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glimmeringtwilight · 9 months ago

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Gilded Cage (Part Three)

ok. i'm not going to try to come up with a clever name for this one, this is just. part three. please send an ask or a DM if I missed any CW's! been a while.

Pairing(s): Dottore/Reader, Pantalone/Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

CW: NSFW, drugging (painkillers and other ment), rough sex, biting, threats of mutilation (mild. but it's Dottore), yandere themes, noncon/dubcon, AFAB reader, overstimulation, humiliation

Dottore has been on edge lately.

You can tell. You can see it in his jaw when he’s sedating you as you lie on the operating table, eyes burning and dark as he stares through you at something presumably only he can see. You can see it in the way his hand sometimes twitches slightly– which bodes terribly for you– as he makes a small incision into your thigh, or your stomach, or your arm.

Most of the time, you think he just cuts into you simply because he can. Because he likes to watch the blood welling from the wound, dripping down your skin. He’s been doing it a lot more lately, sometimes forgetting to sedate you, sometimes forgetting to give you something for the pain, sometimes cutting too deep.

It feels like there’s a storm brewing that you can’t see; curtains drawn so you can’t look out the window and see the magnitude, brace yourself for wind or rain.

His clones seem to be affected by it, too; usually it’s only ever the younger clones of his that lash out, but even the supposedly older ones are starting to show signs of agitation. You haven’t seen the same test subject twice in what feels like weeks. All of them seem to enter and leave the lab only once– something that should horrify you more than it does, whenever you watch them wheeling the covered bodies past.

It’s this way for weeks. Dottore stalks around his lab like a harbinger of death, practically oozing poison and malice despite the deceptively calm mask he dons.

You find out what it is that’s been agitating him when he opens the door to your cell one morning. Not a clone. Not the occasional trembling Fatuus. Him. His eyes burn into you. You can’t make out the emotion in them, but the complete coolness in his expression makes your stomach sink. You wonder, briefly, if he’s going to finally kill you– would that be a mercy, at this point? Killing you? Perhaps not. Knowing him, he’d draw it out. Make it hurt.

Still, despite the terror that curls its fingers around your throat, you follow him quietly out of the cell and into the lab, staring at the back of his head as you walk and wishing you could read minds so you could at least brace yourself for whatever this is.

The two of you enter the lab and you finally realize what it is that’s crawled under Dottore’s skin, sat at the desk in the corner as though he’s not terribly out of place in the sterile environment.

Pantalone sits comfortably in one of the chairs near the desk Dottore rarely seems to use, smiling as though he’s received a warm welcome and a parade. Dottore, meanwhile, looks palpably annoyed as he strides past the banker and takes a seat behind the desk, motioning for you to follow.

It’s… Intensely uncomfortable, to say the least. You rarely find yourself sitting at Dottore’s desk, considering the doctor usually prefers to be conducting experiments rather than sitting and compiling data; he usually delegates that to his clones, who bitch and moan about the boring task.

So sitting in a chair, next to the two men who’ve each held you captive at different points, as Dottore practically radiates anger… You don’t know what to do. You fold your hands in your lap, avoiding looking at either one, even as you can feel the two of them just… staring.

You feel like you’re under a microscope, worse than any other time before when you’d been laid out on the operating table under Dottore’s invasive prodding.

Pantalone speaks first, breaking the charged silence.

“I take it you don’t mind if I verify that this one’s real,” He says, rising from his chair and smiling at the way Dottore visibly bristles. “After all, I’m paying for this, aren’t I? I deserve that much.”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about you, and the demeaning way in which he’s referring to you as though you’re some object that might be counterfeit is both unnerving and irritating. You’re careful not to let it show on your face as Pantalone approaches you.

“What-” You start to ask, but you’re swiftly interrupted by gloved fingers prying open your mouth, prodding around in search of something that isn’t there. You feel them press down on your tongue, ghost over molars, then press against the back of your throat until you gag.

Somewhat satisfied, the banker pulls his fingers from your mouth and grips your chin firmly with a now-damp glove, turning your head this way and that and ignoring the obvious discomfort painted on your features as the action smears drool on your skin. What is he doing?

