up the stairs of the catwalks, you pass by heyu tea house, where an opera is taking place. the singer is a young girl, adorning traditional liyuean opera garbs that flow gracefully with the elegant twists and turns of the dance she performs. not to mention her unparalleled singing accompanied by the smooth sounds of a liyuean instrument, a guqin as you recall it- her voice so mesmerizing it nearly pulls all of the attention away from the heart wrenching tale it tells.

you’d heard stories about liyuean opera and how entirely different it was from the snezhnayan iterations, but none of the descriptions truly made justice to the fantastical spectacle you stumbled upon by luck. once again, you almost forget you were supposed to head to your dorm and rest.

unfortunately, rest is not for you.

you lay in your bed, eyes wide awake and fixated at the decorated ceiling as you recall all that you saw this evening. the liveliness of the common folk, xiangling and guoba, the two boys, the young girl from the pharmacy delighting in something as simple as a glass of milk, the opera performance. it’s all so human, so natural, simple, meaningful and so entirely precious. you’d made an enjoyable evening stroll just out of watching people… be people.

and you were going to drown it all in just a few days.

well, not as much you as childe was going to. but you didn’t do anything to counter it, not a peep of disagreement, not an act of defiance, not even an idea of an alternate solution. all because of some goddamn chess piece for the tsaritsa’s stupid plan. a pang of forced guilt hits your heart- you’d be surely decapitated in the town square for saying such things about her grace, or thinking rather. but that’s not how you feel, you’d care less about not criticizing an archon if they were truly being stupid.

but that’s how childe feels.

he reveres the tsaritsa blindly more than anyone you know. you needed to speak to him, first thing tomorrow.

surely he wouldn’t mind pulling out of his ingenious, but foolishly dangerous, plan just for you?

—

they say early bird gets the worm yet here you remain, up at the ass crack of dawn with no worm to speak of. if you were slightly less exhausted at the moment, you would’ve caught onto ekaterina’s look of sheer pity towards you.

“good morning, sergeant! how may i help you?” she greets politely.

“mmh.. yes, morning…” you mumble back, pinching the bridge of your nose. “would you know where childe is right now?”

“i believe childe is currently exercising outside of the harbor. would you like to leave a message for him?”

“no no- no need, i’ll just go to him myself. where exactly outside of town is he?”

“childe usually likes to train up in the mountains behind yujing terrace, he took a few officers to train alongside him so it won’t be difficult to spot the group.” you nod and mutter a curt ‘thank you’ to her. your feet feel like they’ve got pure geo constructs tied to them but you manage to make it to the door of northland bank- though before you get to make your way out, you hear ekaterina call out to you.

“i would advise you to bring a weapon, sergeant! knowing how stubborn childe is.”

chuckling at the indirect jab toward childe that she delivers, you only materialize your polearm with the power of your vision, the only instance you’ll ever use it.

“don’t i know it.”

sometimes you wonder if childe is even human- the mere climb to the mountains behind yujing terrace was enough exercise to last you a week or so. once you settled upon the mountain top, heaving as if death were at your doorstep, you take in your surroundings to spot a small group of men in the distance, gathered in a circle that and facing away from you. a few more minutes of walking reveal that they are in fact clad in fatui uniform and the sound of grunts, thuds and the ever despair-inducing sound of the eleventh harbinger’s maniacal laughter.

you join the circle silently, eyes sharp and cold, to watch as childe effortlessly topples over a low-rank officer. a little more observation would show that this poor man wasn’t the first one to receive such treatment, as all the other men look over with sheer horror in their eyes and dirt clinging to their uniforms- all while childe’s clothes remain spotless and neat. said terrified men notice your sudden presence and scurry to salute you properly with trembling arms while you merely gesture for them to be at ease.

“so! who would like to go next?” the harbinger calls out obliviously only to be met with shameful silence. he scans the whole circle like a bloodthirsty predator, though once he finally turns around to see you there, his eyes seem to gain a different light. if they can even attain any.

“y/n! to what do we owe the pleasure to have you here?” he laughs, raising a hand to gesture to you while facing the other officers. “gentlemen, sergeant y/n of the medical division.”

the officers almost immediately salute you once more and you sigh. “please, at ease.”

