#yandere childe x reader

[allfearstofallto]

Breaking up with Mafia! Childe is a nightmare. You've never met a man so insistent, so stubborn, so damn near depraved in the way he refuses to acknowledge that you no longer want to date him. It's almost psychotic, his actions and how he still treats you as if your his, even though you've long since cut things off with him. Or at least tried to.

He always shows up at your place, at your new job, or calls with a number that you don't know. Always finds a way to sneak his way back into your life, even when you so desperately try to push him out. That blue sports car will be parked out front and you'll feel all the blood drain from your body, a chill running up your spine.

Knuckles usually split and bleeding, bruises on his face, he wore a charming smile that spoke of an inherent sadism, parading his wounds like a trophy. He always smelled of the particular brand cigarettes he smoked, the ones that would hang from his lips while he waited for you. He'd put it out whenever he met your gaze though, against the wall or on the concrete pavement of the ground, claiming that you were much too pretty to smell like tobacco.

He always paid in cash and never told you what his job was, just danced around the topic with a dark chuckle that spoke a thousand words.

"I can afford you, can't I?" He'd ask, his tone playful, but there was a dark look in those hollow blue eyes that told you to pry no further.

When he opened his wallet, you'd see nothing but large, crisp bills. No cards or identification. Maybe a picture of you tucked into one of the pockets, one that you don't remember taking though.

He wasn't typically the type of guy you'd date. Physically he was. All playboy smiles and fluffy orange hair. Lean build and sultry voice. You felt pressured to give in to him, mostly because of his persistence. And even more pressured to stay.

"I'd never hurt you," he'd say as you tended to his bleeding lip, watching the way he barely winced as you dabbed the alcohol wipe to his wound. He just fell, he assured you.

A fall?

Right.

That's why he was holding your wrist with his hand. Clenching his long fingers so tightly around you, like you'd run away the second you let go. Insisting that you were safe with him and that nothing would ever harm you. When asked what he was keeping you safe from, he'd just give you a cheeky grin.

"My clumsiness," he hummed. His words had a scary amount of whimsical joy behind them as he placed his elbows on his knees, holding his head up with his hands, blue eyes looking at you in pure adoration as you continue to clean his wounds in a deafening silence. The only other sound being your rapidly beating heart.

AN: Had to get the idea out of my head!!!!

[sst4rdst]

synopsis : your family arranged your marriage to childe, the eleventh harbinger of the fatui, due to financial hardships, and now you are bound to him as his spouse. pairing : childe x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader) warnings : yandere themes, unhealthy relationships. author's note : got a little carried away with this one oops, sorry, it might happen again.

[ scaramouche version ]

you don’t remember when your life stopped feeling like your own. perhaps it was the moment your parents sat you down in the dimly lit drawing room, voices careful, measured, lips curling around words like duty and family as if trying to soften the inevitable blow. perhaps it was when the contract was placed in front of you, thick parchment with ink that had long since dried, sealing a fate you had no hand in choosing. or perhaps it was even earlier than that—before you knew his name, before you knew what it meant to be given away.

the tsaritsa’s harbinger. a man with a name spoken in equal parts fear and reverence. childe, they called him, though his real name was something softer, something ill-fitting for the bloodied path he walked. ajax, a name you only learned later, spoken in rare moments of vulnerability, whispered like something fragile, something not meant for you to hold onto. but it didn’t matter what he was called—only that he belonged to the fatui, only that he was dangerous, only that he was yours. 

or rather, that you were his.

you had met him only once before the wedding, a meeting arranged in the grand halls of your estate, where everything smelled faintly of desperation, of your family’s dwindling fortunes masked behind ornate furnishings and forced smiles.

he had arrived unannounced, without the pomp and spectacle one might expect of a man of his standing, dressed in dark fatigues that contrasted the opulence surrounding him. his presence was suffocating, not because he was outwardly cruel or unkind, but because he was too much. too confident, too self-assured, too at ease in a situation that had unraveled your entire world.

and then there was the way he looked at you.

it wasn’t love—not in the way fairy tales spoke of, not in the way little girls dreamed of when imagining their futures. it was something else entirely, something far more unsettling. interest, amusement, possession. a hunter’s gaze locking onto prey, not in an overtly threatening way, but in a way that left no room for escape. his smile had been easy, practiced, charming in a way that made you wonder how many people had fallen for it before you.

and then, in a voice dripping with amusement, he had said, “i hope you won’t make this too difficult.”

difficult. as if you had any say in the matter. as if you could change the outcome by sheer will alone.

the wedding had been swift, devoid of sentiment, the kind of affair that was meant to cement alliances rather than celebrate love. you had been dressed in the finest silks, adorned in jewelry that did little to disguise the hollowness in your chest.

the ceremony itself had passed in a blur—an exchange of vows that meant nothing, a kiss that barely grazed your lips, a hand placed against the small of your back that was just firm enough to remind you that there was no turning back.

and now, you are here. his home, your home now, though the word feels foreign on your tongue. the estate is grand, a testament to his wealth, to the power he holds within the fatui.

it is quieter than you expected, devoid of unnecessary extravagance, yet there is something undeniably suffocating about it. maybe it’s the knowledge that you are alone here, trapped in a life you did not choose. maybe it’s the weight of his presence, a constant, inescapable force lingering just out of sight. you barely see him during the day, but you feel him.

a brush of fingertips against your wrist when he passes by, a weighty gaze that follows you even when you pretend not to notice. he does not demand your affection, does not force his presence upon you, but his patience is not born of kindness. no, it is the patience of a man who enjoys the chase, of someone who knows that time is on his side.

"you’re unhappy." his voice cuts through the silence one evening, casual, conversational, yet laced with something heavier beneath the surface. he leans against the doorway, watching you with that same unreadable expression, head tilted just slightly. "i expected that much, but i have to admit, i thought you’d have warmed up to me by now."

there is no malice in his tone, no anger—just curiosity, as if he is studying a puzzle he has yet to solve.

you swallow hard, gripping the edge of the chair you sit in. "what do you expect, childe?" the name tastes foreign in your mouth, too personal, too familiar for a man who still feels like a stranger. "you bought me like a commodity. what reaction were you hoping for?"

for a moment, he says nothing. then, he laughs. it is a soft, breathy sound, something genuine, something that unsettles you more than outright cruelty would. "bought?" he echoes, amused, pushing off the doorway and taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. "that’s not entirely fair. i didn’t buy you—i saved you. do you think your family would have lasted another year with their debts?"

his words sting because they are true.

"would you have preferred another husband?" he muses, stopping just before you, close enough that you can see the shift in his expression—the flicker of something darker beneath the easy smile. "a greedy noble twice your age? or maybe some merchant with wandering hands? at least i’m young. at least i care about what’s mine."

you bristle at the implication, jaw tightening. "i don’t belong to you."

childe hums, reaching out, fingers brushing the curve of your jaw—gentle, but unmistakably possessive. "no," he concedes, "not yet."

it is a warning. a promise. a game he fully intends to win.

the room feels smaller with him this close, the space between you insignificant, irrelevant, nonexistent. you don’t want to move, because moving means acknowledging the tension, means playing into the game he’s laid out before you, and yet, staying still is somehow worse. because he watches you like you are already his, like your resistance is nothing more than a delay, a brief inconvenience to a victory he is certain of.

his fingers linger against your jaw, a featherlight touch that betrays the force lying dormant beneath it. you know what he is capable of. you know the stories, the whispers of what the harbingers do to those who oppose them. and yet, there is no outward malice in his touch—only patience, amusement, a quiet kind of satisfaction that makes your stomach twist into knots.

"you don’t have to like me," childe murmurs, tilting his head slightly, as if examining you from a different angle, searching for a crack in your resolve. "not yet, anyway. that part will come later."

the audacity of it makes your breath hitch, your fingers curling against the fabric of your sleeve. you should snap at him, push him away, do something to make it clear that you are not a willing participant in whatever twisted fantasy he’s weaving. and yet, the words stick in your throat, because, deep down, you know they wouldn’t change a thing.

childe isn’t the type to be swayed by defiance. if anything, he welcomes it.

his hand finally falls away, as if he’s indulged himself enough for now, as if he has already won something just by standing here, just by making you react. he takes a step back, not far enough to give you relief, but enough to make you realize how much closer he had been than you’d allowed yourself to notice.

"get some rest," he says, as though this is just an ordinary conversation between spouses, as though there isn’t an entire chasm of resentment and fear between you. "you look exhausted."

and then he’s gone, leaving you to unravel in the silence, heart pounding, hands trembling, the ghost of his touch still burning against your skin.

you do not see him for days after that. or rather, you do not speak to him. his presence is everywhere, woven into the very fabric of this house, a constant reminder of the reality you now inhabit.

servants move with quiet efficiency, always polite, always distant. you learn quickly that they do not see you as their patron, not in the way that should matter. their loyalty lies with childe, and though they treat you with the respect your position demands, you know that none of them would dare disobey him for your sake.

it is suffocating. and yet, a strange sense of relief settles in the absence of his direct attention. you begin to navigate the estate cautiously, taking solace in the gardens where the air is fresher, where the walls do not feel quite as close. you avoid the grand halls, the spaces where his presence is strongest, and for a brief moment, you convince yourself that this life, while miserable, is at least bearable.

then the gifts begin. at first, they are small. a necklace draped over your vanity, delicate silver with a deep blue gemstone, the color eerily reminiscent of his eyes. then, a silk shawl, impossibly soft, folded neatly at the foot of your bed.

the gestures are not extravagant, not enough to make a spectacle of, but they are persistent. unrelenting. you do not thank him. you do not acknowledge them. but you know that he is watching. and you know that he is waiting.

the inevitable confrontation comes late one evening, when the house is quiet, when the world outside is blanketed in darkness. you had thought yourself alone in the sitting room, curled beneath the glow of the fireplace, trying to lose yourself in a book you barely comprehend. but the air shifts before you hear his footsteps, the faintest change in pressure that sets your teeth on edge, that tells you that he is here.

"you don’t like the gifts."

his voice is light, conversational, but there is something beneath it—something sharp, something dangerous. you do not turn to look at him, keeping your eyes fixed on the pages before you, fingers curling against the binding.

"you don’t have to give me anything."

a chuckle, low and amused, as he steps further into the room. "that’s not what i asked."

you finally glance up, and there he is—leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable save for the glint of amusement in his eyes. it is infuriating, the ease with which he exists in this space, as if he hasn’t uprooted your entire life, as if he belongs here.

you inhale slowly, measured, keeping your voice steady. "what do you expect, childe? that i’ll wear your gifts and suddenly fall at your feet?"

his lips twitch into something that is not quite a smirk, not quite a frown. "no," he says, and then, after a pause, "but it’s a start."

you want to scream. you want to throw the book in your hands at his face, want to shatter the illusion of patience he so carefully maintains. but you do none of those things, because you know, deep down, that he is waiting for you to break.

and so, you turn back to your book. ignoring him was a mistake.

before you can react, he is there, closing the distance between you in a single step, his hand gripping the arm of the chair, leaning down just enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your temple. "you can pretend all you want," he murmurs, voice soft, almost gentle. "but you’ll have to talk to me eventually."

your pulse hammers against your ribs, but you force yourself to remain still. "and if i don’t?"

he hums, as if considering it, before his fingers brush against yours—not harsh, not forceful, but firm enough to remind you of what he is here, even if you try to ignore him.

"then i’ll just have to try harder," he muses, his grip tightening, just barely. "you’re my one and only, after all."

it is a claim, a reminder, a leash tightening around your throat. and no matter how much you struggle, you know that he will never let you go.

[chococolte]

WAIT! ONE MORE REQUEST AND I'M DONE I PROMISE-

So how about Sagau Zhongli, Venti, and Childe be like when their god, who has been known to be a single pringle ever since they came into existence, is suddenly announcing they are finding a consort among their acolytes?

word count. 2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, sagau + cult au shit, religious themes, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. i had to go back and reread my childe fic to remember how i characterized him fuck my baka chungus life. anyway im sorry it's been a while but as it turns out if you sit down to write something you'll actually write, so here's this!!

zhongli

Despite himself, Zhongli is unable to quell the dim light of hope that swells in his chest.

It's one he's instantly ashamed of. Zhongli is, as one so aged and so familiar with you, intrinsically aware of how little he compares. Where you step, he follows; his mind beckons even if his body resists. To think of himself as somehow worthy of you would be his greatest folly.

Yet he does so anyway, no matter how desperately he tries to kill his arrogance.

The fear is overwhelming, but the acerbic aftertaste at the thought of you with anyone else is worse.

The shame at his own hubris gnaws away at him, but Zhongli can't find it in himself to entirely let it go, to better himself as he should. If bettering himself comes at the cost of losing the opportunity to be entirely yours, he would rather be consumed by his pride.

He knows he should be disgusted by himself. To want is a terrible sin. It's one thing to worship you, and another to see himself kissing your skin every time he closes his eyes.

When Zhongli is beside himself, alone with only his thoughts to keep him company, he wonders what it would be like to be yours. His mind supplies every possibility with no incentive. He aches, and wants, and feels so vividly and impudently that he thinks his thoughts must be some kind of punishment.

You're everything, he thinks. There is nothing in this world that is comparable to you.

What would it be like, to feel you? Would you give him that honor? Has he done enough to deserve it? Or do you torture him so, filling his mind with images— things he should never think, things he should never imagine— because he dares to think himself worthy of calling himself yours, in a manner no one else has before?

Zhongli's greatest failure is that he's unable to stop himself from wanting.

He's ached before. He ached for the thousands of years he spent without you. He ached when he saw you for the first time, enraptured, unable to understand how a form could be so perfect. He ached when he let his fingers linger on your skin for longer than he should at every opportunity, he ached when he wondered if you found his achievements worthy of praise, and he aches every time he has to leave your side.

This hurts more, somehow. To want for something he knows he could never receive. To want for something he knows he isn’t worthy of. But knowing doesn’t ease it, when he follows after you every day like an old, obedient dog; when your back is as familiar as the sky overhead, as commonplace a view; when he imagines what it must feel like to have your fingers run along his skin, touching and prodding, pressing long enough against his skin to leave imprints in their wake.

He wonders how heavenly it would be, to be yours. He imagines it so frequently it begins to become difficult to differentiate reality and fantasy. Your skin, his skin. His warmth, your warmth. Your touch, your touch, your touch.

You.

Zhongli doesn’t realize that he’s said anything at all until you’re staring at him, a certain look on your face that makes him stammer. It’s only the two of you, and suddenly the room feels much smaller than it is; every uniform pattern underfoot suddenly holding him still, the air suddenly dry, and his body suddenly tense and taut.

Zhongli wonders if this is fear. He wonders why it feels so cold. Why suddenly all he can see is you— why suddenly, nothing else matters.

His heart is tumultuous in his chest, aching and creaking and so, so loud. He can feel it in a way he’s never felt it before, and he wonders if this is how every mortal who’s ever knelt before him felt. Did they, too, feel their throat tighten by a phantasmal hand? Did they, too, feel so tiny and insignificant; like their lives were in the center of another’s palm, to be lauded or ignored?

Did they, too, wonder if they were enough?

You’re smiling, he realizes, but he doesn’t know if you’re smiling because you find it all amusing, or because you wish to comfort him.

Your smile is a thing of wonder. He finds it doesn’t matter if you’re doing so because you find him funny or pathetic; his fingers tremble either way.

