#Yandere morax x you

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost

Story is also available on Wattpad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

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Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭'𝐬 𝐒𝐤𝐲

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You drift into sleep, and the chaos begins. Memories swirl around you, fragmented and hazy, flashing too quickly for you to grasp. 

Voices echo, overlapping and fading before you can understand them.

"...May the present life shine like gold."

"Further Killing is meaningless."

"...But their death must mean something."

"Death is not the end of life... We will redefine humanity itself."

"...But we all know this world is beyond saving."

"... Despite that, we must become heroes."

You try to focus, but the images shift and blur. Faces you should recognize merge into each other. You hear different voices, yet you are unable to concentrate while the flashing images cross your mind.

A memory flickers: a pink-haired elf in a white dress. This time it's a bit clearer.

You hold her in your arms, blood pouring out of her chest. Her eyes are sad, yet filled with an unspoken warmth. She caresses your cheek, her touch gentle despite her pain. She says something, her lips moving slowly, but the words are lost to you. Then the scene shifts abruptly, the memory distorting.

You find yourself facing a long blue-haired man with piercing blue eyes. He looks at you with intensity, his expression serious. "Y/N, promise me you never forget...-" The memory distorts again, the edges blurring, "...love you."

The images speed up, a kaleidoscope of moments you can't hold on to. They slip through your fingers like sand, leaving only the faintest impressions.

You jolted awake, sitting upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat. Your hand clutched your rapidly beating heart as you gasped for breath. An overwhelming sadness gripped you, manifesting in uncontrollable tears streaming down your face. You let the tears fall freely, unable to stem the tide of emotion.

Confusion clouded your thoughts as fragments of your memories resurfaced, each piece as elusive as mist. You climbed out of bed and paced the room, trying to shake the disorienting sensation. You halted in front of the mirror, compelled to confront your reflection.

Staring back at you were eyes that seemed hollow, devoid of any spark of life, like a puppet's vacant gaze. Your cheeks glistened with the remnants of dried tears, evidence of your inexplicable sorrow.

As you blinked, your reflection shifted.

The reflection showed you with white hair and golden horns. One horn was half-shattered, the broken end dissolving into a sparkling golden mist.

You reached out to touch the mirror, your fingers trembling as they met the cold glass. The reflection stared back with a haunting emptiness that mirrored the void you felt within.

"My MANTIS form? Is this an illusion?" you whispered, barely audible, to yourself.

In the mirror, your reflection stood differently. It wore a white kimono, stained with blood and dirt, its eyes glowing a piercing gold. The reflection seemed more alive than ever, staring back at you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Find me,"

The reflection's voice echoed, soft yet commanding, as it leaned closer to the glass.

"Your end... my origin."

Suddenly, the mirror's surface cracked, spiderwebbing outward from where your reflection's hand had pressed against the glass. Startled, you stepped back, eyes wide with disbelief. The reflection flickered and then returned to your current self, leaving only the shattered fragments of glass to catch and distort your image.

You stared at the broken mirror, your face reflected back in jagged pieces, each shard a fragment of a whole that felt lost to you. The encounter left you shaken, the echo of the reflection's voice lingering in your mind.

You draped your coat over your nightgown, pulling it tightly around yourself, and stepped out into the cold night.

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Your heels clicked rhythmically against the cobblestone streets, resonating through the stillness of the night. The air was crisp and biting, carrying the faint scent of the sea.

The moon cast a pale glow over the empty streets, its silver light the only illumination as the city slumbered. You wandered aimlessly, unable to shake the unsettling dream that had stirred your memories.

As you rounded a corner, lost in thought, you nearly collided with someone.

"Sorry!..." A blonde traveler exclaimed, trailing off as his eyes met yours. His expression shifted from apology to shock, and he instinctively took a step back.

You sighed, crossing your arms to ward off the chill. "I'm not going to eat you," you said with a hint of sarcasm. "Couldn't sleep either?"

Aether looked alarmed but quickly relaxed, sensing no threat from you. "I had a nightmare..." he admitted, leaving out the detail that the nightmare involved you.

"A nightmare, hm?" you mused, walking past him and stopping at his side. "The more that weighs on your mind, the more your fears turn into dreamscapes."

Aether glanced at you but remained silent. There was something about you that felt familiar, a sense that beneath your icy exterior lay untold stories. Perhaps, he thought, you had a complex history with Zhongli.

"And you?" he ventured.

You didn't answer directly. Instead, you offered, "Walk with me. Let's forget our problems for a while." You began to walk, your pace slow and deliberate.

Aether hesitated for a moment before falling into step beside you. The two of you strolled through the quiet streets of Liyue Harbor, the silence around you amplifying the noise in your minds. The city's usual bustle was absent, replaced by a serene, almost eerie stillness.

"What a quiet night..." you murmured, your voice soft in the tranquil air. "They say the quieter things are around you, the louder they are in your head. It's true, isn't it?"

You didn't look back at Aether, but you could feel his presence beside you, a silent companion in this nocturnal journey. He nodded in agreement, the sound barely audible.

You halted at the edge of the harbor, where the cold sea breeze caressed your face, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant, rhythmic murmur of waves.

You clutched your coat tighter around your body, the thin nightgown beneath providing little warmth. The soft rustling of the ocean's surface reminded you of him, a memory as elusive as the shifting tides.

The traveler, Aether, watched you quietly. The moonlight reflecting off the water cast a gentle glow on your face, accentuating your mysterious allure.

To him, you were an enigma. His only encounter with you had been during that tense moment with Zhongli, where you had seemed intimidating. Yet now, in this peaceful setting, you appeared more contemplative and perhaps even kind. He realized he knew almost nothing about you, not even your name.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice curious but respectful.

You turned to meet his gaze, but before you could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted the moment.

"Oh? Out for a midnight stroll, are we?"

Childe's voice cut through the night, dripping with suspicion. He approached, eyes narrowed at you.

"Up to no good, perhaps?" His tone was accusatory, a familiar annoyance that you felt in your bones.

You barely knew him, only having seen him briefly at the funeral, yet he seemed to harbor a baseless animosity towards you.

"We're just walking," you replied coolly, meeting his gaze with a calm, unyielding stare. "Neither of us could sleep. There's no need for your baseless accusations."

Aether turned to Childe, sensing the tension. "Childe? What are you doing here?"

Childe's expression shifted slightly as he acknowledged Aether. "Ah, the famous traveler," he remarked, his voice tinged with a mock cheerfulness. "I see you've found your way to her." He glanced back at you with a passive-aggressive look, a mix of irritation and something unreadable.

Aether glanced at you, seeking an explanation, then back at Childe, expecting answers.

"She hasn't told you?" Childe raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on his lips. "She's quite infamous among us, actually," he began, his tone laced with amusement.

"Us... Are you one of the Harbingers?" Aether's eyes widened, his body tensing.

The quiet harbor was momentarily disrupted by the rippling tension between you and Childe.

You crossed your arms, your gaze steely. "Childe," your voice was sharp, cutting through the crisp night air like a blade. "Her Royal Majesty sent a personal letter apologizing for your... behavior. I strongly advise you to keep your mouth shut."

Childe's smile widened, a spark of excitement dancing in his eyes. "Or what? You wanna to fight?" He stepped closer, eager for confrontation.

Aether glanced nervously between you and Childe, feeling the intensity of the moment.

Then, in an instant, a Hydro dagger materialized in Childe's hand. With a wild laugh, he lunged at you, his speed blurring as he closed the distance.

The blade aimed for your throat with lethal precision, but before it could touch you, your hand shot up, clamping around his wrist with an iron grip.

In the blink of an eye, you delivered a flurry of punches to his face, each strike landing with brutal efficiency. The world seemed to slow down as you pounded him with lightning-fast blows.

As he reeled from the onslaught, you released his wrist, spinning gracefully before delivering a powerful kick to his abdomen. The impact sent Childe flying, crashing through the air and landing hard against a row of trash cans with a thunderous clatter.

The entire sequence happened in a mere heartbeat. The force of your actions left Aether stunned, the air thick with the intensity of the moment.

He stood in stunned disbelief. One moment, Childe had lunged at you, and in the next, he was sprawled across a pile of trash cans, thoroughly beaten. Had it all happened in the blink of an eye? He turned his gaze to you, realizing with a shiver that you were capable of much more than he had imagined.

"Don't worry, he won't bother us anymore," you said calmly, turning towards Aether, completely composed.

"I doubt he will ever..." Aether muttered, noticing your unruffled demeanor. It was as if the scuffle hadn't even phased you; you weren't even out of breath.

"About your question from before," you continued, meeting his eyes, "I am part of the Fatui and one of the Harbingers. My code-name is Innamorati."

Strangely, Aether didn't feel the usual wariness that came with meeting a Harbinger. Instead, there was a peculiar sense of ease, a feeling that it was better to be on your good side.

"Innamorati... I've never heard that code name before," Aether said, curiosity piqued. "And what about your actual name?"

You sighed, crossing your arms. "You might forget it, so you can call me whatever you like. But my real name is Y/N."

Aether blinked, taken aback. "It's... a beautiful name." He blurted out, then blushed slightly. "I mean... you have the same name as the unknown lady in the story."

You tilted your head, puzzled. "Unknown lady? What story are you talking about?"

Aether suddenly realized his slip. The tale he referred to only mentioned Morax and his two lovers, Guizhong and an unnamed woman, without ever revealing her identity.

"Uh... it's a story about Morax, the Geo Archon, and his two lovers, Guizhong and... um, Y/N, the unknown lady. It also involves Osial being jealous," he explained quickly.

At the mention of Osial, your eyes widened as a memory surfaced, a fragment of a dream featuring a blue-haired man with striking blue eyes. You turned towards the ocean, a sad expression clouding your features.

"Are you alright?" Aether asked, concern evident in his voice.

"It's nothing. I just... have a bad memory. The name Osial... I knew him well... or used to," you murmured. "But I'd rather not talk about it right now."

Aether, both surprised and curious about you, realized it was time to part ways as the night was nearing its end. "If you'd like to hear more about the story, we can meet up tomorrow. And..., good night," he said, a shy smile accompanied by a faint blush on his cheeks.

You were momentarily taken aback, your expression softening. "Thank you."

Then, with a thoughtful pause, you looked him in the eye. "Before you go, may I make a request?" Your tone was serious.

"It may seem strange, perhaps even rude, but I must ask..."

"...Have we met somewhere before?"

The question hung in the air, and Aether's eyes widened in surprise.

After a moment's thought, Aether responded, "Perhaps we have."

A small, knowing chuckle escaped your lips. "My memories often fail me..." you murmured. Stepping closer, you leaned in to whisper in his ear, your breath warm against his skin, "Return safely whence you came... Because a particular Yaksha is following us." You glanced around subtly. "If you feel unsafe, you can follow me."

Aether's eyes widened further, immediately thinking of Xiao. "I'm okay, I know this Yaksha," he whispered back, attempting to reassure you. You gave a slight nod, acknowledging his words.

With a final exchange of goodbyes, you turned and headed back to the hotel Pantalone had reserved entirely for your stay. As you walked away, you remained vigilant, aware of the green-haired Yaksha's presence in the shadows, watching your every move.

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Reblog if you like this story

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes, Kissing

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Imagine Yandere!Zhongli in a Reverse!AU, where you're Liyue's Archon and you seal him away. Thousands of years ago, you and him were friends ruling over different sections of what would become Liyue. You hardly noticed the way his eyes lingered on you whenever he saw you, hardly knew how he would dream of having you all to himself.

One day, he makes an advance as you both sip on tea at Mount Aocang, pledging to move mountains and sink continents if you ask. The price of his eternal affection remains unsaid, but you can see it in the feral, draconic look in his eye. Every dragon has a hoard, even Zhongli. And he will stop at nothing until he can have you as his most valuable treasure.

Despite his efforts to prevent you from escaping, you manage to flee back to your territory. Weeks later, Zhongli attempts to catch you off guard with a surprise invasion, but in the heat of battle, you manage to seal him away beneath the earth.

Millenia pass, and you mourn the loss of a friend, but work to build the nation of Liyue up to the ground. The Fatui come, offering a deal for your Gnosis, and you refuse. It is a mistake you will regret every day for eternity.

One day, the earth shakes in a way that makes your stomach turn.

You feel his presence before you even catch a glimpse of his crystalline horns or golden eyes. Warm and earthy like petrichor. Running out into the city streets, you help an elderly couple around some piles of rubble, before continuing towards the source of the power.

The God of Contracts finds you first, though, easily snaring your feet in stone. His power is choking in a way, and when you try to fight back with your own magic, you feel the power in your body quickly draining from you. Zhongli notices the surprise in your face, and a small smirk plays on his lips. "I've had many years to learn some new...tricks, my treasure," he murmurs, striding towards you confidently. His fingers hook under your chin, pulling it up so your eyes gaze into his. "The people that freed me said they would let me keep you if I gave them your Gnosis."

In an instant, his hand is in your chest, grasping around for your Gnosis. You cry out in pain and try to struggle, but Zhongli grabs your shoulder in a tight grip, forcing you steady. It only takes a moment for him to pull out your Gnosis, gazing at it intently. "You cannot truly understand how long I have dreamt of this day. Of you, my dearest. And now, we will never have to be apart," he whispers, pressing his lips against yours greedily. He allows himself a few seconds to savor this scene, before pulling away.

"Now, my treasure. I wish to make a contract with you." With a wave of his hand, he manifests a piece of parchment filled with words on it out of thin air. "I will help repair all the damage I have done if you promise to be mine, in body and spirit, for better or for worse." You glare at him vehemently, spitting out your refusal. In return, Zhongli simply chuckles. "In that case, I will turn every building to dust," he threatens.

Turning to some already-damaged buildings, he raises a hand, ready to demolish them with a flick of the wrist. Your cries of acquiescence stop him before he can, however. When you finish signing, Zhongli gives you a predatory smile, brushing his fingers against the side of your face. "I knew you would surrender, my dearest," he purrs, possessiveness filling his eyes. "Now, allow me to fulfill my own contract, and then we can return home," he says.

You get the feeling that you will not be leaving home for a very long time.

[arsonlookers]

Doctor's Obsession

Yan! Doctor Zhongli x Therapist Reader

Slight Suggestive please be warned

Yan! Doctor Zhongli is the first doctor you have befriended during your first month as a therapist. You have known him far longer than that. you have known him from your first college days, he is the most respected senior on campus and also the most elegant gentleman and genius upcoming doctor on the field. You only got to know him in your freshman year since he was already graduating that time so You only admire him from afar and nothing more.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli Who actually knows you, the very cute freshman who actually caught his attention all those years ago.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli Who has been supporting you silently and admiring you secretly from afar. [ of course, you didnt know that] He who just anonymously helps you through all your debts and even secretly gifts you here and there but not that obvious that it will catch your attention.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli Who actually is the one who recommended you in this asylum so that he will be able to get close to you. And he will be able to watch you 24/7. He now can touch you, stare at you for longer hours, and of course, he can watch who is interested in you and dispose of the said trash.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli messed up once because in your 4th year of college, you got a boyfriend, and he was furious about it. Of course not to you, but to that TRASH who keeps hanging out with you. Tainting you with his dirty hands, his sweet poor little angel, he is of course gonna save you.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli who secretly slips something into your boyfriend's drink someday and your boyfriend suddenly needs to go to the hospital to get treated. HE who secretly kills your boyfriend and disguises it as a failed operation.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli who meets you [secretly stalks you does not count] finally for the first time and tells you about your boyfriend's progress in health how severe it is and how dangerous his condition is. And even comforted you when you got the sad news of your now-dead boyfriend.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli since then he Occasionally asks you out for tea and even asks you about your personal life.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli is happy to become a friend of yours and it will develop more and more as he will make sure of that.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli When watching you interact with some patients, who become too touchy with you, he keeps an eye on them for your sake. And after that tells you the bad news about their death. [Rip dead patients]

Yan! Doctor Zhongli actually keeps a laboratory hidden behind the walls so that you won't be able to see how gruesome it is. How he tortures those patients because you interact with them more than you interact with him.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli sees you as an angel and even a goddess because of how he worships you secretly. And to those you will taint you may they be innocent or criminal he will sure put them to judgment and persecute them for they are filthy.. no they are not deserving of your love and attention at all. ONLY he is.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli who keeps a hidden room in his house full of your pictures since your freshman years. all SECRETLY taken without any of your consent.

Suggestive content

Yan! Doctor Zhongli who gets turned on whenever you are so close to him. as he smells how sweet and enchanting your perfume is and how good you look close up. how he will never stop eye fucking you in his mind all day long.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli He who jerks off on your pictures and he even has you naked in some of it [of course you will never know about that]

"hnngg~ y/n~ ahhhh~ ngg~ you~ lookngg ahhh~~ so sexy~ my darling~~ "

Yan! Doctor Zhongli who loves it when you sit on his lap and he will surely drag it in his mind for days on end.

"Just ~ ehhahhhh~~ sit ~ gnnn~ how good~ would-ahhh~~ you~ feel-~ like~ nggg~"

Yan! Doctor Zhongli REAAALLLYY LOVES your curves secretly and even would loves to be suffocated by them. Who will surely shamelessly beg if he has to.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli is Jealous whenever you interact with patient 001 because he knows how insane Childe is. He will never stop pestering threatening Childe to stop his obsession with you.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli Who is mad when patient 001 starts to become more and more bold and even shamelessly masturbating infront of you in his cell. of course Yan! Doctor Zhongli knows about it since he watches through the camera of his cell. to make sure you are safe but now he will surely dispose of Childe for good.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli who starts to notice how other patients are also acting strangely affectionate to you..and he DOES NOT like it.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli Who will start to isolate you from other doctors and even patients. even though you act against it since he is your higher-up supervisor you have no choice but to follow.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli will keep you by his side, inside his office, and will not let you meet other patients or even to other doctors.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli who will make you his secretary rather than a therapist to filthy people.

"why not be my personal therapist y/n?" he asked

Yan! Doctor Zhongli who starts to act strange around you and even affectionate at times. And when no end he will also start to show his possessiveness and affection obsession to wards you.

Yan! Doctor Zhongli who locks you up in his office and even has a secret built-in chain on his office just for you and only you to use.

" You will be safe here darling~ don't worry as long as you are here by my side nobody will get hurt~ As long as you are here by my side I will love you forever and spoil you "

you are trying to break of the chain

"Darling dont do that you will hurt yourself" Zhongli sweetly tells you like an adult telling a child that sweets are bad for your teeth.

You glare harder, trying to be intimidating but sadly Zhongli only sees it cute and lovely how you intently stare and observe him.

"darling~ dont make me use drugs to make you pass out~" he brushes his hands on your cheeks grabs it by the side and makes you look deep in eyes.

With his threat, you stop squirming out of him and just fearfully stare at his deep golden eyes. all you can do is nod your head.

"good girl~ such a Good girl for me~ " he kisses your right cheek

"dont worry now darling I'm sure you are going to love it here, forever and ever. I will make sure of it. You will love it here in your new home and with your new husband and we will have children~ how many would you like? this daddy will provide for you darling~"

"So would you please follow orders from your one and only trusted doctor please~? "

Darling why don't you stay~ you have nowhere to go, after all, don't worry he will take care of you, spoil you, make you his and so full of his children.

He will take care of you Darling~ dont worry about anything at all, just think about him and only him after all, he has been waiting for the longest time for this .. FOR YOU to be His and only HIS.

suggestive content

After he takes control of you and chains you to his side forever be reminded that day after day, night after night you will be nothing but exhausted and tired from all his pounding again and again and again. non-stop because he truly has been waiting and dreaming for you to be in front of him stripped and all on show for his eyes to see and to love be in his mercy as you kept begging him about how overstimulated everything is. after all, he likes it when you are acting like a whore in front of him and cock drunk from all he has given for you. BUT he won't stop until he is satisfied and sees everything is in place. an image of you so full of his cum and looks so tasty and hmm~ fuck up~ by him~ don't worry darling he will truly love you and he will enjoy his meal after all his waiting~ so please let him have his meal [you] will you darling~

Ars : I give thanks to people who likes my last post Ms. therapist and my new upcoming ideas about yandere childe and yandere adventurine! I was really shock about reaching 200+ likes THANK YOU VERY MUCH!! and to my new Followers thank you for following! it really means everything to me and to people who reblogs my post THANK YOU VERY MUCH!! For more update this yandere genshin x therapist reader will hopefully be a long project for me since I truly have plenty of ideas in my pocket. if you like to keep following on the updates I have a separate post master list for it named ASYLUM PROJECT

THANK YOU VERY MUCH! YOU ALL MADE ME CRY!!! 😭

[shizuturnspages]

Yandere Zhongli x gn!reader

❥ Zhongli's a man of contracts, and you'd better believe that as a yandere, he'll make sure you're fucking bound to him in every way possible. He'll find ways to tie you to him, whether it's through promises, obligations, or literal contracts that you can't break. You'll feel like you owe him everything, and he'll remind you constantly that you're under his care, his protection—his control. 

❥ Zhongli's lived for centuries, so when it comes to obsession, he's patient as fuck. He won't rush things—oh no, he'll take his time, slowly weaving his influence into every aspect of your life. Before you even realise it, he's completely fucking consumed you, like the slow erosion of rock. And once you're fully under his control? You won't even remember a time when you weren't his. Time is on his side, and he'll use every second to his advantage. 

❥ Zhongli's authoritative as hell, and he won't hesitate to use that power over you. His voice alone will make you feel like you've got no choice but to obey. If you ever try to defy him? Oh, he won't shout, won't rage. No, he'll simply remind you, in the calmest tone, of his strength and the consequences of breaking his trust. And you'll know deep down that trying to escape him is like trying to outrun a fucking mountain— impossible. 

❥ Zhongli's protective to the point of suffocation. He'll shield you from every danger, but that protection comes at the cost of your freedom. He'll say it's for your own good, that the world is too dangerous for you to face alone. And with his power, his knowledge, how the fuck are you gonna argue with him? You'll feel like you need him to survive, even though it's his obsession that's the real danger. 

❥ Once Zhongli's decided you're his, there's no fucking going back. His obsession is as solid as the stone he commands. You're not just someone he cares about—you're a part of his fucking legacy. He'll carve his presence into your life like an eternal monument, and even in his rare moments of affection, you'll feel the weight of his possessiveness. To him, you're his greatest treasure, and he'll guard you like a dragon with its hoard. 

You never thought this was how things would end up. When you first met Zhongli, he was calm, collected, wise—everything about him spoke of stability. A man of few words but with a presence that filled every room, like a mountain casting a shadow over the land. You were drawn to him almost immediately, but you didn't realise that the pull you felt was a trap. A gentle hand guiding you into his carefully laid snare.

It started slowly. He never demanded anything, never outright stated his intentions, but there was something about the way he spoke, the way he looked at you, that made it clear. You were his. Not in words, not in action—at least, not at first—but in the way he was always there. Like a pillar of stone, unyielding, watching over you.

You thought you were just growing closer to a friend. After all, Zhongli had always been so composed, so polite. How could someone like him have ulterior motives? But that's exactly what made him dangerous.

He didn't have to rush.

He had time.

You remember the first time you felt it—the weight of his control. You had wanted to go somewhere—just a short trip, a brief escape from the quiet routine that had begun to creep into your life. But when you told him, his calm facade didn't waver, but there was a subtle shift in his eyes. Amber, golden, burning with something cold and ancient.

"I see," he said, his voice steady. "And you intend to go alone?"

There was no threat, no anger, but the way he phrased it made your heart race with unease. You hesitated, sensing the underlying tension in his question. When you explained that it was just a harmless trip, something to clear your head, he nodded. Always calm. Always understanding.

"I understand your need for space," he said, that deep voice of his soothing. "But the world is dangerous, especially for someone like you."

You frowned. "Someone like me?"

His eyes held yours, unblinking, calculating. "You are important to me. I cannot allow anything to happen to you."

It should have been sweet, right? A man caring about your safety, wanting to protect you. But there was something in the way he said it, something in the depth of his gaze that made you feel like you weren't being protected—you were being kept.

Still, you went on the trip. It wasn't far, just to the outskirts of Liyue, but that's when you realized the truth. No matter how far you tried to go, the wind would always blow in Zhongli's favor. You were barely out of the harbor when a storm hit—something that wasn't in the forecast, something that didn't belong in the season. You had to turn back. And there he was, waiting for you with a soft smile and an outstretched hand.

"You see," he said, his tone dripping with something that felt too much like triumph, "the world is unpredictable. It's much safer to stay close."

From then on, the leash tightened.

Zhongli didn't need to control you through harsh words or violence. His control was much more subtle, much more terrifying. He'd always make suggestions that sounded so reasonable, so logical.

"You shouldn't go there," he'd say, placing a hand on your shoulder. "It's dangerous."

"You don't need to worry about those things anymore," he'd murmur, his voice gentle as he took care of every little detail in your life. Bills, errands, even your fucking social life—Zhongli had woven himself into every part of it, all under the guise of making things easier for you.

At first, you were grateful. Who wouldn't want someone as reliable as Zhongli helping them out? But then, as time passed, you started to realise that it wasn't just help. He was taking control of your life, piece by piece, until there was nothing left that wasn't touched by his influence.

You tried to pull away, to assert your independence. You told him you needed space, that you wanted to do things on your own. But Zhongli? He didn't get angry. He didn't raise his voice. Instead, he nodded, looking at you with those calm, calculating eyes.

"If that is what you desire," he said, his voice steady. "But understand that I only wish to keep you safe."

Those words. Keep you safe. It was always about safety with him. But the way he said it, the way he watched you—it didn't feel like safety. It felt like a fucking cage.

And it wasn't just his words. It was the way things would always seem to go wrong when you tried to break free. The weather would turn. Friends would cancel plans. Shops would close just as you arrived. At first, you thought it was just bad luck, but the more it happened, the more you started to suspect the truth.

Zhongli was controlling everything.

He had eyes and ears everywhere—his power, his connections, his age. He wasn't just some ordinary man; he was the fucking Geo Archon. He had influence over the city, over the land, and over you. And the worst part? He never acted like he was doing anything wrong.

One night, you confronted him.

"Zhongli," you said, your voice trembling with frustration and fear. "Why are you doing this? Why won't you let me live my life?"

He looked at you, calm as ever, as if your words were nothing more than the wind blowing through the trees.

"I'm only protecting you," he said softly, his voice like a lullaby meant to soothe. "The world is filled with dangers you cannot comprehend. It's my duty to keep you safe."

You shook your head, trying to make him understand. "But I'm not free! You're suffocating me, Zhongli!"

His eyes darkened, just for a moment, and you saw the flash of something deeper, something ancient and terrifying beneath the calm surface. "Freedom is a fragile thing, one that is easily lost to chaos. I offer you stability, safety—a life without fear."

He stepped closer, towering over you, his presence as unyielding as the mountains themselves. His hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a way that would have been comforting if it weren't for the suffocating weight of his obsession.

"You don't understand now," he whispered, his voice low and deep, like the rumble of distant thunder. "But you will. In time, you'll see that I am the only one who can truly protect you. No one else can offer what I can."

You felt your knees weaken under the intensity of his gaze. His touch, though gentle, felt like a shackle—an invisible chain binding you to him. And deep down, you knew there was no escape. Not from Zhongli. Not from the Geo Archon.

He had time, and he would wait as long as it took for you to accept it.

The days that followed were worse. Every attempt you made to break free, to reclaim some semblance of your old life, was met with quiet resistance. Friends you reached out to stopped replying. Places you went for solace became inaccessible. Even your thoughts seemed clouded, as if Zhongli's presence had seeped into every corner of your mind.