“truly impeccable timing, doc! i’ve just sparred one-on-one with each one of these officers to teach them a thing or two about combat. though… i might’ve gone a little too hard, plus they might learn better through observing rather than getting shoved around one by one. so why don’t the two of us spar?”

you put up a hand to stop him. “yeah yeah, unfortunately i’m not here to rumble. i’ve got something i’d like to discuss with y-“

“aw, come on! this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for these gentlemen!” childe whines.

“i really would rather not, it’s a bit of an important matter that i want to sort out-“

“it’ll be quick! just one round.”

“i didn’t sleep well last night plus-“

“then a spar is just the way to get the blood pumping!”

“can we please just talk for a few minutes and then you can go back to-“

slash.

where you expected to receive another interruption from childe was instead the sharp tip of a hydro blade right beside your head, narrowingly missing you by a hair. the officers gasp dramatically, while you practically stab childe with the incredulous glare you throw him. even worse, the asshole only smirks playfully as if it was just a playground game.

being on the other side of his blade is famously not unfamiliar to you.

you summon your polearm without thinking and swing it angrily from right to left, hoping only to get the hydro sword away from you. childe does exactly as you predict and steps back expertly to dodge your spear, bearing the widest grin. what ensues next is a tiring back and forth between the two of you- childe hits, you hit back to defend yourself, childe hits back harder. the men watch intently as if watching the most intense play of their lives. it’s probably after a good eight minutes of fighting that your arms start growing weary from how tightly you’re holding onto your weapon and your legs get even sorer than they were from how much you climbed. this is getting stupid.

you put all your focus into finding an opening in childe’s strikes to overtake him, finding it within his next attack, where he switches his grip on the twin blades so the sharp sides face outward and he brings his arms together to create momentum for a double-sided swing that covers the entire of his front. in the millisecond that his hands are next to each other, you send a wave of frigid air that freezes the entirety of his swords and bites at his fingers in a way that makes him hiss and drop the weapons on instinct.

as the icy blades collide with the ground, they shatter into a million glittering shards. childe looks down, half-shocked half-amused at the display and laughs once more. he continues to stare at the ground, any trace of his swords is entirely gone- though it’s no matter, as hydro is already swirling down his wrists as he prepares a new set.

“hah… the fun finally begi-“

before he can finish his taunt, you’re tackling him onto the ground, taking advantage of his distraction. you kneel with one knee up, the other is latched firmly beside childe’s torso, and press your polearm firmly across his arms as to restrain him. the fatui officers are practically losing their minds at this point.

“enough.” you huff out with a snarl, chest heaving up and down violently.

childe is finally, truly at a loss for words. he looks up at you as if you’re the most divine being he’s ever seen and the halo of sunlight that forms around you really doesn’t help. though, you only interpret it as him simply being so surprised that someone finally beat him. after a few seconds of remaining in the position, you take it childe has surrendered and stand up and away from him.

you dust off your clothes and utter without looking up. “leave. all of you.” the men sprint out of the scene like startled rabbits.

“now can we talk?”

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap

[hroscek]

🛒Dottore shopping headcanons🧾

"Wouldn't it be funny if Dottore went to a grocery store?" - me 2 minutes before I started writing this

Another incredibly silly concept from me, your humble Dottore content deliverer. Not really an AU, but definitely taking massive liberties when it comes to stretching canon. Probably quite ooc as well.

Warnings: mention of death

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Dottore hadn't gone shopping in ages, not since he joined the Fatui. He never liked people and their mundane activities, preferring to stay inside working on his latest project. Groceries and food preparation had been delegated to his staff and the occasional segment as a punishment so he never really saw a need to even think about it.

That changed when he was sent on a covert mission to a wealthy mansion in Fontaine. His job was to infiltrate the household of a prominent scholar who posed a risk of uncovering the operation in Sumeru. The best way to do so was under the guise of being part of the staff. When he was satisfied his appearance was adequately concealed Dottore signed up for the only position that was available in such short notice: the kitchen inventory assistant.

As his new manager explained his job would be to handle the shopping and delivering of ingredients needed by the cooks. In his endless confidence Dottore almost burst out laughing when he heard his duties. "A delivery boy? Me? The 2nd of the eleven Fatui harbingers? This will be too easy" he thought to himself. Oh how wrong he was.