“I was waiting for you,” you say, and you speak the words so softly he wonders if he misheard.

venti

Venti is aware he's too selfish for his own good.

He knows he shouldn't be as needy as he is. Ideally, he would rise at your call and simper at your demand; and he does, except he does it even when you haven't spoken a word.

Watching you with others feels like a brand on his skin. A strange, terrible emotion that he knows must be some sort of blasphemy. Venti washes it down with whiskey and wine and tries his best to mask it with mirth. You wouldn't like him if he was anything but the blithe bard who worships you.

He worships you. That's the problem, he thinks.

You don't even have to do anything specific for his skin to feel like it's not his own. You glanced away from him. You smiled at someone else. You laughed at something that wasn't him. You exchanged this look with someone else and it almost felt like there was something there in your eyes, something he could never have—

Venti stops the thoughts there. It's always been like this. He's demanding when he shouldn't be.

He's not ungrateful. He chokes on how intensely he loves you. It's so suffocating it hurts.

Venti wishes he could worship you properly.

He wishes he could have you all to himself. He wishes you'd never look at anyone else. He wishes he could have some sort of assurance that you love him past your words. He wishes he could stay by your side always, that he could stick himself to you, that he could intertwine your nerves and bodies until everything he is becomes all of you.

Selfish.

What you give him should be enough. But it's not.

You say you're looking for a consort. Venti's heart twists with a sickening flutter.

He imagines it so sweetly it's painful. He dreams of loving you purely. He writhes with restless agony every night. He wants to hold your hand and feel your warm palm against his. He wants to rest his head on your shoulder. He wants to touch you, delicately and softly, until he knows every part of you. He wants to know you, enough that it's a semblance of how much you know him.

That sort of intimacy is something he doesn't deserve. He wants it anyway.

Venti knows his thoughts are some sort of sacrilege. He doesn't care. All he wants is for you to hold him closer than you have before.

You'd be warm, he thinks, and his fingers twitch imagining it. He'd be safe with you.

He would be yours.

Selfish to want and arrogant to believe he has any place so close to you. Neither matter.

Venti lies his head on your lap, trying to appear as small as possible. Love me, he wants to whisper. Love me.

He doesn't. Instead, he says: "choose me."

Venti doesn't look at you. He tries to project confidence in his voice, but all that comes out is a weak tremble. It's still a plea, after all. He's still only begging you, even if he tries to paint it as something else.

You card your fingers through his hair, pinning his hair behind his ear. The softness hurts. It hurts more than the fact you haven't said anything yet.

He braces himself, hugging his arms to his chest.

"Okay," you say, voice warm and so, so soft.

Venti's chest heaves.

childe

Childe knows his thoughts are wrong.

His desires aren't what they should be. He should be happy you glanced at him at all, and for the brief, blissful moment where everything is you and you're all he knows, he is.

You look at him, and the world is right. The euphoria feels like it might break him each time, but he somehow manages to stay standing. A testament to his worship, he thinks, that he can hold on just long enough for you to look at him some more.

Then you look away, and suddenly it feels like you've just gouged out his heart and gutted him.

It's not your fault. You breathed life into his body, but you can't shoulder each of his mistakes.

A mistake, he tells himself. Something he needs to fix. You wouldn't like him if he showed you that part of himself.

It becomes harder to fix when you announce you're looking for a consort.

Suddenly, everyone looks more disgusting than they did before. They're not just people who are demented enough to believe they have any right to your time or attention. They're people who now believe they're worthy of you, and it's that thought that makes him sick.

There is nothing in this world that comes close to you. There is nobody in this world that could hope to be truly worthy of sitting by your side.

He feels his stomach twist because of the hope that dwells within it.

Childe remembers when you were all he had. Your whispers were his only company in the abyss. When he's with you, he's reminded of it, and every time you look away from him, he's reminded of how many times he called for you and was met with dead air.

People think he was saved when he was ripped from the abyss. Childe thinks anyone who believes that are fools. The day he was ripped from you felt more like a death than a miracle.

He doesn't blame you. You saved him and that should be enough. You look at him and that should be enough. You breathe in his presence and he should be euphoric to share your air. And he is, but so neatly tucked along the inseams of his soul are thoughts of how much better it would be if he didn't have to share you at all.

Childe tells himself the thoughts aren't his. The dreams aren't his. The will to make them into reality isn't his own. The urge and the turmoil aren't of his own making.

You're not his. Your gaze isn't his. Your attention doesn't belong to him. Your love is not uniquely his own. It can't be, he tells himself, but then you smile so sweetly in his direction, and he wonders if it could.

He knows he's pathetic and needy and sick. He knows the burning in the back of his eyelids every time he sees you with another is far from holy and far from what you deserve.

Childe's disgusted by the fervor and desperation of those around him. He's disgusted far more by his own desires. He's disgusted that he begins to lean into them as time goes on.

You smile, and he buzzes. You laugh, and his world tips. You look at him and he wonders if the affection he sees in your gaze could be anything more.

"Ajax," you murmur, petting his hair.

Childe kneels before you like a loyal hound. He doesn't move, hunching his shoulders. He wishes he could make himself smaller. Maybe he'd be more palatable. Maybe you'd like him more like that.

"Pick me," he says.

He doesn't realize he's spoken until your fingers stop threading through his hair.

Childe freezes, an apology on his lips, but he can't bring himself to speak. He can't bring himself to look up at you, either, his copper lashes trembling.

"I have," you say, your fingers resuming their ministrations as if you'd said the most obvious thing in the world.

Childe shivers, nestling closer, hiding his face so you don't see him break. You rub his trembling back despite it, shushing him gently as his tears wet your clothes.

[random-yandere-fandom]

Thinking about...

Kaeya, who loves peppering your neck with kisses. Who adores inhaling your scent and feeling your breath hitch as he ghosts his lips over your throat, searching for your pulse. He revels in the fact you let him so close, his teeth right next to your pulsing artery, to the airways and vocal cords. The only thing separating him from them is your flesh that he kisses and nibbles on, sucking on the particular sensitive skin just below your ear that makes you shiver. You will be covered with marks after and though there is a part of him that feels embarrassed that he let it get out of hand, there is no denying the smug pride he can't fully hide.

Zhongli, who strolls through Liyue Harbor with you, hand resting on the small of your back. His warmth spreads and you feel his thumb draw small circles on you, separated through your clothes. His rich voice telling you all kinds of stories, his eyes shining whenever he manages to make you laugh with an anecdote or feels your eyes on him for a little too long. He shows off his city to you in a subtle way all the while not so subtly showing you off to everyone nearby.

Childe, who does not see a reason to wake you up even if it's way past morning, the sun high in the sky. His arm is wrapped around your waist, his nose nuzzled against your shoulder blade as he chooses between pressing closer and breathing. He focuses on the rise and fall of each breath you take and the calm heartbeat and presses a small kiss above your spine, enjoying the taste and feel of your skin. He mentally congratulates himself on commanding his subordinates to leave him alone today.

[danijaci]

"who did this to you?" w/ childe

[morose-melodies]

DROP MORE PREGNANT READER AND MY LIFE IF YOURS🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

ups and downs | various! yandere! fatui harbingers x pregnant reader

a/n: gimme your life :3

CAPITANO

you were not happy, the captain could tell.

whenever he'd bring light to your sad expression, you'd just sulk, and walk off, dragging your feet.

perhaps this pregnancy was getting to you more than he knew.

to see you so sad, to see you so sluggish, he knew you weren't feeling well.

so he started coddling you. he'd do everything for you, or, almost everything anyway. he would help you get dressed in the morning, he would braid your hair down for you to keep it out of your face, he'd hold your hand and walk you through the snowy garden with him.

things seemed to be looking up for you.

"it's getting colder shall we go back in?" the captain asked, pausing to look at you, waiting for an answer.

"I'm not ready..."

"very well," he would remove his coat and place it over your shoulders, "if it pleases you, we can continue our walk."

"thank you."

"of course. I'd do anything for you, (y/n)."

sure, he was getting tired of roaming the garden, but holding your hand and being near you, seeing you enjoy yourself, made it worth his while.

DOTTORE

dottore had it with you.

not literally, but goodness, you were wearing him out. if you weren't complaining about one thing, it was something else.

you were sitting in front of the fireplace complaining about how hot it was. so, of course, dottre had to help you find a better seat, or else you'd get upset with him.

and now, you were complaining about the fruit salad you were eating.

looking across the table at you, dottore picked at his salad. it was meant to be a small meal until dinner and here you were complaining about it.

"(y/n), if it's not to your liking, then don't eat it. nobody here is forcing you to eat it," dottore formed a smile on his face, it was small and tense but if he didn't smile at you, he knew you'd think he was being 'rude'.

"yeah, but I'm hungry... I don't think fruit salad should be so... mushy."

dottore swallowed, poking at his salad - it wasn't mushy at all. pulling your bowl away, he slid his own to you, "eat it, (y/n), please - there is absolutely nothing wrong with mine."

dottore then ate your fruit salad - it didn't matter to him how it tasted, as long as you were satisfied and eating, he didn't mind how rotten the salad tasted.

though, he would be firing the chief for even daring to serve this garbage to you.

PANTALONE

"look at this dress, oh, it looks absolutely lovely on you," pantalone turned you to face the mirror, his hand hovering over your round belly before he dropped it to his side.

catching a glance at your face, pantalone saw that you were frowning deeply. "(y/n)... what's the matter?"

"I'm tired," you replied, looking at him through the mirror.

right, pantalone had forgotten, you've been quite sluggish these past few months. it was inconsiderate of him to make you stand and try on multiple dresses just for his satisfaction.

it was truly inconsiderate of him.

"oh, it completely slipped my mind," pantalone was quick to turn you to face him, his hands on your shoulder, "forgive me, won't you? here, let me help you out of this..."

"it's fine..." you mumbled, as he began tugging the dress from over your head. removing the dress, he helped you back into your old clothes.

"a nap would be nice, no?" taking your hand into his, he guided you into his bedroom where the two of you would lie down for a nap.

he could tell you were tired.

gosh, he was so very considerate.

CHILDE

when childe worked, he had a new goal in mind.

providing for you, of course. he was going to be a father; he needed to prove that he was worth it, and he needed to prove just how good of a father he'd be.

he had never felt quite so motivated before. he had never felt so motivated to be good and stay out of trouble.

love really changes people, huh?

after finishing his work, he'd come home with a grin on his face. it didn't feel real, at all.

he was with you and you were going to have a child with him!

"(y/n), where are you? I'm home! I brought dinner," childe called out as he stepped through the front door.

the fireplace was on, the lights were off and the bedroom door was cracked open. huh, guess you were sleeping.

so childe crept down the hallway and into his bedroom where you were sleeping.

how pretty you were...

he sat down beside him, looking at you and your peaceful features. he grinned, how much better could his life get?

he idly messed with the hairs on your head, petting and twirling them around his finger. he sat there and did that for a while, that was until you woke up.

you swatted his hand away, scowling at him.

childe smiled down at you, "let's go shopping for baby clothes. that would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"sure..."

"great! now let's go eat, (y/n), I brought dinner home for us."

eating dinner with you would be a nice change of pace but, of course, anything done with you would be nice.

[lijojo]

genshin sugar daddies: leaving hickeys on you

premise: you have seven sugar daddies: one for each day of the week. it’s a bit overwhelming, but you try you’re best to keep each relationship relatively independent from the other. that means no hickeys. except, well, each one of them wants to make you theirs exclusively and they’re not above marking you secretly to send a message to tomorrow’s person. (yandere! possessive! genshin reverse harem x reader) (modern au!) 

*if you want more yandere genshin sugar daddy content the introduction is here but this can be a standalone read! 

tags: nsfw, dark content, afab reader, fingering, dirty-talk, unprotected sex, dub-con, smut smut smut smut smut

diluc is no stranger to jealousy. you can sense it in the way his eyes constantly beckon for yours. the way he grips tightly onto your waist. he never asks anything more than your gaze on monday evenings. they have to be on him. always. not for a second more are you allowed to look at anything else but him. he’s greedy, always pulling you to look at him once more. naturally, his gaze is always on you. 

you feel it drag up and down your back. crawl into the little dip in your neckline to see what’s underneath your clothes. 

so the one time, the one time, kaeya’s crafty attempts to leave hickeys on your folds and inner thighs in the midst of eating you out, diluc catches it. 

he sees it the moment he peels off your panties. what should’ve been a slow sequence of him sinking his tongue into your pussy is immediately halted at the sight of a very small but noticeable bruise in the juncture between your thighs and your labia minora. 

kaeya’s warning. 

the change in his demeanor is undeniable. his heavy gaze flits over to your face. intentful. unaware of the hickey, you’re understandably confused. 

if diluc’s seen something, he doesn’t tell you. instead, he internalizes the sight. it’s a warning and a challenge. 

mine. 

he’s quick to grab onto your wrists and pin them above your head. before you can brace yourself, he’s slipped a finger inside you. you gasp at the sudden intrusion, but welcome him as he curls his finger towards him, gently brushing against that spongy spot that leaves you breathless. 

he chuckles lightly as you roll your eyes back. his thumb presses on your clit, nudging it side to side. “you’re soaking wet,” he mutters, sliding another two fingers inside you. “all for me?” 

your hold on the sheets tightens. 

he leans closer to your ear. “i can’t wait to smear the remnants of your orgasm on my cock. make it slick enough to slip inside you. make you feel good. we want my darling to feel really good, right?”

you hiss when he starts thrusting his fingers into you at rapid speed. desperate. eager to make you spill your affection onto his hands. 

“that wasn’t a rhetorical question, sweetheart.”

you can’t help the moan that leaves you as you approach your climax. “y-yes! yes—ah—diluc!” 

his grin looks so unlike him. his thumb starts to draw circles on your clit, going quicker and quicker the more you squirm and moan. 

“cum on me. do it for me, princess. cum all over my hand. give me all your everything.”

you can barely understand the undertone in his words. instead, you reach your high. your orgasm pours out of you, onto his beckoning fingers. and instead of letting you go, he continues mercilessly until your left whining for him to stop. 

and he does. eventually. he slowly pulls his digits out of your crying cunt. he collects the droplets that trickle out of your lower lips and let’s it drip onto his twitching dick. he runs his hands along his shaft, letting out a shaky groan. 

“look how pretty you’ve made me. this is all you, darling.” 

he fucks you like it’s he’ll die if he doesn’t. blinded by the mixture of pain and pleasure, you close your eyes and submit to the feeling of overwhelming bliss. 

you’re so overwhelmed, that you don’t register how he’s kissing your neck like a man on a mission. 

დ

the two of you are in the middle of a normal tuesday brunch when childe sees it. when you turn to accept the menu from the waiter, he can see the slightest marks that you couldn’t hide, even with the most expensive foundation. 

you curse internally when you see his eyes narrow in on you. you should’ve known better than to ever believe that diluc would ever follow one of your only rules: no hickeys. 

and now childe, notoriously competitive, will feel compelled to have his fill. 

you should’ve worn a scarf. 

you thought that the position of the hickey, and the slight fadedness your foundation was barely able to provide would’ve been enough. you were wrong. 

like a built-in reflex, you smile. “what’s the matter? is there something wrong?”

he gives you a smile, an all-knowing smile as he takes the menu from you. “nothing is wrong at all, girlie. i’m just admiring that new necklace i bought you.”

you’re good at pretending nothing’s wrong, so you fiddle the crystals with your hand. “i love the way it shimmers,” you add, “i love how sparkly you’ve made me.” 

if you’ve done anything to settle his displeasure, he doesn’t show it. instead, he averts his eyes to the menu. you know better than to believe that nothing bad will come out tonight. 

for the rest of the night, he engages in small talk with you. about the weather. a new store that’s just opened up. some story about some poor guy who borrowed more money than he could ever give back. the thought makes you tighten your grip on your fork.

when you get back to his penthouse, he’s quick to strip you of your luxurious gown and all of it’s accompanied gold accents. when you reach to take off the necklace that decorates your neck, he stops you. 