You shoot a glance towards Dottore, who is still just watching. He’s obviously pissed– you can see a vein popping in his forehead, belaying his anger on his otherwise blank face.

Pantalone lets go of your chin in favor of grabbing you by the arms, pulling you up from your chair and motioning for you to spin around in a circle. You do, though you’re still confused, unsure of what’s happening as the banker seems to be appraising you like a precious gem. It’s a different type of poking and prodding than Dottore’s usual tests and checkups, but it’s invasive nonetheless. It’s doubly unsettling that this is the first time you’ve seen the banker without his usual smarmy smile.

Hands find your shoulders and stop you again, and you bristle when they trace the curve of your spine, exposed thanks to the open back of the hospital gown. You feel them stop, tap something just to the left of one of your vertebrae, and Pantalone spins you back around to face him, clearly pleased.

You try not to flinch when he takes a lock of your hair in his hands– it’s gotten so long since you’d been brought back to the lab– and brings it closer to his face. His nose crinkles, palpable disgust on his features, and he mutters something about “that vile soap he makes you use”– likely referring to Dottore– before turning around to face the man in question.

“Are you done ogling?” Dottore asks, his tone clipped. You can’t see him around the banker, but you’re sure he still looks as pissed as before.

Pantalone tilts his head slightly, smiling, then glances over his shoulder at you. “Perhaps not yet, but I’m satisfied enough for now. You’ll get the funding for your little… project, and I expect to see this one at my doorstep every other month from now on.”

Every other month? You frown. Is this some sort of… custody arrangement that the two men worked out? You don’t know if you want to laugh or not at the absurdity of it all; like you’re the unfortunate child of two divorced bastards, except this is much, much worse.

“Fine,” Dottore grits out, in a tone that suggests it’s anything but. He gets up to shoo the banker out of his lab, but Pantalone merely tuts and makes his way back over to where you’re standing, confused, and rests one hand heavily on your shoulder.

“One month starting today, of course,” Pantalone continues, “It’s only fair, after all, when you’ve been hoarding my poor pet this whole time. I have to make up for lost time, after all.”

He delivers those words with a smile that only seems to irritate Dottore further, red eyes boring holes into him as Dottore visibly seems to be contemplating murder. Pantalone speaks up again before he does anything, however, offering a hollow consolation: “Of course, I’m not cruel. How about a farewell? A parting gift, to… tide you over while they’re gone?”

You don’t like the sound of that, and Dottore seems to pick up on the banker’s suggestion as you’re spun around once more and ushered towards the exam table you’ve become intimately familiar with for the last several months.

For this supposedly being Dottore’s “parting gift,” Pantalone is awfully remiss to keep his hands– and commentary– to himself.

“Ah, what a cute noise that was,” You hear him coo, a finger tapping your nose with just enough force to startle you so you flinch, “Don’t you think you’re being a bit rough though, Doctor?”

“Quiet.”

You jostle against the table, gripping the edge of it for support as hips snap into yours with bruising force. Dottore’s fingers are gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises– that’s probably the point, honestly; he’s fucking you like he intends for you to feel it for the entire month you’ll be absent.

Pantalone’s comments aren’t helping things either; despite the banker’s comment about roughness, it only seems to have encouraged the doctor to go even harder.

Thankfully, you were given something for the pain, but not from Dottore. Pantalone had pressed a pill into your gasping mouth when Dottore had started, telling you that you were going to need it, and though swallowing was a struggle, you’re glad he did.

Dull pain and sharp pleasure mingle together, and you’ve long since lost track of the orgasms that have been dragged out of you. You’re starting to numb, honestly, overstimulation bleeding into pain, and you gasp into the table with every sharp thrust into you.

“Tsk– don’t pass out now,” Pantalone chides, fingers curling around your jaw and biting into your cheeks when your eyes threaten to flutter shut, and Dottore snarls something about cutting your spinal cord if you do; something you sincerely hope is an empty threat, given the black spots dancing in your vision. “You still have another thirty minutes to go.”

You don’t remember there being a timer set, much less a time limit, but you certainly know you can’t last that much longer. Your knees have already long since given out, and Dottore had to hoist you up further onto the table so he could continue, leaving your feet dangling a few inches above the ground.