On his first day he set out for the local market with a shopping list in hand, his mind preoccupied with plans of ending his employer. His contemplation was cut short by the sheer loudness of the crowded market. Children wailed for their parents to buy them sweets, merchants bargained over every last coin and groups of people engaged in lively conversation. Any other extrovert person would find the scene quite endearing, a truly fine display of the friendly culture of Fontaine. But this is Dottore we're talking about so his hatred grew every second he was forced to be there.

The first item on his list was fish for the main course of lunch. He gathered whatever patience was left and walked to the first fish stall. Seeing the glossy eyes of the fish in their dozens unnerved him, despite the centuries spent working with cadavers. He was about to point to a fish he deemed adequate when an older lady kindly pointed out it's eyes had gone cloudy (how he managed to find the only week old fish in a city surrounded by water is anyone's guess). He awkwardly thanked her and left in a hurry without buying a fish. He's sure the cooks will figure something out.

Next he headed for the vegetable stand to look for tomatoes. Without bothering to check for quality he started loading the bag as quickly as he could, hoping to get it over with as soon as he could. The seller, clocking the poor guy as a newbie quoted nearly triple the fair price and Dottore paid without questioning or even thinking to haggle (it's a tomato, how much could it cost? 500 mora?)

Almost done with the grocery run (and his patience) Dottore scanned the flower stands looking for Marcottes. He circled the market around 3 times before a amused shopkeep asked what he was looking for. "ᴹᵃʳᶜᵒᵗᵗᵉˢ." he answered, hoping that the earth beneath him sunk and got him out of this hellish situation (awkward social interaction). The seller giggled "Sorry, no one's selling marcottes this week. There's a supply chain issue with the florists on strike, haven't you heard?" Dottore turned and nearly ran in the other direction without a second word, completely forgetting the mint he was also supposed to buy.

Utterly humiliated Dottore decided to ditch any plans of infiltrating quietly and stormed to the manor, killing the scholar and his family. He'll let someone else figure out the coverup. And so he returned to his dim laboratory, vowing never to go shopping again.

Pantalone still makes fun of him for the tomatoes to this day.

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Thanks for reading! Sorry for the lack of posts today, I'm working on a longer fanfiction so I haven't been able to focus on these shorter posts. Will try and finish it within the next day or so, but in the meanwhile enjoy whatever this is. Also you if you figure out what the dish he was shopping for was I'll write whatever topic of headcanon you want, just comment or send a message.

[genshinincorrectquotes]

[Dottore is laughing]

Tartaglia: He’s gonna join us at some point?

Scaramouche: Not as long as the Wi-Fi here works. Give him a Ziploc full of Cheerios and a juice box, he’s a happy three-year-old.

Dottore: Damn it.

Tartaglia: What?

Dottore: Pierro’s calling during my Game of Thrones binge.

Tartaglia: You’re laughing out loud at Game of Thrones?

Dottore: Yeah, reminds me of high school.

[astravv]

ꜱᴋɪʀᴍɪꜱʜᴇʀ — ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

✰ — 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ▸ hi i really like dottore also don’t come at me if the time line is wrong bc i’m making it a two month difference between inazuma archon quests and sumeru ones. but i did try to look and see a timeline of this but i got super lazy. if someone in the comments does want to let me know how much time it is supposed to be between inazuma and sumeru bc i am genuinely curious.

✰ — 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 ▸ sexual content , eating out , fingering , cursing

✰ — 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬) ▸ dottore x f! reader

✰ — 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ▸ you were the tsarita’s assistant, her right hand woman, whatever you’d like to call it. you and her had a bond since she took you in from the house of the hearth. when scaramouch rebelled against the divine, you became the next number six of the eleven fatui harbingers.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔫𝔢

two months before รςคгค๓๏ยςђє removed himself from irminsul

you enter the jester’s office, with a wide smile upon your face. you head over to the jester’s desk and stand right in front of him. since the jester is number one of the harbingers, he got the biggest office and sleeping quarters. pierro’s office was huge with his own library and chess table, where two of the gnosis were sitting, like they were being used to play chess. there was curtains and his sleeping quarters connected to his office, also a very nice and large bedroom.

“y/n,” the jester sets both of his elbows on the table, connecting his fingers together and lying his chin on the connected hands. “you have a lot of responsibility now, you are sixth of the eleventh fatui harbingers, the skirmisher.”

“yes,” you reply coldly. “you act like i barely had any responsibility to begin with. do i have to remind you that the tsaritsa herself, chose me to be her assistant?”