He never raised his voice. He never lost control. But every time you defied him, you felt the subtle shift in his demeanor—the quiet authority, the unspoken reminder that he was in control. That no matter how hard you fought, you were already his.

One evening, after another failed attempt to escape his grasp, you returned home to find him waiting for you. His eyes were as calm as ever, but there was an edge to his voice, a weight that made your heart race with fear.

"You're exhausted," he said, stepping forward with that unnerving grace. "You've been fighting against something that cannot be fought."

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm, and you felt the warmth of his touch—the heat of the earth beneath your feet, the crushing pressure of a mountain's weight.

"You belong to me," he said softly, his voice laced with finality. "I've waited long enough for you to understand. It's time for you to stop resisting."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat. The air felt heavy, suffocating, as if the very ground beneath you was conspiring with him. His hand slid up to your chin, tilting your face to meet his gaze, and you saw it—an unbreakable resolve, a fucking ancient force that would not be denied.

"I have made a contract," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "A contract to protect you, to keep you safe. And I will not allow you to break it."

His lips brushed against your forehead, a gesture so tender it sent chills down your spine. But it wasn't love. It wasn't affection. It was possession. Pure, unyielding possession.

"You are mine," he said, his voice steady and unshakable. "And nothing will ever change that."

As Zhongli's fingers trailed down your face, his voice dropped even lower, his breath hot against your ear.

"But don't worry," he whispered, his tone dark, seductive, and irresistible. "I will take care of you, forever. I will cherish you, protect you, worship you like the treasure you are... because you are mine."

His lips hovered just above your skin, and you felt the weight of his words sink deep into your bones, binding you to him.

"And I never let go of what's mine."

[ne-videl]

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡

♡

yandere archon Zhongli x mean fem reader

Morax turned your new life into hell and you despise him for that.

MDNI, sub then dom then sub Zhongli, yandere, unhealthy relationship, forced marriage, kidnapping, just very very unhappy and abused reader, sexual violence, slight violence from reader, nsfw?? or just heavily suggestive, poor english!!! please tell me if I forgot anything ><

word count: ~2k

a/n: hiii everyone! welcome to my first post!! as a fellow yandere x reader enjoyer I decided to share some of my own stuff here. (it took a while bc translating any of my work is hell)

I hate violent and domineering yanderes so at the end geo grandpa gets what he deserved for being toxic ^^

I think Zhongli was a menace in his youth and you can't change my mind.

basically we just turn mean and cruel yandere morax into pathetic yandere morax

bon appètit.

you push your fingers deeper, harder, making his knees tremble and his back arch.

Zhongli exhales noisily, pressing his heated face against the cold wall.

you squeezed his throat with your long, musical fingers: the lack of oxygen made his heart beat even faster.

"why...?" he whispered with a hoarse moan, turning an intoxicated, misty gaze on you.

"for you being alive."

____*:･ﾟ✧

your new life was good, even better than the previous one – you thought. kind and affectionate parents, friends, little shop in a little village. little people doing their little things.

when you realized you were in the game, your new body was about three years old. "Liyue" fell from your mother's lips, and that was enough for you to understand.

"what a strange Liyue they have here... still in it's cradle, perhaps." – little you thought, concentrated on sorting out bright and shiny stones, sitting on the porch of your modest house.

over the years, little girls turn into beautiful women: with pink cheeks, delicate skin and lips with the color of fresh peach tree fruits.

when you, bright and beautiful you, working in the shop of your dear parents, met a man with amber eyes, you were sixteen.

even at the first glance you recognized your deity. beaming, you greeted him from behind the counter. the only answer for you was silence and his heavy gaze.

chrysanthemums silently looked at you with their curious heads, standing in a vase on an old table top.

when Morax came for the second time, you realized that he was here for you. all that remained was to silently say goodbye to mom and dad, cheerful girls at the neighborhood and to kind elders of your tiny village: you will never see them all again. while he was leading you through the corridors of his cold palace, clutching your little hand until it hurt, you were saying goodbye to your old life. It was impossible to even think about who you were before: it was as if she didn't exist anymore at all.

you wanted to cry.

from that day on, you began to hate chrysanthemums.

____*:･ﾟ✧

day 345765. your 948th anniversary is approaching.

life is akin to hell.

warrior god knew nothing about love. you've already lost count of the nights you've had to perform "marital duty", waking up with back pain and counting bloody red hickeys on your delicate skin.

your husband's stamina could only be matched by his insatiability.

you examine your neck, covered with bitemarks, with the gaze of a pathologist looking at a corpse before vivisection.

what a vile, gut-wretching sight.

over the years, the personality of geo archon's spouse has suppressed the personality of the one you used to be. and the attachment of a girl who spends the night playing videogame towards her favorite character no longer existed at all.

only hatred remained. blind, caustic, it alone forced you to get up in the morning, waiting for never coming end of this nightmare.

someday you will make him regret that he was even born into the world.

he wasn't the character you loved: not Zhongli, not the funeral parlor consultant. only person you knew now was Rex Lapis, lord of geo.

he alone was capable of destroying your pride: tearing off all the sparkling jewels from you, depriving you of the shine of false power with which you methodically surrounded yourself with decades.

it was making you angry, irritated to the point of trembling in your hands: it made the inferiority complex tear your chest with it's disgusting little claws and wail plaintively. he is the master, and you are the property.

you aren't trembling under your husband's steady gaze. you didn't like being alone with him, but on every night you spent together, your posture was stiff, like an unbending bamboo shoot. haughtily raised chin and burning eyes. burning not with passion, no. with disgust.

"I..."

I belong to you. the words you've said at least hundreds of times by now.

"I hate you. I despise you with every little piece of my soul."

Morax greedily bites into your lips, and you feel your skin cracking under his sharp fangs, while hot hands painfully squeeze your shoulder under the silk hanfu.

painful. disgusting.

he takes you, as he did on many nights before: cruelly and vulgarly.

and you scream, you grin at his impassive face: you promise your husband that someday you will kill him, will wring his neck. that you will hate him for the rest of your endless life. you desperately tear the skin of his broad back with your blunt nails, growling and whining like a hunted, beaten dog.

Rex Lapis licked the blood off a fresh bite on your skin.

pulling the maid by the hair, who dared to chatter right in your ear early in the morning about how romantic it all was, was quite in the spirit of the "noble spouse", known for her more than bad, bilious temper.

"nights and nights long, oh, what a passion! what a burning, beautiful love!"

you are so lucky, madam.

girl is sobbing, with her head pressed against the wall. you hiss, venomously and viciously, tightening your grip on strands of her hair with tenacious, elegant fingers.

"stupid bitch. romantic, huh? you think I enjoy it? what, want to take my place?" – frightened maid runs out of her mistress's luxurious bedroom in tears.

you were jealous of that innocent girl. a girl who was able to cry when after being raped. who could see something beautiful in trivial things. who probably had a loving husband and family. that pathetic maid was better than you, an icy cold shell of a human driven only by hatred and a thirst for revenge.

you pursed your lips in disgust.

you developed a habit of despising everything that was better than you.

____*:･ﾟ✧

you always loved music, and over time you became very fond of playing it on your own. it helped to keep your mind in order.

whether it's a guqin with silk strings or an elegant erhu, or, a more exotic one, a lacquered piano brought especially for you from Fontaine – over time you have mastered every available musical instrument perfectly.

it was a good way to keep yourself busy, to not think of useless things. you've had more than enough time in a couple thousand years to master all this.

thin fingers drum on the keys: furiously, with malice, while the piano obediently gives out note after note.

Morax loved listening to you play, especially erhu. his delicate dragon hearing gravitated towards graceful, gentle melodies. even in this matter, your opinions did not agree: you, his spouse, loved to play music so that the maids, shuddering, thought why their mistress was furious once again.

you had beautiful hands, as befits a great musician; and with those beautiful hands you were concentrated on running your fingers through your husband's long hair.

the tips of the strands shimmer with amber in your delicate hands.

you never took the initiative or showed affection, and Morax, although genuinely surprised by such a sudden request, gladly complied. it was nice to feel the gentle touch of your thin fingers, occasionally touching the scalp and sending shivers down his back. low, guttural rumble came from his chest as he closed his eyes in euphoric bliss.

you put the jade comb aside.

"indeed, what a beautiful hair." – you drawled indifferently, noticing the hot blush on his neck, which burned even more after you pulled harder.

indeed, beautiful. how nice it would be to hit his head on an expensive countertop, wrapping it around your fist. how he would react? you would really like to see tears and fear in his bright eyes.

"beauuutiful..." – you hissed with a caustic sneer at the very ear of the lord of geo, pulling especially hard.

your husband's uncharacteristically high-pitched moan was your answer.

____*:･ﾟ✧

with each millennium spent together, your spouse has become softer. calmer, more respectful towards you. and even if you still noticed the possessive twinkle in his amber eyes, it was incomparable to the fire of poisonous passion that burned in them once.

at least now you were allowed to manage your own time. how generous of him, to end your imprisonment within the walls of the palace – you thought with caustic sarcasm, picking up another glaze lily for a bouquet.

now you even had friends – if that's what you could call the adepti and other loyal companions of Morax. all of them, of course, sympathized with your situation, but never made any attempts to help. they didn't interfere – no one ever did.

the sunset was blazing bright orange – or scarlet, or pink – didn't matter. you frowned, looking into nowhere.

Guizhong plopped a large bouquet of glaze lilies into your hands, snatching you out of your gloomy thoughts, but immediately running away in embarrassment.

"and why?" – you felt the urge to roll your eyes, but pulled yourself out of the annoying habit. goddess of dust, although considered you friends and did not hide the fact that she liked you, the wife of Morax, alone with you trembled like an autumn leaf in the wind.

piercing, cold eyes slid to embarrassed goddess, and you tried to give her a smile: the best you were still capable of, if were capable at all. so that it doesn't look like a facial muscle spasm.

"thank you. they're pretty." – goddess of dust smiled back: bright and sunny. in your gaze, for a second, shifted a non malicious envy, with which elders who have lived a long, harsh lives look at children. you yourself forgot how to smile like that a long time ago.

yes, perhaps you were really a little jealous of Guizhong. of the fact that she did not meet Morax as a young and cruel deity. the lady of the Guili Assembly knew him as wise and merciful, her faithful ally and reliable support. you didn't blame her for that, but you still couldn't help a slight tremor in your hands at the sight of your husband having a pleasant conversation with his friends.

well, after another millennia, Rex Lapis has come to love having pleasant conversations with you too.

"lovely flowers." – Morax patted you on your shoulder, smiling tenderly, but you, however, did not consider it necessary to respond in kind.

"Guizhong gave it to me." – you mumbled dryly.

"I see. do you like her?" – geo archon leaned closer to you, affection shining in his amber eyes.

"I don't know." – you closed your cold eyes, without taking your tired gaze from the bouquet.

Morax kissed the top of your head, and you twisted your face in disgust.

____*:･ﾟ✧

war of the archons died down with great noise, bringing destruction and devastation. having lost many, Morax took his place among the Seven.

and even Guizhong, sweet and kind Guizhong, fell victim to this massacre. although, of course, for the wife of the geo archon her death and the deaths of many others were not as much a blow as for himself.

slender fingers pluck the strings of the erhu, playing an elegant, long-drawn melody.

"[name]. I know you hate me, but still-" Rex Lapis looked at his wife with deep, sick affection and sadness in his amber eyes, like a beaten puppy, – "but still, please..."

you lift your eyelids, giving him a cold, indifferent look, and put down the instrument.

"you do not worth pity." – you say dryly, pursing your lips, – "at least not mine."

Morax rests his head on your shoulder, desperately inhaling your scent, as if afraid that you will disappear.

"please. just this once. help me just once, I beg you." – you feel the hot moisture staining the silk of your hanfu.

your beautiful hand rests on the top of his head, and you hear a noisy intake of breath, and his fingers tightly grip your forearm in a desperate embrace.

your little god is so pathetic. how disgusting.

see, how simple everything turns out to be? beg, even better if you cry, and maybe I'll feel a little sorry for you.

but you both knew that you would never allow him the luxury of your pity.

your tenacious fingers grabbed his hair in a firm grip, and you lift his head so that your husband looks into your eyes. into your cold, mocking eyes.

the only thing you desired to see in your former tormentor's gaze was fear, but even in that matter he disappointed you. Morax was looking at you with the same sick love that you had never been able to get used to over the last millennium.

you were waiting for fear, hatred, anything, but not this.

you huffed, relaxing your grip. your husband's arms wrapped around your waist, and he rested his head on your shoulder once again.

"you can be cruel. you can shout at me or hate me. you can do whatever you want with me, just please, please... don't go away."

there was no answer for him.

____*:･ﾟ✧

warm midday sun illuminated the domain in the Aocang mountain. fluffy clouds floated overhead while you sipped fragrant herbal tea, entertaining yourself with conversations with the Guardian of the Clouds.

"Zhongli, huh? how sweet. well, why don't you invite him to have tea with us?" – you giggled venomously, enjoying the intense gaze of the adepti. – "I will be more than glad to see him once again."

guilt will always follow geo archon, you will make sure of this.

you will be glad to see his sadness again, to hear the regret in his voice, and maybe, maybe even laugh a little when you'll see the same pathetic obsession in his eyes.

because it doesn't matter if it's Morax or Zhongli, he will always come back to you.

geo archon will always desire, and you will always despise.

always. forever.

thanks to everyone who (for strange reason 🤨🤨) finished reading this!!! honestly I was so scared to post it and my english is probably awful uuuh

maybe I'll post something else but it'll sure take a while bc as a said before, translating any of my stuff takes a shit ton of time

bye!!

[lexsssu]

Aeon (Zhongli)

TAGS: Zhongli/F!reader, yandere, obsession, possessive behavior, implied smut Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

“Exquisite, gorgeous, precious...and all MINE ” 

Cool amber burned almost golden as they gazed down at you with so much restrained desire that it almost felt like you were being scorched by the intensity of his hunger alone. 

Can you blame him though? Zhongli had spent countless nights dreaming of this day. He’d lost count of how many times he only had the company of his own hand to sate his yearning to be one with you both in heart and body. 

The former archon was filled with so MUCH love for you that it was an ordeal in itself to keep it all under wraps so that he wouldn’t frighten you away. He KNOWS that you were born to be HIS and as much as he wanted to simply snatch you up and hoard you somewhere dark and isolated...he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if you were to lose your spark should he chain you to him by force.

That is why he bides his time, something he’d never been in short supply of. He befriends you when you first arrive at Liyue Harbor, refraining from crushing you to his body the moment he catches a whiff of your jasmine flower scent as you introduce yourself to him. The smile you bestow upon the dark-haired man reminds him of a single unspoiled bloom atop a mountain’s peak as the ground is bathed in a river of red. 

Every cell in his body practically SCREAMS at him to mark you already. To stake his claim before any other presumptuous male decided to show interest in you, because who wouldn’t be interested when you were the rarest gem amongst a sea of filthy swine? 

“Don’t worry, my Darling. Tonight...you will be cherished and pampered like the priceless treasure that you are...I will worship you until only your sweet cries fill the night…” He purrs, a deep rumble emanating from his chest as his large hands begin to tug softly at the expensive material of your bright red wedding dress.

It is like opening a neatly wrapped and highly anticipated present, every tug revealing a sight that makes his breath hitch in his throat and for his mouth to go dry, an undeniable hunger roaring within him. Zhongli is a patient man, he’d waited thousands of years before finally meeting you and yet those few seconds before your gorgeous body was revealed to him felt like an eternity.

When your exquisite form in all its beauty is finally bared before his draconic gaze, the male pounces and your delectably debauched cries fill the air throughout the night and until the wee hours of the morning. 

[yourlocalstranger123]

[I was bored and wanted to take a break from writing....something 😳 👀💧]

The yandere sagau side: it's exactly the same but just a little too obsessed. They worship you, giving you sacrifices offerings. You couldn't exactly see since you have a limit to see what they offer you. You just maybe it's an item that has a shape of a human. Who knows... the experimenters like dottore and Albedo will work together to create a body for you that is made on the details of the ancient script. Ei/raiden would make the body eternity, Zhongli would put protection on it, Venti would give the blessing of the wind to alarm you of the danger and Nahida would give you knowledge since you only just protect and make people safe and ofc make them feel warm. So you don't know what's happening 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♀️🤷 and they made sure the body could at least withstand most of your power.

● Morax first felt a little alert. 'Who are you?' 'What do you want?' He was confused. He never felt a presence that felt more godly than the celestials themselves. He felt stiff. He asked the others if they felt this...presence. They say yes but it seems to have no harm. He couldn't risk it, he was still on high alert. But when the moment he was fighting, he felt protected, stronger too. Are you perhaps helping him..? Why? He did not worship you if you were a God of some kind. After the war, he cried, cried loudly as the people of liyue can hear his pain and the cries of his roaring. Suddenly he felt your presence once again but stronger. Were you here to attack him? "SHOW YOURSELF!" He yelled. Still no answer. Weird....he laid down then continued softly sobbing, mourning of his friend's death. He felt comforted though, he tried keeping it away from him, this 'comfort' feeling. But slowly he melted into it. Sleeping soundly. He felt safe. When he woke up he saw his friends, were they actually alive? Is this perhaps an illusion you made to taunt him? His knees went weak. 'No matter, even if this is fake, please...just let him hold them one more time..even if it's not real.' He actually woke up. He looked sad, as he was about to accept the death of his friends, he sees all of them. Even the yakshas came back alive. He saw Xiao on his knees sobbing in happiness. Is this your doing?...thank you..thank you so much. Truly. He accepted you. Your kindness. He made everyone know you, well the only people who didn't know you was the one who has no vision. The yaksha knows you, well only your doings and presence. They can also feel it. They worshiped you, and give you things. They weren't rich so they could only give you simple things like flowers but it didn't matter to you. They could feel the warmth grow bigger. They smiled. They wonder if you smiled back at them? Your truly a wonderful God. Slowly everyone in liyue finds out your the creator somehow and they worshiped you even more. Everyone who had one felt your presence even more. They felt very happy, truly they are blessed to have you as their creator. When Zhongli abandoned his duty as a archon, he still worshiped you. Although not fancy as it used to but he felt that you were still happy with these simple offerings. Everyone in liyue was so very happy. Azhada also felt it. He was set free and when Zhongli tried to make him go back, there was a note before he could attack. "He deserves a second chance. Let him experience the wonderful things in life. To: Rex Lapis" he was confused, was this the Morax he knew? His heart grew soft as he read the letter. Suddenly he felt his form start to change. He panicked and looked into the river. He looked like a mortal. Although he must give you credit for your taste. In the future, he brags on and on that you made a form for him. "Shall the Geo protect you with its heart."

● Heck, even the celestials were concerned and a little scared of you. 'What are you?' They thought. You felt familiar but yet not so familiar either. 'Are you an outlander?' Later they got used to it. They thought maybe you were a Supreme God that is watching over them, in the past, they were on guard. Waiting for you to strike. But....they felt a safe feeling, an addictive feeling. 'Who are you? Why are you so...nice?' Until it clicked. Are you...the creator? If you're not then why are you so nice to them?? But it does not matter no more. They will welcome and worship you even if you are a God who is an out-lander

I was too lazy. Oh well, thus is just for practice.

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

Zhongli is my comfort blanket. I just can't imagine this character treat me badly and hurt me, but I can 100% imagine reader being yandere towards them.

You absolutely loathed to hurt him in any way. He was the sun in your sky, the dazzling gem you traded your soul for. It was only expected for him to cherish you, treasure you in that same way. He always looked at you so apprehensively, like he could read your mind.

You promised to never hurt the innocent people of Liyue, even if they were terrified of you and trembled in fear whenever you stood beside him. You and Morax once had a contract. That was, until he chose to break it. Did he truly not have a choice? Were you the lesser of two evils, so he could only disappoint you? It doesn't make the sting of betrayal any more bearable.

From the moment you laid eyes on him, your devotion to him was unshakable. You could die for him. You could denounce the world and forsake all your kin for him. Yet he chose to forsake you.

You were completely justified in chaining him up like this. He looked so hopeless, so infuriatingly submissive in these pretty chains. His once-flawless body was covered in bruises and gashes, drizzled in shimmering gold like some sadistic piece of art. Not a patch of ummarred skin could be found, save for the area around his once-striking eyes. They were no longer the brilliant gems you coveted, but dull and lifeless rocks.

Maybe he feels remorse, maybe he doesn't. It doesn't matter anymore. Because he's the god of contracts, he willingly allowed himself to be sealed away and be subjected to your torture. Every second of everyday, you wouldn't fail to remind him that he had made the wrong choice. You were different from Morax. He honored his contracts because he had to. You honored your contracts to him because you wanted to. That was simply no longer the case. He needed only to stab you in the back once for you to stab him a thousand times. You would have him watch what he chose over you crumble into sand and fall apart over and over, until the day your wrath finally subsides.

[mistymem0ryy]

The bliss of a nightly coffee

Yandere Zhongli x Reader (Fem)

Summary: In which you and Zhongli take a train towards the capital, and the scenery reminds you of the love you once held for each other.

Author's notes:  this story is partially based upon my ever constant train rides and the intriguing people I happen to see in them… In this scenario Zhongli is a renowned history professor and the reader is coded as also being in academia (the prestige and the subject of her role are left for the reader to decide). It is underlined throughout the story that Zhongli comes from not only a far wealthier background than reader but also possesses a far more traditional outlook on life than reader. (so sort of modern AU??)

TW: indications of alc0h0l, possible drugg1ng and just yandere themes in general?

No beta, we survive the trenches this way.

If there was something within this life from which you could always find a morsel of unreasonable contentment, it would certainly be 1st class train voyages.

There is a fantastical element inherent to their glamorous silence, a distancing comfort to be found slithering away within the limits of an empty carriage.

Some years ago, such overbearingly enchanting ambiance would have made you shiver in an anxious, and perhaps even futile, attempt at controlling your senses. But much has changed since then. You have learnt to bear the cold.

What they never tell you about this sort of high-grade carriages is that all human warmth vanishes from its encasing, it crawls away into the opposite confines of the racing locomotive, reaching its warm fingertips towards the lingering chatter tucked away from diamond adorned ears. It’s as if the laws of thermodynamics had their ticket confiscated - thermal equilibrium but a mere folktale traded from mouth to mouth.

You can never find within yourself the firm decision to either devote your adoration to the rushing nature beyond the tainted windows or to contemplate the inner workings of the countless adornments within your carriage. 

Eventually you decided to draw your gaze away from the rushing fields, there was nothing there left for you.

Rococo with an uncanny mixture of neoclassical decor and an added aroma of Turkish coffee that made you sight from the sheer delectability of it. You have been abstaining from tea as much as possible these days. You aren’t able to clearly point out the reason why but coffee simply happens to feel more enjoyable. Warmer. Safer.

You have tasted enough coffee in your life to know if something’s wrong.

You stretch your fingers towards the pastry patiently waiting within its porcelain platter, a raspberry macaroon, not too big, not too small, the aroma it exudes carries with it a sugary scent, a freshness you've been craving for a long time.

You close your eyes as your lips meet the firm shell of the pastry once shared between Italian monks and later on between French aristocrats, shutting your sight away so that your taste buds may enjoy the smooth ganache to the fullest. 

But, as with any miraculous comfort in this life, a fruitless end must too be met. Your moment of bliss is ripped away from you as a gloved hand meets your partially naked shoulder. Fingers nearing the laced cord whose firmness held a beguiling jade stone in place, gracefully adorning the slight valley between your collar bones. You do not have to open your eyes to know to whom that hand belongs to.

Fine leather, the work of a seamstress who has mastered her craft with years of hardship. Yves Saint Laurent Autumn collection. A pair of gloves that could have paid your rent back in university. The surface is supposed to be comforting, delicate even, and yet its texture makes your skin crawl by some unexplored aversion. As you open your eyes your sight lands first and foremost upon the dark glove nearing your neck, they were beautiful, you had chosen them for him after all, there was always this glowing look upon his features every time you cowered to his whims and went on the ‘retail therapy sessions’ he so advocated for. 

Most of the time they were simple excuses for him to blow entire checks on bags you would only wear once or twice. Countless pieces of gold jewelry that he would ‘oh so graciously’ request the store’s employees to put upon your skin himself. Fingertips glazing over collarbones and warm breaths reaching for your exposed skin making your body freeze in sudden alert.

You have been married for years. A marriage built upon a fruitful relationship, which in its turn was constructed upon one of the greatest friendships you’ve ever had the blessing of creating. And yet it was always there, lingering. This fear you find no rational justification for.

It's moments like these that take you back to your early university days. When the fear wasn’t that prominent, perhaps it hadn’t taken root yet, or perhaps it had always been there, hiding beneath the layering soil of the earth, only to take bloom once you had buried yourself too deep to the point where escape was but a mere fantasy.

‘I have been looking for you my dear.’

His voice comes out honeyed and sickly sweet, like a tarte tatin, freshly cooked from a little boulangerie in the south of France. You remember visiting it with Zhongli during your first year together, you had been the one to order since your French was better than his. You had taken a childish pride in knowing that at least in this scenario you happened to possess the upper hand. Back in the day you did not read much into this sentiment, though your present self genuinely wished you had done so. 

Your desire towards saccharine things has become much more prominent as of late, they make your teeth ache in momentary torture but even the pain has its own characteristic bliss.

‘Did you hear me, my love?’

Your eyes finally meet his, they are lightly covered by his growing bangs, the contrast between his dark strands and his golden eyes makes it look as if each of his orbs have been divided in two. It gives him a certain dragonic look you were never afraid to point out even when you were mere acquaintances. His tall stature and classic manner of holding himself always gave you the notion that he carried something sacred, something ancient within him. There was a certain allure to the renowned history professor that always made everyone stop momentarily and simply be carried away by this archaic aura surrounding him.

‘I am sorry… I wasn’t here, could you repeat it?’

‘I asked you if you think it is wise to be drinking coffee at this hour?’

Though a stranger would only be capable of perceiving the teasing tone within his statement, you could clearly discern the underlying patronizing approach of his question, not exactly in a condescending manner and yet not too far away from it either.

‘I find that independently of the hour, there is nothing as comforting as a cup of coffee, does it bother you in any way?’

You were testing the waters. Not too confronting to cause him insult and yet not too diminishing in order to cause your own ego injury. These days you never knew what could set Zhongli off. Or yourself for that matter.

‘It is not exactly a matter of bothering me, rather it is a preference of being able to sleep alongside my wife without all the shuffling that is provided from someone with an overly caffeinated body’

To that statement no quick or witty stab back could be brought forth. It was true. Night and sleep haven’t been your dearest companions as of late, but you knew for certain that caffeine had nothing to do with the matter. It was mostly unspent energy, guarded anger you feared to let out all at once for you could not clearly predict the following consequences. So you did what you thought wisest and held it encased within your body, it sipped out slowly but surely, its presence made known in the lightest of manners possible. Be it troubled sleep, long periods of spacing out or a recurrently reappearing frown within your features.

In your own defense you did not think you would stay in the train for such a long period of time, you had only been told to pack your bags in order to accompany your husband to one of his academic conferences in the capital, naively thinking that once he started the engine of his car he would take you both to the nearest airport. But it had not been the case, your husband had decided that it was certainly the best moment within your relationship to surprise you with a 5 day long luxury train voyage towards your initial destination, yet again without any regard to your view upon the matter itself.