“keep it on,” he whispers, his hand crawling up your thigh to grip your ass. “wanna fuck you looking so pretty in my jewelry. wanna make you shine with sweat as pretty as those gems.” 

“oh really?” you retort, sliding your hand between the two of your bodies and cupping his sex. he groans as you run your fingertips down his groin. “wanna make me shine with your cum?” 

“yes,” he gasps. in the heat of the moment, his eyes catches the faint outline of diluc’s mark just below your jaw. overtaken by some primal instinct, he presses your waist against him. “you’re letting all those side-fucks give you hickeys?” 

his words almost make you want to freeze. but you’re quick to resume back to normal, to pretend that those words don’t phase you. that you don’t hear the implications in the undertones of his voice. 

it’s worse if you tell him it was unintentional. 

“it’s a new development.” you tug at his hair as he digs his face into the crook of your neck. “you get only one.”

you need to have the upper hand. in a sea of seven men who are constantly demanding things from you, you have to take what you’re dealt with and do something before they overtake you.

he grins.  “you’re such a tease. which motherfucker left this on you?” 

you know better than to tell him. everyone knows that there’s seven who you’re regularly seeing. but they don’t know the names—not the order. you know better than to give names. these men are as powerful as they are rich, you wouldn’t do anything that’d upset the city’s dynamics. 

so you avoid the question, like you’ve always done. 

“i can think of better ways you can use that mouth, other than asking silly questions.” 

his brow twitches, but he doesn’t do anything else to push you. instead, he smiles into your neck. “only one?”

“only one,” you confirm.

he doesn’t hesitate to take off your necklace. his hands dive to the back of your neck to unclip it and toss it to the side. you let out a yelp in surprise when it clangs onto the coffee table. 

“i’ll buy you a better one,” he says in-between open-mouthed kisses on your jawline. “fuck, i’ll buy you a thousand more.”

he sinks down to your collarbone. “’been dreaming of this. my girl, my pretty, pretty girl, wearing reminders of me.” 

♡

the two of you are in the comfort of kazuha’s home. wednesdays are reserved for writing, and like always, you’re pinned under his watchful gaze while he writes his thoughts away in his notebook. 

with every few scrawls, he peeks over the paper to steal glances at you. you hum, pretending to be blissfully aware. you’re just here as his muse. 

as of this moment, you snuggle into your comfortable place in the back of his study, leaning against the window that expands to his backyard that oversees the sunrise and sunset. your own notebook rests on your thighs, your knees pressed close enough to your chest to allow you to write smoothly. kazuha sits across from you, his feet sometimes brushing against yours. if you laid your legs out straight, no doubt that the balls of your feet would meet his waist. 

he keeps stealing glances at you. has been for the past hour. no matter how much you try to focus on your own poems, you can’t brush away the feeling of being watched. 

his eyes are impeccable, and can spot the marks that occasionally peak underneath your scarf when you move a certain away. 

“you let them mark you?” he asks out of the blue. not accusatorily, per se, but you can detect the edge in his voice. 

the corners of your lips perk unnaturally. the moment you’d been dreading since you woke up had arrived. you let your eyes soften, as if it could soothe kazuha by any means. with a gentle hand, you reach out to softly grasp his hand that tightens around the edge of his notebook. it’s something he accepts readily, enveloping your hand with his. 

“i was meaning to talk to you about this, kazu,” you say tenderly. “it’s just something i’m trying out. everyone gets one. see if everyone’s okay with it.” 

kazuha doesn’t say anything. his gaze is fixated on your intertwined hands. “my love, they mark your skin like animals.”

you smile like it’s no trouble. because that’s what you need him to believe. you feel like kazuha’s a loose thread. tug him in the wrong direction, the wrong idea, and he’ll undo the entire sweater. 

“it’s only going to be seven,” you reply, trying to lessen the tension. 

“it’s better if there’s just one,” he retorts gingerly. “they aren’t gentle at all, are they?”

you don’t like the way his eyes sweep over your entire figure. you hold back a shudder, feeling as if a ghost had just passed through you. 

“they are,” you mumble, although you can hardly say it’s true. “don’t you worry kazu, i can handle myself.” 

your line of sight flits back to your intertwined hands; he lets go, instead running the pads of his fingers down the back of your hands before settling on your wrist. his hold is firm. it’s not tight enough to cause you pain, but not gentle enough to let you pull away. 

“i’m sure you do, love,” he mutters. but the way he says it makes it seem as if he doesn’t believe you.

his eyes connect with yours intently.

the rustle of your clothes shuffling echoes through the quiet study as he pulls your wrist towards his mouth. in doing so, you’re forced to lean forward. his eyes never leave you, not when he presses a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“they just want you for your body,” he says, more to himself than you. “they don’t love you at all. everything would be so much better if you just dropped them. let me take care of it. take care of it all.” 

you don’t say anything back. he doesn’t want you to. and even if you did, it wouldn’t be something he’d want to hear. you have bills to pay. you have enemies a wealthy poet wouldn’t be able to defend you from on his own. 

his tongue slides out of his mouth to lick a long strip up your wrist, all while looking at you. he presses open-mouthed kisses in the same spot, sucking and nibbling with purpose. in-between kisses, his tongue draws letters on the expanse of your skin in a sentence you’ve begun to fear.

A L L M I N E  

დ

when spring comes, tighnari will sometimes give you hickeys. he’ll do it in the heat of the moment in a passionate rut. he can’t think of anything else but you. how perfect you are for him. how beautiful. how you belong to him. 

while he drives his cock into you the only way he knows how, his lips will find their place in the crook of your neck. on the curve of your breasts. on the plush of your thighs. he’ll kiss you like you’re his air. 

he’ll whimper into your skin. in that moment, you’re powerless to stop him. his pace is godspeed, pummeling into you like you’re his lifeline. driven to leave his white reminders of his love and devotion into your aching pussy. you can barely hold yourself up steadily. your fingers tremble. overcome with an insurmountable high, you can’t push him away as he leaves hickeys all over your body. 

it’s not to send a message to everyone, per se, but to express the feelings he’d been keeping pent up during autumn, winter, and summer. the overwhelming infatuation and adoration he feels for you. 

his pension for leaving nonstop hickeys on you starts to settle on the fourth day. and by the end of the week-long rut, they’ve faded just enough that you can cover it up with foundation and expensive jewelry. 

but when he’s not blinded by his sexual desperation during the spring, it’s a different story. 

it’s a perfectly fine thursday mid-afternoon in the comfort of tighnari’s study when he sees it. 

he catches a glimpse of kazuha’s kiss on your wrist when you pass a cup of tea to him. your sleeves ride up just a bit under the beaming sun. you notice too, and are quick to pull back. but it’s too late. the moment he’s set down the cup he’s grabbing onto your wrist and pulling back the sleeve. “what’s this?” 

you’re tempted to let out a breath of relief that he didn’t notice the hickey that barely rested on the edge of your collar. when you donned on the turtleneck sweater, you feared that he’d notice it if it slipped down and grow even more livid. 

just play it off. pretend. if you’re lucky, by the end of this week, you’ll end up with only six hickeys. 

“oh, i must’ve bumped into something.” 

tighnari scowls. “this doesn’t seem like an ordinary bruise. how’d you get it?” 

you’re scrambling for a believable response. “i was leaning back onto the counter and didn’t realize the corner was there.”

he chuckles. “clumsy you.” his forefinger inches up the slightest bit to press on it. 

you wince. subsequently, your entire body tenses. this isn’t like those times where you can lie sweetly to him whenever he asks for you to stay for good. this isn’t like one of those times you can charm your way out of a situation. the way he looks at you is knowing. feral.

“i wasn’t born yesterday, love,” he hisses. “i know a hickey when i see one, especially when i leave them on you every spring.”

the way he kisses you after is rougher than usual. desperate. needy. aggressive. he presses into you, his tail wagging tentatively. he brings your arms to wrap around his neck. his tongue caresses your own, exploring your mouth like it’s a new discovery. a new treasure trove. 

he whimpers into the kiss, his little squeaks and moans muffled by his need to devour you. 

you close your eyes and let yourself get swept up with the pacing. to get distracted by him. you hardly register the time pass before the two of you are naked, your clothes strewn across the floor in his bedroom. 

your back is pressed against his chest, your ass hugging his dick while he slides his hand down the valley between your breasts, stopping to pinch your nipple until it hardens. his other hand is left to its own devices, settling on your waist. 

his fingers find themselves in the comfort of your pussy. he whimpers at how amazing you feel around his fingertips. how every time he pulls in and out, there’s squelching noises that almost overtake his little whines and yelps. every time he pushes his fingers back in, your ass presses a little closer to his dick. 

he moans like you’re the one pleasuring him. like he’s on the cusp of euphoria, only silencing himself to press open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder. 

“it’s m-my turn,” he says in-between whines. “m-my pretty l-little pet.” 

დ

when alhaitham gets home after a long week of working, all he wants to do is relax in warmth of your embrace. friday is his reward. 

he eats dinner as always, asking you questions in-between bites while delivering long stares that still make you feel like you’re being researched. but this week, instead of insisting you two spend quality time together reading on the couch, he coaxes you into the bedroom. 

he groans into the kiss, pressing you to the wall as he helps you out of your clothes. but when he opens his eyes to admire your body, he doesn’t like what he sees.

he lets out an unamused chuckle. his hand brushes over your shoulder. “what’s this?” 

you try to speak, but he cuts you off with another kiss. when you gasp in surprise, his tongue dives into your mouth. 

he leaves you breathless; his pace is rough, almost angry. 

“what a bad girl you are,” he seethes, “letting all those bastards touch you like that? bruise your pretty, pretty skin?”

he doesn’t let you talk. he envelops your opportunity to reply with his relentless kisses. he presses harder into your mouth, your teeth almost gnashing together. it’s almost painful, as if he wished to bind you two together. 

“every friday is my solace, my holiday, didn’t you know?” 

you gasp for air. “i-” 

“i’m not done yet.” he brings his lips to yours for another hungry kiss. “every week i work so hard so i can see you, cherish you, and this is how you repay me? i thought you were my good girl.” 

he chuckles darkly. “but you’re just a bad apple, aren’t you? i’ll have to fix that.”

he continues to kiss you. to ravish you with his mouth. he swallows your moans, his hands eagerly exploring your body like it’s his first time. and like always, his hands find their place on your chest. 

“i’ve always loved your breasts: the way they curve, the way they sway so sweetly every time you arch your back for me, how your nipples perk up with every caress of mine.” he flicks one and you yelp. 

“those imbeciles really have no intelligence at all.” he licks a long stripe in-between the valley of your breasts. “your body is a canvas.” 

his eyes connect with yours, beckoning your gaze. a silent connection, a guarantee that you’re looking at him. at what he’s doing. at what he’s making you feel.

he stares at you attentively, and once again you feel like you’re being studied. every gasp that comes from your lips. every twitch of your brows. every time your eyelids flutter is under his watchful gaze like it’s the only thing his sight is for. like he’s a scientist researching the cure to his very own hunger. 

his lips find purchase just on the edge of your areola, sucking intently. “to mark you is a form of art.” 

he relishes in the way you shudder. but he needs more. 

with one hand on your waist, his other comes up to fondle your other breast, craving for more reaction.

“only idiots wouldn’t be able to realize it.” 

დ

unlike all of the other saturdays, where you’re probably swept up in the grand scheme of things (attending formal events, meeting politicians, or shopping like ayato’s wallet depended on it), you’re lounging in ayato’s home office on a calm evening. 

the two of you decided to end things a bit earlier today and relax a bit. and by that, you suggested to spend some quality time alone so that you didn’t need to walk anymore. although you prided yourself on stamina and tolerance to soreness, even you couldn’t keep up after just about a week of aggressive men fucking their jealousy into you. 

“it was hot today,” ayato mutters lazily as he gently runs his fingers through your hair. your head rests on the plush of his thigh, just as he likes it. “are you sure that you’re comfortable in that turtleneck, love?”

you curl into yourself a little bit more, tugging the collar up. “yes, i’m perfectly fine.”

you’re not fine. you’ve been sweating up a storm underneath your sweater but you were adamant on ending this week with six hickeys instead of seven. your stubbornness refused you the pleasure of ice-cold showers to wash away how your clothes burned you. 

he pouts. “are you sure? you look awfully uncomfortable, dear. you can take a shower in my bathroom, if you’d like.” he smiles. “i won’t look, promise.”

you turn to look at him, contemplating. on one hand, you don’t believe anything good will come out of undressing in ayato’s house. you don’t believe his promise, either. if you knew him any better, he’d walk into the shower on the grounds of saving water, where he’d see all the hickeys imbued into your skin. while diluc, childe, and kazuha’s marks were getting a little faded, you doubt you could somehow explain alhaitham and tighnari’s hickeys. 

but on the other hand, you’d been in this sweater for a whole day already. and your skin was started to get irritated. you felt gross with all of the sweat you’d accumulated. maybe five minutes wouldn’t hurt. 

you smile like there’s nothing to worry about. like you’re an adoring lover. like you’re whoever ayato wants you to be. you reach out to cup his cheek, to which he warmly receives. 

“okay. i’ll be back soon.”

he chuckles as you get up from his lap to head to the shower. you had to be quick. 

you all but run to the bathroom once you’re out of sight. you head to ayato’s bedroom where some of your clothes are. dresses, lingerie, t-shirts, jeans, shorts, and all other items of clothing he’s ever bought you hang neatly in his closet. you pluck whatever seems practical and make a break for the shower.

you slip off the diamond ring he’d given you months ago. you all but slam it onto the counter, relieved your ring finger can breathe for once. 

the quicker you take, the more likely you can shower without incident. 

but the moment you’ve stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped secure around your torso, to your horror, the door opens. 

“hey, love, i was wondering—”

just before you can close the door shut on him, his eyes connect to the discoloring on your shoulder. 

regardless of his discovery, you move to usher him out. but mid-way, your feet are halted in the middle of the bathroom floor. the words are crawling in your mouth. you want to tell him that you’d like to shower in peace, tell it to him teasingly, but you don’t think you can. 

that’s not what he wants. that’s not what pays the bills. 

you offer a tight-lipped smile. “like what you see?”

he paces towards you, caressing your shoulder. he leans closer to you, examining the color, the shape, the size. “hm, so that’s how they want to play this game,” he whispers, ignoring your question entirely.

his hands gently tug at your towel. he smiles. “won’t you open up for me, love?”

he guides your hands as you drop the towel, revealing alhaitham’s mark. 

“hm.” he looks at you as if he’s silently critiquing an art piece. “i see what’s going on here.” 

he takes the ring that you left behind on the counter and works to slide it slowly onto your finger again. “you almost forgot to wear the symbol of our love, dear.” 