You feel weight against your back, heat, smothering you as Dottore leans down to sink his teeth into your shoulder as he spills inside you once more, and you shudder through another weak orgasm in response, your eyes rolling back and your vision blacking out for several long moments.

Pantalone shakes you back awake before you can slip too far, and you sob as Dottore starts to move again. You already know that you won’t be able to walk for the next few days, if not for the next week.

Tears blur your vision, the world spinning around you as a gloved hand comes to rest against your head, petting you in what’s likely intended as a comforting gesture but only seems to frazzle you further, overwhelmed and overstimulated as you are.

It must be Pantalone, because Dottore lets out an irritated noise, sinking his teeth into your skin to leave a new mark as he resumes the harsh pace he’d set earlier. Another hand, this one not gloved, curls around your throat to dig two fingers into your racing pulse as he tries to engrave himself into your flesh through means slightly less violent than cutting you open.

You can barely keep track of who’s doing what– your vision is too blurred and you’re too far gone to fully piece together a coherent thought before it and the breath are knocked out of you by another snap of Dottore’s hips. One of them reaches down to rub circles into sensitive nerves, and you sob as another climax is ripped unwillingly out of you.

You black out for longer this time, shaken awake once more by Pantalone. He’s cooing something at you that you can’t make out, drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the sound of Dottore’s ragged breaths mixing in with your own.

It feels like you’re burning up, shivering weakly under Dottore’s crushing weight as the man seems to be pouring every ounce of frustration into his thrusts, and darkness encroaches on the corners of your vision with every movement.

Another shuddering orgasm. You twitch weakly through it, your body registering the sensation more than your mind does.

The world seems to tip, swaying like a vessel rocked by choppy waves before finally capsizing. Your vision goes, and you’re pulled into a sea of static.

It smells like lilacs.

It’s the first thing you notice when you slowly come to, a stark contrast to the smell of bleach and copper that you’ve become accustomed to. You’re also dressed in some proper clothes– or rather, ”proper,” compared to the usual paper-thin hospital gowns you’ve worn since being brought back to the lab.

Opening your eyes, you’re greeted with the familiar luxuries you remember seeing when you were last in Pantalone’s care, and the sight would nearly be a relief if consciousness didn’t bring with it the unbearable ache in every inch of your body. There’s a budding headache building behind your temples, stinging pains from various bites and bruises littering your skin like brands.

It aches most between your legs, but there’s an ache in your thighs and your stomach like you’d pulled every muscle within; you probably did, honestly, but you try to push back the memory invading your thoughts and you sit up in bed.

“You’re awake,” A silky voice drawls from behind you just as you sit up, and you turn around to see Pantalone sitting in an armchair in the corner, one leg folded over the other as he reads a book. He doesn’t look up as he addresses you; he just pats his knee, indicating he expects you to come to him. You’re not sure you can walk…

Climbing out of the soft bed hurts, various muscles protesting the movement, and you’re not surprised when your knees give out on you the second you rest your weight on your feet. Pantalone simpers at you from where he sits, amused, but he makes no move to help you stand up or walk. He just pats his thigh again, smiling at you.

“I can’t walk,” Even talking hurts, evidenced by the crackling of your voice when you speak.

“Then crawl.”

He says it so simply, as though you should have already known the answer. Your ears burn with humiliation. You don’t move.

“Don’t make me punish you on your first day back,” He says, setting his book down so he can properly address you. His tone is disappointed, but you don’t miss the way the bastard’s smile widens at the idea.

Pantalone’s punishments aren’t nearly as severe as Dottore’s are, at least in terms of pain. Rather than physical punishments, he seems to prefer humiliation. You’re tempted to try your luck, but… everything hurts. You don’t want him to decide you haven’t earned the privilege of clothes– or find something equally humiliating and degrading– on top of the pain you’re already in.

Crawling hurts. Every muscle protests the movement, yet again, but you force yourself to ignore the aches, to ignore the humiliation burning beneath your skin at being made to crawl over to him.

When you finally reach him you sit up unsteadily so you can climb into his lap, but you’re surprised when he stops you by pressing a gloved hand firmly against your head to keep you planted on your knees in front of him.