In a way, you gathered all your forces in order to rationalize Zhongli’s actions. He is an intelligent man. You married one of the most well known Professors of his field for god’s sake. You knew the strength it took to survive academia and though Zhongli certainly had the upper hand due to his family history, his achievements could not all be simply reduced to his family name.

Perhaps this was all some sort of reaction to your breakdown some weeks ago, in a way you certainly regret it, but in another you definitely saw it coming. You like to tell yourself that Zhongli was attentive enough to see it coming too. 

There wasn’t really any sort of revelation that made you blow up in the heat of the moment, rather it was a prolonged and painful accumulation of both annoyance and rage,clambering one on top of another until a single comment and annoyed sigh made it all fall apart from its static grandeur.

‘If your job at university bothers you so deeply I have offered you previously the comfort necessary to leave it, yet you always deny it.’

You liked to think that he himself did not consider the possibility that you would trade all of those hard earned diplomas to fulfill whatever fantasy marinated in his head ever since you both attended one of his friends' wedding.

 Before that night, he had never mentioned it to you in such direct speech and such a face to face approach, about how he wished for children, your undivided attention, family vacations and you always and strictly by his side. He had been slightly inebriated, too much osmanthus wine you presumed. The mention of ‘the measures to which he would go in order to be sure of your safety within his own embrace alone’ were enough to cut the conversation immediately. Blame it on the alcohol, you reassured yourself. 

You had reacted badly, but in all honestly who could blame you at this point, you did not want Zhongli to tell you that if you were in such distress you could always become his fulltime housewife, you wanted him to give you strength and be there for you whenever the circumstances got worse. And yet, the prospect itself of leaving your job and living off of Zhongli’s wealth wasn’t what struck the most dread within your already dismaying mind, rather it was the look that took over his features while he mulled over such thoughts. 

How his eyes quickly darkened and a slight smirk pushed the ends of his lips towards his rose tinted cheeks. Blame it on the alcohol, you pleaded yourself.

You guessed that, even within the most reputable and honorable of men, selfishness had its way of slithering into one's tongue, scales rushing through the soaring throat and from there finally reaching into the pumping heart, that is of course, if the heart itself hasn’t been overturned into one of its countless dominions already.

The same man that revealed to you the sickest of desires through a gaze alone, now looked at you with a mixture of concern and scrutiny swarming within his golden eyes.

‘Perhaps a chamomile tea will permit your nerves to be calmed? We wouldn't want you to reach our destination enveloped in complete exhaustion now would we, my gem?’

‘NO- I mean, I- there is no need… I have told you countless times that the tea here makes me nauseous, will you stop nagging me with it for a second…’ Annoyance was all you could procure to hide away your true concerns, you could not shiver in front of him nor make too drastic a move, you even made a point of not looking too inquisitively towards the outside world beyond the windows. 

You had made countless ventures towards the capital during your early adult years, memories of visiting your old companion Beidou or going antique hunting with Zhongli during the initial stages of your friendship flooded your memory as if in a sudden flash. A 7 hour long train ride you usually had to book in advance to get the best deals as a struggling university student, a 7 hour long train ride that you had shared with friends and acquaintances that have come and gone, a 7 hour long train ride whose destiny certainly wasn’t the same you were previously made believe you were now heading towards. 

You cannot be certain when and how you noticed it, if it was the outside fauna that simply did not sit well with your fading memory, if it was the fervent way Zhongli made sure whatever words were shared between you and the staff were not enough to make them linger for long, if it was his embrace that once a source of delight and comfort now became one of alarm and wariness.

‘There is no need to show such intense aversion to it my dear, I would only add one or two valerian roots, nothing too drastic.’ The mirth dripping from his tongue nearly made you convulse. The heavy grip upon your shoulder lessened while long fingers reached for your chin, forcing your gaze to remain connected to his own.

‘Now let’s go back to our carriage, I believe you are in dire need of a good night of sleep, if it were not for my constant nagging that you so seem to dislike, how could you ever hope to survive this by yourself?’ He lightly chuckled after a careful change of intonation to smooth over the unfamiliar underlinings of his phrase.

If that wasn’t meant to be a threat then you did not know what it was meant to be. The abruptness of his words was accompanied by a sudden pang of fatigue throughout the entirety of your body. You are tired, you have been so tired for so long. It was as if exhaustion had suddenly reached for your throat and forbade you from even uttering a plea against its relentless grip. But how could you even dare to fight against it? Perhaps fighting wasn't even a viable choice anymore.

Could you even find comfort in alienating your own self from reality and bathing in fantasies of the past for much longer? Could you keep telling yourself there was nothing wrong with the windows? With the decor? With the coffee?

You could feel an amalgam of tears creeping its way from the ends of your torpid eyes, and yet you fought their arrival valiantly despite being fully aware of their inevitable fall. You could not find any feasible explanation for why you felt so much so suddenly, it was as if the control over your physique had been stolen and now somebody else spoke through its movements, through its urgings, through its lechery.

Until some days ago you genuinely and wholeheartedly believed that you were the person who knew Zhongli the best. Now you have been struck with the realization that you could not be further from the truth. 

Your mind wanders through sleepless nights spent restfully within the embrace of silk sheets and the warmth of golden eyes, through rushed visits to the archeological museum before its closing time so he could explain the historical background of some new exposition, through shared cups of tea during nightfall and an offered mug of your most coveted home brewed coffee the morning following, through discussions of philosophical movements alongside some osmanthus wine and inebriated laughter, through sudden embraces and rushing kisses that procured every single confine of your body as if to consume you whole.

Before your mind could even return wholly to reality, your body had already been laid upon cotton sheets perfumed with agarwood and slight notes of bergamot. Or was it patchouli? You could definitely uncover some layers of patchouli and perhaps even some modest nudges of vanilla here and there.

All of a sudden your careful analysis of smell was obstructed by an intense scent of ripe apricots alongside that of a honeyed autumn breeze touched by floral nuances you have grown familiar with over the years.

You smelt it before you heard it reach your husband’s crystal cup. 

Osmanthus wine.

You wanted to garner the strength to ask him where you were going, what were his intentions and if this was the reason behind his insistence on you taking the majority of his favorite pieces of your jewelry collection on this ‘trip’.

You knew Zhongli wasn’t a man of sudden changes, he took time as a relic and would never cower beneath sudden urges, so for how long had he been planning this? For how long had you been sleeping encaged by the warm embrace of the man that was planning to do god knows what with you?

The silent carriage was abruptly occupied by a deep gulp and a purging sight. You could hear footsteps approaching and yet you couldn't even twist your body towards their direction. Could you yell for help? And if you did would anyone even hear you? Come for you? Or would they instead have their worries ‘proven’ irrational by a charismatic smile of the man now lingering over you?

‘I am deeply sorry that things had to reach this point, my love’ 

No you’re not. 

His features were twisted and yet harmonious. You knew what his sorrowful face looked, or perhaps you did not at all. Perhaps you had fooled yourself into believing you could know someone as well as yourself when you could barely hope for a slight tinge of human honesty. 

‘Know simply that every single action I take is taken with the intent of proving to you that there is no place in this world crafted for yourself besides my own arms, I have given you years to wander about and reach that conclusion by yourself but I fear that you have become more unruly than I forethought….’ He kisses your forehead as one would kiss that of a lover on a moonless night, his lips still veiled with a light coat of expensive wine and a thousand lies.

At this moment, you could hope for many things, you could pray to some metaphysical entity inhabiting realms beyond the material, you could even plea for mythological furies to avenge what is to come, but perhaps blissful ignorance was the only thing potent enough to keep you ashore now.

Blame it on the alcohol, you implored yourself.

Blame it on anything, except the man you swore to love until the grip of hades were too much to bear.

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

This story is also available on Wattpad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Do NOT Repost

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Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐔𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

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"Long ago, in the timeless realm of Liyue, there was a story of love and envy, a tale that has been passed down through the ages. It speaks of Morax, our Geo Archon; Guizhong, the gentle and wise goddess; and a woman of unparalleled beauty and mystery, known to all as the Unknown Beautiful Lady.

The Beautiful Lady was a vision of grace and charm, her presence as enchanting as a moonlit night. Her beauty and elegance captivated even the gods. Morax, our protector, and Guizhong, the embodiment of wisdom, both adored her deeply. Their love formed a harmonious bond, unbreakable and pure.

Yet, this divine trio's tranquility was threatened by Osial, the formidable sea lord. Osial, consumed by envy, coveted the love and devotion that Morax received from his two beloveds. His heart twisted by jealousy, he sought to disrupt their happiness and claim their affections for himself.

Osial's envy grew into a dark cloud of deceit. He whispered malicious lies, hoping to fracture the trust and love between Morax, Guizhong, and the Beautiful Lady. But their bond was resilient, withstanding his insidious attempts to sow discord.

Frustrated by his failure, Osial confronted Morax directly. The confrontation was a cataclysmic clash of divine forces, their battle shaking the very heavens and earth. Osial, driven by his green-eyed fury, accused Morax of hoarding the love of the Unknown Lady and Guizhong, proclaiming that such affection should belong to him.

Morax, steadfast and noble, stood his ground. He fought not only with the strength of a god but with the fierce love he held for the Beautiful Lady and Guizhong. The battle raged on, a testament to the destructive power of jealousy and the indomitable strength of true love. Ultimately, Morax sealed Osial away, imprisoning him in the depths of the ocean to safeguard Liyue and his cherished ones.

And so, dear listeners, this legend became a poignant reminder of the enduring power of love and the perils of envy. The Beautiful Lady's ethereal beauty and mystery, Guizhong's enduring loyalty and wisdom, and Morax's unwavering strength and love form the heart of this timeless tale.

As we gather here tonight, let us remember the lessons of this story. Love is a powerful force, capable of withstanding the darkest storms, while envy and deceit can lead to ruin and despair."

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Striking amber-colored eyes with yellow, diamond-shaped pupils intently listened to the old tale spun by the Storyteller. Despite the early morning rain, the hustle and bustle were nothing extraordinary for the residents of Liyue. 

The storyteller's corner was fully packed, with people eager to hear the old legend. His smooth lips touched the rim of a heated cup, and as he took a sip, the flavorful liquid danced on his tongue. A relaxed hum escaped his lips, expressing his delight at the tea's rich taste.

"Woah, the story was awesome!" Paimon exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement. "What did you think, Aether?"

Aether nodded thoughtfully, "Interesting, at least," he said, taking a sip from his own cup. He then turned his gaze to the handsome gentleman known as Zhongli. "But did it really happen, or is it just a tale?" Aether asked.

Zhongli only smiled and continued to drink his tea peacefully, the steam rising in delicate tendrils around his face.

"Hmpf, Zhongli! Please tell us!" Paimon demanded, her feet kicking the air in impatience. "At least the name of the beautiful woman!" She flew closer to Zhongli and whispered eagerly.

"Oh, are you truly so eager to hear?" Zhongli responded with a smile. "I thought you might find the old tale boring, considering you both seemed to daze off from time to time."

The rain continued to patter softly against the cobblestones, mingling with the distant sounds of morning vendors setting up their stalls. The air was thick with the scent of rain and the subtle aroma of tea leaves.

Paimon pouted, "We were just... uhh... absorbing the atmosphere!"

Zhongli chuckled softly. "Very well. The tale, as with many old stories, contains elements of truth and myth. The beautiful woman in the story... well, she was indeed real."

"Can you tell us more about her?" Paimon asked, her curiosity beaming.

Zhongli's gaze wandered to the rain, and a genuine yet bittersweet smile appeared on his lips. "She liked the rain a lot. Her voice, soft yet light as silk, would always say..."

- "As the raindrops tumble, their pitter-patter on my umbrella whispers gently to me. I somehow find brief serenity in these moments." -

He recalled her standing in the rain, holding her crimson red paper umbrella.

The raindrops danced on its surface as she extended her hand towards the falling droplets. She slightly turned around to face Zhongli, her peachy lips painted the same color as her umbrella. Her face was half obscured by the umbrella, yet her words resonated clearly.

The memory of her was vivid in his mind, a moment untouched by the erosion that slowly devoured his old memories.

"Y/N... That is her name," Zhongli mumbled, rolling her name off his tongue as his gaze remained fixed on the rain and the passing people.

Paimon and Aether exchanged glances, their faces reflecting a shared sadness as they saw their friend's distant expression.

The early morning rain continued to fall, creating a soft, soothing melody against the cobblestones. Lanterns hanging from shop eaves and street corners swayed gently in the breeze, casting warm, golden light that danced with the raindrops.

The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and the subtle fragrance of tea leaves from the nearby stalls. The crowd had thinned, yet the lingering presence of Zhongli's story created a bubble of quiet reflection.

Aether took a sip of his tea, savoring the warmth that contrasted with the cool, damp air. "She sounds like she was very special to you," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of understanding.

"She was," Zhongli replied, his voice tinged with both reverence and sorrow. "Her presence brought a sense of tranquility that I have rarely found elsewhere. Even now, the rain reminds me of her."

Paimon hovered closer, her usually energetic demeanor softened by the weight of the moment. "Do you think we might ever meet her?" she asked, her voice hopeful yet gentle.

Zhongli's smile returned, though it was tinged with melancholy. "Perhaps. The world is vast, and fate has a curious way of weaving our paths together. Until then, let us cherish the memories and stories that keep her spirit alive."

The rain began to lighten, a delicate mist rising from the ground as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the clouds.

In this serene moment, a crimson red paper umbrella appeared amidst the bustling crowd. Its vibrant red hue pierced through the throng of people, a color deeply etched in Zhongli's memories.

His eyes widened in disbelief, and his cup slipped from his hand, shattering into tiny pieces on the cobblestones. Yet, the sound was lost to him. Everything became muted, his vision blurring as he saw that unmistakable red on her lips, her face.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move.

Was he hallucinating? Was the after-rain playing tricks on his mind? Was he daydreaming?

As the red paper umbrella grew smaller in the distance, Zhongli's heart pounded in his chest. Suddenly, he sprang to his feet, the wooden table toppling over in his haste. He didn't care. He moved forward, pushing through the crowd, chasing the umbrella as if his life depended on it.

The streets were alive with activity, the early morning hustle blending with the gentle patter of lingering raindrops. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, casting soft, golden hues on the wet cobblestones. The scent of rain mingled with the aroma of freshly brewed tea and street food, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. Yet, all of this was lost to Zhongli. His entire being focused solely on the crimson umbrella, a beacon in the sea of moving figures.

People turned, startled by his sudden urgency, but he paid them no mind. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps, his vision narrowing on the retreating figure. The vibrant red color seemed to taunt him, slipping further away with every passing second. His heart raced, a mixture of hope and desperation driving him forward.

Was it really her? Could it be? The questions swirled in his mind, but he had no time for answers. He needed to see her, to confirm what his heart yearned for. The crowd thickened, but he pushed on, weaving through the throng with a determination that bordered on madness.

Finally, as he reached the edge of the crowd, he saw the umbrella come to a stop. The figure holding it turned, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, their eyes met.

The world around him seemed to freeze, the sounds fading into a distant murmur. It was her. The woman from his memories, the one he thought he had lost forever.

Tears welled in his eyes, and his breath hitched. He had found her. Or perhaps, she had found him. Either way, in that magical moment under the after-rain sky, surrounded by the vibrant life of the city, Zhongli felt a spark of hope reignite within him.

He had been given a second chance, and he wasn't going to let it slip away.

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You turned around to find out who was following you, and your eyes landed on a tall man with brown hair and striking amber-colored eyes. He seemed out of breath, as if he had been chasing you through the crowded streets.

You waited for a response from the stranger, but he kept staring at you, his gaze intense and unyielding. The crowd continued to pass by, casting curious glances in your direction.

"I'd be embarrassed too, getting stared at like that," you said, your voice breaking the trance he seemed to be in. Somehow, your words pulled him back to reality.

He skipped a beat as he heard your voice and stepped forward as if he were dreaming. "Y/N..." he muttered your name, and your eyes widened in shock.

Instinctively, you stepped back, your right hand drifting closer to your sheathed Divine Key.

"How do you know my name?" you demanded, narrowing your eyes.

A strange feeling gnawed at you, a sense that something bad had happened between you and this man. Yet, your memories of this place were fragmented, coming and going in a chaotic, disjointed order that left you feeling more confused and hurt rather than providing any answers.

You could feel in your bones that this man had inflicted great pain on you. There was something about him that screamed betrayal, something tied to Osial.

This man... this man... You gripped your scabbard tighter, ready to draw your weapon if necessary.

The air around you felt charged with tension. The gentle murmur of the crowd faded into the background, the world around you shrinking to just the two of you. The man took another hesitant step forward, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and regret.

"Please," he began, his voice soft and laden with emotion. "It's me, Mo-"

"Step back," you commanded, your voice icy and cold. Zhongli halted, a shocked expression taking over his face. Different, hazy memories sprang into your mind wildly, flickering like a faulty lantern. The pieces of your past were still too fragmented, too muddled to make sense of.

"Zhongli!" A shrill voice called from behind, snapping you both out of the tense moment.

The tiny figure of Paimon floated closer, her curiosity evident. "Why were you running..." she trailed off as she felt the murderous and cold aura radiating from you. Aether, sensing the dangerous presence, quickly stepped in front of Paimon and Zhongli, his expression wary. Yet, you noticed how his legs were shaking with fear.

Neither you nor the group in front of you moved or made a sound. The bustling crowd around you seemed oblivious to the tension, continuing their day as if nothing were amiss.

You focused on Zhongli, the man whose name triggered such a whirlwind of emotions and memories within you. Your right hand still rested on your sheathed Divine Key, ready to strike at any moment.

"Zhongli," you repeated, tasting the name on your lips. "Why did you call me by that name?"

Zhongli took a cautious step forward, his gaze steady despite the coldness in your eyes. "Because that is your name, Y/N. We shared many moments together... drank tea with Guizhong... why can't you remember?"

Aether, still shielding Paimon, looked between you and Zhongli, clearly unsure of what to do. "Maybe we should all take a step back and talk this out," he suggested, his voice gentle but firm.

'Guizhong?' you questioned in your mind. The name felt familiar yet strange, as did Zhongli's face. It was as though you recognized him from a dream you could no longer fully remember.

The confusion was palpable, and your hand trembled slightly on the hilt of your sheathed Divine Key.

"I suggest you leave me be," you said, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying an undeniable force. Without waiting for an answer, you turned and walked away.

Zhongli watched you go, his expression a mixture of sorrow and determination. He took a step forward, but Aether halted him, shaking his head. "Give her some space," Aether advised softly. "She needs time to sort through this."

Zhongli nodded reluctantly, his eyes never leaving your retreating figure.

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Many papers lay scattered across the metallic table. Dottore leaned over, his crimson eyes scanning document after document, his hand pressed to his forehead in deep concentration.

This was unexplainable.

It didn't make sense.

Yet, he was certain his eyes and mind weren't deceiving him about what he had witnessed after the funeral.

He quickly fetched another sheet of paper and a pen, determined to capture every detail of his experience once more.

The moment Innamorati turned toward the frozen church, the falling snow had stopped, as if time itself had halted. Could she possess the ability to stop time? But why would she use it then? For what purpose? He recalled her muttering, 'Meaningless...'

Then, he heard the sound of shattering glass, and he perceived everything and nothing simultaneously. In that instant, he felt worthless, reduced to nothingness.

...

Dottore threw the pen away in frustration.

In that moment, he had felt a presence. A divine and pure presence, untouched by filth, yet sorrowful and sad. It was unmistakably the presence of the Divine Creator. Dottore was certain of it.

The Divine Creator had finally arrived.

His crimson eyes rested on a metallic black box, sealed with a highly complex mechanism. Only he knew of its existence; neither Pierro nor Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa, were aware of it.

Innamorati, the 0th Harbinger. She was the Divine Creator, Dottore was convinced. Nothing else could explain that unexplainable moment.

He walked towards the box and unlocked it. Inside, a glass tube filled with golden liquid sparkled under the lab lights.

This was the only solution to confirm his theory. One way or another, Dottore would get his answers. He could hardly wait for Innamorati to arrive at his lab.

As he gazed at the golden liquid, he felt a mixture of anticipation and reverence. This discovery could change everything. The Divine Creator, hidden in plain sight as the 0th Harbinger, was a revelation of immense proportions.

Dottore's mind raced with possibilities. If his theory was correct, the implications were staggering. Not only for the Fatui but for the entire world of Teyvat. The thought of unraveling such a profound mystery filled him with a thrill he hadn't felt in a long time.

He carefully placed the glass tube back in its secure position and sealed the box once more. His heart pounded with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The arrival of Innamorati would either confirm his greatest hypothesis or shatter it entirely.

Either way, he was ready. Dottore's eyes gleamed with determination. He would uncover the truth, no matter the cost. The Divine Creator was within his grasp, and he would not let this opportunity slip away.

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Reblog if you like this story

[tylerxrbtwhp]

WHO'S THAT POKEMON- Dude, Y/N is playing GAMES with them alright 😭💀🙌🏼

Title: Of Thunder and Contracts.

Pairing: Yandere!Morax x Reader x Yandere!Baal (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 3.4k.

TW: Kidnapping, Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of Non-Con, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Intimidation, Soft Hades and Persephone Retelling, Spoiler Free.

It was raining, again.

Lightly, this time, just enough for you to notice, the sky grey but the clouds thin enough to let sunlight shine through in thin, golden rays. You held out a hand, watching as droplets gathered in your palm, letting the small puddle grow until it overflowed, dripping down your wrist, clinging to your forearm before finally falling away at your elbow, leaking over the side of the cliff you’d perched yourself on. There was thunder in the distance, but you paid it no mind. You couldn’t remember the last time any bolt of lightning had been bold enough to strike you.

You heard grass rustling somewhere behind you, muffled footsteps accompanied by an exasperated sigh, once they came to a stop.

“My goddess,” You said, as Morax placed a hand on your shoulder. “I fear that she may be unhappy with us.”

Another sigh, this one more airy, more wistful. You waited for him to sit down next to you, taking his time to cross his legs, to scan over the landscape, as dark and as deary as it had been since the day you arrived. You’d heard tales of Liyue’s beauty, jutting canyons and clear springs and marketplaces filled with the most wonderful things you would ever lay eyes on, but Morax was protective, over-cautious at the best of times, and you had yet to explore beyond Jueyan Karst, yet to venture beyond the watchful eyes of his adepti. It was better than it used to be, better than the days you’d spent locked away in another realm entirely, your existence limited to a handful of rooms and his company. You were far from happy to be kept on such a short leash, but you could admit it was preferable to being locked away in your kennel, again.

“And I fear that you’ve grown paranoid.” Fingertips on your cheek, long nails brushing against your jaw. You leaned into his hand mindlessly, but kept your gaze on the horizon, on the storm approaching in the distance. “You’re not in Inazuma, anymore. Baal has no power here.”

“She’s stronger than you think she is. Just as Barbatos can steal the wind of Snezhnaya and you can raise mountains in Sumeru, she rules the skies across all of Teyvat. To hold her accountable to anything less would be to undersell her power.” He laughed, but you refused to indulge him. “I’ve seen her wash away cities, tear her own islands apart. She’s not the type of deity to sit back and let something so important to her be stolen away.”

“And she intends to take you back with a sun shower?”

“She is not without courtesy.” Thunder crashed somewhere in the distance, and pale-violet lines formed branching webs across the sky. “She must want to give you a chance to make things right, before sinking your nation and anyone foolish enough to inhabit it.”

He pulled away from you, at that, but only far enough to draw you closer, to wrap an arm around your waist, slot you against his side. He touched you softly, now, as if you were something delicate, but he hadn’t always been so careful, so considerate. You still had scars from the first few weeks you’d spent with him, love-bites littered over your neck and chest, scratches down your thighs, deep enough to still ache, sometimes, when you tried to stretch or lay on your back. He’d been insatiable, back then, too desperate to have you close to care about how much he had to carve out of you to do so.

He still was, now, judging by the hand at your hip, the lips ghosting over the dip of your shoulder. The way he spoke to you, calmly, ever so slightly bemused. “Come inside. I’ll make tea and light the hearth, and we can keep ourselves warm until the storm passes.”

You nodded, letting him kiss the side of your neck and help you stand, once he’d gotten to his feet himself. You took a moment to brush yourself off, to glance enviously towards his permanently-white, permanently-spotless robes, and then to the horizon, one more time, the clouds now darkening, gathering, growing dark enough to blot out the sun entirely. You thought of your hometown, where the sky was always grey and snow was a constant threat, and you thought of the Raiden Shogun’s estate, all dim lights and shadowy hallways and downcast faces.

“You wouldn’t let her, right?” You said, and Morax hummed, curiously. “If she tried to take me back, I mean.”

“No.” There was no hesitation, no thought. Not that you’d expected any, when you asked. “I wouldn’t let her lay a finger on you, let alone take you away from me.”

You saw his smile, in the corner of your eye. Small, barely there, but no less possessive than any grin you’d seen him wear, since he took you into his loving arms.

“And, if I did, it would take far more than a few idle threats to force my hand.”

~

It rained the day after that, too.

And the day after that.

And every day, for the next six weeks.

Morax brushed it off at first, obviously. He didn’t deny it, but when you spoke of Baal, when you mentioned her temper, her jealousy, her fondness for divine retribution, but he would laugh and smile and kiss your forehead, asking if you were feeling unwell, if he’d left you in isolation for a little too long.

His worries were saved for his servants, for his adepti, for the hushed conversations he held when he thought you were out of earshot, when he couldn’t know you were lurking on the other side of his door, listening in as he discussed his concerns with advisors he trusted so much more than you. His fears, his anxieties – those were saved for the night, for the darkness, for the sound of rainfall on the rooftop of his temple, louder than it’d ever been, before.

He was sitting up, when you opened your eyes, his back against the headboard and his eyes focused on something far ahead. He rarely slept, but most nights, he tried to pretend he did, to hold you until the sun began to rise and he was forced to attend to his responsibilities. Baal was never so domestic, never so shamelessly affectionate. She’d preferred to drag you along, hour after hour, day after day, until you were willing to rest your head in her lap and sleep on the floor of her war room. Sometimes, if she was feeling generous, she’d have her servants bring you blankets, pillows, things more comfortable than marble and stone. Sometimes, oftentimes, she was not so attentive.

Your voice was heavy, barely audible, weighed down by dread and exhaustion in equal parts. “It’s getting worse.”

“It’s only your imagination, my love.” He sounded distant, his attention clearly elsewhere. “It always rains like this, in the summer. Canyons fill, rivers overflow, a few villagers might be displaced by the flood, but nothing more. You’ll be used to it by the time the seasons change.”

“The seasons have changed. It's nearly autumn.” You placed your hand over his. “Please. Even if you don’t believe me, find the strength to indulge my inane ramblings.”

He was silent, for a moment.

Then, he sighed, shaking his head, and closed his eyes completely. “Come here. If I am to have strength, I’d like to have my greatest weakness as close as possible.”

You obeyed without a second thought, pushing away the sheets, crawling to his side and settling against him, resting your head against his broad chest. You felt him relax, wrap an arm around your waist, letting you watch as strips of faint light raced over his skin, as if he’d been born with molten gold in his veins rather than blood. It’d seemed alien, at first, yet another inhuman trait for you to be wary of and avoid, accordingly. Now, you could only think of Baal’s eyes, of the way they’d glowed whenever you said her name.

“I didn’t know she was so fond of you,” He admitted, reluctantly, his free hand moving toward your leg, blunt nails tracing aimless patterns into your thigh. “I saw the way she treated you. I assumed you were a plaything to her and little more. I thought, if I brought you to Liyue, she wouldn’t mourn your loss.”