“oh, it must’ve slipped my mind.” it’s like there’s cotton in your mouth. your throat feels dry.

he chuckles at that. “poor thing. my poor lover can be so forgetful.” 

 his eyes drift down to your chest.

he presses a kiss above your breasts, where your heart is.

“she almost forgets that she’s mine.” 

დ

even if he’s your designated sunday, if you aren’t careful enough, kaeya will create a week full of trouble for you. 

when he eats you out, he becomes pussy-drunk. he kisses your lower lips like it’s his prize. his reward for working so hard this week. his tongue runs up your pussy to your clit in a slow, deliberate stroke. 

when he reaches your clit, he lets his mouth mold over your nub. he licks at it gently, cherishing it like it’s his only rose on a lonely valentine’s day. 

he makes love to you like he’s reached his happily ever after. his lewd slurping overshadows the shuffling of the sheets, your moans. when he dips his tongue into your cunt, he whimpers. 

his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you in place. even when you’re overstimulated, begging for a break, he won’t let you go. he savors the way you tremble so cutely under his touch. how your cum leaks out of you in small streams after your fifth release. he’s immersed in your cunt, yearns to make out with your lower lips while his nose nudges at your clit.

it’s too much. the feeling of your climax is so overwhelming. 

he wants you to feel this euphoria, to remind you of how he feels every time he looks at you. 

he wants you so much. so fucking much it hurts him when he can’t see you. when he can’t hold you. when he can’t be with you like a real lover. he needs you like he needs air. he needs to feel you wrapped around him to give him life. to give him purpose. 

that’s why when you’re so swept up in the feeling of a constant climax, when your legs feel numb, he gets so carried away. 

if you don’t catch him in time, kaeya will leave secretive hickeys along your inner thigh, dangerously close to your folds. he needs the others to know he’s staking his claim.

to know he’s making you feel so good that there’s definitive proof. 

at the end of the week, when you see him again after seven days of trying to calm down the jealous storm among your seven sugar daddies, he’ll grin. 

it’s that same devious smirk he gives you at candlelight dinners, except it isn’t one to mask his vulnerabilities with charisma and one-liners. it’s one to tell you that he knows exactly what he’s done. 

he knows what he wants, and he’s finally had enough of the fucking waiting. 

[diz-eaze]

GOLDEN BOY. (yandere! childe x female reader)

; childe is freaky here :sweat:... written during 2023, modern au, suggestive content.

; Childe is an annoyance.

YOU KNOW Childe, or at the very least, you're aware of his existence. It's hard not to, with the way your peers spill and sing praises for him, honoring him like an angel sent from the heavens above.

Childe, sometimes referred to as Tartaglia, is the golden boy of your school - the embodiment of boyish charm and a cookie-cutter definition of being a 'Jock'. As far as you know, he plays for your high school basketball team, tall height and all.

Truly, it's hard to not be aware of who he is. Not when your friends' conversations orbit around him, not when the cheers of your school gymnasium are so deafeningly loud with the way they chant his time when he scores, and certainly not when your best friend herself is related to him - his cousin from his mother's side.

She doesn't speak of him much, only dropping his name and information about him when absolutely necessary - but they have a nice relationship if her avid support for his games is enough to tell. Sometimes, she tries to coax you into attending them, but you always refuse.

Sports has never interested you in any way, shape, or form - you don't even know the rules of Basketball, so what makes her think that you'll understand what would happen on the court? You'd rather spend your free time on something you enjoy doing.

And your dear best friend, Mila, is understanding enough. You have no interest in sports, you don't care for your school's basketball team, which by extension means you don't care enough for her cousin. She wishes you well with a tight hug goodbye and you part ways until the next time.

On a few occasions, she'll text you during the game when she's hyped up - a blurry picture of her cousin's shoot, a selfie of her grinning with her ginger hair matted from sweat, a panorama shot of the audience, really, whatever she can capture on her phone is what she sends.

This time, it's a selfie with her cousin after their game. Childe is soaked in sweat and wearing a victorious grin, with Mila cheekily smiling at the camera. A clean victory by your school, you surmise. In response, you reply back with a heart emoji - the orange one, her favorite.

You're not interested in Childe enough to get to know him, as you're sure your tastes in media and music alone are different enough. He just happens to be a cousin to your best friend, but that's where your connection to him draws the line. Despite Mila's subtle efforts to get you to befriend him, it's always turned down.

You prefer your friend group small and tight-knit.

And that's all there is to it.

So when you end up encountering him at your school's local convenience store at 2 AM in the morning, you're unsure of what to make of it.

His back is turned on you, his ginger locks move with his entire body as he scrummages through the freezer section all while humming a familiar pop song that's heard on radios. You think of completely ignoring him until he pays for his stuff and leaves, but the worry of being perceived as a snob and reported back to Mila lingers in the back of your mind.

And unluckily enough, there's no Mila around you to save you from an awkward social encounter.

You mentally groan. You really, really don't want to talk to random dimwits.

So you settle with your second option; hiding in one of the aisles and pray to the Celestia above that he's not familiar with you, hoping that he doesn't even know you. You pretend to busy yourself by comparing potato chip bags with other competitors, even letting out expressions of faux interest and nodding along in approval.

'How interesting, staring at a potato chip's logo for minutes straight,' You think. Vaguely, you note that his scrummaging still hasn't stopped, just what is he looking for in that freezer? Can't he just take one item (or several) and go?

You don't know how long you can endure standing around like some NPC, your patience is wearing incredibly thin. In fact, your sanity is on the brink of collapse - you still haven't finished watching that Netflix TV show back in your dorm room. You only went out to fulfill your cravings, damn it.

A few minutes later, you stop inspecting the potato chips and sigh. You admit defeat. Whatever happens, happens. You truly doubt he knows you, you're probably just one of the million faces that he comes across in his everyday life. With that thought, you grab a drink to accompany your potato chips.

Just take your items to the counter and flee like a raccoon into the night, easy.

You fall into line, just behind a heavily pregnant lady carrying a pack of diapers. Your hands itch to pry open the bag of chips already, but you persist. It's best eaten during a dramatic episode and in the comfort of your mattress.

The sound of muted footsteps approaches your general direction and it's not long before a new voice speaks up.

"Oh! I didn't think I'd see you around here, miss!"

Irritation and dread mix together and pool at the bottom of your stomach, it seems your expression has shifted as the ginger-haired man barks out a jovial laugh.

"What's with that expression, Miss!?" He jests, moving to elbow you but you just move out of the way - not fond of strangers touching you.

Schooling your facial features into one of complete neutrality, you turn to address him. "Didn't expect to see you too." And you mean it.

The pregnant lady finishes paying for her items and it's finally your turn. Unceremoniously, you drop the junk food onto the counter and pretend to busy yourself once more by watching the employee ring up each one.

"Hey," He waves an arm around at your side.

"Hellooo, miss?" He drawls out, tilting his head left and right. It's kind of cute, you'll admit. He looks like a fox or a golden retriever.

But you have no time to entertain him, not when the employee just finished up bagging your times - leaving you to your last course of action; run after paying.

And you do just that, you break out into a sprint with a hurried, "Please keep the change."

You ignore the cries of your name from that dreaded ginger man, and you're surprised to find that he knew who you are - perhaps Mila had talked to him about you and showed a few pictures on occasion.

Still, you continue on running in thought that he may have done the same as soon as he paid for his items. When you return back to your dorm room, you unintentionally shut the door with a loud noise and you wince. You hope that didn't wake up Mila.

You're exhausted now, sweat drips from your unathletic body, and you need a shower badly. Curse you, Childe.

At least Mila will have an interesting story to hear from you when the sun rises.

It seems that the moment you encountered Childe inside that convenience store, your entire life's axis had been turned upside down since then. Now, Childe sticks to Mila and you whenever there's free time.

Mila doesn't mind, of course, she doesn't - he's her relative. But you do, you're bothered by him. Very much so.

You prefer to live life quietly and with no fuss - opting to just listen to music up on the rooftop as you leisurely eat your meal and enjoy the scenery of the light blue skies. Often times you and Mila spend lunchtime separated from each other as she prefers to socialize.

But Childe, basketball player, expert annoyance, the golden boy of your high school. So, so infuriating. So absurdly annoying that he follows you up to the rooftop (as opposed to joining his cousin) with a huge grin and imaginary flowers surrounding him - treating this like a joyous field trip.

You have to hold back the profanities that threaten to tumble from your mouth - you must remain civil, no matter how much he gets under your skin.

Childe is the very antithesis of your being - he's loud, upbeat, friendly, and touchy-feely.

He is everything that you are not - he takes your world for a spin and you don't like it. You hate the peace in your routine being disrupted, you hate seeing change in your life - you loathe meeting new people.

"What's your lunch today, Miss (Y/N)?" Childe calls out from behind you. He's wearing his jersey jacket and his orange hair is all tussled from the wind of the rooftop.

"...Dunno." You dully respond and shrug, sitting down near the edge. He follows you without hesitation, even sitting right next to you with a questionable amount of distance.

"And stop calling me miss." You add on as an afterthought, digging into your meal, ignoring his awed expression at the neat arrangement.

"huh, why not?" He questions you, opening up his lunchbox that reveals neatly packed sandwiches - reminding you that he's a foreigner, not a native to your country.

You pause your chewing to answer, "Because it's unnecessary."

"Why?" He whines out, dramatically falling to the ground as he clutches his sandwich.

"We're the same age." You deadpan, completely fed-up, and drained of his energy. You were not built to handle his hyperactive behavior.

"Am I not allowed to show respect now?" He pouts, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

"Respect for what?" You ask, reaching out for your water bottle.

He smirks as if he caught you in his trap. He sits back up, getting close to you (you grimace). "Respect for a pretty girl, 'f course."

"...Yuck."

Not a month into his presence in your life, and you already feel like lashing out.

You hate him, you truly do. You want to take him by the throat and choke him until he can't breathe so you don't have to listen to his integrating voice ever again. You want to hinder his career as some uprising basketball player. You want to drag his reputation into the mud - you want to see him suffer and humiliate for all the annoyance he's brought into your life.

Stupid, irate jock who thinks he's hot shit. Some loser who deems it to be appropriate to act buddy-buddy with a schoolmate who he just saw at the convenience store. A petty boy thinking he owns the school - so, so annoying. It makes your blood boil.

How can Mila be related to someone like him?

Your grip on your water bottle tightens, and you struggle to keep your composure.

It's fine, you suppose.

It's not like he'll stick around for much longer.

Next month, surely, he'll be gone by then - too swarmed by academics and sports to remember to bother you.

Surely.

You never thought of yourself to become a criminal, it's just pointless and a hassle to get behind bars. But, as you stare blankly into the eyes of the sheepish ginger man rubbing the nape of his neck, you feel like this might be your best chance at becoming a murderer.

Vaguely, you register your hands shaking from sheer rage. It feels like there's cotton in your ears, you're struggling to hear what Childe - rather, Ajax - is trying to say. You think he's apologizing with the way his lips are moving, but you can't be sure.

Your tired eyes scan the surroundings, ignoring him completely.

From the mess on the ground, somewhere there, you know there's a pair of scissors - sharp enough to cut, sharp enough to stab, and sharp enough to wound. It's sharp.

You remember that same pair of scissors being used for that damned art project - the same one that Ajax just ruined. You spent days, weeks, and months perfecting and enduring the art project with him as your partner. Yet, it seems it's all for naught as it all comes tumbling down to the ground just a week before the deadline.

You know there isn't enough time to recreate it, and now, your grades are at stake. You're torn between laughing or crying at the sheer frustration of it all.

Taking a step closer, you continue to stare intently at the scissors. You take another step forward, and another. Then another. You bend down, still not registering the words Ajax is currently spewing out, and you pick up the scissors.

Inspecting it, you notice there's tape residue left on the blades, along with the smallest bits of paper stuck to it - just another reminder of your hard work that amounted to nothing.

Days staying up until late at night just to tweak some parts, the amount of lunch times skipped just so you can work on your joining project, the willpower it took just to be cordial with golden boy Childe.

You glance down at the pile of mess, Ajax had hastily entered your room - completely missing your warnings and exclamations of caution - and ended up tripping on the entire project. Now, all that's left are mangled pieces that can never be glued back together.

A mess that can't be submitted.

You stare back down at the pair of scissors in your possession.

You slowly blink.

Scissors are good, but you prefer a box cutter more.

You haphazardly let go of the scissors, letting them hit the ground with a dull thud.

Almost robotically, you maneuver toward one of the drawers in your room - one where you know the box cutter is stored. You walk past Ajax who's still spewing out utter nonsense and you hold back the urge to just choke him to death.

Patience is key.

You rummage through each drawer until your hands grasp the familiar handle of your box cutter - a pretty shade of yellow with the blade just recently replaced. You slide the handle until most of the blade is peeking out, glinting against the light in your room.

A minuscule smile carves itself into your face.

It's showtime, might as well enjoy your first act of crime before you're caught.

You turn around, hiding the box cutter behind your back and you start walking toward Ajax. His words are finally starting to make sense, as if the cotton in your ears earlier has been removed and instead replaced with the foreboding feeling of euphoria that's yet to come.

"...-ey? (Y/N)? Look, I'm really sorry, okay? I'll make it up to you! I swe-!"

Ajax doesn't get to finish his sentence before you lunge at him and straddle him to the ground, pressing the blade of the box cutter right up against his neck. Your thighs wrap around his waist and your other hand harshly tugs at his orange hair.

"Shut up," You sneer, pressing the blade deeper. You stare into his blue eyes, noting that his pupils are enlarged with a red flush tinting his cheeks.

"Shutupshutupshutupshutup- you're so annoying. I've endured you for months now and that's all you have to say? I had to deal with your bullshit and this is what I get?"

Unexpectedly, he moans.

Drawn out and filled with pleasure, it caught you off guard and you lean back to scrutinize him. Just then, you feel a hardness pressing up against your ass and the way his face is contorted into a state of utter bliss. He's acting like this is heaven on earth - to be threatened and pinned down to the floor of your bedroom.

You know you should stop, especially if this does nothing but arouse him - but you're too far angry to let this chance go by - you've been yearning for payback. You lean back down, closer to his ear this time to whisper,

"...Are you seriously getting off to this? What the actual fuck?" He frantically nods, bopping his head up and down. You press the blade in deeper, close to marking his skin and it gets him going even more.

He's insane, you realize. You breathlessly laugh, not expecting him to be this deranged.

"You're such a pervert Childe, did you plan this? Did you want me to kill you on my bedroom floor? Do you get off on the thought of me slicing your neck open right now? Does it get your dick hard that bad?"

He's panting now, desperately grinding his erection against the curve of your ass - desperate to get any friction. "Ajax, it's Ajax," He corrects, moaning even more when you shove two of your fingers into his mouth to shut him up. But he's undeterred. "Mm, planned this from 'ta start, wanted you 'so badly since forever."

"Really?" You prod, creating a shallow cut across his neck, letting beads of blood scatter the surface of his skin. He moans harder, groaning and panting as you shove your fingers deeper into his mouth. Wanting a response, you briefly retrieve your fingers to let him formulate a response.