Instead of addressing your confusion, Pantalone merely smiles and takes hold of your wrist, raising your arm to inspect the scars and bruises littering your skin from the months spent under Dottore’s care. His face twists with disgust, shifting into faux sympathy when he addresses you again, “Poor thing. Look what he’s done to you…”

His free hand comes to rest on his knee as he straightens up, uncrossing his legs, and you hear a steady tap tap tap as he drums his index finger against his knee thoughtfully. “Aren’t you glad I’ve brought you back from that wretched place?”

It’s a leading question. You know he expects you to answer correctly, and you get the sense he’s leading into something; a demand. “...Yes.”

“I knew you would be.” He says, dropping your wrist and leaning back comfortably in the armchair. He looks down at you, clearly pleased with the position you’re in. He props one elbow against the arm of the chair, resting his head in his hand as he smiles down at you. “Why don’t you be a good pet and show me just how appreciative you are?”

The implication isn’t lost on you, but whatever hope you’d had that he might mean something else is dashed as he spreads his legs slightly further apart to make room for you between them, and you don’t miss the growing bulge in his dress pants.

Your hands are numb as you reach for his belt, and you barely flinch when his hand rests heavily against the back of your hand as you take him into your mouth.

One cage for another. You’re not even sure you’re relieved, because every part of you still aches from the reminders Dottore had left you with.

His hand presses against the back of your head, guiding you to take him further into your mouth, and you struggle to breathe around his length. You nearly gag as he pushes you down further, pushing back in resistance, and Pantalone clicks his tongue in disappointment but thankfully, lets up. Maybe he doesn’t want to ruin his pants.

“I’ll get you something for the scarring,” He murmurs, fingers curling in your hair as you bob your head up and down his length. “And those garish bruises.”

Whether it’s an insult towards you or Dottore, you’re not sure. You try not to focus on it, instead focusing on the task at hand. You lave your tongue along the base of his shaft, earning a small shiver and a heady sigh from him.

He’s silent for a few minutes as you continue to pleasure him, but you feel him boring holes into the top of your head. You don’t look up at him; you don’t want to. You’re trying to get this over with, and hoping that his silence means you’re doing well.

The hand on the top of your head leaves, and you flinch when you feel him trace his fingers over one of the scabbed over bites left by Dottore, nearly biting down in surprise. You swallow, suppress the urge, resuming your pace even as he traces the outline of every bite left littered along your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders.

Pantalone straightens up a little, pressing his hand against the back of your head again to force you to take more than you already can. This time, he doesn’t relent when you push back, just holding his hand still until you stop whimpering and you manage to swallow back the urge to gag.

“Hush.” He tells you in response to your muffled noises, groaning quietly at the way your throat vibrates around his cock.

You eventually relax, eventually get used to the feeling, and he lets you pull back slightly before he’s pressing down again, repeating until tears are spilling down your cheeks as you struggle not to reflexively bite down each time you gag slightly around his length.

“How would you feel about something… permanent?” He asks, and his fingers are tracing the bites again. You try to pull back to answer, but his other hand stops you and he rocks his hips lazily into your mouth. A rhetorical, then; he doesn’t care for your answer.

You try to blink back your tears as you resume the pace you’d set, sucking lightly on his cock as his hand curls into your hair. It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying as his hand keeps threatening to force you down farther than you can take, and you’re focusing on stamping down the swelling nausea.

“Something- hm-” He hums, and you can tell he’s getting close now, with the way his breathing is starting to deepen, his hand tightening its hold on your hair- “something tasteful. Not like those eyesores he leaves you. A collar is- fuck- too… too easy to remove.”

You don’t like where this is going, but humming your dissent only earns you a pleasured hiss and a rumble of praise spilling from his lips before he’s curling his fingers around the back of your neck.

It’s the only warning you get before he shoves your head down, holding you there as cum spills into your mouth and down your throat. It takes everything in you to relax your jaw, and you pull back gasping and sputtering the second he relents.

By the time your vision clears and you blink back the tears spilling from your eyes, he’s already tucked himself back into his pants and is just watching you struggle to catch your breath. He doesn’t even comment on the mess of cum and drool that spilled from your lips onto the floor.

It takes you a second to realize he’s not staring at you, but rather at the marks left on your skin.