Of course. He hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen how gentle she could be, hadn’t felt her hands in yours, her fingertips on your chest, her lips on the column of your throat. He hadn’t witnessed her kinder moments, hadn’t tasted the desserts she shared with you, hadn’t listened to the promises of an eternity spent in each other’s arms. He hadn’t known her, not truly, not as you did, and he never would. Those were the moments he could not have, the memories you would never give him. Those were the things you would never allow him to take from you.

“Her love is… complex,” You managed, instead. “It can be difficult to judge, as an onlooker.”

Your lackluster response earned a small huff, a tug, pulling you into the space between his open legs. “I meant what I said. She can’t take you away from me. She doesn’t have any right to.”

You nodded, not that he could’ve noticed. “I know.”

“She’s a child, compared to me, an impetuous child who never learned to take care of her toys. I’m kinder than she is. I deserve you more than she does. You’d have a far happier life with me than you would, with her.” Thunder rolled, the sound low, sharp, deafening. You counted the seconds, waiting for lightning, but it never came. “I love you. You love me, too. More than you could’ve ever loved her.”

Had you told him that? Made the effort to find such generous words and whisper them to him, so sweetly, so softly, over and over and over again? You couldn’t imagine why you would. “I know.”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice, in your name. If a few of my subjects have to drown, then so be it.” His voice didn’t shake, his cadence didn’t waver, but his grip around you tightened, and you knew that he was not a heartless man. Your presence alone was evidence enough of that. “I don’t want to give you up.”

“I know.”

Now, the lightning came, bright enough to dull his own glowing veins.

“And yet, I’m afraid you won’t have any other choice.”

~

You weren’t supposed to see the harbor, like this.

Dark, downcast, houses abandoned and storefronts boarded up, doors and windows sealed in hopes of keeping out the rising water, the swells that lapped at the docks like the tongue of some great, wrathful monster. The sky was dark as far as the eye could see, as black as night and as deep as the ocean underneath it, with only torrents of rain and the occasional flash of lightning to disturb its stillness. You walked over the bay, allowing the waves to part for you, trusting the sea to freeze underneath your heels. The rain did not touch you. The world could flood, her storm growing and growing until it engulfed the entirely of Teyvat, and you would sit on top of it all, untouched, unharmed.

You were almost tempted to push forward, to test the limits of her mercy, but something caught your wrist as you moved to step forward, a hand, with fingers as smooth as marble and as warm as a blade, left to soak in the sun for an hour too long. Morax had always attempted to present himself as human, around you, to shrink himself down and make you feel as if you were being held captive by anything other than a god, but his composure slipped, now, his control wavering, his form looming over yours, his horns curving over his skull, fangs just visible behind his parted lips. You preferred it – his truer shape, the form he took for his people, not his lover. You liked knowing there was still room in his heart for both.

“You shouldn’t be here.” You shouldn’t. You’d had to beg one of his adepti, the one with wings and a soft spot for things that appeared to be human, to brave the storm and take you to the outskirts of Liyue Harbor. It’s taken you hours to find your way, to navigate the empty streets and assess the damage with your own eyes. You could understand why he hadn’t wanted you to see it, to be among the destruction, even if you couldn’t forgive him for trying to keep it from you. “I told you to stay in Jueyan Karst.”

“Your city is drowning, Morax.” Denying it would’ve been a fool’s errand, an exercise in futility, but his hold on your wrist tightened and you could tell he was tempted to try. “You can’t expect me to—”

“It’s none of your concern.” His tone was sharp, biting. His patience had run thin weeks ago, leaving his temper and little else. You could only be thankful his anger hadn’t managed to overwhelm his desperation, yet. “We’ll evacuate, take the civilians to higher ground. We’ll find shelter, scavenge for supplies. I’ll travel to Inazuma and confront Baal myself, if I have to. There just… There has to be another way to—”

“There's no other way.” You took his hand, now, and you watched as his composure faltered, his expression changing, morphing into something less dignified, something so, so achingly close to defeat. “Please. I know my goddess, and I know she only wants what you took returned to her. All of this will stop, if you only give me back.”

It was a quiet sort of pain. The kind that lingered, lived under your flesh, writhed and throbbed in the cavity of your chest and only made itself apparent when provoked, when brought to the surface, when his eyes met yours and slowly, slowly, he moved, bowing his head, letting you bring him closer until his face was buried in the dip of your shoulder and you could feel his breath on your skin, warm despite the storm around you.

“I love you.”

He’d said it a hundred times before, a thousand, maybe more, but he’d never said it so plainly, so vulnerably.

For once, you could believe he might’ve meant it.

“I’ll speak to her,” You started, slowly. “I’ll ask her to allow me to return to you, for a few months out of the year, as long as I can bargain for. I’ll convince her to let me see you again.”

You felt Morax relax, but you doubted the thought brought him any comfort. “Make a contract with me,” He muttered, so low, you could hardly hear him over the howling wind. “Promise me that you’ll come back. Promise me that you’ll find your way back into my arms.”

“I will,” You said, letting yourself lean into him, too.

“I’ll return to my goddess, and then, I’ll do everything in my power to return to you, as well.”

~

A letter was sent that day, written by your hand and delivered through celestial means your mortal mind could not possibly comprehend, and the rain stopped the next morning.

A ship was prepared, stocked with a crew of the finest sailors he could employ, and Morax saw you off in Liyue Harbor, under the guise of a merchant wealthy enough and charitable enough to fund the Qixing’s restoration efforts. He held your hand, and he kissed you, and when it came time for your departure, he refused to let you go until you threatened to drag him to Inazuma with you and let him face the Raiden Shogun’s wrath in your stead. You boarded with little fanfare, in the end, and stood at the helm until Morax was gone and Liyue was out of view, entirely.

Then, you approached the captain, and said, “Change your course. We’re going to Snezhnaya.”

“I’m ‘fraid we don’t have time for a detour,” He laughed. Your expression didn’t change, remaining stoic, humorless, and he chuckled, again, the unpleasant noise falling flat, this time. “Your husband paid for Inazuma. Can’t deviate from the plan without his approval.”

You sighed.

Then, you snapped your fingers, and an icicle erupted from the wood of the deck, tapering off less than a hair’s width from the captain’s neck. “Snezhnaya,” You repeated, sounding the syllables out as he cursed and stumbled backward. “Or I kill you, maim your crew, and give my husband’s gold to someone capable of following basic instructions.”

This time, he paid heed to your request, and you’d returned to Snezhnaya within the month.

You took your time, traveling at your leisure, stealing a horse from an inn-keeper who’d refused to rent you a room and growing reacquainted with your homeland, with its dangerous beauty, with the snow and sleet you’d longed for every time you stood under a clear sky or heard a raindrop hit the ground. You bought yourself a new cloak, tailor-made and lined with fur and thicker than anything you'd worn in years, and when you reached the capital, when you approached the Tsaritsa’s palace and the guards posted at its gates attempted to question you, you only gestured vaguely, freezing their feet to the ground and brandishing the Cyro Vision at your hip, the gift you’d had to keep hidden for as long as you could remember, lest you wanted to risk making any of your omnipotent lovers any more jealous than they already were.

“I carry the blessing of our Empress. I’ve already won her favor,” You called, as you walked past them. “You can tell me to where and where not I'm allowed to go after you’ve done the same.”

You found your Empress on her throne, reclined and alone, her attendants sent away in anticipation of your arrival. No words of longing were exchange, no sweet, sugary greetings – only the sound of your knee hitting the ground as you kneeled before her, her own hum of approval as you kissed the back of her outstretched hand. “You’ve been away for far too long,” She said, her voice just as melodic as you remembered. “Tell me of what you’ve accomplished, in your absence.”

And you did. You told her of Baal’s possessiveness, of her need to preserve the things she loved, and Morax’s righteousness, his obsession, his loneliness and how you quelled it, night after night, until he could not possibly imagine a reality you weren't a part of. You told her of the storms, the flooding, and of the contract you’d made with Morax, a third of the year reserved for his company and his company alone, and the deal you’d proposed to Baal, a few more months spent across the ocean in exchange for an eternity by her side. You spared no detail. When you finished, she pursed her lips, thoughtful and reserved.

“A storm is one thing,” She started, scanning over you, appraising you. “But I can hardly say it’ll start a war. Baal can claim ignorance, and Morax is a level-headed man. He’s not one to chase after what’s already been denied to him.”

“Not a war, per say,” You admitted, reluctantly. “But a disagreement, a resentment that runs deep enough pit the two against each other. And, next time they find themselves crossing swords, it’ll ensure that the conflict will be ugly enough to tear their nations apart.” You kissed her hand, again, drawing out the gesture out longer than custom would ever demand. “And leave room for our benevolent Empress to slip in and fill the gaps.”

“And you’re not afraid of Morax? I hear he doesn’t take kindly to mortals breaking his oh-so-precious contracts.”

“Your Majesty, you think so little of me. I’ve done no such thing.” You turned her hand over, letting your lips ghost over her wrist, next, then the pale veins of her forearm. “I promised Morax that I would return to my goddess, and in turn, rely on her kindness to return to him. I can’t be blamed for not disclosing who that goddess might’ve been.”

She laughed, the sound bright, musical, like cathedral bells or wind chimes or any of the other lovely, beautiful thing you’d deprived yourself of, for the sake of earning her trust. “And I couldn’t possibly let you stray from me again, after you’ve been gone for so long.”

“Alas,” You sighed, pushing yourself to her feet, perching yourself on the arm of her throne. “I will simply have to devote my full attention to my goddess until she remembers how insufferable my company can be, then.”

She beckoned you closer, and you kissed her, truly kissed her, just as you’d kissed Morax, just as you’d kissed Baal.

Just as you would kiss her again, and again and again and again, until she could think of you and no one else. Until she loved you, as much as an Archon could love anything that wasn't themself.

Until she needed you enough to fight for it.

[grimmweepers]

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆: RYU’S FIRST KINKTOBER!

ft. genshin, bsd, obey me, one piece, tokyo revengers, black butler

— ♤ YANDERE: OCT 3RD

꒰ yandere!dottore x fem!reader ꒱ — emotional manipulation, psychological manipulation, stalking, gullible!reader, dubcon, 3.5k wc

— ♤ PET PLAY: OCT 10TH

꒰ fyodor dostoyevsky x gn!reader ꒱ — messy blowjob, facial, he’s mean, dubcon 1.6k wc

— ♤ POWER IMBALANCE: OCT 17TH

꒰ zhongli x fem!reader ꒱ — morax!form, draconic!form mention, human!reader 2.8k wc

— ♤ CUNNILINGUS + EDGING: OCT 24TH

꒰ nami x gn!reader ꒱ — oral!giving, dom!reader, 0.5k

— ♤ DEMON FUCKING: OCT 27TH

꒰ multichara x fem!reader ꒱ — omswd demon!form lucifer, demon!form mammon (seperate!), ovulating!reader (for lucifer), creampie, monsterfucking, re-written and re-uploaded from old acc, 1.5k wc

— ♤ GUN PLAY: OCT 31ST

꒰ bonten!sanzu haruchiyo x fem!reader ꒱ — alcohol consumption, semi-public, impact (slaps your ass once) 1.8k wc

— ♤ BONUS SOFT OPENING: OCT 1ST

꒰ sebastian michaelis x fem!phantomhive reader꒱ — sfw, gothic, forbidden love, slight power imbalance, confession, 2.7k wc

⋆⭒˚.⋆ 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒 & 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

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HEED THE WARNINGS ‼️

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[flokali]

Hi i just went through your entire blog and now im having intense sagau zhongli brainrot hafjdjhdjexhsn imagine sagau zhongli worshiping fem readers chest for hours *dies*

(lying) I am so normal about boobs and Zhongli… but Anon I Am Thinking So Hard (TT) His hands are so big, his fingers are so long… with only one hand he’s able to cup your boobs (and if not then he does his best, just completely enthralled with the way some of your fat leaks from between his fingers and outside of the confines of his greedy hands) and just… squeezes while he uses his mouth on the other one, licking and kissing you until you’re sensitive from his textured (and forked) tongue… I am so okay and sane about this.

Pairing: Afab! Reader (heavily implied ; no mentions of anything other than boobs (size not specified)) x Zhongli!

Warning: Yandere, Sagau, God-like reader, cult-like behavior, obsessive and possessive thoughts, n//sft (not explicit), groping & kissing & sucking, chest/boob worship, reader is implied to be bedded by multiple characters, implied murderer (or willingness to commit), cocky Morax makes an appearance, forked tongue and cold blooded Zhongli nation rise; ask to tag!

Word Count: 2k

Zhongli’s hands are, unlike most people would be led to believe, slightly colder than the average being’s. Due to his connection to the Geo element and most natural stone’s cold temperatures, it isn’t surprising that beneath his gloves lay hands that felt smooth and chilly to the touch.

It was one of your initial observations when you first felt his un-gloved hand make contact with your own. It had taken a lot of sugary words of affirmation that he would not hurt nor taint you if he touched you with his bare hands, he’d convinced himself that you were as fragile as the carving made of crystals that’d he’d crafted, Zhongli had always feared that he may be still too much of a brute to handle you without breaking.

The feeling sent shivers up your spine, you wouldn’t quite know how to describe it, his touch was light as a feather but as imposing as the Archon’s presence, it was akin to the feeling of marble beneath bare feet, smooth and pleasant yet chilly.

His hands are also, much to no one’s surprise, slightly calloused, but not as much as you’d expect for a being once known as the God of War. The tip of his fingers were slightly thicker, as was the palm of his hand, probably from the way he gripped his weapon and the amount of times he found himself doing so. After millenia of wielding all manners of tools, it was impossible his hands didn’t tell the story as well.

Even so, his hands still managed to feel soft as they traveled across your skin. They glided across your body, up through your arms and across your collarbone; the ethereal touch leaves your skin tingling with desire and anticipation, eyes transfixed with the enchanting smile that graced Zhongli’s handsome features as he allowed his hands to wander across your bare skin, even though you were the one on the receiving end, it truly seemed as if Zhongli were the one enjoying it the most. His body relaxed, shoulders loosen, he looked at peace. His long hair let loose, his clothes replaced by silken robes that hung from his frame lazily, he was the picture of serenity and earthly bliss.

The first time you’d seen him he had been so terribly nervous, a sight completely unlike the one you’d come to know across your screen, his posture was stiff, his words felt rehearsed, and you were certain you heard a relieved sigh once he finished introducing himself; you’d later come to know it was due to a crumbling feeling of anxiety and fear of upsetting you. He may be one of the oldest of your acolytes but it was perhaps that very fact that weighed heavily on his shoulders, he had to be the best, the most knowledgeable, the most befitting servant of a deity such as yourself.

To be completely honest, had you not experienced the absolute madness that it was to be sent into a world you’d once thought fictitious and later been told you were a deity revered by the Gods of this world themselves, the mere thought of a man like Zhongli, a being who’d witnessed millenia pass him, who’d met Gods of times long since gone, nervously reciting a greeting in the mirror in preparation of meeting the likes of you would have been a comedy like no other.

However, many moon cycles had now passed and you’d learned that not only had you unknowingly become a God in a world you’d once played with but that Zhongli, the man in front of you right now, was perhaps one of your biggest devotees.

And prove his devotion he shall.

It’d become a ritual for certain acolytes, the ones of age and who bore a Vision, to engage in more physical forms of worship now that you resided with them in the same physical plane. Not all of them took part in the process, some believing it to be sacrilegious to even so much as think of you in such a lewd manner, but the ones who did fought tooth and nail to be allowed a fraction of your time and grace.

Tonight, as you lay in one of Liyue Harbor’s most exquisite hotels, it was Zhongli’s turn.

Every “worshiping session” he’d dedicate himself to a new part of your body and tonight’s focus was on your chest.

He’d been so careful in peeling off your garments, making sure not to be too rough – as in his excited state he’d sometimes miscalculate his own strength – or too hasty, wanting to savor the moment your breasts finally revealed themselves to his greedy eyes.

Once they finally are free, he lowers his hands to cup one in each, allowing himself to play with them, all while squeezing and pinching at the fat until the skin turns sensitive, he was never rough, never trying to hurt you, but he couldn’t help the thoughts of simply digging his nails a little deeper to leave a more lasting mark for the next “follower” of yours to find. However, the thought of your pained whines managed to reel him in, for now.

While he uses his hands to massage the general area, his thumbs come and lay above your nipples, making sure to circle the areola, allowing your breasts to process the touch and slowly harden your nipples without him touching them directly. He lets the tip of his fingers trace the spot, teasingly hovering them above your perked nipples before going back to knead your breasts.

You’re panting ever so slightly, the feeling of your breasts being used in such a way sends small waves of pleasure straight into your clit, it leaves you trying desperately to create some sort of friction between your legs. The man above you notices and chuckles, finally giving in to your soft movements of desperation and allowing himself to play with your nipples properly. He takes the hardening nub in between his thumb and index, slowly pinching and pulling at the skin, rubbing your other breasts as lewdly gropes the fat.

“Mhmm…” You whine, bucking your chest into his hands in an attempt to incite more. You bring your hands to meet his own and start instructing them into squeezing your chest tighter and faster, switching between tugging and pinching, kneading and softly-scratching.

“Mh’m, like that?” He chuckles, allowing himself to be guided, only applying pressure every once in a while, teasing your desperate behavior.

“Do more,” you mumble between soft pants, he’s teasing you - purposefully setting a slow pace that has you wanting more - so you decide that the only logical way to get him to stop is by teasing him back, in such a way that he has no choice but to give in and finally drop his frustrating game, “I know you’re better than this, Morax.”

“… Oh?” His expression turns into one of shock and later amusement, almost taken off guard at your words; but he knows His Idol, he knows how much you enjoy playing with him, riling him up until he loses his restraint and gives into his more primal desires.

His eyes darken, his eyelids fluttering and eyebrows turning in amusement, a grin – no, smirk – more akin to that of his younger self takes over, while his golden eyes seem to take an unnatural glow. He leans forward, fully engulfing your body with his own, until his head meets your breasts and you can feel his hot breath against your skin.

“I wouldn’t have thought your excellency to be so greedy,” he chuckles, the warmth he lets out makes you shiver, his hands trace the sides of your breasts while he begins to plant open kisses into your flesh, “mhm… ‘so needy, my love, have the others not been serving you as well as me?”

You groan as you feel him begin to suck at your tits, his tongue poking out and leaving glistening trails of his drool across your skin, it’s gentle, his forked-tongue barely touches your flesh but the ghost of its presence is enough to give you goosebumps.

Zhongli’s mouth occupied itself with your right breast as his hands worked on your left, while he playfully bit and kissed you he made sure to keep stimulating you as much as possible, his hands molded your skin, squeezing and caressing every bit of flesh his palm made contact with. His open-mouthed kisses slow down as he approaches your nipples, he takes his time - making sure to softly graze you with his sharp teeth, making sure to tease you as much as possible while never quite stopping.

Your eyes never once left his, it was overwhelming, as most things were with Zhongli, the pleasure paired with his intense gaze as he made sure to commit every expression of yours to memory would have made anybody flustered.

He laughs but it’s not mocking, his eyes glaze over while he makes a show of finally getting around to sucking on your perked up nipple, he stares at you - as if daring you to look away - while his lips finally latch onto that place you so desperately had wanted them, his cheeks are clearly flushed as he begins to flick at the nub with his tongue while sucking the spot.

Instinctively you arch your back but he quickly uses his own body to drag you down, he moves around a bit, as if trying to find the best position to latch onto you, desperately wanting to overtake your body and shield you from everything that wasn’t him.

His hand cups your breast even as he pulls away with a lewd “pop”, never letting your chest be without some form of stimulation, he licks at the areola, making sure to make a spectacle as his tongue travels across one breast to the other. He switches movement, kissing and sucking while still kneading and pulling. He’s never rough, never cruel in his touch, he’s always so delicate, making sure to treat you with the utmost care.

The feeling of his cool digits after having his warm breath on you is jarring but nevertheless pleasurable, you whine as your hands shoot up to cradle his hair, fingers finding their way onto his silky hair as you unconsciously pull him closer to your body.

He chokes on a moan, his eyes roll back slightly, if there was one thing Zhongli adored was the feeling of your hands pulling against his hair, it was one of those things he could never get enough of. The truth was that this session was fueled by his own selfish desires of being your most devoted lover, your only lover; if there was one thing in this universe he craved more than you was being the owner of the title of your beloved. He hoped that these special sessions between you two would prove that he truly was the only one worthy of such a title.

For who else could have you breaking so beautifully in their hands from pleasure alone? No one, he was the only being able to lure you into such earthly desires, he was sure of it.

His tongue on your nipple, playing with your beautiful body, his hands desperately gripping at your chest, all while he savored the proximity in which he was able to see you fall apart were blessing given to him and him alone, holy gifts from you to him, your ever so loyal servant, who dedicated his heart, soul, and body to you.

Even if you did not know how deeply the devotion he held for you went, you could tell from his aroused state, his never ending servitude, willing disposition, and obsession with pleasing you that you had, knowingly or not, enthralled a man who was now willing to do anything for you.

Just seeing you fall apart from him playing with your chest was enough to have him coming close to his peak, a ball of pleasure forming as he memorized the look of pleasure and bliss that took over your hazy features.

Your breathing is quick, your body feels hot and bothered, his touch is intoxicating, you want more of it and he wants more of you, you’re not able to even so much as forget who it is you’re with for everything he does is so clearly him; no one devoted themselves to you the same way Zhongli did and if there was such a person, he’d make sure to eliminate them before they became a problem.

[emmbny]

I learnt more about the lore of the game reading this than i have learnt the entire time i've played the game

Oracle!Reader Part 14

Part 1, Part 13

Warning as usual. There is blood and gore in this chapter!

Staring up at the Archon parading around in human form, you lick your lips and note how even those minor injuries were healed. Your body aches with phantom pain, some wounds healed too rapidly. 

"I don't mind answering some questions, can I get your name first?"

A small smile plays at his lips as his hand is held out in front of you. "My name is Zhongli, I'm the Funeral Parlors consultant. It would be a pleasure to hear yours, outlander."

So he is aware of your origin, well at least partly aware. If he's not going to pull any punches then why should you? Besides if it all goes wrong, you can blame it on the bloodloss that you're still recovering from.

"I'm Y/N, and you're correct that I do not originate from this world. You must not be a normal person either, in fact you look identical to this statue. This one portrays Morax the Geo Archon, but I'm sure you know that, Rex Lapis."

Getting a good look at the statue from your proximity, it was obvious that Zhongli was Morax. You could make the excuse of it being game logic on why no one makes the connection, but that wouldn't work anymore. Maybe the statues are imbued with power that prevents anyone from this world to recognize the similarities?

"So it seems you are more knowledgeable than the traveler was when they arrived here. I should have known considering how the Electro and Geo particles surround you with zeal. Perhaps Teyvat is charmed by the features you share with the Holy One."

His step forward and angled head to look you in the eyes have you staring at glowing amber hues. The red eyeliner and outlined iris make it uncomfortably clear how intensely he's examining you.

"The curve of your lips, a stature so familiar, you resemble the creator so much. Teyvat must be bewitched and awed by an individual so alike as you. If only I could see your face in it's full visage, only then would I know for sure..."

Anyone would feel flattered or embarrassed with how seriously Zhongli studies you, but dread is the only thing you feel. You know that behind those honey-coated words is a trap just waiting for you to spring.

Too bad for him; the last thing you plan to be is predictable.

"My, my what a compliment! A devout and faithful follower like yourself is comparing me to the creator? You should pray for forgiveness to the merciful creator. I'm a servant for them, just in a different league than you. My connection with them is strong enough that Teyvat graces me with qualities alike yet inferior to the Everlasting One."

Zhongli returned to his perfect posture at your words, the flash of envy couldn't hide. "Oh?" Narrowed eyes and a lofty tone that encourages you to smile wider. "And what position could an outsider like you hold?"

"Well, as an Oracle of course! Really, just how dumb are you? An outlander that is incredibly knowledgeable of the Creator? It's painfully obvious." There's no reaction to your test insults, which is fine that wasn't the last you had in store.

"I'm from the world that the Creator is recuperating in. It's due to that, that I can speak to them much more freely than everyone here. Even Teyvat pales in comparison. That's why Teyvat is so attached to me, my aura is overwhelmed by the creators."

Honestly, you had Chongyun to thank for that one. You weren't sure how you were supposed to explain the whole Teyvat clinging to you without sounding repetitive. But if Zhongli was that easily fooled, he wouldn't be one of the victors of the Archon war.

"Then enlighten me on why the glorious creator would need an Oracle of your caliber to spread their word. Surely that's the least you can do." He's fully dropped that faux-polite tone in contrast to the technically proper speech. 

"Gladly! It's become common knowledge that the elemental monsters and animals have started to act strangely. Add in the leylines that change from out of control to perfectly calm in a matter of minutes or weeks. These are all signs of the Creator's upcoming appearance! They need to be sure of who in this vast land they can properly trust."

"That still doesn't explain why you in particular were chosen. A wily and fresh child like you wouldn't do the best job." Hard like stone, Zhongli refused to even blink at your words. A god like himself would never falter after thousands of years spent perfecting his worship. 

But did he really have to insult you at the same time?

"So you refuse to believe it because of my supposed inability to properly carry out any duties assigned to me? You don't even know all that I had done to arrive here! Surely you should know just how rough the waters were..."

The hand that covers your mouth does a poor job of covering the sly smile. Zhongli stares at you in silence, the wind swaying around the floating chunk of rock that you both stand on.

"Just what are you trying to imply?" His voice is as soft as a whisper but cutting like the sharpest steel.

"Why explain it when I can show it?" Silently rejoicing at such a convenient set up, you peer into your bag and grab the item you've been saving.

Shimmering brightly in the harsh glares of the sun is Beisht's scale, still in pristine condition despite your perilous journey since that day you got it from the sea-leviathan.

It feels like ages ago. Just how much time has passed since you arrived on Teyvat? How much more time will you spend in situations like this? Weeks? Months? YEARS?

The existential dread is quickly pushed away by your beaming smile at Zhongli's reaction to the singular item. The rocky exterior finally breaks at the proof of your 'abilities'. His lips part at the bright teal color and he blinks incredulously at it.

Really, how could you pass up the chance to rub it in?

"Surely a human of my caliber would be capable of this much. I mean, a perfectly intact scale from a leviathan that managed to avoid the whole Qixing that isn't dyed in blood? Child's play for a servant specifically chosen by the Creator. I never doubted the creators' choices!" 

Holding the scale in front of you, you smirk at the man with as much snark as you hold in your heart. "The same can't be said for you, Mr. 'That still doesn't explain why you in particular were chosen.' Because the Creator is capable of choosing anyone they want, for whatever reason they desire."

Silence envelopes the area as you stare at him, a beat passes with no movement until a gruff chuckle leaves him.

"The more you speak, the closer I come to a conclusion." Recovering quickly, Zhongli's gloved hand rises to tap his mouth contemplatively. "You're either something far worse than I've seen in a long time, or a hope for the Creator's return."

That white outline around his iris seems to spin with the malicious joy that he refuses to show. It's like his body screams that he'll either enjoy your presence or your destruction. Nerves and anxiety grip your heart but ignoring it has always worked better for you.

"Maybe I can say the same thing about you considering your past, but I see you still aren't convinced. And how could I ever let you, one of the longest standing worshippers, have doubts about me? So tell me, were Beisht and her husband devout or sacrilegious beings?"

The answer he'll say is obvious, not only because you hold such a confident stance showing that you know the answer but because of Zhongli himself. A noble dragon that willingly bows to someone would feel ashamed at the thought of resorting to lying to boost his own pride.