“like that matters, y/n.” the jester groaned. “i don’t feel like getting into this with you. go decorate your new room or something.”

you scoff and walk out of the overly large door. as you head out, a familiar voice comes behind you, following you through the hallway.

“what was that about?” il dottore asks, trying to catch up with me.

“oh just pierro being pierro.” you chuckle, heading right the staircase, but dottore runs in front of you and grabs your hand, walking you down the stairs. he steps at few in front of you on the last few steps and kisses your hand.

“y/n, my darling,” dottore smiles, “you’re officially replaced the Շђє ๒คɭɭค๔єєг, which means, will you be staying in my office?”

“if you are lucky, doctor.” you smirk, blowing him and kiss and skipping ahead of him.

“mm, if i’m lucky, huh?” dottore smiles, walking over to the large glass windows of zapolyarny palace. you head over to him, also staring out the window to the dark, cold night that fell upon sneznhaya.

“when do you leave for your trip to sumeru?” you question quietly, holding your large fatui coat over you so you wouldn’t freeze to death in the hallway which is cold as ice.

“in a few days, why? are you going to miss me?” dottore teases, cupping your cheek with his surprisingly soft hand.

“of course. who else am i going to talk to?” you roll your eyes, melting into dottore’s touch.

“you have arlecchino and columbina, darling.” he replies, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. “come spend the night in my room, it’ll wash away all those bad feelings, y/n.”

“you’re right.” you mumble, following dottore back to his assigned bedroom.

once we got there, he opened the door, letting you in and for a few seconds you study the room. dottore’s room is a bit smaller than pierro’s. he has a lab set up and his office is very messy, with quite a few papers strung about. through the corridor where large curtains are hung up is his actual living quarters, with a big bed and lots of room for a couch and bookshelves.

dottore walks you to his living quarters and he flops down onto his bed. you roll your eyes at him, making your way to his closet to change into something you had left in his room for nights like this.

you slip out of your large coat and your outfit, putting on some small silky pink shorts and a white tank top that really showed your chest off nice.

you head over to dottore’s bed and flop down beside him.

“i really don’t want you to leave.” you murmur softly. your words really just go through one ear and out the other with dottore. but he turns to you and smiles a little.

“since you don’t want me to go, i can make tonight memorable for you.” dottore coos, pulling himself on top of you with a smirk plastered across his face.

“oh really now?” you tease, “let’s see how memorable we can make it.”

dottore wastes no time pulling up your tank top and setting his hands on your plush chest, squeezing it and teases your nipples softly.

“you drive me insane, y/n.” dottore growls, bending himself down and latching onto one of the nipples he had previously been teasing. he licks and bites and sucks on the mound, like he was so hungry for it.

“mm, dottore.” you moan, “i’m going to miss this while you are gone.”

“i’m sure you will, y/n.” dottore mumbles, shuffling himself down further between your thighs. your breath hitches as he parts your thighs, kissing your clothed cunt. he softly pulls your shorts and underwear down, throwing them somewhere off the bed. you move your hand down and slide your fingers through his soft hair, give him some soft head scratches.

he kisses your wetness and starts to eat you out, devouring every inch of you that he can take advantage of as he pleases. he licks your slit up and down, causing your legs to close around his head.

“mm, you taste so divine, my love.” he murmurs, sticking one of his fingers inside of you, slowly pushing them in and out. usually, dottore was quick with his motions of intercourse, but tonight he was taking his time with you.

suddenly, the door is pushed open, and there in his office, the regrator stands with his mouth slightly agape to what he was seeing.

“dottore?” pantalone calls out, crossing his arms and turning around so he wouldn’t be staring right at your half-naked body.

“what, pantalone? can’t you see i’m a little busy?” dottore groans, setting himself up and pulling the covers over you to hide you.

“come outside.” pantalone gestures, walking out the door, closing it on his way out.

“my god.” dottore rolls his eyes, looking back at you as he softly grabs your hand and leaves a small kiss on it. “i will be back.”

dottore gets off the bed and walks out to where pantalone is, closing the door to his room so you couldn’t hear anything they were saying.

dottore stands in front of pantalone, crossing his arms and giving him a pissed off look.

“you and y/n?” pantalone mentions. “how’s that?”