After a minute of tense silence, he smiles again, patting his lap this time in invitation for you to sit, and you ignore the familiar sting of humiliation as you obey. Again, one of his hands curls around the nape of your neck, tracing some pattern into your skin.

“Right here,” He murmurs, though he doesn’t elaborate when your brows pinch together in confusion.

It takes you a second to realize he’s tracing invisible letters across your nape, then another few to realize it’s his name that he’s tracing into your skin.

Something tells you that Dottore isn't going to be pleased to see you again at the end of the month.

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it-happened-one-fic · 19 days ago

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Dancing with Visions - Unspoken Words - Xiao - Smooth Waltz

Author Notes: So for this dance fic I listened to the song “Willow” by Jasmine Thompson. The waltz perfomrance was inspired by Wedding dance choreography to the same song by Wedding Dance Online on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iqxWk7AqadM. Just like the rest of this series, reader is female. I hope you enjoy.

If you would like to read more of this series, the fics can be found here: Dancing with Visions Masterlist

Type: Female reader/ fluff/ sfw/ angst implied/

Word count: 1778

I looked towards Xiao, frowning slightly at the yaksha who sat silently in the tree nearby. Far enough away that his karmic debt that he was so wary of couldn’t reach me, but close enough that if I were to speak his name in even the smallest of voices, he would hear and inevitably turn towards me.

But he was still right now. Motionless as he gazed out across the vastness of Liyue. No doubt scanning the massive country for any dangers that he would need to handle.

I’d seen him in motion numerous times, though, and the effortless grace he always moved with was a perfect explanation of why he was a creature of the wind. Ever free and capable of making even the leaves dance.

Zhongli had told me, once before, that the yaksha was apparently a dancer, rather than just a warrior, doomed to fight on his own until he crumbled under the weight of sins that weren’t his own.

Or at least he had been once upon a time. Before everything had happened.

Because I knew the stories of the Vigilant Yaksha, of course. How could I not when I’d become so close to the lone remaining yaksha who fought, even now, to keep Liyue safe from the grudges of thousands of enemies that Morax had defeated over a millennia ago?

But even knowing of his duties and how important they were, there were few things I wished for as fondly as the hope that Xiao could someday find even a moment of peace.

A time when he could do something he actually wished to do without having to worry about ancient grudges and karmic debt threatening the land. Even if he didn’t resent his duty when so many others would.

But it wasn’t something many knew beyond those few who did get to interact with him enough to realize it. That Xiao was a kind soul who had become hardened by his life.

And yet under the armor that he’d built around himself, there was still a gentle heart that cared deeply for those select few that had managed to become and stay close to him. Even if he would never fess up to it.

I walked up to the tree he sat in silently, but he was already looking down at me as I came to a stop. His golden eyes patiently expectant as he silently met my gaze.

And I didn’t really have a plan. In fact, it was really more of an idea than anything else as I quietly held up my hand.

He blinked before slipping down out of the tree and landing in front of me, a slight frown on his face as he looked pointedly at me, crossing his arms as he spoke, “What is it?”

There was a customary roughness to his voice that had me smiling slightly as the breeze blew around us and I tilted my head at him, “Dance with me?”

His frown deepened at my words, and I felt myself frown in response. And before he could protest, I spoke again, fighting the urge to step closer to him even as I leaned closer to better hold his gaze, “Please?”

And in many ways, I knew it was selfish of me to make such a request. But I also wanted Xiao to do this. Not just for me, but for himself.

He held my stare, his brows furrowing, and, for a brief moment, I thought he would refuse. But then he sighed and straightened ever so slightly before reaching out and taking my hand in his gloved one.

“Just one,” He looked away from me as he spoke before leading me away from the tree and out into the soft, overgrown grass near the marsh.

I slowly turned to face him, glancing at his expression curiously only to find him staring back at me.

Rather than being flustered as he so often might be, his gaze held mine with a quiet sort of calm as he stepped closer, and I found my own gaze flickering away from his as I carefully rested my hand on his shoulder.

He reached over, resting his hand on my waist, and I felt myself inhale slightly as I looked back over in time for my stare to catch his golden one.

He tilted his head slightly before slowly guiding me into a gentle back-in-forth motion that shifted us around in an easy circle.