Quite ironic how you hold so much trust in his answer due to the acolytes' faith in the creator. The same faith that led you to this position, and the same thing that'll keep you from ever exposing the truth of your identity. A constant force preventing them from meeting their 'beloved' creator.

"You met Beisht in the flesh, there's no doubt that she is solemn and serious in her worship. The same can be said for Osial, it was one of the few things I could agree with the leviathan. Even still, I'm the superior believer. After all, I'm the one who is left after all this time." 

"Yet I met Beisht before you."

The scoff and know-it-all tone he used pricked at your nerves long enough to cause an annoyed response to slip out. Unfortunately, that seems to be what Zhongli was baiting for as he laughs, the low sound making the rock platform tremble.

"That's if you're even an Oracle. You may be from that world and even heard about Teyvat from the Creator, but for all I know, you could have been banished here for us acolytes to execute. Whether it be for avenging the Creator or entertaining them."

Damn, it was almost scary how fast he turned the situation around. But how could you falter now? Getting tongue-tied at such a crucial moment would be a pathetic way to lose your life.

"And what will you do if I truly am an Oracle? When the creator's return is delayed months, years or even decades due to your rash actions, what will you tell the creator when confronted with the consequences of your own actions?"

"Then you should work hard enough to prove to skeptics like myself. To put blind faith in whatever is dubbed the creator's is a fool's belief. Temptation and sin ravage Teyvat from the long drought of the Creator's presence."

For a split second, sorrow clouded his eyes. He's hiding something. It’s important and you can feel it in your soul. The only thing that really stains his and Venti's reputation is their war with Khaenri'ah. It must be connected to that. 

But it's too early to try digging in for information on that. He doesn't even believe you to be the Oracle, how could you possibly get that out of him? What if he's under a contract and must stay silent on the matter?

Lost in his memories, Zhongli doesn't realize how your face pinches in frustration. You'll have to get his approval as the Oracle before you can even- 

Oh.

Oh, why didn't you realize this before?

A grin spreads across your face as you circle in on the heart of the problem and the perfect way to fix it.

It's not that Zhongli doesn't believe you to be the creator's Oracle, he just doesn't want to believe it! He's envious: envious of why a random outlander like you got such a nice position in comparison to him who probably spent most of his life molding himself to the creators standards.

All that's left is to reel him in and you know the perfect way how.

"Prove myself? I've done plenty to prove myself, but what about you?" Mockingly, you tilt your head as your empty gaze peers into Zhongli's eyes, digging deep into him. He focuses back on the conversation at your shift in tone.

"If anyone should have to prove themselves, it should be you." This time it's you who takes the bold step forward. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? And try to keep in that temper too so that I can finish my words. A dragon your age should know such simple things."

"As Morax you were quite powerful, though a brute to be completely honest. Still, you knew your limits well and paired up with the Lord of Dust before the Archon War, who served as the 'brain'. Tell me, just how did it feel when you found her as nothing more than a statue that day?"

Your words have a strong effect on the imposing man, his fist trembling at the mention of such a beloved god, one whose death still pains him. Paying no mind to his pain you ask the monumental question.

"Just how much resentment do you hold against the Creator for her death?"

A hand slams you against the Statue hard enough to bruise your skin. It doesn't squeeze around your throat but there's no need to as the Geo begins to petrify your legs, locking you in place. The Statue is in a constant state of healing in defense to the bruises on your neck.

"Just what are you trying to imply by saying that?" Cold and apathetic is the voice that flows from the stoic man. It's what you would imagine Morax would sound like before Guizhong taught him how to care for humans.

"C'mon, that's the second time you've asked me that. Don't make me speak the obvious-" A shuddering gasp leaves you as he tightens his grip. But it's gone just as fast; a flock of birds tackle Zhongli.

You can only watch in shock as what was only 4 to 5 birds grow to become at least 15 birds of all kinds attacking him. The throbbing of your neck being healed as the Geo instantly releases you is overshadowed by Zhongli swatting at the birds as he takes continuous steps back.

But that's all it took for Zhongli to fall off the edge as the birds flew away cawing happily. Standing and staring at the spot where Zhongli fell off in shock, you begin to chuckle. It grows to a giggle before you're laughing hysterically as you buckle to the ground. Loud peels of laughter ring around the area as you hold your stomach from the ache of laughing so much.

To think Teyvat took the initiative to help you out for once. Why couldn't it do it sooner? Was it only after gaining some power from activating a new nations statue of the seven that it could? You couldn't focus on the question anymore as the look on Zhongli's face when he fell came to mind again.

The sight of his eyes blown wide and a split second of pure panic sent you straight back into a fit of laughter. The ground far below you shakes as a Geo pillar constructs a bridge high enough to reach the stone you sat on. 

The sound of footsteps make you open your eyes and giggle at the sight of a disheveled and annoyed Zhongli. Annoyed is still an improvement compared to his enraged state earlier. With giggles slipping out, you stand back up and laugh louder at his appearance in full view.

His hair was pulled out of his rattail with his earrings nowhere to be seen. Bits and pieces of the weaker cloth of his suit were missing, giving him a poor look that didn't match his flawless posture. The red marks and light cuts only added to the joy you feel at his expense.

"Are you finished laughing, Y/N?"

"For now at least. I would suggest buying a new set of clothes but I don't think you have the mora for it!" Zhongli only lets out a long-suffering sigh as you crack up again.

You would be scolding yourself for not taking the chance to escape while he was away but it was better this way. You didn't need the information about Khaenri'ah, it was nice to know but the information wouldn't help you live.

The main reason you stayed was because running away would prove Zhongli right to be suspicious about you. It would let him know that you're scared and have something to hide. Plus, that would mean having to escape Liyue the same way you did Ei, just in a worse situation.

That's not something you want to repeat.

"Alright I'm done laughing." You say while wiping off the budding tears from the corner of your eyes. Zhongli sends you a look that screams that he doesn't believe you but you shrug it off.

"Really, that question was more of a test if you will. My main job is simply to see who the Creator can trust. Your relationship with the Creator beyond that is between you and them." 

The calm and peaceful tone you use is such a contrast to the one you used earlier that Zhongli is clearly apprehensive. Paying it no mind you continue to speak. 

"If you truly want a reason to at least try and believe me to be the oracle even if you don't fully believe me, then I'll give you one. I'm sure you still have the stone dumbbell from Guizhong that you've never been able to open. I know how to open it."

Those last words have Zhongli staring at you intensely as you gaze off into the distance. The Dragon-Queller tree is visible through the fog with its glowing blue branches and yellow leaves.

"How?" He breathes out, scared to trust but scared to lose this opportunity too.

"It requires a naturally grown glaze lily cultivated by the Creator. That's because it requires a 'pure' glaze lily and the only one who can grow such a thing at this day and age is the Creator. All the natural glaze lilies have died after all."

Zhongli's shoulders slump at your words. It seems he started to let his guard down after he fell off. He must no longer view you as a threat or, at most, an annoyance. That's okay with you, underestimation is the most useful viewpoint they could have for you.

"Should I even make an attempt to ask you why it can only be unlocked with that? You're only telling me this as a last resort to keep you alive, correct? Even if I told you that I would keep you alive without that information, you wouldn't believe me. As childish as you may be, foolishness does not seem to be a quality you hold."

"That may be true, but if you really want an answer to that first question then I'll tell you." You look over to lock eyes with him and smile. It conceals every sneaky and vicious thought you hold. "I have no clue. The Creator instructed me to use it as a last resort, if you want that answer then try praying. Perhaps you'll get an answer."

You would like to know the answer to the stone dumbbell too. After all, you only made up the solution! Seeing as Zhongli spent all these years after Guizhong's death, failing to unlock it, it's a good bet that it'll never open. 

It's silent as you both get lost in your own thoughts. Unlike before it wasn't tense, it was more comparable to the silence you would spend alone in your apartment. The nights you would only be accompanied by the thoughts of the 'what-if' situations. Thoughts that would only stay thoughts just as the past would be just that, the past.

Wanderer learned that the hard way too. You wouldn't let yourself hold so many regrets before your inevitable death. Even in Liyue you weren't truly safe, so wouldn't it be best to speak to Zhongli while you still could?

"I have questions about Khaenri'ah… Well, the better way to put it is that the Creator has questions about them. It's one of the few things that they mourn the most. A whole nation devoted to worshiping solely the creator, destroyed by the Archons that swore their life and loyalty to the creator. So will you explain it to me?"

His eyes fill with the same sorrow you saw in him earlier. It seems you were right in guessing that his line on blindly trusting things labeled with the creator was connected to Khaenri'ah.

"I have spent all my years after that day asking for forgiveness, for some way to atone. It was one of the few contracts that I did not properly balance in equivalent exchange. I regret signing it, not for myself but for my beloved God."

"So it's a no."

"It's an agreement not to speak of it."

"Then don't speak about it." Zhongli seeds you a questioning glance as you mischievously smile at him. "Just listen to my words and don't look away. I'm quite sure nodding and shaking your head doesn't count as breaking your silence."

A huff of amusement leaves him at your solution. His eyes close with his lips curling into a small smile. He nods his head in acceptance, not having the drive to poke holes into your stubbornness.

You were quite confident in the conclusions you've drawn so far. Genshin Impact was nearly the sole reason you were living back on Earth. Family and friends were nonexistent, you had given up hope on making any new connections as well. The only thing you did when you weren't home was work and your work made you be everything but yourself. So combining everything you know from the game with everything of the cult that you've learned thus far shouldn't be too hard.

"When the Archon War broke out, I'm sure most of you were merely looking to keep your people and nation alive. The original design of having the gods powered solely on their people's worship paled in comparison to Celestia's offer of power by obtaining a spot in a group of seven. At the end, you all had a choice. Accept your spot by accepting a Gnosis, or go against them similar to how the Dragon King once did."

Zhongli perks up at the mention of the Dragon King. Not many people know about the original Dragon King. Most people assume it's Azhdaha when in reality, the original was a far greater dragon.

"You all must have been quite against it. The only God you would all bow under would be the Creator who had left before those events to sleep in my world, yet Celestia probably whispered to you all that it was allowed on Teyvat because it was approved by the Creator. That the Gnosis was a reward for all your hard work and as Celestia was the first descender, all of you accepted it.”

The way he begins to stare at you is invasive, like he's just dying to jump you to get every bit of knowledge you hold on the topic. He's starting to suspect you.

"Yet when Khaenri'ah was revealed to exist years afterwards, everything was thrown into confusion. I'm sure you and the other Archons were fine with their presence as Khaenri'ah worshiped the Creator, but was Celestia?" 

A sly smile creeps upon your face at the memory of when it was revealed that Khaenri'ah  wasn't the first civilization to be turned into hilichurls. No one liked Celestia so you had no problem pinning almost all the blame onto it.

"I'm sure they were enraged, especially as Khaenri'ah grew more and more bold with their inventions. Gold in particular was quite dangerous seeing as she not only created life but also Durin and the Golden Wolflord. And even that was unintentional!"

You laugh cheerfully as Zhongli chuckles in surprise at your words. Had you successfully deterred him? Probably not, but he hasn't stopped you so you'll keep going till the end.

"Celestia ordered you all to aid them in destroying Khaenri'ah but you all refused. How could any of you harm a nation so devoted to the creator even if they refused to worship Celestia or the Seven? But that Gnosis you all accepted comes with a price. A price that serves as leverage and a control device."

The thoughts of what Beisht told you on how Celestia had caused them to forget the original way of worship resurfaced. Celestia was just too suspicious for that to be the only thing they had done. It would take a lot more than that to force the Archons to listen to them.

"That Gnosis was like a drug. It gave you all so much power, tasting and making you feel like you're on top of the world! Just for it to come crashing down when the unpleasant side effects hit you. It corrupted you all like poison forcing you to wage war against Khaenri'ah. My best bet is that it was like mind control. What do you say?"

He looks at you with a blank expression, as if trying to see the secrets you hid in your soul through your eyes. But there's no response from him, not even the occasional nods that he was giving before.

"Well if it was mind control, perhaps it made you believe that Khaenri'ah had plans to overrule the Creator and create their own human god. Or maybe it made them out to be traitors to the creator. Perhaps both? That doesn't really matter, what does matter is that only after the war was in full throttle were you all brought back to your senses."

You didn't have any proof of that last part, it just seemed like something Celestia would do. Not only to prove their superiority but also force the Archons to put their best effort in defeating the people of Khaenri'ah to save their nations.

"After the war ended, you all wanted to get rid of it but Celestia wouldn't allow such a thing. Even if you most likely tried to find some loophole, Celestia doesn't play nice. It would make sense if they threatened to give a punishment similar to what they had done to Khaenri'ah. So long as none of you destroy or throw it away, they'll leave you all be,”

Venti was a god, no matter what fans said, there was no way he would lose to Signora. It made more sense if that was his way of 'handing' it over to the Tsaritsa. There was also Nahida who threatened to break her Gnosis to one-up Dottore. That was always funny, you would kill to have witnessed that in person. 

"Of course none of you would actually use it or even desire it in your vicinity. Everyone wins when the Tsaritsa uses her various methods to acquire the gnosis'. And thanks to the traveler appearing during that time, Celestia was probably too busy freaking out over that to pay too much attention. For a while at least."

Finally looking back to Zhongli, you smiled proudly. "I must be pretty close right? At no point did you laugh at me like you did with Alice so I'll take that as a good sign. And even if I'm wrong, everything will be solved when the Creator descends."

Stretching to loosen the tension in your back, you applaud yourself for the brilliant thinking. It's not like anyone can actually fake gold blood for long when even hair dye didn't exist yet. You're basically leaving all these loose ends to the you that would be believed to be the Creator. Which is never going to happen!

"Would the Creator scorn me for asking you once again if you're truly an oracle?"

"I'm sure the glorious creator would be fully justified in doing so, but I'll scorn you in their stead.. And don't get it twisted, it's not because of your feelings concerning Guizhong's death. It's how you, by your own negligence, offended the Creator!"

An utterly baffled expression paints his face at your accusation. Unrelenting, you point your finger at him with a serious face that you haven't shown him till now.

"Did you really believe that the creator wouldn't realize? Just how little you changed from that brute of a dragon that saw humans as plentiful yet insignificant as dust? To think that you believed yourself to be comparable to the primordial dragons."

Zhongli stiffens at the mention of the primordial dragons. After all he is the prime of the Adepti who's exuvia is a dragon, not a primordial dragon. Wouldn't it be fun if he held some sense of inferiority when compared to the primordial ones?

Zhongli sits on the ledge of the rock with his elbows on his legs and his hands covering his face. It was time. He would question just what you were talking about and you'll explain the elemental sacrificing that he forgot. That'll be the end and he'll have no choice but to support you! 

Smiling knowingly you approach him and lean down to see behind the shadow casting over his eyes. Your eyes twinkle victoriously as his breath leaves a cloud from the crisp air.

"I should have known that the creator would not forgive me for failing to arrive on time."

What? 

"How could I have been beaten to that shooting star by that astrologist? No matter who may have been her master, I failed to arrive on time."

Zhongli sulks there as he continues rambling to himself on 'missing' the shooting star due to his old age. Was he seriously talking about how you lost him the first time to Mona?!

Memories come back of you using the last of your wishes on his banner and being greeted with Mona instead. The first 50/50 you lost and was forced to use nearly all your primogems to get him. A fact that you never let Zhongli forget through your adventures.

Just what would he do if he knew how you always switched to a different character whenever his idle starts to play? Would he sew his lips together in repentance? That must be the difference between a true believer and a fake believer...

Holding back a sigh you begin brainstorming on how you were supposed to bring the conversation back to the sacrificing. Zhongli is too lost in his own head as he begins to continuously blame himself for any mistake he could have made.

"Being unable to answer the travelers' questions must have worsened their view on me too."

"That and how you were willing to let Liyue flood if they couldn't defeat Osial."

"Human life may be precious but they're as numerous as the dust that make up stone. I would rebuild Liyue for the rest of this long life until I cultivate a nation that I could humbly present the creator with."

"Then shouldn't the creator just grind you down and raise a different Adepti to their exact liking? You should work hard to be exactly what they desire to be truly loved."

"Are you saying that the Creator loathes me?" He finally looks away from the sea of clouds to stare at you. Sparing him a glance, you listen to him grow more panicked by your silence.

"Do they wish to see me crumble and be reabsorbed into the earth for my mistakes, for my sins? Was it the way I mechanically went through the motions of worship for the few years after Guizhong's death? Or does my benevolent god crave me and my nation to fall for aiding in the destruction of Kh-?"

Abruptly Zhongli grasps at his chest where his heart lays as he coughs. More out of politeness than concern you rub his back as fluid flies from his lips to his closed fist.

The thick inky plum colored fluid stained his fist with droplets of crimson swirling within it. His coughing fit slows to a halt as his hand slowly releases the clothing over his heart. Harsh breathing and a shallow pained groan is all that can be heard as he cleans himself up.

“Pardon me-” 

“Was that a warning from Celestia or a side effect if you get too close to speaking?"

"The implication is the same no matter what it may be from." He whispers as you begin to move back to return his personal space. Yet his now ungloved hand is what wraps around your grass stained sleeve.

"Now answer my question." Determination and a barely concealed unruly emotion simmer beneath his composed surface as he asks. "As an oracle, tell me what I have to do to earn their forgiveness. What must I reap to begin repenting for the sins I sowed?" 

Eyes widening at the sight of the disheveled man, you stare at him quietly. The messy hair, cut up clothing and grip tight enough to keep you still all while being careful not to bruise.

Hook, line and sinker.

"Is that a question for me to answer? Am I the god that you wronged? If you wish to communicate with the creator yourself, then there is a way. A method to begin regaining the pebbles that make up the mountain of trust you once shared with them."

You grab the arm that connects to his hand wrapped around your own and pull him up. He obeys the silent command and stands up, his gaze never faltering from your form. Silent and towering like the mountains he's created, he simply listens.

"Celestia has hidden more from you than you originally thought. But I'm sure you already know that. Offer yourself to the merciful creator and they'll surely hear your pleas of forgiveness. Whether they forgive you or not is up to them."

Releasing your hold on him, you turn to survey the area. Now where could you have him perform the sacrifice? His free hand comes to rest on your shoulder for your attention.

"What must I offer of myself? My blood? My body? If need be, I'll even be willing to offer my life. My life is worthless without them. I'm nothing more than a grain of mineral if not for them."

"There's so many things you can offer, but if you want to make the most impact, then you'll offer up your body parts. Your life may be precious but just how much longer do you have left?"

"Then will the private temple I have built for them work? We can head there immediately." He points south to the sole unnamed mountain in Minlin. You vividly remember unlocking the teleport waypoint there.

"The only way I'll know is when I see the interior. I'll meet you there Zhongli!"

Pulling yourself away from his grasp, you close your eyes and calmly imagine what the scenery around the waypoint looks like. The rocky feel of the floating stone changes to a lush green beneath your feet. Opening your eyes you're greeted with a valley of viridescent brustles with degraded stone ruins at the edges. 

"To think that the Creator even allowed you access to the waypoints. They must treasure you greatly." He appears at your side in a matter of minutes. His tone has a hint of longing and bitterness.

It's sweet like the flavor of a childhood candy that you would sneak behind your parents backs. Almost sweet enough to make up for the starvation you would face later on as punishment.

"Instead of focusing on that, why don't you show me that private temple you created? As the Geo Archon, I hold high expectations for you."

"This temple is the one I created for me. If you want the glamorous shrine built for the mass and appearance then you're better off viewing the public one that the Qixing now control."

He walks down the hill until the grass is tall enough to cover his calves. You follow behind him and stare blankly at the plain that is covered with a healthy amount of tall marigolds. Just as you're about to repeat the question, the earth begins to rumble.

It starts with just one stone rising from the ground, until it multiplies into a roof like structure. You watch in awe as a temple surges out of the mountain with the slightest bits of dirt falling off it.

Stone of high quality and clearly careful upkeep shines with small cracks from the passage of time. Gold, silver, and bronze layer the nooks and crannies of the pillars that keep a roof over the doorway.

Marveling at it, you follow Zhongli into the temple... He couldn't kill you in it, right? Surely you could still teleport even if he locked you in it… Teleporting without using the map might not work due to the focus and effort it required, but doing it with the map has never failed you yet.

The inside was even more impressive; statues of all kinds surrounded the hallway. It was you, always you, just in different poses, clothing and materials. From thin robes crafted entirely from Cor Lapis, to suits made of Noctilucous Jade.

Arriving at what seemed to be the main room, you're greeted with a huge statue comparable to the public one in Inazuma's plaza. Sunlight bathed your statue from the skylight above it.

Your body was made of Cor Lapis decorated in an Archon-like robe made from Noctilucous Jade. A fresh Glaze Lily sat in your palm as Silk Flowers adorned your head in a crown like structure. You sat on a blue stone throne that seemed to grow brighter as you approached it. The sleek yet dense mineral looked like the magical crystal chunks you would give to the blacksmiths. 

"Be careful to not venture too close to that one, the elemental energy may leave it to join you." Zhongli warns as he steps into the middle of the room. Smiling casually to hide your amazement, you head back to him.

"What an impressive statue, the Creator is feeling quite pleased with the display but still wishes to see your true remorse." Digging into your bag, you brought out the ceremonial knife and the handbook you took notes on.

"Go get the softest cloth and lay it on the ground. This ritual is simple, you'll cut off whatever part of your body you wish to offer, pray, and wait for a response. If 10 to 20 minutes pass with no response, then you can leave it at that or offer more in hopes of a response."

Closing the book and shoving it back into your bag you offer the knife to Zhongli. He looks up from where he laid the gilded gold fabric to stare at the knife before letting out a drawl laugh.

"That knife will do little to my scales, Y/N. A ceremonial item is to be bathed in liquid gold to be used so I have more than enough weapons that can actually cut my skin."

Scoffing, you stuff the knife back in as he leaves and returns with a variety of weapons. The largest was an ax that smelled faintly of blood. Was it used to sacrifice someone not too long ago? The thought makes you uncomfortable, yet you're no longer alarmed at the thought.

My, have you changed.

You move to stand away from the center closer to the exit. Zhongli's bare hand turns to a pattern of black and amber hues. Shedding his thick coat, his flexed muscles in draconic form are left in full view.

If you were back on Earth, you would have killed to view this. An Archon’s skin was something the majority of the players wished for, for quite a while. Even now, you would love to see his true Archon form, but the thought of actually living was far more tantalizing.

Rolling up his sleeves, he chooses a sword and examines it carefully. Without fear he raises it high and slices downwards cutting his hand off cleanly. The ruby liquid sprays onto the floor as the droplets drip off his sword and dismembered limb simultaneously.

It doesn't matter how many times you witness or smell blood, it still disgusts you. The only blood you truly cherished in shedding was the one that left that man's body when you stabbed him in that cold alleyway.

His hand lands onto the expensive textile with a wet thud as the ivory bone sticks out. Zhongli lays the sword down gently resisting the urge to groan in pain. Gritting his teeth he returned his attention and gaze back to you. You, who stayed in perfect position ahead of him, clad in gems and minerals carved by his own hand.

Closing his eyes, his lips followed the adored pass time of praying with intensity. Too lost in his regret, joy, and infatuation his words slipped out clear like the perfectly carved jewels he’s crafted for you.

"My god, my god. For I have sinned against you so. The mistakes I cannot fix or change, I pray for your forgiveness." Your unmoving, unchangeable eyes stared at him with an expression so familiar to him, one who worshiped you in this temple for centuries.

"From allowing myself to be tricked, to the lack of devotion I felt to you in Guizhong's death and finally with how I treated a servant of yours with disdain. Envious, I am envious to an extent that I shouldn't hold to my righteous god like you. Even now I still haven't broken the habit of referring to you as 'my' god."

Once again, just like the first time, Teyvat seems to overwhelm you with his feelings. You stare at his back as his lips murmur the words of devotion without an end in sight. Silently, you accept his offering, this first one was only to put the last nail in the coffin of you being an oracle. 

The sky darkens as Zhongli's hand crumbles into a pile of primogems that dissolve into the air. Blue and purple stars dance across the sky as a lone gold star makes its way closer. 

You didn't plan to always accept his offerings. After all you did lose a 50/50 to him and was forced to put up with his paranoid possessiveness in regards to your creator self. Shouldn't you make him lose a few times to even the score?

The gold star shines brighter and bigger as Zhongli gazes at it with a smile purer than anything he's ever felt since his creation at your hands. It flies through the window enveloping him and the whole room with a beaming light.

--------------

When his eyes open, the skylight shows the sunny sky but he can already feel his connection to you stronger. The brilliance you bore shines beautifully in him like a star he wished to keep hidden for only him to see.

It worked, it worked! There is no need for him to be wary or envious of you for claiming to be so close to the creator anymore. In fact, you were a sign specifically designed for someone like him. A sign that the creator had not grown complacent in simply watching Teyvat, you were now showing interest in coming back soon. And through you, he can find out details about the creator that were kept secret all these millennia.

A wide and joyful grin is bared with obsession tangling within it. He turns his head to where you stood and his smile drops abruptly when all he's greeted with is an empty spot. 

He built this temple for him and the creator to enjoy in privacy due to his possessive nature born from his dragon lineage, yet the sight of Y/N who up and vanished after fulfilling their duty struck his core like the abyssal gunk that used to constantly corrupt his body.

You may have left, you may think that he wouldn't treat you, a fellow devoted servant well due to his earlier behavior. And he understands that, he truly does but that simply means he has to rectify his mistake before it's too late. You were a mere human while him, a god. 

Finding you before any terrible consequences from his mistakes won't take too long.

-------------------

Unaware of the dragon's changing tune, you eye the Dragon-Queller tree from outside the temple with interest. After all the work you've done thus far, indulging yourself with a nice close up of the magnificent landmark would be a good treat for yourself.

This one took a while and it was edited by the same jerk. I really hope all the work was worth it and that the next part can be done faster. But as my college is starting this early Sep, it might be even longer. Genshin's lore is a hot mess so I tried my best to keep it simple while touching on the important parts. All the lore I put in is almost completely accurate. If you don't include the sagau parts. If your name is italic then that means I couldn't tag you. I manually put everyone so hopefully this fixes the notifications problems. Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @sielt, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @conspicuous-mayonnaise, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife, @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo

[narumi-gens]

yandere!morax/zhongli x adeptus gn!reader

morax finds you where he always does on the few occasions he allows you time to yourself, kneeling in the garden with your hands folded in your lap and your head respectfully tilted down. it's been only a few decades since he took you for his own, a self-reward of sorts for a still freshly won war.

and what are a few decades to the immortal?

he supposes you spend so much time here because the gardens are so wide and open that they make the high, stone walls that keep you caged within his grasp seem slightly smaller by perspective.

there's a soft, spring breeze in the air, which picks up for just a moment as he chooses to sit on the grass directly in front of you with his legs crossed before him and his wrists casually resting on his knees.

your head remains down and your eyes stay closed, choosing not to acknowledge his presence.

"have you not grown bored after spending so much time alone with nothing but your thoughts?" his deep voice and teasing tone shatter the garden's tranquility, yet still you refuse to look at him. "I'm happy to provide you with whatever book you would like. all you need to do is ask."

"my prayers keep me occupied."

it's a dangerous admission on your part. as liyue's archon, he hears every prayer his people make yet he's never once heard yours. which means that your prayers aren't to him.

but he'll indulge you and play your game – for now at least.

"what do you pray for?"

"for liberation." your answer isn't a surprise. what else could you pray for?