“it’s frankly none of your business, regrator.” dottore growls, “don’t tell anyone about this. we are not public yet.”

“you will be public if she keeps spending the night in your room. don’t think i haven’t seen her sneak in there at the dead of night when she’s usually asleep near the tsaritsa’s living quarters.”

“so you’re stalking her, hm?” dottore groans, clenching his hands together, almost ready to punch the banker in his face. “i don’t take lightly to stalkers, if we were subordinates or not.”

“no,” pantalone sighs, “i wasn’t stalking her. i was in the same hallway and managed to see her walk into your room.”

“how did you know she’s spending the night then?” dottore questions.

“it’s just a hunch, doctor, no need to get so serious.” pantalone replies. he chuckles a little at the end of the sentence, but dottore can tell it’s just him trying to light up the mood.

“so what did you even need me for? to see if your suspicions were correct? to ridicule me about y/n?” dottore demands, he can feel himself heating up as he spits out his words.

“no, i wanted to let you know that we’re having a funeral for rosalyne tomorrow.” the regrator answers, turning himself around, ready to walk away. “don’t be late.”

“fuck you, pantalone. i came out here to hear that?” dottore growls, he shakes his head and opens his office door immediately slamming it behind him, locking it too.

“what’s going on?” you ask softly as you sit up, staring at dottore who’s facing the door with a very angry expression.

“it’s nothing, darling.” dottore smiles, walking over to you and flopping beside you on the bed.

“we should probably just go to bed, it’s late.” you murmur, pulling the covers over your body and staring at the white, blank wall.

“i would figure so too.” dottore pulls the sheets over him and pulls you closer, wrapping him arms around your waist and nuzzling himself into your neck. “i’m sorry.”

“dottore, apologizing to me?” you chuckle, cupping his cheek with you hand.

“shut up.”

one month before รςคгค๓๏ยςђє removed himself from irminsul

“how are you settling in?” columbina’s soft voice asks over the dinner table. when columbina talks, she has this sorta creepy vibe to it, but it’s very melodic. “i know it must be different than being with the tsaritsa.”

“it’s been alright,” you reply, moving the food on your plate around with your fork. you haven’t really been the happiest lately, since dottore has left for sumeru and all of his segments are busy doing who knows what. “it’s not much different, just more lonely, i would suppose.”

“you can always talk to me if you get lonely, we’re here.” arlecchino, who is seated next to you, suggests.

“you’re right.” you nod, finally taking a bite of food.

arlecchino shoots you a small smile, and goes back to looking at columbina, who’s sitting across the table from her. everyone at the table is chatting but you. you can’t seem to swallow down your food, or even think of anything other than the fact that you feel like you don’t fit in. sure, you were raised in the house of the hearth, so you know how to fight, but you just feel like you haven’t done anything since you were promoted to fatui harbinger.

you would rather be doing something more useful during your time alone, sitting at your desk, thinking of when dottore returns. you visit the tsarista occasionally, but it’s been every now and then since you have been busy with tons of paperwork and assignments. however, they don’t give you many assignments, so most of your time is spent at your desk, pondering.

you sigh, getting up from the dinner table. you grab your plate and walk over to the kitchen, sliding your plate into the sink for the maids to clean. usually, you clean your own dish, but lately you’ve just been wanting to lay down in bed and be lazy.

you head for dottore’s room and not your own. you open the door to find the room just as he had left it. you shut the door behind you and walk over to the bed you and him usually share.

dottore told you that you probably needed to go sleep in your own assigned room, since people would find it odd to see you sleeping in the doctor’s bed without him even present.

you don’t care though, so you flop yourself down onto the comfy bed sheets and find yourself getting lost in your train of thought again.

“dottore..” you mumble. “come home soon, please.”