He let go, and I watched as he held out his other hand in a silent request. I let my hand silently slip away from his shoulder and shift to rest in his hand so that he could twirl me out and away from him.

I felt a smile spread across my face as I twisted back to face him, and he took my other hand so that I was facing him. Both of my hands in his.

There was hardly any hesitation to his motions as he swung our arms to guide me into another turn, briefly pausing me as I looked back towards him. My hand still holding his, even though one of my own arms reached across my lower back while the other was bent in front of me, where our conjoined hands rested between us before he spun me back the other way. Twirling me lightly before stopping me by his side. One of his arms now reaching across my back while our other arms extended.

There was something unspoken in his stare as he held my gaze. Almost like he wanted to say something without ever using any words.

And even if I wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to communicate, it was true that I had no doubts that this was the closest I’d ever been to Xiao, and I found myself twirling away. Putting space between us as I caught my breath, and his eyes followed me. Slight surprise flickering across his face before he recovered, and I looked back towards him. Smiling slightly and tilting my head as if that would be enough of an excuse for my behavior.

I didn’t know what I’d expected from dancing with Xiao, but it hadn’t been this strangely quiet atmosphere that was brimming with unspoken words and quiet feelings.

I spun back towards him, refusing to end our dance like this but finding myself surprised when he stopped me just before I was facing him once more. Instead, I now stood with my back to his chest, one hand resting in his outstretched one while my other hand remained free.

His other arm was once more wrapped carefully around me, an odd semblance of a hug as he led me around in a circle.

I found myself glancing back at him, our eyes quietly catching one another’s before he spun me out once more, breaking our eye contact once more.

I turned back towards him, and we both raised our free hands, our flattened palms lightly grazing one another before we retreated once more. As if we were afraid to touch one another for too long. And maybe we were.

Being this close to Xiao was… different from what I was used to, and I could tell it was affecting him in ways that were similar to how it was affecting me as the silence that surrounded us seemed to grow more and more weighty.

But who knew how long it had been since he held someone like this, if he ever had?

I didn’t know if it was a relief or if I was disappointed when he spun me over and we entered closed hold. Our hands joined with my other one resting on his shoulder while his was pressed against my back. But somehow, whatever this feeling was now seemed worse as we faced each other and spun through the grass that brushed at our legs.

Dancing in silence with one another. Seemingly afraid to speak and shatter whatever this sensation was or fearful that we might say something that could never be taken back.

But I was quickly learning that there was a lot that could be conveyed through silent glances alone.

Xiao exhaled softly, as if he were releasing some sort of pent-up feeling, and, though I almost missed it, a smile flickered across his face as he looked at me. Almost floating across the ground with easy motions as he led me through the grass.

Zhongli had been right. Xiao was indeed a dancer. It was evident in how easy and unhesitating his movements were. But far more amazing was the gentleness his gaze could hold when all he was looking at was me. As if I were the only thing in his world at this moment.

But then I couldn’t deny that was the case for me. Right now, the only thing that seemed to exist and tether me here was Xiao as he guided me through the gentle rotations of this, our dance.

Our motions slowed, though, and I knew what was coming as the space between us seemed to shrink and our rotations became smaller until we were more swaying in one place.

Xiao swallowed, his throat bobbing slightly as he stepped backwards, our arms stretching between us as our hands remained joined. And then he stepped to the side, spinning me so that when we stopped, our wrists were crossed.

I smiled, almost sadly at him as we shifted once more, both of us sliding to the side so that we were back to back.

I let one of my hands slip from his as I spun, slowly shifting back to where I would be in front of him.

His hand caught my free one as he let go of my other hand, instead grasping my side as I reached up to grasp his arm, and then, slowly, and with infinite control, he leaned me back into a dip. Both of our gazes staying on the other’s as he leaned over me, supporting me effortlessly.

And then he pulled me back up and swirled me lightly through the grassy edges of the marsh before he silently let go of my hand. Separating from me at last even as he continued to gaze at me. Unspoken feelings floating through the air between us as we looked towards each other.

I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding before nodding slightly, finally finding the strength to break the silence that remained stretched between us as I smiled at him, “Thank you.”

He nodded, his voice impossibly gentle with only slightly concealed warmth as he responded, “Of course.”

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