Drool spills from the corner of his mouth, occasionally mingling with the blood on his neck. It's messy. He pants harshly, gathering his bearings. "Yeah," He breathes out, grinding harder. "I bribed 'ta professors into being your, ah, partner. Purposely walked into your room to ruin the project so we-" He groans, letting his head thump against the floor as you drag the blade to his chest. "-we can spend more time together. I wanted to steal your panties and bra today when you're out of your room. Wanted you since forever, want you 'so bad 'm going insane."

"Wanted you since I saw you in Mila's tagged posts."

"...Huh." You huff out, amused. "That far back, wow."

You gently slice through his clothes, exposing his toned but scarred chest. Lightly, you trace along his muscles using the blade.

He nods, "Yeah, wanna be your dog. I wanna be your pet. Want you to attach me to a leash and call me a good boy,"

You hum, undeterred by his furious humping - you don't care if he cums or not. "I don't know, maybe come up with our art project before the deadline and I'll think about it."

"Please, I'll do anything." He whimpers, groaning when you grip his face.

"Deal?"

"Deal."

You hate him, you truly do.

[mellowwillowy]

Pet (Kakegurui AU)

Yan!Childe with childhood friend fem reader

Pet play, manipulative Childe, idk if I should tag corruption since Childe didn't really enter you(?), 50% plot 50% lemon (HAHAHA), depressed reader (suicide thoughts), life schedule, reader is called as sister, mentions of past relationships in the end

If you are not familiar with Kakegurui then it's basically... gambling *peaces out*

"Hee, I didn't expect you to be here at all sis~"

Childe says as he playfully traces his finger over your Mitten tags. Ajax, your childhood friend is now one of the members of the student council? You are not sure if you really want to know what power he has in his grasp.

"Let me guess, you failed to pay up during fund collections right?" The Ajax you remember used to be a shy boy that is scared of almost everything. His current smile can be compared to the current toothy smile he used to give you although there seems to be something unhinged from it. His eyes seem to contribute most of it, you guess. You shouldn't have left that day maybe? Maybe that way he'll help you out right now?

"Don't look at me like that sis~ I'm just guessing given how you don't look like someone who indulges yourself in gambling"

You look away from Childe. Perhaps you should have played with the other students when you have the money and chance to? Even if you have the money right now, who can guarantee they won't use this Mitten tag? You grip your tag tightly, knuckles turning white at the thought of how low you've fallen. Should you ask him to help you? You two have a good history after all...

"Ajax... I..."

"Hmmm~?"

Childe cocks his head to the side, his eyes never leaving yours. Should you really ask for his help? To someone who has grudges against you? You shake your head before bowing down to him, muttering a small apology before walking away from him. Something feels wrong and you're not going to take any risks by involving yourself with a member of the student council.

----

You are currently hiding in one of the academy's most hidden and unattended spots. This garden has always been empty which makes it a perfect spot for you to hide from everyone. Maybe you'll survive in your school days by hiding away from people? The debts increase with each funds collection and game the students proposed to you forcefully to the point that a life schedule has been given to you.

You dare not read the life schedule. You wonder what kind of disturbing things are written inside. You've heard from people how their life schedule has trampled down every aspect of their life. And now, you are one of them.

You sob to yourself, hiding your face from the sun ray as you ponder what you should do now. To follow all that is written in the life schedule or to find a way out now even if it'll only throw you down into another rabbit hole.

"It's not rare for the life schedule to ask you to become a prostitute even if your face is mid-good you know~"

You jump up from the voice. A familiar voice with a hint of... playfulness? You look up and find the source, Childe. You shake your head in disbelief, you know that the schedule probably asks you to become one even if it's not directly stated. The last sugar-coated statement it'll give you would be a 'marriage' with someone who'll gladly wash away your debts in exchange for you.

Childe smiles at you before patting your head while giving you words of reassurance, contrary to you, his hand is warm with affection but you can feel him shaking a bit just like you. You look up at him and shoot him a questioning look,

"Ajax, why are you shaking?"

Childe was startled for a while before bursting into laughter, saying how random and straightforward you are as a person. You couldn't comprehend what he means and only look away with red washing your face. Are you not supposed to ask him why?

Childe looks at your curling form, as round and small as a hamster. How does it feel to hold you up like a hamster? To place you inside a cage and provide everything you need. An adorable and comfortable cage home, endless stock of food and water, countless toys for you to play with and-

"Ajax, I feel like things would be better if I disappear right now..."

Childe's eyes widen at your statement. This is bad. You can just disappear without a worry in this world because you are an orphan, no one is bound with you and no one is dragged down with you. If only there was still someone who's somehow related to you then you'll have to think twice about everything. But your only supposedly family had been left rotten under the snow.

"Hey hey, come one now. What will be left of me if you were to disappear?"

You look up at him again, his eyes are empty as usual although this time hints of fear and anger are evident in his eyes.  But why? You shift your gaze to the sky, engraving the beauty into your memories. Maybe you'll jump down facing toward the sky instead of drinking some candies?

"I won't allow that"

Oh, did you say it out loud? Childe's face looks so much in pain now. Do you matter to him that much to the point he's really upset with you? Childe crouches in front of you, his form blocking the view of the sky. With a shaky hand, he cups your face gently, his thumb circling your cheek as though trying to calm you down.

"I'll help you out"

He'll help you out? He'll save you? Childe takes the life schedule and keeps it inside his blazer while muttering out endless reassurance for you.

"While I can't just sweep your debts away, I can... show to everyone that you are in fact, mine"

"But... how?"

Childe smiles at you again, his eyes glinting in excitement this time.

----

The collar is not tight but it's not loose as well. With every move you make, the chains will dangle as Childe holds the leash with pride. On the other hand, you are trying your best to cover your face with your hair, is this supposed to be a way to save you or humiliate you? Your hands gripping the hem of your skirt tightly, your lip bleeding from the amount of strength you've bitten it.

Is this the right thing to do? Childe did say something about showing them who you belong to will scare the other students from toying with you. You figure that this is probably some kind of public announcement that you are his now although you are not sure if all the students really understand it. What would happen to those who didn't get the hint? Well, they are in fact out of a sudden, lost in a big game and a fido or mitten tag is on their neck now.

You look up toward Childe, his smile never leaving his face as he walks with you in pride.

----

"I demand... a public match... with you!"

Your voice booms as you glare at Childe with your mitten tag in your hand. While Childe enjoys gambling, the last thing he could think of would be you demanding a public match with him. Don't get him wrong though, he loves the idea of gambling with you, in fact, he's actually aching for it. Will it be a game of luck, bluff, or skill?

But why so sudden?

He examines his surroundings, and there he sees familiar figures, Rosalyne and Zhongli. What are they planning? Doesn't matter, at least for now. Either way, he has to accept your request although feeling a bit bitter about the fact that you've been deceived by them to turn against him.

"Then shall we play like the old times, Sister?"

Childe's smile reaches his eyes for the first time.

----

"Ahh~ it's a shame you lost Sis~"

Childe's hands are on your tense shoulder while you shudder in disbelief. You lost? You lost despite cheating your whole way during the game? There's only 1 possibility for this and that is Childe figuring out the cheats earlier than you expected and using it on his own. And yet those student councils said-!

"Sister~ it's time for you to pay up"

Childe yanks your face toward him by your cheek while cooing at you. His finger occasionally taps your cheek as his eyes bore into yours. The grip on your face starts to feel painful with each second you leave him unanswered. It doesn't take long until Childe lets go of you and wrap the collar back on your neck, tugging you up with the chain leash. He tugs it strongly, strong enough to make you fall from your seat.

"Doesn't matter, I'll still be the one who sweeps your debts away anyway"

You look up at him from the floor with a puzzled look on your face. What did he just say?

"Ah, right"

Childe takes a book out of his blazer, your... life schedule? Childe crouches down at your eye level as he opens the first few pages of the book before placing it in front of your face, allowing you to read it for the first time.

You should have read it that day.

"Do you understand it now, Sister? The moment you failed to pay, the moment I saw you, the moment you stepped into this academy, your whole life is all mine to claim and plan already~"

For the first time, the chains on your collar feel way too heavy for you.

----

You've lost your mitten tag but the collar remains there. You are not sure if it's actually to warn people or to just show people off that you, in fact, are claimed already. You scoff to yourself, it's definitely the second. Who in their sane mind doesn't know about your public match with him and how you lost terribly. How you lost everything the moment you stepped into this academy. The public match was nothing but just a pastime for him.

The life schedule contents, on the other hand, are filled with Childe's names, from the beginning until the end.

Marriage, career, children, preferences, everything. Should you be grateful that the person you've been sold to is Childe himself and not someone else? The person who you'll spend the rest of your life would be him. The person who you'll share your bed with is him. The person who you'll create a family with would be him despite not wanting one. The person who your children will call father would be him. Him. Him. Him. You bring your hand to your mouth, your throat and guts itching for vomit. Your little Ajax has tricked you.

----

(NSFW, MDNI *doubt*)

"They tricked you into having a public match with me"

He tricked you, not them.

"And you just agreed with it"

Why wouldn't you when you finally learn about how he's the one who has been pulling all the strings?

"They are pulling strings behind my back"

He is pulling strings behind your back, reducing you into nothing but a puppet.

"They are targetting the president by making the housepets gamble with all the student councils at the same time"

And they failed, horribly.

"Signora was not a part of it so there's nothing I can do about her"

The woman who whispers endless encouragement for you to take him.

"But Zhongli... I have to be certain to blow him fatally. For going against the president despite being a member of the student council..."

Childe leans toward you, his face barely away from yours before he licks your lip.

"And for making my beloved Sister go against me"

That is your last straw before you slap him, his face thrown to the other side, savoring every moment of the pain on his cheek.

"I'm not... your Sister... nor your friend!"

You yell at him hysterically. Childe only chuckles at you before making his advances on you, his lips crashing with yours. You try your best to not give in and open up but the way Childe nibbles with your lip and how his hands travel all across your body makes you give in to him in the end. In the end, you give in and let him in, savoring every inch of your mouth as his hands work with your uniform. No matter how many times you hit his chest, pull his hair, kicking him, he won't budge. Instead, he takes pleasure in having you struggling under him. His hands travel down to your skirt, caressing your thigh in a circular motion before cupping your heat. You know where this is going and your tears start to flow down from your eyes as you shake your head while begging him to stop.

"Mmh, not gonna. If you are no longer my Sister nor my friend then that'll only mean one thing, you are my pet"

Childe tugs you by the collar before biting your exposed clavicle, littering it with bite marks.

"I doubt you are ready to abandon your pride to become my Sister again hm? If so then allow me to treat you like how I would to a pet"

Childe starts off easy and gentle, rubbing your clit over and over while he undresses you. You try your best to contain your moans, familiar but unfamiliar with the sensations. It doesn't take long for you to drench your panties and stocking, tempting Childe to rip it and put your panties aside. You gasp at Childe's finger entering you, familiarizing itself with your gummy walls.

"Mmh, so tight. Say, have you ever touched yourself pet?"

Coos Childe as another finger enters you, the stretch isn't as painful as you expected because Childe makes sure that you are wet enough for him to enter you. His tongue dances from your jaw toward your ear, nibbling it like how one would with candy. His fingers curl knuckles deep inside you, feeling something blocking him he knows what he has to do now.

"So it really is your first time..." he mumbles to himself before retreating his fingers. What you expected to be a break for you was cut short when he starts abusing your clit. He doesn't want your first time to be like this but he doesn't feel like leaving you unattended as well. You lean onto Childe's chest as his fingers move at a crazy speed, your stomach filled with butterflies while your moans slip out from your throat. Childe's cock twitches at how your hands hold him in place tightly as your support, he didn't expect you to abandon some of your pride and cling to him for a false sense of security. It only makes Childe even happier as his fingers now tease you in a circular motion while nipping your neck, leaving hickeys and bite marks here and there.

"Toi.. toilet, toilet, Ajax, I-"

"Toilet hm? Ah, it's okay, just do it here. As an owner, I'll clean up your mess later hm? Aren't I a good owner?"

Childe finds it adorable how you are not aware of the fact that you are in fact squirting right now. He'll make sure to use this to his advantage before you finally know what's going on with you. Your eyes roll back as you moan out loudly, your toes curling while your hands never let go of Childe.

"Mmh, good girl good girl, you've done well hm? Look at all the mess you've done too"

You look down at the puddle below you, ashamed, you bury your face into his chest whether you like it or not. Childe slides his pants down, his boxer showing a huge bulge restrained under the fabric. Childe slides his boxer down and his cock springs out immediately, making you flinch at the sight. That, entering you? That large, veiny thing? You look at Childe in horror as you let go of him. Seeing this, Childe's hand yank your hands back and place it on his chest,

"We won't, we won't~ I prefer doing it somewhere much more romantic although I can't help but show you what this little guy can do"

He starts by collecting the precum on the tip before spreading it all over his shaft. You try to look away but Childe's hand says otherwise, forcing you to watch him pump himself as his grip on your jaw tightens every time you try to look away from it or shut your eyes close. Every now and then, he'll kiss you or touch you again.

"Haah.. how do you think... this will enter you? Stretching you... ripping you apart from the inside... your blood... on me... on the bedsheet..."

Even when chasing his high, he still manages to make you squirm in embarrassment from all the details. His tip looks painfully red now while his thighs start to spasm. What surprises you is how Childe places your hand on top of his red tip as he strokes himself even faster. You try to pull away but his hand won't allow you to as he tightens his grip on your hand, making you cup his tip.

"Com- coming, coming- ah!"

And that's all you get as a warning before he spurts out all over your palm, his mouth wide open as his eyes and head roll back. Your face flushes red as he lets go of your hand, letting you observe how he has tainted your hand.

"Hehe, I'll make sure to book a room for us two soon, pet"

Right, you are no longer his Sister nor his friend. Until you are finally ready to abandon your pride, he'll be treating you like a pet. The collar and leash's chain serve as a reminder. A pet.

"I love you... ,______"

Another kiss to seal your fate.

(Yeah I'm using a Kakegurui Futago ref here)

____

Grudge

"Where is Sister?"

Childe asked his mother. His mother only looked away from him while ushering him to sit down. Childe's eyes roam around the whole room, looking for you.

He couldn't find you.

"...her butler... came and took her away when you were missing"

Childe's heart dropped. You left him. You left him while he was trying his best to survive the abyss? You left him despite him begging for you to stay? He was only gone for 3 days and you couldn't even wait to properly bid farewell to him?

"The butler said that something urgent came up"

Is it truly that urgent to steal you away from him?

"That she is in danger..."

He was the one who's in danger and not you.

"That someone might... "

Kill you? As much as he hates you leaving him without any farewell, he'd rather have your butler killed instead of you.

And she was. As a result of it, you had to stand all by yourself without anyone guiding and protecting you anymore.

An orphan without anyone as your guardian.

Possible scenario

_____

OCs Note: Zili couldn't find you in this world after she was resurrected so yeah, you are pretty much an orphan without a guardian.

[allfearstofallto]

Also wanting to write a yandere historical au!! Like so bad!! Like imagine...

[Part 2] [Part 3]

Spoiled Prince! Scaramouche who gets whatever he desires as the next in line for the throne. He needlessly torments you, his favorite maid to pick with. He knows that you can't run away, not while you're so poor and desperate. You're at his mercy, his every beck and call until you decide that you'd rather live on the rat infested streets than in his palace any longer. But you quickly begin to notice that the streets are littered with more than rodents, when you are made aware that Scaramouche has sicked the palace guards on you. Dragged back to the mansion, where he waits for you with a scowl. How dare you think you can run away from him?