"oh? and to whom do you pray?"

finally, you open your eyes and lift your chin to meet his gaze. there's a hardness in them that reminds him of the jewels the people of liyue put so much time and effort into mining. even the warm, gentle wind and the smell of blooming flowers it brings are incapable of softening your demeanor.

"the archons."

any trace of amusement immediately vanishes as his eyes flash dangerously. his pupils morph into the slits of his true, draconic form.

"I am your archon."

he doesn't mention the contract you signed during the archon war in concert with the other adepti, agreeing to protect liyue. he doesn't need to.

although with your powers now sealed away through his own means, there's little protection that you would be able to provide should you ever actually be called upon to do so. the only part of the contract that still pertains to you as you are now, as he's made you now, is the provision accepting morax as liyue's archon.

it's a provision that he worded carefully in the specific contract he offered you, where you not only accepted him as the prime of adepti, but also swore eternal subservience to him as part of it.

"you are one archon," you remind him coldly, raising an eyebrow in challenge, daring him to contradict what is fact. "one of seven."

he offers you a patronizing smile in return.

"tell me, then. which of the remaining six do you think would be foolish enough to answer you?"

he only decides to humor you because he knows the answer is none of them. no archon would risk upsetting the peaceful but precarious balance they had just spent centuries, more than a millennium, fighting for.

and to break this unspoken contract amongst the seven in order to steal his greatest treasure right out from under him wouldn't just be foolish. it would be reckless.

but then his sight turns a pure, blood red that he hasn't experienced since the final days of the archon war. his fingers begin to elongate as they transform into claws. his horns make a grotesque cracking sound as they emerge from his skull. his teeth sharpen as he bares his fangs openly.

because a sudden divine energy has appeared between you and you open your clasped hands to reveal a glowing, teal-colored gem bearing a pair of spread wings.

"the god of freedom, it would seem."

[cinnamonest]

Malebolge

Yandere/Dark Morax x Reader

WORDS: 18.2k

-----

And thus, here it is.

Important note that I'm largely basing this on [[this post]] I made ages ago about a conquered and captive goddess!darling during the war era because 1) it has never left the back of my mind since making that post, 2) I have watched way too many of those Chinese historical palace dramas where they're essentially confined to the palace and I find that very hot and 3) utterly brutal war era Morax >>>>>>>

Warnings/Notes: DARK CONTENT, fem reader, noncon/rape, captivity, rough sex/pain/more or less physical abuse, moderate but not full-on asphyxiation, draconic features (namely claw-like nails, horns, and most importantly dual reptile dick because I am both incredibly degenerate and greatly appreciate that this seems to be a not uncommon HC so I know I'm not alone), double penetration (vaginal/anal), degradation, forced cultural assimilation, brief mentions of death scare/past death scare, Xiao is there for like .008 seconds with no dialogue

Also I have learned more about lizard mating in the past week than any human should ever have any business knowing so if you want lizard seggs info I now know way too much of it

-------------------------------

Malebolge (n.) ( /mælˈboʊldʒ/):

The Dantean 8th Circle of Hell. An inescapable cavern.

-------------------------------

You winced at the slightest of shifting, the unconscious action creating a sting that stirred you from a deep slumber.

In the half-awake state, you grunted as you shifted again, this time rolling more onto your side, but the soreness merely shifted with you.

There was no position in which you could be comfortable. No matter what way you lay down, there was pain. Stinging pain, aching pain, throbbing pain, a multitude of acute points of pain dotted all over your body. As it always did, the painful sensation began to pull your mind into the waking world.

Your back and hips were scratched. That was the stinging pain. Marks where claws had gripped into your flesh, leaving inflamed, reddish lines over your flesh.

Your thighs and sides where bruised from crushing grip. If you lay on your stomach, your chafed and swollen nipples would sting even at the lightest contact with the sheets, and the position would only intensify the perpetual dull, throbbing ache inside of your body, internal bruises and the muscles of your orifices pulled and stretched and rubbed raw to the point they never ceased to ache.

It was nothing compared to moving, to the deep ache in each limb with the slightest of exertion, but even at rest, with no movement at all, a dull, throbbing ache pulsated across your body.

It wasn't the physical pain itself, though, that was unbearable. Pain was part of life. Pain was something every entity that lived long enough was all too familiar with — for deities like yourself that lived often longer than they could even recall, life was full of quite a great deal of pain.

What you hated about the pain, rather, was the way it always triggered a deep swell of bitterness and anger in your chest and stomach. What it meant. That it brought on a surge of emotions and thoughts far more unbearable than the soreness itself.

"Mm—?!"

You inhaled a sharp breath as pressure pushed against your stomach, a force that pulled you backwards across the sheets. Your back pressed into a soft warmth — not without sending a shooting pain across the surface along your spine, where the muscles had been pulled to the point of soreness from strain, a sore internal ache of your sphincter from stretch and wear, and a sharper sting against the irritated, raw flesh of your backside and the backs of your thighs.

The arm locked tightly onto your body, upper arm crossing over your stomach, forearm turned and pressed against your chest, all keeping you in your place. You could feel a gentle, slow rise and fall of the chest pressed to your back, bare skin on bare skin, without any layers of clothing separating your bodies.

Your eyelids just barely parted, only to squeeze shut once more at the morning light shining directly into your eyes. A small ray of light, given how small the tiny, high-up, barred window was, but it managed to be ever so inconveniently placed right at your frame of vision. You grunted at the burn, but it served to pull your consciousness out of the haze of drowsiness and into full alertness. There was no telling exactly what time it was, but the sun was up enough that you would likely be getting up very soon anyway. Those attendants — some of them devout human servants, some subjugated higher beings — always came by at a consistent time each morning to bring food and water, which often was your wake-up call each day.

You closed your eyes once more, trying to ignore the stinging and throbbing that ran all across your body, hoping to maybe get a few more minutes of sleep.

You shifted slightly to alleviate awkward positioning, rolling further onto your side, only to grimace as the shifting of your pelvis reignited a soreness, a dull ache not on the outside flesh, but a deep internal bruising. Your body jolted and stiffened, toes curling and face contorting with the pain.

But as you began to relax your muscles again, as the pain ebbed away, your brief jolting seemed to have awakened your bedmate, feeling a stirring and shifting behind you, the arm around you shifting in its position. The movement caused you to roll onto your back. Your eyes slowly opened again, and a soft noise escaped your throat.

You went still, thinking that it was a momentary unconscious reaction, but after a moment, the bedsheets shifted again as Morax moved, slightly propping himself up on one elbow, high enough of a point to look over to your face from above. Perhaps you could have closed your eyes and feigned sleep, had you thought to do so, but your instinctive reaction was to turn your head and raise your gaze up to that which looked down at you.

You were given a soft smile.

"Did you sleep well?"

The question, although you sensed genuine well-intent in it, was biting, almost mocking. You felt your jaw clench and irritation rise in your chest, fighting back the urge to become immediately spiteful.

As always, you had had trouble falling asleep, waking up multiple times in the night. The throbbing kept you from drifting off, and you hadn't been allowed to get up and wipe yourself clean of the slime sensation of fluids leaking out between your legs, thus forcing you to deal with the unpleasant, icky feeling all night — which now persisted as an equally unpleasant dried substance tacked on your inner thighs. Even after you'd fallen asleep, the slightest of movements in your sleep would jolt you awake with soreness. The same routine you underwent each and every night.

And yet—

"Yes..."

—was the word you forced out of your mouth, equally forcing the corners of your mouth upward, albeit weakly.

"Mm." He lowered himself back down, gently extending the arm that had been around you once more, turning you to face him and pulling you closer. A soft sound came out of your throat, but you made no effort to pull away. Your face came to rest against the god's chest, forehead brushing up against his collarbones.

"There's no need to rise just yet," he continued, stroking a hand up and down your back  — not without running over sore spots, but only lightly. "You should rest a while longer. You're undoubtedly worn out."

Once more, you had to bite your tongue to prevent saying something you shouldn't in response to the implication of the words and the vague feeling of degradation it carried.

The touch of bare flesh to bare flesh was an electrifying sort of feeling. Whether or not it was so in a positive or negative sense was, of course, dependent on the circumstances, but even if you could forget or disregard all of the circumstances you yourself were under, just the mere sensation consumed your sense of feeling. Touches from another person lingered in a way that touching objects or the feeling of one's clothes on their body did not. The brushing of another person's skin up against vulnerable areas usually kept covered would maintain a lasting feeling of awareness of that touch, lingering for a while thereafter.

And, of course, that touch of bare skin carried with it a sense of shame. A sort of subtle reminder. Of course, that was not even really the intention, seeing as you naturally fell asleep this way, but you were certain he knew the feeling it invoked in you, and even more certain that he found your embarrassment satisfying. Even now, you swore you heard a sort of heavy exhale in amusement as you stiffened when your bare abdomen pressed against his. You suppressed a shiver as your sore, inflamed nipples brushed against his skin, but couldn't help the grimace of your face. You tried to close your eyes, thinking perhaps you could sleep again.

But then, you stiffened further as he ran his hand down your back once more. Your shoulders bunched up, your breath hitched.

The motion was so gentle. Fingers barely brushing over your skin.

Nonetheless, those same soft, gentle touches of his fingers running down your back ignited a residual, burning pain. After a moment, he transitioned to using a finger to trace over scabbed scratches running down your back, as if it were a pattern. The hand trailed lower, softly meeting your hip, causing you to jolt as it bumped onto a bruise.

It then came down further still, to grasp at the fleshy, soft curve of your ass. Just the mere contact to the spot stung. The flesh was raw and sensitive to every little touch. Even the sheets brushing against the flesh sparked pain. You inhaled a sharp breath through your nostrils, one you were certain could not have gone unheard, but was not acknowledged nonetheless.

But it was so gentle. The touches were so light and so careful, as if handling something of great fragility. It was almost impossible to believe they were the same hands from which the pain originated.

He exhaled, breath warm against your face, and tilted his head down, grabbing your own chin to tilt yours up. His hand rested on your hip. Your heart began to beat faster.

And then, just as your lips were so close to meeting that you could feel their warmth, there was a knock on the door. You both turned your heads over to the sound, but you lay still as he stood, threw on the robe beside the bed, and walked over to the door, opening for a mere moment and exchanging a brief murmur of acknowledgement before taking something into his hands.

Right. This would be around the correct time, when you were brought food each and every morning. You weren't certain if it was merely customary for the harbor people to eat their meals in their bedrooms, or if it was just done to keep you confined to one room as much as possible... but if you had to guess, it was very likely the latter.

You let your eyes close again, only vaguely processing the distinct sound of a tray being set on the table at the end of the room, and the footsteps coming back over to you. His hand slid underneath your form and lightly pressed upward, prompting you to sit upright, which you obediently followed.

The shifting caused the sheets to fall down from your body, exposing your bare chest. It wasn't as if it really mattered, all things considered, but you nonetheless raised your arm up across your breasts to cover them to the best of your ability.

Your own robe was right there, well within reach, having been carelessly slung over the bedpost to your side. It would be a simple extension of the arm to grab it and pull it onto your body, to cover your nakedness.

But you didn't dare do so yourself. That was, you knew from experience, one of many possible missteps that risked upsetting your master. It was doing something on your own, determining something for yourself. Such a simple act was a transgression, because it was an assertion, a nonverbal declaration that you would and even could take an action, transition from one state of condition to another, not only without explicit permission to do so. Likewise, it not only made an assumption that you would be permitted to do so, but it was also an assertion that you could do anything at all for yourself, a notion that you were supposed to leave no possible implications of being the truth. Such a simple, brief action would be an act of both defiance, arrogance, and independence alike.

Thus, you stayed perfectly still. After a moment, thankfully, it was retrieved for you, and you held your arms out weakly at it was secured around your body. After another moment of hesitation, knowing not to leave the bed of your own volition as well, you waited until you were gently held at the waist and pulled to the edge, a non-verbal command to stand. You stood and waited for the hand on your back with the lightest of a push, a motion permitting you to walk over and sit. You murmured your thanks as you were handed food, and bit your tongue when you were given an affectionate — and that much more belittling — pat on the head.

You swallowed your food without really tasting it, a mechanical process you went through each day to keep yourself alive (and, of course, because the prospect of a hunger strike would certainly not be well-met). The atmosphere as you ate was quiet, outside of the light sounds of utensils hitting the ceramic and the faint sound of your chewing. It was an awkward, heavy sort of silence, but silence was, in a way, good. Silence, boredom, they were neutral. Not particularly good on their own, but they were also an absence of anything negative. All far superior to less pleasant alternatives.

But you couldn't distract yourself from the sense of shame this morning ritual always carried with it. It was so domestic, so compliant on your end, perfectly trained to a set routine.

It was not only your own demeanor, though, in which the calmness and gentleness of it bothered you. Just as you did not create conflict or instigate any unpleasant interaction, neither were you presented with any hostility, cruelty, or aggression, so long as you performed your role without any mistakes or resistance.

But you almost wished you were.

Your long life had by no means been sheltered from witnessing the brutality of the world, even if you had thankfully not been subjected to it prior. You'd seen various gods and deities of different kinds, many of whom would savagely beat and maim subjects and underlings, even kill them, without a second thought. Inflicting the most unfathomable suffering on the lesser creatures for no purpose other than amusement.

That had not been the case with you at all.

The draconic Lord was not needlessly ill-natured, but perhaps that would almost be preferable. Any interaction always ended up with a burning feeling in your chest of humiliation, always spoken to like a stupid child or animal ➖not in a cruel sort of degradation and condescension, but an endeared, affectionate sort, that made it all that much more unbearable.

At least with an outwardly cruel master, you would be able to find solace in spite, feel a sense of dignity that came with hatred for an oppressive figure. The form of degradation you were forced to endure, however, was not like that of a tormentor or oppressor that would maim and brutalize their subjects within an inch of their life at random for amusement, nor do irreparable harm to their bodies by starvation or mutilation. Likewise, there would be a sort of pride you could maintain if you were kept in horrid conditions; if you were imprisoned in some filthy dungeon, starved and beaten and barely kept alive, enduring that would be a mark of pride. It would validate you as an opposing force, you could look your tormentor in the eye knowing you did not succumb, you could still hold your head high.

Yet, you were kept healthy and well-fed. Everything you were given to wear was of utmost quality, and most often pure silk, gliding smoothly against your skin with every movement. Your conditions were those of a life many mortals and immortals alike would dream of having. And you were never treated with severe, true violence — nothing that would break your bones, nothing that would injure you to the point of needing medical attention or threaten your life.

And yet, in its own way, that in and of itself felt like its own form of degradation, in part because it was all forced upon you, unable to be denied even if you wished. To be cared for in such a way, but given no agency of your own. Treated like a prized possession, and yet almost nothing that happened in your day, almost nothing you yourself even did, was of your own volition, all forced upon you.

It was, you knew deep down, the life of a pet. Perhaps better analogized to a child or a toy, but nonetheless looked down upon as a fragile, helpless, stupid creature; inferior, yet simultaneously treasured and treated with a sense of affection.

And yet, all the same, your body was sore, scratched and bruised, pinpointed spots of throbbing and aching and burning pains littered across your flesh, and deeper aches still from the insides of your bodily orifices.

In many ways, it was one of the worst parts of each day, to come out of the dreaming world and be confronted with the multitude of little indicators and reminders of your subjugation. Every aspect of your life had been moulded into matching the culture of your ruler deity, stripped of your own, which had had, as you'd learned, a great deal of differences, despite not being geographically too far apart. Nonetheless, you were eating their food, wearing their clothing, sleeping in a bed and a home of their architectural style, speaking their tongue. And above all—

"____, today will be a bit different from your usual routine."

Your jaw clenched.

Yes, that was what you hated the most. That name. It felt offensive, insulting, to have been robbed of the name you had used for centuries, only to have another forced upon you. You didn't get any say in what it was, it was merely assigned to you from the moment you had come. The phonology itself was very obviously derived from their linguistic culture, replacing your own, taking from you the last and most basic, fundamental part of your individuality.

But you said nothing. You looked up, raising your eyebrows in an inquisitive expression.

He placed his palm on top of your head, in what you supposed was intended to be another affectionate gesture.

"I have important matters to attend to today." His voice was of his usual, neutral tone, gentle but deep.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment before giving a single, soft nod. That was one of many common phrases that each carried their own implicative, secondary message, left unsaid but understood nonetheless. If a given day contained a great deal of matters deemed important, that would often mean you would spend a great deal of your day sitting in place, listening to a bunch of people talk about subjects of no relevance or significance to yourself, quiet and still like a lifeless doll. Only present to be seen. The 'important' descriptor meant nothing to you in and or itself, as no matters that were dealt with here ever meant anything to you, it was merely attached as a means of getting a message of its own across: that the tolerance threshold for any ill-intended behavior, outbursts, or any other form of acting out was temporarily far lower, and that consequently, any such behaviors would hold significantly higher penalties than they usually held.

"Alright."

Your voice still came out hoarse. It wasn't as if there was much else to say. You couldn't bring yourself to care enough to inquire further, and there was no sense in raising some sort of objection to the matter.

Rather, perhaps there was reason for it in spite alone, but it was a scene that had played itself out so many times in the past that at this point, it would merely be like rereading the same book for the hundredth time, the same words and actions and events played out again and again. Even if the resentment in your heart urged you to be defiant out of sheer emotion, at this point there was almost a sort of boredom to the idea, one that your emotions were, at least for the moment, not strong enough to override.

Sometimes you would act out just to alleviate boredom with the usual routine, so it was merely a matter of, upon any given day, which option sounded more appealing. After a long streak of good behavior, the days would become boring enough that creating chaos and conflict was entertaining... then the consequences of that would put you into another streak of compliance, and the cycle continued. Right now, you decided against it. You merely raised a cup of water up to your mouth, savoring the coolness to your throat as you drank what remained of it.

That was, however, not the full extent of information you were to be given. He set the cup in his hand down on the table before adding more explanation.

"I'll be meeting with... adversaries, and I would prefer to keep your existence unknown to them." He straightened his posture where he sat. "You are to stay in here for the day. I will be back by nightfall. Understood?"

You merely gave a soft nod, not taking your gaze off the floor until you saw movement. He leaned forward over the table, coming down to grab at your jaw, tilting your head upward to force eye contact. You felt a sudden jolt to your gut as your eyes met. While clearly not actively upset, his expression still communicated displeasure, eyes narrowed and face otherwise unexpressive and flat, lacking the faint smile of contentment he so often wore. His voice was firm as he spoke again, repeating the question with greater emphasis.

"Do you understand?"

You nodded frantically. Were it not for the tension of the moment, it might have been a touch comical how his fingers squished at your cheeks, distorting your speech.

"Y-yesh, Mash-ter..."

He exhaled a slow, deep breath, momentarily closing his eyes. His grip grew soft, coming to gently cup your cheek instead.

"Very well, then."

He leaned further forward, ever so softly pressing his lips to the top of your forehead for a brief moment before standing up and turning around, making his way over to the door. "Should you grow bored, there's a good deal of reading material on the shelves behind you." He turned around to shut the door behind him. This time, as your eyes met, he gave you a soft expression, corners of his mouth upturning just slightly. "I'll send for someone to bring you food and water in a few hours. I'll try to return as soon as possible."

You nodded. You tried to put on a similar expression in return, but your mouth twitched with the attempt. "I understand."

You had to force the words out of your mouth. What you truly felt went unspoken aloud, but the spite remained in your head nonetheless.

Please don't.

And once the door shut, you were left in what felt like a suffocating quiet. A tense, uneasy atmosphere, despite the stillness and silence of the room.

For a moment, you merely sat perfectly still, staring forward with dull eyes and an absence of mind, no thoughts of any kind beyond a sort of static buzz in the back of your head. With your life as it was, it was all too easy to slip into that foggy state, lulled into a waking sleep by the mundaneness and emptiness of everything you did, to the point that your brain was easily able to achieve a state of nothingness.

But after a moment, your eyes began to dart around the room. Your gaze fixated on your own shadow for a moment before you turned your head to the side, as if expecting to see something different from the same layout as always, as if something would change. Of course, it hadn't; the only windows remained high enough that you'd need to stand on your toes just for your fingers to brush against the bottom edge, and were covered by metallic bars at that.

And while the light just so happened to shine perfectly into your eyes from where you rested each day in bed, the small size of the windows and high placement left the room very dim even in the middle of the day. You supposed this room had been intentionally built for the purpose of keeping someone in. It certainly performed that function adequately.

Your heart rate was increasing. The subtle awareness of your situation began to slowly trail to the forefront of your mind, still largely held back by a profound fogginess that went beyond sleepiness.

Your eyes did graze over the books at the other end of the room, but you had no desire to even pick them up. Such things had ceased to hold any interest. These days, the mere notion of most activities seemed dull, uninteresting. You doubted the subjects of the material would be of any particular interest to you, anyway. You merely sat still, turned your gaze back to the door.

There was an unspoken understanding about the situation; you had seen in his eyes before he left that he knew you understood. It was a trial of sorts, a test. You had not been left entirely alone before. On normal days, you were dragged around from place to place, often meeting with all sorts of people whose names and faces you made no effort to register in your memory. Kept in your master's lap to be looked at, to be seen and displayed. You usually sat perpendicular to him, so that you could lean onto his chest and close your eyes and block it all out.

And when you could not be with him, when it was time to go to combat in the chaos and war of the world outside, or otherwise doing something you could not partake in, you were left with an attendant outside your door. And yet, when he had opened the door to leave, you could see there was no one outside. That, and telling you outright that an attendant would come along in a few hours was in and of itself a subtle double-message, intended to inform you that that meant, logically following, that there was no attendant watching over you at that moment, that you were going without supervision.

This was, thus, you immediately concluded, a test to see if you would stay in place, if you would still be in the room when he returned. A test of obedience, loyalty, and perhaps, how much you feared him.

It was only natural, thus, as that realization settled in, that your mind began to race with uncertainty. The mere thought, naturally, triggered an immediate impulse. Your innate instinct was to launch yourself out the door that very second and go bounding away down the hall.

Yet, of course, the more rational part of your consciousness halted that impulse with a sense of wariness and caution. If it was indeed a test, which you were more or less certain it was, that also meant there was almost guaranteed to be a sort of insurance measure for the possibility of your failure. There could very well have been guards posted by the door, intentionally placed so you wouldn't have seen them when it was opened. Hell, for all you knew, he could have very well been lying about any obligations, and merely be waiting right outside the door, ready to catch you in any act of disloyalty. It was likely that any doors to the outside would be locked or barred. There could be a physical trap of some kind, too. That was perhaps that being the most humiliating possibility, invoking the thought of being forced to sit in an obvious display of your actions and wait to be found and freed.

You gave your head a quick shake to clear your mind, halting the train of thought in its place.

The safe thing to do was nothing. With action, with hope, came risk, and with risk came rightful fear. Doing anything other than staying put was sure to end poorly. To even think to intentionally violate the standard of behavior you were being blatantly tested for was incredibly foolish and naive. You imagined that such an attempt would be the absolute worst of transgressions you could possibly commit, and the mere thought of irreparably crossing some sort of line made you shiver.

Drop it. Forget it. Leave it be.

You repeated the words to yourself, over and over, trying to quell the impulse. It was for your own good.

...But there was nothing wrong with just poking your head out the door, was there? Even if you were immediately met with someone, you could easily say you thought you heard something and were just checking to see the source of the sound. That was as good an excuse as any.

That alone couldn't hurt. It would just be for a second. Just to look.

Slowly, without much active thought, you found yourself rising to your feet. You swallowed, and took a deep breath.

In a way, you almost hoped you would open the door and see someone standing there. At least then, that could be the end of it. Any faint hope could be extinguished, you could return to the comfort that came with helplessness, knowing you could not do anything. When that window of opportunity didn't exist, there were no what-ifs, no fear of missing out on an opportunity, no conflict of what to do.

But as your hand slowly pushed the door open, you were only met with a dark hall.

The halls were, by contrast to the room, far more dark and unsettling. Windowless spaces only illuminated by a few lamps along the walls.

You turned your head left, then right, analyzing both halls. The left one ended very shortly with an opening to another two options to turn down subsequent halls, while the right one carried on for some distance before doing the same.

But what you did not see, was any presence other than your own. There was no one. Only emptiness.

You felt something, though. Something beyond your primary senses. A subconscious, skin-crawling feeling, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, that made you feel cold all over. As if being watched, even surrounded by emptiness.

A nauseous feeling crept up in your gut. You shut the door in haste, shakily stumbling backwards as if having been shoved. You lowered yourself down to sit on the ground once more, legs feeling too uneasy to keep standing. The door seemed to loom intimidatingly before you. It was so close, and yet, the thought of stepping outside of it on your own felt foreign, somehow wrong, as if some extreme action that no one in their right mind would do.

No. There was nothing, you had seen so yourself. It was merely the feeling of dread becoming too much, holding you back. You were letting paranoia go to your head.

And that brought back the self-directed frustration, anger. You were letting fear get the better of you. You had literally seen with your own two eyes that there was nothing outside. You could walk out, and no one would know.

There was a burning sensation in your chest. A long-forgotten, supressed feeling. Your dignity and pride... how pathetic was it to not even take this opportunity to do something? Even if you couldn't get out, you could at least look around, familiarize yourself with what was around you. Yes, you likely wouldn't be able to find a way out today, but at the very least, scouting it out would be incredibly useful for the future.

To stay here and cower in submission and obedience... would that just go on forever/ In the back of your mind, you had always made some sort of automatic assumption that you would, one day, get out. You had always thought about the future in those terms, wondered what you'd do or where you'd go when that happened. The sudden, intrusive thought, even merely a passing one for just a brief moment, that this would be permanent...

Just as the thought crossed your mind, your eyes trailed over to a mirror on the other side of the room, the vertical sort that extended to the floor.

You sat in place for some time. Unmoving, staring at your own reflection, letting the minutes pass by in quiet, transfixed, unable to look away.

Your eyes looked dull and tired. Your body was slouched over, like a limp doll left to sit on the ground. You scanned every inch of your body. The way your hands rested limply in your lap. The scratches on your back that you could see the ends of where the loose robes had fallen down to expose your shoulders. Taking it all in. It felt like nothing more than a husk, soul long since departed.

Every little detail was a mark of ownership over you, a claim to your life, body and soul, a statement that they all were no longer your own. As if stripping you of personhood, redesigning your exterior and your habits to serve as a perpetual reminder that you were defeated, broken into submission.

And in that new, reconstructed person, there was no place to have any pride. Any dignity or self-respect was out of place, it did not belong, it was not supposed to exist anywhere within the new object that had been created. It was a smudge on a fine painting, dust on a shelf, dirt on a toy -- it would be unhesitatingly wiped away, ensuring that the respective possession of value was free of such undesired impurities. Leaving behind only a flawless object that would perfectly serve its purpose, to be used as it was designed to be.

A painting's was to be looked at, a shelf's was to store, and a toy... it was to be played with, used for the enjoyment of its owner.

Some time passed. Many thoughts came and went, miserable, bitter, and shameful. You sat there and stared. At some point, your eyes began to slowly close, your head felt heavy and cloudy, and your body relaxed...

But it was then that you seemed to snap out of your transfixation, shaking your head. You'd nearly gone to sleep sitting up, and would have wasted the day away. Such falling asleep during the day had become something of a habit at this point, often sleeping for far longer periods of time than necessary or even healthy, just to escape from the waking world.

Your chest felt tight with shame. No. You wouldn't allow that. To just sit there and be a good, obedient pet. Your sense of pride, whatever remained of it, couldn't allow that. The you from before wouldn't have allowed you to become like this, would be ashamed of you for inaction.