[sh1-n0bu]

hey hey!! new anon here,,

not sure how to write this but I'll try

could we get a scara x amab reader, with praise, overstimulation, and if you're comfortable body worship? (for scara ofc) i wanna make him cry 🛐

also !! can i be 🍷 anon?? <3

♡︎ 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 ♡︎

characters: sub!scaramouche x dom!AMAB!reader

warnings: praise, overstimulation, body worship, dacryphillia, overall very soft and fluffy

notes: of course you can be 🍷anon! slowly but surely clearing out my inbox and thinking on holding a 3k followers event. if you guys have any ideas, lemme know!

wanderer — formerly known as scaramouche, balladeer and the sixth of the eleven fatui harbingers — has always been a shut in type of person. always preferring his own space, solitude and of course, a bitter tea to go along with everything. so when you, his assistant since day one, had suddenly proposed your affections for the angry gremlin he rejected at first.

but that never deterred you. you would try over and over again. asking him out on dates, offering him some help, cuddles if he was being restless and stressed, holding his hand while he undergoes the painful weekly tortures of il dottore — you did it all for him.

and one day, scaramouche did indeed cave in and decided to accept your nth suggestion for a date. it wasn’t like he had liked you or anything, he just wanted to make you shut up quickly. he’s lying, he loved you way longer than you did him.

since then, going out on “dates” had become a usual thing between you two. you two would meet up in certain places, hang out for some time, talk for a bit, hold hands if scaramouche is feeling gutsy enough and say your goodbyes.

it had continued on for so long until it suddenly came to a stop when scaramouche had to go to sumeru with il dottore to take buer’s gnosis. of course the plan worked and the second harbinger came back with the gnosis but no scaramouche.

for some time after that, you seriously thought you were tripping absolute bonkers. everyone kept saying the sixth seat of the harbingers had been vacant and the name scaramouche or balladeer doesn’t ring a bell. you even held an audience with her majesty, the tsaritsa as well and yet she said she doesn’t remember!

that was until you decided to desert the fatui and go to sumeru yourself to find out just what the fuck was going on. it took incredibly long time — sumeru’s rainforest and desert aren’t the most hospitable places for someone so used to the cold like you — but after a whole half a year of searching, you managed to see him again.

him. the one who stole your heart. the one who caused you to desert the fatui despite knowing the punishment would be death. the one that cradled your heart gently in his hand since you’ve been assigned to be his assistant.

and by the archons was it worth the whole thing. to be chased down by the people who were once your comrades. to suffer heatstrokes in the hot desert of sumeru. to continuously get pelted by the rain and thunder in the rainforests of sumeru. by the archons was it all worth it when the moment you two locked eyes. it was as if your first meeting all over again.

by the archons was it worth it when he recognized you, dropping the scrolls in his arms as he runs up to you. it was worth it when he came to a stop in front of you — hesitating. waiting. wondering. before finally muttering “fuck it” and getting on his tip toes to plant a kiss on your lips. it was worth it all — even as you gently broke him down and rebuilt him again a whole new in your arms in the comfort of your now shared home.

scaramouche has always been a shut in type of person. always preferring his own space, solitude and of course, a bitter tea to go along with everything.

but wanderer was a bit different. he preferred to be alone, alone with you. a bitter tea and your voice going “yuck!” whenever he made you take a sip, lying and promising he put sugar in it this time. a shy stolen glance at each other and a peck or two followed by the silence of each other’s presence. “lonely together” you once called your relationship. he couldn’t agree more.

even as his first time is taken by you — the doll couldn’t be happier.

even as he whimpers and whines whenever you praise him, planting kisses on his skin as he blushed a beet red. weakly thrusting his hips back to meet yours under the dim lights of the lit candles. desperately reaching back, tangling your hair in his hand to tug you down for a sloppy kiss to try and hide his moans when you called him your “good boy”, “pretty doll” and your “one and only”.

a weak sob and sniffles resounding in your shared home as wanderer comes on your cock for the nth time. how many times had he cum by now? he’s too hazy and lust ridden to even keep up count.

tears kept falling down his face as he unconsciously grind back into your cock, wanting more. a cacophony of keens and moans and shrill sound resembling a squeal coming out of him as he feels your tip hit his prostate again. archons, he wanted to feel that again and again. feel himself get broken down by your hands, by your lips, by the soft praises coming out of your mouth, by your dick just fucking into him so good to the point his mind becomes a mush.

when you gently put him back together again — wiping away the sweat and cum staining his skin, when you cradle him gently as you two share a quick bath together, when you wrap your arms around him and hug him close to yourself — the pupet couldn’t help but smile.

a genuine, unadulterated smile of happiness spreading on his face as he hears your words of affirmation. in soft moments like this, the puppet couldn’t help but whisper out weakly in a hoarse voice.

“you, [name], my heart…” before slipping off into a dreamless state.

[definesanity]

Reforge Thy Fate.