Hero of the Nation, Knight! Childe who was already popular with the ladies for his good looks long before he slayed the dragon tormenting the kingdom, but now he was bombarded with admiration. Yet he still chases you, the baroness with what you and others assume is nothing special to your family's name. You ignore his constant bombardments of gifts and love letters thinking them to be jokes at your expense. Why would he want you, when the princess, the jewel of the city, has asked for his hand three times over? He practically goes mad with rage when he finds out you're arranged to be married to someone else. You accept being betrothed to another, yet you won't take him?

Arranged Husband! Diluc who you're weary of. Your father assured you that he was the most suitable marriage candidate for your family that was running low on funds, and he always seemed disinterested, almost scared of you. You're wed to him a mere three months after meeting him and with only two letters exchanged between the two of you. Moved into an unfamiliar palace, you try to wander the halls as normal, while avoiding your also unwilling husband. Until you stumble upon a room with a door slightly ajar. Your husband stands in it, surrounded by portraits of you on the wall that you never posed for, underwear and garments that had gone missing, and your bed linens from the night before. It begs the question, who did you marry?

I'm so sorry...I've been reading A LOT of reincarnated as a villainess manwhas...

[sst4rdst]

synopsis : genshin boys and their red flags. pairing : childe, scaramouche, xiao, diluc x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader) warnings : yandere tendencies, unhealthy relationships, mention of controlling and manipulative behavior, each red flag is a warning by itself. author's note : “i don't have favorites” then there's scara part.

overwhelming affection and attachment issues – childe.

childe was not ready for love. maybe he was never meant to love. at least, not in the way that softens his edges and tugs at his heart. and yet, the moment he met you, his world shifted. you were his before you even knew it.

he courts you with unwavering determination. flowers, grand gestures, breathtaking views, mora—he gives and gives, always one step ahead, always ensuring you are left breathless. but then you falter. you worry. you question if a harbinger can truly love, if he can truly stay.

oh, my love, he laughs, voice honeyed with something far too sweet.

his arms are around you before you can pull away, his lips ghosting over your skin in soft, adoring presses. do not doubt, do not fear. if you need reassurance, he will give it. in gifts, in words, in the quiet promise that you are his and he is yours. he will take you to snezhnaya, introduce you as his betrothed, whisper vows of eternity until the words are carved into your very soul.

he loves you. he loves you. he loves you.

and yet, as his devotion smothers, as the weight of his affection grows unbearable, you cannot help but wonder—when he swore to love you forever, did he mean it as a promise, or a threat?

anger issues/violence – scaramouche.

where were you even supposed to start with him? the balladeer, the sixth of the fatui harbingers, the puppet who had carved his own place into history with bloodied hands and a twisted grin. you sighed, arms folded as you leaned against the balcony of the grand estate he had forced into your possession. a mockery of a home, nestled in the land of inazuma—the place of his so-called birth. no, not birth. creation.

he had mansions scattered across teyvat, all under your name. because you were to be wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. a doll didn’t get to choose where it was placed.

you flinched when the cloth brushed against your shoulder, the sting of the lightning-shaped scar sending a nauseating wave of sensation through you. still healing. still burning. you didn’t have to look to know what it resembled—something eerily close to an electro vision, elegant in design, delicate even. the thought made your stomach churn. he had called it a claim, a permanent engraving on your body, mind, and soul. you belonged to him. he wanted the world to see it.

scaramouche was flawless, sickeningly so. apologies fell from his lips like honey, each word perfectly crafted, a voice dipped in false sweetness. he touched you like you were something precious, fragile, irreplaceable. and yet, it was his hands that had carved this mark into you. love. if he was even capable of such a thing.

you cursed the day you fell for him. but it didn’t matter anymore. not when he had already made you his. not when he had already decided you were never leaving. to him, this was love. a lover’s touch. a lover’s proof. a lover’s possession. what was a little pain, a little blood, compared to the unwavering devotion he had for you? he had never abandoned you. he had never let you go. and that—wasn’t that enough?

of course, he lashed out sometimes. hurt you, left bruises that bloomed like violets under his grip, spat words that cut deeper than any blade. but no one was perfect. he certainly wasn’t, but neither were you. and if you ever dared to point that out, dared to tell him he was flawed, he would laugh—sharp and condescending, gaze slicing through you like a weapon. you? telling him he was in the wrong? how amusing.

had you forgotten every little mistake you made? every time you disobeyed, every moment you disappointed him? he would remind you of them all, recounting each one with that knowing smirk, every slip-up, every failure. yet despite it all, he still kept you by his side. he still loved you, still held you close, even when you were ungrateful. he had never truly hurt you—not on purpose. he had only made sure everyone knew what was his.

you had given yourself to him first. whispered those sweet words before he ever did. you started this. and he was going to make sure you never forgot it. his lips brushed against your scar, his breath warm, reverent. a devotion so twisted it bordered on worship.

overprotectiveness – xiao.

xiao does not understand human fragility. he has spent centuries watching them crumble beneath the weight of time, has witnessed their fleeting existence burn away like paper in the wind. when you stepped into his world, he warned you to leave. you did not. when he told you it was dangerous, that he was dangerous, you only smiled. and so, against all reason, he let you stay. you are the first thing he has ever wished to keep.

he touches you as if you are made of glass, eyes scanning your skin for the smallest of wounds. he does not know how to soothe, only how to watch. and so he does—silently, relentlessly, unblinking in his observation. you tell him he worries too much, that you are fine, that you are not as fragile as he believes. but then you fall ill, and his voice sharpens into something cold. you should have worn warmer clothes. you should have listened to him.

and when harm comes from another, when someone dares to insult you, to lay a hand on you, his restraint shatters. the yaksha is feared for a reason. you whisper his name through clenched teeth, hands grasping at his own in desperate plea. he does not hear you. he cannot. and as the air grows thick with something suffocating, something violent, you wonder—how do you stop a storm that exists only to protect you?

possessiveness – diluc.

diluc has always been protective. of his home, of his people—of you. his love is fierce, a fire that burns not to destroy, but to shield. to him, you are something precious, something fragile, something that must be kept safe at any cost. and he tries, oh how he tries, to remain composed. but love and fear are two sides of the same coin, and as his devotion deepens, so too does his paranoia.

are you safe? are you warm? are you happy?

he is willing to break himself apart for you, to strip himself down to nothing if it means you will never know pain. and yet, the more he loves, the tighter he holds. he sees danger where there is none—a lingering gaze, a friendly gift, a name spoken too fondly. do not speak to them, he tells you, they do not have good intentions. do not take that, it could be poisoned. do not stray too far, let me watch over you.

you need not think, you need not worry. whatever it is you desire, whatever it is you require—let him provide, let him be your everything. he loves you, after all. and love, surely, is meant to protect.

[mondaymelon]

₊˚ෆ 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇 !! | sagau xiao, childe, zhongli x gn!reader

ˋ°•*⁀➷ cw: uhm. obsessiveness? yandere if you blink a couple times? cult themes... the usual deal with this au

⤷ [ you, the benevolent and kind overseer and creator of teyvat, has descended upon this world in mortal flesh, with a presence that is overpowering, omniscient, and so impossibly pure. ෆ yet, one day, you come into the cathedral with a gash on your arm, dripping with shimmering golden ichor that spilled from your veins. there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring. ]

— sagau!xiao noticed you immediately. it would be hard not to. since the beginning, he had always heard it.

your sound. a beautiful one, a heavenly one. a chord struck him, somewhere in his chest, and he found himself panting on the ground, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

like a electric charge - one that leaves you startled, tentative, with the tips of your fingers still tingling from what happened moments prior. a buzz in your veins that thrums along with your heartbeat.

he didn't deserve to see you. not with what sins he had committed. but xiao was selfish. he wanted to, with his tainted body, he wanted to praise you, scrape his throat raw with his voice.

and so he did.

his face brightens as you step into the cathedral, dressed in ceremonial robes as per usual. you look ethereal, why would you not? your eyes are warm as they fixate on him, and he can feel his heart skip a beat and words die in his throat. he kneels before you orderly, readying to lift his head when something catches his attention - that is, the coppery scent of blood.

blood?

a droplet splatters onto the dustless floor. melted gold.

xiao's already stood up before he realizes it. his eyes are blown wide, his shrunken pupils sharp, like a cat's. "who. who did this to you?" those words take all the willpower in him to speak. his mind is swirling, racing, thinking up of every single possibility, vision scattered and blurry as unbridled fury teems within him.

"it's nothing. some civilians have begun rioting in the city, saying that i'm an imposter. all i did was show them a little bit of my blood and they all started singing praises, so the issue has been resolved." you shake your head with a soft smile, like this matter isn't anything to concern himself over.

it is.

he hates it. how he feels so fucking powerless, how he couldn't even stop this simple event from occurring in the first place. it's his fault. it's his and everyone else who dared not believe your words. your word is the truth. it is the undeniable laws of the world, what maps the stars and what lays the land.

he'll have time to ingrain that within everyone's minds. even if it means time away from you. but that's not the issue at the moment. he turns to search for bandages, but sees the already-healing wound slowly closing up as your skin mends together.

there's a knife at your side, coated in something that shimmers in the rays of light coming from the high, color-tainted windows.

something in his heart decides, seeing your reserved smile.

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

very well.

then he'll just have to eradicate every last one of them. ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!childe had, to be honest, never cared all that much. why would he, to the person who had abandoned him into the cold, dark, abyss? yet, the smile on your face. it's bright. so bright it burns him. was there a day where he could smile like that?

no, no. he couldn't. that's an expression only reserved for someone as beautiful as you. as pure as you, like a blank, unblemished canvas, with the world as its paint. it's a level of resplendency that no one on this cursed universe could ever hope to accomplish.

a god in flesh, living in a tainted world. a walking contradiction that he had grown to call the thing that allowed him to keep living. something that spurred irony, you who broke all forms of the logic he had made to keep himself sane. perhaps that was why the heart he'd locked away has suddenly begun aching again? is that why he feels so warm from your divine prescence?

"childe?" you call out his name into the vast, empty hallways, glancing around for the familiar sight of a tuft of ginger hair. he hears you at once, rushing to your side with a grin on his face.

"your grace??" he bows at the sight of you, unable -to contain his excitement as he quivers in place, the smile on his lips tugging upwards even more than its current extent. "yes, what's-"

he stops abruptly, his voice faltering as he catches the scent of something iron. one familiar on the battlefield, a liquid that'd paint the surroundings a beautiful red.

his heart pounds. the thrill of a battle? no, that can't be it. if that was the case, how come it felt like he was slowly suffocating on his unspoken words?

that's when he catches the sight of the poorly wrapped bandages encasing your forearms. and the shimmering ichor that's soaked through the hastily wrapped cloth.

he moves to grab your arm, but curses himself out as he quickly changes direction and tightly holds your wrist, his expression more pained than yours, despite you being the one suffering with the injury. "what... your grace, what is this?"

he hates your knowing smile. he hates it. (oh, but does he? could he hate anything that is of you?) it just reminds him how you're all too far for him to reach, a purity that he does nothing to maintain. "there was a riot in the city against the church. luckily, they all quieted down after i gave them a glimpse of..." you trail off, ending your incomplete sentence with a sheepish smile. the rest is self-explanatory, anyway.

his vision trembles as his pupils shake. "haha, you...?" fuck. fuck fuck fuck, just whose idea was it to allow you near a knife? how did you get your hands on that?? which stupid fucking bumbling idiot allowed for this to happen?

it's his fault. he should've been by your side. curse the fatui, curse them all, how could they possibly dare keep him away from your holy being? the guilt that churns within him, is that why he remains mute as you step away, gracefully walking to meet with the other retainers?

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

no, it's fine.

it will all be fine.

cutting off their tongues won't be enough. cutting them up until they're a dismembered, bloody mess isn't even close to what you've suffered for the sake of humanity.

yes, he'll make them realize that. they'll pay with their blood a thousand times over. ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!zhongli had his breath taken away by you before he even saw you, before the two of you had even exchanged words. your presence - it was so simply alluring, a saccharide charm that just drew him closer and closer.

sweet. yes, it was a familiar flavor upon the tongue that had long since tasted the many marvels the world had to offer. like a warm cup of tea, made from the sugary extract of flowers, how the sensation of it seemed to bloom upon your mouth.

ah, how should he put this. perhaps you had procured the blossom in his heart instead? stems, leaves, buds, a floret that'd only appear when you were in his gaze. a steady thrum that ran throughout his body with every stolen glimpse he took from your attention expertly.

perhaps, was this what he felt all those years ago?

did it matter? his soul was resolute, now, and it glowed gold, just like the blessed blood that flowed through every vein and lay in every vessel within that beautiful, beautiful you.

yes, ichor... just like the splatter of it on the ground...? a pang of fear strikes him - has something happened to you while he was away? he should've none better than to trust those good-for-nothing other cultists, who spend all their time babbling about your gloriousness yet turn a blind eye to whenever you require assistance!

no, he had to calm himself down. this wasn't the moment where he should grow frustrated. first, he must confirm the situation... he's planned this out to the every plan b, c, d, e, and so on, so how come he's still feeling so anxious?

there you are, upon your throne, busy conversing with a fellow archon, the one as free as the wind. funnily enough, you were the one that tied him down like a shackle.

"ah, zhongli. are you alright? you're breathing quite hard." you tilt your head, averting your gaze from venti's sparkling eyes and instead fixing them on the usually stoic man's jumbled expression. his shoulder's heave as he resists the urge to collapse at your feet.

"what... what are you... you're hurt?" stained bandages peek out from just below your silk sleeve, a sight that cannot possibly be missed from his attentive gilded eyes. "why didn't you tell me? i-i'll call one of the healers so they can-"

"zhongli, there's no need for that." with a hand, you gently signal venti to leave the scene, which he does, with obvious reluctance. a silence gesture that resonates with appreciation deeply within him. "this was of my own accord."

"your own accord?"

"unbelievers decided to throw a riot, and there wasn't much i could do except...well, don't they say that seeing is believing?" how come you don't look the slightest bit pain? where is your self-pity? your frustration? "anyhow, i'm not in a good state. please leave me for the time being, i don't plan on receiving any more audiences tonight."

he bows hastily, yet each movement is still finely crafted with minuscule adjustments that have taken him thousands of tries to master. he does as you say, and his strides are quick and long. it won't take a genius to see that his facade has crumpled, with the clear agitation that's spreading across his features like a wildfire that devours all in its path.

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

he'll change that. every thrum of the golden markings running up and down his body seem to pulse in unison with his heartbeat, which is raring like he's recently returned from the battlefield.

who would've thought he'd so quickly return.

this time, of his own will. he'd be sure that these fools of this world would learn the truth of your paragon. ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) please save me the delulu has returned and iTS NOT LETTING GO

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123

[yandere-romanticaa]

⚘ 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

m. - "forevermore" typically refers to something that lasts for an indefinite amount of time or for eternity. it implies a sense of permanence or lastingness.

You've ran away from your husband, the 11th Fatui Harbinger, Tartaglia himself. However, have you truly escaped his grasp?

yandere! tartaglia x fem! reader.

The shimmering rays of bright morning sunlight made the living room come to life as you sat in a classic wooden chair, a steaming cup of tea in your hand. It burned your fingers ever so slightly but you could not be bothered to remove them from the cup.