You rose to your feet once more and, with a deep breath to steady your nerves, made your way back to the door, opening it once more. After turning your head once again, checking to ensure it was still empty, you looked down at the ground, where the pattern of the floor transitioned over a straight line dividing the room and the hall.

You hesitated for another moment. The fear was still present, even if you did your best to go on in spite of it. It felt daunting, like some tremendous act.

But you stepped over it nonetheless, tiles cool on the soles of your feet. And then, you were left standing.

You left the door open, just in case someone came along and you needed to rush back into the room. You turned your head in each direction.

You had been down the left hall plenty of times, you were fairly familiar with the layout of the estate, having intentionally made sure to commit it to memory, should there be any possibility of finding an exit.

The right hall, however, you'd never been down. But not only was it so expansive it was difficult to take it all in, there was also the fact that as far as you knew, it only led to more and more rooms, you could see doors in a line down the walls as far as your vision extended.

It was still morning. If he said he would be back before nightfall, that meant you had a great deal of time. Although you were told there would be an attendant to bring you a midday meal, but even that would be at least a few hours away, even with you having wasted... you estimated around maybe two hours idly sitting in the room.

Even if you couldn't get out, you could at least pace yourself to go explore a bit and memorize what you found, trying to mentally keep track of time and return before someone came. If someone found you outside, then, you could claim you were searching for an attendant to request water or food. That was perfectly realistic, wasn't it?

As you took the first steps, a shiver ran down your spine. There it was again, that intense feeling of unease, something beyond the fear of being seen. Some sensation, some sense that made you twitch, eyes darting all around. There was still nothing. And yet, your heart rate increased even further than the nervousness already paced it, your breathing grew heavier and faster. You took a few more cautious steps. The feeling persisted, and in a way, seemed to direct you, a subconscious way of feeling the direction it was coming from, controlling your gaze to follow the sensation. Following what seemed like the silent command of that sense, your head tilted upwards to the rafters of the ceiling.

For just a moment, the slightest of seconds, you caught a glimpse of something.

A dark, humanoid silhouette, a smaller frame than that of your master's, barely distinguishable from the surrounding shadow, crouched down on the rafter beam and leaning forward. Bright yellow eyes that shone out in the darkness, wide open and staring at you with eerily intense focus.

A spike of panic lurched through your chest. You inhaled a sharp gasp and took an instinctive step back, your frame of sight disoriented and blurred with the movement.

And then, as your vision refocused, it was gone.

You blinked a few times, rubbed at your eyes, and looked again. Yes, there was nothing there.

You exhaled the air you'd been holding in, a shuddering breath.  You reached a trembling hand up to the spot where your neck met your jaw, pressing two fingers down into the flesh to feel just how hard and fast your heart pounded.

It was merely your own paranoia getting to your head, imagining things. You had to shake it off and keep going. Your footsteps hastened.

You still slowed yourself down as you reached a dark corner, slowly poking your head over the bend. Nothing down the next hall, either, nor could you hear any footsteps or faint chatter or anything that would indicate another presence. It gave you at least some boost in assurance, steadying your walking.

And the next corner, and the next corner. It was as if there wasn't a soul in the whole, massive building, despite there usually being servants to the god that moved around performing various tasks, and guards as well. The Geo god spared no effort in maintaining subjects to keep everything in this place in line, whatever said place was. You knew it was not the real world — that was how the realm had been, by whatever means, indued with some sort of ward that had left you unable to use your own divine power from the moment you were brought in. Many gods had similar dwellings... but they could all be entered and exited, and this would be no exception.

Still, it almost felt too easy. Following the widest hall and keeping to the right side seemed to lead you exactly the way you wanted to go, into areas silent but still dimly lit enough to see. After what seemed like a torturously suspended wait, you halted in place as you rounded the next bend.

Your heart began to pound not merely in fear, but excitement, an exhilarating buzz in your chest that elated your spirit. This hall did not end with another curve, but instead, a door.

A set of large double doors, to be exact. It was a deep red, the wood intricately carved, the frame equally designed with obvious devotion and craftsmanship. Larger and more eye-catchingly ornate than any of the doors lining the hallway, and set at the very end of the hall, looming before you in an almost unnerving perfection, picturesque in a near perfect symbol of the end of your short journey.

That was, of course, indicative of a front door.

A door leading outside.

You could feel your heartbeat throughout your body, each pulse a pounding in your chest, a rush through your throat and extremities. The tile was cold to your bare feet as they slowly, cautiously stepped forward, each footstep just the lightest and faintest of sounds.

Your hand turned the knob and pulled. It was quite heavy, as could be expected from the quality and authenticity of the wood used for such a large entryway. Still, with a tug, the door slid on its hinges towards you. Your shoulders tensed up at the low groaning sound of the aged wood.

The sunlight was nearly blinding, just the mere sliver that came through the gap to which you'd opened it, no more than the width of your hand. The sudden burn caught you off-guard, and you stiffened as your eyes reflexively shut, taking a moment to adjust before slowly, barely parting your eyelids once more.

As your eyes quickly adjusted to the light, you could make out the myriad of colors that composed the natural part of the realm, green all around of grass and plants, the blue sky dotted with puffy clouds.

The sun not only brought its light, but also a pleasant warmth that swept over the narrow vertical line of your body that the light shone upon. As you inhaled, your nostrils were filled with the invigorating fresh scent of dirt and sky and life, the air itself warm in your lungs.

For the briefest of moments, you stood perfectly still, taking just a single second to bask in the euphoria gracing your senses even in spite of your nerves.

But you couldn't just go running out, no, that would be foolish... right? You had no idea how to get out of this realm from here, and would certainly be seen by some guard or attendant or another if you recklessly walked out in broad daylight. If you were caught, it would be ages before this sort of opportunity would come again.

But it couldn't hurt, surely, to just peek around the door, to poke your head out and get a better look at your surroundings. You pulled the door a bit wider, just enough to fit your head through, holding the edge of the door propped open with your forearm.

There were no visible persons outside, either. No guards, no humans nor beasts. Just sun and grass and decoratively assembled stone and masonry that carried on for a ways into the distance.

And more importantly, you could see in the distance, at the end of a winding trail, a glowing pillar of light. The devices that led in and out of these ethereal realms. You had seen plenty in your time in godhood.

In that case... even if there were guards beyond your frame of sight, if you made a run for it, you could probably reach the end. And once you were out into the real world, surely even with your limited combative capacity, you could still utilize the abilities you possessed to get far away and ward off any pursuers. You could run far, far away, find a new land to live in. You could feign being a regular mortal and live life alongside them to conceal yourself. You were not the sort of overly-prideful deity that would consider such a thing to be an insult; in fact, such a prospect didn't sound bad at all.

It was all far too perfect. You found the corners of your mouth turning upward on their own, unable to conceal your excitement even if you had tried. Perhaps the higher beings in Celestia had taken favor on you, or decided to compensate you for your unjust persecution. Your breathing was so heavy that your shoulders and chest rose and fell with each respiration. Your eyes watered. It didn't even feel real, it was all so sudden, your mind felt frozen in shock. Your whole body was filled with a tingling sensation, your head felt lighter than air. You pulled your head back through the door, reaching back for the handle and pulling it wide enough to slip your body through, watching as more light poured into the dark hall.

A startled grunt came out of your throat as your body was jerked forward by the door slamming shut, pulled by your hand still gripping the handle.

The harsh sound of the door forcefully hitting its frame echoed across the vastness of the hall, bouncing off the walls, ringing in your ears.

You stood frozen stiff, still slightly leaning forward from the motion. Unmoving as a statue, paralysis seizing your body. It felt as if even your heart stopped, every organ and vein in your body completely gone still. There was a tightness in your chest, a heavy feeling in your gut, as if your stomach weighed your body down. Your hand was still latched onto the door handle, grip having gone limp, but arm still stiffly extended, unable to move if you tried.

A distinct, straight strip of shadow darkened the area just before you, blocking the light from above. As the echo of the door crashing back into the frame faded, only silence remained.

Your eyes slowly trailed upward. With hesitancy, a slowness out of the cold, heavy feeling in your gut. Delaying the inevitable, torn between frantic urge to know and yet desperately wanting not to. Suspending the few precious seconds of intentional ignorance.

A hand was pressed against the door, having shut it with force. The flesh of the arm outstretched above you from behind gradually darkened in color downwards to the hand that was pressed flat to the surface of the door, the end of each finger tipped with curved, thick claws, rather than fingernails. The fingers curled just a bit, with the slightest sound of a scrape against the wood.

An arm extended out directly above your head, trailing back to something behind you. You could feel a radiating warmth against your back, just shy of brushing against you, so close that you could even detect it without the primary senses, some sort of innate ability to sense presence.

Your jaw was slack, lips parted just in the slightest. Your mouth opened wider, as if to say something, but nothing came out, throat choked and tight.

Until, that is, you felt something brush against the top of your shoulder. The other arm extended forward, crossing over the shoulder to reach for your face.

Muscles across your body twitched and tightened, your eyes blew wider open still, body stiffening even further as a series of sharp pinpoints slowly, lightly came to rest on the flesh of your face, fingers gripping your jaw. Not too harshly, nor lightly. A perfect balance; not enough to cause real pain, but just heavily enough that you could acutely feel the sharpness of the ends pressing into the soft flesh of your face.

And with that, your stillness ceased. Albeit still stiff, every inch of your body began to tremble.

Your lip trembled. Your eyes began to water.

The silence felt like it would crush you, a heavy nothingness for several seconds.

"...And just what are you doing out here?"

As involuntary as your shaking, a high-pitched, fearful little sound came out of the back of your throat. Pathetic and shameful. The sound of your own voice in your ears made a hot, bitter feeling of shame course through your body, amidst the fear that seized your entire being. Your mouth opened, twitching as you tried to speak.

"A-ah... I..."

Any words you could have summoned felt caught in your throat. You went silent, unable to finish. A few more moments of tense silence passed. You stood in place, unable to bring yourself to turn around.

The hand on the door retracted, slowly moving downward. The arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you so that your bodies now touched. The body behind you leaned forward and downward, just enough to speak directly into your ear, face brushing against the side of your own.

"You're quite a ways away from where you were told to stay." He slowly drummed his fingers against the narrowest part of your waist. "You must have wandered out by mistake and gotten disoriented."

In a quieter, lower voice, so close to your ear you could feel his breath as he spoke, he finished,

"...Is that right?"

It was, of course, blatantly facetious. Pretending as if that were even a reasonable explanation, a sort of mutually understood, mock disingenuousness. Transparently so, no actual effort to make you think he was truly ignorant, mutually understood to be a slow torment.

There might have been a right answer and a wrong answer. Perhaps both were right or wrong, or perhaps neither was either. It was a question to test your reaction, see if you would be spiteful or obediently meek. Even so, the submissive option was also a wrongdoing of dishonesty.

But in your panicked impulse, that was the option you rushed for nonetheless.

"I..." You swallowed. "Y-yes, I... I was just..." You looked down, only to see with your own eyes how badly your body trembled. Another matter came to mind. "I... I thought you were with...?"

He waited a moment to respond. "...I was." The cold ominousness and implication of discontentment of his tone made you wince, but he spoke again before you could stammer out some insistence of your innocence, or try to apologize. "However, the guardian I had set for you came to inform me you were wandering around the halls, so it's adjourned for the day."

You grinded your teeth. You had seen something after all, it wasn't just imagination.

Why had you thought otherwise? Of course, of course he wouldn't have left you completely unsupervised. Thinking so for even a moment had been an act of supreme foolishness. You chastised yourself in your head for such stupidity. It was even placed up towards the ceiling with, no doubt, the exact intention of making you believe you weren't being supervised. It felt almost malicious.

Even aside from that matter, hearing those words made your heart sink further, knowing that having to deal with you had interrupted something of utmost significance. For one, that implied that, considering the risk of being interrupted, that he actually, genuinely had believed you would be obedient. Secondly, having disrupted something of importance made your transgression that much greater of an offense, and no doubt, thereby deserving a retribution that much more severe. You could feel your heartbeat across your body, in your throat, in your head, in your limbs, a harsh, intense pounding, pumping adrenaline-laced blood through your system.

But you remained silent. It felt as if something was stuck in your throat, blocking your breath and speech.

A few moments passed. No doubt intentional, dragging out the moment, not granting you the mercy of being spared the torturous dread.  And then, the hands detached from your jaw and waist respectively.

"Alright, now. Come."

His arm reached around your back, hand coming to rest on your waist, pulling you forward in manner both gently slow and lacking in force, yet the touch itself firm. His voice was calm, but cold, commanding. It was not aggressive nor harsh, nor loud, nor rough. His facial expression was not only equally calm, but even pleasant, the sort of expression that was just the slightest upturn of the mouth, but more of a smile in the eyes, almost amused. No contortion in anger or disgust.

Morax did not need harshness. Perhaps other gods and rulers and masters might. To require a booming voice and a snarl to one's tone, a forceful aggression and volume and threat of intense violence to instill submission. For others, fear had to be enforced on the subjects, they had to be made to cower.

But not him. He could speak in such a calm voice, and still expect to be followed. It was not an indicator of a lack of power, but the opposite — knowing that you knew that power without having to have it repeatedly demonstrated. Knowing full well you were terrified regardless, perhaps more so with the eerie aura of the calmness. Knowing you had no choice but to follow, that submission was already won, and that there was thus no need to do anything but simply command it. That the possibility of such a direct command being disobeyed did not even cross his mind. A quiet form of dominance only knowable by those at such an apex of power and supremacy that obedience came as naturally to their subjects as breathing.

And that was the thought that infuriated you so, so deeply.

Your heart felt as if it had stopped, a wave of cold that ran through your blood. Pure and unadulterated fear amalgamated with a deep, swelling bitterness, coursing side by side through your veins. Your jaw clenched harder and harder, your hands curled up into fists.

There was something else, though, beyond that. A heavy, burning feeling in your chest. Pressure that had built up, near the point of bursting. All the humiliation and subjugation you had compliantly endured, a foul taste of embittered fury and brutalized pride. You recalled your hollow, tired appearance in the mirror.

You'd been so controlled by fear from the moment you were captured by the other — admittedly far superior — deity, meekly complying most of the time, outside of a few outbursts and moments of defiance that were so infuriatingly written off as immaturity or merely being a brat, treated with indignation and a sort of condescension that yes, once more you thought to yourself that you wished was crueler, that would have been less humiliating and hurtful if you were treated like an enemy or a slave rather than a disobedient child, an unruly pet.

What would the 'you' from before had thought of your willingness to simply bow your head and follow...?

You took a step backwards, pulling yourself out of the grasp of the arm around you.

Perhaps, in part, it was mere reflexive instinct. But there was also force to the action. Intent. Driven by that same swell of resentment, so strong it overrode your dread. You took an uneasy stance, one foot behind you and the other forward, prepared to take another step back.

You both came to a halt. Your eyes met.

You still trembled, but you stood your ground.

The pleasant expression fell from his face. His eyes became half-lidded and narrowed, shoulders shifting downward as the arm that was around you came to rest at his side. There was an ominous edge to his tone as he spoke.

"...Surely you do not want to make this more difficult than need be?"

His gaze felt piercing. Your eyes darted downward.

"I..." You swallowed. "I just..."

It wasn't as if there was a point. Even if you were to turn around and bolt, you wouldn't even be able to get the door open before you'd be caught. There was no practical, logical point to resistance. There was nothing to be gained, and there was certainly a great increase in your imminent suffering if you did not.

And above all, you were consumed by dread, a fearful anticipation. Perhaps that, in part, was what kept your legs locked still, a desire to delay the inevitable. But above all, your pride demanded your resistance.

"...I don't..."

You tried to speak. You could summon the words in your head, at least. Words you had thought before, when you would lay in bed at night, playing out pathetic revenge fantasies in your head where you told him exactly what you thought and felt, like you were some kid imagining yourself standing up to a schoolroom bully you knew you'd never have the gall to face in reality. You'd say that you were sick and tired of being debased and degraded, that you weren't a toy, that you wouldn't tolerate being talked down to any longer, that you weren't an object to be owned. The fantasies always ended there, as you were unable to even imagine a scenario in which the aftermath of such an outburst ended well for you.

You couldn't get the words out. Perhaps in large part due to intimidation, but even still, because you knew that to some extent, many of those statements were wrong. In the most realistic sense, you were owned. That was how the brutality of the real world functioned. The superior ones exerted their strength, and in turn, the weaker ones submitted... or else, were eliminated. If one could successfully imprison and force the other to their will, they essentially did have claim to ownership.

Thus, you merely stood your ground. It was all you could do to look up at him with anger, however obvious the fear alongside it may be, on your face.

He merely huffed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Be reasonable." He turned his gaze back up to you. His eyes narrowed further. "...You will follow, willingly or not. I am extending you the opportunity to demonstrate remorse, and you would be wise to take it."

You remained still, and stayed silent. The quiet weighed down on your chest, as if to crush you. Part of you wanted to give in, a survival instinct to submit and obey, an urge to run forward and fall to your knees in a display of repentance. But you suppressed it, and remained in place.

He paused a moment, waiting for a response, but upon receiving none, he gave a deep sigh, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Three."

Your jaw clenched. The bitter fury rose up like a punch to the stomach.

Of all the things he could have said, to do that, to instigate this degrading routine you'd become so familiar with, was probably the worst.

Your heart beat harder. The very nature of the act strengthened your impulse to rush forward, the setup itself being to intimidate you with gradual increase of threat. Perhaps it was because you knew that, and how degrading it felt, that you managed to stay still.

"Two."

His voice grew a firmer edge with the single word, audibly colder and deeper than the first.

Your fingers curled, clenching your hands into fists. You grinded your teeth. You could feel your eyes water, but with all the willpower you could muster, you refrained from breaking down, from giving in.

But you did give in, at least in a way, to the fear. You couldn't keep looking him in the eye. You turned your gaze to the floor... but it didn't stop you from being able to see his face in the edge of your vision. Given the look on his face, you wished you had turned your head entirely.

He was silent as seconds came and went, having well surpassed the implied time limit. Staring at you with narrowed eyes and a displeased expression.

"...How childish."

When he took a step forward, your panic surged back anew, and you stumbled backwards, but to no avail. His hand locked around your wrist, and the pretense of gentleness momentarily disappeared as you were jerked forward with immense force. You didn't even get the chance to stumble, the force with which you were slung was enough that your feet left the ground and you crashed down to the floor with a frightened yelp, catching yourself on your forearms. As soon as you hit the ground, your shaking hands scrambled to push you back up, but just as you began to shuffle onto your hands and knees, you gagged as your weight was pulled off the ground by a hand grabbing the back of your robe, causing the front to choke you by the throat. Your feet stumbled to find purchase on the ground, but they were pulled off the ground once more, leaving your legs flailing in the air. You went airborne again for a moment as you were thrown upward, retching as your body was slung over his shoulder so that the bone slammed against your stomach.

The journey back seemed so much faster than your initial one, given your shorter legs and how cautious you'd been. You hadn't realized just how short the distance you'd traveled really was until that moment, as the return passed so quickly you became aware of just how pathetically short of a distance you'd truly gotten. You cried out and writhed, less out of a conscious decision, and more pure panic triggering some innate instinct. You were fairly certain you got out a few strained, stuttered words — wait and stop and no — but you received nothing in reply.

It was over in a matter of minutes. The door was still hanging open as you'd left it, but was shut with a harsh sound behind you. You cried out as you were unceremoniously tossed down, body weight slamming into the mattress so that it bounced back for a moment from the impact as you lay stunned on your back.

Your elbows pressed down to prop yourself up. You barely lifted your torso upwards before you were slammed back down again by a crushing force to your chest, claw-like nails digging into the flesh around your collarbones. He came to loom over your form from above, leaning with one foot on the ground, the other calf bent at the knee and resting weight onto the mattress.

“Your ingratitude is boundless, isn't it?” He remained perfectly still, looming over you even as you began to writhe. “To think, I could have killed you. There is no reason you shouldn't have met the same fate as every other—" his grip tightened, enunciating the next word in a sudden increase in irritation to his voice, betraying the faux pleasantness up until that moment, "foolish little pest that thought to challenge something so far greater than yourself."

Your eyes nearly squeezed shut with the strain of your struggling. The words made your lip tremble, your eyes burn. Every time the memory was invoked, you felt so utterly stupid, shameful over your own naivete.

You grabbed at the hand on your chest, and pulled with every ounce of strength you could summon, the full and utmost entirety of your strength.

It didn't even seem to be noticed, much less affect him in any way. The hand did not budge, nor did his face show any sign of strain, no indication that your full strength took even a modicum of effort to restrain.

"But I had favor on you," he continued, voice returning to a quiet coldness, "and took you to be my own." His other hand reached back up to your face, gripping your jaw with force and acute pressure as each nail dug into the soft flesh. “I chose…” his voice lowered to a murmur, “…to allow you to live…” he pushed your head back, “…under very, very simple conditions.”

Your body trembled beyond your control. He watched you struggle, golden eyes half-lidded and cold, lacking any sign of empathy. You felt a surge of dread spike in your chest as the nails dug into your flesh, just shy of piercing the skin. After a moment, he finished,

“...Do you recall what those conditions were?”

Your lip trembled. The last remnants of pride you possessed fought against breaking down.

Yes, you recalled perfectly. You had so quickly rushed to agree to comply, out of pure, pathetic cowardice at the terror of the moment, in a desperate attempt to have your life spared.

The way it was brought up felt so, so shameful. Yes, you really would prefer outright cruelty to this. It was, at least, more transparent, more direct.

The way of speech he possessed was somehow far more soul-crushing. Such a calm, low voice, and yet tinged with an unmistakeable condescension. But the tension in it had slowly increased with each word, like an ominous, vague shadow growing closer and closer.

Each beat of your heart sent a heavy pulse through your head, you could feel the blood as it circulated around your temple and back into your throat, over and over. Your body felt so cold.

You forced the words out, voice hoarse.

“To… to remain here in this... this realm…”

He didn't hesitate to press further. “And?”

“And… and…” you swallowed. Your voice began to tremble, audibly on the verge of tears. “To… to obey your... every word."

"...That's correct." His voice was still so calm, low and rumbling. As if it were a regular conversation, as if he wasn't holding you down. Nonetheless ever laced with that sense of condescension, belittlement in the pretense of the feigned pleasantness. "Now... I could be remembering incorrectly," his thumb rubbed in a back-and-forth motion against your chin, "but I believe that I very specifically instructed you to wait in this room."

You felt sick. You bit down on your lip, inhaling as deeply as you could to fight a sense of nausea.

"...Am I mistaken?"

You shook your head back and forth rapidly. Your eyes squeezed shut, tears collecting and pooling around your eyelashes. Your voice came out strained and cracking. "No..."

It was the best reply you could give. A lose-lose situation, where any answer you could muster was a bad one, yet the honest answer was, at least, hopefully the lesser of the possible offenses.

And with that answer, finally, that slowly-increasing tension, the underlying malice, reached its peak. As if that shadow caught up to you, the pretense of calmness and faux-gentleness dissipated. You saw his eyes narrow further. The hand on your chest moved upward. Your heart skipped a beat, a chill pulsated through your blood, but you had no time to react.

"Enlighten me, then. Why, exactly..."

His palm slammed down onto your throat. Your eyes went wide with panic, your hands reached to grasp at his arm.

He spoke the next words with gritted teeth, voice still low in volume, but now with an unmistakeable rumbling harshness to his voice.

"...Did I find you where you were?"

Your initial instinct, without conscious thought, was to struggle, back arching as your body lurched against the hold. It only caused you greater pain, pressure digging into your throat. You took a gasp to the best of your ability.

If you had thought it through, perhaps it would have been evident that what you said next was a poor choice, but much like your writhing, in your panic, your first instinct was to placate and defend yourself.

"I wasn't doing anything bad, I just—"

You cut off with hitched breath as his fingers curled into your neck, sharpness nearly piercing your flesh.

"Do not lie to me."

Your lip trembled. You swallowed to the best of your ability.

"I'm sorry..."

The grip tightened, cutting off your airways nearly entirely.

"It was a question. Answer."

Of course, he already knew. You knew that, and he knew that you knew. It didn't need to be said. It was not so much a question as it was a command -- not merely to "answer," but to admit, to confess. And that was, realistically, the only valid option you had.

"Because I... I wanted to..." You took as deep of a breath as you could, swallowing, shuddering on the exhale. "I..."

You went quiet for a moment. You took rapid, shallow breaths, mouth opening and closing as you struggled to speak.

"You...?"

It was mocking, but frustrated tone in his voice, clearly growing impatient. He seemed to, at least, realize you were struggling to speak, and thus the crushing force to your throat loosened.

Your fingers curled against the sheets as bitterness swelled in your chest once more at the insult inherent to how he spoke to you, the audacity to express impatience when he was the very reason you struggled to speak. The push and pull of fear and anger often wavered back and forth, one overtaking the other for a moment. Each was reactionary, the emotion that won over at a given moment for a given response each dependent on what was said or done to you. The anger had been building, pressurizing, but finally burst as it did — anger was always the emotion that would come out in one sudden, explosive moment, only to retreat as soon as the fear always won back over. You knew that, and could have predicted the cyclic movement of the two, but in the moment, it won out nonetheless. You had intended to finish with saying you wanted to run, or perhaps a more dishonest answer, but a more spiteful sentiment overcame you.

"Because I wanted to!"

Taking advantage of the sudden absence of pressure, you lurched upward to the best of your ability. His hand still caught your movement halfway, forcefully grasping your shoulder, but you curled yourself upward to come closer to his level, almost halfway sitting up, propping your weight on one of your hands outstretched behind you, the other you reached out and, to draw him closer as well as keep you from being pushed downward, actually lashed out and tightly locked your grip around one of the horns at the base of his skull. Your body trembled, this time in a deep, furious rage, as you took more heaving breaths. Your nose scrunched up with your expression of fury.

"I can do what I want! You don't own me, and I don't have to do a goddamn thing you say, you—!"

You cut off.

Rather, you couldn't speak another word. It felt as if you were choking, even with the absence of a weight on your throat.

Once more, a reactionary compulsion. Those spiteful outbursts were always so brief, so easily shut down, any prideful spirit crushed without effort by the factor of sheer intimidation.

In that moment, it was the look on his face. The eyes went half-lidded, expression blank, not outwardly, visually angry, but displeased, unamused. Much like with everything else, it was far more terrifying to you than any outward anger you'd expect from anyone else.

Silence fell over the room, only the faintest sound as he drummed his fingers on the other hands against the sheets, a sedentary stimulus.

"...Go on."

The simple phrase was ominous, foreboding in its cold, low tone.

You clamped your jaw down, shoulders bunching up as you released your grip and shrunk back, back hitting the headrest of the bed. Your throat felt tight, as if blocked, obstructed. Your toes and fingers curled in a fearful instinct.

"...N-no, I didn't..."

"No." He reached out and took your face in his hand, thumb digging into one side, fingers into the other. "You were going to say something else?"

You tried to shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. "No, I wasn't — I didn't mean that, I didn't—mm!"

You whimpered as your midriff was pulled forward, and head downward, effectively pushing you back down onto your back. There was a sharp pain as one of the claw-like nails just barely pierced a layer of flesh from the force, not enough to bleed, but enough to feel the distinct sting, the sort of cut that would leave a raised-up, reddened line down your skin for some time to come.

Your chest rapidly heaved up and down with panicked breaths. Your eyes blew wide, staring upwards into those that looked down at you with an intimidating darkness. Your hands lifted upward, as if to push him back, but merely rested in front of you, fingers curled and trembling, uncertain and hesitantly refraining.