(Or, a montage of Darling with the Harbingers in the Fatui!AU.)

Taglist: @barbatoskisser, @gunterdon, @nicebonescomrades, and @chocoenvy.

The Nine of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers: Pantalone, The Regrator.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Why yes, you were bored out of your mind, how could one tell?

You had nothing against Pantalone. Although, if you had known he was this quiet when reading through profits, you would have left him to it as to not distract him.

With a sigh, however, he placed the book aside. "Ah, finally. I do hope you weren't too bored, Your Grace?"

"Don't worry, I wasn't." sitting up from your seat, you couldn't help but have a thought strike you. "...Say, I have a riddle for you."

"A riddle?" Pantalone's smile grew at that. "Well, do not keep me waiting, if you'll so please."

"What weighs more: a kilogram of steel, or a kilogram of feathers?"

The Ninth Harbinger's mouth opened before immediately closing again.

"Neither. They're both a kilogram."

You breathed a sigh of relief at that. "You'd be amazed the amount of people who would be tricked by that."

"Well, many don't think on them both be a kilogram, so they'd naturally go for metal, which is typically the heavier one."

You nodded. "Can't fault them there. Not many people look at the finer details. Minus you. If I gave you a thirty page long paper of terms and conditions, you'd read them all."

"Heh. I'm flattered you think of me the way I like to be; a banker. And, while my patience would dwindle... yes, I'd read the full pages."

-------------

The Eleven of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers: Ajax, Tartaglia, Childe.

"Morning, Your Grace! Mind if I take a moment to ask you something?"

"Childe." you nodded at the ginger-headed bastard. "Something the matter?"

"No, not at the moment; I just wanted to ask a... personal, question."

You knew where this was going. "Zhongli?"

"Zhongli." he replied, his voice not betraying his anger. "Out of curiosity... did he hurt you?"

"No; I had a few close meetings with his spear, but the only thing I had in the end was some mental trauma."

"So, yeah." You concluded. "No need to worry."

Childe shook his head at your nonchalance. "Your Grace, with all due respect... you may not remember it, but when I was little, and fell into The Abyss... it was you who helped me."

"What of Skirk?"

"My Master... I'll admit, she helped me. But only physically, helping me train myself and my body to withstand the darkness. But you, who's light shines even in the deepest part of that same darkness?

"That was what guided my mind. So please, try and have more faith in your followers. If not for I, then at least for the others?"

...After a moment, you sighed. "I will try my best."

"Thank you, Your Grace. Now, onto other business..."

-------------

The Second of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers: Zandik, Il Dottore, The Doctor.

You still have muscle memory from all your experiments in Triple Science. So, watching Zandik, or Dottore Primus, work was really bringing back those times.

"We didn't have Alchemy, back in my world," you commented offhand, reading one of the few books you had brought with you; a book on Ancient Greece.

And odd choice, but The Doctor was an odder person.

"Truly?" he sounded mildly surprised. "How odd. Erstwhile, it must be strange to return to a world with Alchemy, yes?"

"It is... say, are you mad about the whole ordeal with Buer?"

"I am... indifferent. They were helpful, yes, but in retrospect, it was just I wanting to relive my previous years. In addition, I am the Second in strength, not in numbers."

"...Well," you said. "I suppose you have a point."

"I may be mad to others, but truly; with the things I've done... could a madman have done those?"

'No,' you think. 'Because even then, they had some sort of humility to them.'

-------------

The Cryo Archon, The Goddess of Love, The Tsaritsa.

The Tsaritsa, while cold, was like snow and ice; on the outside was a frigid, slippy ice that pushes others away. On the inside, she was like snow that, while also cold, was much softer. Like now, for example.

The light of day slipped through the curtains, and though you wanted to move, a large arm kept you in place.

"My love," you whispered. "We can't stay here all day."

No reply.

"I know you're up, my love."

"...Nngh..." The Tsaritsa groaned. "...You truly cannot spare another moment?"

"A moment usually means an hour. But, unfortunately..." you sighed, snuggling closer. "You're too warm."

"Then rest, My Grace." tilting your head up to gaze at the towering God, she smiled down at you. "You, of all people, deserve it the most."

[starryseafo4m]

✩₊˚.☾⁺₊Cere's f/o list ⋆｡°✩

Heya this is my official f/o list I'm really excited because I put a lot of effort and I do hope that I'll find people within the same franchise my f/os are from and bond over it!