The pain made you not focus on the massive bouquet of flowers which were placed on your pretty white table.

From the corner of your vision, you could see the card which clung onto the fresh bunch of blooms, the handwriting on it disgustingly elaborate but oh so familiar.

"Blood red roses." The card said.

"I always knew that you fancied roses, and I couldn't resist to get you these specific ones when I saw you looking at them."

Bastard. How he had managed to track you all the way to Mondstatd was beyond your comprehension, but in hindsight, you really should have known better. The Fatui could sneak in anywhere they damn well pleased, be it the hustle and bustle of the city of Mondstatd, to the dirty cracks of the Chasm.

It was only natural that the many agents which were stationed in the city would start to talk upon seeing the wife of a Lord Harbinger so far from home.

You concealed yourself at first, obviously. Most unfortunately, word started to spread like wildfire that you had fled in the dead of night, never to be seen by anyone. And, due to the fact that your husband did not possess a single shred of decency in his body, he proudly showed you off wherever he could.

Just the mere thought of the memory made you shudder.

Your good husband was - is - a wealthy man. He made sure to spoil you in the finest of silks known to man and the endless sea of jewelry which was sent your way, if it were to be sold, could feed an entire army.

Although, he was always particular about your arms. He didn't like seeing anything on them except for the, surprisingly, simple wedding ring he got you.

It was a promise, he had told you.

His eternal promise to you, until the end of time. He would love you, in sickness and in health, there was no force in the universe that could separate him from you.

In a way, he was keeping his promise. He made the trip from the homeland straight to the City of Freedom all on his own.

... He probably didn't even need to hear the reports from anyone of your whereabouts. Knowing him, he tracked you down all on his own, using nothing but his wit and sharp senses.

He was a terrifying man. A man you ought to stay away from, a man who had the blood of countless innocent people on his hand. And yet, those same hands would keep you warm during the cold winter, his soft and pale lips would pepper your body with gentle kisses, making you feel as if you were the most beautiful woman in the universe.

Archons, he'd whisper to himself, his breath hot on your neck, making you blush. He would just say whatever came to mind, completely lost in his blind passion.

I want no one else but you - You are my everything - I will make you mine -

Frankly, you did not know how to feel. In those private moments he was less a man and more a lovesick little fool. He could not keep his paws off you, even if he wanted to. As the evening would go on the kisses would evolve into something more, something primal, carnal even. Tongue and teeth would mesh together, leaving a thick string of saliva between him and you, to which he would always let out that darling boyish laugh of his.

You loathed the fact that in those moments, he truly was ethereal, no different than a star.

What made your skin crawl was the effect his touch had on your mind and body. He became something akin to a drug, even now as you felt the sweetness of freedom with your own two hands you still felt the urge to hold something tight at night because your husband had spoiled you rotten with his presence.

Finally, you turned to look at the flowers as the horrible realization dawned on you - you loved him. You loved that man and it was putrid.

You cannot go back. You would not go back to him.

Jumping off a building would be a smarter thing to do.

As you pondered on and on about your predicament, you failed to notice the lingering shadow in your hallway. Deep blue eyes monitored you like a hawk as he toyed with a switchblade he had in his pocket. What should he do with you? He was furious, naturally. You were the last person in the world he wanted discord with. You broke his heart a little when you left and the fact that you didn't even care about his feelings only added insult to injury.

Even so, he could not help but to feel overjoyed by the fact that you hadn't thrown out his gift. He was half expecting you to burn whatever he sent you to the ground, not to mournfully contemplate in deep thought like this.

That was how he knew you loved him. It was crooked and wrong, but he had you. He had you and you didn't even know it. He'd bring down the heavens themselves if it meant that you could feel a fraction of the love he held for you. His lips curled into a sly grin but his heart pounded like clockwork in his chest. This waiting game was so horrible.

But the hunter in him couldn't resist, cornering you like this was just in his nature.

Victory was so close, he could practically taste it. Soon enough, his wife would be in his arms, weeping and apologizing and he would soothe her, like a good husband ought to. Yes, that was how this scenario would play out.

He was too clever to let it happen any other way.

It would be just him and you, perhaps even with a bundle of joy if the Tsaritsa blessed him. Even so, with you here, he had everything he could ever dream of.

Him and you, against the world, standing by each other's side, forevermore.

💋 TAGLIST: @genshinarchives, @saturnalya @mod-kisa-blog, @juuuuuj101010, @alatusprinz @kalopses-sonderes, @b10h4z4rd, @lakxcpsta @xiaopleasecomehome, @mayulli, @cc-6789, @mewmeowmika, @ranposgirlboss, @goldenglow149

This fic was born out of my own pure passion and love for Tartaglia, apologies for the Cringe™ I put you all through.

[moyazaika]

sharing is caring

yandere! childe (genshin impact) x fem! reader

cw; (1.9k wc) darling wears glasses, obsessive + possessive themes, allusions to violence, implied non-con, nsfw themes, mdni 18+

genie's notes; commissioned piece by @lucienbarkbark who was an angel to work with! it's always fun to dive into fanfic so thank you for giving me the opportunity to do so; have fun reading! ♡

the snezhnayan winters are deathly cold, but even then, they are not nearly as chilling as your husband’s ire. 

rarely are you ever the object of his interrogation, but there are those inevitable few moments you’re reminded of how old habits really do die hard—you slip up, in spite of all your best efforts—and hell freezes over.

take, for instance, right now. 

because although his lips curl into something akin to a smile, you know childe far too well to believe this is anything but a deception, returned in favour of your own omissions.

the heat of the nearby fireplace’s flames lick at your feet and are, you recognise, the last remnants of warmth in the room. even the heavy fur coat draped over your shaking shoulders does little to protect you against childe’s blue eyes, cutting into you like shards of dark ice. 

“ajax,” you plead. “i’m—”

“a liar.” childe finishes for you; his voice is deceptively gentle, soft as a lull. it devastates you when he laughs. “you’re a liar, my love.”

he’s got all of your letters in his hands. already, you know you’ve lost. the envelopes have been ripped open and the codes deciphered. how stupid of you to believe you could make a fool of the eleventh harbinger.

the silence that follows; settles down into the space between the two of you, is long and languid. your husband is in no rush to speak, seemingly content in merely taking in the way you’re squirming before him. he is eager, yet impassive, in his appraisal. it’s not the reverent sort you’ve gotten so used to, for there are no sweet nothings whispered against your skin as he lets his eyes linger on the softest parts of you. 

tonight, his observation is more akin to an examination. an analysis, perhaps. like he’s looking for something—finds it, you realise with a sinking feeling, as his gaze snags on your hands, curled up by your sides, and marred by deep, black, ink.

damning markers of your disloyalty. 

instinctively, you let the sleeves of your coat fall past your wrists. it’s a futile attempt at delaying the inevitable, and it makes you feel like nothing more than a guilty little girl having been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. you can’t stand the silence anymore. you really need to just—

archons—

the hair on your skin stands on end when he finally deigns to meet your eyes. beneath the weight of his cold gaze, you think anything would be better than this. it’s difficult not to walk right into the fireplace; lie down amidst the welcoming warmth of the flames that burn so brightly.

“i tried to trust you, y’know? i let you send your family little letters, and i never opened any of them even when all i wanted,” he confesses, “was to tear those pretty envelopes apart. i’ll admit, i even thought about breaking a finger or two a couple of times, did you know that? nothing to post if you can’t write.”

he looks to you for an answer, and it’s all you can do to stare back. he shakes his head, then. “no, no. of course you don’t know. how could you? you thought you had me all figured out.”

you have to force yourself to speak, because the words don’t come easy when you’re on the verge of a meltdown. you don’t even recognise the strangled sound of your own voice. “i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry. please don’t hate me.”

“sweetheart,” he chides, fingers pulling the corners of his lips down into a melodramatic frown. “i could never hate you. i’m just, y’know, curious.” he lets his hand fall back to his side, pale mouth splitting into a sharp grin as he takes a step closer. “only wondering where i went wrong with you, that’s all.”

“nowhere. you didn’t.” your eyes are burning, though his are still crystal clear. lucid. sharp. he is immovable. you feel like the yielding force of weightless waters that split apart before a glacier’s path. “it’s all my fault.”

“i thought we put all this behind us. that you’d finally gotten it through your head.” he stalks closer, even steps far too measured to be casual. “imagine my surprise when i read these letters my wife begged me to let her send to her family and, ohh! would you look at that?”

“my little wife,” childe's voice falls completely flat, “thinks she can leave me.”

you cast a quick glance around your bedroom, scanning the space in your immediate vicinity for anything to hold onto. the vacant eyes of porcelain dolls and ornately carved figurines from your favourite novels all stare back at you emptily. a typewriter gathering dust by the windowsill. how it used to delight you at first, filling your monotonous days holed up within the walls of your husband’s prison by decorating it with pretty things.

they’re all useless to you now.

you wonder why childe chose not to cut off your fingers. he should have, you think. then you would never have ended up here. then maybe you would never have had any hope.

but you know the answer to your own question. after all, you’ve known him long enough to understand that childe finds great amusement in the way you still manage to carry that quiet hope within you.

oftentimes, he’ll catch you roaming the halls of this maze-like palace, attempting to mentally chart your way out. and every time he catches up to you, he’ll laugh, and press a kiss to your cheek, as if he knows exactly what you’re up to. as if it’s some sweet, private jest the two of you share.

“please, ajax.” you try again, “tsaritsa’s soul, i never meant to—”

“yeah, yeah. save it, love. there’ll be plenty of opportunities to beg for forgiveness later on.” you know it’s all for show when he pretends to think something over; nothing more than a performance when he suddenly snaps his fingers with an eager grin. “oh, that reminds me! i actually have something i needed to tell you.”

you watch as he thumbs through the stack of opened letters in his hands. you catch glimpses of your familiar scrawl; the desperation painfully obvious in your every etching onto the papers, begging your family to send a saviour, to reach out to the adventurer’s guild or the archons and send a cavalry to come knocking down the doors of the tsaritsa’s palace.

“you’ll love this one, sunshine.“i mean, well, you kinda have to. don’t have much of a choice, huh?”

all of it is a performance. from the ease with which he tosses the envelopes into the fire down to the very cadence of his voice as it takes on a familiar, sickeningly sweet lilt. you know this because you remain acutely aware of the fact that childe knew exactly what he was going to do with you the moment he finished reading those letters.

that doesn’t mean you’re ready for it.

“we’re going to liyue, lovely. i’m going to let you see your family again. i mean, isn’t that so much nicer than sending a letter? we’ll even catch the lantern rite whilst we’re there.” you sink deeper into your furs, stumbling away from him for every step he takes closer. “figured it’d be good for you.”

childe’s voice dips an octave lower, and the curl to his lips is a mockery of the usual smile that sits there just for you. “good for the baby, too.”

“tartaglia.” it’s impossible to see his face through the tears; everything in the room takes on the haze of a distant memory, and you wish, so desperately, that this moment would be over sooner. you could tuck it away within the recesses of your mind and never visit it again. let it be another lesson. “what baby?”

“your mother was overjoyed at the news.” he hums absently, “she said something about your haircut? mentioned already working extra hours to commission new baby clothes.”

your back hits a wall. and finally, with nowhere left to go and no saviour here to help you, childe takes his sweet time in catching up to you; and when he finally does, it’s all you can do to keep your neck painfully craned and looking up at him without falling to your knees.

“aren’t you excited, sweetheart?” he tilts his head, lifts a palm to cup your face. he’s smiling so earnestly, but his eyes are completely dull. you try searching for a sliver of the sunny man childe can sometimes be, and find, in place of the sunshine, the cold rays of light that hit shimmering snow and dissipate into nothing, instead. “finally, a family of our own making. it’ll be nice to go back to liyue, too.”

“i don’t understand.”

“it's simple, my love,” childe’s lithe fingers creep beneath the heavy fur coat you’re wearing. with deft hands, he slides it off your shoulders in one fluid motion. it falls onto the floor, dangerously close to the fireplace. a shiver rolls down your spine as you instinctively inch closer to your husband, seeking any semblance of warmth within the freezing halls of the palace. “it’s only tradition. it takes a village to raise a baby.” he laughs. “trust me, i know. my sisters were the sweetest little girls, but the boys have been a handful since birth. we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“…ajax? i never—”

“i’m trying, y’know?” he takes off your glasses and presses a lingering kiss to your cheek. sighs against your skin as he folds up the frames and tucks them aside. “i’m trying very hard to be a good man for you, sweetheart.”

"listen to me, i—"

"you missed your family, sunlight. i get it, i’m a busy guy. i clearly wasn’t giving you as much attention as you needed. you obviously had too much free time on your hands. i figured if we had a family to tend to, that’d keep you busy. plus,” he grins. “i wouldn’t need to take your fingers! you’d never turn to anyone outside of zapolyarny. maybe, finally, you would also have something to love.”

you can barely breathe. “no, no i don't want—”

“you’ll learn to,” childe smiles. this time, finally, it reaches his eyes. “you’re going to adore our little one. trust me, sunlight; we’re going to be the only family you’ll ever need.”

you search his face for something, anything—and your heart breaks at the sight. you turn to the side, can’t even bear to face the man before you for a second longer, when all you find is a terrifying absence of anything but the deepest depths of conviction.

in the distance, as childe works to shed your body of all these elaborate furs between flittering kisses, you can already hear the sound of fireworks. when he sinks into you; a baby’s wailing cry.

the fire crackles cruelly, as your letters of desperation turn to ash, going unanswered for eternity right before your eyes.

[morose-melodies]

Welcome back! So happy to see that you are doing well ☺️

Since requests are open, I was wondering if you could write some headcanons/drabbles about how the Genshin men (including Pierro, Capitano, and Dottore my fave) would react if their darling, who was pregnant with their child, tried to run away? Saying "I refuse to raise my child with a monster like you!"

what it takes to love | various yandere! fatui harbingers x pregnant reader

content warning: mentions of blood, idk if childe's being sorta trad or not but I'll still put it here. I'm also a bit rusty so they might be ooc...

a/n: definitely not a drabble... I hope you enjoy!

CAPITANO

with the newfound knowledge that you were gone, the captain was on the way home.

there was not a lick of hesitation, no, he dropped everything. your leaving meant you were alone on a cold night while pregnant. who knew what trouble you could be in?

the captain knew you couldn't travel far-- it was too dark, too cold. all that surrounded the manor was woods and woods. he made sure to wear his thickest coat and brought with him his weapon in case you were in true danger. he saw your footprints in the snow, it looked as if you were stumbling about in the cold.

Oh, poor you.

this isn't how things should be-- you, running about at night without him there to protect you. you should be in the safety of his arms, in the walls of his manor.

he wouldn't try to further frighten you, that must be why you ran, no? he would place his coat over you and take you home with him.

following those footprints, it seemed you tumbled and fell a couple of times. you couldn't possibly be in a good state. (y/n)... where could you be ?

"(y/n)," the captain called out. he saw you, your cowering form, pressed against a tree, using one of his coats you'd taken with you to warm yourself, "oh, (y/n)."removing his coat, he set it over your shoulders and lifted you into his arms, expecting you to comply.

"no! st-stop. let me go, i... I'm fine!" you'd argue, though, it seemed you were in no state to.

"(y/n), no," the captain shook his head, trying to keep a gentle hold on you even as you squirmed and argued, "you're tired- you don't understand what you're saying. I'll be taking you home."