"In that case," he rested one hand on your shoulder to hold you down, "I will extend you significant grace," the grip tightened on the enunciated word, just enough for you to feel it, "and allow you to start over. Try once more."

His other hand reached for your throat once more and pressed down. A sharp inhale of surprise proved you could still breathe, albeit greatly restricted, as if sucking in air through a straw.

It was at that moment, though, that the worst possible thought came to you. It hadn't occurred to you until that moment, but at the reminder he gave about how your situation came to be to begin with, the thought did flash through your mind, the worst possible consequence. That created an entirely new degree of fear. Your whole body seemed to sink into the mattress.

Your mouth opened, but you had to squeeze your eyes shut to manage to get the words out.

"I was... trying to..." Your voice lowered to a quiet whimper, a natural desire for avoidance. "Run away..."

Your chest convulsed, but you could only inhale a small amount of air with each breath. You began to feel lightheaded. Only pure fear and uncertainty kept you conscious.

But with that increased fear, any room for dignity was long since gone. Tears pooled in your eyes and streamed down your face. Your voice came out in a pathetic, miserable, pitiful whimper.

"Don't... don't kill me... please..."

It was not the first time those words had left your mouth. Perhaps there was even a comedic, ironic factor to the similarity, the repetition of the words parallel to the repetition of the scenario you found yourself in.

Yes, it was very much like this. His hand had been on your throat then, too. You recalled it perfectly. Defeated and battered, literally crawling on your knees before you were lifted up by the neck and slammed into the wall. You recalled the way your body tensed as the cold tip of the spear pressed to your chest right below the breast where your heart rested, just enough pressure to break the skin, the way a slow trickle of blood had trailed down your side. Tears and snot had run down your face, your breathing was rapid, heaving gasps, your legs had pathetically kicked and flailed, your hands had clawed at the grip.

You were not told outright that you would live, no. In hindsight, that had probably already been determined, but you weren't told so. There had been the same suspense, making you wait, enjoying putting you in abject terror as your life flashed before your eyes.

Perhaps it was because you had been cocky, overly confident in your capacities, that that torment was extended. For someone who took such gleeful thrill in conquering, it made sense to relish in the way you begged and struggled. It was the same words. Very basic ones, of course, standard, probably what any conqueror of such prowess had heard a hundred times.

Don't kill me, please don't kill me...

Likewise, you could still hear the mocking tone to his voice, see the gleam in his eyes.

You're right. It would be such a waste to kill you when you can be put to good use, don't you think?

And he had given you that same smile. The same one you received whenever you cried, whenever you were blubbering out apologies for some misdeed. Whenever you begged for anything, whenever you shivered and cowered and curled up into him for warmth or comfort. Whenever you succumbed to pleasure forced upon you, melted into a drooling, twitching, barely-responsive mess. Seemingly soft and mild, but the longer you looked, the more and more apparent became the undertone of sadistic pleasure.

The same one you recognized now, as you dared open your eyes, even through the blur of your tears.

It was always the same. Even in the softest and most gentle of moments, there was still that same gleam to his eyes.

"You want to be forgiven, then?"

You sniffled. "Yes..."

Another pause. Drawing the moment out. Making you feel every second of anticipation.

"Mm."

His hand detached from your throat. You took a deep, gasping breath.

But just as you began to recover, he took a fistful of the robe around you, pulling you up from the bed, setting you down — not letting you fall, but taking care to actually set you on the ground — onto your knees. He sat back down on the bed, sideways so that he faced your crumpled form, feet on the ground.

"I'm sure you know, forgiveness is not automatically granted... it is earned." He grabbed your jaw once more, forcing you to look up at him. "Do you understand?"

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut, sniffling. The soft "mhm" that came out of your throat sounded utterly pitiful.

"Good." He reached down to cup your face, tilting your head to face him, causing your eyes to open on reflex. Just enough to see the amused smirk on his face as he spoke. "Then show me how you intend to earn forgiveness from your God."

It hurt. It hurt in your stomach, your chest. A type of pain so different from the scratches and bruises, an unphysical, deeper pain, an emotion so strong you could feel it in your skin and bones.

But you crawled forward on your knees nonetheless.

"Yes... Master..."

A routine you could move through almost mechanically, although this was the first time you'd performed it so desperately, not to mention the added difficulty of your shaking hands. Leaning your body forward, grasping at buttons to unfasten. You inhaled sharply when one of the cocks hit the side of your face as it sprung from the restraint of clothing.

Your breathing was still heavy and rapid from the adrenaline. You took just a moment to take a few shallow breaths, but otherwise didn't hesitate to shove it into your mouth, desperate to placate and do what you could to lessen your Master's fury.

It was like some sort of divine torment from Celestia itself that you had to deal with something... you supposed the best word would be reptilian, in the anatomical realm. Your body was fully humanoid, mating organs designed to align to an equally fully humanoid body of the opposing sex. You didn't even know draconic creatures possessed two cocks, and each of nonhuman size at that, until you were firsthand forced to become aware of that information, via being doubly impaled unexpectedly. There was some control over the degree of form such beings as him took, varying transformative levels that could be achieved at will, and you were sure it was entirely possible to maintain the fortunate human trait of having only one -- but that was a luxury you were not granted.

You took a gasp for breath as your mouth detached with a popping sound, turning your head and immediately taking the other into your mouth, reaching to work the first with your hand, aided by the residual lubrication of your own saliva, and the existing layer of... whatever it was, some sort of mucin-like lubrication that coated them already. Your hand couldn't fully wrap around it, couldn't close so that your fingers would have touched, instead trying to twist your wrist as you moved your hand up and down.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to force it further into your mouth, but your body stiffened as it triggered your gag reflex when it hit the back of your throat, not even half of it in your mouth. You tried to inhale as much air as you could through your nostrils, summoning the mental willpower to try and force it past the barrier of your throat.

You must have hesitated too long, though, or perhaps your effort was merely too poor to be sufficient. Your eyes snapped open when you felt a hand on the back of your head, but you could only let out a soft sound before your head was shoved downward.

Your stomach retched in involuntary reflex, abdominal muscles spasming as you tried to adjust. Your eyes watered once more, blurring your vision. Another hand latched to the back of your head, and pulled your head back before shoving it back down again. Over and over. It took all your focus and willpower to prevent yourself from getting sick, although you still managed to make some sort of sucking motion with your mouth, more out of mechanical instinct than active effort.

And it was painful, it was sore, from having had the same thing done shortly before. Like a wound being reopened over and over, there was never enough time between occurrences for you to heal from the bruises and scratches and stretched muscles of the former occurrence before it repeated.

After a moment, your head was pulled back all the way, a popping sound as your mouth detached. You took heaving, ragged breaths, desperately trying to suck in air before your head was guided to the side and the action repeated on the other, jerking your head up and down again, filling your throat to the point of a burning pain as it stretched. You could physically feel it stretching the walls of your throat, in and out, over and over. You began to feel lightheaded as you failed to sufficiently inhale through your nostrils.

"...Now—"

Your head was pulled off with harsh force. You took a long, heaving gasp for air, but within the same moment, you were jerked back upwards.

The movement was so fast and forceful that you were too disoriented to even process it. Your balance teetered, your stumbled as your arms were each held, fabric pulled off, stripping you down, before slamming your body back down onto the bed face-down. Prodding your legs with a gentle kick forced them wide apart to balance yourself, his hand pressed down on your back just below the neck, so that the soft whimpering sounds you made were muffled by the sheets. You grimaced as the nails dragged a short ways down your spine.

You grimaced, face contorting with the sting as you felt something prodding against the already raw flesh of the entrance of each orifice. "Wait, wait, I'm not—AH!"

Despite everything else being so prolonged and dragged out, this time, you were not granted a single second of hesitation or anticipation, no doubt intentional, so that you had no opportunity to mentally prepare yourself, so that the disorientation made the feeling of impalement come as a sudden shock.

You were unable to suppress a squeal as they both slid into your body at once, one into your cunt, the other into your ass, stretching already sore and spent muscles and pressing against bruised flesh, albeit the latter more innately discomforting and foreign, the stretching sensation far more intense. The sheer stretch of the size would have been painful even if your insides weren't already hypersensitive and rubbed raw. Your legs spasmed, kicking as a reflexive instinct, leaning your full weight forward.

You took rapid heaving, gasping breaths, trying to turn your head to the side so that your breathing wasn't inhibited and suffocated by your face pressed downward into the mattress. The noise that came out of your throat was strained and miserable, a long, high-pitched cry.

As another natural reflex, your body's first instinct was to get away, to remove the intrusion penetrating your insides. Your back arched downward in an attempt to pull yourself off, desperately clawing at the sheets, but you were grabbed at the hip and pulled back with force, sheathing fully inside you.

It felt full. Like your body was stuffed beyond its capacity, that there was too much within it. Intrusive, setting off some innate sense of alarm triggered by forcing something into your body of a size that it wasn't designed for; even for just the cock stuffed into your quim, the object itself registered as something foreign rather than a natural process of all living beings. The muscles reflexively clenched down and spasmed. Your breathing had just barely begun to slow as your body adjusted, before you stiffened at the friction against your insides as the intrusion pulled back, sliding out of your body.

You struggled to form words coherently. "Wait, wait—"

And squealed, a high-pitched cry, when his hips slammed forward again, driving back into your body once more. The movement felt as if it sent a shockwave running up your spine, from the point of collision to your insides.

His fingernails dug into your hips. The sharp ends broke the skin.

Again, and again. The friction burned, but the most intense sensation was the fullness and the impact — pain and soreness, but also unmistakable, unavoidable, natural pleasure that sparked with each movement as it rubbed against some specific spot inside. Your legs trembled from the intensity of the sensation, your mouth hung open, both drawing in gasping breaths, and spilling saliva out of your mouth, dribbling off your chin onto the sheets.

You had almost begun to melt into the pleasure when a harsh smack made you jolt. The sound bounced off the walls, the pain was a harsh sting where the palm of his hand had met the soft flesh where your backside and hip met. Your body lurched forward again, but was once more harshly pulled back to impale you again.

You made a pained sound, teeth grinding. "Ah, mmn— I'm sorry, I'm so—"

Another jolt of pain, leaving a hot sting against the flesh. You whimpered.

A third. A fourth. A fifth. It hurt. You squealed and cried out, struggling to form borderline incoherent begging. It did not help that the flesh of your ass was already so raw from similar previous corporeal punishments, for a range of offenses so broad and the offenses themselves so numerous you couldn't recall them all. Each inhale you took in had a coarse, ragged sound to it, as if choking on air. You sputtered out pleas and apologies, before your shoulder was grasped and pulled you upward, so that your knees rested on the mattress, and your torso was almost upright, slightly leaning forward. The thrusts to your insides slowed, more so grinding into your body, but did not cease.

"I still have difficulty believing you understand the severity of your offense."

"I do!" Your voice cracked as you spoke. You could hear how pathetic your own pleading voice sounded. "I really do, I promise, I'm sorry!"

There was a sigh, you could feel the fall of his chest against your back.

"You are so very fortunate," he continued. "You're taken care of to the utmost, you're given the highest standard of life one can have..."

"I know! I know, I, I am, I-I'm grateful—"

You cut off in a squeal with a harsher thrust, nails scraping down your hip so forcefully your face contorted with pain.

"You expect me to believe that, when you were preparing to throw aside everything I've given you?"

"I..."

You didn't have an excuse, and in your current state of mind, overwhelmed by pain and pleasure and fear and anger, there was no way you could summon such complex thought as to come up with one. Your brain could only come up with the automated, mechanical responses, the rehearsed phrases and words you were supposed to give, that you were trained and conditioned to give over the course of time -- I'm sorry, please forgive me, I won't do it again, so on and so on.

Thus, unable to come up with anything better, you merely hung your head, shoulders shaking with sobs as you gave the only answer you could think of.

"I'm sorry..."

He sighed again. "That's the best answer you can give, then?"

But after a pause, he added, with a smirk you could hear in his voice even if you couldn't see it,

"Or are you just too overwhelmed to think straight?"

You only whimpered. It was too much. The fullness, the soreness, the sparks of pleasure, it all was too much put together, overloading your brain. You shook your head, not so much in a negatory response to the question as it was just an expression of your desperation and clouded mind.

You grunted in surprise as you were lifted by an arm around your waist, coming to be set down so the balls of your feet touched the ground — although they shook so badly they were virtually useless, the vast majority of your weight supported by his arms. Your body was bent forward at the waist, one arm around it to support you, the other coming to grasp at your throat, essentially holding you up. Another thrust made you squeal again, feet stumbling against the ground.

Even in your overwhelmed state, the realization felt like a punch to the stomach.

It was no coincidence, no mistake, that you were positioned this way. Bitter, helpless fury swelled in your chest.

The exact same position you'd been held in that first time, squealing and crying and cursing as you were relentlessly fucked out in the open, before a multitude of your own subjects and other deities caught up in the combat.

It was true, as he'd said, that you had made a mistake that cost you. The other gods that you'd faced were, by comparison, so utterly weak, even non-combative deity a like yourself had managed to fend them off. You had known stronger gods existed, but the degree was such that it was beyond your ability to fathom, a level of strength far beyond what you ever would have imagined until you came to know it firsthand.

Thus, when the draconic god had approached you, you didn't feel threatened. In fact, you had felt insulted when he had given you a choice. That you could be spared from death by agreeing to relinquish your rule, and submitting to subjugation without resistance. And that otherwise, you could die fighting.

That was the first time you recalled that smile. You didn't even remember exactly what you said, but you hadn't even hesitated. Something to the effect that you would kill him, take him down, something of that nature.

That same grin, a soft chuckle. But lacking in excitement. Not the way one would laugh and grin before facing an opponent that would still be a thrill to fight. Instead, amused, as if finding it cute.

Is that so?

Even back then, the tone, the notion that you weren't even being treated as a worthy opponent, that he wasn't even worried, had enraged you, and in foolishness, you had rushed right into conflict.

It had lasted less than a single minute. To even call it a fight was not entirely reasonable; it was more you being slung around like a ragdoll across the near vicinity, over and over until you were beaten down to the point of immobility. A matter of seconds, before you were caught crawling, pressed up against that wall. And after your begging, after your pleading, you'd found yourself just like this.

The balls of your feet barely touching the ground, weight held up almost entirely by the hand on your jaw and the arm latched around your waist, desperately clawing at the former out of pure instinct with one hand, the other helplessly reaching behind you and pawing at the hips that slammed into yours, pushing back as if it would do any good, as if your weak pressing would actually stop the movement. Body weight tilted forward, knowing that you'd fall flat if he were to let go, only serving to further the feeling of panic.

At least now, there wasn't an audience gawking at the sight, but the degradation burned in your chest all the same.

It must look so miserable, so pathetic. If you had maintained your resilience and pride — then, and now — you would have stayed still. If you could endure it with a straight face, without making a sound, without struggling, that would have been a powerful move to play, would have wounded your tormentor's own pride, a metaphorical spitting back in his face. That should have been what you had done.

But you were weak.  You squealed and flailed. Obscene sounds came out of your mouth, lewd and pained at the same time. Tears streamed down your face.

You did struggle, but to no avail. Writhing, kicking, flailing with every ounce of strength you could muster did nothing, the movements continued as if you were perfectly still.

The absolute utmost of your strength was nothing.

It was a feeling of complete and utter helplessness, futility, weakness, unlike anything else you'd ever known in the span of your lengthy existence.

And you knew you would never be able to exact revenge, would never be able to satisfy the anger. You could never exert it, release it, feel the relief of catharsis that came with finding a way to exert the negative emotion.

Beings such as yourself lived indefinitely. If you had been human, you might have been able to longingly wait for the day that death could relieve you of your humiliation and bitter anger.

But with power came responsibility, and with allowances came restrictions. That escape was a mercy you were not allowed, nor would he ever allow any circumstances under which you could do so yourself. A bedroom ceiling far too high to even reach, a mirror unbreakable — you had tried — and never given anything you could turn on yourself.

The hopelessness was crushing.

You stumbled over your loose footing, a few rapid steps to rebalance what little of your weight rested on the ground. Perhaps having had the thought to do so from that, the hand around your waist reached downward, hooking an arm under your knee and lifting up, so that your thigh nearly touched your chest, only a small portion of your weight left on the ball of the other foot on the ground. With that, each thrust went deeper into your body, you gasped and cried out at the impact.

As you adjusted, you let your head fall, hanging down limply. It was all too much, too overwhelming. The pleasure and pain receptors of your mind were overloaded, your thoughts began to grow hazy and dull, a sort of blankness that consumed any coherent or complex thought. The pleasure and pain was all there was, the only thing you could process besides the high-pitched cries from your mouth and the distinct sound of wet skin slapping on skin each time his hips met your backside.

His arm tightened onto your waist, and for a brief moment, you were lifted up into the air, whimpering as you were shifted over just a single step or so, not removing himself from you in doing so. The movements started up once more within a second, albeit slower, drawn out, and your body held more upright. You caught an object out of the corner of your eye, and automatically squeezed your eyes shut, turned your head away in a desperate attempt to avoid it.

You could feel his breath against your ear.

"Look at you."

You squeezed your eyes shut harder, rapidly shaking your head. You didn't want to.

But as his hand gripped your jaw once more, this time directly digging the sharp claws into your skin, your eyes opened on reflex at the pain, and you were met face-to-face with your own reflection once more. And once your gaze locked on, despite initial avoidance, you felt as if you couldn't look away.

You were disheveled, limp-looking, as if an inanimate object, dead weight barely kept in balance.

You could physically see his cock inside your body, a bulging shape in your abdomen that looked unnatural, almost grotesque. The flesh around your eyes was swollen and darkened. The scratches visible on your side and hip were irritated, reddened and swelling, but the cuts were shallow, and only in one particular scratch, just a bit deeper than the others, did the tiniest trickle of blood slowly ooze out.

Looking at your face, though, was the worst of it, made that same burning, all too familiar of a feeling, begin to swell. Saliva trailed out of both sides of your mouth, tears and snot ran down your face. Your eyes themselves were irritated and reddened, more tears accumulating, giving your eyes a glassy appearance that reflected what little light poured in.

You stared directly into the reflection. The hand on your jaw, the dullness to your eyes. The way your hands weakly clawed at the arm on your waist. The way even now, albeit merely grinding, the bulge in your stomach shifted, and you could just see, from your angle, where the smallest sliver of the base of his cock was the only remaining length not buried deep inside.

It all seemed to culminate. A knot in your stomach, a weight on your chest. Your lower lip trembled. You felt your body shiver, limbs trembling, as more, heavier tears ran down your face.

His voice was low and quiet, but so unnervingly deep as it was, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

"Do you understand?"

It was not preceded with a statement of what, exactly, was to be understood. Yet, you did understand nonetheless.

There were many ways to have put into words what that which you understood was. A few different details of things he may have meant. Maybe telling you something about you, something about him, something about the past or the future or the nature of things itself.

Perhaps that was, rather, exactly why he didn't say anything more — because there was no singular, exact statement to be understood. Many, many things that could be said, many aspects and demonstrations of the same concept, merely worded in different ways, but all ultimately the very same.

Any of those things that could be said, all amounted to the same, basic thing: a statement of order. A superior and an inferior, a better and a lesser. Each one true to its place in a million demonstrable ways.

And that, you did, in fact, understand. Even if you wished you didn't have to, wished you could be ignorant to it, and live without the unending, crushing weight of what you knew your place was.

You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded your head, sniffling. "Mm-hnn..."

There was a moment of pause before you heard a response.

"...Very good."

You inhaled a sharp gasp and let out a soft cry as sharper, faster, rougher thrusts resumed, reigniting both the burn and pleasure sensations deep inside your body as it was bent forward once more. You bit your lips between your teeth in an effort to muffle the sounds you made, but this was quickly noticed, and the way his nails dug into your jaw was a command in and of itself, even if you didn't automatically gasp from the pain. With that moment of opportunity, his thumb slid into your mouth, pressing onto your tongue and effectively holding your mouth open.

"Ahh, ah— hah—"

The wanton noises, thus, came without much restraint, albeit muffled and distorted as you tried to form syllables over the protrusion in your mouth, holding down your tongue. You had no resistance left in your body. You merely clung to his arms, one hand planted on each, weak and barely even noticed, not in any way inhibiting him from moving them.

The noises increased in pitch as his other hand reached up from its place on your waist, pinching and rubbing at one nipple, then another, keeping the forearm itself firmly pressed to your abdomen to support your weight.

"Don't take your eyes off yourself."

You had shut your eyes out of the pure intense sensation, but forced them open again. Forced yourself to look into your own eyes, to see your body bent and fucked and claimed. Even the blur of tears didn't mask the miserable shame of your expression — nor the lustful dilation of your pupils, eyes half-lidded and filled with an empty haze of pleasure.

You felt warmer and warmer, a distinct pressure, tingling sensation inside. Your breaths became heavier, louder, faster, your body began to shiver intensely, and your legs squirmed and twitched.

"Not yet."

You let out a long whimper in response, desperate and needy, only to cut off in a gasp as he grabbed your jaw again, forcing your eyes directly forward. This time, your gaze focused on his own reflection — your stomach twisted at that same damned, loathsome grin.

"What do you say?"

But your fury was weakened and exhausted, your spirit beaten and broken. You put up no resistance.

"I'm sorry, M-Master..."

It was bitter on your tongue, like poison in your throat. You hesitated, not wanting to finish the plea out of pure shame, but the physical sensation was quickly becoming overwhelming. The wet, squelching, smacking sound of skin on skin reverberated in your ears, a lewd sound that only triggered further innate senses of pleasure.

"P-please let me... let me cum..." Your head hung downward, your expression contorted with strain. "Please..."

"Don't look away. Look at yourself when you beg."

The command was firm and cold. You bit your lip, but slowly rose your head, forcing yourself to endure the humiliation of the act demanded of you, watching your mouth move with your words.

"Please... let me cum..."

Your lower lip trembled, your eyes stung. The shame of the words felt like a knot in your stomach. You watched as your body moved back and forth with the force of the thrusts, taking in the pleasure-hazed stupor evident on your own face. The warm pressure was unbearable, taking all your willpower to prevent climax.

"Mm." He pulled your torso back from your position where you'd been bent forward at the waist, leaning forward to meet in the middle, so that he could speak directly into your ear. In that moment, you felt him smile, felt his mouth against the side of your face.

"Cum for your God."

The high was an intense one, a euphoria surging through your body from the inside. You gasped for breath. Your insides clenched hard, a reflex that, had you been able to control it, you would have prevented, given the sheer size you clamped down on was such that the muscles strained painfully with the act.

The sound from your mouth was not quite suiting of the word 'erotic' — it was obscene, uncontrolled and unrestrained, high in pitch and accompanied by such trembling and strong involuntary spasming that your feet completely gave way, unable to even stand, held up entirely by an arm that caught what would have been your fall. Your eyes rolled back, and saliva practically poured out of your mouth as your head tilted forward, riding out the high until it was over.

There was not anything to take in with your senses, or any thoughts to be had, mind gone blank, a sort of fog of nothingness. The room seemed to spin. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, head limply hanging downward. Your eyelids felt heavy, slowly closing. Even if something had been said to you, you wouldn't have even heard it. Weight suspended, it felt as if you were floating in the air.

After a duration of time you could not be quite certain of, the high began to dissipate, the adrenaline and dopamine slowly ebbing away.

In their absence, pain began to bloom across your body. The sting from the friction at the entrances of your holes, already so sore beforehand, now burned like fire. Your insides radiated a throbbing, dull pain, battered as if having endured a beating from the inside.

You gasped as the fullness suddenly disappeared, sliding out of your body with a wet, squelching sound. That feeling was always one of the most unpleasant parts of the experience — a hollowed-out feeling, insides clamping down on nothing, spasming and twitching as the muscles began to readjust. A mix of viscous fluids oozed out of each orifice and began to trail down your thighs. Both discomforting, grotesque sensations that made your muscles tense, that made you shudder as you exhaled, only to inhale another sharp breath as a finger trailed up your inner thigh, collecting the semen that ran down your skin before stuffing it back inside of you.

Your feet touched the ground once more, but your legs trembled in exhaustion and aftershock, a violent shivering far more noticeable than that induced by emotion. As the support around you disappeared, you stumbled forward, legs giving out beneath you and folding as you crumpled to the floor, catching yourself on your hands.

"Ah, you poor thing..."

Spoken as if he was not the one to inflict the state upon you, spoken with affectionate, endeared pity. A hand rested atop your head. You were nothing more than a pitiful little creature, in tears over a bit of pain.

You didn't make any move to swat it away, though. Your arms felt as if they were made of stone, heavily weighing down from your shoulders. Your shoulders heaved with each heavy, deep breath you took. All you could manage was to let out a low, quiet whimper.

There was a moment of pause before he stooped down, wrapping arms around your body, lifting you up and setting you down on your bed, sitting upright, albeit slouching forward as soon as you were let go of.

He gave a heavy sigh.

"So fragile... you can't handle anything further. It will have to wait."

Even in your stupor, the statement registered with a vague, distant sense of alarm. You tilted your head back up to him, making a soft little sound, inquisitive and confused.

He titled his head, eyebrows raising with a look of vague surprise.

"...Surely you did not think that was a punishment?"

You didn't respond for several moments. You stared straight forward at him, blinking, slack-jawed and limp. Your eye twitched. Your voice came out small and soft.

"...Wh... What...?"

"...That was..." his hand grasped at your chin and tilted your head upwards. "Merely reconciliation." He smiled, speaking every so casually, but not without that detectable tinge of mirth. "I've done nothing to punish you yet."

Your body twitched all over as you began to curl into yourself, shrinking back with wide eyes. You felt cold all over. You couldn't determine if it was from the sweat on your body, or going into a dreadful shock.

"But that being said," he added, "as I just said, you may lose consciousness if carried out now, and that is obviously unideal. It will have to wait."

Your lip trembled as you tried to speak.

"But I..."

You grimaced at the dry soreness of your throat, that much more noticeable now that the adrenaline was wearing off. It did not go unnoticed.

"...Ah. Don't worry, there's water nearby." He stood back upright. "It's close enough, there's no need to bother some servant with something so trivial. I'll get it for you myself, just one moment."

He spared no hesitation to walk over to the door once more. But then, he stopped.

"...I'd like to imagine it doesn't need to be said, but..."

He turned his head back towards you. A pleasant facial expression and voice, but a clear, subtle threat to his words.

"...you will not leave this room in the meantime."

You stared blankly forward for a moment, only hesitating over the near-comedic value of the statement, almost laughable in the most bitter of ways. You slowly nodded.

"Y-yes..."

He merely gave you a hum of acknowledgement, and stepped through the door.

The door closed. You were left sitting still, staring blankly ahead at nothing. Your limbs, eyes, and body still gave the occasional twitch. A bead of residual sweat trailed down your temple, making the faintest of sounds as it hit the sheets. The whole area between your legs gave you a discomforting, gross wet sensation, fluids drooling out of your holes. But in the moment, you couldn't bring yourself to so much as lift a hand to do anything about it, merely sat still and wallowed in the sensation.

You turned your head to the side, only to catch the image of yourself in the mirror once again. Your dull eyes, their emptiness visible even to themselves as they stared back and forth at each other in the reflection.

But after a few moments, you let yourself fall flat on your back onto the mattress, limp and numb, and closed your eyes. You laid still and silent in a half-conscious state, exhaustion and the deep ache across your body pulling you in and out of the brink of sleep.

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