This post includes my main f/os and might do a secondary one because Tumblr does not allow more than 10 images per post sadly, anyways have fun witnessing a lesbian fawn over fictional women<33

⋆｡°✩Please do keep this in mind!⋆｡°✩

٭ {still not done Wip}٭

٠ ࣪⭑I'm not comfortable with sharing my romantic F/os but I'm alright with sharing platonic ones ٠ ࣪⭑

Anyways let's get on with my lovely f/os

☾- romantic

⭑- platonic

All characters I selfship with:

Reverse 1999: Tooth fairy, Isolde, Kakania, Argus

Genshin: Arlecchino

HonkaiSR: Black swan, The Herta

Hi3rd: Vita, Thelema

Cookie run: First choco cookie

Hollow knight: Hornet

Wuwa: Yinlin, Camelia

Zzz: Alexandrina Sebastiane

Tooth fairy! - Reverse 1999 - ☾

Tooth Fairy works for the Foundation, looking after young Arcanists, taking care of their teeth, and dealing with anything that requires the assistance of a doctor.

Personal notes- I firstly fell in love with her when I was exposed to the game for the very first time around august of last year and she captured my eye in an instant! Her voice, her character design, her fascination with teeth reminded me of my fascination with skulls and I really saw myself in her. And once she was featured in the second update and got to understand her more I've came to appreciate her character and motives all that much more<3

I seriously cannot express how much I love and adore her she is such a personal comfort character for me to the point where her voice truly makes me relaxed

Song she reminds me of- 'Campbell'

Isolde - reverse 1999- ☾

Exhibited in the early 20th century for 18 years. Completed in autumn, on November 23. First exhibited in Vienna, Austria, within the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and later the exhibit was sealed and kept by St. Pavlov Foundation.

Personal notes- after playing the 1.7 update I have been starstruck by her character, she's such an impactful character within the story and I was left in pure admiration. Overall she has been my muse long before I read her story but now I can feel myself falling even deeper in love with her.

Song she reminds me of - La Signora Battle theme

Arlecchino - genshin impact - ☾

She is the Fourth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers and the current director of the House of the Hearth. She is addressed as "Father" by members of the House, who she calls her "children."

I still remember a year ago when Fontaines first trailer was released, and there she was, I was starstruck to say the least and promised myself to get her if she will even be released as a playable character (and I did get her<33). And my god she's such a complex character, morally grey and there's no way of explaining her in simple words, she deserves the world and I love her sm!

Song she reminds me of - Vore by sleep token (sound warning!/srs)

Black swan - honkai star rail - ☾

Bears a warm smile and is willing to patiently heed the words of another, and thus uses such means as a pretext to enter "memories" and gain a comprehension over the flow of all information.

Personal notes- Another one of my major muses, I remember how she captured my world in one of the earlier trailers of honkai star rail and my admiration for her still prevailed on to her release and got blessed by winning my 50/50 again even though I still don't know as much as I'd like I'm fine with my muse being a mystery, a enigma for me to understand and appreciate in all it's beauty and glory<33

Song she reminds me of - Telescope by starset (my favourite band!)

Thelema - Honkai impact 3rd - ☾

At the mad banquet, pleasure is supposed to last forever, as the chains she put on you rattle on...

Personal notes- in all honesty she alone got me into hi3rd, from what I remember my first introduction to her was when I was scrolling through tiktok and there was a edit of her and I could not get it out of my head for a solid week, I was lucky enough to obtain her in her first rerun tho! Atm I'm trying to get through the main hi3rd storyline before I get to meet her at part 2 of the story and in all honesty I can't wait to find out more about her<33333

Vita - Honkai impact 3rd - ☾

Vita is a secondary character of Honkai Impact 3rd. She is first encountered within the bubble universe known as Salt Snow Holy City, believed to be one of its native citizens.

Personal notes- ok as I said earlier I still haven't processed through the story enough to fully understand her character but omfg I fell in love with her at first sight and honestly once I understand her character YOU BET I'm going to go on hour long analysis and gushing about her, gosh she's so gorgeous<3333333

And here's an extra category of characters that I'm questioning if I like them platonically, romantically or I'm simply fascinated and have a temporary crush on them :') it's hard to understand my feelings