"i know what I'm saying," you shook your head, pressing your hand against his mask, attempting to push him away, "i don't want to be with you or near you! l-let go of me!"

the cold must be getting to you, capitano reasoned, who knows how long you've been out here? you're clearly not in your right mind. pressing a hand against your cheek, he felt your skin, he felt how cold it was. you needed to be home and in bed. "hush, you're delirious. (y/n), stop fighting me, i need to bring you home. you're harming yourself *and* our child."

"let go of me! stop- i refuse to raise my child with a monster like you!"

his hold on you loosened-- he was stunned, caught off guard. a monster? his hand gripped at the fabric of the coat over your shoulders, "is that truly what you think of me?"

you hated him? that was why you ran? "(y/n)," the captain repeated, his grip on the coat lessened, "answer me. is that what you think of me?"

do you understand how that makes him feel?

it's not as if you always thought this of him, this was a recent development. after getting pregnant, he was... more protective. he took extreme measures to keep you home, to "keep you safe."

it drove you mad.

so, when you woke up one morning to see that all of the house staff, including your maid that you truly loved, had been replaced-- you knew you had to leave.

"yes, yeah..." you nodded, a stray tear running down your cheek, "so, let me down- let me go," you demanded once more, squirming, trying to get away from him once more.

capitano raised his hand and wiped away that stray tear, "(y/n), do not say that-- not to me, not to my face," his hand dropped back to his side. he needed you home with him, now.

and that need was stronger than any other feeling he had at this very moment.

holding you against his chest, trying to keep you as warm as possible as he worked on getting you home.

he needed you back home; whatever happened afterward could happen, as long as you were home with him.

DOTTORE

how things seemed, you enjoy causing dottore problems.

if you weren't knocking his vials over, you were barging in on his experiments, and if not that, you'd rejected him when he expressed even the slightest bit of affection.

it was always something with you.

and now, on his day off-- on the one day when he had nothing to do and nothing planned, you ran away, or at least you tried to.

dottore refused to let his good day be ruined by something so trivial, so he took precautions.

knowing you, you would do something so he prepared for just about anything you could do.

just about anything... well, he didn't expect you, a pregnant woman, to attempt to jump out of your window to get away from him.

he heard the tell-tale shatter of glass and just knew it was you-- it was always you. he begrudgingly got up from where he was resting and went to your room, where you were halfway out of your window, bloodied from the broken glass digging into your skin.

dottore sighed, "goodness, (y/n)," dottore was approaching you and you could hear him coming closer, so, you tried to lunge yourself out of the window, to get away from him-- to protect your future.

pressing your hands against the sides of the window, you pushed yourself forward, slipping out of the window, but, of course, dottore caught you by the ankle just as you were falling.

you wasted not even a second before you began screaming and swearing at him, trying to squirm out of his grip, "let me go! let go-" you kicked at him as he dragged you back into the room.

once you were in, lying on the glass-covered floor, somewhat numb to the pain, dottore stood somewhere near your side, his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at you. he was disappointed, but why?

"don't... lie in the glass. (y/n)..." he sighed once more, and reached out, grabbing your arm and helping you stand.

it was then that he assessed your injuries, asking that you stand still as he looked at your bloodied arms and torso area-- it was painfully cut from the glass.

*you must be in pain, no?* dottore mused, straightening his back as he looked at the thin layer of blood coated on his fingertip, "I'll forget about this-- I'll even forgive you for... attempting this," dottore assured you, holding your arm as he began to guide you out of your room, "I'll forgive you, i just ask that you never attempt such a thing again."

but... you refused, tugging your arm back and out of his hold, "Don't touch me-- i don't *need* your forgiveness!"

you'd never hated him quite as much as you did after finding out that dottore had no problem with experimenting on children that the knave gave him.

it made you sick. you couldn't allow your child to grow up with a man like him, "i *refuse* to raise my child with a monster like you."

dottore's eyebrow twitched, though you couldn't see it. he thought he knew what to expect from you, but, you always surprise him, "a monster? can you genuinely call me such a thing after all I've done for you?"

when you nodded, dottore stifled his third sigh and brought you along with him, despite all of your arguing and fighting. "(y/n), you're hurt. let me clean those wounds of yours. since you cannot accept my forgiveness and let this go, we'll have a talk tomorrow."

dottore cared for you, of course, he did.

he realized just how much he cared for you-- just how much he needed you when he felt his heart drop at the sight of you trying to leave.

he understood just then how much he'd hate it if you left him.

a/n: lowkey ooc...

PIERRO

escape was impossible.

with guards at your door, and all around pierro's manor, you couldn't escape.

but, when pierro found out that you had still tried to leave him-- attempting to walk right out the front door, dressed as if you had places to be, he was displeased.

he was immediately informed of this.

so, as you tried to open the gate that was locked, pierro approached you, "(y/n), where exactly are you going?" he asked, stopping to stand right behind you, "it's cold, and you aren't dressed for the weathers condition... ah, aren't you supposed to inform me of where it is you want to go before going?"

pierro knew exactly what you were doing but for you, he could play dumb. it was better than making you feel cornered and possibly upsetting you further.

he could change, he wasn't above it. after all, there weren't many things he wouldn't do for you.

he held his hand out for you, hoping you'd take it, hoping you wouldn't give him trouble-- not now, not when he was in such a generous mood.

you didn't take his hand, no, you weren't even looking at him as you said, "I'd like to go... I want to stay with my family."

your family? pierro felt his eyes twitch-- he wouldn't allow himself to be seen as the jealous type, no, pierro instead nodded his head slowly, "why don't we go back in? it's terribly cold tonight, is it not?" he'd tried to change the subject, try to ease you back into the house without an argument.

"no, uh... I've got a ride. i just need the gate to open."

pierro saw and understood what you were feeling perfectly-- desperation. "we can talk about this tomorrow, no? it's late, (y/n), im not particularly in the mood to be standing out in the cold while you talk about leaving me."

"pierro- im leaving... I'll send you letters and I-I'll even come to visit," you offered, taking a step towards the gate, looking at the lock, that stopped you from leaving.

"no, no, (y/n), you aren't leaving, at any point. how ever you feel, I'm sure you'd feel better if you spoke to me about how you feel-"

"i want to leave because i dont want to raise my child with you."

first, you cut him off, and now you say this? "you're being very rude-- now, we're going back inside. do not argue with me," pierro took your hand into his and began to guide you back toward the manor.

"no! let go, stop it!" you would drag your feet, crying and arguing, "I don't want to be here! not with you! st-stop it! let me go!"

it saddened him, truly, to hear you cry and beg so desperately, but those words rolled off of him. he didn't care at the moment; he just needed to get you back into the manor, and whatever happened after didn't matter.

he'd have a talk with the guards too.

"You're so evil! let me go-! let me be!" you'd argued, dragging your feet, attempting to make things harder for him, "i refuse to have a child with a monster like you!!"

you couldn't imagine raising a child in this environment, in the fatui...

pierro stilled, glancing back at you, his grip on your hand tightened-- then immediately loosened, "you're testing my patience, (y/n). please, just come inside with me. we can talk about this inside."

because there were fewer places to run inside.

(y/n), you truly are a work of art, pierro mused, as he dragged you along, well, he attempted to be gentle but you were making it hard for him.

but since it was you, he'd do anything, even tolerate your rude behavior, since you were his woman and his alone.

CHILDE

when childe found you, whenever that was, there was no telling what could happen or what he'd do. he loved you, that much was obvious but he was an impulsive guy.

maybe he'd take off his coat and put it over you-- you'd like that, wouldn't you? or maybe, just maybe, he'd hug you out in the blistering cold until he felt good enough to release you... which would be near to never.

or maybe he'd react in anger. again, he loved you, it was inconsiderate, rude even, to leave him while you were pregnant with his child. didn't you promise to start a family with you? (he misheard you. you said you didn't want to start a family with him.)

he wouldn't let his anger get the best of him, no. he was better than that-- he was raised better than that. yeah, he was raised better than that.

childe raised his hand and wiped at the tip of his nose, he was cold. he couldn't image how you'd be feeling right now.

that was all more the reason to find you as soon as possible!

he took this journey alone. he thought it would be somewhat intimate if he found you on his own, it would be manly too-- you'd think he's the type of man you want to raise children with... that's what he thought anyway.

you got a bit of a head start on him, he had just gotten back to snezhnaya when he was informed that you had run off a few hours before he'd gotten back.

oh, he was worried. real worried.

he forgot everything he was planning to do-- eat, change into something warmer, brush his hair, those sorts of things, he forgot all about. you were more important!

before running off, you were staying with his family. it was probably easy for you to leave, just say you're going for a walk and never come back, since his family didn't exactly know all about your relationship with him and how he sorta smuggled you into snezhnaya.

he got home and followed after your footprints for a good while. the sun was setting, and it was only getting colder; at this point, you were probably regretting leaving him and wished to be at home in his arms-- that was just an assumption, of course.

when he finally saw you, in a thin dress and coat, stumbling up a snowy hill, he smiled. (y/n)! its (y/n)!

oh, he felt so relieved to see you!

running past all the bushes and trees in his way, he ran straight into you, hugging you tightly from behind, his hands on your pregnant belly.

"are you hurt anywhere?" that was the first question he asked as he turned you to face him, patting his hands over your arms, checking for any signs of blood on your or your clothes.

he leaned in once again, hugging you after being sure you weren't injured, and his second question, asked in a muffled voice by your ear, was, "What'd ya go running off for?"

"because I don't want to have a child with you."

huh, it seemed childe couldn't hear all of a sudden, as he released you from the hug and slipped his coat off, tossing it over your shoulders, "bet you're cold, huh? now, what'd you say?"

"i do not want to have a child with you."

again, it went through one ear and out the other for childe. he wasn't hearing things right, he couldn't be, could he? "huh? what was that?" his eyebrows raised, and he leaned closer, gesturing for you to repeat yourself once more.

now annoyed, you leaned closer, saying, "I'm leaving you because i dont want to have a child with someone like you."

he straightened his posture, backing away with a less-than-happy expression-- he looked defeated. so, he was hearing things right, huh...

"we gotta see it through... y'know that, right?" still holding your hand, his grip loosened. childe had never felt quite so... sad? angry? betrayed? before.

"no, we don't. I want to go back home, I'll see it through with my famil-"

"we are family," quickly cutting you off, he corrected you, his fingers tensed around your hand, "I'm your family-- everyone back at home is your family. we're your family so why are you trying to leave us?"

he bit at his bottom lip as a means of stopping it from quivering but you could see the tears in his eyes.

"are you kidding me? you forced me to be here with you! you think i came here willingly or someth-"

"you promised me we'd make a family together! you said it yourself, so, why're you acting like you hate me?" his hold on your hand tightened, and he leaned closer to you.

he was desperate-- he didn't want to hear this! not from you, not from anyone he loved, but especially not from you because he didn't just love you; he loved you.

attempting to tug your hand away from him, you shook your head, "I never said that, ever. let go of me- i wouldn't... i refuse to raise my child with someone like you!"

everything he thought knew and believed came crumbling down around him, " oh, well... i don't care," he replied-- he had abandoned his feelings for you, for now at least, he just needed to get you home without harming you, "I love you and... I guess, sometimes that's all that matters."

you could figure it out later-- you could learn to love him later but he loved you now and couldn't let you go so easily.

[vortexbloom]

Yandere Fatui Harbingers sharing a Lover (Headcanons)

⟡ Pairing: Yandere Fatui Harbingers (- Pulcinella & Scaramouche & Sandrone) x Reader

⟡ Fandom: Genshin Impact

⟡ Warnings: Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulation etc.

ᯓ ✈︎ Return to ⟡ Masterlist ⟡

English is NOT my first/native language, so there might be misspellings etc. I also do NOT own any Characters!

⟡ 𝒫𝒾ℯ𝓇𝓇ℴ ⟡

⟡ Pierro would see you as his precious possession, orchestrating every detail of your life to keep you dependent on him. He’d be subtle yet terrifying in his control, ensuring the other Harbingers don’t overstep. If necessary, he wouldn’t hesitate to "remove" anyone threatening his claim.

Yandere Traits

⟡ Cold

⟡ Controlling

⟡ Strategic

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⟡ 𝒞𝒶𝓅𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓃ℴ ⟡

⟡ Capitano’s yandere tendencies would manifest as extreme protectiveness. He’d see himself as your ultimate protector, willing to eliminate any perceived threat. Despite his stoic exterior, his devotion to you would be unwavering, bordering on obsessive. He’d expect your loyalty in return.

Yandere Traits

⟡ Overprotective

⟡ Honorable to a fault

⟡ Blind to reason

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⟡ 𝒟ℴ𝓉𝓉ℴ𝓇ℯ ⟡

⟡ Dottore’s obsession with you would blend scientific curiosity with dangerous fixation. He’d see you as the perfect subject for his experiments, aiming to “improve” you to perfection. His clones would stalk you, ensuring no one gets too close. If anyone dares threaten his claim, he’d make them disappear in the most horrifying ways.

Yandere Traits

⟡ Sadistic

⟡ Obsessive

⟡ Intrusive

──────────────────────

⟡ 𝒞ℴ𝓁𝓊𝓂𝒷𝒾𝓃𝒶 ⟡

⟡ Columbina’s yandere tendencies would be quietly unsettling. She’d hum eerie lullabies while watching you sleep, whispering threats to anyone who dares approach you. Despite her sweet exterior, her jealousy would trigger violent outbursts.

Yandere Traits

⟡ Quietly menacing

⟡ Manipulative

⟡ Dangerously clingy

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⟡ 𝒜𝓇𝓁ℯ𝒸𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃ℴ ⟡

⟡ Arlecchino would rely on intimidation and manipulation to keep you close. She’d guilt-trip you into staying by her side, making you believe you’re safest with her. Her fiery temper and deep jealousy would erupt into violent confrontations with anyone who dares to challenge her claim.

Yandere Traits

⟡ Fiercely protective

⟡ Emotionally manipulative

⟡ Violently jealous

──────────────────────

⟡ ℒ𝒶 𝒮𝒾ℊ𝓃ℴ𝓇𝒶 ⟡

⟡ Signora’s love would burn like fire, passionate, consuming, and destructive. Her jealousy would be unmatched, and she’d ensure no one dares come between you two. Her pride would demand total devotion, and she’d take extreme measures to secure your affection, even if it meant hurting others or herself.

Yandere Traits

⟡ Passionate

⟡ Prideful

⟡ Explosively possessive

──────────────────────

⟡ 𝒫𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶��ℴ𝓃ℯ ⟡

⟡ Pantalone would use his immense wealth and influence to ensure you’re completely dependent on him. He’d control every aspect of your life, from your finances to your social circle. His polite and calm demeanor hides a deeply vindictive streak; anyone threatening his claim would be ruined, socially and financially.

Yandere Traits

⟡ Manipulative

⟡ Controlling

⟡ Subtly cruel in his possessiveness

──────────────────────

⟡ 𝒞𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹ℯ ⟡

⟡ Childe’s dual nature as a family man and ruthless warrior would create an unsettling dynamic. He’d shower you with affection and gifts, acting like the perfect partner, but his darker side would emerge the moment he feels threatened. He wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate rivals in brutal fashion while maintaining a charming facade around you.

Yandere Traits

⟡ Charming yet ruthless

⟡ Overprotective

⟡ Dangerously possessive

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